#the more and more distance I have from that part of my life the more I'm like wow actually what happened WAS kinda fucked up huh

[garuda4321]

Don’t worry, I’ve been told I’ll get advanced notice if the world is ending from my buddy in Poland. I’ll make sure to keep you all posted on that. Of course, he also had an interesting thing to tell me, which I will quote because I think a lot of folks need to hear this. However, saving that for a little bit later because I feel like folks could use a bit of a motivational speech (I gave my first one today focused on hope, and boy do we need it).

Here goes.

I want to start by reminding people that it’s ok to feel. Whether that’s anger, sadness, hope, happiness, or whatever else you’re feeling, it is ok to feel them. Emotions should not be suppressed. I work very hard to ensure that I am a part of a community that is not only safe, but somewhere I can call home. I am always willing to invite more people into my home, especially in times of need as feeling safe is something everyone deserves.

I know that when faced with outcomes such as these, it is considerably easier to live with a victory than a loss. This is why this I am speaking about hope, having hope. I understand that not everyone has hope right now. If you do have it, please try to share some of that hope with those that do not have it. If you do not have it, hopefully you can find some in this reblog.

I am fairly certain that everyone has had the experience when something doesn’t go their way. In the realm of Ninja (the obstacle course racing variety), this is rampant. Perhaps we fell on the first obstacle of a course, or perhaps we missed qualifying for finals by mere seconds. When this happens, we have two choices. We can either stay down and let the negativity eat away at us, or we can get back up and keep training and trying until we reach our goal.

Unfortunately, we can only do that during training. On a course, when we fail obstacle one, that’s it, we don’t get a second chance. We don’t have that choice to stay down or get back up as we can’t change the outcome. As depressing as that sounds, it’s true.

You can’t change what happened and you don’t get the choice to “get up and try it again”. But we don’t have to sit and cry, complain, or hide from it either. We don’t have to give up.

Right now, there are lots of us that are down. We have communities that we feel safe and welcome in to support us when we need them. Together, as we refuse to give up, we can do each and every thing to help better our communities. It may not be a large difference, but a difference is a difference, and a difference matters! We can leave a smile, a compliment, or even a positive message behind because if someone is having a rough day, those small actions can make a large difference for them.

I encourage you to try to bridge outside of your comfort zone and meet new people, join new communities and try to spread some positivity in the world. I did so earlier today by giving a very similar speech to this one and again now by posting an abbreviated version of it. Do your best to make a difference with all people, no matter who they are, what they look like, or what they stand for. Because we will overcome whatever is thrown our way together, and by helping those that are struggling to overcome their own obstacles. We will believe and we will have faith. We may not know who or what to believe in, but we all know that we can believe in each other.

To finish us off, that quote from my friend in Poland.

“Remember that life is a long distance race. In a few months, a lot will change. In a few years, whole world will look completely different. Don’t lose your energy and faith in being a good person. World will need good people.”

Choose to be kind, caring, compassionate, and empathetic.

I’m signing off for now, maybe I’ll return with the next one I end up giving.

[pandapetals]

You're Too Good for Me

Logan has a nightmare which causes him to spiral thinking you deserve better. He hurts your feelings then tries to make up for it.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

a/n: request from anon and i ran with it. I’m on my period so im emotional. also i think the song head over feet by alanis morissette describes their relationship perfectly.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

Logan hadn’t had a nightmare like this in a long time—dark, violent, pulling him back to places he thought he’d managed to bury. He woke up gasping, drenched in cold sweat, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He barely registered your hands on his shoulders, your soft voice coaxing him back to reality.

"Logan," you whispered, brushing a hand gently through his hair. "It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here."

As he sat up, breathing ragged, he could feel the old shame tightening in his chest, coiling around his heart like a vise. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to be woken up in the middle of the night to deal with his demons, his scars that never truly healed.

In the dim light, he glanced at you, your concerned eyes, the gentle way you held him as though he were something fragile. Something that needed fixing. And it cut deeper than he expected.

"Go back to sleep," he mumbled, pulling away from your touch, trying to put space between you. "You don’t have to… just go back to bed."

You watched him, hurt flashing across your face before you masked it with understanding like you always did. But that only made it worse. Logan felt like a burden, an anchor holding you down when you could be with someone lighter, someone whole.

It was selfish, he realized bitterly, for him to have married you. To drag you into his darkness, to let you tether yourself to someone so broken. You could have had happiness with someone who didn’t carry the weight of a hundred lifetimes, someone who wouldn’t drag you into his nightmares.

The day that followed was unforgiving. The mansion was chaotic with the energy of kids excited for the upcoming weekend, their laughter and chatter echoing through the halls. Normally, Logan found a certain kind of peace in the routine, in the noise and laughter. He’d steal a moment to find you, just to see the way your eyes lit up when you spotted him across the room, the way you’d smile like he was the best part of your day.

But today, he couldn’t bring himself to look for you. Instead, he kept his distance, trying to hold onto the feeling of solitude he hadn’t felt in so long. He couldn’t shake the gnawing thought that he was ruining your life, that every day you stayed by his side, you were giving up a piece of yourself for someone who didn’t deserve it.

Still, avoiding you completely proved impossible. In the late afternoon, he wandered into the library to drop off a book one of the students had left in his class, and there you were, seated at one of the old wooden tables, a notebook open in front of you, scribbling something with that quiet intensity he loved so much.

As if sensing his presence, you looked up and caught his gaze, breaking into a warm smile. "There you are," you said, your voice light, teasing. "I feel like you’ve been avoiding me all day."

The words hung in the air, playful but carrying an undertone of uncertainty. When Logan didn’t respond, your smile faltered slightly, concern filling your eyes.

"Logan," you started, your tone softening, "what’s going on?"

Logan let out a long sigh, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice gruff, "don’t… don’t try to make me feel better, alright?"

You blinked, taken aback. "I’m not… I don’t even know what’s wrong. I’m just… trying to understand." Your voice wavered, the usual confidence slipping as you searched his face.

He looked down, feeling the weight of his own words pressing on him, but they spilled out anyway, rough and raw. "I don’t know why you stay with me. You’re too good for someone like me."

The hurt in your eyes was immediate and stark, cutting through him like a blade. Usually, you would have brushed off his self-deprecating comments with a witty remark, or maybe a kiss, but this time…the pain was visible.

"Wow, Logan." Your voice was quiet, almost disbelieving. "I guess if you say it enough, maybe I’ll start to believe it."

He felt his heart clench as he watched you, saw the way you pulled back as if shielding yourself from him. Before he could say anything, you’d gathered up your things and walked out, leaving him alone in the library, the silence heavier than any nightmare.

Later that evening, Logan sat in Xavier’s office, staring at the floor as the Professor studied him with quiet patience. Logan had come here for advice, though he hadn’t known how to ask for it. After a few minutes of silence, Xavier spoke.

"She loves you, Logan," Xavier said gently, his voice filled with the kind of understanding that only came with time. "And yet you push her away despite being married for years now. Why?"

Logan swallowed, struggling to put his feelings into words. "She… deserves better than me," he muttered. "I drag her into my mess. She’s always the one tryin’ to fix me, to hold me together. I don’t wanna keep holdin’ her back."

Xavier regarded him thoughtfully, folding his hands. "Perhaps," he said softly, "she doesn’t see it as a burden, Logan. Perhaps you’re the one who’s still carrying that weight." He paused, allowing the words to sink in. "But by constantly questioning her commitment, by doubting her love, you’re hurting her far more than any nightmare ever could."

Logan’s jaw tightened, shame flooding through him as Xavier’s words settled in. He’d spent so much time convinced he was protecting you by keeping you at arm’s length, he hadn’t realized he was driving a wedge between you. He was the one putting cracks in your relationship, making you question the very foundation of what you’d built together.

Determined to make it up to you, Logan planned a small, thoughtful evening, something that would remind you of the early days, back when things felt simple and uncomplicated. He knew he’d hurt you, and there was no grand gesture that could fix it. But maybe he could start by showing you what you meant to him.

He set up a cozy picnic under the stars in the mansion’s quiet garden, the same spot where he’d taken you for one of your dates. There were blankets laid out, soft lanterns casting a warm glow, and a small table with your favorite food—he’d even found the wine you’d both liked that night.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you finally came outside, your expression wary but softened by curiosity. Logan’s heart thudded in his chest as he stood, waiting, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had on a battlefield.

"What’s all this?" you asked quietly, glancing around the setup with a mixture of surprise and hesitation.

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. "I… wanted to make it up to you. I know I’ve been a real jackass," he admitted, his voice gruff. "I’ve got this… damn habit of pushin’ people away. And I know I’ve hurt you by doin’ it. You didn’t deserve that."

Your expression softened, and you stepped closer, your eyes searching his face.

"There’s a… note," he mumbled, pointing to a folded piece of paper on the table. "I wrote it… y’know, in case I couldn’t say all of it right."

You picked up the note, unfolding it carefully. His handwriting was rough, scrawled across the page, and the words were raw, unpolished, but every line held the weight of his heart:

"I know I don’t say it enough, but you’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me. You’re my light, my peace, even when I don’t think I deserve it. I’d be lost without you, and it scares the hell outta me sometimes. I’m sorry for doubting what we have. I love you more than I know how to say, and I’m the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side."

You looked up at him, tears shimmering in your eyes, but there was a soft, unwavering smile tugging at your lips. "Logan… you don’t have to do all this to prove anything," you murmured, squeezing his hands. "I know how much you love me. I’ve always known."

Logan gave a half-shrug, but his expression softened as he took a tentative step closer, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "Maybe," he muttered, his voice rough, almost vulnerable. "But I’m a damn stubborn fool, and I know I don’t say it enough. Hell, I’m lucky you haven’t given up on me yet."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in close until your foreheads were nearly touching. "Logan," you whispered, your voice steady despite the emotion welling up in your chest. "I knew exactly what I was getting myself into the moment I kissed you that first time. You seem to forget… this is a two-sided relationship. I chose this, and I chose you—all of you. The good, the bad, and even the ugly."

A small, wry smile crossed his face as he held you tighter, his hand splaying against the small of your back. "Guess there’s plenty of that last one," he murmured, his tone filled with self-deprecation.

You shook your head, lifting a hand to cup his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours. "I don’t want some perfect, easy life. This marriage hasn’t been easy—no one ever promised it would be." Your voice softened, and a flicker of pain crossed your face as you thought back to the late nights, the nightmares, the moments of doubt. "But I wouldn’t trade a single second of it."

Logan’s eyes softened, the weight of your words sinking in as he searched your face. There was a flicker of something vulnerable, almost boyish as if he still couldn’t quite believe that someone like you would stay through it all. "Even with all the times I’ve messed up? Pushed you away?"

"Especially then," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I chose you, Logan, knowing every scar you carry. I chose you because you’re worth it. Because beneath all that gruff and growl, there’s a man with a heart bigger than he’ll ever admit."

Logan’s gaze softened, his usual guarded expression melting as he took in the honesty in your eyes. His fingers tightened around yours as if grounding himself in the warmth of your touch.

You swallowed, feeling your throat tighten as you searched for the right words. "Besides, you act like you haven’t been there for me—like I’m the only one giving in this marriage. But that’s not true. You’ve carried me, held me up when I couldn’t stand on my own." A tear slipped down your cheek, and you felt a tremble in your voice as you continued, more vulnerable than you’d ever allowed yourself to be. "I guess… I guess I need to tell you much you mean to me more, because if I ever lost you—"

Your voice broke, the unspoken thought hanging in the air between you. Logan’s hand moved to your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tear that had escaped. He looked at you with a raw intensity, like he was seeing you for the first time and realizing just how deeply his presence affected you.

"I don’t know what I’d do," you whispered, voice barely holding together. "Without you, it’d be like… losing the part of me that makes sense of the world. You’re my safe place, Logan. I don’t want a life that doesn’t have you in it."

A faint tremor ran through Logan, and for a moment he just stood there, absorbing your words. Then, in a rare, unguarded gesture, he pulled you against him, burying his face in your hair, his arms wrapping around you as if he could shield you from everything—himself included.

"You won’t lose me," he murmured, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. "I’m here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not ever."

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms. "Promise me," you whispered, your voice filled with both a plea and a demand.

Logan’s hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he met your gaze, raw and steady. "I promise, darlin’," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "As long as I’m breathin’, I’m yours."

You nodded, a soft smile breaking through the tears as you let out a shaky breath. "Good," you whispered, a hint of your usual fire returning. "Because I’m not letting you go. You’re stuck with me, tough guy."

A smile finally broke through Logan’s serious expression, a low, rough laugh rumbling from his chest. "Well, I guess I got the better end of that deal," he murmured, his thumb tracing softly over your lips, his gaze warm and unguarded. "Lucky me."

You let out a laugh, sniffing as you swatted his hand away playfully. "No, I’m the lucky one, and don’t go thinking otherwise." You shook your head, the emotions bubbling up as you looked up at him. "You’ve seen the darkest parts of me, Logan. You know it wasn’t always easy for me either."

Logan’s smile faded slightly, his hand still cupping your cheek as he looked down at you, his brow furrowing. "Yeah… I guess sometimes I forget that," he admitted quietly, his voice carrying a hint of regret. "I… I let that damn nightmare get the best of me last night. Pulled me into my head, made me feel like I was poisonin’ your life somehow." He sighed, looking away for a moment. "I let it eat at me, let it convince me that I was only draggin’ you down."

He trailed off, his thumb idly brushing against your cheek, almost as if grounding himself in the warmth of your skin. "Guess I let that fear carry me away," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And I hurt you because of it."

Your hand found his, squeezing gently as you shook your head. "You don’t have to apologize for feeling like that. I know what those fears can do. I’ve had them too, remember?"

He frowned, a hint of confusion flashing in his eyes. "You? I… I didn’t know you ever doubted us like that."

A soft smile played on your lips, tinged with a hint of sadness. "Oh, I’ve had my moments. There was a time, back when we were dating when I thought I wasn’t strong enough for all this." You looked down, your fingers tracing small patterns on his hand as you continued. "There were days I felt like I couldn’t handle the weight of what you carried… like maybe I wasn’t enough for you."

Logan’s hand tightened around yours, his gaze darkening as if the thought alone pained him. "I had no idea," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

You gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "Because you already had so much on your shoulders. I didn’t want to add to it. But… there was one night that changed everything."

He tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "Which night?"

You took a deep breath, a nostalgic smile crossing your face as you remembered. "It was that night when I got that phone call about my dad being in the hospital. You remember? I’d barely told you anything about him, about my family, because… well, I thought it was easier not to talk about it."

Logan nodded, his gaze intense, recalling the way you had looked that night—pale, shaken, trying to hold yourself together. "Yeah," he said softly. "You were tryin’ to act like you were fine, but I could see you were fallin’ apart inside."

You laughed lightly, nodding. "Exactly. I was a mess, trying so hard not to let it show. But then… you showed up. I was packing a bag, trying to figure out what to do, and suddenly, you were just there. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t push me to talk… you just held me." Your voice softened a hint of awe in it. "And then you drove me to the hospital and stayed with me all night, even though I told you it was fine and that you didn’t have to."

Logan looked down, a faint blush touching his cheeks, as if embarrassed by his own gentleness. "Didn’t seem like you should be alone," he muttered, almost to himself. "Couldn’t leave you to deal with that by yourself."

"Exactly," you whispered, lifting his hand to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. "That night, you made me feel like… like I was worth being cared for. Like I could fall apart, and you’d be there to catch me. That’s when I knew I loved you, Logan. Not because you’re some ‘tough guy’ who protects everyone around him, but because of the way you love—with everything you’ve got, even when it scares you."

He swallowed, visibly moved, his thumb still tracing your cheek as he looked down at you, the weight of your words settling over him. "You’re tellin’ me that one night… that’s what made you fall for me?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It made me fall more for you and since then, every time you’ve shown up, every time you’ve let your guard down just enough to let me in… it only made me love you more."

Logan exhaled, his hand slipping down to rest over your heart as if feeling the steady beat under his palm reassured him of something he could never put into words. "I don’t deserve you," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "But… God, I’m gonna try like hell to be the man you see me as."

You leaned up, brushing your lips softly against his, pouring every bit of reassurance and love you had into that kiss. "You already are," you murmured against his lips. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I wouldn’t trade you, or this life, for anything."

A soft laugh escaped him, full of relief and something tender. “Well,” he whispered, pulling you close, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m done lettin’ my own damn fears get in the way of us."

“Good,” you whispered. “Because marrying you was the best thing I ever did.” 

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss. His hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer as if you might slip away. When you finally broke apart, he looked down at you with a gaze so soft, so full of unspoken devotion, it made your heart ache.

[earthchica]

Funny How Time Flies

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

summary: you are a shy, introverted person who wants to break out of your shell and experience fun at least once in your life. During a mutual friend's group trip, you meet Terry and have the best sex with him. Once the fun is over, will you and Terry stay in touch?

warnings: explicit smut (18+), light use of daddy, foul language, dirty talking, dom/sub, oral (f), pussy slaps, fingering, unprotected sex, nicknames (beautiful, baby, baby girl), words: (3k)

note: hey, I'm working on another mini-series, but this one is sweet, wholesome, and freaky! let me know your thoughts and if you want to be tagged in future parts. please enjoy!

-

You’ve been shy and introverted your entire life, often feeling tired of this loneliness. Your daily routine typically consists of working, exercising, and returning home, which leaves little opportunity for social interaction or adventure.

While you go out when you want to, most of your time is spent at home with your loving dog. Despite that, you know something is missing—particularly, a boyfriend and a more vibrant social life.

The anxiety stemming from your shyness made it difficult for you to step outside your comfort zone. You want to seek more experiences beyond the walls of your home and be more outgoing.

When your friends Sasha and Maya invited you on a group trip, you accepted. They were surprised but happy and reassured you that you wouldn’t feel left out or awkward during the trip.

Sasha, in particular, couldn’t contain her excitement, as explained by her boyfriend, Bryce. He was bringing his old marine friend, Terry Richmond.

You met the girls at the airport and greeted them with hugs. Sasha explained that Bryce and Cameron needed to find Terry, which made you feel nervous. She told you a little about him, but ultimately, you would have to form your own opinion about him.

"Oh, here they come! Finally,” Sasha replied, gesturing towards three tall, fit men in the distance.

Bryce was a tall, dark-skinned man, while Cam was kind of brown-skinned since he was lighter than Bryce. Then your eyes led to him. Who must be Terry?

At that moment, you felt an undeniable spark of love at first sight. Terry was slightly taller than Bryce and Cam and had a lighter skin tone.

He was so handsome, with good hands, good lips, and, good god, a nice body!!! He was fine, and you wanna intertwine him.

"Good, made it back on time and found big dawg," Bryce nudged Terry on the arm, laughed, and then moved over to Sasha.

"Yeah, bro was at the wrong damn gate/terminal," Cam said, walking over to Maya and greeted her with a kiss on the forehead.

"My fault; it's been a minute since I've been at the damn airport; y'all know I don't travel a lot," Terry chuckled lightly as he caught you staring, prompting you to look away.

"Well, we're glad you found him. Now...um, Terry, I want you to meet someone," Maya said with a smile.

He raised his eyebrows curiously and she motioned towards you and introduced you to Terry by using your name.

“Hey, there!” He said, giving a polite wave, and you just stared at him. Everyone looked at you, awaiting your response, but nothing came out until Sasha nudged you.

“Hi,” you said, waving back with a small mile. You held his gaze for a moment, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach, before shyly turning your eyes away.

The flight to Cancun, Mexico, is currently boarding for its scheduled departure at 1 PM. Passengers are advised to have their boarding passes and identification ready and to proceed to the gate promptly.

"Okay, that's us. Who's ready to get Lit?" Maya clapped her hands, easing the awkwardness and creating a more hype vibe.

Sasha wrapped her arm around your shoulders playfully, giving you a knowing look through her sunglasses.

"Look at you, drooling all over Terry already; I told you he would be your type," She teased, and you playfully hit her arm.

Soon enough, you were all on the plane, and of course, you were sitting next to Terry. He was talking to you, but you felt so nervous that your responses were short.

You both had a lot in common: you were single, didn’t get out much, and were on this trip to have fun. You couldn’t believe that a handsome man like Terry wanted to talk to you despite your shyness.

Terry was eager to talk to you from the moment he first saw you. He felt a strong connection and wanted to get to know you better. He was really glad he decided to go on this trip because your sweet and shy nature made him want to break you out of your shell.

“You're kind of the shy and quiet type, huh?! I like that; some people say I'm reserved, so I guess I can relate,"

"You don't seem like it; you seem like an outgoing person." You look at him for a second. His captivating hazel-green eyes burn into yours, causing a flutter in your chest.

"Well, I sometimes can be both; I'm a little reserved when I don't know the person, but if I know you, I'm more open, I guess," Terry explained, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"What makes me so different?" You asked in a playful tone, building some confidence.

Terry laughs and smirks, "I guess you're that special!"

You felt like your heart exploded the way he looked at you, obviously attracted to you. You just nodded, looking away, trying to hide your smile.

“Hey....come on, I was just getting used to hearing that pretty voice of yours,” Terry said, leaning in, and your breath hitched.

You and Terry chatted throughout the entire plane ride. Although you were still a bit shy, you found yourself being more talkative than before, which felt positive.

Perhaps Terry was just what you needed for this trip. Once your group arrived at the stunning villa, you marveled at its beautiful interior.

“Alright,” Maya announced, her enthusiasm infectious as she gathered everyone to discuss the week's activities. She carefully ensured everyone felt included and excited about them.

Maya suggested you all chill and settle into our bedrooms for the afternoon. You began rolling your heavy suitcase down the hall, its wheels clicking softly against the floor.

“Do you need a hand?” Terry asked, approaching with a friendly smile and ready to help you with your suitcase.

"Yeah, thanks." You said with a small smile, walking to your bedroom door and walking in.

"You can put it right there, " You said, pointing at the chair before you and indicating that he should place it there. Terry glanced at you curiously as if he were too nervous to ask a question.

A moment of silent communication passes between you. Terry stepped forward, closing the distance, and you felt your heart race.

You instinctively wanted to shy away, but you fought against the urge, reminding yourself to be brave.

“I hope this doesn’t sound too forward, but I would love to take you on a date tonight. I am drawn to you and want to crack your shy shell and see what’s inside. Of course, only if you want me to," He expressed with a hopeful smile.

“I would love that, Terry,” You said with a smile. Terry smiled back, gave you his number, and set the date plans.

He walked out, winking at you as he left the bedroom. You bit your lip and excitedly squealed, jumping dramatically onto the comfortable bed.

-

You told the girls about the date, and they were so excited that they went upstairs to your bedroom to help you out.

“I don’t think I can do this; it's been so long since i've been on a date, and all together, I'm shy as fuck” You said, getting your nerves up.

“Babe, it’s fine. You need this, and Terry is an amazing guy. We wouldn't have brought him on this trip if we didn't know he would be perfect for you.” Sasha says, ease your anxiety a lot more.

“Sasha is right; just have fun and let go, but not too much; you might get dicknotized,” Maya smiles playfully as she hands you a sexy yellow dress that catches the light beautifully.

"This will look amazing on you," She added, her eyes sparkling excitedly. As you slipped into the dress, your nerves faded, replaced by a sense of pride.

Maya's perfume filled the room as she sprayed on you; it had a familiar and comforting aroma.

Sasha, the fashionista, was styling your box braids and applying your makeup while you looked in the mirror.

"Remember," She said, glancing over her shoulder, "confidence is key. Just be yourself."

After saying bye to Sasha and Maya, you closed the door behind you and took a deep breath. You were walking downstairs and Terry stood there at the bottom, clearly waiting for you.

His eyes widened, taking in every detail. You couldn't help but giggle at his look of awe. He seemed captivated by your radiant beauty, his gaze lingering on your elegant curves.

“Wow, you look beautiful,” Terry said. You smiled and looked him over, noticing he was wearing a black button-up shirt and shorts.

"Thank you. Um..you look beautif-I mean handsome!" You cursed at yourself in your mind, feeling totally embarrassed, and Terry found it cute.

"Thanks! Are you ready?" Terry asked, holding his arm out with a smile and you happily accepted.

Both of you walk leisurely down the path, arm in arm while listening to the gentle sound of waves crashing against the shore accompanies you as you make your way to the charming ocean-view restaurant that overlooks the sparkling waters.

You and Terry walk inside, and the warm glow of the intimate setting welcomes you. You find a cozy table for two awaiting your arrival. Moments later, a friendly waiter approaches, ready to take your drink orders.

While waiting, Terry struck up a conversation that flowed effortlessly. His warm smile and engaging demeanor made it easy to share about yourself. With every exchanged joke and smile, you found yourself becoming more comfortable, as if he had a talent for bringing out the best in people.

His smooth charm was evident; he made you feel special and understood, gently encouraging you to step out of your shy little shell and embrace the moment because the air between you crackled with sexual tension, growing palpable by the minute.

The waiter approached your table, balancing a tray of drinks that shimmered in the dim light. He set them down before you with a polite smile. After taking your food orders, he left you both.

Terry, his eyes sparkling, leaned in closer, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“While we wait, how about we play a game of ‘Would you rather?’” Terry proposed, the excitement in his voice making the suggestion feel inviting.

"Okay," You replied, intrigued and ready to dive into the game.

“Okay, would you rather…�� Terry started, propping his chin on his hand as he contemplated the question.

“Would you rather live deep in the ocean or explore the vastness of space?”

You paused for a moment, considering the options carefully. “Hmm, that’s a tough choice. But I think I would choose space,” You finally replied.

“Mmm, interesting! What makes you lean toward space?” Terry inquired, leaning forward with curiosity.

“I have always been interested in space and astronomy. If I could, I would be an astronaut, and the experience would be exciting,” You said, taking a sip of your wine.

"Wow, I would love to learn more about that, but it's your turn," Terry said, his eyes lighting up with curiosity and a warm smile spreading across his face. The "Would You Rather" game had been going for a while and had taken a slightly naughty turn.

Before long, the waiter arrives with both of your meals, setting them down on the table with a flourish. As the delightful aromas fill the air, you take a moment to appreciate the dishes before returning to Terry.

Intrigued by the connection you two are building, you changed the subject wanting to know about Terry's interests and experiences, eager to learn more about his passions.

Terry paused mid-sentence, his gaze falling on your necklace, which had come unhooked. With a gentle smile, he leaned in close and secured the clasp.

You found yourself momentarily lost in the warmth of his touch, savoring the soft caress against your dark brown skin, a delightful contrast that sent a shiver of warmth through you.

Terry pulled away, a smirk playing on his lips, and effortlessly transitioned back into talking as if nothing had happened. You couldn't help but notice his subtle game; it was working on you like a charm.

Your desire was intense, and your craving seemed to deepen with every word he spoke. You were utterly captivated, wanting him more than ever before.

After dinner, you both walk silently side by side on the beach. Your hands nearly touch until Terry grabs yours and holds it, making you smile.

You slowly look up at him, and you find that his eyes are already fixed on you.

"What?" You asked.

"Just admiring how gorgeous you are," Terry stopped you from walking by wrapping his arms around your plump waist.

You touched his chest, thinking you both would finally kiss. But Terry was teasing you again. He lifted you slightly, catching you off guard and causing you to drop your purse and heels.

“Oh my goodness, what are you doing, Terry?” You gasped, struggling to escape his firm hold on you.

“Let’s get in the water; I bet it’s cold,” He said, trying to pull you closer.

“No, Terry!” You squealed, quickly breaking free from his grasp and running away from him with your tongue sticking out.

“Hey!” he yelled, chasing after you. When he finally caught you, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and started tickling you.

You bounced up and down with laughter, trying to escape his grip. Just as Terry was about to say something, he accidentally tripped over something in the sand. Both of you fell together. You looked at him, and he looked at you.

You both laughed as Terry rolled off of you, pulling you onto his chest and kissing the top of your head, making your heart flutter. He eventually helped you out of the sand and retrieved your purse and heels.

Feeling a surge of confidence, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, surprising him with the suddenness of your action. As you pulled back, a shy smile crept onto your face, and you turned your gaze to the side, feeling excitement and nervousness.

In an instant, Terry reached out, his fingers gently cupping your cheek, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes searched yours, a blend of sweetness and warmth reflected in them.

Then, without breaking his gaze, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing softly against yours as he kissed you, igniting a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

You let out a muffled moan, feeling his hands gliding over your ass with a gentle yet teasing touch. Your breath caught in your throat, pulling away while feeling him firmly grasping it.

"Do you wanna continue this back at the villa?" Terry asked, his eyes darkened with desire as he looked down at you.

"Yes," you said, nodding firmly as you still held the gaze. Your voice remained steady, even as a whirlwind of emotions surged within you—excitement, desire, and a hint of nervousness mingled together.

-

Once stepped into the bedroom, Terry pressed you against the solid door. His lips met yours in a passionate, rough kiss, feeling an electric spark hit and made your heart race.

"I've been waiting to take this dress off you since I saw you in it," He murmured in your ear, running his hands down the bodice of your yellow dress.

"And it's just driving me wild," He whispered, which made you shiver.

"Well, take it off if you're brave enough," You spoke boldly, which made him smirk.

You gasped as he lifted you in his arms and carried you to the bed. You still couldn't get over the fact that he was so strong to pick you up, which was a turn-on for you.

He picked you down as both of you stood at the edge of the bed; he was kissing your neck, and his lips peppered on your dark-brown skin, pausing here and there to suck on the sensitive flesh.

His hand reached behind your back to find the zipper of your dress, pushing it down to your feet. You step out of it, and his hands touch your exposed breasts.

As you stood there, a wave of insecurity washed over you, causing you to shy away slightly. Just when you thought about retreating and hiding yourself, Terry stopped you. His gaze was steady and inviting, searching your eyes.

"You're beautiful, baby. Don't hide from me!" He whispers genuinely, making you feel warm inside. You kiss him as his hands grip your breasts.

You let out a soft moan, pulling away and popping his black button-up shirt open. You admired his abs and slid your fingers down his chest.

Terry shivered slightly at your touch; you had the same effect on him as he had on you. Both of you practically ripped each other's clothes. You gently laid yourself down as Terry hovered above you.

You pulled him down for another kiss as he cupped your right breast in his hand while his lips moved away from yours. His tongue dragged across the dark area of your areola.

"Such nice big tits, so good to suck," Terry growls and grabs both of your breasts with his hand, squeezing and sucking them, causing you to whimper.

"How does that feel, baby?" He asked, pulling away from sucking your nipples as his right hand traveled down to your wet folds, and circled them.

A loud moan escaped your lips, felt him push two fingers inside of you, prompting you to cover your mouth to avoid being heard by the others.

"Nah, baby girl, none of that. You have no idea how desperate I want to hear you moan for me. If you don’t let yourself make any sounds, I’ll have to find a way to draw them out."

"Yes-yes....ohhhh....It-it feels good....ahh......so good," You moaned, feeling him moved below and rested between your plump legs, glancing up at you. He spread them wide, getting a good look at your pussy.

"Mmmm, a pretty girl with a pretty pussy" He said before placing his hands on your legs and dragging his tongue between your wet folds.

"Yes....fuck....ahh fuck" You moaned, arching your back and grabbing your breasts as he repeated the action with more pressure, his tongue sliding against your bundle of nerves.

"Mmm, tastes so damn good, girl" His hands were holding your wide hips as he continued to suck and lick you dry, drawing desperate soft moans from your mouth. 

Terry buried deeper between your plump legs, which was driving you crazy. The pleasure you were feeling going through your body was so overwhelming.

"Ahh fuck, Terry fucking eat this pussy, mutherfucka" You moaned, and your fingers gently caressed his head, relishing the closeness of him.

Terry chuckles. "Mmm, there you go, keep talking nasty to me, baby. I see I'm bringing the best out of you, the freak in you," He said before resuming devouring your pussy.

Another loud moan escaped your lips as the pleasure built within you, clenching around his fingers while you felt yourself getting close.

"Are you gonna cum, beautiful?" He asked, moving up to look into your eyes and began to finger fuck you fast.

"Yes, Terry, oh shit.....fuck-fuck don't stop fuck." You cried, suddenly cumming hard, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

"Yeah, that's it, baby girl. Fucking cum for Daddy," Terry said, still fingering you and then smacking your pussy as wet gushing came out of you, causing you to cry.

"Shit, look at that, baby. And I did all that with my tongue and fingers; I can't wait to see how your pussy takes my dick" He said with a chuckle, licking his fingers, and you watched him coming down from your intense high.

You kissed him, slightly tasting yourself as he cupped your breast in his hand while your hand slid down his chest to his throbbing dick; you got a good look at it and gasped at it.

"Like what you see?" Terry whispered in your ear.

"Yes, it's so big," You moaned, moving your hand up and down his length as you kissed him again but deeply. A very deep moan came from his mouth when you got a little faster.

"Fuck, girl, I need you…" Terry said with a slight moan, which made you smile. He moved on top of you and slowly entered your folds, causing you to go bananas.

You were loving the fullness of his thickness inside of you as he began thrusting, drawing soft moans from you. Terry asked, looking down at you to see if it was good, but you nodded.

"Come on, baby. Don't get shy on me again; tell me how it feels?" He asked, his hands on your waist sliding down to grasp your wide hips, pulling you closer so he could bury himself deeper.

"Yes, Terry fuck me, fuck it feels good!" You moaned, wrapping your plump legs around his waist tighter, allowing a new, delicious angle that you both liked.

Your moans became louder and more frequent as his thrusts came faster but still as gently and passionately as ever.

"That's it, girl....let everyone know i'm fucking this pussy good, You like it, you like how I am fucking you" Terry moaned while his rhythm never stopped looking down at you with so much desire and lust;

"Oh yes, Daddy fuck me, it feels so good," You cried, looking up at him as he lifted your legs to his shoulders and pounding into you faster and harder but much more profound.

"Take that fucking dick like a good girl;" Terry growled, tightening his grip on your legs.

"....fuck are you about to cum, baby?" Terry moaned, feeling the warmth of your walls, clenched around him.

"Oh....yes, fuckfuckfuck..I'm-I'm cumming-" You moaned, digging your nails deep into his arms and scratching down.

"Fucking let it go, baby."

"AHHH!!" You screamed, coming hard again and Terry wasn't too far behind, cursing, pulling out; your legs immediately fell to his waist as his hot cum spurted all over your belly, making you slightly giggle.

"Shit," Terry cursed, lowered himself, and propped up on his left arm as his head buried in your neck.

He entirely collapsed on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around him. You slid your hand up and down his sweaty back while he gave you small, lazy kisses on your face and neck.

Terry rolls off you, and both of you calm down from your high. You bite your lip and turn to prop yourself up to look at him.

"That was—" You couldn't decide what word to use. It was beyond amazing, it was...

"Mind-blowing, yeah," He agreed, looking at you and lifting himself up to kiss you.

"Up for another round in the shower?"He asked, pulling away and caressing your hip.

"Yes!" Both of you smirked at each other and got out of bed to walk to the bathroom; Terry made you cum two more times that night.

[quantomeno]

I have been trying to find the article or opinion piece or whatever I read that discussed this, but this appears to be a significant issue with all left-leaning governments. If you'll forgive the gendered language:

Political analysts have long considered these three fields – managing the finances, managing the economy, and defence – to represent the “daddy” aspects of national political persona, traditionally dominated by centre-right parties the world over. The centre-left parties have been seen to excel in the more “caring” fields of health and education: the “mummy” aspect.

(from here, an opinion piece in the Sydney Morning Herald, which I don't think was exactly the thing I was looking for, but it's the same idea more or less)

People in the tags have noted this occurs with the Tories/Labour in the UK, and it definitely occurs in Australia with the Liberals/Labor (the Liberals are conservatives by the way, it's confusing, we know).

The problem is that people often don't 'feel' the effects of economic improvement, or they fixate on things that are still bad and think when the government is talking about improvements they're lying or think the improvements are happening to other people, probably 'coastal elites' or what we in Australia might call 'inner city latte sippers'.

Then the right can capitalise on this resentment, and even if they don't achieve their claims of making life better, people have such short memories they don't realise things have worsened. Another issue is the fact left-wing policies tend to involved bigger government involvement or significant changes to the status quo, and the right can then run scare campaigns which the left can't combat because having nuanced debates over complicated policies doesn't make snappy headlines. And you also get, as @what-even-is-this said above, the left inheriting failing economies and the right inheriting improving economies. So things often get blurred about who was responsible for what benefit, and if things are good under one government, the other will claim it was because of their actions before it etc etc.

Celinda Lake (Biden's pollster in 2020) was interviewed on the Australian TV show Planet America this week and said something very similar (it starts at 28:23), that the Democrats need a better economic message, a better 'conversation' with the voters the Democrats traditionally worked to support but who now believe the Republicans will help them more.

It is quite sad to admit, but it seems people often care more about their economic wellbeing than any other consideration. Part of it is a sort of survivalism though, where they go, yes, I would like to help xyz, but I'm struggling too.

From my position, well at a distance, I got the vibe this election was just people annoyed at the current administration and going to literally the only viable alternative, as opposed to a population shifting dramatically in their political views. I expect a lot of people don't like the guy who'll be president and don't really even want him to be president, but still voted for him because of his party. It's an electorate who has long been made to believe left bad at economy, right good at economy. Plus you guys don't have a third parties that presents itself as a viable alternative.

Elections are often decided by the political issues that the right is seen to be better at, but a lot of it is just bluff and posturing. The right can talk tough and it makes people think they're getting things done. It's not until it all unravels that people will consider the left. I've got a long discussion about Aus politics below if you want to read about it, which provides some more concrete examples of these things.

Also there are obviously other issues at play, the electorate isn't one monolith, people have individual reasons for voting etc etc etc. This is just one thing that I think was a big factor generally. Harris seemed to be too much a part of an administration they were unhappy with and people weren't convinced she would bring anything new to fix things.

Australia has two major parties, the left-wing Australian Labor Party (yes, Australian English spells it labour, but the party is US-style, it's a long story) and the right-wing Liberal Party (they are conservatives but they're called Liberals. The reason is they believe in libertarian sort of values like the free market and small government). The Liberals govern in coalition with the National Party (ostensibly the party of the farmers and rural Australians, they're more right wing than the Liberals), and so we often call them the Coalition.

(Also, Labor is red and the Liberals are blue, so our colours are opposite of US but the same as the UK. This isn't important right now but I enjoy reminding americans that their colour-coding of politics is actually not the norm)

After 11 years of Coalition government under John Howard, we elected Kevin Rudd and the Labor Party in 2007. Then the GFC happened. Labor got us through very well, relatively speaking. But K-Rudd was losing popularity so members of the Labor party decided to vote for a new leader (this wasn't an election: for any Americans out there, the prime ministership isn't an elected position, it's just the leader of the party in power and they can choose that amongst themselves). And so we got Julia Gillard, our first female PM. She narrowly won the next election, and suffered through a number of things that lowered her standing in the polls (including misogyny, but also a few broken election promises the opposition pounced on) and so before the next election they backstabbed her and reinstated Kevin, hoping the change would improve their odds. It didn't work: Labor lost to (shudder) Tony Abbott and the Coalition. I really dislike Abbott. Raw-onion-with-the-skin-on-eating Abbott. 'Suppository of all wisdom' Abbott. 'Shit happens' Abbott. Wanting-to-knight Prince-Phillip Abbott. I mean, these are just his gaffes. The less said of his politics and personality the better.

The Liberals governed for a simultaneously stagnant and tumultuous nine years. Nine years with three prime ministers being overthrown by their own party and never actually getting all that much done. Abbott, rapidly losing favourability, was replaced with Malcolm Turnbull, an erudite, moderate Liberal who was under constant attack from his government's right wing and got murdered by them at the slightest whiff of a policy that might have the vaguest of emission reduction targets (these years are known as the climate wars and they're still not really over). Turnbull gave way to Scott Morrison. Scomo went to the election with really only one major economic policy which was some tax cuts. He won. Then the pandemic happened and yeah. We went massively into debt due to the huge spending required to keep everyone afloat. I am glad the Libs did that, but it points out their hypocrisy since they had banged on and on about Labor's 'debts and deficits' (I think particularly to do with spending during the GFC) and yet had not given a single budget surplus (i.e. they had been spending more than they gained in taxes etc) in that entire 9 years. And then, when it's their turn to spend big to save the economy, they're happy to ignore debts.

Labor was led during this time by Bill Shorten, a good guy but no one really liked him, nor his 'zingers', and his policies involved a lot of reforms and changes, leaving him open to scare campaigns from the right. Labor eventually decided to shed Bill and put in Anthony Albanese. Albo ran a very small target campaign to try to neutralise the differences between him and Scomo. It was... moderately successful. Labor got into government but really, it was the Liberals who lost because we all just disliked Scotty from Marketing (he mishandled the pandemic on a number of fronts, among other crises including, but not limited to, going to Hawaii during the 2019-20 bushfires and sexual misconduct allegations involving members of his party). The 2022 federal election is a story of its own though. The point is, Labor got into power.

They have given us our first budget surplus in 15 years. A budget surplus had been hyped up by successive Liberal governments who consistently failed to deliver one. Sure, Labor is still dealing with a housing crisis, but prices had been rising under the Coalition who just twiddled their thumbs and eventually suggested the policy of allowing people spend their superannuation (it's a bit like the US 401(k): here it's compulsory for money to go into a fund which you can't access until retirement) on a house (they're still suggesting this last I heard). And inflation has been high, but it seems to be going down, and the inflation was the result of (guess what) high levels of government spending during the pandemic (combined with supply issues caused by wars and the pandemic). Labor has done a decent job of bringing the economy back on track. They've been fiscally responsible. They even rejigged Scott's tax cuts to make them better for lower-income earners. Labor is clearly on par, if not better, at handling the economy and have shown this twice in my lifetime.

But do they get any credit for this? As if!

Labor has been absolute rubbish at explaining how they're helping people. Rubbish! It's why the Voice to Parliament referendum failed, because no one explained it clearly and succinctly. I don't think it failed because people were really racist, I think they just didn't get the point of it. I mean, some of it was underlying racism and a sense of 'why do they deserve this? don't they have enough?' but that stems again from a communication issue since people don't understand how big the gap still is. (for confused non-Australians, I'm talking about the referendum to enshrine in the constitution an advisory group of Indigenous Australians who would give advice to the government about matters pertaining to First Nations issues. The referendum failed abysmally)

Labor is currently heading towards a minority government (they will be the biggest party, but won't have a proper majority in parliament and will need to deal with a crossbench of minor parties and independents). They're expected to win partly because the Liberals are becoming increasingly right-wing (they lost a lot of their moderates at the last election to independents) and the current leader of the Libs looks like Mr Potato Head and has all the warmth of Darth Vader, so they might not win the centre very easily (we have compulsory voting, so you need to be at least relatively moderate to win big). But Labor will struggle (and could still lose) because Albanese is just terrible at getting any cut-through. It's pitiful. Personally, I'd kinda like Penny Wong as PM but she'd need to resign as a senator and be elected to the house of reps, so it's highly unlikely (plus I do like her in the Foreign Affairs portfolio). I think Jim Chalmers, our current treasurer, would be a good fit. He's got twice the charm of Albo and ten times that of Peter Dutton (Darth Potatohead, the current leader of the Liberals). He's also an effective communicator and can take a lot of credit for the economy since he's the guy making the budgets. I don't necessarily think he's an amazing treasurer (he's no Paul Keating), but he's done a good job. The thing is, Labor is highly unlikely to have another leadership spill for fear of appearing unstable (they made it much harder to have a spill after the Rudd-Gillard-Rudd debacle).

And sadly, Dutton has quite a bite, and loves to rip into Labor right where it hurts: the economy and immigration.

Don't get me started on immigration... I totally skipped over it but it's been a big issue here just like in the US.

Also I am not the biggest fan of Labor after they started to shift rightwards (the whole 'neutralise issues' thing). They're a bit like the Democrats in that sense, but the situation is a little different.

It seems like there’s this cycle of republicans making the economy bad and then people get tired of the republicans and elect a democrat and the democrat inherits a bad economy and then they sort of fix it somewhat and then people are like hey the economy is bad it was better during the Republican administration and then they elect a Republican who inherits a better economy from the democrat while he’s trashing it and then people are like hey he’s trashing the economy and then they elect a democrat who inherits a bad economy and fixes it somewhat and then people are like hey the economy was better when there was a Republican and then they elect a Republican who trashes the sort of better economy he inherited from the democrat and so on and so forth like forever I guess

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Daemon Targaryen

Daemon x reader (platonic)

I will split this into four different parts depending on who the mother is (Laena, Rhae, Mysaria, Rhaenyra)

Your relationship with Daemon really depends on who your mother is. Although I think he would love his daughter regardless of who the mother is, your relationship will still differ depending on who she is.

Mysaria:

- As his first born you hold a special place in his heart. Daemon keeps you in a mansion with your mother. Despite your bastardy he still has you educated. And anyway, he planned to have you legitimated in time. Unlike with his other wives (except Rhea) there will be a battle between your parents on who has the most influence. Daemon will bring you up to be a true Valyrian. But Mysaria does not agree with everything he does and do the two will argue.

- ‘I will not have my daughter riding those beasts.’ Mysaria stood over Daemon. Although she was not ignorant as to the threat he could pose, Mysaria felt very strongly about her daughter riding a dragon. She had always been a careful woman. Ever since she was a little girl who endured her father’s abuse Mysaria had known how to survive. And when her daughter was born she swore you too would be safe. That meant, for Mysaria; No. Fucking. Dragon. Daemon sat hunched in his chair. He was tired but equally determined. ‘She is a Valyrian. Whatever the circumstances of her birth are.’ Standing in the doorway you watched nervously. You hated listening to your parents fight. Quietly, you slunk into the darkness.

- Unfortunately this will result in Daemon taking you from Mysaria once their relationship is over. This causes a lot of tension and your relationship with him will change. It is hard being away from your mother for so long. Daemon takes you with him wherever he goes. He will try to be more stationary for your benefit. And the word is "try". Life is both tough and fun. Constantly moving around made it hard to make long lasting friends. But Daemon will do fun things such as going to the market, dragon riding and buying items for any hobby you are into. Mysaria finds secret ways to contact you without Daemon's knowledge. You sort of lead a double life with both parents.

-Your mother's most recent letter was quickly slid under the pillow as your bedroom door opened. Your father stepped in holding a wooden box. Curiously you asked what was in the box. Daemon opened it and inside you found cloth and sewing needles. With a smile you took it and went through the materials. Daemon had a small smile on his face as his daughter rummaged through everything. He did not really understand your love of sewing but he was happy to provide the materials.

-You do get a dragon. Daemon lobbies hard for you to have a dragon and for a while Viserys says no. Not because he doesn't think you deserve one but because of your status (this is before you are legitimated). This changes when Rhaenyra had her first born and Daemon will snidely make remarks when Viserys brings up your bastardy. Eventually Viserys relents. Your dragon is called Saephrin, a thin green scaled creature who is called the Sky Snake. He is very fast an nimble. You spent a lot of time in the cave and riding Saephrin. Daemon likes to ride beside you on nice day. The dragons do keep some distance between each other since Caraxes can get a bit snappy around the younger dragon. These outings usually end in picnics and going to far off places.

-Higher and into the sky you climbed. Wind whistled past your ears, wind whipping hair around. Just behind you was Daemon on Caraxes. Above the clouds you flew looking at the ground bellow. The house you lived in had become a simple blip on the ground. The ache in your thighs felt good. Riding on dragon back brought you more satisfaction than anything else. Showing off you father burst up from a sea of clouds, sending white mist everywhere. Despite your vision being temporarily obscured you were not scared. Daemon was an expert dragon rider, you were in no danger. Your dragon let out a wiry cry and you dove. Leaning back you could see the ground bellow you coming nearer. You looked up to find Daemon still circling above. Saephrin then extended his wings and you were shot back into the air. With a whoop of laughter you went to meet him in the sky.

Rhea:

-Daemon would not allow Rhea to raise you. Despite him belief in Valyrian supremacy you are still a Targaryen. He will use his position as a prince to limit contact between Rhea and yourself. This leads to some tension between Daemon and Viserys, who feels your place is in Runestone. In this scenario Daemon is in Runestone more often. There is a back and forth between who has more influence. Daemon will try to distance you from Andal influences and Rhea vise vera. This leaves you feeling constantly torn.

-Their voices echoed down the hall to where you sat alone. By all rights you should be in bed already. If anyone were to find you out there would be trouble. One would think that years of this would harden you to your parents constant fights. 'My daughter will not be taking part in your filthy Valyrian traditions! I am only glad that she has no brother for you to force her to fuck.' You could almost see your fathers reaction in your mind. There was the sound of a physical altercation and you buried yourself deeper into the shadows. You were not sure when the fight ended. Only that your father slunk through the hall and you hardly dared to breath as he walked past. Once you were sure both parents were gone you wandered the halls.

-A dragon egg is given to you by Daemon upon birth. The pearl coloured egg hatches and a light pink dragon is born, named Willow. You grew close to the dragon and liked to bring her into your playroom. Whenever she was separated from you a tantrum resumed on both ends. You could not live without Willow. Your father would becomes a less present figure om your life. For a while life grew slightly easier. At least no parents were fighting. And so a quiet existence descended. Your mother taught you to hunt and command a falcon. By her hand you sat at council meetings. One day you would become Lady of Runestone and command these people. Unlike many other women, even high born ones, you would be permitted to wield power without the say so of a man. When your mother died Daemon came back for you. He tried to take you from Runestone but the lords protested. Swallowing his rage, Daemon would fly between his residences and Runestone. He was more involved now. because of your position Daemon would teach you battle strategy and swordplay. Daemon was determined to make you a proper ruling lady.

-'Block!' Daemon's sword came down from ahead and you only just blocked it. He did not relent with each blow, causing witnesses to shoot mistrusting looks. While Daemon was not being gentle there was a method to this. The world was not kind to women especially women who took the places men more often occupied. You must become strong enough to defend your own. And Daemon had a feeling war was not too far off. Daemon felt Rhea had been a poor teacher. He would not have some docile Andal lily for a daughter. Gods damn it you were a Targaryen. Each strike was used to test your ability. Eventually the sword was knocked aside. 'Dead.' Daemon pointed the sword to your chest. The he heaved you to your feet. 'Good.' Daemon was not one to hand out compliments. But you had done very well and made much progress. You gave him a small smile.

-Once you are older Daemon will have you visit him on Dragonstone. You never knew your first step mother Laena as you were too young to fly to Pentos on dragon back. But by the time he married Rhaenyra you were older and Dragonstone was closer. You would fly in on Willow and spend time with your father and the new editions. Your relationship with Rhaenyra is alright. She had always wanted a daughter but she remembers you are the daughter of Rhea and that always unsettles Rhaenyra. You like Baela and Rhaena well enough. Daemon is happy when you arrive. Even if he has a hard time showing it. As the eldest you are given the most responsibility. He has you informed of the comings and goings of political situation, and you help the Blacks keep ties with house Arryn. He places a lot of trust in you.

-You had come in late that night on Willow. Inwardly groaning with exhaustion you climbed off the dragon and staggered towards the castle. Your father was there to greet you. Nodding in acknowledgment Daemon turned and beckoned you inside. This might have been considered cold for a father, but from Daemon this was "warm", in his way. You followed him inside and he allowed you to quickly wipe down, change and eat. By the fire both of you sat till Daemon deemed you settled in enough. 'How are you unruly men?' He had never taken to the people of Runestone. 'They are just fine father.' You did not like your father talking like this. It made you feel unfaithful to those you lead. 'Good, and the Arryns?' He said this with less skepticism. 'I think if it comes to war they will side with us. Lady Jeyne Arryn was no love for Otto Hightower or his ilk.' 'Good.' He grunted. For a while the pair of you talked of these things until Daemon sent you to bed. As you got up he patted you on you shoulder. 'You've done well.'

Laena:

-You are born a year after Baela and Rhaena in Pentos. At the time Laena and Daemon were traveling Essos so you did not have a permeant home. Despite not living in Westeros at the time you were still a Targaryen, one of only a few. There were already discussions about your future. Daemon preferred for his family to remain in Westeros, perhaps you could marry a Pentoshi prince. Laena on the other hand would rather you marry into Westerosi aristocracy. You, along with your two sisters are brought up to be noblewomen like your mother. On the other hand Daemon is interested in teaching Valyrian ancestry and swordplay. His interest will hinge on how much you are like him. This does not mean Daemon does not love his children. But he does show more interest in his children who are dragon riders. Daemon is largely unaware of the effect it had on his children (i.e. Rhaena). Like your sisters you will get a dragon egg. It eventually hatches, but it takes a while.

-Daemon did not normally feel uncomfortable, especially around his own children. Last week his youngest daughter's dragon had hatched, a small grey think with spikey scales running up its neck. He had been undeniably proud of his daughter. Three years had passed since his now ten year old daughter had received her egg as name-day present from Viserys. Daemon had lost hope that her dragon would hatch. he would check if the two dragon eggs resting in the fireplace had hatched. Now only Rhaena's egg rested there. Y/n was sitting alone by the see with Kaeros on her lap. One day that dragon not be small like a kitten, but larger than any one of them. Daemon took a seat beside her. 'Your dragon hatched.' He felt foolish for posing such a silly question. Y/n would be a dragon rider and carry out the Targaryen traditions. Y/n shrugged her shoulders but said nothing. For a while they awkwardly sat beside one another till Y/n headed in.

-After Laena's death the family headed back to Westeros. Daemon married Rhaenyra and Dragonstone became home. It was very different from the warmth and vibrancy of Pentos. During this time Daemon and you became closer, although some distance remained. Because you were a little older the subject of marriage became prevalent. Daemon is very picky about who your future husband will be, only a Valyrian will be accepted. When your half brothers are born you become closer to Daemon. Sometimes the two of you will play with the children in their nursery.

-Baby Aegon totted on his legs towards you .A few spaces away at your father, newborn Viserys on his lap. 'The babies are staying with us, right?' Daemon looked up from his youngest. 'Of course.' 'Oh. I just thought that you might send them to be fostered with their future betrotheds family.' Daemon looked at you confused. 'What gave you that impression?' Shrugging, you replied; 'Just what your doing with me.' Daemon only looked more bewildered. 'I...we have no intentions sending you away.' Daemon had no idea why you had this idea. What he did not understand was the empty pit widening in your soul. This feeling of loneliness that threatened to devour you. All your life you had felt like an extension of the Targaryen name. You did not realize how deeply your father loved you. While the gap had somewhat lessened over time there were still things left unsaid. Then Daemon, for reasons you did not know, he set Viserys in his crib and got up. In a moment he was by your side. In an unexpected motion Daemon brought you into a hug. Not merely one in greeting or goodbye, but along, warm one. Gently you rested your head on his shoulder.

-As war broke over Westeros the dynamic between Daemon and yourself changed. You were his youngest daughter, too young to fight. He may have pride but even Daemon balked at the idea of sending his youngest, untested daughter into war. In the past few years your relationship improved greatly. The two of you had grown closer. But was would rip the two of you apart, forever.

-It was already unsettling enough to send Baela out to war, and have Rhaena so far away. You were to remain at Dragonstone. Not completely out of loop but not at the front like Baela. It made you taste bitterness. Why could he not see you were ready! Now was the time you should be tested. Your father had gone on and on about Targaryen pride. But here you were as cupbearer. Of course he preferred Baela to you, to Rhaena. As your father got ready to take Harrenhal you were hiding by a window, too angry to speak. At these moments you felt no more than a sulky child. 'Y/n.' Startled, you got up to see your father, fully plated in armor, coming forward. 'I'm heading out.' 'I know.' You replied. Standing there you did not know whether to say goodbye. Silently you feared for him. War was an ugly thing. 'I will send for you when the time comes.' This surprised you. 'Really?' Daemon let the ghost of a smile come across his lips. 'You are my daughter. A Targaryen. You belong with us.' Tears welled up in your eyes. Deep down you think; 'One day I will tell father I love him.' This was the last time you would see your father.

Rhaenyra: (au where Rhaenyra wins the war, Visenya survives and is your older sister)

-Daemon felt rather old when you came into the world. You had been born well after they thought Rhaenyra past childbirth. He was not sure how he felt about this newest edition. Having another child was no bad thing, but he just felt too hold. Although Daemon was still in good health he was no longer a young man. His joints had started to ache from long years of battle. This did mean he spent lots of time with you. He watched his youngest roll around in her cradle. There was some joy to be found in reading to you. This continued as you grew, learning stories of your family and Old Valyria. Soehow this gave Daemon some peace, and the pair of you grew close.

-Daemon was no stranger to fatherhood. As a father of three girls and two boys (not including Rhaenyra's children) this new baby was no surprise. What had struck Daemon was how very old he was. Now in his fifties Daemon found it a bit astounding to be this old and a father. If fact Daemon never though he would reach such an age. Men as reckless as the King Consort rarely lived to see such an age. Yet here we was, older and with knees that already started to ache. In the cradle was his youngest and likely last child. Y/n was fast asleep, wrapped up in a blanket. Daemon was not a sort man, and perhaps not the warmest father. But he did love his children. One finger reached in and the baby's hand shot out. With all her little might Y/n grasped him. her wide eyes met his and she gave him a toothless grin. Something warm stirred in daemon's head. "I'm becoming a sort old fool.' Daemon thought.

-Daemon read by the fire as you dozed off in bed. This was your favourite part of the day. When night had fallen and you listened to his soft voice lull you to sleep. Tonight he read of Queen Rhaenys, second wife to King Aegon. Even though your mother and sister preferred Queen Visenya you always admired Rhaenys's love for the arts. Out of all her siblings Rhaenys loved her dragon Meraxes best. You had named your own dragon after hers. Mother has tried to talk you out of it but to no avail. Your father continued to read stories of Targaryens long gone.

-'This one." You demanded. It was the end of the day and Daemon had come up to read. Already you were in bed with a book one your lap. Daemon was pleased to see it was about House Targaryens, the best house in all the realm (totally not a biased opinion). Sitting down Daemon picked up the book and flipped to chapter one. 'Not there.' You passed several chapters until landing on the one titled "Queen Rhaenys". Aegon the Conqueror's second wife had never truly captured his attention, not that he had anything against her. But you were his little girl and Daemon was more willing to capitulate in his older ager.

-Despite his advanced age Daemon will expect you to be well educated. The best teachers will be found. You will learn history, Valyrian, astronomy, philosophy, writing and much more. He sees no reason for you being female as a reason a child of his should not be well read. You share classes with Visenya and sometimes Viserys and Aegon. Sometimes Daemon will ask you to show him what you have learned. His interests mainly lye in Valyrian history so he will ask you to show him what it is you have learned. When all his daily duties are finished Daemon will sometimes listen to you talk about everything you have read that day. Even if it is not things he is particularly interested in. As he gets older Daemon becomes more sentimental and focuses more on his family.

-A quiet afternoon was upon Kings Landing. Daemon had just gotten out of a long meeting and was glad for it. he was sore all over from sitting so long and walked, alone, to take the edge off. His walking did have an aim. Y/n, his youngest, would be out of the schoolroom by now. Loneliness was not a feeling Daemon was well acquainted with. But with Rhaenyra gone to the North and Visenya being a ward of House Baratheon, Daemon found himself lacking family members. Jacaerys and Baela had gone on tour in the West, Rhaena gone to see her Arryn friends. The other children were being wards elsewhere. daemon finally arrived outside the schoolroom. he remembered days when he and Viserys were sometimes tutored here. Just as he arrived Y/n burst out. 'Daddy!' Y/n gave her father a great hug. Daemon ruffled her messy hair before inquiring what she had learned today. As she chattered away they found themselves in the courtyard. Under the Weirwood they sat together. Sunlight beat down upon them, Daemon finally relaxed.

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 5

Check out part 1 here.

Every time John brought in a shirt, pair of pants, or suit coat to get fixed it got harder and harder to stop yourself from touching him. Touching him casually, obviously. You weren’t going to up and grope the man. But fuck you bet it would be as amazing as your dreams alluded it might be. He would probably, rightfully, hit you if you did. John seemed bashful around you and his body.

Watching him pull off a sweater in the colder weather became a fascinating trial of self-restraint. The man had a happy trail and a small bump of flesh pushing above the waist of his pants. You wanted to lick that happy trail until he gripped you by the hair and bite his stomach, just gnaw on it. Hair covered him, not an excessive amount but a light dusting that you want to pet.

The sweater he handed you had a hole in the cuff. After he graced you with a smile, that you returned by rote, he turned to the back room. Watching him slip beyond the door every time he came to visit made you want to follow him. Dammit, your new vibrator couldn’t arrive fast enough.

You lived life fine without sex or orgasms until one John Price looked so delectable you wanted nothing more than to sink your teeth into him and hold on like a bulldog. The vibrator would hopefully take the edge off the yearning and sand the edge of your annoyance with dealing with your mother.

She had been hounding you since you had left her house ‘in a huff’ about Christmas. You had managed to dodge her calls, replying via text that you were busy with work and couldn’t talk. Mid-November the damn nearly broke. She sent your father to the shop.

Looking up as the door bell dinged you smiled when you saw your father.

“Hi, Pops! Surprise to see you here.”

Finishing your current project to the point of being able to step away you joined him in front of the counter. After a quick hug, you gestured for him to sit down.

“What brings you by?” You look him over. He sits tall even with age dragging at his bones and color leeching from his hair.

“Your mother sent me,” he says in his quiet, firm voice.

That is all it took. Leaning back in the chair you cross your arms and your legs. The sour look on your communicates your displeasure. Feeling fifteen again sat uncomfortably in your grown body.

“I don’t have anything to say to my mother right now.”

Pops gave you a slow blink that told you so much. He didn’t want to be here, but for the sake of his marriage, he would. His wife bullied and nagged at him until he came to play peacemaker.

“She is upset that you are not talking to her, says you are avoiding calls about Christmas.”

“I am avoiding calls about Christmas. I already called Nana and I will be spending Christmas with her.”

Both Pops’ brows lifted, he spoke to his mother once a month when your mother went to visit her mother.

“If you don’t mind I’ll send her gift up with you then if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind that at all.”

“Why the distance with your mother?”

“She doesn’t listen to me, or like me. She is always siding with my brother in every disagreement and I’m done. I hate the way she treats me and unless she is willing to go therapy I don’t want to talk to her.” The words coated your mouth like vomit.

You had never said these things out loud outside of therapy. In therapy, you ranted that your mother hated you and regretted having you but that wasn’t something you were willing to dump on your father.

“She is upset about the silence,” Pops hedges.

“She makes me upset every time I see her so this feels fair.”

The look your father sends you sends you back to the age of seven as you hold out the broken porcelain doll you had been told repeatedly to not touch. Before either of you can pick the tug-of-war conversation back up the door bell dings. Looking up you can feel the weight of the chat with your father fall away.

John stands in the doorway, a wooden box tucked under one arm. He stomps his feet on the mat and lets the door fall shut behind him. Eager to escape the chat with your Pops you stand.

“John! I wasn’t expecting you today.” He had been yesterday and tended to keep anywhere from four days to three weeks between visits. If he would be gone longer he made sure to mention.

Smiling at nodding once at your father he set his box on the counter. Stepping around to your side of the space you examine the piece with your eyes like you do with clothing.

“I wanted to confirm you liked the design before I started to stain and line it.”

John turned the jewelry box around, watching your face as you examined each corner and the neat construction of it.

You glance up at him, the same look in your eye that you get before you start touching the clothing while he is in it.

“Can I touch?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

Damn if only he could get you to say that about him instead of objects. Any part of him. Really, even his pinky.

The man you had been having an intense chat with stood, drawing John’s attention away from you. The older man stepped around the counter, placing a hand on your back and a kiss to your hair. John’s stomach met the top of his boots.

“Goodbye sweetheart, I will call you later this week to finish this chat.”

“There isn’t anything else I have to say on the matter Pops. She can go to therapy or she can leave me alone.” You don’t look up from slowly rotating the piece in front of you.

“She’s still your mother.”

“And I’m still her daughter, not that that has ever gotten me a modicum of love from her.”

He hums in response, giving John a nod as he heads past him into the cold.

As the ding rings out in time with the blast of cold air you slump forward onto folded arms on the counter.

“John, would you lock the door please?”

Without question, he does as requested. Stepping back to the counter he looks you over.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He probes gently.

“No,” you bite the word out at the countertop.

“Can I show you more about your gift then?”

John knew how to push and when to pull away from the pain and try again later.

“There’s more?” Your head pops up, eyes filled with tears.

Pulling out each drawer he showed you the differences. Two drawers had inserts to increase the storage space. Three were empty and one had been left half filled with wood. Tipping that drawer to John you lifted a brow.

“I know you mentioned you don’t wear rings often but it felt odd to not give you any storage space for them. My mum had heirloom rings she held onto and hated having no good storage for them,” he explained.

Setting the drawer down gently you cover your mouth with one hand and hug yourself tight with the other. John is confused until you let out a small sob, and then he is terrified. What the fuck did he do?

“Sorry, ignore me,” you sob out.

Fuck off, that had no chance of happening. Stepping around the counter John doesn’t wait to ask you for permission, pulling you into his arms.

You cry until you can pull the reigns back on the overly large emotions and shove them back in the box meant for therapy. Leaning back you move away from John. His hands drop slowly, keeping contact with you until they hang at his sides.

“Better?”

You sniff as you tip your head back and forth.

“Meh?”

Looking away from his probing blue eyes you pull a tissue from your shelf. Carefully blowing your nose, because you’ve already cried on the man no need to make it worse by being loud now, you keep your eyes down.

“Why don’t you tell me about it as you finish looking it over? I have more to show you,” John picks up a drawer, rotating it between his hands.

Filling your lungs as deep as you can you try and think of a way out of this. Seeing none within easy reach you decide to get to know him better.

“How about a truth for a truth?”

He glances at you from below his beanie.

“I won’t be sharing any state secrets no matter how pretty you ask.”

His deadpan delivery shocks a laugh out of you.

“What would I do with state secrets other than give myself an ulcer?”

John has a big laugh. You love it instantly.

“Fair point that.”

You trade truths as he shows you how to access the portion of the box that holds necklaces. The top of the box shifts forward. The back wall can be lifted out if a necklace falls from the hooks he will install. You tell John of your rocky relationship with your mother, and he tells you of the distant but decent relationship he has with his siblings.

“You’ve really thought of everything haven’t you?” You start to slide the drawers back into place.

“I have a lot of time on my hands on missions,” he holds out another drawer.

“Can you tell me what this is?” You point at the joint of the drawer you had taken from his hand.

“The joint?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like most furniture I see nowadays. I’ve seen it once on my great grandmother’s dresser drawers,” you look to him.

Seeing the words form in his mind is fascinating.

“‘S called dovetailing. Bit more work but holds joints better than glue alone like most pieces are made with anymore.”

Brushing a finger over the joint you are amazed by the smoothness and dare you say softness of the wood.

“This is lovely John. Much better than I expected. You will tell me how much I owe you when this is all done?”

Watching his eyes crinkle is a treat, even if his expression says he thinks you’re being silly.

“Don’t owe me a thing. Let me use your shop for naps for the low price of a fix to the clothes I bring in? This is the least I can do. You don’t even badger me for state secrets,” he winked at you.

Your cheeks have to be blushing, thankfully you can’t feel the heat radiating off them. Focusing on putting everything away you start speaking again.

“I will be gone the week of Christmas. I am going to be up north with my Nana. Did you possibly want my number so we can coordinate a gift exchange?”

“Don’t need to get me a gift,” John eyes you with suspicion.

“And you don’t need to give me this well-crafted box for free but we find ourselves at an impasse.” You lift a brow at him, liking the drop in your stomach as he narrows his eyes at you. “Do you want my number?”

“Yes, give me your phone and I will text myself.” He shifts from foot to foot, eyes tracing your features.

You pass your phone, number pad ready. After he punches his number in he calls himself instead, the phone carrier-assigned tone ringing out from his pocket.

Taking your phone back you smile at the connection to him.

“There, now you can just text me if you need a nap instead of stealing your men’s clothes.” Glancing up at him you continue, “At this point, I’m almost wondering if you are causing more tears just to come see me.”

John felt the alarm bells go off in his brain. You were onto him somehow. Play it cool John, you can bluff a terrorist cell you can do it to one woman.

“And if I am?”

You have the cutest nose scrunch as if you don’t believe him.

“I don’t think you are but just in case you better knock it off before they start hiding their clothes from you.”

John laughs again, keenly aware that he hasn’t laughed this much since Roach got so tipsy trying to out-drink Gaz that he couldn’t stand right. Gaz had also promptly fallen over when trying to prove he wasn’t that drunk.

“I’ll text you. This,” he placed his hand on the box, “Will be done after Christmas. Want to get together for New Year maybe?”

Smiling at him you folded your arms and tugged the inside of your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Stay safe out there John.”

“Always do.” He left with a wave and a smile, unlocking the door on his way out.

Masterlist

[milkiedimitrescu]

Sooo i made a kinda creepy thing

(so I might've accidentally made a whole introductory to a whole new fic idea) GUYS I KNOW I HAD AN AU ART I STILL NEEDED TO MAKE HOLD ON LET ME COOK

ok

So like

yeah just press the "keep reading" and see for yourself bro

You are aimlessly are wandering around the corridors of the Dungeon of Castle Dimitrescu, Previously you had come to visit after it had seemingly became abandoned after its inhabitants died, and there was nothing left.

This was shortly after the big explosion that destroyed every aspect of the village. (You know why, fellow reader. :)) You were exploring room from room, and Hall by Hall, gathering information on what might've happened to the past owners of this Castle.

And that's when you discover the current place your in. The dungeon corridors deep underground. You have heard this is where the Lady Dimitrescu chased Ethan winters, and supposedly he had escaped. Gathering enough information, you have come to the conclusion, Ethan had killed the Dimitrescu family for his daughter, How protective of him. You mused. But you needed more answers, on your mission.

You continue exploring, taking in the environment. It was decaying and there were some walls that were destroyed, seemingly. You found where the dagger that killed Lady Dimitrescu just outside the castle before you got there and kept it safely in your item carrier.

Until, suddenly, you hear a woman, whisper in your ear. She sounded like she would have a deep, rich, velvety, sultry, voice. Soft, yet a bit commanding.

"I'm still here. Turn around." She whispered, in your left ear.

But it shook you to the core. You flinched at the sudden voice. And you quickly turned around to see the source of the noise and only found that nothing was there. You were alone. Well, you were supposed to be alone, but now you feel paranoid, on the edge that someone or something else is down here with you. It's quite dark in this dungeon so you reached into your item carrier that you carried around like a backpack, and grabbed a candle holder you collected from Lady Dimitrescu's private chambers. You inhaled, and exhaled and grabbed your lighter, lit it up, and lit each candle on the candle holder, before safely putting the lighter back in the bag.

It's way too quiet down here. You feel like you are being watched, like a predator, spying on their prey. You thought in the corner of your eye, you saw a long tall shadow staring at you from the distance before quickly disappearing but you quickly dismissed it as something your mind was making up, due to the fact you were alone in empty halls. Until,

"I'm behind you."

The voice again! You stopped dead in your tracks, heart pounding profusely. You were practically frozen in utter terror. You think you are being haunted by a spirit, from the castle. Your scared to turn aroun-

"Turn. Around." The voice of this... Woman, was captivating, much more commanding than last time. She seemed to really want you to see her.... You shakily breathed in and out, and did it. Finally, with courage, and bravery to face whoever else was down you in the dungeon,

...

...

Who the living hell is that...? You thought out loud quietly, to yourself. There was a tall, shadow figure. Standing before you in a softly candle lit hallway where seemed to be a lever. Her eyes... So piercing into your soul. They were glowing red and seemed almost dead. She tilted her head at you, endeared by your paranoia. Her aura, she had shadowy particles coming from each part of her body. It looked like she was wearing a dress and a hat. Could this be..?

"Fear not, child. I won't hurt you."

She took a step forward towards you. Her shadowy aura trailing behind her.

"This is only a dream, I'm afraid. But, in real-time. I want you to come to Castle Dimitrescu. Find a way to bring me and my family back to life. We oh, so crave it dear. That man..." She scoffed looking to the side, gazing to that single barrel that was leaning on the side of the wall just somewhere near her, seemingly deep in thought. "That man killed my daughters... For the sake of his own daughter. Then... Killed me." She looked back at you.

"Find my crystal, and my daughters ones aswell. We need to be brought back in order to live in peace again. The castle, is now the only place we haunt, yet an echo, of are unfortunate fates."

She took another few steps closer to you till you were now both in front of each other. Couching down, she whispered, Her red eyes glowing in hope,

"I believe you are the chosen one, dear. To free us, from this misery. You hold more power than you believe,"

"Wake up." She whispered harshly. Her shadowy aura consuming you whole, leaving you in nothing but a void and a pair of red orbs staring back at you.

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

Gasping, you sat up from your hotel bed breathing fast, and checked the time on your watch, and saw it was 9 AM. Just the time you were going to get ready to leave to go to the village, to find out more about what happened in there. But... You already knew... That dream you had, everything was clear to you. It felt real, like Lady Dimitrescu actually spoke to you, telling you about bringing her and her family back.

But you heard of the atrocities she committed... you heard of the terror she had caused when she was alive, and still living in that Castle along with her daughters.

Loudly Sighing, you leaned back to lay back down,

"What the hell, man."

[flowersbane]

⚠️ MAJOR spoilers below for the ending of Dragon Age: The Veilguard ⚠️

this is a fic i wrote after completing the game. intended for solavellan besties who want a little more solavellan content because the ending just wasn’t enough (nothing would’ve been enough i need that man carnally)

Epilogue

Solas 🤍 Lavellan

Solas wakes in the Fade after falling into a restful slumber following the fight with Elgar’nan and his archdemon.

Word Count: 721

Rating: T

Tags: Solas’s POV, Kind of a Fix-It Fic?, Unedited (too busy crying), Solavellan Heaven

AO3 Link ✔️

The first thing he perceived was birdsong. It reached him through the darkness of sleep and began pulling him from his slumber. As his senses returned to him, his surroundings became known. He was laying on a bed. Sunlight was warming his face. His movement was no longer accompanied by the heaviness of his armor, only the weight of his soreness. A soft groan sounded from his lips as he turned onto his side. Then, his memories hit him like a storm. The Inquisitor. The Veil. The Fade. Panic tore through him, making him alert and fully awake. Before he could act, however, the door to the room he was in swung open.

Lavellan, in the same clothes she had worn in Skyhold, entered. Sunlight illuminated her hair from behind, making her as radiant as she always appeared to be. When their eyes met, he wondered if the guilt would outweigh the grief or if it would be the other way around.

“I should not have allowed you to come with me.”

She stared at him, expression unreadable and gaze steady.

“I was spent from my battle with Elgar’nan’s archdemon, I was not thinking clearly, and you…” He hadn’t had the strength to fully recognize her presence. After spending so many years watching her through the Fade and through her dreams, a part of him could not believe that she was truly before him once again; that she had forgiven him. “It is not an excuse. I will find a way to return you to the world, where you will be able to live your life with the people you love.”

“Why?”

The question startled him. He froze in the process of rising from his bed. “Pardon?”

“Why would you do that? I did not ask you to, so why?”

He sank back into the mattress, brows drawing together. “Vhenan–”

“No! Don’t you vhenan me.” She lifted her chin in a show of defiance that made his memories swirl. Her face when they argued. The confidence with which she led the inquisition with. Her expression before every adversary she ever encountered and bested. “I made my decision to follow you, you do not get to take that from me. You do not get to decide what is best for me. Not anymore. The only reason I will leave is if you ask me to because you no longer love me.” There was an uncertainty in her gaze that he had not often seen. In truth, he had only ever caught glimpses of it after Crestwood. “Do you not love me?”

He rose from the bed. “I do.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could fully consider them. “I have only ever loved you, but it is selfish of me to keep you here when I know there are many who love you beyond this place.”

“You still don’t get it. You are not keeping me here. I want to be here, I want to be with you.” The look on her face threatened every thread of his pride’s will. “I love you, Solas.”

His hands moved on their own, palm pressing against the side of her face. “I love you too, vhenan.” He moved his hand to the back of her neck and leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. Her closeness was the warmth of the sun after a long winter. She was the return home after a long war. Comforts he did not deserve. “But what of your friends? Your family? Your clan?”

“You are my heart. Do you expect me to live without my heart?”

The threads came undone. He pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that felt immortal. It was every kiss they had ever shared and every kiss they would share from then on. He wrapped his arms around her and closed the distance between their bodies. They could not be close enough. When they finally pulled away from one another, he could not stop himself from kissing her again, shorter this time but laced with all the longing he had caged during the years they had been apart. “I love you. Forgive me, vhenan, I love you.”

She placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.” She planted another closer to his cheek. “Solas.”

[separatist-apologist]

The Other Side Of The Apocalypse

What would you trade the pain for?

Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.

Note: Sending my love.

Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter・Masterlist

Chapter 7/9: The Sunshine Of My Lifetime

Rhys couldn’t get the taste of Feyre out of his mouth. 

He’d tried, scrubbing his teeth twice and rinsing his mouth with something minty first, before chugging a cup of wine. Still, the sweetness of her lingered, making each step toward the sixth court miserable. Rhys wanted to return to Dawn and stay for the rest of his life, ideally.

But Feyre had been the one to insist they leave, Cassian trailing just behind her. Rhys liked Cassian, trading barbs and jokes for the better part of the morning. And his presence kept Rhys from grilling Feyre about their shared kiss.

Had she done it on purpose?

Had she enjoyed herself? 

Did she want to kiss him again?

Predictably, Feyre betrayed nothing, her face placid, blue eyes focused on the path before them. Thesan had taken them directly to the border with a casual remark about the tunnels between Dawn, Day, and Night closed for obvious reasons. Feyre had nodded sagely, but Rhys had no fucking idea what that mean. Closed for what obvious reason? 

Cassian walked between the pair of them, talking about anything and everything while Feyre stared into the distance. The air had become warmer and more humid with each step they took toward the Day Court palace. They should have asked Thesan to winnow them straight to the door.

Did there need to be so many rocky hillsides? Did the sun need to be so unrelenting? The sky so cloudless? 

“Tell me about Day Court,” Rhys said, trying to distract himself from how sweaty he was, and more so with how sweaty Feyre was. Tendrils of golden brown hair curled around her face while little beads of sweat slid down her neck, tracing a path he’d like to follow with his tongue. 

“You mean Prythian’s best court?” Cassian asked, earning a dark look from Feyre. “Day Court is home of countless scholars and even more libraries. All the knowledge of our people is housed here. It was the first court to be subdued in the ah…curse. The rest fell like dominoes.” “What can I expect?” Rhys heard himself asking, eyes darting from the unending hillsides stretched before him and Feyre half hidden by Cassian’s bulk. 

Cassian only shrugged, wings pulled tight. “I guess we’ll find out together.”

“Are you going to be helping?” Feyre snapped, wiping her brow on the back of her hand.

“Oh, I’ll leave that to you two humans,” Cassian replied with a grin. “I just need to speak with the prince.”

“The one who owes you money?”

“Lucien,” Cassian agreed, far more forthcoming than Feyre had ever been. “I haven’t seen him since the curse. I never thought I’d miss the bastard.”

“We just need to get in and get out,” Feyre said in that straightforward way of hers. 

“Eager to see the Lord of Night?” Cassian questioned. “You’re on your own for that fight.”

“Tell me about him,” Rhys said quickly, earning an exasperated sigh from Feyre.

“He can’t—he’s bound by the magic of the curse,” she said as Cassian opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. “They aren’t supposed to help us.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tag along, see you get to the final trial in one piece,” Cassian said. It was more than that, though. Cassian had a mate riding on the outcome of things, and Rhys didn’t think he’d leave until she was either freed, or they were all dead. He couldn’t help, but that didn’t mean he had to stand idly by, either. 

He almost asked Cassian to just fly them there. Surely, with all those muscles, he could handle it. “There it is,” Feyre murmured, pointing at a blinding light in the distance. The palace, Rhys realized, with spires that seemed to touch the sun itself. The golden dome reflected the sunlight back at them, causing him to shield his eyes with his hands the closer they got.

Unlike the other courts, the Day Court palace was situated atop a winding hilltop they were forced to climb, overlooking what must have once been a bustling city. Where had everyone gone? Had they fled? He wanted to open the doors of the empty homes and try and make sense of it. 

Feyre trailed ahead, her back to Rhys. It was a nightmare—he couldn’t focus on anything but the sway of her hips and the way her braid moved back and forth from her shoulder to her spine. Cassain hung back, his expression wary, nostrils flared. 

“I’ll leave you here,” he murmured, not getting close to the entrance of the palace. 

“What about the prince?”

“I’ll talk to him when this is all resolved,” Cassian said, wings flaring. Rhys started to ask what he knew, but Feyre had vanished within the palace and Rhys felt compelled to follow her. The air smelled salty both inside and outside the expansive, marble palace. Was it beautiful? Perhaps the most beautiful place he’d ever seen?

The temperature dropped considerably once they were out of the sun, offering immediate relief. He could have used some water, but all things considered, Rhys was feeling a lot better than he had a few moments earlier. He jogged after Feyre, who was all but sprinting through the palace. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, reaching out for her arm. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all day.”

“Rhys,” she breathed, and was it his imagination or were her cheeks flushed? Eyes dark? Fuck, he wanted to kiss her. “We need to just…do this.”

“We do?” he gaped, mouth falling open.

Feyre exhaled, her breath sweet against his face. When had he gotten so close. “The trial. We need…Rhys…”

“Just one kiss,” he murmured, sliding his palm over her cheek. He was so close—his lips all but touching hers, when the sound of shoes on marble began to echo around them.

All of Prythian was conspiring against him, he thought as Feyre skittered back, hands balled to fists at her sides. With her back pressed to the wall, Feyre turned to the hall where the obvious High Lord approached. Rhys would have known him even without the obnoxious golden crown set atop his onyx hair.

“The human who has come to save my home,” he said, offering an outstretched hand to Rhys. He ignored Feyre entirely as if he didn’t see her, and though Rhys bristled that he was getting all the credit, he accepted the warm hand all the same. “Welcome to Rhodes.”

Rhys offered what he hoped was a charming smile, trying to match the man—male—before him. 

“Helion Spell-Cleaver,” Feyre said smoothly, unbothered in a way Rhys could only ever hope to achieve. “I thought you were locked up.”

“Life finds a way,” he replied, not bothering to explain himself to either of them. “Where’s Cassian?”

“How do you know Cassian is here?”

Helion rolled golden eyes, turning to look wholly at Feyre. Rhys didn’t like the look on the fae males face—that unguarded lust, that open hunger. It didn’t help that Helion was, by far, the most beautiful man—male—they’d encountered thus far. It didn’t help that he wore a white piece of material wrapped around his waist and secured with a heavy, circular piece of gold shaped like the sun, an arm cuff, and some wrist braces and absolutely nothing else. 

He might as well have been naked—Rhys could all but see the curve of his ass beneath the cloth.

“I can scent him,” Helion replied. 

“You know why he didn’t come in.”

Helion sighed. “This may be my last opportunity. Ah, well. You’re here…where did you start?”

Feyre’s eyes flickered to Rhys before she looked back at Helion. “Spring.”

“Is my court all that’s left?”

“And night,” she murmured, her voice taking on a softer quality. “But the others are liberated.”

There was a question lingering that the male didn’t dare ask, though his expression seemed to burn with it. He merely shrugged his shoulders as if it didn’t matter, glancing at Rhys again. “It won’t be as easy to liberate my home.”

“Respectfully, we killed a dragon,” Rhys snapped, his temper getting the better of him. Helion was walking around, wasn’t he? How bad could it be? He just wanted to get things over with so he could corner Feyre somewhere and demand she talk to him about what had happened earlier. 

We kissed! 

Feyre glanced away, eyes lingering on the floor beneath them. 

“Drinking the wine makes it worse,” Helion told her before gesturing for them both to follow. “The task itself is simple. Walk through the throne room and destroy the burning incense.” Rhys’ steps faltered. “That’s it?”

Surely there was more to it. Helion threw Rhys a smile that irritated him and nodded. “That’s it.”

“Why haven’t you done it, then?”

“Rhys,” Feyre hissed, clearly frustrated. Helion only chuckled, pulling open the double doors to his throne room. The smell was cloyingly sweet and strangely salty, choking Rhys’s lungs as he blinked away tears. Coughing, Rhys waved at the fog in front of his face. Was it poison, then? Something the fae could withstand but would kill himself and Feyre? 

He turned around to step back in the hall, but the doors had swung shut behind him. Helion was sauntering toward the large, golden throne situated upon an elevated dais. The floor itself was littered with pillows and bodies…all of which were naked. Were they dead?

No, he realized as hands began gliding up torsos. It was…it was…

“Is this an orgy?” Rhys whispered, eyes massive.

“We just…we walk across…the room,” Feyre reminded him, her eyes strangely unfocused. Rhys couldn’t stop staring at her. She’d put on clean clothes made of fine, Dawn Court material—the flowing white pants hugged her hips and the pale pink top shifted and rustled with each breath, revealing little bits of her tanned torso. The little wisps of hair framed her beautiful face and when she looked up at him, Rhys was struck by just how much smaller than him she was.

How they might fit together. 

“Feyre,” he murmured, walking toward her. They had a moment. It was strange how easy it was to forget what was happening in that cavernous room. The sunlight pouring through open windows illuminated her form, turning the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose into a glowing constellation of stars. 

Her lips parted, but no words escaped.

“You kissed me,” he reminded her, reaching for her face. Her skin was soft beneath his palm, and he could resist running his thumb over her plush lips. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Neither can I,” she admitted, sliding her fingers over his wrist to hold his hand in place. “But Rhys—”

“Let me just…” he lowered his face, waiting for the resistance to come. Feyre only tilted her chin toward him, her grip tightening. 

“Just one,” she whispered. 

“Just one,” he swore. There would be others when they finished their embarrassingly simple task. He’d kiss her for luck, they’d destroy the incense, and then he’d ask for a private room and see what he could get away with. 

It was better than the first one. Perhaps because it lacked urgency, or simply because he knew she was seeing him. Really seeing him, touching him, offering herself to him. Rhys couldn’t help the groan that escaped him, teeth scraping her bottom lip. Feyre pressed closer, hand leaving his wrist to grip his shoulders. He was barely conscious of himself, especially when she sighed against his lips, nails digging through the fabric of his shirt.

Rhys hadn’t realized he’d hauled her up into the air until her legs wrapped around his waist, causing her body to rub against his erection. Fuck. In the list of things he hadn’t noticed, his rapidly hardening cock was one of them. The other was the room they were in slowly coming to life. The once lethargic bodies began to rouse themselves, touching and tasting without concern for who might be watching.

Rhys could relate to that. He was only peripherally aware of his surroundings, especially when Feyre’s tongue slid into his mouth. Mother above, but Rhys lost all sense of self at that moment. She tasted better than he’d dreamt, hazy and sweet in a dizzying concoction. Rhys needed…he needed more. He was desperate, quenching his thirst for the first time in his life. 

She tugged at his hair, pulling his head back so she could all but devour him. Rhy’s knees shook, though he remained standing only through the grace of the gods above them.

“Walk, Rhys,” she pleaded, her voice breathless with arousal. That’s what she said. What he heard her say, however, was a different matter entirely. 

Fuck me until I forget my name, Rhys. 

He took a step, stopping when her thighs clenched around his middle. How was he supposed to do anything? All he could think about was the sweet taste of pear and lilac invading his senses and how her breasts kept rubbing against his chest. 

“Not like this,” he whispered, well aware that he’d take her however she offered herself. Even here, in this place, surrounded by strangers that both watched and touched and tasted within inches of themselves. 

“Stop talking,” Feyre replied, teeth grazing his bottom lip. Who was he to argue with her? After everything they’d been through and everything they’d seen, didn’t they deserve a chance to relax? To enjoy themselves after what felt like months of non-stop fighting and walking and faerie politics. He wasn’t convinced they’d survive, and worse still, was his fear that when it was over, she’d want nothing to do with him again.

He’d see her in the village, pass by without any recognition in her eyes. She’d find some other man, one who suited her better, and Rhys would spend the rest of his life like his father—mourning a woman he’d lost and punishing everyone around him for his misery. 

His arm was wrapped around her waist, free hand gripping her hair tight enough he could feel the tension on her scalp. She couldn’t leave him. He simply wouldn’t allow it. 

Their mouths collided in a symphony of pent-up need. Rhys groaned at the taste of her, sweet and heady just the way he remembered. Feyre was voracious, untethered from whatever restraint typically bound her. Raking her nails through his hair, Feyre gripped him just as tightly as he held her, holding him in place with each rough, frantic kiss. 

They weren’t the only ones, though they were rapidly becoming one of the few left with their clothes on. Rhys was vaguely aware of what was happening around him, just as he was aware that he was still dressed even when he didn’t want to be.

Feyre, either, it seemed, given that she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head without a second thought. Rhys stared, momentarily blinded by her undergarments which she quickly removed as well. Feyre was there, in his arms, without a shirt. Rhys didn’t know how to act—sure, he’d seen other women without their clothes on.

He’d never seen this woman without a shirt, though. And right then, he may as well have never seen a pair of breasts in his life. They were perfect, deserving of poetry sonnets, of portraits hung in the palaces of kings, of the sort of worship he would never master. That didn’t stop him from walking six steps to the left toward an elevated platform where the High Lords throne sat. Helion was otherwise occupied by two males and a female perched rather neatly atop his face. 

Rhys was jealous of the scene—he wanted Feyre on his face, too. He’d take whatever he could get, and right then what he’d managed was setting her atop the purple cushioned seat so he could fall to his knees before her as nothing more than her eager supplicant. 

“What are you doing?” she whispered, chest flushed as it rose and fell rapidly. Feyre’s eyes, usually a pretty, starlit blue, were so dark they seemed black to him. 

“What I should have done the day I met you,” he replied, well aware he had no authority to make her a princess anywhere but in his own life. Maybe that was enough? Worshiping only at her altar,  restructuring his worldview so she was the most central star illuminating his otherwise dreary world.

It was a simple thing to unlace her boots and toss them behind him. Running his hands up her thighs, Rhys swore he felt heat emanating from just between. Maybe it was wishful thinking–he wouldn’t know until he got his hands and face between them. He hated those well-made pants, hated the way she knotted the laces at the waistband and how clumsy his large fingers felt trying to undo the knot. Feyre merely watched, tugging at her braided hair as if she were nervous. 

He managed to undo the laces, relieved when she lifted her hips to help him shimmy her out of them. There she was, wholly naked, perched atop that throne with flushed cheeks and bitten lips. He didn’t know what to do, suddenly, his mind clouded by desire and indecision. What if she didn’t like whatever he did? What if she woke in the morning and changed her mind?

What if you overthink this and never get another change?

Rhys leaned up on his aching knees, ignoring his own discomfort to kiss her again.

And again.

And again. 

He forgot he was wedged between her legs, so caught up in the taste of her mouth and how good her tongue felt stroking his own. He needed nothing more, he thought. Rhys’ mind couldn’t stay focused on his long term goals. Kissing her felt good and that was all that mattered. He had time, besides. They didn’t need to go anywhere else. There was no rush to the act, no great hurry. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt that wasn’t quite true. 

He’d worry about it later. How often was the woman of his dreams splayed out naked before him? Rhys pulled away, breathless and desperate. Ignoring his aching cock rubbing against his own trousers, which suddenly felt uncomfortably tight. His indecision left him the moment his fingers grazed her exposed navel, tracing a few errant freckles dotted along her ribcage. 

His hands found her breasts, teasing the peaked nipple with the rough padding of his thumbs. Feyre arched her neck upward, eyes fluttering shut. She liked that. Rhys felt the way a dog must when praised by its master—all he wanted was to please her. It felt instinctual, like his purpose and reasoning for being. Rhys dared to lower his mouth, taking that same nipple into his mouth. Feyre cried out softly, a mere whisper of pleasure that ignited an inferno within him. He forgot himself, trying to elicit that sound again. While his tongue worked, making promises he fully intended to keep, his fingers began to push apart her legs. 

It was curiosity, truly, that made him want to touch her. He wanted to know if she was half as aroused as he was—if she felt the same way. Feyre was so guarded, so careful with her emotions and Rhys never quite knew where he stood with her. Her body wouldn’t lie, though—if she was aroused, he’d know.

Gliding his fingers through her cunt, he found a mess. He could have wept at how wet she was, how easily he slid right into her. Rhys wanted to abandon all logic, replace his fingers, and fuck her until the two of them passed out in a heap of sweaty limbs. 

Maybe just a taste, he reasoned to himself. That was all he needed. It was a pretty lie bouncing around his skull, and the realization he’d lied to himself, however trivial, pulled him back to reality for just a moment.

The throne room had devolved into a mass of writhing bodies performing every sexual act imaginable. Twisting to look behind him, Rhys’ mouth fell open at the sight of all those entangled limbs. Never in his life had he seen anything like what was happening before him, the pure bacchanalian display momentarily stunning him.

He was supposed to be ending this—he remembered, now. The incense was still burning, still close enough that he could simply rise back to his feet and extinguish it. It would be so easy, too—but Rhys lacked the willpower. His mistake was looking back at Feyre, legs draped over each arm of the throne, displaying the prettiest cunt he’d ever seen.

Was he supposed to tell her no? Rhys would rather be trapped by the curse forever than have her think he was rejecting her. It wasn’t going anywhere, he repeated to himself as he trailed his tongue down the flat plain of her stomach. He’d already forgotten what it was—but he trusted he’d remember later—when it mattered. 

All that mattered to him then was the woman in front of him. Something was happening to him—something that had never happened before. Warmth flooded down to his very marrow, his chest tight as he struggled to draw breath. He glanced up at Feyre and her midnight dark eyes and wondered if she knew what this feeling was.

He could guess, but if he sat back to untangle it, he’d ruin everything. She didn’t want to hear it—Rhys knew her well enough to know the unspoken truth between them, that there was only so much Feyre could handle at any given time. There, vulnerable and naked, eyes pleading with him to finish what they’d begun, Rhys didn’t dare say a word.

He merely pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, the realization clanging like a bell in his head.

I’m in love with you.

Two courts, he reminded himself, kissing the other leg while holding her gaze. They’d figure out how to undo the curse in Day, and move on to Night, and then…and then they’d be free. Forever changed by what they’d seen and lived through, bonded and connected just as surely as any chain between them, only this one seemed to be wrapped around his heart rather than his wrist. He needed her, and he didn’t believe she didn’t need him, even if she thought she could rely only on herself.

She’d gone to the ends of the earth for her sisters, had risked life and liberty to see them unshackled from whatever spell housed them. Rhys simply meant to be that for her. He’d make the same journey to save her, would give up everything for her if she asked. Already, on his knees before her, his queen, his goddess, his northernmost star, Rhys would have done anything she asked of him.

And more.

He was close to reciting poetry, which seemed a shame given Rhys didn’t know any poetry. He’d studied it, once, but he’d been too busy screwing around with his friends and his sword to commit any of it to memory. What a waste, he thought, gaze slipping to the wet, pink cunt before him. Feyre’s body deserved at least a ballad at the very least. A sonnet or two about her perfect form. Surely someone must have.

He’d kill them.

Feyre raked her fingers through his hair, pushing at his face gently, though he wished she’d be rough. Tell him what to do—that was her way, after all. It seemed uncharacteristic of her to leave the decision in his hands when Rhys had come to enjoy being bossed around by a woman not half his weight or height. Rhys smothered a smile and finished what Feyre had started.

It was magic moving them, and magic that made her taste like some sort of elixir that granted immortality. Rhys couldn’t stifle the moan that rose up threw his throat and seemed to echo louder than the music around them. Fuck. Was it just anticipation, or something else? He didn’t know—didn’t care. His tongue found her again, licking slowly up the length of her and back down. Feyre’s hair was falling from his clasp, longer than he remembered as the long, golden brown strands framed her flushed face. She seemed otherworldly to him, shimmering with the same need that he felt bubbling in his blood.

Rhys forgot how his knees were aching, the cold marble seeping through his trousers to lodge itself against his spine. For all he knew, they were floating in some ethereal plane, the only two people left in the world. This was what he’d been born to do, and it would take the very gods themselves to pull him off her.

Or Feyre herself.

She surged forward, pushing him back without any care or concern for his comfort. Rhys grinned, landing flat on his back not far from a writhing group of women moaning and touching in a display that ought to have fascinated him. Feyre, however, climbed atop him, straddling his waist with a sly smile on his face.

“You look tired,” she all but purred, pulling at his shirt. He was quick to help her, tossing it somewhere in the room before both her fingers and his went scrambling for the clasps on his trousers. It was erotic to watch her undo them, even as he gracelessly kicked himself out of his boots. She peered down at him, running her hand over his stomach with that same smile that made him feel out of his mind with lust.

“I wasn’t done,” he complained, afraid she was going to try and repay the favor. “I need you to come on my tongue.”

Feyre blinked, digesting his words before color stole over her chest and up her neck. Was this what embarrassed her? Absurd. Rhys reached for her before she could squirm away and with relatively little effort, positioned her over his face. Finally, a warrior's death, he thought to himself. With both arms wrapped around her to keep her from pulling away, Rhys went back to the feasting from before. She was dripping wet, making a mess of his face, and Rhys had never been happier.

He’d just assumed she’d ride his face—that was what he wanted, anyway. Her hips rolled over him as she sighed breathlessly just before she shifted. Rhys held tightener before his back arched off the cool, marble floor, just in time to realize Feyre was only readjusting so she could take his cock in her mouth.

Fuck.

 The memory of his task slipped back to the forefront of his mind at the same time her soft tongue slid down the length of him. Who cared anymore? Rhys didn’t hate the fae like he once had, but right then, he didn’t care if they suffered under the same subjugation he’d promised to unravel. All he cared about was Feyre spread out over his face while she sucked him. Nothing else was important—nothing else mattered. 

Rhys had time, for once, to do everything he wanted. It was tempting to lap at her frantically, to draw her upward just to prove he could, to know what she sounded like when she came. He had to force himself to slow down, to temper his excitement with the reminder that he had time. They had nowhere to be and nothing important to do. 

That lasted for all of ten seconds. Feyre gagged as she tried to take more than half of him, the sound shooting straight to his balls. Forced to clench his cheeks to keep from coming prematurely, and desperate from excitement, Rhys redoubled his efforts over her cunt, tongue swirling and teasing her clit until Feyre’s rhythm faltered. Bolstered by his success and drunk off the knowledge she wanted him, Rhys continued licking and sucking at her clit until Feyre screamed. Her legs clamped around his head, keeping him in place while preventing him from taking a full breath of air. Rhys simply rode it out while taking her through her orgasm without stopping.

Feyre fell forward, cheek pressed to his thigh. “It’s not enough,” she moaned, echoing his own thoughts. Scrambling off him, Feyre tugged at his arm to pull him to his feet. He did as she demanded, wishing for some of his usual eloquence. He wanted to tell her he felt the same way, that his blood was thudding painfully in his chest.

“It’s magic,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. Rhys’s heart sank, his mind once again returning to the task at hand. She was looking at him, but he turned to look at the bowl of incense. He didn’t want to destroy it—was it so bad to be trapped here like this? Together? 

It wasn’t real. Rhys found his pants laying in a heap and grabbed them as she tried to reach for his arm and pull him back. 

It’s magic, it’s magic, it’s magic.

Not like this.

It was agony to leave here standing there, to feel her eyes burning against his back. Worse to pull those trousers over his raging erection while his blood thrummed, beating in time with her own heart. Rhys knew how he felt—the spell merely enhanced what was already there. Did she feel it? Or was she merely trapped? The thought ate at him, ravaging him until his heart felt like a ruined wasteland. 

It was easy to get to the bowl of incense, and easier still to raise it over his head before throwing it to the ground. The little flame extinguished as the pottery shattered irrevocably, spilling sweetly scented oil all over his bare feet. The moaning and sounds of copulating slowed to halt as the music came to a grinding halt.

Rhys turned to find those once writhing masses slowly untangling themselves, blinking as though waking from a dream. Feyre was scrambling for something—his shirt, he realized, which engulfed her in the stained white fabric. She wasn’t looking at him, though her cheeks still bore the tell-tale flush.

No, Feyre was looking at a very naked Helion. “Lucien,” she said, the only person who spoke at that moment.

“Go,” Helion ordered and just like that, Feyre raced out of the room, leaving Rhys standing there feeling like a fool. She had his shirt, so Rhys couldn’t fully dress though it was better than Helion who didn’t seem to care at all. Rhys supposed if he looked as good as Helion did without clothes on, he’d strut around, too. 

“Fifty years,” Helion said as Rhys joined him, Feyre’s clothes and their shoes all heaped in his arms. “I’ll need about that long to recover.”

“At least it wasn’t a dragon,” Rhys heard himself saying, barely aware of the conversation at all. He could still taste Feyre in his throat, could still feel the weight of her on his body. He would have liked those fifty years—nobility was for those with a moral sense of righteousness.

He simply didn’t want her to hate him. 

Helion put a hand on Rhys’ bare shoulder, golden eyes filled with nothing but a mixture of relief and sadness. “I owe you everything. Tell me how I can repay you.”

“A room?” Rhys asked, at a loss for what this man could give him. All he wanted had left the room, another man’s name on her lips. For all he knew, Feyre loved that man, had been thinking only of him while Rhys touched her. Jealousy was an ugly emotion and as Helion walked him through the warm, sprawling palace, all Rhys could think about was Lucien.

Who was he? Why did she care? He remembered Cassian mentioning Lucien, the memory returning in a haze. Lucien was a faerie prince. How did he compete with that? Everyone they’d met had been impossibly beautiful and powerful, and for all he knew, Feyre had been silently trying to free the prince alongside her sisters. 

Feyre was nowhere to be found. Helion promised to tell Feyre where he was when he saw her next, his face unreadable as he took one last look at Rhys before closing the door. Rhys wanted to smash the room to pieces. Petulantly, he wanted to leave Feyre to finish the task on her own. The thought of abandoning her made his chest ache and water prick at the corners of his eyes.

So she loved another man. That didn’t mean he didn’t still love her. He was simply disappointed that she might not want him back—that despite what he’d told himself in that throne room, he had been hoping she returned his feelings.

Rhys took time to bathe, pleased to find clothes laid out on the bed for him. He wasn’t alone, though Cassian was hardly the company he wanted right then. Sprawled out on his bed casually, his leathered armor swapped out for the same loose pants and shirt that Rhys had been given, Cassian seemed as irreverent as usual.

“Want to get a drink?”

“Make it a double,” Rhys said, returning the smile. 

“I know just the place. This whole palace reeks,” Cassian said, wrinkling his nose. It was easy to like Cassian, perhaps because he seemed so very human—minus the wings on his back. His ears were rounded, his eyes a very normal hazel, and his face looked as if it belonged to a regular man rather than an immortal creature capable of ripping him apart with their bare hands. He didn’t doubt Cassian could if he wanted to. The glowing siphons on his person certainly suggested he commanded some sort of magic—Feyre had explained it all to him once, but Rhys didn’t remember.

He didn’t want to think about Feyre at the moment.

Cassian let Rhys dress, pointedly turning his back without leaving the room. “Where’s Fey?” he asked casually.

“With Lucien,” Rhys spat, his hatred irrational.

Cassian chuckled. “I’d say we should rescue her, but maybe she deserves whatever hell he’s currently giving her.”

Rhys bristled. “Why would he give her anything but his gratitude? She just rescued him—”

“You don’t know Lucien, but he can be…difficult…at times,” Cassian replied, running a hand through his shoulder length hair. 

“How do they know each other?”

“I’ll let Feyre tell that story if she wants. Lucien hates humans, and well…Feyre doesn’t, obviously. So their friendship has always been interesting.”

Friendship. “Does she see him often?”

“Too often, I think, given he’s mated to her sister. I’m sure he’s waging war on Elain’s behalf, pissed they’ve been separated for so long.”

The knot that had settled in his stomach seemed to untangle. “Mated?”

“Married,” Cassian amended, tucking his wings tight against his back. “It's a similar principle.”

“Marriage implies choice,” Rhys heard himself saying, a frown stretched over his lips. “What if your mate wants to leave you?”

True anger seemed to shine on Cassian’s face before he banished it with a shake of his head. “You don’t understand. It’s…she’s half my soul. I could no sooner leave her than I could leave my own body.”

“Surely not all matches are happy.” It didn’t seem possible that fate could select people who got along flawlessly and created nothing but incandescently, happy pairs.

“They’re not,” Cassian agreed. “There are plenty of unhappy pairs—you have a choice to accept the bond. Lucien and Elain had a hard time of it—”

“Because he hates humans?” Rhys asked, piecing Feyre’s life together 

Cassian chuckled. “Among other things. Lucien can be a real, arrogant bastard.”

“Feyre doesn’t have a mate?” Rhys asked suddenly, uninterested in the Day Court faerie prince and his love life. He recalled slaying Tamlin and the relationship that had existed between them. Had she dragged him into this to kill a mate she didn’t want?

“I’m sure she does,” Cassian replied as he stared studiously ahead. “Everyone does—even humans.”

Cassian didn’t need to explain to Rhys that if he had a mate, he wasn’t going to feel it the way the fae could. Feyre, too, would never know if he was hers. Would she always wonder given her sister's circumstances? Would it be enough?

Could he be enough? Feyre didn’t seem to hold any love for the culture or people, even if somehow she knew all of them by name. Maybe, once it was all done and she was certain of her sister's safety, she’d want a little peace. He could give her that. Hells, if she wanted he’d live in this land though preferably far from the sprawling palaces of the High Lords. 

Rhys had two drinks with Cassian down in the emptied city—where was everyone? The winged male seemed in high spirits, grinning and laughing as he told story after story about battles Rhys wished he could have seen. He was jealous of Cassian’s long life and the things he’d seen, of the things he’d do before it was all over.

He had to half carry Cassian back to the palace, leaving him in a patch of grass beneath an olive tree. “This is perfect,” Cassian had mumbled, snoring before Rhys had taken more than three steps. Maybe he should have let himself get obliterated, too, but Rhys was hoping to talk to Feyre. He thought he might die if she decided she wanted to pretend nothing had happened between them. 

He just needed to tell her how he felt, he decided. Fumbling for a light switch in the room he’d been given, Rhys decided he’d just tell her he was in love with her. He’d— “Feyre?”

He was drunker than he thought, because surely that wasn’t his Feyre, kneeling on the end of his bed in a nightdress so sheer, she may as well be wearing nothing at all. Her hair was unbound, the ends curling ever so slightly as they hung over her shoulders

Rhys turned to look over his shoulder, back down the dark hall he’d come from. Rubbing his eyes, he turned back to his room, certain he’d be alone.

She was still there, cheeks red, lips pink and swollen. Rhys closed the door softly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, trying to project calm when his insides were turning over. 

“Can you?” she replied, her sultry tone settling at the base of his cock. He hadn’t forgotten that she’d had her mouth on it, though right then his mouth began to replay the way her tongue had felt, how her lips had wrapped themselves around him. His stomach tightened from excitement. Please. 

He shrugged. “Not really.”

Feyre uncurled her legs from beneath her body, bare toes touching the floor as she straightened herself. The little nightdress she wore was a joke—he could have shredded the delicate cloth with his teeth if he so chose to. And gods, did Rhys want to rip it ribbons with his teeth. Feyre was in charge, though, so he remained as still as he could manage while she sauntered forward. His eyes fell to the swing of her hips, visible beneath the cloth. The neckline scooped low enough that he could see the swell of her breasts while the hem just shimmed the uppermost part of her thighs. 

He was dreaming. This wasn’t real. It was a fantasy.

“Neither can I,” she told him, pulling him closer by the laces on his trousers. Rhys had to remind himself to breathe. 

“What are you doing?” he whispered, afraid he might ruin everything with that question. “Are you well?”

“I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel it, too,” she said, deftly pulling the strings until they were unknotted. “That I don’t want you.”

That may have been the most erotic thing that had happened to him all day. Rhys froze as she pushed his pants to his ankles, revealing his already rigid cock. “I didn’t get to finish,” she told him, sliding to her knees before him. Her fingertips skimmed over his thighs, drawing a shiver up his spine. 

“Feyre,” he whispered, unsure what he planned to say. She ignored him, licking his shaft from root to tip while Rhys had to employ every ounce of his will to keep from falling to the ground in a boneless heap. His mind barely worked, though he had enough thought to gather up her hair and pull it off her face. 

Feyre took him into his mouth, eyes pinned to his face. All the air available to him punched out of his lungs, leaving him gaping like a fish. He had to remind himself to take a breath, that passing out in front of her was unlikely to make her want to touch him again. 

“You don’t—” The next slide of her mouth silenced him. She didn’t have to do this, but why was he trying to stop her? He wanted this so badly it made his teeth ache. Rhys wasn’t above begging, either. If she stopped, he thought he might die. He’d take her however he could get, though he was hoping he might manage to take a little more from her.

That he could give her something, too. Rhys wanted to take her out of her clothes, lay her out, and show her what he felt. He didn’t move, drinking her in as he fisted the soft strands of her hair between his trembling fingers. Right then, Rhys would have given anything for faerie powers—if only to tell her, mind to mind, all the things he wanted to do to her.

He groaned instead, spreading his legs wider as she worked him slowly. It was exquisite—better than anything he’d ever felt in his life. If he died right then, he could have died satisfied with his life. He couldn’t pretend Feyre on her knees before him didn’t please him immensely, especially after everything they’d shared together. 

He wondered what she’d make of this if he could go back to when they met and smugly inform her that one day, she’d willingly take his cock in her mouth. Likely nothing pleasant—something that had an arrow pointed directly at his cock. He would have deserved it, too.

Release built along his spine, his arousal and desperation pushing him toward the edge far quicker than he wanted. He needed to draw things out—he needed to be inside her. Feyre moaned around his cock, convincing him she needed the same thing. Rhys reached for her and Ferye sprang up with far more athleticism than Rhys thought he possessed—his knees would never allowed for him to come up so quickly. 

Their mouths collided, frenzied and hungry and oh, it felt good to know she felt the way he did. Rhys was unspooled and undone, desperate and dizzy as he tried to both get that stupid night dress over her head and walk toward the bed. 

He’d once considered himself graceful, though not anymore. They collapsed in a heap of elbows and half-discarded clothes, unwilling to stop what they were doing for even a moment, and thank the gods for that. She was undressing him with clumsy fingers, though somehow managed to get him out of his shirt before he gave up and did what he’d wanted from the start—Rhys ripped the night dress from neck to hem in one solid, fluid move.

Gripping his waist with her thighs, Feyre flipped him to his back, fingernails digging in his bare chest. She was naked again, and oh, Rhys wished he could draw. He wanted to keep an image of her straddling him in his pocket, folded up for his eyes only. Maybe he’d ask when she wasn’t shimming down his body so she could rub her slick cunt against his throbbing cock.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word pushed from his gut with the force of a punch. “Feyre, please.”

“Please, what?” she practically purred in response. Gods above and the hells below, she would be the cause of his early demise. 

She just barely had the upper hand. Reaching for her waist, Rhys flipped her to her back so her hair became a halo around her beautiful face. “Please, Feyre, darling,” he breathed, pressing his mouth to the hollow of her neck, “make a mess of my cock.”

She exhaled, her eyes rolling upward which was all the permission Rhys needed. He didn’t wait, sliding himself wholly into her body while she was still catching her breath. Her eyes flew open, lips parting and in a moment of panic, Rhys kissed her. He’d just assumed he wasn’t her first, given how he’d found her and her general lack of concern regarding her nudity.

“Did I—”

“Big,” she managed, tightening herself around him. Pure, masculine pride warmed his gut, propelling him forward for that first, perfect thrust. 

“Tell me you want this. That you want me,” he whispered, burying his face in her neck.

“I want you,” she replied, pulling at his hair so he had to face her. “I want this.”

Gods, he could have come from those words alone. Rhys had to squeeze his ass tight to keep himself from doing so, overwhelmed by the rush of emotion. He wanted to tell her everything—the things and people he loved tended to be taken from him. Or they left him, physically or emotionally. It was easier to be guarded, to place walls around his heart and play the irreverent rake. 

There was risk to vulnerability. To admit to Feyre that he both wanted and needed her. It was on the tip of his tongue, telling her that he loved her, too. Rhys wanted to—he was afraid. So afraid she didn’t feel the same, that this was some fleeting amusement, a passing fancy. Better to just take what he could get for now. If that was all she ever gave him, that was better than nothing at all. Far more preferable than a life without knowing her. A life where they turned back to strangers.

“Come back to me,” Feyre whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. The blue of her eyes centered him, settling his fears. They were here, now, and that was enough. Pumping his hips, Rhys returned to kissing her, albeit messily given he was also trying to find her clit with his clumsy fingers. 

He was hanging by a thread, just barely keeping himself together. Feyre moaned when he found what he was looking for, digging her nails into his shoulder while meeting him thrust for thrust. He could feel her own need, how she convulsed around him as her own kissing became slower, less focused.

“That’s it,” he whispered, picking up the pace. He was going to finish and she wouldn’t and what then? He simply no longer had control of his body—something deep in his gut was unspooling like thread, winding its way through him as it demanded more, more, more. He couldn’t stop himself even if he’d wanted to.

There was no skill to Feyre coming mere moments before he had—only luck. He wasn’t discounting it, grateful all the same as Rhys released himself with a guttural whimper that seemed to ignite the room in blinding starlight. There was none—just the same darkness, the same bed, the same ceiling and floor.

Heart pounding, Rhys was certain things must have changed. He felt changed, and so the rest of the world must be, too. Feyre reached for him, kissing one cheek, and then the other, before her fingers skimmed over his jaw.

“You were perfect,” he told her, catching the way her eyes widened. She blinked, eyes strangely glassy. 

“You’ve always been perfect,” he added, just because he thought maybe she needed to hear someone tell her that. I love you! His mind screamed, though his lips refused to give them voice.

“So are you, Rhys,” she replied, pulling him back toward her. He let her push him to his back, making a mess of his abdomen as she slung her leg over his hips. “And I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

Not ever, he hoped.

[simpforpeterp]

stanford pines x reader

Look Me in the Eye

summary: based on a daisy jones and the six scene! a one shot in which ford comes home from a crazy night with bill, pushing you to your limit

warnings: a slap from reader to ford. gender neutral reader! this one shot came from a chapter of my actual oc story about ford but i made it gender neutral x reader because i’m so proud of this scene.

word count: 4.4k

With Fiddleford back home for Thanksgiving and the portal on a brief hiatus, you’d think Ford would take that chance to be home. But he doesn’t; he keeps working. So, you decide to try and get some work done too. Writing hasn’t come easy, though.

Ford is God knows where, and you’re sitting at your piano, staring at the keys, waiting for the words to come. At this point, a part of you has accepted that the Ford you married is somewhere deep in the back of his brain. He said he would do better, but he hasn’t. You think back to your cousin and how you swore that you wouldn’t let yourself end up like that—in a small town with a deadbeat partner and a baby.

The only thing you don’t have out of those things is a baby, which you don’t want. When you were younger, you always saw yourself having kids. But when you marry a human, it’s a little strange to think about. It’s unknown if you could even have kids together. There were legends back home about two humans in the demon realm, and one of them married and had a baby with a witch.

You do a mini birth control spell that you’re not even sure works. Well, it’s worked so far—you haven’t gotten pregnant yet. Ford wouldn’t give a damn about a baby anyway, so why even put it at the forefront of your mind? And you’re fine without kids. You’re not one of those people who craved kids their whole life and dreamed about what life with children would look like.

You always assumed it would happen if it happened. And with Ford, it’s not happening. These past few months have proven that more than ever because he’s rarely home. The way most couples go out to dinner at the end of a long day, you and Ford go out to breakfast two or three times a week. But he’s usually trying to hide the fact that he’s rushing to get back to work.

His attempt at spending time with you is noted but not necessarily accepted.

The door creaks open, and you hear the unsteady shuffle of Ford’s footsteps before you see him. He stumbles into the room, shirtless, his hair a tangled mess, eyes glassy, and reeking of alcohol. He stands there in the doorway, looking at you with a mix of shame and regret, unable to meet your gaze for long. He tries to speak, but the words fumble out, barely coherent.

“Ford,” you breathe, your voice wavering between anger and concern. You step closer to him, looking at how droopy and tired his eyes look. “What happened to you?”

“I… I know Bill took it too far this time, but it doesn’t… it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not—” He’s almost nonverbal, his normally sharp mind dulled by the alcohol and Bill’s lingering influence. When you see new tattoos on his body, you lose it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ford? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You demand. He doesn’t even look at you; his mind is completely somewhere else. It’s as if Ford isn’t even in there right now.

Before he can respond, you close the distance between you, and your hand connects with his face in a swift, stinging slap. Given that you’re smaller than him, it doesn’t do much other than make him look at you. Ford looks at you, stunned, his hand moving slowly to his cheek where your slap left its mark and a slight stinging pain.

“You come home like this,” you say, your voice breaking as tears well up in your eyes. “After everything, you think you can just brush it off? You think you can say it doesn’t mean anything and that’s supposed to be enough?”

Ford’s lips tremble, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how much he hates himself for what he’s become, but the words won’t come.

“What happened to the man I married?” you continue, your voice softer now, though no less pained. “Where’s the Ford who would move mountains for me, who promised we’d get through anything together? Because this…” You gesture at him, tears finally spilling over. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

Ford’s eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. He knows he’s the cause, knows that he’s pushed you to the edge, but he still can’t let go of the work, of the promises he made to Bill. But none of that matters now—not when he sees how much he’s hurting you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “I… it’s Bill, but I—”

“So, who do I blame?” you ask, and he doesn’t have an answer. “Who the fuck do you think you are, acting like this? You come home from doing God knows what, God knows where, and have the nerve to try to defend Bill? After all of this bullshit, you still think he’s someone worth putting up with?”

You look at him, your anger slowly giving way to a deep, aching sadness. You still love him—God, you love him so much—but this version of Ford, the one who’s been consumed by his work and Bill’s influence, is breaking your heart piece by piece.

“I love you, Ford. I love you so much it hurts, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself… and us.” Your voice trembles as you take a step back, the space between you feeling like a chasm.

“Please… I don’t want to lose you. I love you more than anything. I’m sorry.” Ford reaches out to you, desperation in his eyes.

You hesitate, looking at the man you married, the one you’ve been trying to hold on to, but you can’t shake the fear that he’s already slipping away.

“You’re losing me, Stanford.” You shake your head as another tear falls, and it’s like everything comes bubbling over all at once.

Ford reaches out, desperate to close the distance between you, but you step back, gently pushing him away. Your hands, though soft against his chest, carry the weight of all the anger and hurt you’ve been holding in.

“Go take a shower, Ford,” you say, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m not going to talk to you again until you do.”

Your words hit him like a cold splash of reality. He can see the resolve in your eyes, the line you’re drawing in the sand. You’re not just angry; you’re done—at least for now. Ford hesitates, wanting to say something, anything to make this right, but the look on your face tells him that words won’t fix this. Not this time.

He nods, defeated, and turns away, heading for the bathroom. The sound of the door closing behind him feels like a finality he’s not ready to face. He lingers for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob, hoping you’ll say something—anything—to stop him from leaving the room. But you don’t.

As he steps into the shower, the hot water cascades over him, washing away the grime and sweat from the night, but it does nothing to ease the weight on his chest. He leans against the tiled wall, water mingling with the tears he’s been holding back.

His heart breaks. He knew after every other little crack in your relationship that this was coming. But nothing could’ve made him ready for the day you finally snapped. And he knows you don’t believe he loves you as much as he does, which kills him.

Meanwhile, you watch him disappear into the bathroom, your heart heavy with the love you still feel for him, mixed with the deep-seated pain of watching him spiral. You turn on your heel, walking away, needing the space to gather yourself before you can even think about facing him again. As you move through your home, every room feels colder and emptier, and you can’t shake the fear that the warmth you once shared might be slipping away for good.

After all that, you feel like you need a shower too. You can’t believe you said all that and exploded. It felt like it was a long time coming and this was the final straw. His coming home like that, completely shameless, made you feel an anger you hadn’t felt before. Anger because you always said you could do better than your family, but he’s making you feel the same as they did.

When Ford finally emerges, clean but still burdened, he heads into your bedroom. He notices you sitting there with red, puffy eyes. He doesn’t know what to do; he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, but you have to know how pissed I am,” you speak first as he takes a seat beside you on the bed. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say it. You’re never around anymore, and when you are, it seems like you just want to get away from me. It’s fine if you don’t love me anymore; I’d be heartbroken, but I’d be okay. I’d be even more heartbroken if you kept me hanging around here when it’s just me who still loves you.”

Ford feels his throat tighten at your words, guilt and sorrow gnawing at him. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat. How can he make you understand that his distance has never been about a lack of love? How can he convince you that despite everything, you’re still the most important part of his life?

“I always promised myself I wouldn’t be this,” you start. “Sitting around as if I need someone. I never wanted to be the person stuck at home, trotting around at the genius’ heels. Especially not with someone who doesn’t—who might not—” your voice trembles, and he quickly jumps in.

“I do love you,” he finally whispers, his voice hoarse. “I love you more than anything. I’m just… lost. This work, everything I’ve been doing—it’s consumed me, and I know I’ve let it come between us. But please, don’t ever think that I don’t love you. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

You listen, your eyes searching his face for sincerity. You can see the regret there, the deep sadness in his eyes, but you’ve heard apologies before. You need more than just words. Ford reaches out, taking your hand in his, holding it like a lifeline. He can feel your fingers trembling, and it breaks his heart all over again.

“I know I’ve been terrible,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my work that I’ve neglected you, neglected us. But I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I’ll do better—I promise I’ll do better.”

“How many times have we had this conversation, Ford? I—I’m getting tired,” you breathe out.

“I mean, what do you want me to tell you here? Do you want me to say I’m never gonna work with Bill again? Because I can’t! I need him.” Ford tries.

“No, you don’t!” you slightly raise your voice before sighing.

“Do you want me to just stop working so you can be making money and supporting me while I do nothing? I mean, fuck, you’re not exactly writing or anything right now,” he breathes out.

“I’m trying,” you say firmly.

“I can’t… I can’t lose so you’re comfortable! I can’t lose because you can’t win,” he raises his voice.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. Neither of you speaks, but Ford instantly regrets it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” your voice breaks.

He’s failed you in so many ways, and he’s terrified that it might be too late to fix things. But as he looks into your eyes, he knows he has to try.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right,” he says, his voice trembling with conviction. “Just… please don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

“I don’t believe you,” you cry, and he slightly stiffens. “I mean, did you hear what you just said? I need to go for a drive or something.”

“Wait, please,” he starts, but you’re already standing up and trying to leave. “I’m so in love with you it feels like I can’t breathe when I’m not with you!”

As you try to walk out as quickly as possible to hide your tears, he sees your hand come up to wipe them.

“Please don’t go,” he begs, finally catching up with you and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Please, just hear me out.”

“I’ll hear you out later, I just need a minute. I don’t want to give up on this, but I just… I need a coffee or something,” you look him in the eyes, and everything in him softens.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “Just… please, come home to me.”

“I will. I’ll be back soon,” you nod.

Ford watches helplessly as you leave. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. His heart aches with a pain he can’t describe, but he doesn’t have the time to wallow. The moment you’re gone, something snaps inside him, and he storms back into his office.

Once inside, Ford slams the door shut and collapses into his chair, his body shaking as the tears finally break free. He buries his face in his hands, the sobs wracking his body with a force he hasn’t felt in years. All of the pain, the regret, the self-loathing—it all comes pouring out in a way that feels like it could tear him apart.

But before he can even begin to regain control, he senses a familiar presence. The air in the room changes, becoming thick with an ominous energy that Ford knows all too well.

"Why the long face, Sixer?" Bill’s voice cuts through the silence. "Having a little lover’s quarrel?"

Ford lifts his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting Bill’s glowing form. Rage surges through him, raw and untamed.

"This is your fault," he yells. "You’ve ruined everything!"

"Me? Ruin? Oh, come on, Fordsy. You know this was bound to happen. You’re the one who’s been pushing them away, not me." Bill laughs, the sound echoing eerily off the walls. Ford’s fists clench at his sides, the anger building to a boiling point.

"I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!" he shouts, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. "My marriage is falling apart because of you!"

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic," Bill taunts, his voice dripping with condescension. "You think I made you neglect them? Do you think I made you ignore all those signs? That’s all you, pal. I see everything, and they’ve been telling you how they feel like every day. It’s not my fault you don’t care enough to do anything about it."

"I- why did you have to go so crazy in my body? I respect you, and I’m still finishing the portal, but what the hell? At the end of the day, I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you." Ford glares.

"You think finishing that portal is going to fix your problems? Oh, Fordsy, you’re in way over your head. Stop blaming me. It’s not my fault you want to see me more than your own spouse." Bill laughs.

"Maybe you can’t process emotions like this, but they’re the love of my life. Before them, I hadn’t really dated anyone, and I wasn’t even sleeping around or anything; I was a loser. The only reason I ended up with someone as incredible as them without ruining it, like usual, is because I saw them as an anomaly at first. I didn’t think I was flirting or anything. I don’t know what I’d do if they left me. I wouldn’t even know what love is without them. You need to think about what your actions can mean for other people, Bill." Ford turns back to Bill.

"Clearly, you’re the one that needs to think about your actions. Isn’t it crazy that if you neglect someone’s feelings, they won’t want to be with you anymore? Even I can understand that!" Bill laughs, and Ford just stands up.

Ford sits there for a moment before he decides he can’t take it anymore. He stands up and heads to the music room. Bill yells things as he walks away, but Ford doesn’t hear it. He heads straight for a notebook full of songs they’ve written. His heart is racing as he opens it and sees so many that he hasn’t even heard yet.

In fact, this is a new notebook almost full of songs he hasn’t heard except for a few at the beginning. Have they not tried to show him, or has he not tried to listen? He reads the sad lyrics of almost every song, lyrics about feeling lonely when with someone you love and waking up alone. Songs about how they try to convince themselves that they’re a part of his life but not feeling like it. When did he start pulling away from them?

You sit in your car with a to-go cup of coffee, unsure if you should drive home yet or simmer for a little while longer. Your fingers tap on the warm cup as you try to think clearly. Your love for Ford is swarming every inch of your mind. But you know you shouldn’t accept what you don’t deserve, and you know you haven’t done anything to deserve this.

The version of you before Ford would’ve threatened a divorce already to try and scare him. You don’t want to do that now, but you want him to realize that you can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep following in his stride instead of walking beside him. You’ve won ten Grammys; it’s not as if you’re unaccomplished with no other options but to stay with him.

But you want to stay with him. Ford is so loving and warm. No one has ever loved you the way he has. Hell, no one other than Ford has seen you as more than a one-night thing. And you love him so much. You can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s something here for you to try to understand that you don’t already.

You look at the ring on your finger—his ring. And you don’t feel like other people have described, like it’s a handcuff or a jail cell that’s keeping you locked to him. You love being married to Ford. Saying you don’t and never did would be a complete lie. You just don’t love being mostly ignored by the man you love.

For someone so smart, he can be such an idiot sometimes. Letting some kind of entity possess his body whenever it pleases is a new low. Is that my problem? Bill? you think. It’s not right to you that his weakest self gets to decide how your life is going to turn out; you get to decide that. And what you want is a life—a beautiful marriage, a home—with him. With the man you know he truly is. And you’re going to get it, hell or high water.

You take a deep breath, your eyes still fixed on the ring as you turn it around your finger. The thought of a future without Ford makes your heart ache, but you know you deserve better, and you know Ford is capable of giving it to you—if he just realized how much you mean to him, how much you mean to each other.

You sip your coffee, the warmth grounding you, giving you the clarity you need. You know you have limits. If Ford can’t see the toll his actions are taking on your marriage, then you have to make him see it. You have to stand up for yourself, for what you want, and for the life you could have together.

You start the car, the decision made. You’re going to drive home and talk to him—not in anger or frustration, but with the love that’s still there, burning so fiercely in your heart. You’re going to make him understand what’s at stake—not just your marriage, but everything you’ve built together.

As you drive, the road blurs slightly through your unshed tears, but you blink them away. You can’t afford to lose focus now. Ford needs to know that you’re serious, that this isn’t just another fight that will blow over. This is your future, and you won’t let it slip away without a fight.

When you pull up to the house, your resolve only strengthens. You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car, the ring on your finger feeling like a lifeline rather than a chain. You walk into the house, finding Ford sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looks up as you enter, and the relief in his eyes is almost overwhelming.

“Ford…” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but you hold up a hand to stop him as he tries to respond.

“Ford, I need you to listen to me,” you say firmly, though your voice trembles slightly. You sit down beside him, taking his hands in yours. “I love you more than anything in this world, but I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep being the one who’s always trying to catch up to you, to your work, to everything else that seems to matter more than me or my feelings.”

His eyes widen in panic, and he starts to speak, but you squeeze his hands, stopping him again.

“No, Ford. Let me finish,” you continue, your voice soft but steady. “You’ve always been so loving, so warm, and I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. But you know me, and you know I’m not the type to ignore the fact that I’ve felt more like an afterthought lately. And it hurts. It really, really hurts.”

“Please, I—” Ford’s face crumples, and you can see the guilt and regret swirling in his eyes.

“I don’t want to threaten you with divorce or give you an ultimatum,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “But I need you to understand that if we’re going to make this work, you need to start seeing me as your partner again, not just someone who’s here to support you while you chase after your dreams. We need to be in this together, walking side by side—not with me always trying to catch up.”

Ford looks at you with such intensity that it nearly takes your breath away. His eyes are red and puffy too, his fingers nervously moving his ring in circles on his finger.

“You’re right,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve taken you for granted. But I swear to you, I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You make me want to be better, not just for you, but for us. And I’m going to prove it to you. I don’t want to lose this with you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you. Just… please, don’t go. I’m still yours. My heart is always gonna be yours. You are the one I want.”

“I just want you to see me, Ford. Really see me. I’m not asking you to give up your work, but I need you to find a balance, to make room for us in your life. Because I can’t keep doing this if things don’t change.” You nod, tears spilling over your lashes as you squeeze his hands.

“I see you. I promise I see you,” Ford whispers, pulling you into his arms. “And I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me. I won’t let you down again. And those aren’t just empty promises—I mean every word I say to you.”

As you hold each other, the tension begins to melt away, replaced by the hope that you can find your way back to each other. It won’t be easy, but you know it’s possible. And for the first time in a long time, you believe that you can make it work. Ford pulls back slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t date anyone in high school or college—I was too focused on my work. Hell, I’ve only slept with four people in my life, and you’re the only one who wanted me after that. You’re the only one who stayed the morning after and kissed me and smiled at me. You looked so perfect then, and it would’ve been impossible not to want more with you. You’re the reason I want to be better, the reason I want to wake up every morning. And I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you in my life, but I’m not going to take it for granted anymore. I promise you that.”

“Okay.” You nod for a moment before bringing his lips to yours.

He sinks into you, and the next thing he knows, he’s on top of you on the couch. Both of your hands are desperate as your lips talk. And he thinks, while this is happening, that you are worth everything to him. He didn’t think any of this would be happening when he first got out of high school and his life was in front of him. He never thought he would even have a spouse, let alone be kissing you with his body between your legs in your home on a quiet November night.

And the further things go, he realizes that he hasn’t touched you like this since your most recent talk about him neglecting you before tonight. Seasons changed, months passed, and he was too wrapped up in whatever he was doing to just exist with you, which is what he loved doing when you first met.

[cheynovak]

Between Power and Freedom

Part 5

Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Shurley Female character     

Summary: Y/N, the ambitious daughter of a powerful CEO, grapples with her father's choices, while she secretly takes a job with Dean Winchester, the rugged CEO of a rival company. Sparks fly between Y/N and Dean as they navigate their growing attraction amid corporate rivalry and family pressure.

Warnings: This story will contain parts that are 18+!

English is not my first language 

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

I knew I had to come up with something soon before my dad lost his shit. It was only a matter of time before he started demanding answers about my progress with Dean and Winchester industries.

During our last phone call, I had explained how unstable Dean's life was with Jo—how their fights seemed to escalate and how much tension hung over him whenever she was around. I also casually mentioned how Dean had taken me to dinner with the investors and Chuck seemed pleased with the arrangement.

“Good work on that,” my dad had said, his voice cold and calculating. “Get more into Dean’s life. Manipulate him. Let him fall in love with you.”

“Yeah, right, like that’s something I’m capable of,” I shot back, rolling my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “I have a master’s degree; I’m not Cupid.”

“Doesn’t matter. Figure it out, break it down from the inside ” he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I sighed, feeling the weight of his expectations pressing down on me. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had to agree, if only to keep the peace. So I decided to focus on my work like I used to, putting my energy into my job rather than dwelling on the complexities of my feelings for Dean.

Weeks passed, and it became painfully clear that Dean was intentionally putting distance between us. Whenever Jo was around, he acted as if I were air, completely ignoring me while plastering on a smile for her.

I tried to joke or get his attention, hoping to draw out the true Dean I had come to know, but nothing worked. It was like I was shouting into a void, and the more he shut me out, the more frustrated I became.

At work, I kept my head down, throwing myself into projects and trying to prove my worth to Bobby and the rest of the team. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, if I became indispensable enough, Dean would realize he needed me in his life—not just for work, but for something more personal.

But as the days turned into weeks, my attempts felt futile. Whenever Dean and Jo entered the office together, the atmosphere shifted. Jo had a way of commanding attention, her loud laughter and brash comments cutting through the air like a knife. Dean would respond to her every whim, and I was left on the sidelines, watching as the connection I thought we had faded into nothing.

One afternoon, I found myself alone in the break room, pouring a cup of coffee, when Sam walked in. He looked at me with concern, and I knew he could sense the tension in the air.

“Hey, Y/N, everything okay?” he asked, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, just peachy,” I replied, forcing a smile. Sam raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You sure? You’ve been quieter than usual. Is it about Dean?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s never mind." Sam frowned, looking thoughtful. “You know, Dean has a lot going on with Jo. He’s dealing with... his own issues. Sometimes he just needs space.”

Space? I thought, the frustration bubbling over. What kind of space? I’m not trying to invade his life; I just want to be friendly. But it feels like I’m competing with her every single day.

But all I said was "sure".

Sam his voice calm. “He’ll come around when he’s ready. He's a good boss, but his personal life just mingles with work I guess.” I nodded, appreciating his advice but still feeling the sting of rejection. “Thanks, Sam."

As I stood there, staring into my coffee cup, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my situation was only going to get messier. I had a job to do, but my heart was tangled in a web of emotions that seemed impossible to untangle.

That evening, as I sat at my desk, I noticed Jo laughing in the hallway. It was a familiar scene, but tonight it hit harder. I clenched my jaw, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. I didn’t want to be this pawn in my father’s game, nor did I want to be the other woman, vying for Dean’s attention while Jo played the part of the doting girlfriend.

With a deep breath, I decided to focus on my work and push the feelings aside. I had to remind myself that I was capable, that I was more than just a pawn in someone else’s game. But as I glanced at Dean, I couldn’t help but wonder how long I could keep this up without losing myself in the process.

--

Another dinner at Bobby's made it painfully clear why Dean had changed.

Jo announced to everyone, with a beaming smile, that she was pregnant. I almost choked on my food, a mix of shock and disbelief flooding through me. I forced a congratulatory smile, clapping along with everyone else, but my heart sank.

Dean, on the other hand, seemed anything but pleased. He sat quietly, his expression unreadable, and I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat waves.

--

The next night, I found myself working late. I had thrown myself into my projects, trying to escape the reality of Dean’s new situation, but my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.

Bobby asked Sam the come back but part time, he wanted me by his side. To share the same title. Sam thought it was a great idea, this way Bobby could train me until his retirement and I would get promoted earlier.

When I decided to leave my office, I noticed a light still on in Dean's office.

I hesitated for a moment before knocking softly on the door. “Hi,” I said, stepping inside. Dean looked up from his paperwork, his brows furrowing as he saw me.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice lacking its usual warmth. He looked downcast, his tie a little lose, his hair messy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was spiraling. “What are you still doing here?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same thing. Did you have dinner yet?” I inquired, trying to keep my tone light. He sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “No, I tried to work through it, but I can’t seem to focus.”

“Is it Jo?” I ventured, surprised by my own boldness. Dean looked at me, surprise flickering across his face. “You noticed, huh?” I nodded slowly. “It’s just... I’ve seen... You don’t seem really thrilled about everything.”

He leaned back in his chair, the weight of his thoughts evident. “Just between you and me?” he asked, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves could hear.

“Of course,” I replied, stepping closer and closing the door behind me for privacy, even though we were probably the only two people in the building at this hour.

Dean took a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t think I’m ready for kids,” he finally admitted, his voice strained. “I never pictured myself being a father, start a family, let alone with Jo. I just... I feel trapped.”

My heart ached at his words. I wanted to reach out and comfort him, to let him know he wasn’t alone in this turmoil. “Does she know?” I asked softly, afraid of his answer but needing to know.

He shook his head, frustration mingling with confusion. “No. I mean, how could I tell her? She’s so excited about it. I can’t just crush her like that.”

I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “Dean, it’s not just about her. You have to think about what you want too. This is your life, and it’s a huge decision.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I just… I don’t want to let anyone down."

I could see the conflict etched on his face, the struggle between duty and desire. I stepped closer to him, my heart pounding.

He locked eyes with me, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

I felt a surge of hope as his gaze softened. “Still maybe you need to talk to Jo. She deserves to know how you feel, and you deserve to be honest with yourself.”

Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You’re right. I just don’t know how to start that conversation. It’s going to break her heart.”

“I know it’s tough,” I said, my voice steady. He nodded slowly, the weight of my words settling over him. “Thanks, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I felt a warmth spread through me at his words, but I pushed it aside, reminding myself of the boundaries I needed to maintain. “You can always talk to me. I’m here for you,” I assured him.

We stood in silence for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words. I could feel the tension between us, a mix of comfort and longing, but I knew this wasn’t the right time to explore those feelings.

“How about I order some pizza, and I’ll help you with this?” I suggested, hoping to lighten the mood. Dean’s face brightened, and he nodded gratefully.

“Yeah, that would be great,” he said, pulling out his phone. I quickly ordered a couple of pizzas and settled back into the rhythm of work.

We tackled spreadsheets, analyzed figures, and brainstormed ideas for the upcoming projects. The hours flew by, and soon enough, we were both feeling the effects of long hours and stress.

After we wrapped up, I leaned back in the seat in the corner of his office, taking a deep breath to unwind. I kicked off my shoes, letting my bare feet rest on the table in front of me. Dean looked over with an amused smirk as he walked back with two glasses of bourbon in hand.

“Nice footrest you’ve got there,” he teased, handing me a glass. “Try to wear heels all damn day, you'd do the same,” I replied, laughing softly.

Dean took a seat on the table in front of me, his posture relaxed as he placed my feet gently on his lap. "You know, you don't need to wear heels in this company, right?"

Just as I wanted to answer he started to massage them, his fingers digging into the arches of my feet. Ah soft "hm" left my lips. “Is this okay?” he asked, looking up at me with an expression that was both playful and sincere.

“It’s more than okay,” I replied whispering, feeling the tension melt away with each movement of his hands. “I might need to keep you around for personal massage therapy session.”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment. “I charge by the hour,” he quipped, and we both laughed, the sound filling the otherwise quiet office.

The atmosphere felt easy and cozy, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. But just as we settled into our little bubble, the door swung open, and Bobby walked in.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Dean and me in such an intimate position.

“No, not at all!” I exclaimed, pulling my feet back into a more appropriate position.

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I hope I’m not stepping on any toes here. I’ve got the latest numbers on the project you two were working on.”

Dean straightened up and regaining his composure. “We were just wrapping things up, anyway. What do you have for us?”

Bobby pulled out a folder and laid it on the table, glancing between us with a knowing smile. “Just wanted to make sure you two had everything you needed before the meeting next week. I’ll leave you to it.”

I couldn’t help but feel a mix of warmth and embarrassment. Dean had dropped the playful facade, returning to his professional demeanor, but I could still sense the underlying tension from earlier.

“Thanks for that,” Dean said to me, leaning back against the table, his expression softening. “I really needed it. You know, you’re pretty amazing at keeping my head straight.”

I smiled, feeling a blush creep onto my cheeks. “Just doing what I can. Besides, you’d do the same for me, right?”

He nodded, a hint of seriousness creeping back into his eyes. “Yeah, I would.”

The air was charged with an unspoken understanding. I knew we were both still navigating our complicated feelings, but in this moment, sitting together in the glow of the office light with the smell of pizza in the air, it felt like we were on the verge of something new.

--

Taglist -> Click here to add

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33

@mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla

@thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @yvonneeeee

@kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28

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@spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch

@deadlydivergentgirl @livya99 @deansimpalababy @stoneyggirl2

[frehyun]

Backstage Fun

idol!hyunjin x afab!reader

warnings: protected sex, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, power imbalance (fan and their idol), hair pulling, nipple play, denied orgasm

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 2.5k

author's note: freya get to the point challenge failed, i feel like this is a whole lot of build up and not a lot of payoff but I still like how it turned out! second time writing smut and it's still really difficult, my respect goes out to all the regular smut writers, y'all are something else ❤️‍🩹 please let me know what you think!

this was requested by @kiki1323 and i took the creative liberty and added Redjin into the mix because. well. look at him. working on my first request was fun, so i hope i did it justice and hope you like it! <3

masterlist

divider by @strangergraphics

You are nervous. Extremely nervous. The kind of nervous where it feels like your heart is going to break through your ribs and jump right out of your chest, the poor organ hammering against its confines, the hard thumping echoing throughout your entire body, lump building inside your throat.

Never in your life would you have expected that a simple, exciting attendance at a concert would end up with you getting invited backstage by one of the artists that you adored to the moon and back.

A security guard came up to you after the concert hall had been cleared of most people, yourself still sitting there and coming down from the after-concert-adrenaline, asking if you were the ‘special guest’ invited by none other than Hwang Hyunjin himself. At first you were confused, ready to deny any mistaken identity and willing to laugh it off but then you saw the idol peeking his head out through one of the side entrances, giving you hand signals that you vaguely recognised as ‘play along, please’.

So you did.

Because if the Hyunjin said you were his special guest, then you were his special guest and nothing could stop you from playing along. Even if the part of him inviting you prior to the concert was a lie.

And that’s how you ended up here, in a backstage room that you assume must be his dressing room or something like that. It doesn’t really matter.

You nervously bite at the skin of your lips, no sight of Hyunjin so far making you even more anxious as you look around the room, desperate to find anything to occupy your mind with as you wait for him.

There wasn’t anything special about this room, just a large vanity, a table with refreshments and snacks on it and a ridiculously plushy couch that you were currently situated on, surrounded by strewn about clothes, bags and you assume some personal items that belonged to Hyunjin.

Before you could grow tired of counting how many little stones decorated the vanity across from you, the doorknob to the room turned, making your head snap towards the door.

There he was, wearing a fresh black shirt and some sweatpants, having changed out of his sweaty concert clothes, a sheepish smile on his face as he apologises politely for making you wait and closing the door behind him.

Your heart lurches right to your throat at the sight of him. He was even more gorgeous from up close, even the harsh overhead lighting couldn’t destroy the features that you were always so mesmerised by.

“I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

God, and his voice makes you want to kneel right down and do whatever he asked of you no questions asked.

Focus.

“Ah, no, it’s fine!”, you stammered, “what, uhm, what did I do to deserve being here?”

A mischievous smile spreads over his lips as his long legs bring him closer to you on the couch, stopping right in front of you to tower over you. He licks his lips and you think he is doing it on purpose.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, so I hope you’ll do the same with me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you during the concert”, he begins, reaching a hand out before stopping a short distance away from touching your cheek, searching your eyes for your approval or any sign of discomfort. You swallow around the lump in your throat and nod, making his eyes soften as he moves to caress your jaw, his thumb stroking across your skin gently.

“And I know this is sudden, you can say no and leave whenever you want to, but I’d love for you to stay and we could have some fun.”

Before you can stop it, your eyes flicker down to the front of his sweats at the implication before flickering back up to his face. Hyunjin’s eyes have a knowing glint in them, as if he already knows that your answer was going to be a loud and resounding ‘yes’.

“I’ll stay” – you say, surprised at how steady your voice sounds.

He smiles down at you, taking your face properly between his two large hands. His cock twitches in his pants as you look up at him, the sight of you beneath him satisfying some deeper part of him.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin leans down to take your lips between his softly. Unsure what to do with your hands, you place them on his forearms, wanting nothing more than to just touch him anywhere you could reach. It’s still surreal to you that this was really happening, that it’s Hyunjin’s tongue making its way into your mouth, that it’s Hyunjin you taste.

He parts from you momentarily to sit down beside you on the plush couch, patting his muscular thighs as a sign for you to straddle him. There was no way you were going to refuse such a demand, so you climb on top of him and make yourself comfortable in his lap, your hands holding you steady on his broad shoulders as he grabs the back of your thighs greedily.

Not being able to hold yourself back anymore, you grab his face and capture his lips hungrily. Hyunjin seems to appreciate that, his hands sliding up your thighs to grab at your ass and his hips lifting up to grind into you, his clothed cock dragging deliciously against your core, drawing whimpers from the two of you simultaneously.

With your brain already turned into a fuzzy mess, you mindlessly keep moving your hips across his hardening length, desperate for any kind of friction against your pussy. He groans against your lips, his hand finding its way underneath your shirt and squeezing breast.

“Hyunjin…” – you moan and slide your hands across his chest, grazing his nipples and making him let out a whimper.

He rids himself of his shirt before moving to slide yours off your body, hastily discarding it alongside your bra.

In a sudden movement, he moves you to lay down on the couch while he kneels above you, his hands already fiddling with the zipper of your pants as he rids you of the offending garment as well.

“Beautiful” – he breathes and his fingers lightly press into the fabric of your already dampened panties, lazily stroking up and down, much to your chagrin, whining and bucking your hips into his hand.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” – his red hair was slightly falling over his face, framing it, as he sits back on his haunches to observe you. The outline of his dick straining against his sweats isn’t lost on you and you have half a mind to reach out to take him into your hand.

“Want you…”

He chuckles and hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties to pull them down your legs. His long digits find your folds immediately, spreading your wetness around, his fingertips playing with your sensitive clit as you grow wetter for him, small wanton moans spilling from your lips for him.

Desperate to please him, your fingers wrap around his dick through his sweats, squeezing the head slightly.

He huffs out a breath at your touch. Hyunjin originally planned to drag this out as long as he could, wanting to blow off some steam but he grows increasingly more needy the longer you writhe underneath him so sweetly.

Some of his desperation seeps through to his actions, as he pushes two of his fingers into you, fucking them in and out of you at a rough pace.

“Are you gonna be all mine for today? Hm?” - Hyunjin says, his free hand spreading your legs further so he can slot his body between them while working his other hand at your core, bringing you closer to your high.

“Yes! All yours, Hyunjin!”

He smiles at your admission, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy right before the knot in your stomach snaps. You whine pathetically at being denied, your hips chasing his hand in a desperate attempt to get him back where you want him most.

“Sit up” – he orders and rids himself of his sweats and boxers, his cock slapping heavily against his belly. He pumps himself a few times as you oblige his demands. He doesn’t even need to ask any further for you to lean down and wrap your lips around his cock, sucking at the head eagerly. He moans loudly at the feeling, taking your hair into his hand in a makeshift ponytail as you take him deeper into your mouth.

You moan around him when he hits the back of your throat, your tongue moving at the underside of him.

“You’re taking me so well, princess. I can’t wait to be inside you and show you a good time” – his praise goes straight to your core and you moan around his length.

Hyunjin’s hips meet your every move in tandem before he curses and pulls you hastily off of him. You cannot help but think Hyunjin looks absolutely divine with that ravenous and fucked out look on his face. Something inside you twists when you think about how after tonight, you’ll probably never experience something like this again.

If Hyunjin notices you momentarily wincing at the less than fun thoughts invading your head, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

He pushes his sweaty hair back, your eyes lingering on how the motion makes the muscles of his arm stand out. You can’t help but notice that most of his sweat seems to be tinted red by his hair and it makes him seem even more irresistible, your fingers itching to test out if they would come back stained red if you card them through his hair.

Seemingly getting some of his sense back, he reaches to grab a condom from one of the bags laying about and you can’t help but wonder whether he planned on getting laid tonight. It wouldn’t surprise you. You’re here after all.

After making a show of ripping the package open with his teeth that made you dramatically roll your eyes at him and earning a chuckle from him, he rolls it on and crawls between your legs.

“Ready for the real show, sweetheart?”

You nod your head at him and hook your legs around his hips, wiggling closer to him. As he leans over you, his cock presses against your wet cunt.

Hyunjin’s patience to be inside you has worn thin, so he slides himself in in one fluid motion of his hips, making you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders.

“You feel so good, angel. So wet, just for me” – he moans as his eyes flutter shut at the feeling of you around him. His cock drags deliciously against your walls as he starts fucking you in earnest, setting a fast pace, eager to get you two off.

“Mhm, just for you, Hyunjin!”

You pull him down to you to capture his lips in a passionate, wet kiss, holding his face in place and roughly tangling your hand into his hair, pulling at the strands as he pounds into you from above, groaning at the soft pain on his scalp. You try to burn how he tastes, how he sounds and how his skin feels beneath your skin into your mind so you’ll never forget this moment.

His thrusts become desperate ruts as he nears his high, his lips finding your neck in sloppy, wet kisses and bites.

“Y/N”, he wimpers into your ear, one hand entwining his fingers with yours, “I need you to come for me.” His unoccupied hand finds your clit, rubbing at it hastily.

You let go and your orgasm finds you quickly at his words, your body arching into his, legs clamping up around him, as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release as your walls clench around him.

“Fuck!” – his hips stutter as he spills his seed into the condom, squeezing his eyes shut and riding out his high.

When his thighs stop shaking against yours, you bring your hand up to gently move some of his hair out of his face, tucking the strand behind his ear. Your hand stays cradled against his jaw as he peers down at you, a slight smile on his lips.

You don’t remember if he was this flushed before but he certainly is now and it’s kind of endearing.

He slips out of you to get rid of the condom, making you whimper at the loss. You don’t really know what to do, if he wants you to get up and leave immediately or if he would rather you stay, so you stay frozen in your decision and don’t move an inch from where he left you.

In your rising nervousness, you start picking at your hands again and stop momentarily to amusedly realise that your hands are indeed slightly stained red from pulling at his hair. Something about it calms your heart again.

He comes back dressed in his boxers, phone and some wipes in hand. It’s a bit awkward when he cleans you up, you’re embarassed and try to look anywhere that isn’t him.

“No need to feel embarassed about this, angel. I really enjoyed my time with you” – Hyunjin says softly, caressing your cheek softly and turning your face towards him. He’s smiling at you, that cute stingray smile where his eyes disappear and you suddenly want to cry with all these emotions swirling around in your chest.

“I did, too”, you murmur, “uhm, can you pass me some of my clothes? I’ll get dressed and then I can get out of your hair. You must be exhausted after the concert and… all of this.”

He tilts his head at you but complies, helping you dress. He doesn’t pass you your jeans.

“Stay” – he says quietly as he pulls your shirt over your head, straightening it out, it’s long enough to at least cover your panties.

“What?”

“Stay. Let’s cuddle”, he smiles shyly, “I could use some more aftercare than whatever this was.”

“I-… Okay.”

He huffs a laugh as he climbs over you onto the couch, leaning back against the cushions and pulling you into his chest.

“Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna come barging in, I made sure of that. Besides, we can shower later” – he explains and his hand runs over your spine soothingly as you lay your head on his chest to listen to his steady heartbeat.

“I’d also like for this to not be the only time we see each other, if you’re okay with that. We can exchange numbers. I know we kind of have it all backwards, starting off like this and you being a fan and all but I’d like to get to know you properly, no weird power imbalance between us, just two people meeting up for a date.”

You couldn’t believe your ears, the heat rushing back to your face as you became redder at his words.

“I’d like that” – you happily answer him and he lets out a relieved sigh.

The two of you talk about idle things before Hyunjin drifts off to sleep first, leaving you awake in his warm embrace.

Listening to his soft breathing, you think to yourself that accepting Hyunjin’s proposal was one of the better decisions you’ve made lately and sigh contently, letting tiredness wash over your limbs and slumber take you, hoping that this was the beginning of something more than a short encounter.

[lofitojii]

Endearment

Summary: “The way she finds even the most simplest parts of life beautiful, is what I admired most about her. She loved to talk about the night sky in detail, and I loved to listen to her voice. She was captivating, truly the most beautiful creation to have walked this Earth, and I find myself extremely lucky to have crossed paths with her.”

Word Count: 2.7k

Content: fluff/sad TW: minor comments about abuse.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The radiating beam cast down on the still body of water in front of me. It was a quiet, peaceful evening. I could hear the frogs chirping in the distance, crickets almost harmonizing in sync with them. My fingers gently traced circles in the grass next to me as I admired the night sky. What was it like in the mass void above me? Did the stars dance among each other when no one was watching? Did the sun say goodnight to the moon as it set here on Earth? Not knowing these answers was something I will always find beautiful because they will stay a mystery to me. 

The night was young yet the darkness cast over me, so easily. I felt engulfed in the evening, not even noticing the person who had taken a seat next to me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” I glanced over at him, his features soft but eyes bluer than the sea. The way they glistened in the moonlight captivated my attention more than anything. “What are you doing out here alone?” 

“I’m not alone,” I responded. “Do you not hear the frogs?” He let out a soft chuckle, agreeing that I was indeed, not alone. “Why are you out here?” 

“I got bored,” he shrugged. “Work party was going on a little too long so I decided to take a walk and found myself here.”

“You’re about a mile away from the nearest train, are you sure you didn’t get lost?” His eyes never left the moon.

“Something told me to keep going after I reached the train station.” He finally looked down at me who had yet to stop admiring. “Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” I asked, finally sitting up to meet him at face level. I could see, so vaguely, his cheeks flush a baby pink. “What’s your name?” 

“Satoru. And you?” 

“Y/N.” He was so captivating, the way his eyes connected with him. His smile was gentle, his hair as white as the moon we had met under. I don’t know what had come over me, but it was a peaceful feeling he had brought with him. 

“Do you come here often?” he asked, breaking the silence I didn’t realize we had been sitting in. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The way the moon reflects on the water? During spring, the flowers around the edges of the lake will bloom and when the moon is full, it’s almost as if they have merged with the water. It’s grown to be a popular spot during the day, even during the middle of winter. But back when I was younger, the nearest shop was 5 miles north. You had to really search for this place to know about it, being engulfed in trees. They chopped the majority of them down though, knowing it would make a good tourist spot.” 

“Did that bother you?” 

“Why would it? Yeah it gets a little loud during the day but why hide something that you know would be admired by many?” I could feel his gaze on me yet for some reason, I was too nervous to look back. Was I talking too much? Am I boring him? I let out a small sigh, laying back down on the blanket I had brought along with me, keeping my sight on the moon above. As the night drew on, Satoru stayed next to me, silent. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but my anxiety grew as the silence continued. I couldn’t take it anymore though, it felt as if it was eating at me. I abruptly stood up, trying not to alarm him with how anxious I was. “I’m sorry for talking your ear off-” 

“Why?” He asked, reaching out, gently grabbing onto my hand. “I think the way you talk is admirable. The way you talk about all of this is.. It’s beautiful.” This time, I could feel my own cheeks flush as he looked up at me. His touch was soft, kind. “Are you going to be here tomorrow?” 

“I wasn’t planning on it-” 

“Come back tomorrow. I’ll make sure to wash your blanket and return it.” 

“Why?” 

“I’m going to stay a little longer, is that alright?” Hours ago, he was a total stranger. But now, he’s asking to borrow the blanket I had brought to sit on and for some reason, I agreed and let him keep it. 

The following night, the moon was slightly covered by dark clouds, stirring a storm as they rolled slowly over the night sky. Considering the weather, I wouldn’t be surprised if he decided not to show up. The air was a bit more crisp tonight as I slowly walked along the gravel sidewalk. I hugged my thin cardigan against my chest, regretting my decision with the outfit I chose. I just wanted to dress a little nicer since I knew who I would be meeting. 

As I approached the familiar spot, he was already sitting there, dressed in a dark gray hoodie, covered by a little bit of a heavier coat. His hair was a little messier than it was the night before. As I admired from a distance, his head slowly turned around, eyes meeting mine. His smile sent shivers down my body, so warm, so welcoming. He got up from his spot, slowly walking over to meet me halfway. His brows furrowed, reaching out and placing both hands on my chilled arms. “You’re freezing.” I didn’t even have time to react before he had placed his heavy coat over my shoulders. His scent was that of a mixture of old spice and some sort of deep cologne fragrance. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was going to be this cold tonight.” 

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m glad I had something to offer.” His smile was so genuine, his words so gentle in the way he spoke. I could feel my heart rate increase, butterflies desperately trying to flee upwards through my body. “I’m glad you decided to come back tonight.” 

“I wanted to see you again.” 

“I wanted to see you, too.” 

We continued to meet every night after that for a week straight, at the same spot under the moon. Every night, he would bring my blanket with him, along with some sort of beverage or snack. We would lay under the stars, talking about whatever would come to mind, so effortlessly. On the days it would rain, we would hide out under the gazebo that stood close  to the water, getting a better view of the waves created by such delicate drops from the sky. 

“Sometimes, when it rains like this, I think of the earth crying for something she has lost. Someone she held dear to her,” I said, looking out towards the body of water in front of us. “The harder it rains, the more pain she feels. I see hurricanes as her rage, so violent and chaotic.” Satoru slowly made his way over, standing directly behind me. I could feel the warmth of his body press up against mine. He laced his arms around my waist, resting his head on my shoulder. I let my body relax in this state, finding comfort in the position he had forced on us. 

“You are so beautiful, Y/N.” I wanted so badly to turn around and see what expression he was making, but he had me locked in place. I didn’t want to fight it, I wanted this moment to last for eternity. The way the world expanded for me in that moment, my heart bursting as if it wanted to leap out of my chest. “I like to think that the earth is crying for us who are living here, day to day. Her tears bring so much life to flowers in the spring, watering crops of all kinds. Without her, how would we as humans flourish?”

It was the way he took interest in what I said, how he processed everything so he could relate. I truly enjoyed these conversations we had, listening and imagining what the world looked like through his eyes. For as long as I could remember, no one has ever taken the time to listen to what I had to say. I was found ‘boring’ and ‘air headed’ with the way I had an opinion on everything I spoke about. He didn’t make me feel those things, he made me feel heard. 

Satoru lifted his head, turning me slowly so I was facing him. He looked nervous, his bottom lip pulled in between his teeth. Not once did he break eye contact with me. It felt as if he wanted to say everything all at once but then nothing at all. Afraid of what would happen if he spoke existence into the universe. So instead, I leaned in for him, pressing my lips gently against his. I could feel his body relax into mine, his lower hand gripping onto my lower back just a little bit tighter. It felt like if he let go in this moment, I would’ve disappeared forever. Our bodies were in sync, igniting such passion as he deepened our kiss. His hands gently explored my body, my own wrapped firmly around his neck. I finally had to pull away to catch my breath, lingering any longer I would’ve gotten light headed.

He pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes tracing my lips as I sat there heavy breathing in hopes to catch my breath. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Please.” 

“What does love mean to you?” His eyes were fixed on mine, hands gripped firmly around my waist. I didn’t mean to hesitate on the question, but I had never known what love really felt like when it came to another individual. I wasn’t sure how to answer this question truthfully, but one thing I was absolutely sure of, I was absolutely besotted with Saturo.

I let my head dip a little lower, feeling uneasy with such a strong gaze patiently waiting for an answer. “I want to answer you, I really do.” I let out a deep sigh, picking at the dead skin around my fingers as I caved. It was now, or close myself off to someone I had become so enthralled with.  “When I was younger, my mother grew very sick. She was bedridden for most of my childhood which caused a lot of strain on her and my fathers relationship. I wasn’t allowed to visit with her, talk to her through the door, or write her letters. My father grew resentment for her and for our family, inevitably leaving both of us behind. I’m not sure if my mother ever really passed because she was sick. Things got really bad after my father left, she wouldn’t eat, could barely form sentences. Eventually, she was taken from me as well. I feel as if I never really got to know my mom because of the way my father kept us apart so when she passed, of course I was sad, but I had felt that loss long before she died. After that, I jumped around an assortment of foster families, different family members, but none of them ever felt like home. At one point, when I was living with a distant aunt, her husband wasn’t very happy to be taking on another child. I don’t blame him but that never gave him the right to lay his hands on me. It was constant too.” 

I could feel my breath begin to break, shaking as I tried to get past the hardest part. “She never stood up for me, my aunt. She was just as scared of him as I was. It lasted for two years, the constant hiding, staying late at school, finding safe havens away from their home. One day, things became a little too violent and I felt as if my own life would be at risk if I didn’t leave. So, I took all the money I had saved up and moved out, leaving behind the broken childhood my father had graciously gifted me, leaving the abusive home my aunt had opened up and uncle had closed. I made a few friends here and there but my comfort was here. Here, no one could yell or scream at me. I was able to feel human laying in the grass, sun kissing my skin as it slowly moved over me.”

I could taste a hint of salt as I finally realized I had let tears shed as I shared my story. I hadn’t had to talk about what had happened in so long that I had nearly forgotten why I had closed myself off so much from the outside world. Satoru gently placed his hand on my cheek, rubbing his thumb to wipe away the fallen tears. I was embarrassed, uneasy of the information I had shared with the man who has been nothing but kind since the day I met him. I felt extremely drawn to him and the anxiety bubbling up inside me kept telling me that this would be what would push him away. But instead, he pulled me closer, placing his head in the crook of my neck, leaving soft kisses across my shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice felt faint, uneasy as he tried to form a response. “To think such a loving girl had to endure such pain in order to survive.” 

“I’ve never been able to talk about this with anyone, not that I didn’t have people who would listen, but because I never trusted anyone enough to understand why I am the way that I am. I never gave up hope after what happened, in fact, I was grasping onto it in order to make it out. And for that, I’m grateful.” He lifted his head, his gaze meeting mine, both teary eyed. “I didn’t mean for this to turn out like this. I feel like I kind of ruined the night we had.” 

“No no, please don’t think like that.” He rested his lips against my forehead. His hand traced down my arm, intertwining his fingers with mine. Every touch was so gentle, so comforting. I have never felt so heard, so seen by someone ever in this life I was given. He saw me, he was acknowledging who I was as I stood in front of him, vulnerable. The way my heart raced, the way I looked forward to hearing him speak, the way he relaxed under my touch, I was more than aware of my own feelings for him. 

“You asked me what love meant to me,” I started, taking his face into the palm of my hands. “Love to me is how the moon says goodnight to the sun when dusk hits, how the wet dew covers the early morning grass, bringing it to life. Love is when your heart races with excitement in the eyes of the person who has listened to you, held you, kissed you sweetly on your darkest days. The way that line of fate naturally brings two people together, entwining in a beautiful chaotic knot. It’s like lacing fingers together, your hands getting tangled in my hair. The way the moon reflects into your eyes when you gaze at the stars, love is the aura I feel when I’m with you. I may not have a good understanding of what love may mean between two people but I love the moon, I love the night sky, I love the way the flowers bloom in the spring or when it snows, I love how silent the world becomes when it’s being coated. I find love in almost everything I have examined from afar, including you.”

“Love,” he whispered, taking his hand and tucking my hair behind my ear. “Is shown in a girl who endured the worst in order to find that meaning.The way she finds even the most simplest parts of life beautiful, is what I admired most about her. She loved to talk about the night sky in detail, and I loved to listen to her voice. She was captivating, truly the most beautiful creation to have walked this Earth, and I find myself extremely lucky to have crossed paths with her.”

He leaned down, once more placing his lips on mine, deeply pressing himself against me. It felt as if he pulled me any closer, our bodies would’ve merged into one. This sense of security has become one of my new favorite feelings. He pulled away, the distance never waning. “And I have fallen in love with that girl.”

ANIME MASTER LIST

[mrs-pondwater19]

Random Miguel O'Hara Headcanons that Plague my Mind Daily✨💜✨

Fem Shy Civilian Reader x Miguel O'Hara

Part 1

Just a little blurb about my personal headcanons of Miguel that I would like to share with all you lovely, beautiful souls.

No real plot, just drabbles and little silly brain rotting thoughts of a cute little shy civilian lady and Miggy because we all don't have to be Spider-Women to get this man's attention. Especially cute, shy civilian girlies.

I don't speak Spanish, so please feel free to correct any mistakes if you see any 💙

SFW and NSFW will be split into two parts.

Established Relationship, friends to lovers vibe, long distance relationship *sorta*, cute little anecdotes, brain rot, Miguel being absolutely head over heels for you, reader feeling slightly ashamed/insecure cause she's not a spider woman, slight mentions of trauma, consoling/reassurance on both ends. Over whole wholesome, loving vibes.

I hope you all enjoy💜💙💜

SFW

He never intended on falling in love. Not when he was what he was.

Spider-Man 2099. The founder of the Spider Society, a man dedicated to his work and keeping the Multiverse safe.

But that all changed when you came into his life.

You originally were a friend of his little brother, Gabriel. Not fully remembering how you met his brother before, but knowing well enough that you two were good friends and hung out occasionally.

He remembered the first time he ever met you when coming home from one of his missions. Unaware that you had dropped in to visit with his brother and stayed a bit longer than you intended to.

He remembered how surprised you looked when he walked through the door, seeing his muscular stature and handsome face standing in the doorway.

The heat on your cheeks becoming very prominent when he approached you.

How his cocky smile made your heart skip a beat.

How your hand was a little shaky when he introduced himself to you with a formal handshake.

How his large, calloused hand engulfed your small, soft one without any trouble at all.

How you quietly introduced yourself with that shy smile of yours.

It was so much different than the women he was around in the Society.

How soft spoken and gentle you were.

Even though he didn't want to admit it, he thought you were absolutely adorable.

From the first time he met you and moving forward into the little friendship you two formed.

He always knew how to get you all flustered whenever you were around him.

Especially when he started using more intimate nicknames that always made you squirm.

"Mi Alma."

"Querida."

"Mi Vida."

"Amor."

Even when you tried to roll with his teasing and tried to keep yourself calm and collected.

You never hid your embarrassment well.

He could see how much his teasing and suave personality got under your skin.

But he didn't mind at all.

In fact he thought it was all very, very cute.

Every time you blushed.

Every time you stuttered.

Every time you bashfully smiled at him.

It all made his heart melt every time he saw you.

Although he was surrounded by all kinds of women each and everyday at HQ. Women who often fought for his attention and affection.

He never really seemed to pay any mind to them. Always keeping it professional with those who sought him out. Never seeing any of them as more than co-workers, allies in their goal to keep the Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse safe and secure.

But when it came to you.

His sweet, shy, pretty little civilian friend.

Despite being the cold, distant, hardened man he was. He knew deep down he had a bit of a soft spot for you.

That you had a certain effect on him.

An effect no Spider-Woman in the Spider Society could ever come close to.

And it would only get worse as time passed, when he'd start hanging out with you on his own without Gabriel.

That would become the norm for you two.

Just spending time together in either his apartment or yours.

Talking about each other's interests and life experiences.

After a while he was even comfortable enough to tell you about his life as Spider-Man.

Not that you were surprised in the slightest, considering how he was always conveniently leaving right before "Spider-Man" showed up.

But he knew he could trust you to keep his secret.

You always did.

Because you wanted to be a good friend.

Someone he could trust.

But deep down you knew it was also because you didn't want to ruin your chances of being something more with him.

Even though you truly believed he didn't look at you that way.

But you couldn't have been more wrong.

Whenever he wasn't playing the role of Spider-Man, he would always be sure to make time for you.

Taking walks with you in the park, getting coffee at a local café, or just sitting in the apartment and talking for hours and hours on end.

Getting to break down your shy exterior more and more with each meeting.

Getting to know who you were deep down.

And you were so lovely and sweet.

Not that he didn't know that before. But the more time he spent with you.

The more he got to see how genuine you really were.

And after you'd leave, he'd let his mind wander back to you. Allowing himself to replay his favorite moments when being with you.

Your laugh.

Your pretty smile.

Your beautiful eyes.

Those eyes he often thought about when he went on missions, while alone in his office monitoring the multiverse, and when he patrolled alone late into the night.

Those same eyes that haunted his dreams like a blessing and a curse.

Those beautiful, bright eyes that had his heart skipping beats every time you met his gaze.

So gentle, full of appreciation and kindness for him despite your shyness.

Fuck... he had it so bad for you.

He knew it would've been better if you two had just stayed friends, that he should've kept you at a distance because of his profession.

He knew he couldn't be the man you needed, or the man who deserved to be with you.

But he couldn't help it.

You were just...you.

As the time passed, hiding his feelings for you just got harder and harder. Trying to push away how he truly felt about you.

Trying to convince himself you two were just really good friends, nothing more.

He tried so hard.

Until he couldn't take it anymore.

Every time you were around him, or every time you crossed his mind, it felt like his heart would burst out of his chest.

Every little lingering touch, whether it was your hugs, hair ruffles, or gentle jabs.

It left him wanting more and more.

All the nights be fantasized about being with you. About a future with you that he knew he could never have.

It was almost too much to bear.

He knew he had to tell you.

Even if it meant ruining your friendship.

He needed to be honest with you.

To be honest with himself.

When the day came that he actually did confess to you. You thought he was joking.

Thinking he was just trying to get a rise out of you like he always did.

To see your cheeks blush that pretty crimson red. To get you to cover your face and tell him to stop teasing you so mercilessly.

"Come on now Mig, don't tease me like that."

But when be looked at you with the most serious expression you'd ever seen on his face, besides the slightest blush on his cheeks.

You knew this was no joke.

His expression never wavered as he spoke.

"I'm not teasing you. I'm being serious, querida."

You swore your heart stopped when you realized he meant what he said.

The conviction in his voice made your body hot and your mind a bit fuzzy.

It felt almost too good to be true.

That there was no way he actually had romantic feelings for you.

And when you didn't respond at first.

He began to panic.

At that point he was a nervous, blabbering mess.

Trying so desperately to explain that the feelings he harbored for you were real.

"Look, I know I'm not the easiest to be around. I have a temper, I tend to push people away, and I can be harsh at times."

"But when I'm around you, you make me feel like a better version of myself. You bring out all the good things in me I forgot I had. I like who I am when you're with me. I like that you see who I am beyond my stoicism and my title as Spider-Man."

"I love that you see me for who I am."

You wanted to respond, but he just kept going on his tangent.

Gently bringing his large, clammy hands to your shoulders as a way to steady the two of you.

"But please, querida. I need you to trust me when I say that I have very strong feelings for you. Feelings I can't really explain. But they're there."

Having him hopelessly spill his feelings in front of you.

You couldn't deny your true feelings either.

"I feel the same."

But you knew the reality of the situation was tricky and complicated.

"But what about the Spider Society? Your role as Spider-Man?"

He knew you would ask that.

He thought about that himself more times than he could count.

He knew it wouldn't be easy. But he was willing to make it work.

Because he believed you were worth it.

"That doesn't change anything mi vida. I'll do whatever it takes to make this work. As long as you're willing to take a chance with me, we'll find a way. No matter how long it takes. All I ask is that you be patient with me querida."

After hearing those words of affirmation, it was enough for you to happily say yes.

Granted it was strange at first. With both your feelings were out in the open, it made things a bit tense.

Thinking he wasn't really being serious.

That it was just out of pity.

You knew you shouldn't have been thinking like that, because you knew Miguel wasn't that type of person.

He was very upfront with how he felt.

Cut and dry so to speak.

But the mean, little voice in the back of your mind always reminded you of the kinds of women he worked with on a daily basis.

Strong, valiant, capable, beautiful women.

Not that you weren't beautiful in your own right.

Because you absolutely were.

But it was different with them.

Or so you thought.

They were heroes.

You were just another civilian amongst the crowd.

Even though you never openly expressed how you felt about it.

Miguel knew.

And he absolutely hated that you felt that way about yourself.

He thought you were absolutely perfect as you were.

Because you weren't like them.

You were so much more than any of the women in his organization.

Even if you didn't see it that way.

But he was more than determined to get you out of that mindset.

He would constantly reassure you that he wasn't going anywhere.

That he was very, very serious about the relationship.

That you were the only one he would ever want.

That you were the only one he'd ever need.

Telling you from the moment you woke up until you fell asleep in his arms,

"I'll always be here with you, mi alma. Always."

Part of it was for his own reassurance as well as yours.

Because his past was not kind to him in the slightest.

After losing so many people he loved and cherished more than himself.

He was afraid of letting people in.

To show vulnerability.

Terrified of losing someone he loved and cared about again.

He didn't want to relive that pain.

Never again.

You could see it in his eyes whenever he tried to reassure you of the doubts you had about him.

You could see how much it hurt him.

How it stung in his chest every time he needed to reassure you.

That he was there to stay.

That you were the only one for him.

Gradually, the more you heard him say it. The more you truly started to truly believe in him.

That he wasn't going anywhere.

That he was committed to making it work with you, because he loved you.

And he made sure you felt that way each time you were together.

Not only with his words.

But with his actions as well.

How over time he picked up on all your little quirks.

Taking note of all the small, little things you liked that only people super close to you knew.

Remembering how you liked your coffee or tea.

Making you your favorite snacks after you had a long day of classes or work.

Cooking you your favorite meals when he's not working. Wanting to make sure you've eaten and that you're taking care of.

Giving you gentle massages and rubbing your back to make you feel better if you were sore or in pain.

Playing with your hair when you cuddled because he knew you enjoyed it. Feeling your strands gently wrapped around his large, calloused fingers and letting them fall past his skin.

Just being close to you whenever he was with you.

Given your comfortability of course.

He was a very passionate, affectionate man.

And although he would never, ever push your boundaries when it came to physicality.

He just wanted to show you how much he loved you as much as he could.

Hugging you.

Kissing you.

Touching you.

Feeling you.

Making sure he made you feel loved at every opportunity.

Knowing in the back of his mind he couldn't always do that for you.

No matter how much he wanted to.

It was difficult, not being able to see him as much as you wanted to. But you knew he had responsibilities being Spider-Man. The people's protector.

He'd be gone for days at a time. Leaving you alone in the apartment to go about your life. Whether it was work or classes.

It'd get lonely at times for sure.

But you both found ways to make it work.

Even though he's busy with the Spider Society and keeping the Multiverse intact. He would always make sure to let you know he's thinking of you.

Whether it was little messages he'd send you from his Gizmo telling you how much he loved and missed you.

Telling you about the different dimensions he visited and the anomalies he hunted down.

Although he didn't go into too much detail when it came to his work life.

Only what he considered necessary.

He didn't want you knowing about the darker side of his job.

All the close calls he encountered.

All the people he couldn't save.

How sometimes he'd let every mistake he ever made during a mission consume him.

But he refused to let you see that side of him.

You had enough to worry about as it was.

He didn't need you adding on any more stress than you had.

But you weren't stupid either.

You always worried about him.

How could you not?

Knowing who he was and what he did, you knew the risks that came with it.

The chance of him never coming home.

The guilt he carried because he knew he couldn't save everyone.

But all you could do was try to be as supportive as possible.

Reminding him that he was doing his best and that's what mattered.

That he was a good man.

And he appreciated it.

More than you could ever know.

That was another he loved about you.

How kind and understanding you were when it came to his profession.

You never shut him out or backed down when he was in a bad mindset about those things.

You always looked at things rationally and tried to be as supportive and optimistic as you could be.

Keeping him as levelheaded as possible and letting him know you were in his corner no matter what.

Even if that was all you could do.

Whether it was in person or from afar.

He was grateful for it.

For you.

When he wasn't sending you messages he'd call you on late night patrols to ask you how your day was. He didn't care whether it was exciting or not. He just wanted to talk to you.

Even if you're all groggy, sleepy or can't keep track of the conversation.

He selfishly just wanted to hear your voice after a long stressful day.

It reminded him of what he has waiting at home for him.

When he did get home after his patrol, you're usually asleep. All cozied up in your bed, cuddling with his pillow.

He'd watch you sleep for a while before joining you in the sheets.

Not in a creepy or strange way.

He just likes seeing you at peace despite the struggles life puts you through.

To see you in such a calm state.

To see all the little expressions while you dream.

To shamelessly admire the woman he's opened his heart to without seeing you get all embarrassed, hiding away from his gaze.

He could feel the way his heart skipped beats in his broad, muscular chest at the way your hair was tussled against the pillow.

How your lips were slightly parted as you took soft breaths.

The way the blankets cocooned around your form as you curled into a fetal position around his pillow.

It was a sight to behold.

After a while he'd have Lyla shut down the nanotech spider suit and crawl into the soft sheets with you.

He'd take the pillow from your arms and pull you close. Replacing the cold fabric of the pillow with the warmth of his skin.

Pulling you against him as if he were protecting you from the world.

Feeling the sudden warmth always woke you up every time he came home.

"Mmm, what time is it baby?"

"Don't you worry about that amor. You just go back to sleep, I'll be here with you when you wake up. Ok mi alma?"

You weren't really awake enough to comprehend what he was saying, but you just nodded as you wrapped your arms around him.

"Love you Mig."

It was a groggy, subconscious phrase of your love.

But it made his heart swell all the same.

He kissed your forehead sweetly as he pulled you even closer.

"Te amo tanto, querida."

With that he'd allow himself to fall asleep wrapped around you, and you him.

Knowing that he could always come home to you.

[heartfe1t]

    ❝    agreed. it's not easy sometimes, being away from you. i definitely miss you a lot when we're apart. it's worth it, because i get to be with you. but it's not easy. so i appreciate that you feel the same way. that it's worth it for both of us. i'm glad you have your sister, too. that you know you're not alone when we're apart.    ❞    he's very much in agreement about how rough it can be to be separated by distance so often. it's not fair, necessarily... but it's the reality of both of their careers right now. he'll be able to retire much earlier than most people do of course, but- right now, when he's trying to have stable relationships, it does make that more complicated. so mila's understanding is something he's grateful for.    ❝    yeah, that makes sense. it felt like the right time... i'm really thankful you trusted me with that part of your life. that part of yourself. and you know i love you, all of you.    ❞    

he's definitely fond of that night, of that few days they got together back then... seems both like forever ago and just yesterday.    ❝    it was. probably a weird milestone to celebrate like that... with a big fancy dinner date, but... we got time together, and i wanted to do something special for you. for us. it was a really nice extended weekend we had together, huh? i'm always going to be happy when we can spend that kind of time together.    ❞    and while it's not always possible to be physically together all the time, thanks to both of their jobs... he's really happy to be with mila. he's never been more sure she's who he's supposed to be with. her question... doesn't surprise him.    ❝    well- i think we've gotten to a point in our relationship where we're ready to take the next step together. i know we've been dating less than a year, but i have no doubt in my mind that i want to spend the rest of my life with you, mila.    ❞    and while he was hoping to get through dinner first, she knows him too well.    ❝    so tonight's special. it's going to be very special.    ❞    maybe part of his subconscious nips at him, as long as she says yes... but honestly, he doesn't have any doubts like that. as he looks into her eyes, smiling at her and reaching for her hand across the small table, he's completely confident in this, in them.    ❝    we do nice, fancy dates sometimes just- because... but you're right. this is a special night for us. for our future. and i'm going to ask you something... and i really do hope you say yes.    ❞    

❝    i    didn't    care    about    the    press,    i    just    wanted    you    close    again.    ❞    she    says,    giving    him    a    soft    smile.    she'd    been    so    nervous    that    day    and    feeling    so    comfortable    with    quinn    had    made    her    want    him    nearby.    when    she'd    seen    him    again,    she    couldn't    help    but    reach    for    him.    ❝    perfect    is    exactly    how    i    would    describe    it,    too.    meeting    you    is    the    best    thing    that    ever    happened    to    me.    ❞    she    laughs    at    the    assessment    of    their    sex    life,    especially    when    they'd    first    gotten    together.    ❝    i    was    ready    to    hop    on    a    plane    to    get    laid    a    couple    times,    i    can't    even    lie.    it's    been    rough    not    being    able    to    be    together    all    the    time.    worth    it    as    long    as    we're    together,    but    rough    nonetheless.    ❞    

❝    honestly,    i    don't    think    i    was    planning    on    telling    you    that    night.    i    was    excited    for    our    night    in    but    then    things    were    going    how    they    went,    just    getting    so    comfortable,    dancing    around    the    kitchen,    and    i    just    knew.    ❞    that    had    been    the    night    that    had    solidified    for    her    that    she    wanted    to    spend    the    rest    of    her    life    with    quinn.    it    had    been    so    soon,    so    early    in    their    relationship,    but    everything    had    felt    so    right    then.    she    knew,    even    then,    that    he    wasn't    going    to    judge    her    for    things    that    were    out    of    her    control,    but    it    had    been    scary    to    be    so    open    with    him.    

the    music    starts    to    play    and    she    looks    around,    taking    in    the    moment.    the    music,    the    twinkling    lights    on    the    water,    the    gentle    swaying    of    the    boat.    ❝    that    was    one    of    our    first    big,    fancy    dates,    wasn't    it?    you    had    a    few    more    days    off    than    normal    and    we    actually    got    some    quality    time    together.    you    really    went    above    and    beyond    with    that    one.    ❞    she    says,    dreamy    look    on    her    face    as    she    thinks    about    that    night.    a    three    month    anniversary    was    kind    of    silly    to    celebrate,    but    they    hadn't    gotten    to    spend    much    time    together,    and    it    was    a    good    excuse.    and,    well,    every    little    milestone    with    quinn    meant    the ��  world    to    her.    she    beams    as    that    same    wine    is    brought    out    and    poured    for    them,    and    then    quinn    is    lifting    a    glass    and    she    follows    suit,    smiling    from    ear    to    ear.    ❝    this    is    amazing,    quinn.    what's    the    occasion?    ❞

[power-chords]

The thing about 12-step programs is that the basic model involves getting a bunch of vulnerable, impulsive nutsos together in a plausibly cult-y atmosphere where they're likely to have already burned a lot of social bridges. That it doesn't turn out to be a hotbed of abuse would be the more farfetched assumption.