#the only way i cope with the feelings is by watching the 'the song of achilles as vines' videos

[heavnlysaturn]

now that arcane finished me don’t talk to me for a solid 3 weeks or honestly, a solid YEAR. I need serious time to process what I watched. you’ll find me in the exact state jayce was, or I’ll listen in loop ekko and jinx’s (powders) song, relieving that fleeting moment of them dancing while i dance myself, like nothing else matters. lost in that bittersweet memory, releasing the tidal wave of emotions, because sometimes dancing is the only way to cope. I’m unreachable right now. just me, my feelings, and the soundtrack of devastation

[stxrysnow]

— your wounds make me bleed.

synopsis. you, being the oh so powerful sorcerer you are, did not even realise the extent of your injuries until you found out that you couldn't stand without the support of something— after defeating the curse, of course. shoko's busy, so, satoru, being the gentleman he is (and also the strange source of comfort you have) decides to take matters in his own hands— while being a pain in the ass, obviously.

however, you joking about your death does not help— and satoru's carefree façade manages to slip, bringing back some memories he had tried to forget.

genres/themes. satoru gojo x reader, hurt/comfort, satoru and reader are highschool friends (frenemies ?), satoru and reader bicker a lot, satoru being a menace, reader is also a menace (lmaoo), mentions of blood (reader is injured), mentions of satoru's past, reader comforts satoru.

jiah’s notes. i miss him so much that it physically hurts me. send help LMAOO—

word count. 1.8k

“tsk. and here i thought that you could take care of yourself, at least,” the white-haired man tuts, and you feel yourself roll your eyes to the back of your head for god-knows-what time again— and that of course earns a smirk from him. “how disappointing. and ah, don’t roll your eyes so much. you might just have a view of your non-existent brain and pass out on me. jeez, i wouldn’t want you to dirty my couch.”

“how fascinating to hear that you care about something, satoru,” your voice feigns bewilderment— a simply amazed look in your eyes as you heave a blissful sigh. “at least you’re not as heartless as i thought. hang on there, expensive leather couch.”

“so you’re admitting you’d pass out, and the fact that you don’t have a brain,” satoru huffs out a laugh, finding amusement in the way you let out a small ‘tsk’ of annoyance.

something about satoru comforts you.

no, it isn’t the comfort that people idealise— no physical contact, no silly gifts or acts of service— it was his mere presence that soothed you, while irritating you at the same time. every word that flowed between you two was either a sugary sweet taunt or a blunt insult— yet, you two found solace in each other in a way that was beyond the comprehension of everyone around you.

including you two.

“if not having a brain will make me cope with your ass, then so be it,” a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch satoru wrap the bandage in a firm, yet gentle grip around your arm, relishing in the way his eye twitches and his usual shit-eating grin widens in annoyance.

“at least i didn’t get my ass handed back to me by a grade one curse,” the man lets out a scoff. “seriously, how do you even get this beaten-up?”

“hey, ’t wasn’t my fault i only noticed my blood after defeating it,” you say, shifting your position on that damn couch of his, as you felt a sudden urge to fidget with something, “at least it got exorcised.”

“sure,” satoru says, and you swear you could feel him rolling his eyes even through the confines of his blindfold, “very impressive. at least it got exorcised.”

hearing him say those— your— particular words in that mocking, sing-song voice makes an irritated scowl break out into your face, and oh how it makes satoru smile so smugly— making you want to curse the hell out of this menace of a sorcerer.

“you’re applying too much pressure, dumbass,” you mutter, trying not to wince as his fingers tightened the bandages which covered the skin of your hands.

satoru raises a brow, tightening them even more. “deal with it,” he deadpans. “ ’s your fault, ya know? if i keep it loose you’ll start to bleed. again. over my couch.”

the damned couch again.

honestly? you knew that he couldn’t give lesser shits about the furniture, and that he was just saying that to piss you off. and what was even more infuriating was that it was working.

really, years of experience with satoru gojo had changed nothing— and everything in your feelings towards him.

“get it over with the couch, will ya?” it’s your turn to let out an annoyed scoff, which undoubtedly makes the sorcerer let out a snicker of his own.

“sometimes i wonder how you even ended up becoming a sorcerer,” satoru wraps a band-aid around your scratched fingers, “thought you’d leave the job and become a farmer or somethin’, y’know.”

“unlike you, i had spent too much of an effort in the projects yaga gave us in highschool, so there’s no way i’d let it go in vain,” you shake your head, “it would be too embarrassing.”

besides, you’d rather die than see satoru’s laughing face if you ever decided to change your profession just because you weren’t able to handle a curse or two.

“you never change, do you?” satoru huffs out a laugh, and oh god if he didn’t wipe that agonizing smirk off his face within the next second, you’d gladly do the honours— if only you weren't in so much pain, though, “always so damn reckless. it’s a miracle you have me to tend to your wounds, or else just where you be?”

“dead, most probably,” you say with sarcasm dripping down your words, expecting a scoff of amusement in response— but it never came.

you tear your gaze away from the dried gash on your arm to meet satoru's piercing, piercing stare— it was really a wonder how that guy manages to make you feel his eyes bearing into the depths of your soul even though you couldn't quite actually see them because of the shield his blindfold created.

satoru feels a whirl of emotions in him— eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, and you just know that he is not, in fact, amused.

not even in the slightest.

his heart is racing— and if he had his blindfold off, you’d see how his usually bright, azure eyes had a darkened glint in them— something which just screamed out the fact that he was unsettled, uncontrolled— afraid.

as the tense seconds pass, he gives you a little glare, his expression hardening.

“. . that’s not funny,” he utters, before averting his gaze down to your arm. his efficient hands wrap the gauze around your limb almost in a mechanical movement— the little frown never leaving his face, lips pressed into a thin line.

oh.

your gaze softens, watching the sorcerer quietly tend to your wounds, noticing how his gaze lingers on a particularly deep gash on your leg— how his fingers tremble ever so slightly when his touch stays on the burn for a little too long— you notice it, of course you do.

he's thinking about suguru again.

there wasn't quite a time when he didn't— at least he didn’t show it to anyone. but you, you see him for who he is— the lonely man who’s just wanted some love, and not just the title of being ‘the strongest’— the man who still yearns for his best friend to come back, even though he's . . . gone.

you always see through him.

you should've considered your words before joking about something like that, really.

no matter how much of an annoying bastard satoru may be to you, but still, he was satoru to you. not 'the strongest', not the guy who always had that stupid smile plastered on his face at all times, not the guy whom the world saw as undefeatable— no, he was something much, much more.

you watch his tense demeanour threaten to consume him alive— how his hands shake no matter how much he tries to make them steady, how his shoulders go rigid when they were usually slumped carelessly, how his bottom lip quivers— it was just a tiny movement, yet you manage to see.

how could you not see earlier that you words would've affected him? god, you felt so stupid.

“ . . hey,” hearing the soft tone in your voice makes something inside satoru snap— raising his head to forcefully avert his gaze from your injuries to your face— heart beating so loud that he’s unsure whether you wouldn’t have noticed.

but then again, you were you, and satoru was, well . . . satoru.

his eyes widen— seeing you open your arms with that soft, apologetic smile— and before the sorcerer knows, he’s burying his nose into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tight around your injured frame; his lower body on the floor as he nuzzles into your arms on the couch.

most people would’ve hesitated, casted him a wary look of disbelief— the satoru gojo, reduced to a trembling mess just because someone joked about their death? the satoru gojo, who still blames himself for his best friend’s death? the satoru gojo, who’s known as ‘the strongest’— being vulnerable?

indeed, it is the satoru gojo, clinging onto you like a lifeline, large hands of his gripping you so tightly that he's afraid that you might disappear the moment his hold loosens.

your satoru.

arms wrapped around his neck as you shush him, bandaged fingers running through his snowy white strands whilst his shoulders shake— oh how you regretted saying that.

“ . . i hate it when you say stuff like that,” he mutters, and if you didn’t have a knack for noticing subtle things about it, you wouldn’t have seen a barely audible crack in his voice.

“ ’m sorry,” you say in a quiet, soothing tone, pulling away a bit to stare at his face, and god did your heart wrench— satoru's bottom lip was red from him biting on them so much.

gingerly, one of your hands unlatches itself from around his neck, going to gently slip under the hem of his blindfold — as you slowly pull it down, revealing those mystical eyes of his— so terrified that you feel the fear radiating off him.

he seems so, so vulnerable like this— a desperation and fright seizing his entire soul as he stares at you. you cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing his soft, warm skin.

“don’t . . . don’t joke about stuff like that,” he says in breathless, shaky whisper— eyebrows furrowing even more as his breath stutters, and from this moment on you swear to yourself to never say something like that again. not if it hurts satoru.

ever.

“i won’t,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his, “ ’m sorry, satoru.”

you pull his head down so he’s laying it on your chest, arms wrapped around his neck as you massage his scalp soothingly.

satoru’s shoulders relax, his heart easing a bit from hearing your gentle tone, panicked eyes fluttering close as he lets out a small, shaky sigh, burying his face into your chest— so desperate for comfort, for some kind of reassurance that you are okay, that you won’t leave, that you’ll . . .

stay.

you run your hands through his fluffy locks, gently easing the tension that had accumulated within him with simple movements of your fingertips— earning a soft, relaxed sigh from him.

“keep doing that,” you hear him mutter, and you let out a hum in response, continuing to massage his scalp. “don’t . . . don’t stop. please.”

this is how two you seeked comfort from each other.

something that was beyond words— something that was beyond everyone.

including you two.

as you two lay on the couch— two souls craving reassurances from the other— time ticks by, but oh do you care? not even a bit.

“don’t leave me,” satoru whispers, and you find yourself letting out a murmur of approval, caressing his hair. “i was so scared, i can’t lose you too, i—”

“i’ll stay, satoru.”

and so, you do. as long as you’re here with satoru, he has nothing to fear.

as long as you stay.

☆ @stxrysnow on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

[harryslittlefreakk]

favourite crime 2

summary: harry whisks y/n away for a romantic weekend, but when feelings and questions turn into actions, their relationship only gets more complicated

warnings: smut (protected sex, oral f receiving, choking, spanking, cockwarming) angst, mentions of cheating, forbidden love, age gap

wordcount: 7.3k

a/n: thank you SO much for all the love and feedback on the first part 🙈 i can’t cope. SORRY this took so long to post. please let me know if you enjoyed this one!!! love you <3

(as always it’s not proofread yet so proceed with caution)

special mention to this series’ biggest fan, my homegirl @harryscumcloth who has helped me with this a million times AND may have beat me if this wasn’t posted sooner <3

favourite crime masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

You were nestled in the corner of a quiet pub, worlds away from anyone who might recognise you or Harry, yet still almost jumping out of your skin when anyone met your eye. The armchair you were curled up in was rugged and worn, the padding molded to the shape of every person that had been there before you. Although not the venue you’d pick for a steamy weekend break, the B&B was cozy and welcoming, and somehow it felt even more romantic than a five-star sex hotel. The gentle murmur of distant conversations and the clinking of glasses pulled your attention away from your drink, your eyes scanning across the room until they landed on Harry’s.

Warm bulbs cast a dim glow over his face, the knit of his brows subtle as he stared at you, though he was clearly somewhere else. He’d been going crazy since he last saw you, the memories of the way he made you fall apart at the forefront of his mind. It fuelled a fire within him that his own fears kept putting out. He was burning then frozen, burning then frozen, over and over again.

You were young and needed to date properly, not be someone’s secret. And he couldn’t be your secret, wouldn’t allow himself to darken you with a warped and forbidden affair. But he couldn’t think of anything but you, the way your walls gripped at his fingers, the look in your eyes as he kissed you, the pink of your cheeks after you came. He was totally infatuated with you, yet he knew this was as far as anything could go.

You watched him for a while, waiting for him to speak up. The drive had been mostly quiet, neither of you knowing exactly how to express what you were thinking. Until Bonnie Raitt’s I Cant Make You Love Me came on the radio and two hands shot out to change the station. Harry’s eyes met yours for a second as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, a soft chuckle slipping out. He guided your hand to his thigh, his touch hovering until your thumb started to caress the fabric of his trousers.

“No sad songs in my car,” he teased, eyes fixed on the road. “Put one of your playlists on.”

You picked up your phone, momentarily feeling stupid and young as you scrolled through your Spotify. You had no idea what music Harry liked, and you weren’t about to embarrass yourself by displaying a horrific taste in music. He’d somehow noticed your internal panic, rolling his eyes in jest. “Just put on your on repeat. I wanna see what music you like,” he grinned.

You scrolled through your Spotify with a furrowed brow, your indecisive fingers hovering over the screen. a smirk playing on his lips, watched her struggle. "We’ll be there before you pick something.”

"It's important, Harry. I have to find a playlist that doesn’t have High School Musical in."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "For real?”

"Yes! What's wrong with that?" you laughed, pulling your hand away from his leg.

"Well, for a start," Harry began, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “You’re not twelve.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't help but giggle. "Hey, at least I have variety. You probably listen to dad rock and indie songs that you think will make girls fancy you.”

"Touché," he said, holding up a hand in surrender. "But at least I don’t have the music taste of a pre-teen.”

You rolled your eyes, finally settling on a song. As the first notes played, Harry groaned exaggeratedly. “Just because you have High School Musical in your playlist, doesn’t mean you should play it.”

You grinned, holding up your phone as a mock microphone. "Come on, admit it. You love it."

Harry shook his head, unable to keep a straight face. "You're impossible."

“You’re staring at me,” Harry said finally, pulling you from your daydream.

“You’ve been staring at me since we sat down,” you laughed. “I only looked just now.”

Harry smiled softly, patting his lap in a signal for you to cosy up to him. You stood up, quietly moving around the table, your eyes never leaving Harry.

He opened his arms as you approached, taking a hold of your hand as you settled onto his lap, curling up against him. Harry's arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, his thoughts momentarily forgotten. The comfort of the embrace was immediate, a perfect fit that seemed to melt away the distance that had separated you moments before.

You listened to the steady beat of his heart as Harry pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back.

“I know what you’re thinking, Harry,” you whispered, glancing down at your drink before meeting his gaze. His anguish was written all over his face, his confusion and indecisiveness seeping into the lines on his tanned skin. He leaned back into the seat, shifting you slightly so that he could see you clearly.

“What am I thinking, bunny?” he asked, his knuckles caressing your cheek.

“You’re thinking… that it’s for the best that nothing happens between us, but you still want it to.” You didn’t want to have the conversation so soon, but it was clearly troubling you both. Harry stayed silent, his dark eyes trained on your face as you fiddled with your straw.

“And you think this weekend should be the end of it,” you added, face hardening as you said it. He made a quiet murmur of agreement, brows knitting as if hearing the words out loud caused physical pain.

“I’ll follow your lead, H. If this is as far as we go, then I say we make it the best weekend ever,” you grinned, hoping that a twinkle cut through the sadness you could feel clouding your eyes.

Harry scanned your face for a second, searching for any sign of hesitance. But you were settled on your choice, your strong gaze giving him no indication of any deeper feelings. He pulled you closer to him after a moment, satisfied that you were on the same team.

To agree on the premature death of your relationship was a gut wrenching feeling, in the most peculiar way. You barely knew Harry outside of his time as your professor, and now you were wondering if he would end up as your one great love, the one big regret you’d have when you’re old and grey, or if he’d be the one who ruined you. You were almost certain it was the former, but it wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders as you settled into his lap, with one final scan around the pub in case it was suddenly full of people you knew. Harry’s hand pressed against your cheek, turning your head until you faced him. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, his lips parted just enough for you to see the white of his teeth as he stared at you.

It was the closest you’d been since you found yourself on his lap at the lake. Friday was your study day, your only lecture taught by a different professor, and you’d lost track of time and missed your grading session with Harry. The last you’d seen of him was as he drove away after dropping you home, your panties still dripping from the orgasm he’d given you.

The heat radiating off the wall of muscle grazing your chest had you burning up, your cheeks flushing a bright red under his gaze.

You’d noticed that he always looked at you as if he were undressing you in his mind, but now that he’d seen your body, his eyes bored deeper. So deep that it was almost as if he thought he could get you naked with just one look. But with the way he was looking at you then, it could have been a real possibility.

Harry’s lips ghosted across yours, dragging across your cheek until they settled at your ear. “We should go and check out our room,” he whispered, his voice huskier than it had been previously. His free hand tightened around your waist as he spoke, sending shivers down your spine.

You slid off his lap, leaving your barely touched drink on the table as you headed for the stairs. Harry was close behind you the whole way, his hands finding your hips as you started to climb.

You barely made it through the door before he was pulling you to him, his core pressed tight to your back. You could feel everything, every dip and curve of muscle, every twitch of his cock. Harry’s ringed hands gripped and clawed at your clothes with an urgency that sent a chill through your body.

You let him push you towards the bed, turning to face him when your calves hit the frame. He slid a hand up your shirt without a second thought; the sting of his nails, the warmth of his touch, the drool wetting his bottom lip as he stared at you open-mouthed. It was enough to make your knees buckle beneath you, your body suddenly not strong enough to withstand the energy and desire that coursed through you.

In that moment you realised that Harry was addictive. There was an energy that flowed through him, a frantic buzz of electricity shooting through your bloodstream at the mere thought of him. His touch, his voice, his presence left you with a high that you never want to come down from - a dangerous game to play. You knew you couldn’t have him, and the idea of the fall terrified you. But while thoughts of him were clouding your mind, the what ifs and what thens, he was with you, in front of you, tugging your t-shirt over your head.

You pulled your maxi skirt down, stepping out of it and throwing it somewhere off to the side. Harry backed away from you, his hands falling limply to his sides as his gaze dropped down to your panties. It was his first time seeing you properly, and he wanted to take in everything. The curve of your hips, the freckle on your thigh, the scarring of what once was a belly button piercing. His eyes trailed higher, to the fullness of your breasts, the blush of your nipples, the way your hair rested on your shoulders.

“So fucking pretty, kitten,” he whispered, reaching out to pull you towards him. His hand gripped your wrist firmly as he closed the distance between you. With a swift, fluid motion, Harry pushed you against the wall, the cool surface a shock against the heat radiating from his body. The impact took your breath away, but before you could fully process the sensation, his lips were on yours, fierce and demanding. The world around you blurred into insignificance, your whole being succumbing to the urgency and passion of Harry’s tongue as it moved against yours. His feet nudged between yours, his erection pressing into your parted thighs.

He pulled away after a minute, his fingers tangled in your hair. You were panting, gasping for breath as his lips moved down your neck. “Tell me what you need from me,” he murmured, nipping at the skin between hot kisses.

“Anything, everything,” you whispered, your voice breathy, a ghost of itself. Harry pulled away from you, straightening up so he could look you in the eye. His fingers trailed across your jawline, his normally mossy eyes now like coal as they moved over your face.

“Don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he said, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as his hand roamed your skin, tracing the curves and contours of your hips and waistline.

“Give me everything, H,” you moaned, reaching out to touch him as the anticipation became too much to handle. His hand left your face, fingers tangling between yours as he blocked you from touching him, holding your hand at your side as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

You widened your legs for Harry without a second thought, grip tightening on his hand as he pressed wet kisses to your inner thighs.

“Been dreaming about this,” he drawled, his breath dancing lightly across the inside of your thigh. You were powerless, frozen in place by your need as he curled his fingertips around the lace of your thong, kisses and nips following as he tugged it down your thighs.

He let go of your hand as soon as you were exposed, moving to lift both of your feet with a gentle touch, one after the other. You kicked your panties somewhere across the room, pushing your shoulders back into the wall as his nose nudged into your thigh, opening you wider for him.

Your breath was caught in your throat, blood pounding in your ears as you looked down at Harry, watching as he rested back on his heels and took in every part of you. He stared like he wanted to commit it to memory, like this was what he needed to see when he closed his eyes. He draped your leg over his shoulder, licking a hot stripe from your knee to your core.

And then suddenly, without any warning, his fingertips trailed through your entrance, collecting your slick. Your head fell back against the brick as he took his fingers between parted lips, his cheeks hollowing as he suckled on your juices. The whimper that you let out was obscene, he was obscene, worshipping your pussy as if it was everything to him.

When he was satisfied, Harry’s tongue traced the line that his fingers had made, licking into you so tenderly yet driven by desire. He was eating you like he’d been starved, like your pussy was the prey he’d been hunting. Your knees buckled as his nose grazed your clit, your weight shifting slightly as you dropped deeper onto his mouth. You could feel his smirk against your entrance, his moan vibrating through your core as you gasped and panted. But you were playing into his hands, giving him the reactions he so desperately wanted.

His deep groan fluttered through you as your hands twisted into his curls, the sharp sting of your nails just enough to spur him on. He repeated the same movement, over and over, his focus alternating between your entrance and your clit, his fingers wrapped around your thigh, tips digging in just enough that you expected bruises by the morning. The thought of it made you ache, the idea of his touch marking you, making you his, was enough to have your body trembling over him.

Your heel dug into Harry’s back, your motivation somewhere between steadying yourself and pulling him closer, your fingers tangling tighter into his curls. And when he looked up at you, his eyes locking onto your face as his lips moved towards your clit, his fingers sliding into your entrance, you were wrapped around his finger, indebted to him, owned by him from that moment onwards.

“Look at me,” he demanded, the soft touches of his lips against your nerves leaving you whining and rocking against his mouth. When you didn’t pull your head down fast enough, a splayed hand slammed against the curve of your ass. You cried out, tugging on his hair as your eyes met his, your eyelids heavy.

“Good girl,” Harry whispered, his soft lips wrapping back around your clit. Every muscle in your body seemed to tense at once, your entire body buzzing as he worked his fingers inside of you, his free hand rubbing at the mark his slap was sure to have left. It was too much, the pleasure defeating you as you started to fall apart, crying out his name as you came.

Harry waited a minute, kissing across your mound and your inner thighs, before slipping your leg from his shoulder. He got back to his feet slowly, his hands trailing the outside of your body as if he might need to catch you. Your heart was hammering in your throat, the flashes of sweetness and purity in Harry’s actions somehow making the moment even dirtier.

As soon as he was level with you again, confident that you can support yourself, his lips were back on yours. Hungrier, more desperate than before. He pulled you into him, his cock twitching as you bite down on his bottom lip, his hands splayed across your back. You weren’t sure you’d ever been so overwhelmed with desire and need, and you weren’t sure you ever would be again.

“Y’so fucking perfect,” Harry murmured against your mouth, turning you around and pushing you onto the bed. “Do you know how it’s been for me?” he asked, tugging his tshirt over his head. “Watching you in class, seeing you flounce around in those little skirts knowing what’s underneath. Knowing that pussy is waiting for me?”

You shook your head, moving your legs just slightly so he had a better view of you. “Such a tease,” he continued, voice so low you could barely make out his words. You were aching all over, physically pained by the lack of touch, your walls throbbing with impatience. He was taking too long, too many seconds wasted by fiddling with the button on his slacks.

“Please, Harry,” you whimpered, reaching out to help him undress. “You don’t like waiting?” he scoffed, finally stepping out of his trousers. The outline of his cock is all you can focus on, your lips parting as you stare at him. “I need you to tuck me,” you whined, massaging both of your breasts in an attempt to take the edge off.

He walked around the bed to the nightstand, eyes never leaving your body. “All fours,” he demanded, plucking a condom from his wallet.

You followed his orders, turning onto your knees and pressing your chest flat to the bed. His eyes bore into your core as he rolls the condom over his cock, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” he whispered, coming up behind you and tracing the curve of your hips with splayed hands.

He pushes himself against your folds, his tip nudging against your clit with every move. You rock your hips back into him, whining until he lines himself up with your entrance.

Your head dropped to the mattress as he finally pushed himself into you, groaning as your walls pulsated around his width. He was big. Bigger than you’d imagined, bigger than you’d ever had. You could feel him everywhere. Your head dropped to the mattress as he finally pushed himself into you, groaning as your walls pulsated around his cock. He was big. Bigger than you’d imagined, bigger than you’d ever had. You could feel him everywhere, his tip pressed against your g-spot, his girth splitting you apart.

You gripped the bedsheets with shaky hands, your knuckles white as Harry pulls back.

“Perfect fucking cunt,” he drawled his fingertips digging into your waist. He glanced down, eyes dark as he watches his cock pushing back into you, the condom coated in your slick.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t focus on anything except moving your hips back to meet his thrusts. His cock was everywhere, filling every inch of you as his hands roamed your ass, each thrust more powerful than the last. “More, Harry, *please*,” you begged, rocking your hips into him so hard that the slap of skin on skin echoed around the room.

“Still need more, huh?” Harry cooed, his voice so low it was almost sinister. You nodded, whimpering as he slammed back into you.

He gathered your hair into a ponytail, twisting it around your fingers and tugging until your back was flush with his chest. His hand snaked around to your throat, squeezing lightly as he tilted your head back to look at him.

“Such a good little slut,” he drawled, watching as you trailed a hand down to your clit, knees weak as you rubbed circles against the sensitive nerves.

Harry leaned down a little, sinking his teeth into the flesh next to his hand. You couldn’t keep from crying out, writhing in his grasp. You’d never felt so much before. His cock fucking into you, his grip on your throat, the pull of your skin between his teeth, your fingers at your clit. It was like you were experiencing everything at its fullest, your senses heightened as your body went into overdrive. You didn’t have time to register your orgasm until you were in the thick of it, rolling your body against your palm, choking out a scream of Harry’s name.

He eased his grip on your throat, letting you drop down onto the mattress as you rode through your high. He pulled out of you, rolling onto the centre of the bed with a groan.

You climbed on top of him, lining his length up with your entrance and slipping him back inside of you. Your head rolled back on your shoulders as you felt him from a new angle, your hands resting against his tattooed torso.

“So fucking big, H,” you whined, circling your hips as if it would make any difference to the way you were bursting at the seams, stuffed full of his cock.

His hands found your hips as you started to inch yourself off him, your eyebrows furrowed as you try to get used to his size.

“Taking me so well, kitten,” Harry murmured, his eyes glazed over as he watches you ride him, your ass slapping against his groin as you start to bounce on him.

He cupped the back of your neck with one hand, pulling you closer to him. You planted your hands on either side of his head, grinning against his mouth as he kissed you, the taste of your slick still lingering on his tongue. Your body was practically aglow with energy, tingling from your head to your toes as he reached around to slam a hand against your ass. Each smack of his palm is punctuated with your loud cry, falling into time with the squelch of your juices to form an obscene chorus. It’s an entirely depraved, overwhelmingly dirty sound, especially for the early afternoon.

But as Harry gripped your hips and held you steady, fucking up into you with the power and force of a machine gun firing, you really don’t care at all about anything going on around you. In that moment, it’s you and Harry against the world. That’s the final thought you had before your walls clamped around his cock, whimpering into his mouth as your third orgasm of the day started to tear through your body. Harry’s thrusts got sloppier, his hips jolting as he came, your pussy milking him of all he had. Your hips rocked as he panted into your mouth, rubbing at the welts starting to rise on your skin.

You waited for his heart rate to lower before easing off of him, pulling the condom from his length as you kneeled beside him. Harry watched as you tied the end, dropping it haphazardly near the bin before flopping down next to him, chest still heaving.

You stared at the ceiling, stars still lingering in your vision. It wasn’t fair. Harry wasn’t the kind of man you were meant to have a fling with, he was the white picket fence and babies man. You knew that questioning him and begging would only make you look younger and sillier in his eyes, but the lingering vulnerability had your words slipping out before you could hold yourself back.

“I don’t want this weekend to be all we have,” you whispered, rolling over to look at Harry.

“I don’t either, princess,” he murmured, propping himself up on his elbow. His free hand pushed the stray hairs from your face, his touch never far from you. “But at this point in your life, do you really want to sneak around for a few years?”

You stared at him in silence for a moment, your bottom lip jutting out as you realised how impossible any kind of relationship would be.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do. But if I have you, I want to be able to show you off. You’re too good to be any man’s secret.”

You groaned, throwing your hands over your face. How could someone make you feel so wanted even as they let you down?

“You know I’m right,” Harry teased. You could almost hear the arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. You rolled onto your back, letting your arms drop limply at your sides. “No,” you grumbled.

“I am,” Harry continued, climbing over you and planting his hands on either side of your head. “Now are you gonna carry on sulking, or are we going to enjoy ourselves?”

The injustice melted away as you stared up at him, his toothy grin spreading as your face softened. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pushing your hips up until they met his core. “Show me what I’ll be missing,” you whispered, the tug on your heartstrings overpowered by your need.

—

The shower, desk, window seat, sink, every surface possible had all been used by the time the sun went down that evening. You were exhausted, every inch of your body throbbing. Harry could see it in the way your face screwed up just a little every time you moved, his hands never ceasing as they rubbed over your sides.

He glanced down at you, a soft smile curving his lips. You were somewhere between simply too content to open your eyes and full-on knocked out as he slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the you. He padded softly across the room, kicking away discarded items of clothing as he made his way to the bathroom, the cool tiles a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed.

The tub had barely started filling up before you appeared in the doorway, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“Hi, kitten,” Harry grinned, pulling you in for a hug.

You hated how easy and normal everything felt as you wrapped your arms around his back, your head falling between his pecs as if this was where you were meant to be.

“What you doing?”

“I was rough with you today, and I feel bad,” he shrugged. “And you seem like the kind of girl who likes a bath.”

“I’ve had a really nice day,” you sighed, your voice muffled against his t-shirt. You really had, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that he’d fucked you the way you’d always dreamed of. It wasn’t right that he’d been the Troy to your Gabriella. It wasn’t right that he was taking the time to care for you. It wasn’t right that this was the way your story would end.

But you pushed those feelings down as Harry kissed the top of your head, his thumb rubbing circles on your lower back. “Good. Me too.”

You stepped away from him as he reached around to shut the water off. “What are you supposed to do while I have a bath?”

“I don’t know. Fall to my knees and cry until you’re back,” Harry shrugged, tangling his fingers with yours and pulling your arms around his neck.

You dodged his kiss with a laugh, shaking your head as you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t even think about asking me to join you. That is the smallest bathtub I’ve ever seen,” Harry teased.

“Then just stay here with me,” you ask, grinning when he agreed. He pulled your hands to his mouth, kissing each of your knuckles one by one.

“Just give me a minute,” he told you, letting go of you as he backed out of the bathroom.

You stepped into the bath when Harry left, listening out for a clue as to what he suddenly needed to do. All you heard was the main door closing behind him, and his quick steps down the hallway.

He padded back into the bathroom a few minutes later with a flute of champagne in either hand. “Nice touch,” you grinned, washing the bubbles from your hand as he passed one of the glasses to you with a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“Can’t fault a man for trying,” Harry smiled, closing the toilet so he could sit next to you.

You pushed the bubbles around the surface of the bath for a second, watching as they popped and sparkled.

“Take your top off,” you giggled, turning to Harry with a bright grin.

He eyed you suspiciously as you glared back at him, your smile never faltering. “I’m naked, H. In the bath. What exactly are you expecting me to do right now?”

He shrugged, tugging his t-shirt over his head after a pause and balling it between his fists.

“I never knew you had so many tattoos. Didn’t really get to see them earlier,” you told him, eyes trailing across each one. You’d caught glimpses of them before, but you hadn’t expected his torso and arms to be littered in so much ink.

“Can’t really show them at work,” Harry shrugged, glancing down at his inked torso.

“I like the moth,” you mused, though your eyes were glued to the ferns poking out from the waistband of his pants. “Which one’s your favourite?”

He looked over himself, twisting his arms around so he could get a view of each tattoo. “These two, I think,” he answered finally, pointing to the A and G on his shoulders. “For my mum and sister.”

“You don’t have the right build for an English professor,” you stated, not entirely expecting to voice that aloud.

“No?” Harry laughed, his eyes back on you as you sipped your champagne. You shook your head, cheeks a little flushed as you realised you’d have to explain yourself.

“English professors are grey. Or beige. They’re old and withered and smell like dusty libraries,” you told him. “You’re…”

“Not like that, I hope,” Harry finished for you, his dimples carved deep into his cheeks as he grinned.

“Not at all. I think every single student has a crush on you,” you smirked. “Did you always want to be a teacher?”

Harry shook his head, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “Didn’t even consider it until I was about to graduate.”

“I have no idea what I’m going to do after,” you confessed, nose crinkling as you thought about it. “None of the jobs available really appeal to me. I might have to marry rich.”

Harry let out a loud laugh as you giggled. “Don’t look at me. I have about £5 left to my name after paying my bills.”

You settled into an almost uncomfortable silence, both seemingly realising how close you’d gotten to inadvertently discussing marriage.

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked finally, cutting through any tension at risk of building up.

“A little,” you replied, tilting your head as you look at him.

“Want me to go get something?”

You nodded, setting your empty glass down as Harry leans over, planting a gentle kiss on your lips. Your eyes widened when he turned away, tugging his t-shirt back over his head.

It was all too domesticated, too natural. You were acting like an established couple, not two people who would go their separate ways after leaving the hotel room. But despite knowing that, every touch and every kiss had you melting into Harry a little more.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts and distract yourself before you concocted a reality in which you could live happily ever after with Harry by your side.

You decided to preoccupy yourself with getting cleaned up as soon as you heard the door swing shut, scrubbing your body and any leftover makeup from your face.

You stepped out the bath, wrapping yourself in the one clean towel neither of you had ruined, when your phone buzzed from the windowsill.

courtney: hows it going? you ok ? X

y/n: had more orgasms today than I’ve had in my life.

courtney: 🍆? 😉

y/n: tell you everything later. Love u xx

You threw your phone in the general direction of the bed, smirking to yourself. You knew you shouldn’t tell Courtney everything, but Harry must’ve known that was a given before he fucked you the way he had.

Your reflection caught your eye in the mirror as you hung the towel back up, the girl staring back at you glowing. You hated that this was the happiest you’d been in a long time, and you hated knowing that all of that would be stripped away not even twenty four hours later. But you’d already told yourself time and time again not to dwell on it now, promising yourself as much sadness as you needed the second you got home. You had a funny feeling that Illicit Affairs might be the only song you’d listen to for a few weeks.

It was only as you stared at yourself that you noticed the familiar discomfort that came with wearing your contacts for too long. Your eyes were begging for relief, but you felt suddenly shy about wearing your glasses in front of Harry. He’d definitely seen you wearing them before, but you could never be sure how much he’d noticed you before.

You sighed, blinking a few times before plucking both lenses from your eyes and dropping them into the bin.

It was only as you padded towards the bed that you realised that your ‘good’ glasses were in your bag. With your clean clothes. In the backseat of Harry’s car. You found your purse, pulling out your spare glasses with a groan. They were your huge, thick, never-wear-in-front-of-anyone-else, emergency pair. Definitely not the pair you wanted Harry to see you in.

You ran your fingers along the arm with a grumble, pushing them onto your nose. Any glasses were better than Harry coming back to find you naked and blind. Perching on the edge of the bed, you messaged Harry to remind him to bring the bags up when he got back to the room.

It was only a few minutes later that you heard his keycard in the door and he came to your rescue, with two pizza boxes balanced in his hand and both bags slung over his shoulders.

“This is a nice surprise,” he grinned, setting the pizzas and bags down next to you. You folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head away from him slightly.

“My clothes and good glasses are in my bag,” you mumbled, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“And why is that a bad thing?” he asked, kicking his shoes off before sitting down next to you. His palm found your cheek, turning your head back towards him. “You are naked and adorable. I wouldn’t have bothered with the bags if I’d known.”

“You are incredible. I have no idea what happened with your generation’s self esteem. Seriously,” Harry told you, holding your head up with two fingers under your chin.

He studied your face for a minute before pushing you down, knocking the pizzas out of the way with a muttered “oops.”

Harry angled himself slightly above you, cupping your face in both hands. He pressed tender kisses to your forehead, nose and the corners of your lips, before moving down your neck, kissing along your throat and collarbone.

His mouth continued down, his lips wrapping around your nipple as his hand found the other breast, giving them both some attention before swapping. And then he followed that same trail upwards, pausing to kiss and nibble at your ear.

“Think you’re the most beautiful girl in world,” he whispered, suckling on the skin just below your ear. “You are to me.”

You turned your head until your nose brushed against his, eyes soft as you stare back at him.

“What do you need, princess?” Harry asked, his voice low as you fumbled with his belt buckle.

“Just want to be close to you, H,” you whispered, clawing at his slacks with impatience.

He pushed your hair out of your eyes before standing to remove his clothes, stroking his cock a few times as it sprung out of his boxers. His eyes were on you as he touched himself, a sight you knew would flash behind your eyes every time you reached into your panties.

“Come here,” he told you, moving backwards on the bed until his back met the headboard.

You climbed onto his lap, any tension in your body melting away as you settled over his cock. “We used all the condoms earlier,” Harry whispered, wrapping a hand around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“Doesn’t matter,” you replied. “Just needed to feel you.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, rubbing circles around the dimples on your lower back. You nodded, running your fingers through his curls. “Lift up a second, kitten,” he whispered, holding his free hand under the curve of your ass as you raised your hips.

He lined himself up with your entrance, biting down on his lower lip as he eased you back down, feeling you for the first time with no barrier.

You let out a moan you didn’t even know you’d been holding, the sensation of him deep inside you, filling you up, exactly what you’d needed.

“Better now, princess?” Harry cooed, running his hand along your hips. You nodded, reaching for the pizza box. “Better.”

—

“I’m away for the next two days,” Harry told you, tangling his fingers with yours. “Got a teaching conference.”

“Do you think it’ll be hard to go back to normal?” you asked, totally disregarding what he’d said.

“Yes,” Harry answered, without so much as skipping a beat. “But I think it will only be so difficult because we have to keep seeing each other.”

You let out a dejected sigh, running your thumb across the back of his hand. “Yeah.”

“So you should spend the next two days practicing some self restraint,” Harry teased, looking over at you with that same, goofy, familiar grin.

“You are the serial toucher,” you laughed, tugging your hand away from his to swat at his chest.

“You just touched me.”

“I hit you.”

Harry snatched your hand back, chuckling before you settled into silence. Your gaze shifted to the view outside your window, familiar buildings and street signs coming into view as you drove closer to home. You weren’t ready to carry on with the life you had before Harry, his presence making everything somehow brighter.

“What’s your girlfriend doing tonight?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Ask your roommate. She’s probably at yours,” you smirked.

“She’s always at mine,” Harry groaned. “Do you want to pick her up before I drop you home? I assume you’ll need to gossip,” he teased.

You shook your head softly, eyes dropping to where your hands sat intertwined. “No, it’s okay. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

You had a date with a book, a pint of ice cream and a potential cry lined up for when you got home. You weren’t ready to share your weekend with Courtney, needing to keep it sacred just a while longer. It was the only thing you had that was only yours and Harry’s for now.

—

You approached Harry’s office door, reaching for the doorknob with a tentative hand. You shouldn’t have been there and you knew it, but with a question from his earlier lecture and a burning desire to just see him, you pushed the door open.

You barely knew how to act around him after your weekend. He hadn’t met your eye in class, purposely avoiding your gaze when he passed you in the hall. You’d waited two days to speak to him, which was nothing. But it was two days of drafting and deleting nonsense texts, trying to come up with excuses to see Courtney at his in case he was there, pulling on his t-shirt before you touched yourself so it would feel like he was with you. You were completely, utterly addicted to him.

Harry’s eyes lit up the moment turned around and saw you, a genuine smile spreading across his face. The room had felt different without you, the monotony of grading and the cold glow of his laptop screen somehow duller and more lifeless than he remembered.

He gestured towards the empty seat, dropping the pile of books he was carrying onto the desk. “I won’t be long,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “Just had a question about today’s lecture.”

Harry leaned against the wooden edge of his desk, watching you as you flipped through your notes. He couldn’t help noticing how much warmth you brought into his office, how relieved he was to be alone with you.

“How are you?” he asked finally, cutting through the silence.

“M’okay. Just trying to actually focus on my degree now,” you smiled, heart pounding as you eased into conversation. “Decided to tutor a couple of other students.”

“Your professor would be proud,” Harry grinned, running a hand through his curls. You returned his smile, your notebook falling to your side as you edged just a few inches closer. The tension felt thick, too many unspoken words to fit into one short conversation. But Harry's gaze was soft as he looked over you, an intensity behind his eyes that made your heart pound against your ribcage. You could see the cogs turning in his head, an internal battle between desire and restraint.

You were thankful for the dimmed lights as a blush crept up your cheeks, stepping closer to Harry as if an invisible force pushed you towards him. Your fingertips brushed his knee, your lips parting slightly as you stared up at him.

You’d somehow expected him to change, to see him today and he wasn’t the same man you’d left behind. But he was no different than the man who’d fucked you, who’d cared for you so tenderly.

In a moment of weakness, Harry leaned in, his hand tangling into your hair as his lips found yours. It was gentle yet urgent, filled with all the emotions he had been holding back. You pulled him closer, your notes forgotten as they dropped to the floor, your fingers wrapping around his collar. For a few fleeting seconds, you were almost transported back in time, reality shifting into a parallel where this was natural and normal.

But Harry suddenly pulled away, his breath ragged, his expression conflicted. "We can't," he whispered, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "I'm sorry, kitten.”

Your heart ached at the loss of his touch, leaning forward to chase his kiss. But Harry’s hand fell from you as he took a step back, his eyes glued to the floor.

The silence that followed was heavy, loaded with everything left unsaid. Harry turned away, leaving you standing there, the warmth of his kiss still lingering on your lips, and the cold realization of his withdrawal settling in.

Your heart plummeted as Harry's words echoed in your ears. You trailed a finger along your lower lip, trying to soothe the sting of rejection. You felt exposed, your mind racing with self-doubt, wondering if you had misread everything. If you had been foolish to think there was something more.

You backed away from Harry, tears of hurt and embarrassment stinging at your eyes. He was silent, frozen as he watched you walk away. The second the door closed behind you, his gaze dropped to your notes on the ground, his fist slamming into the desk behind him.

—

Harry slumped over the breakfast bar, his head in his hands. It wasn’t supposed to have gone this way, and he thought he knew better. He had decided to stay away from you, and he’d broken that promise to himself. He was supposed to keep his distance. You were nothing short of irresistible to him, and he knew the second he was alone with you he’d cross boundaries. And that was exactly what he’d done.

“Just talk to her,” Courtney told him from across the kitchen. Trapped in his inner turmoil, he hadn’t even noticed her in the room.

“Remember I’m still your professor,” Harry grumbled, eyes still focused on the grainy marble under him.

She shookher head, groaning as she swiped the untouched slice of toast from his plate. He lifted his head to look at her, hoping his expression would convey how little he wanted to get into a conversation about you. Courtney raised her eyebrows as she backed out of the room, eyes still on Harry. “You’re not the only one who’s in a strop, you know.”

“You’re also in my house,” he called after her, running a hand through his hair.

You hadn’t told Courtney about that afternoon yet. Harry knew Courtney was feisty before she became his second roommate, and he was certain that she’d make no attempt to hide her feelings towards him if she knew how he’d rejected you. Either you were too embarrassed to even mention it, or there was still a chance for Harry to turn things around. He may have been a man in a pit of despair, but he chose to take it as a sign.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his keys and left. He didn’t even know what his plan was, or what he was signing himself up for by going to see you. But twenty minutes later he was pulling up outside your apartment, hoping you’d be home and praying you would be willing to hear him out.

Your windows were open and a light was on, so he was over the first hurdle.

He was almost at your doorstep when he heard it. The little uncertain giggles that exploded into laughter. It was his favourite sound, and until then, he’d foolishly assumed it was reserved for him. But there was someone else in your flat, someone else making you laugh the way he did.

He backed away from the door, leaning up against his car to try and get a glimpse of who was inside. He couldn’t see anyone, even craning his neck and stretching onto his tiptoes was hopeless. He turned around, clenching his fists as his jaw tightened. He was about to get back into his car when he heard the second voice, a husky male voice. He couldn’t hear what he said, but he didn’t need to. There was another man in your room, another man making you laugh the way he had. And you were happy. Not backing away from him in tears, with hurt and embarrassment written all over your face.

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t the man who got cheated on, but you weren’t cheating on him. He’d ended it. You weren’t his, and you had every right to be with someone else. But that didn’t make it feel any better.

He should never have put you in a position where you could be anyone else’s. His mind was racing, thoughts of you tangled up in your bedsheets with him, that voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear, hands that didn’t belong to him trailing over the bruises Harry had left on your skin.

“Fuck,” he shouted, his fist flying out to make contact with his wing mirror. He should have just fucking kissed you properly. He should’ve found a way to make it work, but he hadn’t. He was a coward, pushing you into the arms of another man just so he could protect his fucking reputation.

He was half prepared to march back to your door, to charge in and reclaim what he’d lost. But he knew he wasn’t acting or thinking like someone you’d want around, so he got back into his car and left, heading for nowhere.

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @vonnexann @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @harryshotpocket @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @harrystylesluverrrr @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever @stylesbrock @harry-nialllover @fanfic-whore @triski73 @haliastyless @meetmeintheemeraldpool l @harryshousewitnessprotection @danaehldy @fairytale07 @storyschanging

[khaire-traveler]

🍇 Subtle Dionysus Worship 🥂

Drinking grape juice or wine; fruity drinks also work; raise a glass to him

Eating food that you love, especially comfort foods

Hosting or attending parties

Hanging out with loved ones

Celebrating your accomplishments, big or small

Having a candle that reminds you of him (no altar needed)

Putting on grape-scented or fruit-scented perfumes/colognes

Wearing jewelry that reminds you of him

Seeking community; LGBTQ+ support groups, gamer groups, fandom groups, etc.

Having a bull, leopard, goat, or cat stuffed animal

Decorating parts of your room with real or fake ivy vines

Growing a plant, especially ivy or vined plants

Wearing showy or lavish outfits; wearing outfits that make you feel good about yourself

Taking care of your mental health; finding new and healthy ways to cope with issues

Keeping a mental health journal

Keeping a picture of him in your wallet

Having leopard, bull, or big cat imagery around

Taking a hike/walk in a local forest or nature preserve

Taking a walk at night, especially on a new or full moon (only if safe in your area, please)

Dancing, especially to songs that make you feel wild, free, and expressive

Listening to energizing or expressive music

Watching/reading musicals or plays

Performing in a musical or play (including backstage and tech)

Taking your medications; setting reminders for them

Taking care of yourself physically and emotionally

Learning to accept both the "dark" and "light" parts of yourself

Being kind to those outcast by society, especially the homeless and addicts

Volunteering at a homeless shelter

Engaging in activities that bring you joy, especially those that are looked down upon

Finding ways to be rebellious, especially towards authority (don't do this if it risks your own safety)

Expressing yourself in little ways if unable to be open about it (wearing a bracelet that represents your gender identity, shoelaces that are pride flag colored, etc.)

Embracing all the unique things that make you who you are

Support LGBT, homeless shelter, environmental preservation, or humanitarian organizations

Volunteer at a homeless shelter

-

May add more later! This is my list of discreet ways to worship Dionysus. I hope it helps, and take care! 💜

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[silkythewriter]

hii!! i found your Vox headcanons and i'm very intrigued! i loved the last two and loved them! i've got a request as well, could you maybe do Vox with a singer! reader? one who sings/hums under their breath whenever they get the chance, or even dance when they think they're alone!

Vox with a singer Reader!

( ˘ ɜ˘) ♬♪♫!!

Warnings!: Non!

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel

Author note!: AH HELLO!!! TYSM FOR THE REQUEST PLEASE ENJOY AND FEEL FREE TO REQUEST AGAIN SOON!

Summary!: Vox with a singer reader!

❤️Written by silkythewriter Do not steal or repost on any other platform please! &lt;3.❤️

✰𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹✰

“So I come back to my first note

as I must come back to you

I will pour into that one note

all the love I feel for you”

︎✰𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹✰

!📺✨Vox✨📺!

Oh my how this man would be entranced by your small tunes

he’s always found comfort in your voice, even when you were just chattering. But now it’s different, the first time a soft melody escaped your lips, let me tell you, he was hooked ever since then.

He found comfort in your soft hum’s, it was such a calming thing, it was a big difference from the hustle and bustle of the over populated hell. A good one at that, it was an escape for him ♥(⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♥

He’ll always go silent when you’re humming, and you’ll never notice it!. He’ll listen to the soft hum with full attention. Of course he’ll always be careful so you don’t catch on!

he doesn't understand why, but he love’s being discreet when listening to you. Maybe it’s the wya you feel relaxed or let the notes flow more freely from you mouth. He’s not quite sure but he just knows he dose it quite often!

sooner or later though he’ll make it be known that he’s been listening to you. Most likely in a teasing way! Loves seeing you get flustered.

soon he may even join you in your little hums if he knows the melody of the song your humming! It’s always such a love filled moment. Although he maybe, a bit cocky and standoffish here on there he’s always so tender in moments like these. You get to see his soft side in rare and soft moments like these.

Although that doesn’t mean the teasing would stop! He loves teasingly calling you his singing bird, or his Canary. But he also means it in adoring way as well!

Your little songs and voice get stuck in his Tv head constantly, it’s always on loop. He doesn’t Hate it, not at all! But sometimes when you are apart it dose make him miss you.

Whenever he’s about to have a melt down/ lose his absolute shit (Aka he fought alastor once again ( ｰ`дｰ´ ) ) he’ll let his mind put your hums on loop its very much a coping method!, I would say it helps him a good chunk of the time but you might already know the shortness of his temper at times.

if you guys are possible in his living space and in private. he’s all over you, his love for you is watered down in public, but I’m privacy he’s be asking you too hum for him so he could relax! He’d love just to lay down for awhile and only hear you. Just you, no screaming and cussing from the other Two V’s, and no interruptions. As much as he loves building his power and fame, sometimes he needs this to recollect and can get back to working on whatever he was doing with a much more eased mind.(´∀｀)♡

Now! As for dancing and such, he loves watching you glide across the floor with such ease. Whatever dancing or way you move he’ll always find some elegance in it. And as much as he’s into new interventions, and the new “day and age”, he does love to indulge in this old slow dance’s. Look! Hear me out! He’s not old timey, more like appreciates the closeness, and how nice it is to just hold you and slowly dance around the living room, or his office once everyone is out of course!

even if you think no one’s watching he probably is, and as much as he loves to have a certain image of himself to show to the public at all times. He can’t help but put it away when he’s just focusing on you when you guys are alone. He’ll stare at you for how ever long just doting on you in his mind.

sometimes he spaces out cause all he can think of is just you, only you, and trust me the teasing he reserves form Val and Vel is outta this world.

they will never let him live down the time he buffered and glitched because his systems and inner fans were over heating just thinking about you.

if he is every away for business purposes, when he’s sure he’s completely alone, he’ll pull up his phone and dial you up so you can calm him down with your voice. This will NEVER be admitted form him, cause only the lord knows how Val and Vel would absolutely use this against him in a teasingly bullying way. Yea he’ll do everything just so they could shut up. (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵)💧

I feel as though even if he’s proud to be with someone with such an amazing voice like you he’d hate to share it. He loves stomping and showing off to other people, but something like this he just wants to himself, he knows it’s selfish, But this is Vox were talking about, he wouldn’t care.

late nights always end up with him or you on one of each others chest as you hum him to sleep. He finds it comforting to have you near and to know you’re next to him!.

and here and there he’d let you sit on his lap or just next to him as he works. You don’t have to hum, but if you do lord knows it helps the man so much he just doesn’t understand, sometimes he thinks it’s genuinely some type of magic because of the way you make him feel so easily calm.

and yes he dose have a recording of your singing but you won’t see it reach the light of hell cause he keeps it for his own use. A bit creepy? Yes!, but somewhat endearing! Hehe..(｡•́‿•̀｡)💧

his love for you is very much unmatched, and as ironic as it is you always seem to make him lose his breath around you. He doesn’t see you as a weakness but in the same vain is terrified at the possibility of losing you, his only comfort. Sometimes he stresses himself out so bad at the thought of people using you against him or you leaving him, he has problems and most of those he’s not willing to admit he has. Even if you’re powerful, and can take care of yourself he still always finds a way to worry sometimes and at times like that you just have to remind him you’re there. Verbally or physically, but you can take a guess at the best way to sooth him

if your comfortable with it!, he’d wouldn’t even put music on when dancing just the two of you humming.

even if your not he still find you graceful call it heart shaped glasses but he’ll always find a way to complement you on the littlest of things.

he could be at a business deal with the nest biggest singer in hell and still he wouldn’t think they could top you in billions of years.

Again revisiting my point where I said he wouldn’t want to share your voice, he most definitely would snap if anyone just barged in his office (cough, Val cough, Velevet, cough!, sorry must be sick or something! ( ๑‾̀ ◡ ‾́)..) He’d kick them out immediately if it wasn’t something of importance (or what he seems to be important)

velvet always teases him by saying he’s up in the clouds ever since he’s met you which… yea you cant defend him there…

may the angels have mercy on your vocal cords cause as you can see you gonna be humming to him most of the time you are alone! ♫꒰ ･‿･๑꒱

Overall! please just hum softly with him and dance with this man! It’s his favorite bonding time. He’d give up everything to hear your voice for the rest of eternity. He doesn’t always show it cause of his status but trust me when I say he’s always and constantly thinking and loving you. And the more you dance softly together and spend nights humming together the more that grows! He loves you to no end. ˉ̞̭(′͈∨‵͈♡)˄̻ ̊…

✰𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹✰

THAT WAS SO FUN TO WRITE (♡ >ω< ♡) Vox is so fun to write for! SO THANK YOU TO EVERYONE AND YOU ANON FOR REQUESTING HIM \(^ヮ^)/ I really hope you enjoy! Please request again! :D.

[talkdutchtome]

Glitch- chapter three

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

warning . . . tbd )

series masterlist . . . available here )

a/n . . . it's been a while but chapter three is here, i'm so sorry for how long it took )

Things between Mason and Y/N only seemed to get worse after he found out that she had given her number to Max; to say she was confused about the whole situation would be putting it lightly. Mason had made it clear that he didn’t feel a thing for her, he was furious that she had feelings for him, so why would he have an issue if something happened between her and Max. His attitude was not simply aimed at Y/N either, he was just pissed off at Max. When Max inevitably qualified on pole and Mason had to present him with the pole award, he did so with a face like thunder and an attitude so bad that even the members of staff that had to deal with him clearly saw that something was wrong. And if Y/N thought his mood was bad during qualifying, it was nothing compared to how he acted during the race. 

The group of four were sat watching the race in the Red Bull garage and whilst Y/N, Ben and Reece tried their best to immerse themselves in the excitement of the race; it was hard to do with Mason sat beside them in a brooding silence. His foul mood had extended beyond his interactions with Y/N too; even Ben and Reece, usually recipients of his lively banter, found themselves met with curt responses and icy glares. It was hard to shake off the tension, especially when Mason's frustration seemed palpable. Every attempt at conversation was met with monosyllabic responses or outright silence. 

As the laps passed and the tension escalated, Reece, who could tell just how uncomfortable Y/N was, decided to break the ice. Leaning over to her, he spoke in a hushed tone, "Hey, Y/N, you alright? Mason seems like he's in a mood today." 

She nodded, a small, forced smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, I don't know what's gotten into him. He’s just so angry I don’t know what to do.” 

Reece sighed sympathetically. "He'll come around. Just give him some time." 

But as the race unfolded, tension in the garage reached its peak. When Max secured the victory, the cheers from everyone in the garage were met with a stark contrast from Mason. His jaw clenched, and he rolled his eyes in frustration, clearly annoyed that Max had won, a stark change from usual races where he cheered Red Bull along.  

Y/N exchanged puzzled glances with Ben and Reece, who shared her confusion at Mason's sudden change of allegiance. The atmosphere was palpably strained, and Y/N needed to get away from it all, so she found herself wandering away from the group as they headed towards the podium.  

However, the silence that followed her being away from her friends only spurred her frustration at Masons behavior, and soon she just couldn’t cope without knowing and understanding why he was acting the way he was. So, determined to find some answers, she made her way through the crowded paddock, navigating the sea of people in their vibrant team colors. Spotting Mason engrossed in conversation with Ben and Recce, Y/N hesitated for a moment before steeling herself to confront the issue head-on. 

As she approached, the murmur of their conversation grew more audible, and her heart sank when she overheard Mason's words. "I don't know what Y/N sees in that guy. He's a real prick, and I can't stand him," Mason grumbled to Ben and Recce, his frustration evident. 

Confusion and hurt etched across Y/N's face. She couldn't understand why Mason would harbor such strong feelings towards Max, especially when he had made it abundantly clear that he didn't reciprocate her feelings. Before she could muster the courage to address Mason, Max's voice unexpectedly cut through the tension. 

"Hey, you guys! Great race, huh?" Max approached the group, a wide grin on his face, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents of tension. Y/N glanced at Mason, who had abruptly shifted his expression into a forced smile. The contrast between his earlier resentment and his current attempt at friendliness was jarring.  

Max’s energy was contagious as he approached the group with a wide grin. 

"I'm throwing a little after-party to celebrate the win. You guys should come.” 

Caught off guard, Y/N's eyes flickered to Mason, who wore a scowl and crossed arms. "We can't, man. We got some stuff lined up," Mason interjected, his tone sharp, making it clear he had no interest in joining the celebration. 

Y/N hesitated, torn between Mason's obvious displeasure and Max's expectant gaze. The unspoken tension in the air was as thick as fog. Max, sensing the underlying dynamics, looked directly at Y/N, seeking confirmation. "You in, Y/N?" 

She bit her lip, glancing at Mason before meeting Max's gaze. "Yeah, sure, I'll be there," she replied tentatively, a slight quiver in her voice. The decision was made, but the uncertainty lingered. 

Mason's scowl deepened, and the air became even heavier. Y/N, sensing the disapproval, fidgeted uncomfortably. She didn't want to escalate the tension, but at the same time, she couldn't let Mason dictate her every move; not when he made it abundantly clear he didn’t even seem to like her as a friend anymore. 

As Max walked away to extend the invitation to others, Mason shot Y/N a stern look. "Really? You're going to his party?" 

Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. "Mason, it's just a party. It's not a big deal." Reece and Ben exchanged looks, clearly feeling baffled by the scene playing out in front of them. 

Mason, however, wasn't convinced. "I don't get why you're so eager to hang out with him." 

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Max seems nice, I like him” 

Mason's expression remained hardened, but he didn't press the matter further. Instead choosing to just walk away from her, almost as if he couldn’t even bare to look at her 

In the dimly lit hotel bar, Mason sat slouched on a barstool, nursing a drink between sips. Ben and Reece sat either side of him, exchanging concerned glances as they observed the weight on Mason's shoulders. The earlier anger that had etched lines on his face had given way to a profound sadness, leaving Mason looking like a shadow of his usual self. 

Reece cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence that hung over the trio. "Mate, you've been quiet all night. Everything alright?" 

Mason took a deep breath, staring into the amber depths of his drink. "I don't know, man. It's just... everything's a mess." 

Ben chimed in, "Is this about Y/N and Max? Look, Mason, it might not be such a bad thing. If they get together, you won't have to worry about her having feelings for you anymore." 

Mason's eyes flickered with a hint of conflict, but he nodded. "Yeah, I know. It's just..." He trailed off, his shoulders slumping. 

Reece leaned in, genuine concern etched on his face. "Spill it, mate. Why are you so bothered that Y/N and Max are getting along? You've made it clear you don't see her that way." 

Mason sighed, his guard momentarily slipping. "It's not about that. I'm worried about Max. He's got a bit of a reputation with women, and I don't want Y/N getting hurt." 

Ben nodded in understanding, but Reece wasn't convinced. "Mate, I've known you for years. Something's not adding up. Are you sure that's all there is to it?" 

Mason hesitated, his eyes betraying a depth of emotion he hadn't intended to reveal. "I just... It's complicated, okay? I don't want to see her get hurt, and I don't want things to get even messier than they already are." 

Ben placed a reassuring hand on Mason's shoulder. "We get it, mate. Just look out for your friend. If you think Max is trouble, it's good that you're keeping an eye out." 

As Mason nodded in agreement, a pang of conflicting emotions welled up within him. In the quiet recesses of his thoughts, he wondered if, perhaps, he wasn't as indifferent to Y/N's feelings as he had convinced himself. 

Meanwhile, the after-party pulsed with vibrant energy as Max and Y/N found themselves in the heart of the celebration. The music thumped in harmony with the beats of their hearts, and the dimly lit venue became a backdrop to a night that seemed to be unfolding like a story. 

The pair, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and a few well-timed drinks, found themselves drawn to each other, their conversation charged with a playful flirtation that danced on the edges of something more. Max's charm and Y/N's quick wit created a dynamic that was both intriguing and infectious. 

As the night progressed, Y/N began to meet more and more of Max’s friends. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and animated chatter as Y/N navigated the introductions, each friend offering a unique glimpse into Max's life beyond the racetrack. The genuine warmth and camaraderie among Max's friends added a layer of connection to the night, making Y/N feel more at home in the bustling celebration. 

Later in the evening, Max and Y/N found a quieter corner of the venue, away from the pulsating beats and the lively crowd. The chemistry between them lingered in the air, and the flirtation that had been bubbling beneath the surface finally came to the forefront. 

Max, his gaze unwavering, leaned in with a playful grin. "You know, you're making it hard to focus on anything but you tonight." 

Y/N chuckled, her cheeks flushed from the mix of excitement and a few drinks. "Is that so? I could say the same about you, Max." 

Their banter continued, creating a bubble of intimacy that shielded them from the surrounding festivities. As the night wore on, Max's friends occasionally joined their conversation, seamlessly weaving Y/N into the fabric of their tight-knit group. 

Amidst the laughter and shared stories, Max's gaze turned more sincere. "You're different, Y/N. I really like being around you. Can I see you again?” 

Y/N, a mix of surprise and contemplation on her face, considered the question. "I'd like that, Max, but I don’t exactly live local, do I?” she said with a chuckle, still slightly taken aback by his forwardness. 

Max nodded, his eyes reflecting determination. "Well, I'm in the UK quite a bit for factory work. It could work out." 

After a moment's pause, Y/N agreed, a smile playing on her lips. "Alright then, yeah. Let me know when you're in town, and we'll take it from there." 

The vibrant energy of the after-party gradually faded as Y/N decided it was time to call it a night. The music softened, and the laughter in the venue became a distant echo as she made her way back to the hotel. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, the events of the night playing out in her head like a movie reel. 

As she entered her hotel room, she noticed a text message from Mason. "Are you back at the hotel?" it read. She sighed, typing a quick "Yes" in response. Truthfully, she couldn’t deal with anymore of Mason’s childish tantrums today, but she just couldn’t find it in herself to ignore him. A few minutes later, there was a knock at her door. Y/N hesitated before opening it, finding Mason standing there, a complicated mix of emotions written across his face. 

She let him in, the tension palpable in the air. Mason's eyes avoided hers as he walked past her and took a seat on her bed, he seemed unable to find the right words. Minutes passed, but Mason remained silent, the awkwardness growing with each passing second. The atmosphere in the room became thick with unspoken words, and Y/N could no longer contain her frustration. 

"What is your problem?" she burst out, her voice a mix of anger and hurt. "First, you completely ice me out, then you get pissed at me for giving my number to Max, and now you've come into my room in the middle of the night and you're just sitting there in silence. What the fuck do you want from me? I'm sorry for how I feel; I know it makes things awkward, but I never expected you to feel the same way or to want me. I just don't understand why it means you have to treat me like shit. You’re supposed to be my best friend." 

Mason, still avoiding eye contact, took a deep breath before finally speaking. "You are my best friend, the person in the world I'm closest to, and I was scared that because of how you feel, we couldn't be friends anymore." 

The raw honesty in his words caught Y/N off guard. She took a step back, studying his face, and saw a vulnerability she hadn't expected. The room fell silent again as they both grappled with the weight of their unspoken feelings. 

Y/N took a deep breath, the intensity of the moment hanging between them. "Mason, you can't just shut me out when things get complicated. We've been through too much for that." 

Mason nodded, the weight of his actions evident in the lines on his face. "I know, and I'm sorry. I should have talked to you instead of pushing you away." 

"Why did you get so upset about Max?" Y/N asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and frustration. 

Mason hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I guess I was worried. Max has a bit of a reputation, and I didn't want to see you get hurt." 

Y/N's expression softened, understanding the concern beneath Mason's actions. "You could have just told me that instead of treating me like I did something wrong." 

Mason nodded again, acknowledging her point. "I messed up, Y/N, and I'm sorry for that." 

The room fell into a heavy silence as Y/N processed Mason's apology. After a moment, she sighed, a mix of emotions playing across her face. "I appreciate the apology, Mason, but you need to trust me. I can handle my own feelings, and I value our friendship too much to let it be ruined by something like this." 

Mason nodded once more, a genuine sense of regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry for acting out. I don't want to lose you as a friend." 

Y/N felt a sense of closure in his words. "Let's just put this behind us. We can figure things out, but you can't shut me out like that again, okay?" 

As the weight of their conversation lifted, Y/N and Mason found themselves in an uncertain but hopeful truce. Y/N, moved by Mason's apology, decided to bridge the lingering gap between them. She reached out for a hug, an unspoken acknowledgment of forgiveness and a desire to move forward. 

Mason hesitated for a moment before reciprocating, his arms enveloping Y/N in a tentative embrace. The hug was warm, a silent reassurance that their friendship could weather the storms that had momentarily shaken its foundation. Y/N could feel the tension dissipating as they held each other, and for a moment, everything seemed to be okay. 

However, as they lingered in the embrace, Mason's mind was in turmoil. A wave of conflicting emotions swept over him, and an unsettling realization settled in the pit of his stomach. He started to question the nature of his feelings for Y/N, wondering if there was more to their connection than just friendship. 

Internally, Mason panicked. This wasn't a revelation he was prepared for, and the timing seemed utterly inconvenient. He tried his best to maintain the facade of casual friendship during the hug, desperately suppressing any hint of the internal storm raging within him. 

Y/N pulled away, smiling warmly. "Thank you for apologizing, Mason. I really appreciate it." 

Mason managed a tight-lipped smile in return, the internal turmoil hidden behind his eyes. "Yeah, of course. Friends, right?" 

"Friends," Y/N affirmed, her expression one of genuine warmth. 

Tag list-

@nightlockcornucopia @jaydensluv @girlytots19 @formula1mount @alwaysclassyeagle @aundercover @sofifiia @dessxoxsworld @lpab @lorarri @thelovehypothesis @torrie421 @ironmaiden1313 @celesteblack08 @glow-ish @urfavouritef1girly @alwaysclassyeagle @barnestatic @simxican @formula1mount @charli123456789 @mac-daddy-210 @lazybot @imguce @azxulaa @mehrmonga @sunny44 @skepvids @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @chimchimjiminie16 @tyna-19 @hoely-maria @stevesworld9 @f1lov3r @elliegrey2803 @heyyhelloohii @landosgirlxoxo @skepvids @aundercover @andydrysdalerogers @illicitverstappen @bbygrlllllll @kageyamama-hinatatata @imagandom @bibissparkles @sofifiia @dark-night-sky-99 @viennakarma

[losersiren]

Yandere! Vault Dweller

N: I just finished the Fallout show, went on YouTube and fell down a rabbit hole of lore about the game. I decided Vault 11 shall be sacrificed (hehe). Everything I put in this fic is from the videos I've watched and the fan wiki, so it's like semi-accurate… Cw: talks about suicide, suicide (not the reader), violence, yandere tendencies, gore(?), death, manipulation, coercion, talks of death, should be gn! reader safe.... if not, put me in the chamber WC: 2.2k

Quiet. It was quiet. The silence is deafening, yet the ringing in your ear grows louder and louder, each second feeling as if eons had passed. The automated computer voice repeats in your head like a catchy song you’ll hear on those dusty records, the ones Mama used to play and dance to.

“Congratulations, citizens of Vault 11! You have made the decision not to sacrifice one of your own. You can walk with your head held high, knowing that your commitment to human life is a shining example to us all. And to make that feeling of pride even sweeter, I have some exciting news. Despite what you were led to believe, the population of Vault 11 is not going to be exterminated for its disobedience. Instead, the mechanism to open the main vault door has now been enabled, and you can come and go at your leisure. But not so fast! Be sure to check with your overseer to find out if it's safe to leave. Here at Vault-Tec, your safety is our number one priority.”

You were young when your parents escaped the bombs to the vault you're situated in right now; you grew up believing that damned computer about sacrifices and watched your fellow vault mates get killed one by one. You waited for the time it would be you in that same chamber. Now, with this information surfaced…they died for what? An experiment? What would have happened if you had been voted overseer…

The lump in your throat grows heavier, and the arguments and yelling in the background become more and more apparent that you can't ignore them anymore. Your eyes drift to the man standing tall and proud beside you, Charli, his hair still somehow slick back; he still looks perfect even after the maddening chaos of events that transpired these past few days. His blue jumpsuit was as crisp as an ironed suit that the actors would wear from the moving pictures on television before the vault. His expression is as vacant as his blue eyes, his soft lips decorated with a barely visible smile. As he watches the other three vault survivors argue, Your brows furrow. 

Why isn’t he affected by the news like everyone else? This information is soul-crushing and life-changing!

Then again, you reason with yourself that maybe this is his way of coping; who are you to judge and microanalysis him like some psycho? Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep or the sense of safety ripped out of your hand like candy stolen from a baby. Heavens, you might nearly flip your lid entirely if something else happens. You sigh. To believe you almost were insinuating that Charli would even be a drop suspicious, and of what, exactly? He saved and shielded you from the massacre that only left the five of you remaining; he was your childhood best friend..how could you? You reprimand yourself.

His eyes finally meet yours, and the sympathy and worry you sought appeared when the blonde saw how distressed you were. “Are you alright?” his soft voice fills your head–drowning out the talks of whether the group should commit suicide in honour of your dead vault men or venture into the outside world to educate others on how your vault was misled. You were somewhat dissociated from the whole conversation. Reasonably so.

His hands, soft yet calloused, turn your head side to side to check for any visible injuries he might’ve missed, which he shouldn’t have—knitted eyebrows and razor-sharp eyes search frantically for anything. 

Charles or… As you’ll call him later in your relationship, Charlie, has always been like this. When you met him, he was a reserved kid, a trait that would carry on from his pubescent to adolescent years. 

When other kids grew out of their shyness and worrisome attitude and eventually adapted to the vault, he was pushed aside. Well, that wouldn’t be the only reason. His father was the first overseer of Vault 11, the same overseer who thought the best course of action was not to tell the vault residents about the sacrificial system they were now to live with. That same choice he made was the reason for his death, and he was the first to test the new system. He wasn’t a good man. He was greedy, a neglectful father and husband, and so on. A family now ruined by one man’s ill-considered decision; Charles's mom wasn’t much better, the textbook definition of a hypocrite. Bad-mouthing her dead husband, the same one she defended when said husband would push his son away.

Most would fear having no one at the end of the world, but it became Charles's life; while everyone adapted to vault life, Charles adapted to the misfortune of the consequences of his old man’s actions. You decided one day to talk to him while others stood clear. It was a simple conversation; others would just brush it off…which he did initially. But after that day, you would constantly seek him out, and with that, you wore a genuine smile and interest every time you talked to him. His walls crumbled into dust for you and only you. You were like a shooting star he wished for. His reputation grew because of you and, with that, his feelings for you sored. You became his way of life. In his teen years, he decided to become the best match for you– He would participate in every extracurricular activity the vault would provide to make him an unstoppable force of a man. The perfect golden boy was made..for you.

He had the “perfect body,” perfect sperm count, unmatched intelligence, and charisma—he perfected them (even if you were the only one he talked to for long periods)—strength, agility, endurance—all of it. He will be everything you need and more. With that, he made sure no one would vote you as overseer…

He was so soft on you that it would rival feathers. Do you need help lifting that? He's already there. Do you need help with your pre-war history? He’ll just sit you down and study with you for hours. Are you bleeding from an accidental cut? Don’t worry he just finished his first aid training. He already had a plan for you both for everything that would happen.

Everything

“I’m fine…” You grab both of his hands gently. “...Well, not fine, fine, but I'm not hurt.” You smile weakly up at him. “It’s okay. You and I will get through this,” He coos, pushing strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. His touch is warm and tender, yet the words you hear next aren’t.

“Fuck..I..I can’t do this I’m sorry.” A man, short in stature, starts backing away, gun in hand, clearly distressed. Your eyes move away from Charli’s to your fellow survivor; unknowingly to you, Charli rolls his eyes at the man's “dramatics.”  “We don’t deserve to leave...That thing called us a shiny example..f..f.fucked! Thats fucked! I..I can’t live with that!” Another man says, “Anyone would’ve done what we did.” A woman comments, “You ask me? That's exactly the problem. Now, let’s get on with this.”

“Wait,” you say, stunned, as if he had predicted this would happen. Charles moves his hands to cover your eyes. The short man is first, putting his gun on the roof of his mouth and pulling the trigger, not sparing any more time; the woman is next, the second gunshot. Then, with a sigh and short prayer, the last man repeats the action done by the others. Each lifeless body hits the floor one by one, and then there is silence.

What the hell.

You try to understand the situation, but your brain has yet to catch up…it’s all too much. Charli whispers calming phrases while he shields your eyes with one hand and rubs patterns along your back with the other. Tears start rolling down your face…and you sob. Hard. His hand moves to pet your hair, soothing you while you let it all out of your system.

He moves his body to shield you from the gruesome events that have just taken place; he moves both of his hands and cradles your face. You try looking behind him out of curiosity, but he stops you before you can.”Hey! Look at me with those gorgeous eyes,” He mummers, and of course, you comply. “There we go. You listen to me so well,” he whispers lovingly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll both go back to my vault room. I have enough supplies for the both of us to survive outside for a while, okay?” He asks you, and you nod, agreeing to whatever he says. 

“I need to hear you say it..” 

“…yes, of course, whatever you think is best.” He smiles at you, thumb caressing your cheek. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” He takes your hand and leads you through the halls. It's quiet… you don't like it. Your eyes are trained on his back, Charli…he’s your lifebuoy in the angry sea, the only thing keeping you afloat; if it wasn’t for him…you might’ve met your end with the others. As if sensing your inner turmoil, he squeezes your hand, comforting you…and you squeeze back. Your world just fell apart, yet…it doesn’t seem entirely gone with Charli by your side. 

It's only a short time till you reach his vault. You’ve been here so many times it's basically your room by now. The tall blonde turns to look at you. “I’m going to let you go, just for a second, okay..? I just need to get the supplies.” He holds your one hand with both of his– you reply with a soft okay, and with your permission, he starts to move. He moves towards his small desk to grab a small, flat-headed screwdriver, walks to a particular spot, and pops the floor title beneath him, revealing a hidden compartment. It's filled with two modular military backpacks, filled to the bream with necessities for outside the vault.

He was prepared for all of this…

Then he starts talking about what he has in mind for the two of you, settling on the surface of living together and everything. Charles gets lost when talking to you; he can speak his mind about almost anything, and rambling is second nature with you. The hermit turned a social butterfly in your presence.

“You know that computer may have been our downfall, but god did bless me with more information than I could handle…good thing, huh, glad I went through all that code…Vault-tec tried to make it secure, but I found a way...We could go somewhere called New Vegas…” He keeps talking. 

But you stand there, still, as a statue, looking down at him as he gathers everything…What did he just say? 

You think back to the start when killing between the blocs started..he was right there, ready to protect you, when you and the other surviving tested out if the chamber would kill all of you…he almost seemed to be too assured nothing bad would happen to any of you, almost like…no…no. You’re overthinking, right? But the more you listen…

“You knew…” you shakingly exclaim out loud, cutting him off. “Hmm?” He looks up at you as he puts the tile back…” You knew we didn’t need sacrifices…you knew it would play out like this…” you say louder and more confidently. Those once-homey blue eyes become cold and distant… analyzing you.  

You both stare at each other.

You turn and run.

 But your efforts are in vain; you don’t even leave the room before two muscular arms wrap around behind you, overtaking you, holding your arms down around your waist, dragging you back. You scream and kick with no success. You end up with his arms around you while he sits down, his back against the wall, and you in front of him with his head in your neck while you let it all out. “When?” you croak out, “When we were fifteen, I didn’t want you to become overseer…I didn’t want you to die..so I wondered if it was the computer that sent signals to kill whoever was sent in that chamber and wondered if I could stop it from killing you specifically; that's when I found out .” He answers swiftly and truthfully, “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” You question, “I didn’t care, honestly, the only thing that matters is you…If everyone died in the process, it would be less work for me…I wanted it to be us from the beginning, anyway. I want you to need me as much as I need you…and now you finally do.”  

You feel weak and sick to your stomach… All your peers would’ve ended up dead either way. “I want to leave.” he hums, not mocking you but in acknowledgment. “And do what? You don’t know how to defend yourself; you have no supplies prepared, barely any survival instincts, and you don’t even know any information on the surface above. You can leave, but you’ll die…I can’t let that happen, sorry.” Charles buries himself more into you. 

“I hate you,” You whisper.

“That’s okay…all that matters is that you're here…with me and only me… I’ll keep you safe and sound.”

N: This was a long one, whew! I had to think about how I could make a Yandere fic with Fallout, and I had tons of concepts, but this one stood out the most. I hope my execution was good enough....Anyway, my next fic will most likely be a jealous fic about my Yandere lord, so stay tuned! Till then! see you soon my little guppies (´꒳`)♡ extra note: Throughout writing this, I thought "My Way of Life by Frank Sinatra" would fit Charli perfectly.

[regregregulusblack]

My official intro post . ⋆✮ ˚ . ✩°｡⋆｡

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘. My name is Regulus Black, and no, you are NOT allowed to call me Reg or Reggie.

A photo my friend Evan took of me without my permission. I will never forgive you, @barbie-wants-to-be-me-fr !!!

I am intersex and I go by he/they pronouns. I don’t like to label myself, but at least I am not straight. I am single and not looking for anyone at all at the moment. I am also autistic and have ADHD. NOT the wild sort. The fucking-tired-bitch-stfu-sort.

My interests:

• Art

• Quidditch (I’m a seeker)

• Poetry (both reading and writing)

• Reading books

• Defence of the Dark Arts

• Analysing every single lyric in every single Taylor Swift song and crying about it

• Makeup

On this blog I will be posting quotes, poetry, art, photographs and selfies and just silly little things that I feel like sharing. If I see any posts about me, I will read them and BEWARE, I will be critical. So you might see me around :) You have been warned.

You will also probably see me having chats with my friends, @remus-lupin-offical is one of them but I’m still waiting for my other idiot friends to finish making their bloody accounts. I will add them here as soon as I can! Update: Took as them long enough, but now they’re also on Tumblr! People you will see me interacting with:

• @sirius-thesstar (Ew)

• @remus-lupin-offical (Why’d you choose my idiot brother as your boyfriend? You’re better than this.)

• @the-real-marls-mckinnon

• @xxcassiexx Dorcas Meadows, a Slytherin I have deep respect for. Say hi to Dorcas!

• @barty-not-barry (My batshit crazy friend)

• @pandora-notyetalovegood (Fellow Slytherin, say hi!)

• @lily-evans-for-ya (In a world of annoying people you are a nice person. Take it as a compliment or don’t. It’s up to you.)

• @captainjamespotter (Annoying Gryffindor)

• @stolemyheelsfromlegolas (DO NOT CALL ME REGIANO FFS) (MARY YOU HEAR ME?!)

• @barbie-wants-to-be-me-fr (Another lovely Slytherin asshole, he and Barty should just shut up and kiss by the way)

• @ur-local-peter-pettigrew (Gryffindor)

• @itty-bitty-bella (Cousin)

• @therealcissyblack (Cousin who loves me :))

• @andro-black (Cousin AS WELL)

• @the-best-slytherin (Luna, a fellow Slytherin)

• @yourfavouritehufflepuffgirl (Ew Hufflepuffs) (Ooc: I love Hufflepuffs)

You will see me arguing with my brother, @sirius-thesstar. Like, a lot. Don’t mind Sirius, he’s an idiot. If we’re arguing in French, do NOT translate if you’re a scaredy cat…

Do not interact if:

• You’re Sirius and you’re mad at me

• You’re a Gryffindor (yeah that goes for you too Sirius) (Slytherin is the best Hogwarts house)

• You’re transphobic

• You’re homophobic

• You don’t like me for some other reason

• You’re a Taylor Swift hater

I love Taylor. Don’t you ever disrespect her. Her new album only further proves that she’s a true poet. Even @sirius-thesstar agrees with me on that.

Other things I love are:

• Cats (I dream of having two black cats and naming them Phoebe and Ruby)

• The sea (It’s so calming to watch, but I HATE swimming. It’s too cold. And wet. Yuck.)

• The rain

• Conan Gray (No one can take his album “Superache” from me. Don’t ever try or I’ll bite you.)

Hope I’ll see you around! (Or not. Depending on my mood)

My tags: #regregregulusreg, #thetorturedpoetofthecave, #regussy, #regulussy

Random edit: Ooc: Eh so I’m a minor and I’m a victim of actual physical and mental abuse and I’m still going through stuff, so eh, “Reggie” might be talking jokingly about abusive parents and a tough upbringing on here and stuff like that… just know that that is my fucked up coping mechanism okay, and I don’t mean any harm, and please if you’re joking around with me about abuse don’t take it too far since it might be triggering for me. Thank you.

[saintmurd0ck]

lakeside dreamin'

masterlist

pairing: jedi general anakin skywalker x f!reader

summary: anakin reminisces about your lives together while he's away fighting in the clone wars

warnings: heavy angst, mentions of canon events in TCW, canon typical mentions of warfare, some smut/spice, mentions of sex, minors DNI 18+ only

a/n: to the one anon who requested this maybe a year ago? i saw clone wars anakin and it was over for my brain 🫠 anyway love you guys and leave a comment or reblog if you liked this! 🥺

song pairing: love on the brain (rihanna)

The war was taking its toll.

Day after day, planet after planet, all Anakin knew now was his place on the battlefield. And his role in leading the victory for the Jedi and the Republic, even though their dogma preached peace, not violence. Every skirmish brought a new kind of horror to his once uncomplicated life, whether it was watching Separatist droids and clone troopers alike, cut down as easily as marsh reeds, or the simple fact that his relationship with the Force was dwindling towards something impure. Something he couldn’t make sense of, and would surely raise more questions than answers if he were to confide in his Masters. It wasn’t that he contemplated reaching towards the Dark side, or thought of the kind of evil only the Sith could endure; it was more like an isolating numbness that spread from within, and before long, Anakin felt the cloud settle over his mind.

He was tired of seeing smoke — the kind that billowed in every direction, stinking of despair and lost hope on his front, despite the war turning to the Republic’s favour. It was the sound of unending blaster fire and the repetitive ignition of his lightsaber that haunted his nightmares, and with only the company of his clone legion, his Padawan Ahsoka and the occasional appearance from Obi-Wan, he felt himself starting to slip.

He was overwhelmed, and encumbered with burden. 

Never before had he experienced such guilt, anger and suffering — towards his army, towards the civilians caught in the crossfire, and towards his relationship with you. 

The secret life the two of you led, away from the Order, felt like something out of another galaxy, another lifetime. It was as if eons had passed since he’d last seen you, and yet the world was constantly evolving — not towards freedom, but into a more destructive version of its past. Even for a Jedi General (and, one could argue, because he was a Jedi General), Anakin had little comfort, and much less sway in which systems he visited and what he took part in. Seeing you was absolutely out of the question, but it wasn’t like he bothered to even ask, out of fear of inviting a lecture from Obi-Wan, or Maker-forbid, an audience with Master Yoda. 

At least things like facilitating training for the Onderon rebels allowed him to feel more of himself, and to an extent, a sort of unity with the Council, but all of that was quickly replaced by the more sinister side of the Separatist Alliance, such as the trainwreck on Zygerria. Liberation didn’t exist there. Not until Anakin showed up.

It was these events that really compelled him to look inwards, to not just seek the Force’s guidance, but to use it in tandem with a coping mechanism that would get him through the war. 

And so the vignettes began. Slowly, at first. 

It started off as little glimpses of your life together, slices of euphoric nostalgia that weaved their way into Anakin’s being. He didn’t realise just how much he yearned for you; not simply the way your skin felt on his, but the pureness of your energy, the reminder that good truly did exist in this world. As much as these images were a solace to his sanity, they brought about a sense of malaise. Contrition, actually, if he sought the Force for the purpose of clarity. Even though it all existed in his head, allowing himself these indulgences felt like once again, he was breaking Code. 

But could it really have been that bad, if it honed his focus? If it drew him back to the bigger picture, of the why? Reminding himself of who it was he fought for didn’t erase the atrocities, but it gave him that flicker of hope, knowing that the sum of his actions equalled a better world for you. 

And some selfish, miniscule part of him figured that if he could lead the victory, he’d be pardoned when the Order inevitably found out about the life the two of you shared. It isn’t as if no-one already knew. He was sure Ahsoka was aware. Rex, too. He doubted when it came to Obi-Wan, but then again very little got past his Master. 

While the memories of you lay fresh before his eyes, they seemed to sharpen at specific points throughout the day; often in the thick of battle, or when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat, nothing but thin shafts of moonlight illuminating his body. It’s like they were stitched perfectly amongst the real action, scattered at perfect intervals that jerked his body into manoeuvre.

The sweetest images had always featured the lake. 

Armed with nothing more but his wits, his back pressed against the cold, wet stone in a cave on Vanqor, he reminisced about that first night with you by the lakeside. The sweet smell of wildflowers carried in the breeze, heightened by his affinity for the Force. He recalled the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, and how the two moons cast their milky glow upon the shimmering surface of the water. And you — radiant, almost ethereal in the soft light, and the way your lips brushed against his neck, filling him with the kind of heat that flooded all at once. Not even the screech of the pursuing gundark could have interrupted this moment in time. He felt his breathing go ragged, because he remembered what happened next. He gritted his teeth, thinking about the way he moved inside you, and how you tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing chaste kisses to his mouth, his chest, whispering his name in sinful bliss. The gundark didn’t stand a chance. Not when Anakin’s motivation for getting out alive laid in sweet promise, embedded in these visions.

His name felt the most natural rolling off your tongue, nevermind that that was truly the last real thing he possessed, unmarred by time and the influence of the Jedi. In that moment, when you’d taken him over the edge with you, crying his name so loud he swore someone had heard, he knew he’d give it over to you if you’d asked.

He thought of the lake again when he was in Felucia, crouched low amongst the sillum. His lightsaber grew heavy in his hand, the ridges suddenly awkward in his palm, but the grip he’d started to lose on his lifeline gave rise to something he couldn’t ignore. 

It was another temperate day and the sun had created the most brilliant reflections on the surface of the lake. With the grasses and trees swaying in the wind, Anakin closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force. He didn’t prod or poke, but rather he cast a wide net, a delicate caress, to connect with the life that teemed. It sang to him in a multi-layered harmony, acting as a prominent reminder that the Force flowed in all living things. And when his eyes fluttered open, he watched you carefully as you walked towards the water, your feet crunching on the smooth pebbles that made up the beach. You turned around to give him a dazzling smile, moving with deliberation to slip off your clothes. Your laughter echoed in the crisp air as you dived into the lake, disappearing under a swathe of emerald green, only to resurface in the middle with a large grin plastered to your face. He didn’t hesitate to jump in, to shed his clothing on the spot. A shudder ran down his spine at the thought of what happened shortly after. 

Sometimes it was hard to return to the present, to remember that he’d sleep alone that night while you were only just waking up, systems away, most likely after another fitful slumber.  There were times where he thought these visions would serve no other purpose than to derail him, when the temptation of your touch shadowed his desire for victory. These moments guided him to channel the Force within, so as to remind himself of why he was doing this in the first place. Because it was more than just a coping mechanism. It was an anchor. A thrumming pulse point. A gentle acknowledgement of the life he wanted to come back to.

It’s then that he wondered when enough would be enough, when the war would come to a stalemate, as it so often did in their history. The tide was turning, and he knew it.

And there it was again, that kernel of hope, that ember of light that shone in the depths of his soul. Even reduced to a ghost in his memory, you were tangible, so tangible now. He wouldn’t let the Separatists win. He couldn’t, because there was too much at stake. And so if thinking of you, in these ways, helped him remember that, he wasn’t going to stop. 

Not for anyone. 

[theoneandonlycoralinejones]

Some General Ericson's Kids Headcannons

Louis

Despite it being the zombie apocalypse, he still takes a great care in his appearance. Maybe this could be tied back to his insecurities, but he generally just finds comfort in looking nice. He kept a few colognes from before, and maybe even still has a few hair products. Of course he’d had to be resourceful to make them last this long, probably pours water into the almost empty cologne bottles to make them last longer. He also just dislikes being dirty in general, always wiping down his clothes and typically taking breaks to freshen up. 

He wants to keep the artistic spirit alive, even in the apocalypse, and he really admires people who feel the same. Everyone knows he loves piano, but when somebody actually shows interest in it he can't help but get giddy. He can ramble about musicians and songs for hours and hours and hours, and if you ever found him some new records or sheet music you'd officially be his new favorite person; ever.

Definitely was an only child; his parents put all of their focus on him, watched his every move. He was expected to get good grades, go to a good college, get a hard well-paying job afterwards. He was definitely spoiled money-wise, but his family lacked in the love and affection department. 

Violet

I’d like to think that if she ever got the chance to, she’d try to give herself a piercing. Obviously it’d be unsanitary and sort of implausible during the apocalypse, but if you think about it, all she’d need would be a needle, the piercing itself, and some sort of disinfectant, so it could possibly happen. If she did get one, probably an eyebrow piercing or a septum. She definitely isn’t the type to care too much about her appearance, but she would feel super cool having a piercing. (She wouldn’t say it though, lol)

Violet lacked any sort of hobby in the game, and this upset me. (Ruby has gardening/being a nurse, Louis has music, Tenn has art, Mitch has weapons, Omar has cooking, Aasim has writing, etc.) I feel like if she had a hobby it'd be something she'd do in secret, maybe poetry or writing songs. She definitely is the type of person to bottle her emotions up, so writing poems about it would definitely be a nice way to cope with them. She’d never share her poetry with anyone though, it's just her thing; she's way too embarrassed of it. 

If she was able to listen to any music she would definitely like indie or punk music. (Pavement, she would LOVE pavement) She’s definitely the type of person to crush on more alternative people, so I could see her trying to get into goth music just to impress a girl she likes. 

Marlon

It's obvious that he's definitely got some hefty mental issues going on, he's the type of person to bottle things up forever till he just blows up. He panics a lot in tough situations, scrambles to fix things himself, but has a hard time making things work out alone. I'd imagine his parents were probably perfectionists of some sort; who pushed a lifestyle he didn't want onto him and he tried hard to succeed for them but could never be enough. Eventually one day he acted out, sick of being forced to live a life he didn't want to live, and then was sent to Ericsons's.

A lot of people hate Marlon, for reasons that are obvious, but I really don't think he was a bad guy. He was simply misguided, and made mistakes. 

Seems like the type to smoke or drink as a way to cope. Did it more often before the apocalypse and when it first started but cigarettes and alcohol are pretty much nonexistent near Ericson’s now so he was forced to quit. 

Mitch

I see many people sort of stereotype Mitch as just this guy who likes carving knives and making bombs, which definitely is true, but I think there’s much more to him. He has a very rebellious personality which leads me to believe he probably grew up in a home where being rebellious was necessary to get any attention from his neglectful parents. They are in the boarding school for a reason, so he probably was the type of kid that almost burnt down his house or something.

Definitely seems like the type to be a big softie once you get to know him. Certainly not the type to be all soft in public, but if you're spending time one on one his more gentle side will show. 

Ruby 

She has such a motherly vibe to her, so caring and sweet. Even hands out some tough love when needed. I think that's one of the reasons why she likes the greenhouse so much, she loves to take care of things; plants included. (Obviously she also liked it because of Ms. Martin, but yk)

She's certainly not the type to accept compliments easily, she just can't imagine that when people compliment her they're telling the truth. I'd imagine that the reason she punches Aasim If you dare him to kiss her is because she thinks he's playing a prank on her or something; she just finds it hard to believe that somebody would like her. (I love her, Ruby is my bae omg)

[miaclemeverett]

amazon standing lamp - using drugs and sex and other unhealthy distractions and coping mechanisms to deal with losing people you love out of your own fault. the top-heavy amazon standing lamp part is a really old wilbur joke (back in 2020 he joked about naming a song this) and it also reminds me of how (i think it was him?) he once said that he moves house so often that he loses so many belongings and only has a few things left that he cares about, i think this pairs really well in the song how the artificial meaningless things are all that remain

mine / yours - the breakdown of a relationship, seeing the warning signs and the things you take for granted assuming a person will stay with you forever despite it all

around the pomegranate - this song reminds me a lot of "since i saw vienna", when a place (california in this song) becomes so married to a person that it serves as a source of comfort and nostalgia for when things were simple and happier. being on the road you can never set down roots and people come and go from your life

i don't think it will ever end - he lives life in front of millions of people (chat in this song) watching his every move, like an actor he either has to play the part he's made for himself or isolate himself from this audience, it's a repetitive cycle that sends him downhill

glass chalet - back in the dark days of 2021 i remember wilbur would always joke (SLASH SERIOUS) about quitting streaming and disappearing off the face of the planet for years without a single word. VERY HEALTHY MINDSET exhibited right here in this song

melatonin 130 - I LOVE 100 GECS!! but in all seriousness the constant reminder that you have mental illness/anxiety your entire life and you can only cope with it, that it impairs you even when you should be happy cus obviously you're living out what you thought was your dream and everyone else thinks you should be on top of the world duh!

oh distant you - JUST KILL ME. your sister was right but WORSE!!!!!!!! again you take for granted that someone will stick with you forever and only after it's over realizing that you can't fill the hole where they were. and again we're back on fixating on who is the villain in this narrative

eulogy - your sister was right but worse 2, this song focuses on the whispers (good and bad) leftover from a relationship. harkening back to screensaver where he says that the subject in talking about their relationship basically makes him sound like hitler, and your sister was right where he talks about the warning signs the subject should have seen, this squarely places the blame on him

dropshipped cat shirt - I LOVE 100 GECS!!! but anyway the grueling day-to-day of being on the move, singing to people who adore you and make up a version of you in their head, latching onto unhealthy coping mechanisms to keep going, you have everything you ever needed and wanted but you're bored out of your mind

the median - short but sweet! as i said earlier, wilbur always has to play a part, and this audience projects their version of himself as the truth

trying not to think about it - I KNOW I PUT DAMN NEAR THE WHOLE SONG DOWN HERE BUT LISTEN. again realizing how much you take for granted the assumption that someone will stick with you forever. wilbur has mentioned before how as a hypochondriac, he's never taken seriously by doctors whenever he doesn't feel well. also this idea of romance and love as something just for the aesthetic, not as something that gives you stability and meaning but realizing that it can be that for you until its too late.

10 week rule - who got him pregnant?? but in all seriousness i think this can be read as a way of turning a new page, but obviously its not as simple as just getting rid of something unwanted

[moviestarmartini]

comfort. - jude bellingham x reader

pairing: jude bellingham x latina!reader

wc: 747

summary: your boyfriend needs comforting after such a hard loss.

warnings: pre-established relationship, pure fluff, clingy!jude, both reader and jude are sad, spanish but! translation will be added at the end

A/N: LISTEN this is MY way of coping with this loss, i bawled my eyes out on thursday unfortunately but it is what it is. also this is for MI GENTE LATINO for the second time let's fucking go (i have two wips with regular readers but this one came out faster rip)

now playing . . . día de enero by shakira

The sound of the door made you stop everything you’d been doing in the kitchen so you could greet Jude at his arrival. The door closed silently, and just from watching the game in your living room, you knew what mood your boyfriend was going to arrive in.

“Mi amor,” You sighed, stretching your arms out to pull him in a hug. “You played spectacularly.” You praised quietly, a kiss pressed to his temple as he seemed to place his entire weight on top of you. He held onto you like a lifeline, stumbling back onto the couch and pulling you to his lap.

“It wasn’t enough.” His voice was filled with shame, and the sentiment was enough to not want to look you in the eyes. “I’m so tired, love. We all are. It’s hard.”

“I know.” You masked the pain, trying to avoid him noticing it in your tone. The love he had for the club was something you truly admired, and you understood his frustrations whenever things didn’t exactly go according to plan.

You two sat there for what seemed hours, holding each other close as consolation. “I was just making dinner, hm? Your favorite?” You tenderly brushed his brows into place, your hands staying in his cheekbones. But his reply was silence.

“You know what? Get ready for bed, I’ll make us some tea.” You noticed how he perked up at the mention of self-care, and you knew what you had to do. You practically had to shove him off to make your way to the kitchen, coming to realize he’d followed you like a wounded puppy searching for its owner.

“Ay pero Jude,” You whined with a laugh, his insistence to cling onto you made tasks difficult. “Dame dos minutitos, eh? I have to prepare everything.” With a hum, you took the kettle and served it on your respective mugs, letting the bags steep before adding milk.

Tea time went by as planned, slow sips being the only thing filling the air in the bedroom. You felt the soothing effects, so comfortable and cozy that you placed your mug away with a bit left at the bottom. “What’s on your mind?” You asked, upon finding Jude staring at you.

He set his now empty cup on the nightstand, turned off the lamp, and wiggled to get under the pink duvet, pushing a Snoopy pillow out of the way. You usually reprimand him for mistreating your ‘children’, but you knew it wasn’t the time. “Can you…” The question edged from the tip of his tongue. “…sing? That one Shakira song…” He breathed out, and you couldn’t help but smile. Your voice wasn’t the best, but it was enough to soothe a baby with a soft lullaby.

You nodded, lying down. It didn’t take Jude long to lay on your chest, an arm wrapping across your torso and pulling you close. You hummed the beginning, skipping over the first verses, as the next one expressed what you felt within the depths of your heart; what you knew he needed to hear.

“Y todo va a pasar, pronto verás el sol brillar.” You sang quietly, in almost a whisper. He’d heard you blasting that song a while ago, hearing you gush about the lyrics before he asked for a translation. Now, he listened to it every time he sought comfort. Your comfort. “Tu, más que nadie, mereces ser feliz.”

You sang that sentence with your whole chest, and you could feel him holding onto you for dear life. “Ya vas a ver, como van sanando poco a poco tus heridas. Ya vas a ver, como va la misma vida a decantar la sal que sobra en el mar.”

You hummed along the interlude, and you could feel the way his shoulders relaxed. “I love you, babe. Te amo.” He muttered, voice slightly muffled by his face buried in your torso.

You prayed he would hear your heart drumming, the only way you could truly communicate how he made you feel.

“I love you too.” You muttered, snuggling closer to him. “And I meant every single thing that song says. You deserve happiness more than anyone.” Your voice was low, intimate; just like the moment you were going through. Lights out, no noise; just the two of you seemed to occupy this plane of existence.

“You’re my happiness,” Jude muttered, and before you realized it, he’d fallen asleep– lulled by the rhythmic beating of your heart.

A/N: this song is so beautiful y'all :,) ALSO!! the "salt" here is not a literal translation; in latino cultures it's often a word used for bad luck.

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twenty-One

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Authors Note: This is a long one, it took me a while but hopefully the waits been worth it? EMOTIONS is all I'm going to say.

Warnings: Lots going on- talks of car crashes, alcohol abuse (both in the past) also some previous thoughts on trauma and different coping mechanisms

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

It takes a second for change to implement itself, though it can take a while longer for its realisation to truly hit.

…

I could hear him. 

Bustling his way around my kitchen, singing quietly as he worked on the breakfast he’d promised the night before. Tins clattered, the kettle whistled, and the fridge door rattled closed, all whilst I padded my way towards him, pausing in the entryway to simply take in the sight I’d been gifted.

I grinned over at Teddy, who was currently tiptoeing on the wooden stool I had tucked away for whenever he felt inclined to help me cook, and then at Matty who seemed happy enough with making him giggle whenever he chose to lean in close to sing by his ear. 

“Thinking this through… It's like, one,”

“..TWO!” Teddy laughed back when Matty pointed at him, beaming brightly at the sight of the man’s all too amused face.

“Yeah, ‘cause I'm in love with you-”

“I-I-I-I!”

It was something I’d never thought to even picture, let alone see, my son staring up at a man with such adoration and pride. The two of them simply belonging. The whole scene made me ache with a wanting for it to never stop, but even the best of things had to come to an end I supposed.

Matty turned, a smile painting on his features, only to pause when he caught sight of me, watching them from the doorway. He narrowed his eyes, then gave me a sly smile, before he placed the plate he’d been holding down on the counter and shuffled on closer, arms stretching out towards me as he continued to sing along to his own song. I mean, the ego on him.

“… I’m in love with you.”

It was hard going, attempting to dampen the grin that pulled at the corners of my mouth, especially when Matty wrapped his arms around my hips and started to sway us to and fro. He raised his brows up at me, fully expecting me to finish off the song for him, so I rolled my eyes and laughed the final line out, accompanied by a much louder Teddy, “I-I-I-I-I.”

Matty leaned in close to press a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth, his tangled hair tickling my cheek. He chuckled lowly to himself when I wrinkled my nose at the feeling and tried to escape from his hold, but did eventually let me go.

“What are you even making?” I asked the pair of them around a fond smile, crossing the kitchen to ruffle Teddy’s curls and open up the little window there. I sniffed lightly. “Did you end up burning something too?”

Matty rolled his eyes at that and shook his head with a tut, before he moved to pick up his plate once more, sliding past Teddy and I to grab at the toast which had just popped up. “No.”

“Liar.” I laughed with Teddy, picking him up and settling him on my hip whilst Matty turned his back on us to start buttering the bread. “What’s with the big breakfast then anyway? I thought you had to record today.” I asked him, praising Teddy quietly for the way he’d spooned some sugar and two teabags into a pair of matching mugs for us. 

“Later on,” Matty answered me in a quiet murmur as I peered over his shoulder to nick a fresh piece of toast. “Oi!”

Grinning around the bite I’d just taken, I was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t completely charred. “Better than the last batch.” I told him honestly and with a wry smirk.

Matty just shook his head at me, but even as he turned back to the task at hand I could see the tiny beginnings of the smile he wore. “Said I could cook.”

With a sarky hum, I could only reply, “Does toast even count as cooking?”

I was simply swatted away with a tea towel in hasty retort and Teddy squealed, wriggling to be let down.

“Okay, okay!” I relented with a laugh of my own before I slid on over to press a grateful kiss to the side of Matty’s neck. “It’s very good, merci mon amour.” 

I pulled away with a grin when I felt him tense beneath me, gesturing to Teddy for him to go ahead and grab the milk for us from the fridge whilst I began to pour the hot water into the tea he’d started. 

“What are you up to today then?” Matty asked after having cleared his throat, tossing the butter-covered knife into the sink before he looked over at us. He thanked Teddy proudly when the little monster hurried back from dumping the tea bags in the bin to point at the man’s given cup. “Lifesaver!”

Teddy giggled happily.

Matty’s question had me chewing on the inside of my cheek as I went about lifting Teddy into his usual seat at the kitchen table and laying a plate in front of him. I smoothed down his tousled hair and didn’t quite look in Matty’s direction when I finally said, “You know, the usual… Quick trip to the shops, phone mum, speak to Finn, maybe pop into the park. I hear they’ve put in this new little greenhouse by the pond, you know, just across the bridge?”

I’d thrown it in there, hoping that he might just brush over it. But then Matty didn’t offer me an answer of any kind, so with nothing else to occupy myself with I slowly peered over to where he still stood, propped up against the kitchen counter. 

He was staring down at the bowl of fruit he’d prepped sometime earlier, almost as though the grapes had suddenly grown legs and the banana pieces had turned purple. I sighed quietly to myself and felt my shoulders drop an inch before crouching down to whisper in Teddy’s ear, “Go turn on the tele for me, yeah? We can eat on the sofa today.”

Teddy’s entire face lit up at the very prospect and was so eager in his haste to hurry into the living room that he almost toppled out of his chair. I chuckled in fond exasperation, helping him down and handing him his plate with a quiet caution before allowing him to run off.

It was then that I turned my attention back to the main issue at hand. 

We hadn’t spoken much of Finn and what had happened back at the studio. I’d given Matty his space after it had all gone down, allowed him the time to mull it over and hopefully forget the words that had been said, but I knew that had mostly been wishful thinking on my part. 

Still, I was kicking myself for it now. We’d been good. Things had really been looking up; at work and at home, with Teddy and Matty, and then with Matty and I. Stupidly, I had thought that this might just be something we could have simply plastered over and left to settle, because admitting to the fact that things weren’t alright between two of the most important people in my life just wasn’t something I was ready to face yet.

I’d been selfish in that regard though, it seemed. Because of course Matty had taken the brunt of it all and pretended to shrug it off like it was no skin off of his nose. Leaving me to realise all too late just how much this whole thing had affected him. 

“Matty.” I called to him softly before I gently rested my hand on the crook of his arm, testing if I was welcome. When he didn’t immediately shy away from my touch, I slid in behind him so that I could press my forehead to the curve of his back, to where that little dip in between both of his shoulder blades resided. 

Thoughtlessly, my fingers trailed over the hem of the jeans he’d thrown on that morning, toying with the two belt loops which sat at the very centre. 

We stood there for a long moment in the quiet space of the kitchen, the food going cold but neither one of us really caring. It was only when I felt some of that tension finally ebb in his shoulders that I slowly wound my arms around his middle, smiling slightly when I felt his hands take hold of mine at his front.

“I hate this.” I admitted to him, voice so faint it was muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt. His fingers squeezed my own.

“I know.” He told me after a small pause and I felt him raise his head to gaze out of the small window sat opposite. “I know, Squeaks. Me too.”

I squeezed back.

“I’m sorry we haven’t spoken about it either. That I let it fester. I just wished, hoped even, that you might not linger too much on it, that things would- I don’t know, just end up working out. But I was stupid.”

Matty heaved a weighted breath and I let my eyes slip closed at the motion before he carefully turned in my grasp. He stopped to stare down at me, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of stray hair behind my ear, thumb brushing over a whitened scar I had yet to hide with makeup.

“Don’t. There’s no need.” He murmured to me, though his gaze was focused on the slow movement he’d just made. “Talk to him. He’s your mate, it’d be weird if you didn’t. But, I don’t know. Reckon I just might need some time. That alright?”

I was already nodding before he could even finish his sentence, more than okay with that. “‘Course it is. Though I don’t know much about talking with him, I’m betting on a screaming match. I’m still fuming with how it all went down.”

Matty gifted me a soft chuckle, and although it was hollow he had tried and that was what mattered most to me. It would take time to move past this, I could understand that. “Let him explain first, yeah?”

I frowned, brow pinching with it. “What do you mean? What’s he got to explain?”

He smiled, one of those soft dopey ones of his, the kind he often gave me whenever I’d said something silly or he was humoured by my confusion. “I get it, Mouse.” He sighed quietly, “I don't like how he went about it, it was cheap, shitty even, but he was just looking out for you, babe.”

My frown deepened and I didn't care to give his words much thought. “There’s looking out for me and then there's being a massive prick, Matty.”

With a huffed breath of a laugh, Matty trailed his thumb down my jaw to skirt over the bottom edge of my lip. His eyes finally met mine. “He went about it the wrong way, but he’s been good for you, baby. Looked after you and Teds for years, got you through some hard times, and so for that I give him a little leeway.” 

My expression softened. 

Matty’s fingers pinched my chin as he coaxed me back up to meet his gaze.

“Do that for me?” He asked, and who was I to say no to an ask like that?

Instead of answering him though, I simply leaned in and kissed him sweetly, cradling his jaw in my hands so that I could thumb over the tops of his cheeks. I wondered, momentarily, where I’d gotten so lucky.

–

A kid in the studio had both its perks and disadvantages, Matty had soon come to see. 

Squeaks had been messaging Finn not long before he’d gone to set off, slowly pulling out some clean clothes from the ever growing pile he kept adding to each time he went round to her flat, whilst Teds completed his phonics, sat on the bed.

He’d kept calling out to Matty whenever he’d stumble onto the next, asking him to sound it out for him before trying to memorise it himself. Matty had enjoyed it- enjoyed all the time he spent with the little monster as a matter of fact- but helping him with the lessons he knew that Teddy would soon carry on further into his life… He didn’t know, it just settled something within him. Made him feel needed. 

He hadn’t ever felt much of that.

Anyway, Squeaks had come into the bedroom just as he’d been tugging on a jumper, one she had said she’d liked the last time he’d worn it, and mentioned that she had to get ready to drop Teddy off round Adi’s so that she could head on over to meet Finn. 

Matty had tried to keep his expression fairly neutral each time she mentioned the man. Because he hadn’t lied earlier when he’d asked for her to give her mate the benefit of the doubt. But it still irked him. The whole situation did, in truth. See because he knew that he was running on fucking borrowed time here with her. He’d never claimed to have been a lucky man either, so he knew that something was bound to happen sooner or later. He was merely praying that he’d be able to hold onto this small bubble of peace he’d found for himself for as long as he possibly could.

Teddy had appeared put out by the fact that he would have to head on over to Adi’s, who still lived with her elderly grandmother. All pouty and sweet looking, proper cute in actuality, and Matty had honestly gone and spoken before his mind had even had a chance to catch up with his massive mouth.

Mouse had been just as surprised by his offer to let Teds tag along with him down to the studio, spilling out claims that it would be fine with the guys (who’d yet to even meet the tyke) and that they weren’t actually working on anything too big that afternoon (just recording the ending of a session). And even though Matty hadn’t exactly asked the lot of them beforehand either, he figured it to be true enough.

And with the relief that had visibly fallen off of Squeaks at his reassurance, Matty hadn’t had it in himself to regret the offer. So with that, he’d set to helping her get Teddy ready for the day and then headed out the door.

Thing was though, the last time he’d ever gotten the tube with a little kid had been years before when his mum had visited with Lou. And back then she’d been the one to worry over his every move, not wanting to lose him in the crowd or have him swept under a carriage. Gruesome yeah, but it was a real fucking fear Matty realised. 

This time around it had been his turn though, and God, did he feel sorry for all the shit he’d given his poor mum throughout the years. Was this why parents looked so tired all the fucking time?

Teddy was good enough though, curious sure, always asking questions and pointing at everything, but he listened, held onto his hand and didn’t ever wander off. He’d enjoyed counting the stops on the train too and didn’t think much of the few stares they’d gotten on the platform and again when they’d sat down. 

By the time they’d made it to the studio, Matty had felt as though he’d just gone and ran a half marathon.

It was only when Teds had crowded into his trouser leg upon first walking through the entrance that he realised that this was just as new to Teddy as it was to him, and the fact that he was now being forced into an unknown setting probably didn’t make things much easier for the kid. 

Still, he had managed to perk up on the small tour Matty had given him. Wanting to ease his nerves before they ventured much further, it had just been the two of them wandering the halls aimlessly and simply nodding or smiling at the very few people who passed them by. 

It was only once Matty had figured it time to head into the room the band usually booked did Teddy quieten again.

“Where’ve you been? Only texted you like twenty times!” Matty heard George huff from around the short corner they were hidden behind after he’d called out to let them know that it was just him. 

Matty paused by the door to cast a glance down at Teddy, but the kid was already looking at everything the walls had to offer; the big plaques with the even bigger names, the posters and many album covers that dotted the dark paint. It was only when Matty crouched down to level with him did Teddy glance back.

“You alright, monster?” He asked quietly, wanting to give Teds a second to wrap his head around things. Matty noted that he was back to chewing on his lip again, eyes wide and unsure, but Teddy gripped onto the hand Matty silently offered him. 

After a moment, Teddy nodded at the question and Matty gave him a hopeful smile. “Good, ‘cause imma need you to kick this sorry lot into shape for me, alright? I mean, I know I’m good but they can’t just depend on me for everything, can they?”

He was gifted a quiet giggle, one which eased Matty’s mind a tad. 

“Matt!”

Matty rolled his eyes at the shout of his name then shook his head mockingly at Teddy, who seemed to have jumped a bit at the beckon. “Told you, didn’t I?” He tutted playfully to the boy, rolling his eyes too for added effect, “Fall apart if I’m not here.”

Teddy was back to smiling now, “Like mum.”

Matty laughed at the comparison, certain that Squeaks would say that she had a much harder job with the show than he did here in the booth. But Matty wasn’t too inclined to disagree, she worked far too hard in truth.

“Exactly, mate.” He replied anyway, then nodded in the direction of the many voices that were bouncing their way towards them, watching as Teddy peered round him once more, “You think you’re gonna be okay?”

Teddy blinked and then looked over towards him, it was in moments like these which Matty saw just how much he resembled his mum, he reckoned it was those big eyes of theirs that held so much emotion.

“Yeah.” The boy finally breathed out and so Matty squeezed his hand just once in support, before lumbering back to his feet. He stole a quick breath for himself and then started leading them both further inside.

George was stationed where he always was, by the decks, surrounded by laptops and many a monitor. Ross was sprawled out on the beanbag they’d lugged in on day three, fiddling with the bass he held in hand. Hann, however, had chosen to sit nearest to the door and so he was the only one to glance upon at their nearing footsteps.

Matty watched on as a flash of surprise flickered across his mate’s face. Brows rose and a slow blink was seen before Adam finally smiled, looking every inch the father Matty knew him to be. 

“Just who might you be then?” Hann greeted cheerfully whilst tucking his mobile back into his trouser pocket. He didn’t make a move to get up off the settee corner though, something which Matty felt immediately thankful for, it seemed neither of them wanted to crowd the kid just yet. 

It was with that greeting though that Ross’s head finally shot up and George turned to face them in his big fancy chair. The pair of them flicked both alarmed and shock filled gazes to Matty, who did his very best to ignore their all too familiar mugs.

“This is Teddy.” Matty acknowledged, crouching down once more so that Teds could lean further into his side whilst his wide eyes surveyed their way about the rest of the room. Matty wondered what it must’ve felt like for him, struggling to recall moments from his own childhood when his mum and dad had brought him along to their interviews to sit in the audience.

“Teddy love, these three doughnuts are my mates. You remember, the ones I’m in a band with?”

Matty let Teddy have a second, waiting quietly as the little boy dragged his gaze back towards him with parted lips, he blinked and then nodded, hands wringing the sleeve of Matty’s jumper.

Matty merely smiled, bringing the kid in closer to press a quick kiss to his head of hair. “Look, Teds. See that one there, with the funny face? That’s Hann.” He was delighted to hear Teddy’s soft laughter, however muted it was, even as Adam scolded him with an unimpressed glare. “Then in the corner there, that guy?” Teddy dipped his chin, eyes trained on the bearded bloke who was grinning away like a twat, “That’s Ross, he looks like a giant but cries when he’s hungry.”

“I do not!” Ross shot back scathingly, narrowed eyes pointed at Matty which only proved to fuel Teddy’s quiet chuckles.

“Yeah alright, MacDonald.” Matty ignored whatever else Ross attempted to say after that, rolling his eyes theatrically towards Teddy before he gestured over to where George was sitting in his chair, pushing those pretentious sunglasses he often wore up onto his shaved head. “And that one there, that’s G.”

Teddy leaned in close again to whisper in Matty’s ear, “Drums.”

Matty chuckled despite himself, loathing the fact that of course Teds would have remembered the drummer. Most did. “Yeah, mate. That’s him.”

George quirked a brow at the hushed conversation shared but said nothing on it, at least not then. Instead he just waved Teddy on over, “You want to come see? Got a ton of buttons you can press.” He added as though he was trying to entice the kid. 

Matty dampened the mirthful grin that crawled up onto his face when it seemed to work though, even as Teddy tugged him along by their joint pair of hands. 

By the time Matty finally got around to stepping into the booth to record a few verses a while later, Teddy felt comfortable enough to wait for him just outside the door with the three giant idiots he’d left him with.

–

A stalemate.

That was where we were currently sat.

Even with everything that had gone down, him starting this whole mess, I had been the one to go to him. To his loft where he worked most days when he wasn’t with clients, or visiting galleries. 

Finn had welcomed me in with his usual hello through the intercom, buzzing me up into the building and then meeting me just past the front door. He’d been kitted up when I’d entered, still in his apron and covered in paint, the latter of which he was trying to wash off when I first spotted him. 

He’d had the kettle already going and he smiled slightly after asking me how I’d been. I’d been truthful, said that I was doing good- all things considered.

There’d been an awkward pause at that, the two of us unsure on where we should then go with the encounter, but the kettle had whistled and on instinct I had turned to grab the mugs. 

He had nodded gratefully, but then gestured me over to where his colourful sofa sat by the large open bay windows, joining me with two steaming brews not a minute later. 

“How’s Teds?”

I licked at my lower lip at the question, peering into the still swirling mug. “Good, on Easter break soon enough.”

“What have they been working on then?” Finn asked next, because we both knew this was a safe topic, an easy starter. 

“Phonics at the moment,” I replied with a small smile that couldn’t quite be helped, recalling the way Teddy had puttered around after Matty this morning calling out each sound he’d needed to learn. “He sounds them out after breakfast most days and then again at night.” We shared a brief smile, before I mentioned, “Matty’s been helping too.”

Finn hummed. 

I pressed my lips together to keep from blurting out everything I wanted to say at the sound of it, attempting to stick to the plan I’d formed on my way over here. Letting Finn open up on his own, rather than come in all guns blazing.

“How is that going then?”

My brow pinched as I peered over at him from across the settee, “What, with Matty and I?”

Another hum, though this one was accompanied by a slight nod.

I was wary of how to answer Finn, especially after having learnt what the man truly thought about our whole relationship, but figured I should at least be honest.

“We’re happy.” I love him. “He’s good for me, I think.” It terrifies me. “He brings out a part of me that I haven’t seen much of since- I don’t know, maybe my first year of uni?” I let go of a breathy chuckle, picking at the wrinkled hem that sat at the knee of my jeans. “It’s been, really nice.”

When I chanced a glance back up, it was only to find Finn already looking back at me, his expression carefully set, almost as though he was trying to suss out any sort of lie in my answer. I waited a second and then he smiled. Nothing less than genuine, and I felt my whole body relax at the sight of it.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted.” Finn spoke softly, placing his cup down on a side table to slide on a tad bit closer. He rubbed at the back of his wrist before settling his hands in his lap, “I shouldn’t have gone about it the way I did, I just- You know I care so much, Mouse. And this is me in no way asking to be let off the hook or anything of the like, but, you have to remember I was there through it all.”

Frowning slightly at his words, I followed Finn’s prior motion, putting my own mug down so that I could pull a leg up under me, settling nearer. 

He let go of an exhale, “I was there when you found out about Teddy, I was there before that and then after. I saw the line of broken hearts you left in your wake, chasing this thrill you sought so hard to find, and all of the games you wanted to play.” 

He took my hand then and I just let him, thinking on his words, on how it must have seemed to someone else looking in from the outside. I knew I’d been a right mess after leaving home. 

In truth, I’d been a mess since the night of the accident, when my whole world had been flipped on its head, turning me into this scarred little kid. Leaving me not only alone, but wanting to chase after everything I felt I’d missed out on because of it the second that I’d gotten the chance. Which had meant finding friends and casual sex, bar hopping and clubbing for days on end, looking for the next best thing to simply entice or excite me.

Finn had been there.

He’d been there through most of it, if not it all. He had watched me jump from guy to guy, get my stomach pumped at the local A&E, not just once but three times. He’d been the one I had turned to in my lowest moments, when I’d felt dirtied, when I’d just wanted to cry, or to merely laugh. He was there.

I could understand what Matty had meant now. 

‘He looked after you and Teds for years, got you through some hard times, and so for that I give him a little leeway.’

“I can still picture your face, you know.” Finn murmured, stare fixed on the tight hold I now had on his hand. “That night you turned up at mine after finding out that you were pregnant. You looked a fucking state, soaking wet from the rain and wearing only your pjs.” We shared a light chuckle that echoed before drifting off. “It broke me, to see you like that.”

“I know.” I whispered in a rasp, emotions clinging to the back of my throat.

Finn only smiled sadly. “But it worked out. Enough that you seemed happy enough with what you had. And I know that Teddy will always be enough fro you, but you deserve so much. You deserve to live and to love, to have that family you’ve always dreamed of.” I went to protest but he just shook his head, “I know it’s what you want, Mouse. You don’t have to say anything for me to notice the looks you give other parents in the park, or the kids who meet their mums and dads in the school playground. I can see how much you want that, and not just for Teds. But for you too.”

I swallowed thickly, feeling all too seen suddenly.

Finn squeezed my hand, forcing me to meet his gaze once more. I hadn’t even realised I had shied away. “Does he do that? Does he give you that hope?”

The inside of my cheek had practically been bitten raw these last few days, but it didn’t stop me from chewing on it again as I looked over at Finn with a watery stare. “I think so.”

With a slow, albeit fond, tilt of his head, Finn hauled an arm over my shoulder to crowd me into his side. The two of us huddled in close on his artsy sofa that would look so out of place anywhere else.

I smiled at the thought.

“If he means that much to you, then I’ll make up for what I did. What I said.” Finn reassured me, his voice quiet in the large expanse of his loft. I hadn’t actually expected it to go this way. “But I do want to know. I want to make sure that he knows that he’s not just getting you out of this, that Teddy isn’t a deal breaker here. That he’s grown enough to understand the implications and repercussions of his life and whatever the fuck goes on with it. That he is clean-”

I opened my mouth, guard jumping right back up. But Finn just tucked my head under his chin, hand gripping at my shoulder enough to keep me there with him.

“Sobriety is hard. I understand that. When it finally comes to light that he actually is with you, that means Teddy too, and it’ll be a fucking mess. I want to make sure that he won’t fuck up and throw it all away the second shit gets hard.”

Inhaling, I could only nod. I knew what he meant, it was something I had thought about an awful lot. Too much in fact, I’d worried enough over it that I was still so wary over whether or not to broach the topic with Matty himself. But I hoped, for the first time in a long while.

And that had to be enough for now.

–

Finn’s had been an emotional affair, but not a place I’d lingered too long after our initial apology. We both still needed some time to process and to lick over our wounds.

I’d been more than thankful for it though, it had been a real weight off of my shoulders in truth, because knowing that there was a chance to move on past it without having to pick and choose, or divide my time, was something I hadn’t really held out hope for.

I was a pessimist at heart.

But that being said, I’d been quite optimistic about Teddy’s few hours spent with Matty- alone. Which should’ve been daunting in retrospect, insane even, and had probably once been, but Matty had quickly come to prove himself not only to me, but to Teddy too. So although I’d been cautious, I hadn’t necessarily been quick to stamp out the idea. 

The last little excursion the pair had been on without me had gone down a treat, with Teddy having been tuckered out and fast asleep the second he’d gotten into bed, and Matty having bonded further with him somehow.

Then there had been the whole ‘I love you’ mess.

And God, if anyone would’ve told me that I’d have been the one to say it first I would have laughed in their face. Cackled loudly enough to be heard three streets over and on the very urge of wetting myself. But then exactly that had happened.

The words had been lingering in the corners of my mind for a few weeks before last night. Tittering, almost. Having started popping up around Christmas time, with the unannounced gift giving ceremony we’d shared and the incredible bond Matty seemed to have formed with my son. And had then settled in not long after that demo I’d received and the midnight visit where Matty had turned up at my doorstep in a downpour. 

I hadn’t loved.

Not really.

I’d loved people, friends and family. Sure.

But someone to keep? Someone that I could call mine?

No, that had never really felt like much of an option for me. And Matty… he’d sort of come out of nowhere, hadn’t he? This mess of a man, but so very wonderful in his own way. He had really crept up on me, and looking back it almost felt as though it was bound to happen. Us, I meant. It felt strange to imagine it any differently.

Messages now

I’m here! Come get me, it’s freezing!!

It didn’t take long before his telltale pop of curls emerged from the main entrance to the same studio I had found him perched outside of during the aftermath of the big mishap with Finn. It almost felt like coming full circle with our decision to have me meet the pair of them here after just having talked with Finn.

Matty’s grin was infectious as we moved to meet one another in a quiet hello, his arms catching themselves around my middle whilst I buried my face into the curve of his shoulder. 

He was warm, that was my first thought even as he pressed a chaste kiss to my head, enough so that I didn’t mind the fact that he kept me tucked up under his arm as he pulled away to lead us back inside the building.

“You get here okay?” Matty asked me once the door had rattled shut behind us, his voice travelling in the sparse lobby like area I’d yet to get acquainted with.

Humming, I answered his question with a nod, “Yeah, walked most of it, Finn had a client call out of the blue.”

Matty’s cheeks hollowed a tad but he hummed too before tilting his head over to the right, we started to walk that way. “It go alright then?”

I let go of a heavy breath, eyes surveying every inch of the studio as we wandered further inside, “As well as it could have, I ’spose. It’ll take time, I reckon, though he wants to make it up to you, too.”

Matty appeared to blink at that, the words seemed to have caught him by surprise, but he didn’t falter in his wandering, leading me down a narrow walkway.

“Are you up for that?” I pushed.

He wet his lower lip in thought, dipping his head at a maintenance worker who passed us by before looking back at me. “Told you, I’d give him a little leeway. But I wanna know more about what you spoke about first. If that’s alright with you.”

I was nodding away before he could even tack that last bit on, “Of course, I wouldn’t think not to, in truth.”

I was gifted a sweet smile and quick peck to the cheek before Matty paused, his hand catching on the handle to a heavy door. Soundlessly we slipped past it, Matty closing it slowly behind us to stop it from banging against its hinges and alerting the rest of the room’s occupants to our sudden arrival. Not that it would’ve been all that easy a task, what with the noise that consumed you the second you entered.

Matty smirked at the look that must’ve crossed my face at the sound before he held a finger to his lips, signalling me to keep quiet. I rolled my eyes but took the hand he held out towards me, the two of us creeping over to the corner that gave way to the real chaos that greeted us beyond.

First thing I took notice of was the loudmouth four year old who had seemingly taken charge of the band’s rehearsal, a sight which had me biting my lip to muffle my sudden hysteria. 

George was seated by a stretched desk full of slides and buttons, elbows rested on the tops of his thighs whilst he listened animatedly to Teddy’s thoughts on whatever he had Ross and Hann tinkering about with. 

The latter two were just holding onto their instruments, Ross stood with his bass and nodding along to what strings Teddy pointed at, whilst Hann was told to ‘look happier’. Something Matty had immediately snorted at, endlessly amused by Adam being told to liven up by a kid who’d only been out of nappies for a little over a year and a half.

The snort seemed to catch George’s attention though because his head shot over at the sound, which in turn forced the rest of the room to follow.

I heard Teddy’s gasp before he came bounding over, wearing a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than my monthly rent. 

“Alright, lovie?” I laughed, swiping up an excited Teddy before he could barrel straight into my legs. “You been having a good time?”

Teddy’s enthusiastic nod was enough to assure me of that but then Ross spoke up, “Should hope so, been hounding me to get this bassline right for ages, ain't you, mate?” He smiled at the giant grin he received in turn before nodding over towards me, “He’s got a proper good ear though. Should get him into it soon, especially if he likes it.”

Blinking, I could only look back down at Teddy, who was now informing Matty on everything he’d missed out on in the sparse moments he’d been gone in a tangent like ramble. 

George sniffed as he made to walk on over to us which forced me to glance up again. Hann had started to take off his guitar strap whilst Ross went back to fiddling with his strings once more. Seeingly wanting to get whatever he was working on down before he had to leave for the day.

“He’s a good kid.” George commented to me, watching on as Teddy reached out to be taken by Matty, the man not even second guessing the motion of catching the boy under his arms and settling him on his hip. “And Ross ain’t wrong either. He seemed to really enjoy himself, had him messing about with the console for a bit and Matty even got him to play a couple chords on the guitar for us.” He chuckled lowly, a soft sort of smile breaking up his typically stoic features.

“Hope he wasn’t too much for you guys, Matty reckoned you’d all be alright with him tagging along but I didn’t even think to double check.” I mentioned, eyes caught on the way Teddy was now so enthralled by the story he was telling both Matty and Hann, arms stretched out wide as he exaggerated something or other.

George was shaking his head when I glanced back at him, “It was nice. Having him here, but seeing Matt with him too.” George’s mouth thinned when he lifted a hand to tug on his ear, “I didn’t think he could be like that. It’s strange, him letting someone else hog the limelight whilst he’s sat on the outskirts.”

We both shared a fond chuckle, because I could see what he meant but also, “He’s taken to Teddy better than I expected, really. It’s something I’m most thankful for, as well as the fact that Teddy seems to really like him too.”

My smile was warm, I could tell, and when George caught a glimpse of it I got to watch him almost mimic the gesture, as though he was thankful for it all too.

“You’re good for him.”

My breath caught a little at that, but I kept on smiling as I peered over at Teddy and Matty who were giggling between themselves whilst Hann, and now Ross, had seemingly taken to shaking their heads at the pair in indulging amusement.

“He’s good for me.”

…

The walk home from the studio had been spent hand in hand. The three of us just padding along the narrowing pavement, Matty more often than not trailing alongside the curb so that we could keep it up.

Teddy seemed to enjoy it though, even more so when Matty and I had started up a game with him, lifting him up off his feet so that he could swing back and forth in midair for a few brief moments.

By the time we’d made it home we were all just content to find something to eat and curl up in front of the tele, me listening to Teddy tell me all about his day with Matty whilst Matty pulled my feet into his lap.

He put Teddy to bed not long after, upon the boy’s sleepy request, and had returned about fifteen minutes later, having read a story and bundled Teddy up under his duvet covers. It had been then that I’d gotten to tell Matty more about the conversation I’d had with Finn, rehashing his words and even delving a little deeper into my past with him.

“How long have you known him again?” Matty asked me, thumb trailing back and forth over the jut of my knee whilst the tv played on low.

“Only since the first year of uni.”

Matty appeared quite surprised by that, he said so too. “Seems like longer.” I grinned tiredly at his musings, eyes squinting with it as I leant further into his side.

“It does a lot of the time, but sometimes it doesn't. Wasn’t lucky enough to have been gifted a group of bandits and made to start a band.” I teased, not unkindly, appreciating the way his hand travelled up to run his fingers through my hair. I peered up at him, “They’re all so lovely, you know.”

He answered me with an airy titter, the sound soft enough not to echo out of the living room and down the hall to where Teddy slept, “You’ve never been on tour with them, sweetheart.”

I laughed then too. “Maybe, but Teddy likes them. And I like them too.”

“I’m glad.” Matty whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. When he pulled away, I moved to capture his hand in my own. “You have anyone like that?”

I shook my head minutely, not wanting him to disturb his position, “No, wasn’t in school long enough to make any lasting friendships and then I guess when you reach a certain age it always feels a little harder.”

A quiet swept over us then and I took the time to simply admire the few tattoos Matty's forearms held; the passport number, the box, the postcode on his inner elbow.

“Was that because of what happened?”

His voice was cautious, which was unusual for Matty and more than likely the cause which had me peering up at him, rather than his ask that had gone and broken our peaceful bout of silence. 

My nose wrinkled, “What, with my scars?”

Matty gave a soft hum of assent, watching me from under a careful gaze, obviously anxious not to overstep or force my hand on the matter. I smiled at his care and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah, it shook me a lot. I mean, I spent weeks in hospital and then after that, I was on strict bed rest whilst at home.” I explained to him, fingertips trailing over the faint grooves in his palm. “I was homeschooled for a long time too and when I did finally go back, well most of my class didn’t much care for me beyond the horror story they’d been told. It grew old quickly enough though, but even so it was hard to connect with people beyond the basic level.”

Matty’s thumb had begun to trail over the skin of my wrist, settling once or twice on my pulse point before going back to stroking again. “What did happen? I mean, only if you’re alright with saying anything about it, I know sometimes shit can still be hard.”

I breathed out an airy chuckle, turning my head to hide my enamoured smile in the wrinkle of his jumper. “I don’t mind. I don’t like mentioning it with strangers much, which is why it’s not really public knowledge unless you go digging. But it was a car accident.”

I felt Matty tense beneath me but his touch didn’t stray, only became that bit bolder, the hand in my hair coaxing me to glance up at him so that he could kiss me sweetly, nose nudging at the curve of my cheek before withdrawing. I hummed happily.

“My dad was with the local police. High up, but a drinker. Only started though after this one case, and then it spiralled. My mam worked night shifts sometimes at the hospital, which was a good way away from where we lived, so it would just be him and me until she got home.” 

I took a breath, realising it had been quite sometime since I’d actually spoken about the crash, or even thought of it really. The scars were a constant reminder, yes, but the crash itself was something that had occurred almost two decades ago now, so I’d had time to sort of come to terms with it. As much as I could. 

Not to say that it still didn’t wear at me, it had been a big event in my life, changed things in more ways than one. Because it had also been the spark which had sent my dad packing.

“It’d been raining that night, I remember ‘cause the water had been leaking in from under the backdoor. My dad had sworn up a fucking storm when he’d noticed it but could only really stick a couple towels down, claiming that he’d fix it on his next day off.” 

A light chuckle escaped me at the vivid memory my mind made up, his tall figure, the odd phrasings he would use, but nothing of real substance. I couldn’t quite recall his face, or the depth of his voice, seeing as I hadn’t looked over old videos or photos we had since I’d visited mum back home.

“It had been a bad storm, had the tides reaching the cliff peaks if I remember rightly. Which meant that the hospital had started to flood, at least the north ward where mam had worked.” I continued, enjoying the delicate caress of Matty’s thumb as it trailed up my arm, “She’d been sent home after they’d managed to move most of the patients on the ground floor westward, but her car broke down about a mile out.”

I could hear the call even now, the sound of my dad’s heavy footsteps when he’d come to wrap me up in a coat, murmuring that we had to go and pick her up.

“The winds picked up, I guess. Dad didn’t have a car seat, that was what we used mam’s car for. So he just sat me in the front seat before setting off.” 

Matty’s touch faltered slightly, probably having suspected where I was headed with this before it picked up once again. “The rain was relentless and we weren’t too far from the shore so it almost felt as though it was just thick sludge falling from the sky. It was hard to see past the first metre or so.”

I swallowed, noting how the light from the tv screen stretched out across the floor and flickered each time a scene changed. 

“Our town wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to warrant a couple T-junctions and the odd roundabout. There was a fourway, just up past the old baptist church, a road mostly used for when you were coming off the main motorway or headed out towards the airport. Dad had been drinking, you could smell it on him some days, but at night it was always stronger. He blew through it, the traffic light teetering on amber before it finally turned red.”

Staring blankly out across the living room, I could almost picture it. The downpour which had clouded the windscreen, the old dash of my dad’s car, the familiar scent of his preferred brand of tobacco.

I licked at my lower lip, mouth suddenly dry. “A van had been crossing. On the passenger side.” I added quietly, appreciating the grip of Matty’s hand as I carried on, “All I really remember after that are headlights and the blare of a horn. Woke up a couple days later, having missed my seventh birthday and my dad nowhere to be seen.”

I huffed a small chuckle, reaching up to rub at my eyes before turning to face Matty. I wasn’t quite prepared for the wet gaze I’d been met with or the single tear that had seemingly escaped and come to a pause on the bridge of his upper lip.

I lifted a hand up to wipe it away, smiling when he kissed the pad of my thumb.

“You’re incredible, you know that.”

I’d been called many things, but I don’t think incredible was one of them.

I leaned in to kiss him, wanting nothing more than the feel of having him close, even if that meant tasting the salt of his tears or enduring that careful way he held my face. It was everything I had needed then.

–

After the little moment I had shared with Matty the previous night, I’d gone to bed feeling a little more drained that usual, but I’d put it down to the exhausting day I’d had and the fact that Matty’d had to head home so that he could do a skype interview early the next morning.

I’d almost been tempted to say that he could do it here in the flat, but with Teddy you could never tell when the kid would be coming or going, so it was safer for Matty to stick to his typical routine.

But I’d woken up all sniffly and foggy headed the next morning. The pounding at the base of my skull had forced me up out of bed in search of painkillers, as well as the fact that it had just gone ten, which meant that Teds was already up and mulling about.

I took a couple of nurofen I had tucked away in the medicine cupboard with a glass of water and figured I’d be better getting a move on with my day than heading back to bed. I knew that Matty would be popping round sooner or later too, so I attempted to sort through a load of washing that desperately needed to be done as well as tidy away the mess we’d created last night.

Teddy had helped himself to a banana from the fruit bowl at some point but was already asking for breakfast by the time I’d stuck the washing machine on- unaware of how close to crying I’d been after I’d gone and dropped a wad of detergent on the floor.

Even so, I’d set to start on a pot of porridge, knowing he would enjoy it with either some jam or spread, but I was surprised when I heard the front door rattle shut not long later, having not heard a knock nor Teddy answer it. I went to scold him, frowning at the fact that he thought he could just answer the door to anyone when Matty appeared with a few Tesco bags in hand.

“I knocked on the window, so he saw me before he let me in,” Matty was quick to rush out, grinning down at Teddy who had since spotted his breakfast and made a dive for it. “Figured I’d grab some stuff before stopping in, knew you mentioned feeling crap last night before I left so..”

He shrugged, moving over towards the kitchen before I could even think up a reply, a little bewildered by the fact that anyone would have the foresight, let alone the sincerity to do something like this for me.

“Matty.” I breathed out, so utterly warmed by the gesture as I followed after him, “You didn’t have to.”

Matty rolled his eyes at me, settling the bags down on the counter, “Shut up, you idiot. Just let me feel like an adult for once, yeah?”

I laughed, unable to help myself, even as he gestured for me to take a seat at the table, claiming I looked a little warm and confirming it when he pressed his hand to my rosy cheeks. 

“Do you ever stop?” He questioned around an exasperated smile, settling some basic cold medicines down as well as a few sweet treats. “Washing machine’s already going, the kid’s been fed, floor seems to have been swept too. How’ve you not dropped?”

I rolled my eyes at his ever growing eccentrics, though was still wearing a rather pleased smile. It was nice, I deemed, having someone look after me for once.

“I can’t stop, babe, got things to do, a tiny person to look after!”

Matty just shook his head at that, obviously not too happy with my retort, “Guess we’re just gonna have a lazy day then, yeah? Got snacks, popcorn even. Reckon Teds will enjoy it. I can even take him out to the park for a bit, just to let him run off some of that energy.”

I blinked at the maddening man stood before me. Wondering what I’d done to deserve all of the things he'd done for me. And without having even been asked.

“Haven’t you got stuff to do?” I queried, content to simply watch him unpack the shopping he’d bought.

Matty shrugged a single shoulder, wrapping up a carrier bag and tucking it into the stash I kept hidden beneath the sink. “Nothing important.”

“The interview went alright then?”

He hummed, putting a couple tins of soup away in a cupboard just above his head. “Yeah, fine. Hann did it with me, other guy was in Paris or some other, I think. Definitely French though.” His phone sounded then, but it seemed he’d left it in the pocket of his jacket which he’d gone and thrown over the back of a chair upon walking in. “Look at that for me, would you?” He asked, peering down at a carton of something or other, probably pondering over whether or not it went in the fridge.

I was only a little surprised by his request, but did so anyway, trying to find the phone in one of his many deep pockets. “Definitely French?” I prompted, smirking smugly over at him before my fingers finally found the device. “You sound so certain, Healy. Almost as though you’ve been taking notes on the French dialect, or something like it.”

Chuckling to himself, Matty flashed me a big smile from over his shoulder before turning away with a wink. “The French are fit, baby.”

I laughed lightly with a halfhearted shake of my head, then peered down at his phone, “Password?”

“0709.” He told me, and so with a slight pinch in odd wonderment I typed it in.

“Why that?” I couldn’t help but ask, only glancing up again when I heard the shuffle of his feet. I raised a single eyebrow. “What, is it like the death of your guinea pig or something?”

Matty’s face pitched itself into a hearty grimace that made me cackle. “My guinea pig? Who the fuck owns a guinea pig?” He shook his head at me, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort and instead said, “It’s the date we met.”

My eyes widened considerably. “Actually?”

With a light huff, he turned back to putting things away, “Thing gets lost or nicked more times than not, so I’m always changing my passwords. Figured I’d remember that one.”

“Matty!” I all but awed, honestly feeling the love. “You can be such a sap sometimes, you know that. The day we met!”

I received a glare in retort but I simply laughed at him before turning to look down at the message he’d just received. My forehead furrowed.

“You said you had nothing going on today!” I was quick to accuse, eyes flashing up to meet his somewhat startled face, “George’s party is tonight!”

Matty’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ before he merely shrugged, “G will get over it if I can’t make it. You need me here more, and besides, his birthday isn't even for a couple more days. They’re only throwin’ it tonight so that most people can make it.”

I looked heavenwards, hoping that the second pause would give me a little bit of strength. Did it fuck. “Matty, you’re not staying here with us when George, your best mate might I add, is out celebrating his birthday! He’ll want you there.”

“Squeaks, you’re sick. He’ll underst-”

I shook my head, “No, you’re going. I’ve got a little cold, nothing that’s gonna kill me. What will kill me though is you not going to be with G on his special day.”

Matty narrowed his eyes a tad, “Don’t guilt trip me.”

My next bout of laughter couldn’t be helped. “I’m not!”

With a scoff, Matty turned to put the carton he’d held in the side door of the fridge, shaking his head as though I was the one being outlandish. “It’s fine, alright?” He said once he’d spun back around, “I’d much prefer being here anyway.”

My head dropped to the side as I looked up at him, “Babe, please go. It would honestly mean a lot to me, but even more so to George. You know, who’s birthday it is. Go on. Please?”

Matty sighed and ended up dropping himself into the opposing chair, I slid his phone on over to him. “What about you though, and Teddy?” He asked and it was sweet, how much he cared. 

“We’ll be fine.” I assured him, reaching out to take his hand, “The party isn’t til later anyway, so how about we stick with your lazy day idea and then when you need to start heading out, I can just pop Teds in the bath and get him ready for bed.” When Matty still didn’t seem too keen on the idea, I squeezed his hand a tad and added, “You can even head back here after if you want.”

He perked up at that, but was still a little resistant to the whole idea of leaving.

“I promise we’ll be fine, love.”

And oh, did I wish that had been the truth.

[ahoyimlosingmymind]

we can argue day and night whether or not Alden and Della were emotionally abusive, if the Vacker kid's lives really were perfect, if Fitz was just born with the coping mechanisms he has, or if they were created etc...

But here's the thing. When you take into consideration WHAT is valued in the lost cities, what is expected of imperfect people, all of the boundaries and barbed wire around what makes someone 'good'- nobody, and I mean NOBODY is coming out of that world emotionally unscathed.

Lord Cassius is not the only elf in the lost cities who cares about the status of himself and his children, and keeping up appearances. We know he has a warped view of his desire for Keefe to succeed being a form of love. We know how he has pathologized his self-absorbed need to keep his ego intact. He's a piece of shit. But part of the reason is that he values what his world has taught him to value. Prestige, sophistication, power etc...

There's a reason Mr. Forkle had to keep his twin a secret his whole life. A reason the Song Twins were rejected. Why Stina was raised to bite before assessing the danger. Because they were born 'imperfect' to their 'perfect' world's standards. They were born with the short stick. The scorn built in. There's a reason the school, Exullium, exists. For rejects, for people who don't meet the standard. Bad matches, being talentless etc... because their world rejects people who are 'chips' in the facade.

which means, that regardless of what you value, your world will punish you for anything that doesn't meet their quota. Sure, there's elves who choose their values over expectations (Dex's parents) but there's still a lifelong social punishment that comes with it.

Which means the threat of this punishment hangs over every elf's head. Which means that there are undoubtedly elves who adhere to values they don't agree with, solely out of fear of the consequences of choosing what they actually care about. This is their world. This is their lot in life.

And good luck trying to kill out this way of thinking and running the world, when elves live forever, and the people in power are the oldest elves in the world.

Now- imagine you're the Vacker's. You are the spitting image of what perfection is thought to be. You are renowned, watched- YOU ARE THE STANDARD. But even the Vacker's know they aren't perfect. Which means that regardless of how they feel about any of it, if they want to avoid scorn- they have to meet impossible requirements.

And to some parents, loving their kids means 'saving them' from that scorn. Which means heaping the expectations of the world onto their kids tenfold.

standards that are inherently abusive.

I don't think the Vacker's could come out the other side anything but emotionally abused. because the standards of their world. Because the standards they are held to, are so unrealistic, and the punishment for not meeting them is so heavy, the only way to meet them is to die a million deaths and not let anyone see that you are a corpse. You either become exactly what the world wants, or you fall, and everyone watches when you hit the pavement, and then they remark how ugly you look, and how you failed to even be appealing in death.

But guess what- that is your fate. Because it is impossible. And this type of pressure doesn't make diamonds, it creates kids like Fitz Vacker, who's fall from grace was inevitable. Because the standards were always impossible. No soul could meet them.

You can't come out of a world like that without some measure of emotional damage. It's a cycle.

Some elves choose to fight the power, but that resistance is futile when the power is literally ancient, with a relative scale for justice, and an 'objective' scale for judgement.

it just so happens that the Vacker's response was to melt their gold exactly into the shapes asked of them, regardless of how wrong it felt, and how much it hurt.

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 161 spoilers with thoughts below the cut u know the drill

.

.

.

.

.

.

THIS IS MY FAVORITE PANEL OF JAVIER EVER. IN THE ENTIRE MANHWA IM LOSING MY MIND HAHAHAHAHAHA

HE JUST LOOKS SO FUCKING UNHINGED I DIDNT EXPECT IT AT ALL HHAHAHAHAHAAAA

anywayy back to the top

honestly maybe i shouldve seen the fact that his own singing would fuck him up coming LMAO

their matching dazed expressions when they both realize PLEASSEE LOL

raphael also calls the start of his singing demonic sounding lmao

and then they start fighting again and JESUS holy shit they're so overpowered this is so cool to watch and also as i was reading i was VERY scared for javier

genuinely i really really love whenever they draw action scenes they look very cool while also not being terribly hard to follow i like that

like oh my god?? he's swinging that hammer around like its nothing its very very terrifying, esp cause its been a while since javier has fought something thats his match yknow, or at least it feels that way

AND THEN. THE LEADUP INTO THE NEXT SCENE IM LOSING MY MIND JAVIER YOU SCHEMER

the feigning being down and then the peek and the slow getting up im giggling so so bad AND THEN

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA JAVIER YOU CLEVER ASSHOLE I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH

like i knew that line raphael said about how the halo would continue protecting him so long as he's pure and just or whatever would come into play BUT I DIDNT THINK JAVIER WOULD BE THE ONE TO DO IT SO DIRECTLY TOO HAHAHAHAAA he's learned so much from lloyd <3 LOL

i also think its interesting that the halo keeps track of this with like points or smth, not much to say about it i just think its an interesting gear; the ultimate defensive tech but it's based on how "good" you are thats just really interesting to me hehe

ALSO ALSO i think it's really really silly funny that raphael was this very intimidating and menacing figure that was super scary right up until the moment javier played dirty and then the moment that happened that image/vibe immediately crumbled WAHHAHA he's just a silly guy and the halo does the work i like him a lot

i really like these panels of them being evenly matched, raphael is still holding his own even with a penalty like that, their expressions here are really good too its so tense,,,

AND THEN LLOYD BEGGING THEM TO STOPP AAHHH

AGHHGHGHHGHGH AAAHH JAVIER STARING WIDE-EYED AT LLOYD IM CURLING AND SHRIVELED ON THE FLOOR

like okay i know lloyd is scheming or whatever. but my heart wants to believe that some part of this was very real okay . let me cope let me believe this . one cannot act/lie effectively without some of it being real. RIGHT???

AND THEN WHEN THE POPUPS APPEARED I STARTED SHOUTING OH MY GOD I FORGOT ABT THE RP SYSTEM IM SO. LLOYD YOU BRILLIANT MOTHERFUCKER YOUUU

HE CAN JUST SKIP THE PROCESS AND THEN BECOME A SWORDMASTER HE HASNT DONE THAT IN A LONG TIME OHHHH MY GOD

also. everyone else's bonus RP was +10. but only javier's bonus RP was +45. which could mean nothing.

WHAT DO I EVEN SAY ABOUT THAT LIKE. JAVIER WHAT YOU. WHAT. YOUUU im gonna lose it im gonna LOSE IT

top ten photos taken moments before disaster HE LOOKS SO EVIL THE ART HERE IS SO GOOD HAHAHAHA OHH MY GOD

and how he says "YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS" ohhh lloyd you asshole you i love you so much

THIS PANEL TOO LIKE WOW THE FUCKING EFFECTS THIS IS INSANE HE LOOKS SO FUCKING MENACING THE VIOLENT LINEART HES POWERING UP HIS SINGING OH MY GODDD HAHAHA

when i saw these panels i immediately thought of that one song from princess and the frog god i wish i could like tween or something itd be so cool to see This drawn to That

thats all i LOVED this ep i had so much fun RAPHAEL JAVIER LLOYD FIGHT PART THREE NEXT WEEK HERE WE GO