#the rings need to be visible At All Costs

[pichirobi]

missing this power couple 🥴

[punksdoll]

Rhea & Fem!Reader have a match for the title & Rhea has a plan to throw off the Reader's game. Rhea chooses Priest to woo the reader & gain their trust, it works but Priest has develop feelings during this ruse. Rhea's plan is a success & retains the title. The reader is visibly upset & Priest while celebrating with Judgement Day is heartbroken.

~~~𝑷𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕~~~

gif not mine like, comments, & reblogs appreciated

𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ^owner of gif

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅…𝒔𝒐 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅.

𝒂/𝒏: 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚. 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒙𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒚…𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒎 𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒕🥲. 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒊 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒅<𝟑𝟑𝟑

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒔, 𝒕𝒔𝒌 𝒕𝒔𝒌 𝒖𝒉𝒏𝒕 𝒖𝒉𝒏𝒕 𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒂𝒏, 𝒀/𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑹𝒉𝒆𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒇 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕

not proofread

“HOLY SHIT?!” Michael Cole exclaims as everyone watches with shock written all across their faces as they witnessed Damian Priest drag Rhea Ripley out of the ring when she pinned Y/n, ruining her chances at winning.

Rhea looks at him with wide eyes as she shoves him, “What the hell do you think your doing, huh?!” She exclaims to him.

To the audience around them, it was a total shock. They would have never expected Damian Priest, off all the members, to be the one to backstab his own team in the back. Y/n was even shocked herself seeing as Damian was the one to cost her, her match back at Wrestlemania where she lost her title.

To the group? This is exactly what they wanted. This was the plan.

“We need to do something…something that can throw her and everyone else off. Make her believe that she has the upper hand in our rivalry…” Rhea says as she and her team members all huddle up in their locker room.

“What’s cooking in that mind of yours mami?” Dominik asks as he lays his head on her lap, tracing her championship belt.

Rhea trails her eyes to each one of her boys. She starts with Dominik. It’d be such a big shock to everyone in the arena and to y/n as well but what’s hers is her and she does not want to take a step in that route. She trails her eyes off to Finn. It could work but him and y/n never interacted, it’d be too suspicious. Her eyes skipped over JD and landed right on Damian who’s already looking at her.

“You…” Rhea points at Damian with a smirk, “tonight I have a regular match with her, I want you to ruin my chances at winning, enough where she thinks you’re on her side in this rivalry of ours. Gain her trust and make her fall in love with you or something.”

“Any reason why Damian should do it?” JD finds himself asking and immediately shrinks back when Damian gives him a hard stare. “Never mind…”

Damian stares Rhea down and the crowd waits. Waits for something to happen as they have a stare off. Y/n is stuck in her place as she watches, debating what to do. Her head turns towards the referee who starts counting down on Rhea.

“Don’t ever do that again, you hear me Damian?” Rhea jabs her finger against his chest before getting inside the ring, distracted. She kept shouting at Damian, trying to get the lost in this match.

Y/n takes it as her chance and runs up on Rhea, ending her with her finisher. She positions herself away from The Judgment Day and stares Damian down as she pins Rhea, catching the win.

•••

“I still can’t believe it…” y/n shook her head in disbelief, “he really backstabbed his own team in the back…out of everyone. I did not expect him of all.”

Liv Morgan shakes her head, “I just know she’s pissed, so so pissed.”

Y/n scoffs and nods, “did you see her face? of course she was.”

“What do you think will happen now after that?” Liv asks her and y/n frowns but before she could open her mouth, a deep voice stops her.

“Hey…”

Both woman’s head snap over to see their topic, standing in front of them.

Liv gives him a once over before walking away to let her friend handle it. Y/n gaze follows her before she removes it and lands it on Damian who is already staring at her.

“What’s the hunch?” Y/n asks, “why’d you do that for?”

Damian gives a deep sigh and shrugs, “I was sick of it. Sick of Rhea thinking that she can just run JD when she wasn’t even the first one to be a part of it.”

Y/n narrows her eyes and stares at him. She was trying to see any hint or indication that he might be lying but to no avail.

“So what now?” She finds herself asking.

“Let me help you…I know how Rhea plays. I know how she works. I know the games she likes to play. I can get you to get your title back.” Damian nods as he straightens himself up and stares at her.

Y/n raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, “why would i accept that?”

Damian tilts his head and ponders for a moment, “as an apology for making you lose your title.”

Y/n eyebrows raise in shock before shaking her head, “i don’t trust you…how do i know you won’t fuck up?”

Damian smirks and angles himself to her level, “guess you have to trust me.”

With that said, Damian turned around and walked away. Feeling eyes staring back at him.

•••

“You need to catch her by surprise, don’t start like that.”

Y/n rolls her eyes as she stands up. “How is this supposed to help me win back my title?”

It was just as surprising to Damian just as it was to Y/n when she had taken his offer. He expected more of a fight from her. More of trying to get her to trust him but it was easier said than done. Almost. It was a step to getting her trust, he knew that much. So did Rhea. All that was running through y/n’s mind when she took the offer was the thought of getting her title back. If that meant having to have help from the one who costed her, then so dam be it.

“I’m showing you how Rhea plays,” Damian gets out the ring and opens up his water bottle, “you need to try your own ways on blocking them and doing something better to get rid of them, you know?”

Y/n watches as he drinks his water, watching the way his adams apple bobbles.

Is that even what it’s called?

Y/n shrugs before paying back attention, “what if she changes her tactics, what then?”

Damian swallows his water and sets his bottle down before climbing back into the ring and walks over to her. “That’s why we’re going to practice every single thing I know about her.”

Y/n raises an eyebrow and tilts her head at him, “how can I trust that?”

Damian mocks her and tilts his head to the opposite side that hers is on and raises an eyebrow, “your trusting me right now, what’s the difference?”

Y/n narrows her eyes and straightens herself back and stares at him, “I’m not trusting you. I’m seeing you…”

Damian chuckles and straightens his head back, “you’ve been seeing me for three days now, at this point it’d be expected to have a little bit of trust in me.”

Y/n stares at him before looking away and making her way out the ring, “and it’s going to stay that way til’ I get my dam title back.” She walks away.

She always does. Damian noticed that every time he mentions something about trust, she always avoids it and walks away.

Damian watches her walk away, watching the way her hips unintentionally sway with each step she takes. He couldn’t help himself. “Is that how they move during those nights?” He called.

Y/n stops walking and looks back at him with a frown, confusion littered across her face. “What are you talking about…”

Damian smirks and looks her over, “nada.”

Y/n narrows her eyes before turning back around and walking out of the practice center.

“If that’s your way of wooing, then you suck.” Damian hears the familiar australian accent of his best friend and looks over to see Rhea leaning against the ropes of the ring, looking up at him.

Damian raises an eyebrow and walks over, crouching over to her level. “Try flirting with her then, i’d like to see how that goes.”

Rhea snorts and shakes her head, “what’s the progress?”


Damian shakes his head, “I’m teaching get your usual work when you fight but other than that, same old same old. I start talking about something other than this “mission” if you will, and she leaves. Most specifically, trust.”

Rhea gives an exasperated sigh, “Don’t mention anything about trust. Just let what happens, happens.” She says as she slides into the ring, making Damian stand to his full height and looks at her, “in the meantime, show me what you showed her.”

Damian chuckles and with that, they both get into practice with each other.

•••

He had taken her advice. Every time Damian would be around y/n showing her each and every move that he knows Rhea does, he steers clear from mentioning anything other than what they are doing.

At first, y/n had felt it was awkward for her. She never stayed too long with him at all. She’d always wait for him to start talking about something and she takes that as her cue to leave but now that he never does, it’s weird. Soon though, she got used to it. She got used to his presence and his talks of what to do and what not to do and soon enough, she’s the one who starts the conversations.

It’s been going on for a while. Their meetups in the practice center turned into meetups outside of the practice center.

To Y/n, she would update Liv about it all everyday. Even going as far to tell her that she could potentially trust him but that’s only for Liv’s ears.

As for Damian, he would update Rhea behind y/n’s back. Those updates though went from regularly to barely. In the midst of them hanging out, outside of work, Damian found himself enjoying her company. Enjoying the talks they had that didn’t involve Rhea. Enjoyed the hang outs that was just them two and no one else. Enjoying it enough to start to feel bad about this thing going on. He even talked to Finn about it.

“I don’t know man, i just…it doesn’t feel right to continue to play in her face like this.” Damian sighs as he leans back on the hotel couch with Finn next to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re startin’ to feel bad mate?” Finn raises an eyebrow at him.

“That’s exactly what i am telling you,” Damian takes a swig of his beer in hand.

Finn looks at him and Damian gives him a clear uncomfortable expression. “You like her don’t you?”

Damian didn’t dare to answer that day. He didn’t know it then but now…as he quite literally stares down the girl that ,he could potentially have something with only to ruin it, get ready? He thinks he probably does…

“How do I look?” Y/n turns around towards Damian with such a breathtaking smile that he has to hold back the compliment and give her a tight lipped smile.

“Good as per usual.” Damian nods.

Y/n gives him a disgusted look, “Good? Cariño, I need beautiful or something, i’m changing.”

Damian watches y/n grab another set of ring attire to go ahead and change for the fourth time today. All because he said good.

Damian stands up and immediately stops her, “no no no,” he shakes his head, “you look like everyone’s new championship. How ‘bout that?” He raises an eyebrow.

Y/n tilts her head, “could be better but I guess i’ll take it.” She gives him a sheepish smile before setting the gear in her hand, back down.

“You ready for tonight?” Damian finds himself asking as he slowly sits back down, watching y/n add some finishing touches to her makeup.

“Absolutely. With the amount of training we’ve been doing, I feel more than ready.” Y/n hums, “are you?”

Damian raises an eyebrow and stares at her from the mirror she’s staring at herself in. Was he? No. But he wouldn’t tell her that.

“For you to win that title back? Absolutely…” He trails off with a slow nod and a small smile that makes y/n beam at him.

There’s a moment of silence. During that silence, y/n and Damian are staring at each other through the mirror. Simply staring.

“Damian?” Y/n says quietly as she straightens herself back up to her height. Damian hums and watches as she suddenly grows nervous, “Thank you…for everything you’ve been doing for me for these past couple of weeks. It means a lot to me, truly.”

Damian takes in a shaky breath as he suddenly feels his chest tighten and the guilt crawl its way up to his heart. If he thought the guilt was strong before, then he was in for a rude awakening.

“And maybe after I win…” she continues on as someone walks in her locker room and gives her the time that she has before leaving, “we can go get something to eat? just me and you. celebrate together. all on me as a thank you…”

Damian closes his eyes and feels himself wanting to actually shed tears. This guilt was slowly growing bigger and bigger by the minute at each word she says. So clueless…

“Yeah…I’d love that.” Damian finds himself answering as he opens his eyes and sees her turned towards him with a smile. “Why don’t you go prepare for your entrance, i’ll be watching from the back.”

Y/n gives him a smile and leans down to give his cheek a kiss, lingering on longer then usual before quickly pulling away and strolling out and away.

Barely 2 minutes before she left does Rhea come barging in with the rest of the JD. “It’s all set yeah? Remember the plan?”

Damian stares at Rhea and slowly nods, his eyes trailing over to Finn who is already looking at him with sympathy before he looks back at Rhea.

“Yeah…I remember.”

•••

“OH WHAT THE HELL?!” Michael Cole exclaims as everyone watches with shock at witnessing Damian Priest dragging Y/n out of the ring by her legs.

Y/n whiplashes herself when she turns around and sees Damian standing in front of her with a hard face on. “What the hell are you doing? I had the pin, I was going to win.” She frowns.

Damian looks at her and slowly shakes his head, “that’s mami’s title.”

Y/n’s face drops as she stares at Damian. She doesn’t have any time to think because as soon as she hears the referee almost get to ten, she’s rushing back in the ring and is positioned into a riptide.

Rhea retains…

Y/n simply lays there as she stares up at the ceiling of the arena. It all suddenly makes sense to her now. All of the meetups in the practice center and even the hangouts outside of it, they were all a ploy. A ploy for Damian to get her to trust him enough to be blinded by the fact that he was just going to backstab her in the back.

Damian catches Rhea as she throws herself at him with a victorious laugh, holding up her championship belt. If you would have told Damian weeks ago that he’d be falling for someone that he was using, he would have laughed in your face. But now? Oh how he wishes he wasn’t the one that was chosen to do all of this.

“We did it playboy!” Rhea laughs as she gets down from him, “let’s go celebrate.”

Y/n slowly sits herself up and makes eye contact with Damian who is slowly walking away from her.

Guilt in his eyes.

Hurt in hers.

[justmystyles]

Series

Now You're In My Life

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-down and leads you on a whirlwind romance with one of the biggest pop stars in the world.

(More Than) One Shots

(One shots that got away from me, but aren't quite a series.)

Lost (2 Parts) Lose You to Love Me A run-in with your childhood sweetheart brings up old memories, and lingering feelings. Lost and Found You and Harry reconnected a month ago, and he insisted you come along for the final show. when your emotions start to get the better of you, you wonder if you and Harry could ever really just be friends.

End of the Road (2 Parts) Home Stretch As the tour comes to an end, the schedule starts to visibly take its toll on Harry, and you can't help but worry. Crossing the Finish Line It's the final show and Harry charms you into making good on a promise you made last time you were together.

Big Winners (3 Parts) Harry and Y/N have been friends for fifteen years, they finally work together on an album, and it leads them to a night that will change everything for them. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

One Shots

All I Ask*

You're finally starting to get over Harry, what happens when fate brings you back together?

Having Your Baby

You get some life changing news, and come up with the perfect way to tell your husband.

Wallflower

You're sitting alone at a wedding, can a handsome stranger help you come out of your shell?

Line of Fire

You and Harry have been keeping your relationship off the radar, but his concern for you overwhelms his need for privacy.

Coming Home To You*

Harry comes home early and catches you by surprise in the best way possible.

Scars

Can Harry be the comfort you need after falling back into old habits?

Ooh La La

After a revelation on movie night, you and Harry decide to reenact one of the scenes.

Love Don’t Cost A Thing

Harry loves to spoil you, but you're having a hard time adjusting to his lavish lifestyle.

The Battle in Barcelona

A crazy crowd at the airport comes between you and Harry.

Misplaced Emotion

As Harry prepares to jump back into the spotlight, he has a hard time re-adjusting to public life, and it manifests in the wrong way.

Good News All Around

You reach a big milestone in your life, but feel overshadowed when you call to tell Harry about it.

Perfect Harmony

You're in the final days of the tour, and Harry makes a suggestion that ends up changing everything.

Lights, Camera, Action

What was supposed to be just another job becomes the start of something new.

Business or Pleasure?

You return to Love on Tour after an extended break, but after your last interaction, you come back to an awkward situation with Harry.

Reigning it In

You're about to participate in your first horse show, but the nerves overwhelm you. Harry finds you just in time.

Family Portrait

Harry has a couple of heartfelt surprises for you while you're visiting him on tour.

All or Nothing*

You find a new way to tease Harry during a tour visit, which leads to a new way to drive him crazy.

With this Ring

Harry takes his commitment to you to a new level.

Veiled Insecurities

Harry has some insecurities about your relationship, but instead of talking to you about them, they end up coming out in the wrong way.

Heart Song

As a former member of the Love on Tour band, and current girlfriend of Harry, he asks you to reprise your spot for the final show.

Road to Recovery

After reading some negative comments about yourself, you nearly spiral back into old habits. you try to keep it from Harry, but he finds out and confronts you about it.

A Work of Art

After procrastinating for a few weeks, you finally make moves to finish your assignment, but run into an unexpected road block.

He's Not Me

You introduce Harry to the guy you're seeing, and you see a side of him you've never seen before and are shocked by his reasoning.

Sharing is Caring

You can't find your favorite handbag, Harry assures you he doesn't have it, but you see some photos tell a different story

Cantaloupe

In this one shot/flash forward from the Now You're In My Life storyline, you and Harry recap the big news from your family's Thanksgiving dinner.

Like Riding a Bike

Despite being on break, Harry manages to find his way back onstage.

Fa La La La Freakout

You will be meeting Harry's family for the first time over the holidays, and you are desperate for them to like you.

The Morning After

The morning after Harry's 30th birthday, you're hungover and Harry reminds you of your drunken actions from the night before, leading to a conversation you never expected.

Baby-Baby-Baby

Harry meets his niece for the first time, the joy and excitement are quickly replaced with a whole new set of feelings when his best friend, Y/N joins him at the hospital.

Smoke & Mirrors

Harry asks you to move to London with him, but a new opportunity for him makes things a little more complicated than you'd both expect.

(*) - NSFW

For my Harry inspired press-on nail artwork, click here!

[kechiwrites]

tepid

nanami kento x reader! kinktober countdown day 7 (b d s m)

synopsis: “I’m looking for someone to give me control.” He expects his statement to draw some sort of response out of you, but your face remains placid and cool, the only hint that he’s said anything, the gentle upcurve at the corner of your lips. Kento finds himself wanting to muss up your curated exterior, wants to crush that tepid facade under the rough surface of his fingers.

wc: 2.8k

cw: fem + afab!reader but no gendered language, bdsm + D/s dynamics, sex worker!reader, salary man!kento, angst, potentially unrequited love, mentions of unprotected sex, begging, oral sex (m!receiving), jealousy, bondage, brat-taming, toys, mdni.

author's note: FINALLY DONE. JESUS. writing/doing research for medic reader x ghost, then touched starved konig, really impressed on me how powerful saying a man’s name can be. they love that shit. thank you to kitten for proofing and to ketsl + kee for helping originate this story and giving me tiktoks as fuel.

The waitress places a teacup in front of you, plain white, with a matching saucer. The steam of which coils upwards and dissipates before it can graze your chin. Your posture is upright, but not rigid and Kento finds himself correcting his slouch to mirror you. Your ‘thank you’ to her is accompanied with a blindingly bright smile, visibly jarring the waitress, who must face the gruff, deep terseness of truckers all day. She smiles back, turning and retreating with a lighter step than when she came.

Your grin tapers down to a lukewarm smile when you face him again, and it makes Kento ache, though for what, he’s not quite sure. “I think we should start with what you’re looking for, Nanami.”

Your words from the week before ring in his mind;

He brought his champagne flute to yours, eyes twinkling under the ballroom’s low lighting. The blue of your dress is nearly black, and it wraps your figure perfectly, cresting over hip and thigh as though it was made for you. Hell, with the average tax bracket of the guests surrounding the two of you, it could’ve been. 

“And what is it you do?” his question seems to startle you for a moment, and your eyes swing to the side of him, looking for your date, he presumes. Quickly, however, you school your features into a warm kind of indifference. 

“There are people who need to cede their control, to relax. And people who want control ceded to them by someone. I’m that someone.” You bring your glass to your bottom lip, drinking deeply, to avoid further explanation, or to buy yourself time, Kento isn’t sure. Still, the realization of what you mean, what your career is, and potentially why you’re here, sends a tingle down his spine, curls warm and heavy in his stomach. Urges him to take your business card when it’s offered, and make the arrangements to meet with you a week later.

“I’m looking for someone to give me control.” He expects his statement to draw some sort of response out of you, but your face remains placid and cool, the only hint that he’s said anything, the gentle upcurve at the corner of your lips. Kento finds himself wanting to muss up your curated exterior, wants to crush that tepid facade under the rough surface of his fingers.

“I’m sure I can help you with that.”

He settles for tearing at the napkin under his coffee mug.

✧

When you meet again, it’s to discuss your terms. Time with you costs a pretty penny and if Kento was so dead set on what he had pitched in the diner, he was looking at a very extended payment plan. 

He drags his spoon across the bottom of his coffee cup, stirring at the remaining sugar, unmelted at the bottom. He’d added it too late. He hates that. 

“How long will you need me, Kento?” You ask. You keep saying his name, over and over. 

“Do you frequent this place often, Kento?”

“Have you done this before, Kento?” 

“Do you know what you want, Kento?”

It drives him crazy, gives him this frantic itch at the back of his knee so bad that it makes him jostle the limb, like he’s a dog, eager for a treat. For attention.

It’s that itch that keeps him from saying “forever”. From insisting on something he just knows you can’t give. 

“Three months. I want three months. Not everyday, just-”

“Regularly.“ you cut him off. “I understand, Kento.” Your smile is so sweet. Unmelted crystals of sugar, smeared between your nose and chin.

“No one else.” He mutters, chin tucked to his chest, gaze snagged on the candy red linoleum, where he rereads the same scratched in message. 

‘thee hotties were here.’

It forces an exhale out of his nose, and when he can finally bring himself to stare at you, he’s relieved to see the smile you gave the waitress. But this time, it’s for him.

“No one else.” You agree. And Kento feels like he’s breathing for the first time since he sat down.

✧

“So…” Kento tests one of the straps holding your limbs in place. It’s thick, dark, leather, the expensive kind you have to order from a specialty shop in Amsterdam. 

“So…” you respond, and you’re on your knees, nearly naked, at the foot of the lush, grand hotel bed (neutral ground, you’d said) and Kento is above you, standing, not naked. But you have the power here, you’re the one with experience, with stories, with the do’s and the don’t’s, and the not ever’s, not even once.

It’s not quite what he envisioned, and it’s nothing like the porn he watched. But you with that wide belt around your waist? With matching cuffs attached, cuffs that he helped you put your ankles into, that he secured the buckles for? It’s better. Better than the wet dreams and the research and the tight fist around the base of his cock the day after you first spoke in the diner. 

He crosses his arms and just stares, eating up the visual. 

“What?” You ask, wetting your bottom lip with your tongue. “You don’t like attitude?”

And he doesn’t know what he likes. But he knows he wants to learn. 

You start slow, taking him through the motions, explaining what exactly you have experience with, what both of your limits are, what his safe word should be, what he wants out of this.

And then, after all the discussion is said and done, he fucks your throat on and off for an hour.

After session one, you and Kento decide on twice a week.

✧

It turns out, Kento does not like “attitude”. But he does like reform. Likes for you to start sessions with a foul mouth, with rolling eyes and put upon sighs and ribs about him being an old man. Then he likes to fuck it out of you. Overwork your body until the only thing you can do is tremble underneath his palms. He likes to use his knee to press a wand to your clit until you soak the thigh of his dress pants, then he likes to up the setting from two to four and watch your chest cave in on itself. 

He likes to guide your limbs into a spreader bar and slide his tongue from the cleft of your ass to your clit. Adores watching you count the strokes of his dick inside you when your bent in half so he can fuck you in a mating press.

Kento likes the way your skin looks against shiny black leather and pristine white bed sheets. He likes how you look in lacey lilac lingerie with his favourite tie stuffed in your mouth. 

But above all, Kento loves how you look with his hands on you, on your throat, across your back, guiding your head down, or your hips up. His fingers inside you, his palm wrapped around your wrists, his forearms holding up your thighs. 

You make the dwindling amount in his savings worth it. 

You make his nights seem less lonely.

You give him something to look forward to.

✧

It’s nearly a month into your arrangement. Nine sessions, nine nights in the same hotel room, or one that looks exactly like it. Nine meetings in the lobby, nine instances of you looping your arm around Kento’s and walking together to the front desk, then to the elevators. Nine times Kento has peered over your shoulder and into the large leather purse you bring with you every time, eager to see what you’ve planned for him today. It’s always a surprise, unless he’s looked something up and texted it to you, or gotten something express shipped. 

But this time, the tenth time, things are different. This time he meets you at the station by his apartment, at 6 PM on the dot. This time when you walk arm in arm, he gets eight glorious minutes of it. This time, he doesn’t have to check in with the front desk receptionist with the icy eyes and disingenuous smile who always seems to be working when Kento rents a room. 

This time, you've both taken adequate measures, sharing clear bills of health and a firm set of boundaries, everything in place for Kento to forgo condoms for the first time. The hotel you regularly use for your sessions just didn’t seem concrete enough, felt hopelessly sterile, anonymous. And Kento likes to think you like him just a little bit more than your average hotel room client.

He has to think that way, or he’d never have the courage to see you again.

So at his behest, you’re in his space, in his drab beige and white apartment and he can hardly believe it. You drape your jacket over the back of one of his unremarkable dining chairs, and the sleek brown leather simultaneously blends in and stands out, he eyeballs it, while you look around, hears you comment on the amount of books he has everywhere, but he can’t respond, can’t part his gaze from the indelible foreignness of your things in his home. And when you catch him staring at the coat before he can casually look away, you fret aloud.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kento. Should I have hung it up?” He watches you frown, your eyebrows coming together, separated by a miniscule wrinkle. He’s never seen that expression on you before.

He shakes his head, head already in a daze. You’re a worrier. You wring your hands. 

He hadn’t known that.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he gets closer, tears his eyes from your clothing and approaches. Instead of assuring you he doesn’t mind, could not care less, the salaryman puts his hands on you, watches you sink into familiar territory, watches your eyes darken and your lips part and Kento Nanami nearly preens when you shiver. 

“I’ll feed you.” He speaks softly, and he kisses you. Then quickly amends; “After.”

And it might be too much. Too intimate, to share a meal after you let him smack you across the face, and wrap his hand around your throat, and press his thumb over your tongue and fuck you unprotected.

But he doesn’t care.

And neither, it seems, do you.

“After.” You repeat. “Sounds good.” 

And you smile.

✧

Three days after his tenth session with you, he sees you, outside, in regular clothing, not a ball gown or lingerie or nothing at all, but in a black t-shirt and baggy, soft looking jeans, and you’re blinking and smiling and laughing with some man. You’re in a coffee shop across from his workplace, and he can see you from his office’s window. (They’re small time, only on the second floor of a mega-corporation building, and up until that very moment, he had liked being able to see other people from his cubicle).

The man gets up, and Kento hopes he stumbles into the street and gets hit by a car, not hard enough to kill him, but hard enough that he can’t leave the hospital for a few days. 

He returns shortly, with a drink for you, in a large white to-go cup. You don’t ask him anything. Don’t check the cup for details, you just take a sip and smile, slow and satisfied.

Kento blows out a large breath, turns to his desk and fishes out a small, amber pill bottle boasting the illegible, worn-down name of a medication ending in -loft or -pril or -pene. He tips it directly into his mouth, crunching down on two pills before he chucks the bottle across the room.

Kento doesn’t know how you take your coffee. If you even drink it at all. You had tea at the diner, and he was so busy with his own drink, with his own neurosis, he doesn’t remember what you added. 

He calls you. Watches you pick up the phone and excuse yourself to the street outside.

Now, you meet four times a week. He starts doing overtime again.

✧

“Say it.” All the lights are off in your bedroom, save a salt lamp glowing pink on your end table in the corner. It hadn’t stopped Kento from eating up every detail of how you lived with his eyes. He saw the few pieces of underwear you’d shoved under your bed. The one pot of soup? Pasta sauce? You’d left unwashed on your stovetop. The framed picture of you and your mother or aunt or older cousin on your overstuffed dresser.

It had to be one of those. The resemblance was undeniable. 

“Please.” You gasp, and wrench up off your bed, trying in vain to fight against the thick leather restraints keeping you spread eagle before him. The rabbit vibrator inside is blush pink and vibrating at full speed so deep inside you, twisted so it won’t touch your clit.

“You’re better than that, you beg better than that. Don’t make me drag it out of you. Beg. Me.” Kento can hear himself, can hear just how untethered, frayed he sounds. Every downward strike of his hand against your inner thighs is accompanied by a flash of you sipping from that godforsaken off-white coffee cup and smiling like the man from the coffee shop understands you, warm, comfortable. 

Does he know who the woman in the photo with you is? 

“Ken, Sir. Please, please let me come. I’m sorry for being a brat. Please.”

“Who gives you what you need?” He crouches down, sliding a finger along the straining line of your throat. Your lips are slick with your own spit, he’d enjoyed the gag for a bit, but your voice desperately warbling his name would always be better than the visual stimulation. Tear tracks have dried at the corners of your eyes, remnants of the first orgasm he’d ruined for you.

You are so goddamn pretty.

“You do.” You hiss, body arched and shaking, as if you could move the vibrator yourself if you fidgeted enough. He could hear how wet you were, could see beads of sweat pearl on your heated skin,

“Always?”

“Always.” 

✧

Meals after, sometimes before, become a regular occurrence. Usually Kento cooks for you. Sometimes you cook for him. Once, and never again, you got to his place before him, hefting a paper bag of groceries he insisted on compensating you for. When you called him, he had only a few minutes left at work, and the station was so close. So he told you where he kept his extra key. Told you to let yourself in. And you had. 

And when Kento got home, bone tired and overworked and wanting nothing more than to press his mouth to yours for hours, you welcomed him home. Eyes bright, smile hot and melting and so sincere.

And you had made dinner. For the both of you.

✧

“It was a pleasure serving you Kento.” You’re huddled in a winter coat, and briefly, Kento thinks about how fast the weather turned, how you chatted and teased and charmed a man that wasn’t him in a t-shirt two months ago, and now your arrangement with him is ending and you needed a scarf, and gloves. 

“Mm. I enjoyed our time together.” He feels like a liar, feels like the pills he took before this weren’t enough, He can hear his blood roar in his ears. Cold bites through his coat. His nose is probably red. He hates that, reminds him of being a child, small and out of control and sniffling with a fever, at home, missing school. 

Unmelted sugar in cooling barley tea.

“I…” You peter off, and frown. You stick your hands in your pocket and shrug. “Do you want to hug? I think we should…” You don’t finish that sentence either, you just open your arms at him and approach. Wrap your arms around him and squeeze. And Kento doesn’t like PDA, finds it uncomfortable and embarrassing, but he thinks if the two of you stayed on the sidewalk, hugging forever, that would be fine too. He wonders if the people sidestepping around you on the sidewalk think you’re a couple. Think you’re married. 

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

He can smell your hair. 

When you finally pull back, you stare at him, eyes wide, mouth tense. So he kisses your lips, and it’s obviously not the first time, he can kiss you whenever he wants, tilt your head back and slide his tongue into your eager, panting mouth when he fucking feels like it. Because he pays for it.

But he didn’t pay for this one. He drinks from your mouth again, once, twice, three times. Sucks and bites at the surface of your bottom lip and he would chew and swallow every bit of expensive Dutch leather you own to do it for the rest of his life.

✧

“Three more months,” he says, when you answer the phone two weeks later, and he can hear his own heartbeat when you don’t immediately respond. 

“I-if you’re sure.” You answer, and it’s the first time you’ve deferred to him outside of play. Gave him an out. No sugar crystal smile in tepid coffee. 

He wishes he could see your face.

“I’m sure.”

so...how are we holding up? :) find the rest of the masterlist here.

[abbyromanoff]

SAFE NOW

PAIRINGS: Maria Hill x reader

WORD COUNT: 3538

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut, overstimulation, edging, masturbation, injuries, soft!Maria, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, daddy (M), praise, degradation, comfort, fingering, cunnilingus, think that’s all :)

This is for my wifey @sapphickorro 😘 I’ll be expecting a ring in return

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

“We need a medic as soon as we land, we’re now twenty minutes out!” Natasha yelled into the coms, her free hand pressing down on your open wound, her weight causing the blood that was pouring out of you rapidly to slow down. Your eyes were fluttering shut as your body grew tired and weak, but you knew you had to try.

“C’mon, Y/N, stay with me.” You were trying, but it took only two minutes before your body gave up, your eyelids closing over as your heartbeat slowed. It wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t at a safe rate either. Nat was freaking out, not only because of the fear of losing you but dealing with your girlfriend would be even worse than the grief. She’d kill her, and not many were able to have such a privilege when it came to the Black Widow.

The quinjet landed, at last, gusts of wind nearly knocking down the bystanders. The doctors and nurses stood within a good distance with the hospital bed ready to bring you to safety. Maria was there too, a cold and hard expression sporting her face. She was more so worried than mad, but she would never show anyone that vulnerability, only you had that prerogative.

When the entrance opened, they were met with you being held in Nat’s arms, your limp body only frightening the others. It was supposed to be an easy mission, with no great danger that the two of you would need to keep watch of. Of course, both of you kept your guard up in case that happened to be wrong, and it was.

Luckily and unluckily for Nat, you were the only one who had gotten injured in the pair, but that only made Maria’s hatred and indignation for the redhead rise. She was already preparing the speeches to tell the agent, but none would reduce the hidden sadness she held deep in her chest.

“You better have an explanation for this, Romanoff.” She muttered, following the women and few men who rushed you inside. She gulped fearfully, hiding her face from anyone who had visible eyesight. She didn’t show emotions, especially not fear. And especially not if it’s caused by someone with less power and authority than her. But the woman scared her and many others to death, even more so when you were the topic. She’d kill anyone for even looking at you the wrong way. To her, you were just a sweet little thing that she needed to protect at all costs.

“Are they going to be okay?” Maria’s jaw was clenched tightly as she spoke, her arms crossed over her chest as her hands balled into fists.

“Uh, y-yes, Ms. Hill, they’ll be alright. They’re going to need to receive stitches and will be supplied with multitudes of pain medication, but we were able to stop the bleeding and, thankfully, no arteries were hit.” The doctor stuttered out, it wasn’t every day that you were met with an angry woman who could and has killed many. She nodded and sent her appreciation to the brunette, turning to face Nat who held her hands on her hips.

“I am so sorry-”

“If something like this ever happens again I will not hesitate to kill you, got me?” She cut her off, obtaining a nod from the redhead. She wasn’t one to allow threats to come her way, but she felt as though she deserved this one.

Maria took a seat in the waiting room chair, running her hands through her hair as tears threatened to fall. She didn’t cry, she promised herself she never would. But the thought of losing you, the only person she ever truly loved and cared for, everything was just too much. She broke down in the empty hallway, not caring to see if others were nearby; she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything at that moment besides you. Were you going to make it? Sure you would, that’s what the doctors said. But what if you didn’t? What if your last time together was spent as a goodbye and your last breathing moment was spent saving others? What if she’d forget your comforting voice after you were gone? What if she lost all the small moments that brought her more joy than imaginable?

“Ms. Hill? You can now visit them if you’d like, they’re expected to wake in only a few hours.” She hadn’t even realized how long she had been out here, the clock ticking every second being the only reminder of time. She stood quickly, rushing past the open door and stopping in her tracks when she saw you. You were hooked up to multiple IVs and wore a nightgown that they had supplied you with. There was no passion on your face like usual, it was instead blank as you slept. She had never seen you so pale, it felt wrong. You were still beautiful in her eyes, you’d always be, but this wasn’t you.

You were in pain, and she disrelished in the knowledge that she wasn’t there to help you, she could only watch as you suffered. But she stayed, she continued to sit right next to you, your limp hand in her own, waiting for you to wake. She didn’t fall asleep despite her tiredness; she was exhausted but refused to miss the moment your eyes opened again.

“Mar?” She heard your frail voice, her head shooting up along with her body.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m right here.” She wanted to bring you in for a hug and tell you how stupid you were, the IVs prevented that, however.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to protect Natasha.” She smiled at your confession, chuckling to herself as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“It’s alright, you just need to be a bit more careful next time, okay?” You tried to nod, only to feel a shooting pain in your head. You needed rest, so with a lingering kiss to your forehead, she let you fall back into a slumber as she joined, trying to find comfort in the hard chair.

It only took a few weeks before you were back to brand new, you still had your scar and Maria had to tend to it multiple times a day but other than that you were yourself again. You had already gotten strict discipline for your actions, she wasn’t pleased. You weren’t the only one though, Nat got one, Fury got one, and even the medics received their own version when they had slipped up one day by accidentally dropping your food during delivery.

“Does that hurt?” Maria asked when you hissed in pain, the alcohol pad doing no such healing but instead worsening your agony. You were forced to bite down on a cloth the first time after you screamed loud enough for someone to think you were being murdered.

“What do you think?” She glared up at you, and that instantly threw away your smirk. She sighed heavily while placing the bandaid on your skin along with the cooling gel. Surprisingly for a stab wound, it wasn’t that large of a gash.

“I already told you, Mar, I’m sorry. But how is it fair that you get to put your life on the line daily and the one time I do you’re mad at me?” You asked, growing frustrated with how she’s been treating you. It wasn’t fair, you worried about her constantly but you would never throw anger towards her for such acts, you knew what her job requirements were.

“I’m not mad at you, Y/N.” She noted, packing away the supplies and putting them in the cabinets below the sink. Her hands gripped the counter hard, her fingertips turning red.

“Really? Because it seems like it-” You were cut off by a groan in pain, clutching onto your waist as you nearly toppled over. Maria rushed to your side, holding you upright and being careful to not touch your wound.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you.” You tried ushering out apologies, but the pain was too great.

“Don’t apologize, I’m not mad. Why don’t you sit for a while, okay?” She walked you to the edge of the bed now that you exited the bathroom, letting you sit and flinching at your cries of torment.

“Sit with me, please.” She nodded and took the spot next to you, holding your free hand in her own and kissing the back of it gently. She brushed the hair out of your face and wrapped the same arm around your back after, being careful where to rest her palm.

“Is this okay?” You shook your head yes and rested your head on her shoulder, letting out deepened breaths that came to a regular.

“I think it went away.” You mumbled, feeling the scorching pain dissolve slowly. It felt like an electric shock on your skin, but it eased away once you were able to rest your body once more. Maria smiled and rubbed your back soothingly, placing another peck on your head where she was able to catch the scent of your shampoo.

“I’m not mad at you, you know.” You moved your head so you’d be able to look at her, only to find her eyes not able to line up with yours.

“I’m mad at myself if anything. I should’ve been there, I should’ve done more, I don’t know. I just- I hate seeing you like this, it kills me to know you’re in pain and there’s nothing I can do to rid you of that.” She sniffled, lowering her gaze to her hand that fidgeted with her bouncing thigh. You listened, choosing not to interrupt her with your own thoughts and instead taking all of hers in.

“I don’t want to lose you, I can’t. When I saw you like that, and when I heard Nat calling for medics, I couldn’t think, I- I don’t know what happened to me.” She started, clasping her lips together in a fight to not shed a tear. “It’s like I can’t function without you, you’re the only person I ever truly loved, and I’m just scared I’ll lose you.” You cupped her cheek in your hand, pulling her face closer so she was directed towards you. Her lips turned upwards in a smile when seeing your own mimicking her, and you were able to taste the salty tears on them when you pulled her in for a kiss. You played with the baby hairs on the back of her neck as her tongue licked over your lips, asking for entry which you accepted.

“You’re so beautiful.” She said when pulling away, only for it to last a short time when she leaned back in. Her hand found placement on your thigh where she rubbed up and down in a soothing manner. It wasn’t long before you felt yourself pulling apart to remove one another's clothes. Your shirt had already been discarded when she had patched you up, and all Maria had to do was scrap your pants and you were left half naked in front of her, looking effortlessly perfect like always.

“I wanna see you.” You muttered, tugging on her loose shirt. She grinned and lifted it over her head, her abs flexing as she did so. You couldn’t stop your wandering hand that pressed onto the muscle, feeling her rock-hard skin that caused you to whimper.

“Like what you see?” She asked in a teasing tone, already knowing the answer. You bit your lip as you nodded, your hand quickly traveling down to the buttons on her pants. She chuckled at your antics, replacing your hand with her own and pulling them off of her body.

“Can I?” She had crawled back onto the bed, her fingertips playing with the band of your bra. They first pulled down the straps adorning your shoulders, then found their way to your clasp.

“Please.” You gave her your best look of faux innocence as she slowly removed your top, fiddling with your exposed breasts once they made their way to the surface.

“Lay down, baby, let me do all of the work.” She effortlessly removed your panties that held a wet spot in the middle, quickly attaching her lips to your clit. You sighed in satisfaction, running your fingers through her hair and giving a teasing pull. She moaned into you, causing your hips to buck up into her face.

“Yes, just like that- ah!” Her tongue toyed with your clit before finding your hole, dipping in and out and enjoying the reaction you blessed her with. She didn’t stop until you were on the edge, that release you’d been aching for nearly plunging until she pulled away and wiped her lips as if she was disgusted with your juices; you knew that was nothing but false.

“No, no, no-” You whined, being cut off by Maria’s shushing, a finger pressing against your lips as she did so.

“Shh, you don’t make the decisions here, see what happened last time you tried to be a big girl and think for yourself?” Her eyes trailed to your wound, the skin rising up and down as it copied your irregular breathing patterns. You followed them and gulped down your snarky remark, already fearing what else the woman might do.

“Let Daddy do the thinking for you tonight, angel.” She placed her thumb on your lips as you wrapped them around it, your tastebuds being hit with your sweet nectar. You smiled around her, knowing how much it drove her crazy.

“You gonna let me do that?” You nodded with a hum, tickling her skin and making her slowly remove herself from your mouth.

“Yeah? And you won’t make silly little choices that get you hurt?” You nodded once more.

“Only big girls can think for themselves, but you’re not one, are you?” This time a shake of your head was given.

“Mhm, that’s right. You’re already listening so well, such a good little baby.” Her hand came to your chest, pushing you down gently and giving you a small kiss before parting. She continued her pecks down your body, creating a trail before stopping in front of your needy cunt. Your clit was pulsating, your hips thrusting into nothing, and your slick coating your thighs.

“Such a needy thing, is this all for me?” She gave you a lustful gaze as her tongue explored you. You threw your head back as you tried clamping your legs shut, only for her grip to be too strong to do so.

“Yes, Daddy, all for you.” She hummed thoughtfully, sending a wave of pleasure through you. You reached down to try and pull her closer, but it hurt your waist too much to do so.

“Be careful, angel.” She was so engrossed with your flavor, she was an addict to your drug. Her hand traveled down to join her mouth, a single finger slipping inside of you with ease.

“Oh, God-” You gripped the sheets tightly when she drew herself out, only to thrust back in moments later. She was going too slow, and you didn’t even notice the way you’d chase into her for more. You tried making a rhythm, but it was sloppy.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking cute. I’m the luckiest woman alive.” She was hungry, practically starving, and you were the only person who could fuel her lust.

“Faster, please.” You struggled to get out, hoping she’d show some sort of mercy and give in. She did. A groan left her as you felt a second digit prodding at your hole, joining the other that was dripping from your pent-up stress.

“No matter how many times I fuck this precious pussy you’re still so damn tight.” She was grunting loudly, but the sounds of your juices deafened them. The walls weren’t soundproof, and for a moment you worried someone might be able to listen in unwillingly, but your thoughts escaped your head as soon as they entered and were replaced with her. Maria.

“You think you can take one more, sweetheart?” You shook your head, your body withering and thrashing about. She pouted and slowed her movements which resulted in a whine from deep in your chest.

“C’mon, I’ve been taking such good care of you, can’t you do this one thing for Daddy? It’ll make her so, so happy.” It was so tempting, and you were on the edge waiting for her permission to let go, there was no way out.

“O-okay.” There was clear hesitation in your voice, she could sense it from a mile away.

“Oh no, baby, I need to hear that you want it. Tell Daddy how badly you need her.”

“Please, Daddy, ple-please fuck me. I’m so wet for you.”

“Mm, I can tell.” She humored, laughing at your struggles against her. It took what felt like hours for her to finally let you off, a third finger slipping into your hole.

“I bet you feel so good around my cock, so warm and- tight!” She hushed out, forcing herself into a denied stage of release. She was soaked, almost more than you. She could feel her orgasm pending, but she was holding off for your sake.

“Aww, are you close?” She cooed when noticing the way you clung onto anything, biting your lip and eyes rolling back. She knew your body better than you did, she already knew you were near your breaking point. She wasn’t far behind either.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, all yours.” She nodded along with each word spoken, smiling as your orgasm came rippling through you. All of your senses came to a halt as you blabbered out unspoken words, only feeling yourself shake more as she continued to fuck you through your high. She wasn’t easing you down, it was as if she was prepping you for more, which you soon learned was true.

“Don’t cry, I know you can take it.” It only took a few minutes of the same procedure for you to be brought back into your foregoing state. She had been watching carefully, picking up on your every move that she had memorized over the years.

And even when you thought it was enough, she didn’t stop. You wondered how she could last so long without pains spreading throughout her body, she was animalistic.

“No- it’s too…much.” You struggled to get out. It was a lie, you both could sense that. There was never too much with her, you’d continue for the rest of the night if it meant you had her by your side.

“Just one more, I want you to cum with me.” You didn’t notice the free hand that had been creating movements on her lower region. She was toying with her clit and thrusting into the feeling, she had been neglecting her own pleasure for the sake of yours.

“I can’t!”

“Yes you can, I know you can. You’ve been doing so well, don’t stop now.” You didn’t have time to prepare for the release that washed over you like a tsunami, your juices oozing out of you and dripping onto her digits.

“Oh, fuck! You look so good, baby, so perfect.” You both let out shared pornographic moans, her gaze staying on you as you refused to look anywhere but in her direction. You grabbed her cheek, holding her closely as you kissed with passion and love. She was drawing out your orgasm, her fingers slowing until they came to a halt.

“Fuck…that has to be a record or something.” She chuckled, wrapping her arms around your waist and pressing gentle pecks across your face, the action tickling your skin.

“I love your laugh so much, angel.” You smiled at the compliment, your cheeks being painted red and causing your girlfriend to share said reaction. It was peaceful, a comfortable silence falling upon you both that didn’t need to be filled.

“You know I love you, right?” Came her hushed whisper. You opened your eyes once again to see tears bristling her eyes and a small pout forming across her lips.

“I do, and the best part is I love you just as much.” Your arms went to loosely hang on her shoulders and met to play with her dark brown hair. You scratched her scalp in a soothing manner, your heart breaking and face softening as she couldn’t form her words for a moment.

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you, I was just scared.” You led her head onto the crook of your neck as she inhaled your scent, her tense muscles relaxing.

“I’m sorry too, I should’ve been more careful.” Even with your naked bodies that were glistened with sweat due to moments prior, there was nothing sexual about it, there was just love.

“Just- promise me you’ll be safe?” She held her pinky finger out, quirking her lips up in a sweet gesture. You crossed your own with hers, your voice booming while holding a low tone.

“I promise you that I’ll do all that I can to protect myself, but only if you do so as well.”

“Deal.”

[luveline]

Hi lovely!! Are you taking requests atm? If so, would it be okay if you wrote something where Eddie takes care of sick reader? I’ve been in bed the whole week with a cold, and I would love some loving right about now. If not, that’s totally okay! I hope you have a great rest of your day 🩷

thank you angel! boyfriend!eddie x fem!reader

Eddie slides his hand under your sleeping face carefully. He only wears one ring, now, the ring you'd given him. It's plain platinum and it cost a pretty penny, and it looks right at home pressed lovingly to your cheek. 

Your skin is hot as an open flame. Eddie tries not to wake you up as he lays the cold press he prepared over your forehead, lips pursed in an adoring pity. He loves you, and you're so, so sick. Perturbed by your chills that persevere despite the heat emanating from your skin, Eddie pulls the thin blanket he'd brought for you up to your neck. It was his mom's, and then it was his. He doesn't mind sharing it with you. 

A rivulet of cold water slinks down your head and soaks into your hair. It must tickle. You mumble under your breath, your sticky lashes pulling apart slowly. 

"Eddie?" you ask, your hand sliding up to his elbow. "What is that?" 

"Cold press," he says. 

"It's in my hair," you whine quietly. 

Your eyes finally struggle open, tracking across each of his features in turn. Visibly, you fluster at his proximity. He doesn't mean to do it, you're not so easily flushed usually. Being sick makes you lots of things, shy and clingy, sweet and cranky. 

"Hello, pretty girl," he whispers teasingly. 

You scrunch your eyes closed and turn your chin up at him. "Oh, don't," you laugh, your laugh then phasing into a crackling couch. "Ouch, my throat hurts." 

He follows your head with his hand to make sure the cold press doesn't fall into your sweaty pillows. "I know, babe. Don't move around too much, okay? You'll agitate your chest. I have everything you need right here." 

You settle down, smiling at him with eyes barely opened. "Everything?" you ask. 

Eddie rubs your cheek with his thumb. "I don't like seeing you sick," he confesses, his voice taking on a roughness akin to hewn stone. "I'll do anything you want, just promise to get better, cool?" 

You nod enough to disorient yourself. Eddie sighs, his exhale kissing your chapped lips, and sets about setting you right. He helps you up enough to drink a half a glass of water, hands roving wherever they can, your arms, your legs, your complaining stomach. Concerned, he sells a hot bowl of tomato soup and grilled cheese to you like he would a show, or an album, or a new movie from the store, Come on, baby, you'll love it. If you don't love it, I'll make it up to you…

You perk up after your soup, enough to let him help you shower and change into new clothes, every brush of his hand over your skin loving and brimmed with an easy promise: I'm not going anywhere. 

You climb into bed together, slotting your head into the crook of his neck, his arm wrapped around your elbow and hugging it to his chest to draw shooting stars down the length of your clammy skin. 

"That feels nice," you murmur sleepily, head heavy against him. 

"Yeah?" he asks. He pinches a curl between his fingers and pulls your arm up enough to tickle you with it. Your giggles are slow and thick and sweet, honey spun into sound. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel good, baby. I feel much better," you say. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it. Actually don't."

"You're good at looking after me," you say warmly. 

"I love doing it," he says. 

You steal your arm from his grasp to fold it over his chest in as tight a hug as you can manage, which isn't tight at all. Lips against his neck, you murmur something hard to hear. He knows without clue that it's loving and far too thankful. 

"You're good, sweet thing," he says nonchalantly. "I love you, too. Get better quickly, okay? This two man band is kind of lame without you." 

[cipheramnesia]

One of my personal internal conspiracy theories is that big budget special effects movies and streaming series with like hundreds of millions or billions of dollars sunk into them are some kind of very open embezzlement schemes.

Even the best paid actors and directors and such can't explain the budget. The money certainly isn't on the screen when it comes to anything from costumes to cinematography to visual effects or editing. It's openly known all the jobs that contribute to "making the pictures look good" are getting their parts of the budget slashed. The Avengers Infinity Wars movies have got $300M price tags and they do NOT look like it. Rings of Power cost like $700M and literally used off the shelf craft store fabric for armor. They dump cheap CGI in because there's no union to keep the pricing fair and shoot everything on green screen so there's no travel and where is the money going?

But for example if you're a producer you also get paid, and all I can think about is how producers with business degrees are deciding on how the budget should be used on these huge shows with country sized price tags and if the budget isn't going into anything or anyone involved in the actual work of the movie, but the guy who thinks the movie needs to cost less and be a business product also thinks he has the most important job and he gets to decide where the money goes? Are these guys just like "okay, our salary will be $299M and the rest goes to the production itself."

I know I'm missing things, but I've seen hundreds of movies that look gorgeous and beautiful and have amazing effects and camerawork and they're all a tenth of the big budget shows and movies, or less, so where is the other 90+% of the money going? It's VISIBLY NOT PRESENT IN THE FINISHED PRODUCT. Who has it?

Someone already went into the technical details in the reblogs.

[chloesolace]

The Last Great Wizarding Dynasty - Lucius Malfoy x Reader

summary: After Lucius and Narcissa get divorced, he enters a marriage with a younger witch from France. However, the low social status of her family, despite their pureblood status, as well as her lifestyle do not please the British wizarding elite, and soon she finds herself at the center of merciless gossip. However, she soon realizes that her new husband is not as uncaring about as he might seem.

pairing: Lucius Malfoy x Reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: age gap, handjob (f receiving), praise kink

a/n: Another contribution to my Taylor Swift series, where I write one-shots based on Taylor's songs. This story is based on The Last Great American Dynasty.

Masterlist - Discord Server - Request Info - Taylor Swift Series

And they said, "There goes the last great American Dynasty Who knows, if she never showed up what could've been There goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen She had a marvelous time ruining everything"

Curious eyes followed you as you hurried through the foyer of Malfoy Manor, a wine glass in hand that threatened to spill with each step you took. Your long gown was made of a dark blue material, hugging your figure tightly yet not in a way that would be suffocating. You saw out of the corner of your eyes how curious heads followed you, accompanied by muffled chatter you only occasionally understood. 

“Scandalous, is it not? How she walks through this house as if it was hers”, a female voice said, dripping with disapproval. 

“It is hers, Margaret,” another voice remarked, this one male. “From today on, officially.”

You tried to shut out their voices as you raised your glass to your lips, the bittersweetness of the wine filling your mouth while you entered the dining room. The large table at the center had been set by house elves prior to the event, and many guests were sitting at it, dining and chatting with laughter filling the air. 

Standing in the door for a moment, you exhaled, letting your eyes wander over the scene. These were your guests now as much as they were his, and though you did not have many connections within the British pureblood elite, you tried your best to make a good impression. Despite the foul tongues. 

Your husband sat at the end of the dining table, overseeing all the other seats, when he noticed you standing there, a little helpless which was more apparent than you had wanted it to be. Your family never hosted events like these, most were intimate and familial if anything. Today, you had to entertain almost eighty guests. 

“There she is”, Lucius Malfoy said, silencing the chatter around him as he lifted his own wine glass towards you. “Come and join me, my dear.” 

You looked at the few dozen eyes scanning you and tried to ignore the whispers that followed as you made your way towards Lucius, hoping to Merlin you would not trip and fall then and there. You had always been rather clumsy, and though it had never bothered you much in the wild, tumultuous life that Paris offered. No one had noticed before, and no one had cared either. Here, at Malfoy Manor, the slightest mistake might come at the cost of respect.

When you reached Lucius, you stood next to him, resting your free hand in his as he remained seated. You overlooked the grand dining table, seeing how the guests stared at you expectantly. Some were focused on the diamond ring on your finger, reflecting the chandelier’s light, while others looked at your face and you hoped your nervousness was not all that visible. You were expected to say a few words, you just needed a moment to find them. 

“Thank you all for coming to our first formal outing as a married couple,” you began, tightening the grip around your wine glass so it would not slip from your fingers. Your gaze briefly dropped to Lucius, who did not meet your eyes. Swallowing, you continued, “it is an honor to stand here as the new Mrs Malfoy. Food and drinks will be available to you all evening, and our entertainment for tonight should arrive any minute. We hope you will enjoy this evening, and thank you for being here.” 

Raising your glass higher, you smiled at the gathered as they did the same. As if on cue, loud music began playing from another room; you had hired a band from Paris to play. They were prevalent amongst the young, French wizarding community, but in England barely anyone had heard of them. Some of the elderly guests gave each other curious looks when the music started playing, but you looked away when you felt Lucius pull your hand up to his lips. You looked down at him, eyes locked with his. 

“You should get to know some of our guests better,” he said in a low voice so only you could hear, his breath tickling your hand. “I will find you later.” 

Before he let go, he planted a soft kiss on the back of your hand, the only form of tenderness he had ever shown you. Sighing, you turned around and left the dining hall, painfully aware of the eyes staring at you, waiting to make a mistake. They reminded you of vultures circling above a dying animal before the inevitable happened and they could feast on it. 

You greeted the people you saw, offering them warm smiles, and practiced politeness. Even as you were conversing with an older couple that seemed quite lovely, it was hard not to overhear the humiliating comments made by some of the more disapproving guests. 

“Yes, already spending the Malfoy family fortune, I heard,” a woman said disapprovingly, and it was all you could focus on despite the friendly conversation partner. “And goodness, this loud music is giving me a headache. Please excuse me.”

Bitter about what you had overheard, you took a sip of your wine and hoped the evening would be over soon. 

Later that night, you slipped into your nightgown in the master bedroom, lips stained from red wine and muscles aching. Letting out a groan, you sank into the soft sheets, the material feeling more luxurious than anything you had ever touched before. You have been living at Malfoy Manor for a while now, but only called the master bedroom yours for a few days. 

The wedding seemed so far away now. You remember looking at your aunt’s proud face right before you said vows that were pre-written and void of passion. Many decades ago, your family had reveled in glory but ever since your great-great-grandfather gambled away all the Bezants your family possessed, all that it was left with was a surname associated with greed and blood that once flowed through noble veins.

You turned your head to the side, looking out the window at the dark woods surrounding the manor. It was so different from the rush of the city. So quiet. 

A shiver ran down your spine and you sat up on the bed, wrapping your arms around your upper body. The manor was so big, and you were alone in it with only your husband, whose late hours prevented him from keeping you company, and since his son was away at Hogwarts, you were left with a handful of house-elves who barely spoke to you. It was frightening. 

“I see you’re comfortable.”

Lucius stood in the doorway, still dressed in his formal wear as he looked at you, lips barely curled up into a smile. You had to look twice to see if it was even there. 

“I’m rather tired after tonight,” you said, pulling the blanket over yourself a bit. You had not slept in the same bed for long and still felt some shame with him seeing you so vulnerable. It wasn’t like you had never been intimate with a man, but they had mostly been flings, heavily influenced by intoxication and touch starvation. This man, however, was your husband, whom you’d married out of duty to restore some honor to your family.

He hummed in response, letting his gaze drift through the room before settling on you again. For a moment, he seemed unsure what to say, before he parted his lips to speak. 

“I will have Feepy bring you some chamomile tea. You should rest, I might still be awake for quite a while so you do not need to wait for me.”

You nodded slowly and smiled faintly as you watched him pull the door shut behind him, leaving you alone in the large room, with nothing but the vastness of the forest outside to keep you company. 

—

Loud music filled the hallways of Malfoy Manor, dancing witches, and wizards exchanging drinks and gazes as a female voice sang in French to the fast melody. In the midst of it, house elves were offering drinks on platters and you were standing by the side, chatting with one of your friends you knew back from when you had been a student at Beauxbatons. Louis was a young, handsome wizard who worked for the Ministry in Paris and was currently enjoying one of the wines Lucius had offered you for tonight. 

“Where is your husband, anyway?” Asked Louis in English out of politeness towards the English witch who had joined you a while ago. It was too loud to have an actual conversation, so you simply took a sip from your drink and shrugged your shoulders before signaling you’d retreat for a while. 

Drink in hand, you swayed to the music and greeted the guests you hadn’t yet, laughing and hugging people you hadn’t seen in ages. Finally, after days spent in this cold, large mansion you felt alive again, and less scared of what lay in the woods. 

When you passed the entrance door briefly, you heard knocking coming from the other side, which was mostly swallowed by the music. You stopped, blinking the intoxication away before opening the large door, aided by the door’s enchantment since it would usually be way too heavy for you to open alone. 

On the other side stood two elderly women with angry expressions. They were wearing dark clothing, and you recognized one of them from the event Lucius and you had hosted a few weeks ago. 

“Can I help you?” You asked as you stepped into the November evening air, pulling the door shut behind you so you had some quiet to talk, but the music could still be heard, it just sounded more distant. 

“Mrs Malfoy,” one of them said, her voice dismissive. “We live in the town nearby and want you to turn down the music this instant.” You knew what town they were talking about; it was close and filled with large houses owned by rich wizarding families of high status. It was quite small, too, almost too small to call it a town. 

“It is awfully loud,” the woman continued, “no doubt magically amplified. This is the third time in two weeks that we have been robbed of sleep and peace.”

You blinked. You had made sure to always host parties on weekends only, and were unsure how they would even be able to hear it, despite it being indeed magically amplified. Nevertheless, you wanted to be polite to them, so you smiled, took out your wand, and turned the music down with a flick of it. There were some annoyed reactions from inside the house, but you focused on the women in front of you. 

“Of course,” you said with a forced smile. “My apologies.” 

The women scoffed and exchanged a glance before the one you did not recognize said, “It better stay that way now.” 

They gave you another look before both turned around and vanished by portkey, leaving you sighing in the cold November air. There was no way they could have heard the music, but for some reason, they seemed to leech onto every opportunity they got to criticize or gossip about you. As if you were some social experiment they were only waiting to fail. 

“(y/n),” you heard Lucius say behind you, the music briefly increasing in volume as he opened the door, before shutting it again. “What was this about?”

“Lucius,” you said in surprise, blinking a few times. He usually liked to stay upstairs in an enchanted soundproof room during one of your parties, and you had not been expecting him to come out. “They just asked me to turn the music down.” 

“Did they.” He contemplated the words for a few moments, before locking eyes with you again. You noticed how he had bound his hair back. You had not seen him wear it like this before, but you somehow preferred it open, it suited him better in your opinion. 

“Well,” he continued, “I will return to my study. If you need anything, Feepy will be available to you.” 

“Right. Feepy,” you replied, watching as he vanished behind the door again, leaving it open for you to follow him inside, which you only did after taking one last look at the path leading away from the manor, where Lucius’ white peacocks slept with their heads hidden behind their feathers. 

Your guests left at around half past one, and you helped the house elves clean even though they kept reassuring you that you did not have to. Still, you felt bad about it, but you were feeling extremely tired, so you excused yourself and climbed the stairs towards the first floor. Already dreaming of the soft sheets that would envelop you soon, you noticed light coming from Lucius’ study, and stopped in front of it. 

After knocking gently, you pushed it open a bit and stepped into the room. It was filled with bookshelves stretching up to the ceiling, and a large desk in the center with a lamp. Lucius was sitting in his chair, a quill in his hand with which he wrote something into a book before him. His handwriting was quite elegant, you could tell even from that far away. 

When he looked up at you, your eyes met and you felt a faint shiver run down your spine. 

“(y/n). Did the guests leave?” 

You closed the door behind you, brushing some lint off your dress. “They did,” you replied as you looked at him with tired eyes. Lucius leaned back in his seat, placing the quill down on the desk. 

“Why do you tire yourself out with these affairs? You barely even seem to enjoy them.” 

You furrowed your brows, unsure where he got the idea that you did not enjoy your own parties. Back in Paris you had visited and hosted countless ones, and had never felt more alive each time. 

“Why do you say that?” You asked, crossing your arms as you began walking through the room, taking a long look at the bookshelf next to the door instead of meeting his eye. The leatherbound books seemed quite old, some of them had faded golden letters while others had clearly been read over and over again. 

“You smile at your friends yet it fades the moment they turn away. You are never hosting without a drink in your hand. Your eyes are tired.” Stopping in your tracks, you swallowed, not aware that he had been observing you. Or that he had even left his study at all during any of your celebrations. “It is like you are afraid of being alone.” 

Your jaw clenched and you turned your head to look at him again. He was still sitting in his chair, elbows leaning on the desk with his head resting on his intertwined fingers. Even now, you felt like he was studying you. 

“Why do you let me host these parties?” You asked, avoiding his deduction. “It is not like you particularly enjoy them yourself.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched and he exhaled deeply, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back again. 

“This is your home now, too, (y/n). I see no reason to keep you from your pleasures, and though I know this marriage is far from ideal I hope it will not become an unhappy one.” 

You bit the inner of your cheek while you listened to him, gaze dropping to the expensive carpet you were standing on, contemplating whether to tell him what had been burning on your tongue for a few minutes now. Sighing, you took a step towards the desk, your eyes glued to the floor.

“When I was a child, my mother and I were gathering herbs in the forest. She was a very talented witch when it comes to potions.” You cleared your throat, trying to contain the hint of panic arising in your chest as memories resurfaced. “She was sick. Something was not quite right with her head, I don’t know the specifics but she left me there. In the woods. Alone. I had never been so terrified in my life. Even after I was found by my aunt, and my mother sent away somewhere, I bore the scars of that experience. When it is quiet, and no one is around I feel… unsafe. I do not know how else to describe it. So I moved to Paris, a city that never sleeps, after I graduated from Beauxbatons four years ago. I did not stay there for very long, of course, because now I am here.” You looked up at him, seeing that he had been intently listening this whole time. “With a husband who barely looks at me and spends all his time in his study,” you added a bit breathlessly. 

Lucius pursed his lips, gray eyes flickering between yours, before he finally rose from his chair and walked around his desk until he stood directly before you. You blinked at him, unsure how he would react to what you had said. 

“You are a young, bright witch, (y/n),” he began, and by looking up at him you were reminded just how much taller he was than you. “I wanted to let you keep your freedom, but perhaps freedom was not what you needed after all.” 

As he said that, his gaze dropped to your lips and you inhaled sharply, your cheeks turning pink. Lucius took a step towards you, and you uncrossed your arms in response. Your heartbeat increased, and for some reason,  you could not look away from him, no matter how hard you tried. 

“What I need,” you whispered, inhaling the scent of his leather coat, “is someone who is there for me.” 

He raised a hand to touch your cheek but stopped mid-air as if he was contemplating whether he should. You saw his eyes shift to the wedding band on his finger, which was different from the one you were wearing only in size. Eyes narrowing slightly in thought, he looked back at you and brushed your cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. 

You parted your lips, embarrassed about how you reacted to this gentle touch when you had been sleeping next to this man for weeks now, yet it had still always been rather lonely. 

“Lucius-” You said, but he cut you off by pressing his thumb to your soft lips, his hold on your cheek becoming more dominant as he pulled you towards him. You gasped as your chest was suddenly pressed to his, head tilted towards him. 

“I have been wanting to do this for some time, but I did not want to overstep,” he whispered, and you felt the vibrations of his voice against your chest. 

“Well, I am your wife,” you replied as you looked up at him. “Perhaps you should start treating me like one, too.” 

You did not have to say another word before Lucius placed both hands on your cheeks and pulled you up into a hungry kiss, which you returned after a few seconds, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You had dreamed of this, truth be told. Each night that you had laid next to him you had played with the thought of curling up to him, especially when the wind was howling outside, or the woods looked particularly dark. 

All of it was forgotten, however, when he let his hands slide down your body until they reached the back of your thighs underneath your skirt, which he grabbed to lift you from the ground. You held on tightly to him, hands playing with the bow holding his hair together in the nape of his neck until it fell loose to the ground, unbinding his long platinum hair. You buried your hands in it, breaking the kiss only to gasp for air. Especially, when you suddenly felt the bookshelf in your back. The smell of the leather they were bound in reached your nose. It was a smell you had long begun to associate with him. 

His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your bare skin as he started tracing your jawline with his lips, planting kisses mixed with nibbles that made you shiver. Lucius gently let you down on the floor again, leaving one hand on the small of your back as the other slid up your thigh, stopping only when it reached the sensitive spot between your legs. 

You let out a soft moan when his fingers started tracing small circles over your sensitive flesh, separated from it only by the fabric of your underwear. Throwing your head back against the bookshelf, you moaned his name, which made him increase his pace. 

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice raspy and deep. There was an authority in his voice that said he would not appreciate defiance. 

“Lucius,” you complied, opening your eyes to gaze into his just as he pushed the fabric aside and buried two fingers deep inside you, earning a loud gasp from you that made him smirk. 

“Good girl.” 

You bit your bottom lip, hair sticking to your forehead as a thin layer of sweat formed there. You suddenly felt extremely hot, and you did not know whether it was the fireplace on the other side of the room, or him, or perhaps a mixture of both. 

“Perhaps tonight, we shall do more than simply sleep,” he whispered directly in your ear, curling his fingers inside you as his thumb pressed against your swollen clit, which made you unable to respond properly. You only managed to hum in agreement, while his free hand found its way to one of your breasts, cupping and kneading it. 

As you reached your climax, you held onto his shoulders tightly since your legs threatened to give in. You were breathing fast, unable to properly process what had just happened while Lucius removed his hand from underneath your skirt, covered in your slick. 

“I fear you will be even more tired tomorrow morning than you are right now,” he said, tracing the edge of your lip with his finger, allowing you to taste yourself if you wished so. “But I will see to it that your future nights will be calm and that you can rest easy.” 

Lucius took a step away from you, nodding at you once before turning to leave. “I hope to see you in our bedchamber soon," he said, before shutting the door behind him.

Wizarding high society was only waiting for your marriage to fail, you were sure of that. But you were also sure that you would ruin their malicious hopes, and kill their rudeness with grace.

Who knows, if I never showed up what could've been There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen I had a marvelous time ruining everything

[chirp-a-chirp]

Court of Darkness: Wedding Headcannons

Description: A few headcannons of the princes and their wedding days with their MC, including the ceremonies, vows, and various traditions they follow and why.

Princes: Guy, Lynt, Toa

Word Count: ~1700

Guy

Only the most lavish decorations adorn the altar and the church. It’s not as if Guy WANTS this day to be ostentatious—in fact, the pomp and circumstance rather annoy him.

Every floral arrangement, every centerpiece, every bottle of rare wine poured is a demonstration of the value Guy has for MC. Absolute power move on Guy's part to protect MC.

The largest church in Saligia is not spacious enough to hold everyone. Avari nobles, foreign dignitaries, and numerous diplomats spew into hallways and crowd windows outside trying to catch a glimpse of the momentous event. And right now, they see a visibly angry prince at the altar. 

"Nervous sir?" Jasper smiles serenely.

Guy glares at his wristwatch. A perfectly polished black shoe taps impatiently. 30 seconds late. One minute late. Guy’s hand balls into a fist at his side. “I cannot stand this.”

Guy’s younger brothers stand nearby. “Perhaps MC got cold feet! Maybe you should have given her some of prince Lynt’s socks—” Zev’s voice is cut off as the church door opens and MC walks down the aisle. 

“She’s beautiful.” Aquia tries to soothe Guy’s jitters. Besides a stylish wedding gown, MC wears a crown adorned with rubies shining as brightly as her eyes. She walks towards the altar with dignity, a soft but confident smile on her face. Aquia frowns when he looks at his wristwatch. “She’s right on time Guy.”

Guy scowls at Jasper. “YOU gave me this watch. An early wedding present you claimed.”

“Oh, the watch was not properly synced. My apologies.” Jasper looks anything but apologetic. “But your heart flutters more sweetly for MC, doesn’t it?”

Guy returns his gaze towards MC. His eyes now glow tenderly.  

Guy and MC exchange wedding rings—ancient royal heirlooms--embedded with diamonds and rubies. Guy makes a slight modification to the rings—the rubies are spelled to glow brightly to detect nearby poison. This was done after an assassination attempt on MC less than a month before the wedding.  Guy and MC write their own vows (Guy receives help from Jasper and Roy to ensure they would be received well by MC). 

"You are tenacious. Powerful. Loyal. My priceless jewel. I vow to protect you and our future.” Guy pauses for dramatic effect, particularly at a few noble families who have implied their daughters would be viable candidates for secondary wives. “I will have no other queen or wife beyond you—no matter the cost.” 

Towards the end of the ceremony, the priest asks “Are there any objections—”

Guy and MC: “None.”

Priest: “I…was not asking your majesties. I was asking the audience if they—”

Guy: “Even if they object, it does not matter. MC will be their queen. Just as she is mine.” Guy scans the crowd, daring them to contradict him. 

After the ceremony, Guy spends the bare minimal time required with the throngs of people wanting to curry his favor.

“Guy! What about my luggage?” MC asks as Guy carries her in his arms and makes his way towards a private Avari royal villa for their extended honeymoon.

“Luggage is unnecessary.” A smirk forms on Guy’s face. 

“But I’ll need a change of clothes—”

“Clothes are not required. A hinderance, if anything.”

Lynt

In terms of ceremony specifics, Lynt goes along with whatever his parents and various Akedian court advisors suggest. With one caveat.

“Whatever is planned, it must make MC happy.”

“What of your preferences Lynt?”

“Her happiness is my happiness. That is all that matters.” Lynt walks away, having said his peace. He only interjects with planning when MC’s wishes are not being considered. 

The ceremony is held in the Akedian castle courtyard. White petals from an Akedian Olive tree float in the air. The petals swirl in the breeze, surrounding Lynt. A few blossoms land in the prince’s hair in a makeshift halo.  It is a neck-to-neck competition as to who is crying more happy tears before the ceremony—Queen Norah or Tino. 

“Master Lynt is so happy!”

“I know Tino.” Queen Norah sniffles. “Our boy has really grown up.”

“Our boy? I-I would not presume to—”

“You have been with him since childhood Tino. He is such a dear boy thanks to your tender care. He’s as much yours as mine.”

Cue more happy crying.  

King Liam proudly walks MC down the aisle. She looks ethereal in a gauzy, flowing white dress with light green accents. A few petals from Lynt’s hair float and land on MC. The crowd gasps as Lynt’s eyes pop open and he suddenly walks to the center of the aisle to meet MC and his father. 

“Lynt my boy, what is it?”

Lynt removes his father’s arm from MC’s grasp, replacing it with his. “I am to be with MC for life. Let me be with her.”

King Liam laughs quietly. “I leave my son in your capable hands MC.”

Aaaaaaaaand Tino is now sobbing louder.  

Beyond Queen Norah and Tino, more than a few people have tears in their eyes as Lynt and MC recite their vows. Lynt's vows are based on ancient Akedian marriage vows per his book 2 ending.

Lynt: I will grant you and our kingdom everlasting peace. The greatest joy will be the love we share together. Underneath the green among us, I pledge to give the days of my life to you and you alone.

MC: We will overcome anything as long as we have each other. I pledge my heart unto you, my prince, my lover, my friend.

After the ceremony, there is one request King Liam and Queen Norah have for Lynt and MC during their honeymoon. 

No, it’s not for grandbabies. Though, they wouldn’t mind if that happened of course…

It’s to test out various bedding. No, really. 

In celebration of the newlywed couple, MANY Akedian shops have produced limited time honeymoon themed bed linens, manufactured to be extra soft, comforting, and luxurious. So Lynt and MC try out a new set of bed sheets every night of their honeymoon, one from a different shop per night. 

Lynt has never been more dedicated towards a project. Zzzzzzzzzz.

Toa

Most Qelsan nobles are wary of MC, believing she is Avarian. However, since King Gilbert publicly approves the match (since he knows of her power), they do not openly object.  MC goes out of her way to integrate herself with the Qelsan people. She gets her wedding bouquet and dress from local vendors and works with local bakers to create the wedding cake and royal banquette. Quickly, MC becomes popular with the non-nobility for her thoughtfulness and open approach. Also, Toa is with her as she's working with various merchants, and they spread the word of the lovestruck looks he gives her.

Knight pulls off a miracle. He becomes the wedding planner instead of Toa’s sister Idina.

“It’s my wedding gift to you Toa.” Knight preens. Toa smiles at the strength of resolve Knights shows in making this happen. “It was either that or get you a cat!” 

“Correct choice, Knight,” Toa deadpans. A subtle curve of his lips betrays his amusement though. 

It’s Qelsum—there are SO. MANY. TRADITIONS.

Among those traditions is that the bride is not allowed to see the groom a day before the wedding. A few moments before Toa enters the grandiose royal church, Knight is straightening Toa’s tie. Absentmindedly, Toa’s fingers graze his pants pocket. He feels something not there the previous day. 

Toa finds a piece of chocolate in the shape of a heart. With it is a note from MC. “Soon, love. Until we met again, may this treat satisfy you.”

Toa’s cheeks turn faintly red. He adores how MC gently pushes tradition while keeping him in her heart.  

One tradition MC, with Toa’s support, gets rid of—the wedding ceremony is no longer closed to just top Qelsan nobility. The bakers, florists, and dressmakers that have helped her are allowed to witness the event. 

Idina scoffs that MC’s lack of pedigree and soft heart are readily apparent. A few noble families are aghast but keep their disgruntlement to themselves as King Gilbert does not oppose it.

This move—though not premeditated by MC—solidifies MC as the people’s princess for Qelsum.     

The wedding doubles as a royal procession—MC’s marriage to Toa certifies her as a princess and there are lots and lots of proclamations. Lots of scriptures to be read. The ceremony lasts for nearly two hours. At the 30-minute mark, MC gently grasps Toa’s hand and never lets go. As the wedding ceremony continues, Toa’s hand slowly becomes less frigid. When the officiant finally announces their union as husband and wife, Toa cups MC’s cheeks and kisses her, his hands the warmest they have ever been. 

From this moment forward, Toa's fingers are never cold. The anxiety that manifests itself in frigid hands dissipates as Toa realizes MC and her love will be a permanent fixture in his life.

During the reception, Toa approaches a piano and starts playing. The song is from a well-known Qelsan opera about love thawing the cold heart of the protagonist. 

To Toa’s shock, MC stands next to him and begins singing. She heard Toa practicing for weeks and wanted to surprise him. She sings along as a perfect counterpoint as her wedding gift to him. 

When the pair end their duet, there is stunned silence. King Gilbert then steps closer and nods his head in subtle approval before leaving. The crowd bursts into applause. 

When the last noble leaves the reception, Toa takes MC to his room and lays her on the bed. “I will dedicate my life to loving you. Always.”

MC: And I will bring sweetness to yours.

[kell-eramis]

My Thoughts and Criticisms on Earthspark:

Before anyone has a knee jerk defensive reaction to this, I’m not saying anyone’s bad for watching, or that you’re not allowed to like it. I just ask that you take into consideration what I’m about to say.

While I have issue with pacing, the deus ex machina in the last batch, the way it doesn’t explain much and expects the viewer to fill in details from other continuities (IDW+Prime especially), and the way character arcs are done (especially Grimlock, Starscream, and Shockwave), I’m going to focus on one aspect that pervades through much of the show itself: the topic of xenophobia and anti-immigration.

This topic is first introduced with the main villain, Mandroid, who “wants to defend Earth from Cybertronians, no matter the cost”. If it was just this, it would not be an issue, as many villains in the past have adopted the same kind of thinking (Silas, Skywatch, Sector 7, etc). However, the second batch introduced other specific allegories: the way humans treat Cybertronians. Tarantulas alludes to the idea that “humans will never be able to cohabitate with Cybertronians” so he chooses to attempt to disguise himself as human in order to live freely.

However, it is completely introduced in the second batch finale. One of Robbie’s friends from Philadelphia (portrayed as visibly latino, might I add) is seen defending “Transformers go home” graffiti. For me, it bore a strong resemblance to the sentiment of “go back where you came from”, which is often used as an anti immigrant sentiment. This is just one detail but it entrenches the primary conflict: the Terrans defending their (and the Cybertronians) place on Earth.

This is emphasized by Mandroid’s reappearance in that same episode, once again saying that he wishes to rid Earth of Cybertronians. It is revealed he is making Cybertronians fight each other in an underground fighting ring for energon (you know, the thing Cybertronians need to survive) and dismantling the loser for his own purposes. While this is not something I can speak to, I have been told that this is also reminiscent of human trafficking, something brown immigrants are susceptible to. All of this, combined with the graffiti and the way it implied that a good amount of humans feel the same way, Mandroid’s motivation, and GHOST’s existence as an organization to police Cybertronians and lock up “bad Cybertronians” (which they even refer to the Terrans as “undocumented Transformers” that must be captured… I feel as though that needs no elaboration.)—this of course is any Cybertronian who is not GHOST that is just trying to survive (like Tarantulas, Breakdown, or Bumblebee), not just “evil” Decepticons.

Then, it is revealed that Croft and Mandroid are working together, and that Croft has a space bridge with the intention to invade Cybertron, and the both of them want to kill any energon based organism.

These anti immigration allegories were handled very badly to me. I’m someone who was affected personally by 45’s anti immigration and racist policies (I will not elaborate further and please don’t assume anything), and it genuinely did hurt seeing how it was handled in Earthspark.

Firstly, it’s a false equivalency. The Cybertronians did bring their civil war to Earth. They did cause many people to get hurt. This same argument of bringing violence to (particularly, USA and Canada) is often used to argue for anti immigration laws. However, it is (especially USian) imperialism that has led to the violence they use for that argument. By using this false equivalency to represent an “immigrant struggle”, it does more harm than good.

Secondly, they focus solely on the oppression, rather than how the Cybertronians can make a home on Earth. The immigrant experience is not just suffering and oppression, it’s something that can be beautiful. Making a new home, a new community, new friends, becoming a new person is an incredible experience! But Earthspark does not focus on any of that, which is a shame, because Transformers can be a good medium to show immigrant narratives! The most we get is what Bumblebee experiences with the Maltos, but that’s only really shown in one or two episodes, and beyond that he’s mostly just the Terrans’ instructor. It’s also less of a focus on the creation of a new home, rather just settling into a new role as instructor.

Thirdly, up until this last batch, the actions GHOST were taking were seen as justified—the ones imprisoned were “evil Decepticons”, and even though it’s brought up to Optimus a few times that it’s unjust what their options are, he does not do anything. To me, based on the evidence I’ve seen, it’s meant to be an allusion to ICE. This allusion is flawed for the reasons I stated above, but also the fact that the prisoners were only freed upon learning that Croft and Mandroid were working together against Cybertronians, and not beforehand, even though it was always an unjust thing, felt offputting.

Ultimately, you’re allowed to like it. You’re allowed to love it! I did want to inform people, however, because this kind of writing IS harmful because it appropriates a struggle that cannot be accurately depicted without nuance and without input from affected communities. It personally soured the whole show for me, as it pervades the entire theme. If you have any questions, corrections, or ideas you want to posit, I’ll be happy to listen (I’m not turning my replies back on after what happened to my Miguel post but my inbox is open), but please be respectful.

[softly-potter]

White Rose in Bloom Event - Day 1

Day One of Whiterose week🌹Hope y'all enjoy!

@whiterose-fans-blog

Day One: Western AU (Cowgirl and Land Baron)

Word count: 2,626

Warning: injury

-

“It’s not enough.”

“But… that's how much it was last month.”

Rent day is a day Weiss always dreads, the fear of not having enough to cover her farm and land creeping up her spine everyday like a parasite, biting into her nerves and spreading. Her fear is warranted. Land Baron Rose was no laughing matter. 

Every second day of the month, she showed up on her black and white steed, dark red cape on her shoulders with a red fabric covering the majority of her face, demanding payment. Weiss knows it isn't’ really Baron Rose's fault; it’s Ozpins. Head of the Land Barons, if his companies didn’t return with the correct amount, they paid with their life. At least that was the rumors.

“Prices change,” Baron Rose says, shrugging slightly. Weiss can’t see her eyes due to her being saddled on Crescent Rose, the swift horse she was always seen with. “If you can’t pay, you best look extra hard in your sock drawer.”

Weiss swallows thickly. “Please, ma’am I…” She flounders, tries to think of something, anything she can barter with. Glancing around the small area of her home, she rings her hands. “M-my sister is coming. Tomorrow. She has the money. If you… if you wait until tomorrow, I'll have it all.”

Baron Rose’s eyes tighten, and she shifts in her saddle. “You and I both know there's no leeway. You’ve had all month.”

“Markets been slow,” Weiss says, her throat dry. “The herbs and oils haven’t been selling well. My sisters bringing me seeds to try vegetables.”

Baron Rose snorts, looking to the side of the house where Weiss keeps her garden. She’d been to the house enough times to know its layout, and Weiss follows her gaze. 

Beside the vines, a small chicken coop sits with three hens inside, Weiss’ newest purchase. The eggs had been helpful, and she’d been able to make throat-soothing jams with them that she also sold at the market.

“New chickens?” Baron Rose asks and Weiss nods. From her horse, Baron Rose glances back at her. “You should get more than just one. Chickens get lonely.”

Weiss gives her a confused look before turning her head to the coop and finding sure enough, only one hen is settled inside. Weiss feels her blood become chilled and she shakes her head slowly. She can’t afford to lose those hens, they had cost her several vials of ointment and coins; how would she replace them?

“T-they, i-” Weiss says, before Crescent Rose suddenly whines and takes several trotts back. Baron Rose clicks her teeth, tries to calm her animal and it isn't until Crescent Rose raises to her hind legs that Weiss see’s her hens sprinting around the horse. Their feathers and squeaks scare the horse who whines again, rearing up, and Baron Rose curses, pulls on the reins.

 Weiss darts forward, trying to catch the manic chickens but the race from her grasp, looping around the horse that whines and bucks in fear. The Baron yanks on the reins again, but Crescent Rose leaps, darting to the left unexpectedly and the Baron is tipped off.

When she hits the ground, Weiss whines at the sickening crunch that echoes on the dirt farm floor and Baron Rose lets out a scream. Crescent Rose darts forward, kicking up dirt and pebbles as she runs off, her screaming rider long forgotten and Weiss drops to her knees beside her, eyes wide.

“Let me!” Weiss demands as the Baron tries to swat her hands away. With a shaky breath, Weiss leans over the Barons leg and her insides flip. The bottom of the woman's ankle is clearly sprained, the skin already swelling and tightening within the confines of her boot.

“Let's get you inside,” Weiss says, trying to keep her voice gentle. “And get that boot off.”

The Baron scowls, only her eyes visible and they’re laced with pain and frustration. “Fuck off. I need to find Crescent.”

“She always comes back, right?” Weiss tries, and Baron Rose stills. “Well you can’t walk like this. Your ankle’s clearly damaged, and lucky for you I can help. But you have to let me.”

Baron Rose is quiet for a moment before she lets out a soft sigh, and nods. Gritting her teeth, Weiss slips an arm around the girl's waist and slowly helps her stand, taking the brunt of the weight as they slowly enter her cabin.

Placing Baron Rose at the small dining table, she rushes to her med kit, unfolding the leather and carefully selecting her tools. She ties her apron around her waist before shoving her braid over her shoulder and placing the tools in the aprons pocket. When she turns back to the table, she pauses. 

The baron has removed her brimmed hat, revealing dark red hair cropped short. It’s spiky at the edges, and Weiss believes that fits her personality perfectly.

Kneeling, Weiss carefully grabs Baron Rose's leg and places it on the table. The Baron winces but says nothing and Weiss purses her lips. “I’m going to remove the boot and your sock first, to assess the damage. Hopefully it’s just a sprain, and no real break. If it’s a sprain, I'm completely capable of treating you.”

The Baron stays silent and it’s then that Weiss realizes the girl has silver eyes, piercing as they stare.

Swallowing, Weiss grabs a pair of sheers from her apron, and begins to slowly pierce the leather of the boot. She’s careful in her movements, feeling the Baron's eyes on her as she works, and when the boot is shorn on the seam, she’s able to remove it completely without a sound.

Dropping the leather to the floor, Weiss glances up. “This might hurt, just a bit. I’ll be careful.”

Face still mostly covered by her red fabric, the Baron nods once. Inhaling, Weiss cuts the seam of the sock away, and lets out a relieved breath as she slowly rotates the ankle and finds that the bones had not pierced the skin. The ankle itself is swollen, the skin already red and purple and green and Weiss smiles.

“This is good,” she says, glancing at the Baron before looking back at her ankle. “No pierced skin, so no way of infection.”

She wipes her hands on her apron before going to her sink and washing her digits. Opening her cabinet, she explores her options of oil before reaching for a vile, and uncorks the screw. She dabs the contents onto a clean rag and returns to the injured ligament. 

“This is a family recipe,” Weiss says, and she hopes her bedside manners are decent. “It’ll help calm the swelling, so long as we keep it raised.”

“Smells like dandelions.” Baron Rose says and her voice makes Weiss jump.

“Well, it um, contains crushed dandelion petals,” Weiss replies, and begins to lightly dab the rag on the swelled skin. They’re quiet as she works, her movements percisse and eventually, she nods in satisfaction.

“There,” she says, placing a hand on her hip. “Give it a few days and the swelling will drop and we can fit you for a splint while it heals.”

The Baron blinks, her eyes dropping to her propped up foot. “How’d you know?”

Weiss shrugs, rubs her slick hands on her apron. “My mother was a believer in natural remedies.”

“She taught you?” the Baron asks, and Weiss nods.

“Everything I know.”

Baron Rose hums, silver eyes still trained on her ankle and she flexes her toes the smallest bit before raising her hands behind her head, and tugging off the fabric from her face.

Weiss isn’t sure what she was expecting, maybe an ugly scar or yellow teeth, but the face that greets her is anything but ugly. With large cheeks and a button nose, the Baron is… cute. Pretty. 

Her complexion like snowfall that had been caressed with sunset. Weiss realizes she is staring and looks away, dropping her eyes to her hands as she gathers her tools and places them in the sink to be washed.

“How long til I can walk?” The Baron asks, and Weiss shakes her head before dipping her hands into the pail bucket of water.

“Not for several weeks,” she says regretfully. “You’ll need assistance getting back to the main town… I- my sister, she comes tomorrow. She could… take you.”

Weiss washes the tools, keeps her eyes focused as the Baron offers no response. She lays out the damp tools on the counter, allowing for them to air dry and she turns back around, presses her backside to the lip of the sink.

“You can stay here, until she arrives.” Weiss offers, and the Baron frowns, brows furrowing in quiet frustration. 

“I suppose I don't really have a choice,” She scoffs, looking away. “Do I?”

Weiss runs her tongue along her bottom lip and glances outside her window. The sun was in the middle of setting, golden rays stretching across the barren land like fingers and casting shadows that created the spooky stories her mother once used to tell her.

Don’t go out at night, princess. The Grimm come out of their dessert caves when the sun is no longer there to scare them.

Shaking her head, Weiss pushes herself off the sink. “You hungry?”

“No.” the Baron says stiffly, and Weiss rolls her eyes.

“You need to eat,” Weiss counters, pulling a folded sack from her pantry. “Your body needs fuel to heal the hurt appendaged.”

The Baron grunts and Weiss takes that as an answer. She unwraps the sack to reveal a loaf from yesterday's baking, and she cuts a couple of slices before plating it. She adds dried apples before scooping three spoonfuls of corn dodgers and gives the food a satisfied nod. Grabbing both plates, Weiss sets one in front of Baron Rose, and sits quietly beside her, the chair scraping as she sits.

“Thank you.” the Baron says quietly. Weiss pauses before nodding and picking up a corn dodger and taking a bite.

“How's your pain?” She asks, and watches as the Baron picks up an apple slice and place’s it atop the bread, taking a bite. “Sorry I don't have any butter or cheese… I don't have a good cooling system.”

“S’alright,” the Baron answers, chewing slowly. “And the pain is… nothing I can't handle.”

Weiss frowns before she stands and removes a mug from the cupboard. “Give me a moment, just going to fetch more water from the well.”

“What for?” the Baron asks as Weiss opens the door. Weiss nods at her and smiles.

“For tea, Baron Rose.” she replies, and closes the door behind her. 

The expanse of land is nearly dark as Weiss pumps the well lever, glancing around her as she works. She doesn’t necessarily believe in the Grimm, but she does believe in robbers, and to her, those can be worse than the dark creatures of fairy tales.

Water sloshing, Weiss presses into her front door before closing it with the heel of her foot. At the table, Baron Rose has finished most of her plate, her jaw working as she glances up. Measuring out water and herbs, Weiss quietly makes a cup of healing tea, and holds it out. 

“This should help the pain,” Weiss says softly, ignoring the tingle in her hands as the Baron's fingers brush over hers when she takes the mug. “Allow you to sleep and rest.”

Baron Rose nods, and takes a tentative sip. Weiss sits down once more and pops a dried apple slice into her mouth. 

They sit quietly as Baron Rose finishes her tea and Weiss finishes her plate, quickly cleaning up the dishes before she pulls out her extra sleeping blankets. She makes a makeshift bed on the floor beside her own small bed, and holds out a hand to the Baron.

Grimacing, the Baron allows Weiss to help her to the bed, letting out a sharp breath when she sits. She looks at the makeshift bed in confusion before glancing at Weiss' face.

“You take the bed,'' Weiss says, leaning down to grip Baron Rose’s ankle. “You're injured and a guest, it’s only right.”

The Baron opens her mouth to protest but a sound of pain echoes as Weiss places both ankles on the mattress. Falling to her back, the Baron pants in small, agonized breaths.

Standing straight, Weiss tidies the house, the whole while feeling Baron Rose's eyes on her back. She tries to keep herself busy, tries not to feel her stomach flip at the thought of sleeping so close to someone. It had been so long since Weiss had shared a bed, much less a space, with someone who wasn’t family. 

Her brother and sister visit, but Weiss had never truly been lucky in the relationship department. Sure, there had been boys. Her first kiss had been at age twelve with a blonde boy who didn’t even really like her, he just wanted some practice for when he finally got up the nerve to talk to his real crush, a red head with bright green eyes in the grade above them.

 Weiss hadn’t minded; he had been good practice. But it had given her a skill she’d never used, and never thought she would.

Shaking her head, she pushes in the chairs of her dining table, straightening the flowers that adorn it and she hears a cough.

“Are you going to sleep anytime soon?”

Weiss turns, feels the embarrassment seep into her cheeks, and she laughs nervously. “Sorry, I just, hah, neat freak.”

“I see that.” the Baron replies in a low tone and Weiss swallows.

“Do you, um…” Weiss tries, and then blinks hard. “Do you prefer sleeping with candles on or out, Baron Rose?”

Sitting up on her elbow, the Baron cocks her head. “Out.”

Weiss nods and begins to blow out all the candles except one that she grabs. The room is engulfed in mostly darkness, and she haphazardly makes her way to the makeshift bed, settling on her knees and looking over at the Baron's ankle.

“Looks good,” she says softly, almost to herself. “Swelling has definitely stopped.”

“Mmm,” the Baron replies, and Weiss offers her a small smile. “Anything you need before we turn in, Baron?”

Baron Rose gives a muted, half-grin before she shakes her head. “Nah. Got a western magician helping me out.”

Weiss blows out the candle to hide the red in her cheeks and settles down against the blankets. She puts the blown out candle by her pillow before flipping to her back and tugging the covers up around her. “Western cowgirl, actually. I know I don't look it but I actually ride horses as well.”

The Baron chuckles in the dark, the sound breathy. “Oh yeah? Y’know, I could see that actually.”

Weiss giggles, presses her fingertips to her mouth. “Well you are the first, so… Goodnight, Baron Rose.”

The covers are itchy but Weiss doesn’t mind, and makes a mental note that the guest covers need a wash. She pushes some hair out of her face, lets her eyes drift shut.

“It’s Ruby, by the way.”

Weiss blinks, the Baron’s voice bouncing around the darkened cabin like an acorn fallen from its branch. “What?”

There's a few more seconds of silence before her low voice cuts the silence. “My name. My name is Ruby Rose. Not Baron. Barons just… the title.”

“Oh,” Weiss says softly. She tries the name out on her tongue, lets it fold over her tongue and between her teeth. She decides that she likes it, that it fits the girl with red hair in her bed and that it is truly the only name that makes sense. “Goodnight, Ruby.”

“Goodnight Weiss.”

[theflyindutchwoman]

Hey, you okay? Yeah, you? Yeah, I am now.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.21 - Going Under

Bookending this season with two undercover missions for Lucy and Tim was a really great move to showcase the progression of their relationship… The first one allowed them to finally be in touch with their feelings for each other whereas that second one gave them the opportunity to experience how this type of life could impact them, to begin acknowledging their fears and setting necessary boundaries. In both cases, they were working together. But the tone of the episode is very much different. And this time, they're on separate sides. Vegas gave Tim a direct glimpse of how good Lucy was at undercover work… But for all the danger they faced, he was right by her side. Here, he can only be a witness and this difference of perspective changes everything. It is stripping him bare. And it is particularly visible in this scene, when Lucy gets shot at.

That look of fear on his face is so visceral. Even though he's able to give all the information on the radio, his eyes are anxiously locked on that window, waiting for a sign from Lucy that she's fine. Holding his breath in the meantime. And Lucy… The way she immediately pops up from her hiding place, looking straight away in his direction, not caring one bit that she could give them away… In that moment, all that matters is to reassure him and make sure that he is okay as well. That eye contact despite the distance… And the relief on his face… How he even needs a few seconds to compose himself and start breathing again before starting the pursuit of the shooter… It is so raw.

And it is very apparent that he is reeling. He makes a mistake right away, by putting the sirens on despite being still parked right in front of the restaurant. Luckily for him, Teska is too busy being worried about the cops to notice that there was a police car watching him. As good as Tim is at compartmentalising, he can't do that when it comes to Lucy. That was already clear during her disappearance… But now that they're together, it's that much more difficult for him to stay objective. Like he told her once, it's her. And that leads him to the second mistake, one that could have cost him his life : 'If your head is not 100% in the game, it'll get you killed'. That's what he said to Lucy during their previous UC op… And that's what almost happened here. He is so rattled by the events of earlier that he is caught completely off-guard. Just like in the hotel room. You can see the realisation hit him… How his lack of focus could have been fatal. It's the fact that he admits being lucky to another officer, that he needs to say it out loud, that shows how shaken he is.

It's only once Lucy calls him, once he can hear her voice that he starts breathing again. Tim picking up right away, the phone barely ringing, proves how on edge he has been the whole time. And while she seems to fare much better outwardly, the way she barely waits for Teska to leave her before calling Tim tells a different story. She couldn't even wait for the car to be several blocks away for safety… That's how much she needs to hear from him as well. To reassure him and herself that they're both alright. And his immediate words being to ask if she's okay… Followed by 'I am now'… Again, this is so visceral. He can't even hide his fear, it's purely instinctual in that moment. And with the way she answers yes, it's clear that they both need to see the other as soon as possible… Need that physical reassurance… None of them are able to bounce back like they did in Vegas. Even once the mission is over.

[alltheirdamn]

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 2

Summary: Mando finds himself back on Tatooine... unable to let you go. Warnings: mentions of drugs, violence, death, weapons, language, Mando being an unusual softie Word count: 4k A/N: I know it's a slow burn... please stay with me; I promise it'll get better! Also, there will be no Grogu in this fic... babies tend to ruin all the fun lol

The Mandalorian didn’t know why he returned to Tatooine. He didn’t know why he had reset the navigation from Nevarro back to the damned desert planet, but he sat in the silence of the Razor Crest, plotting his arrival. 

Every bounty was the same to him: a job. 

Never had he been so handicapped by one until she fell into his lap as a puck for a high reward. She was unlike other bounties, though, not a criminal in the sense he was used to. Most bounties he was given were high-profile criminals, assassins, imperial sympathizers… but she wasn’t any of the above. From what Karga had told him, she was simply a runaway employee for a very wealthy man. And the Mandalorian didn’t ask questions. He never did. 

The navigation panel flashed red, signaling the ship's deceleration as it neared the planet’s atmosphere. The Mandalorian took a deep breath, exhaling through the modulator and filling the dead air with his frustration. He wasn’t frustrated with her, but rather himself. 

For letting a fucking bounty take up so much space in his mind. 

When the Crest finally touched down on the dunes of Mos Eisley, the Mandalorian was already trudging down the docking ramp before it could fully open. He was well aware of the city's layout and knew exactly where to start looking for the bounties’ employer. Kesi Jissard was unfamiliar, yet Mando knew enough people in the crime ring to find him. He started the search in the lone cantina on the eastern edge of the city. The cantina stood without a name; the crowd within its walls spoke for itself. Though he was not on a hunt for anyone sleazing about inside the cantina, it didn’t mean there weren’t a few scared criminals. A few begged for the challenge; they begged to triumph over a Mandalorian. But none would come close to winning a victory over him– and they wouldn’t dare get close enough to try. With beady eyes following his every move, Mando approached the bar. 

“Hey, shiny,” emerged a voice amidst the clamor around him. The Mandalorian turned slowly, hand resting on the blaster at his side. 

Leaning against the bar counter was a Twi’Lek, their body hardly covered by their dance attire. They smiled, a grin far too deceiving for the innocence their body language spoke. He sized them up, considering the level of threat they could pose. Deciding the mildness of their demeanor, the Mandalorian’s hand slid away from his blaster– but close enough in reach if needed. 

“I’m looking for information,” he was curt. The Twi’Lek smiled, bearing white teeth that flashed against their pale blue skin. Reaching over, they pet the fabric of his gloved hand, mischief lingering in their actions. Quick in response, the Mandalorian pulled his hand back, settling into a tense stance against the bar counter. 

“Hmph,” the Twi-Lek frowned, “Information costs money around here, ya know?”

The Mandalorian sighed heavily, his shoulders rising and falling as his chest exhaled. Digging into the side of his pilot suit, the Mandalorian retrieved a small pouch of credits. Tossing them onto the counter, he waited for the Twi’Lek to speak again. After considering the credit amount, the Twi’Lek smiled, eyes scanning over the bounty hunter’s body. 

“What’d you wanna know, hun?” They spoke in long drawls. 

“Kesi Jissard, who is he?” He asked. There was a grit under his tone, one of desperation and impatience. 

The Twi’Lek squirmed at the name, looking visibly uncomfortable. Their voice was a low hush, responding to the Mandalorian’s question. 

“He’s a prominent spice trader on Tatooine,” they began. “He works directly for the Pyke’s, or so I’ve heard. He’s not someone you should go looking for.”

“Where is he?” He pushed. 

Their eyes grew wide, staring around the bar that swarmed with more bodies. The Mandalorian knew who was and wasn’t watching, assuring himself that no one was interested in his business. They were all far too busy looking innocent in their booths and tables, hoping the bounty hunter would escort himself out of the cantina. 

“I don’t know where he is,” they said, voice an octave higher than before. His body went rigid, hoping the bartenders wouldn’t interrupt their conversation. “But if I did know,” they continued, “He would be hiding in his junkyard on the town's southern border. It’s riddled with his employees, though. No one gets in there without an invitation.”

His helmet cocked to the side, a bit amused by them thinking he would need an invitation. His armor and weapons were an invitation in and of itself; it called for an audience. One that Kesi would provide. 

“If you try to go in there, you’ll die,” the Twi’Lek grabbed his arm. The Mandalorian shifted his gaze to their tiny fingers wrapped around his bicep. It was a kind gesture, unnecessary to Mando, but a kind effort nonetheless. 

Leaving the Crest on the east border of Eisley, the Mandalorian opted for one of the speeders found nicely parked outside the cantina. It didn’t concern him whose speeder he stole but just that it had enough speed to make it to the southern border before dusk fell over the horizon. As the dust kicked up behind him, the Mandalorian mentally cursed himself for letting this girl take up so much of his time. She wasn’t anything special, just another bounty– he tried to remind himself of these things. But even for a fucking bounty… she managed a way into his brain. Into his bloodstream. And it made him dangerous. He was willing to go to great lengths to ensure she was okay. 

“Dank farrik,” he cursed, finally arriving at the junkyard. 

The size of the junkyard wasn’t what he anticipated; the corners of it reached for miles. He switched on the zoom lens of his helmet, scanning the perimeter. He counted eight, maybe nine, men that were scattered across the grounds. He could see the ship hangar in the middle, part of the roof exposed to erosion. Switching out of the zoom lens, the Mandalorian turned to the thermal reader, hoping it would pick up on the familiar outline of the body that plagued his brain. He only had her in his possession for less than two days; why was she the only thing he could think about? And why did he feel so much rage when he finally saw the heat traces of her body, crowded by other silhouettes in red and yellow auras? 

The rage turned his vision red, guiding his body blindly into the junkyard. His senses were heightened, eyes wildly aware of every pair of footsteps ingrained into the sand. Bodies radiated towards him as if his armor were a magnet for violence. Each attempt to kill him was returned with a downpour of shots from his blaster. The Mandalorian was a better shot and far more accurate than the employers of Kesi. They were subpar, and it was beyond him to understand how the Twi’Lek described this place as a death wish. Perhaps his anger was so strong nothing would stop him. 

The odds were in his favor as he managed his way closer to the hanger, now finding himself at the entrance. It was an open space, the scattered remains of speeders and ships littering the floor. His helmet picked up thermal traces of bodies that began to swarm around the perimeter, his armor working against his efforts to stay hidden. 

“Hey!” someone shouted, blaster fire softly following suit. 

The Mandalorian ducked behind a stack of cargo crates, pulling his blaster from its holster. He remained level-headed, breathing even and cool as he emerged from the blockade and returned fire. His shots landed deep in the bodies of the spice traders that ran at him, their reaction time no match for his. His skill set and years of hunting created very little opportunity for being stopped; the Mandalorian was an enigma unbeknown to the world around him.

While blaster fire bounced off the chest plate that hugged his body, the Mandalorian continued forward, sending bodies rippling against the ground. Though the threats came less, he understood that his presence was becoming more well-known throughout the junkyard. 

Managing his way into the hangar, two familiar bodies crowded the girl's body. He didn’t like them before— he especially didn’t like them now. Jado turned towards his looming figure, quickly drawing a knife from his waistband.

“You got what you wanted!” Jado yelled, allowing a large distance between himself and the Mandalorian. 

The Mandalorian could shoot him on the spot, and nothing stopped him from doing so, yet he enjoyed the hunt. He enjoyed the fear in a man’s eye as he tracked him down, the way their hands shook as they gripped their weapons. 

“C’mon Mando,” Jado released a shaky excuse of a laugh, “Does this mean more to you than credits?”

Gaff held her head up, shaking it until it fell limp against her shoulder. Anger crawled up Mando’s spine, and his muscles tensed as he watched the way her body slumped aim the chair. She was more than unconscious; he knew that for sure. She was overdosing. 

His brain disconnected from logic, sending dueling shots into Jado and Gaff’s heads. Their bodies careened back, and the sound of them falling was the only noise to register amid the chaos. 

She was nearly lifeless in the chair she was bound to, her hands a pale purple as they twisted between the bindings. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, hands working at releasing the ropes. 

Her body tilted sideways, and he managed to catch her and yank her into his hold before she slipped onto the floor. Her eyes rolled slightly, the whites of them the only thing visible. Yes, Mando was scarcely afraid, but holding her limp body was fucking terrifying. 

“C’mon,” he baited, hand tapping her cheek lightly. The only response was another roll of her eyes and the lull of her head falling to the opposite side. Maker, he thought, what fucking drug was this? 

Knowing there was little time left to reverse the effects and any long-term damages, Mando pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight to his chest as he maneuvered the way out of the junkyard. He kept one arm grasping her and the other hovering over his blaster. He had yet to see Kesi again, and when he did, Kesi would be covered in blaster fire.

Mando silently swore to himself that he would hunt him down. He would kill Kesi in the slowest possible way, a small consequence for the crimes he committed— both throughout the galaxy and to her.

Her body weighed heavy in his arms as he pulled her off the speeder and up into the cargo hold of the Crest. Laying her on the metal floor, Mando searched for a pulse under her jaw. It was faint. Even through the gloves, he could feel its flutter pushing against her skin. A sigh of relief left the modulator as he searched the cargo hold for his med supplies. Working alone meant caring for himself, which led him to learn how to heal various injuries. Scouring through the various medical kits and devices, his hands landed on a stack of adrenaline patches— ones potent enough to shock her system awake. 

Returning to her comatose body, Mando observed her face, noticing her lips changing from a pale pink to a pale blue. The oxygen was fading from her lungs, and her breathing became shallow and labored. He said her name over and over, hoping to elicit any response. Even as he pulled on her eyelids to check her eyes, there was nothing but white staring back at him. 

Under the layers of armor and cloth undergarments, the Mandalorians' temperature rose until he was sweltering from stress. He was running out of time, and somewhere inside himself, he was mad. Mad that he ever took her bounty, mad that he ever handed her over, mad that he hadn’t turned around fast enough. She wasn’t a criminal; she was just a girl. He knew nothing of her, yet he knew she didn’t deserve the life she had surrendered to. And she surely didn’t deserve to die.

Taking out a blade from his weaponry belt, Mando began cutting away at her top, the sweat-stained fabric giving away easily at the tug of the sharp metal. He gave no attention to her exposed chest; mind focused on placing the adrenaline patches in the right spot. Peeling away at the adhesive, Mando placed one right above her heart, the other at the pulse on her neck. Connecting the patches to the pressure resuscitator, he inhaled sharply, pressing the button on the buzzing machine.

Her chest jolted upwards, the sound of the resuscitator whirring louder. There was no change in her body, her condition remaining the same. Mando’s breath grew shaky, pressing the resuscitator one more time. Again, her body jolted yet stayed still on the recoil downwards. He waited for her breathing to steady, and the waiting felt like an eternity. He peeled away the patches, their adhesive leaving a red rash on her skin. The leather of his gloves skated over the raised skin, feeling the warmth of her body returning slowly. 

“Maker,” he sighed, falling back on his heels. He watched silently as she inhaled larger bouts of air, her chest rising higher with each. 

She was going to be okay.

Mando stayed in the cargo hold beside her body for some time, waiting quietly for her to wake up. His mind reeled with various thoughts that were a mixture of guilt and anger. Never had he felt guilty about a bounty before; they all were just a sack of credits in his eyes. His job was to hunt; that’s all he ever knew. He had been trained as a foundling never to grow attachments and always to stay loyal to his Clan and Creed. And he had done everything right by the Way, going so far as never to show his face to anyone. 

He had left behind his home and his parents, lost in the war against the Separatists. The last thing he could remember of his parents were their frightened faces as they hid him within a bomb shelter. It was so long ago now that he could scarcely remember what they looked like; flashes of his mother's face came and went in his memories. He knew nothing but the life of the Mandalorians after that, his world shifting into the lifestyle that his Clan taught him. 

Mando had kept his focus on the guild for years, his life as a bounty hunter more important than anything else. He traveled the galaxy alone and enjoyed the company of himself. He rarely interacted with anyone other than his bounties and fellow guild members. But he was here now, anticipating when she would wake, eager to hear her voice again.

Hours went by without a glimpse of any sign of her waking, and Mando grew worrisome. Rechecking her pulse, he assured himself that she would be fine and that the overdose would wear off eventually. But he was anxious seeing her so still and quiet, and he wanted nothing more than to know she would be okay. He knew very little of the various spices that floated through the galaxy, but he knew enough to know that this spice was more lethal than any other. If at all, Mando didn’t even know a spice this potent existed. It wasn’t meant for recreation; it was meant for drugging. His mind spiraled with thoughts of what Kesi had planned to do with her while she existed helplessly on the high of this drug.

Mando shifted over her, swiping her hair from her forehead. He spoke her name softly, coaxing any reaction from her. There was a shift in her body, her head slightly falling to the side. His hand cradled her face, watching as her eyes fluttered open.

Her reaction was exactly as he imagined: abrupt and alarming. She scrambled from his touch, her body crawling back into a corner near the armory wall. Mando didn’t move, allowing her to reconnect with the world around her. Her breaths came out in loud pants, the oxygen intake too much for her after so many hours of shallow breathing. She said nothing, only watched him with bloodshot eyes. 

“You’re okay,” the Mandalorian finally spoke. “You’re okay.”

“What the fuck did you do to me?” She demanded, her bare chest heaving. Mando forced his eyes away from her skin, steadying his gaze on hers. She was mortified and, most of all, angry. 

“Calm down,” he urged. Idiot. “You’re safe.”

“Safe?” She repeated. “Safe?”

Mando stood, giving her the space she needed. She tugged her torn shirt over her chest, the rashes from the adrenaline patches still prominent on her sweating skin. She was disheveled, but Mando couldn’t deny she was still beautiful. There was a ruggedness to her— a past that sculpted her tough exterior. Mando wanted to know more. 

For the first time, he cared. 

And he didn’t understand why. 

“They drugged you,” he huffed.

Her bloodshot eyes tracked him upwards, and her mouth parted as if she wanted to make another jostled remark. But she remained silent, her chest still heaving as she regained oxygen to her lungs.

“You came back,” she whispered after several moments.

Mando only offered a brief nod, not trusting himself with words.

“Why?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

He had no explanation for what he did; it was impulsive and so fucking stupid. But the need to protect her swelled inside himself the longer he lingered in her presence. He tilted his head towards the refresher, and her eyes followed.

“Refresher’s that way,” he said. “You can get yourself cleaned up.”

“Oh,” her lips formed a dangerous pout. Mando thought about what it would feel like to have them wrapped around—no. 

He turned towards the ladder for the cockpit, too on edge to stare at her face longer. She had just about died from a spice overdose, and he was picturing all the ways she could come undone… maker, what a fucking idiot. His fists clenched at his sides before he ascended the ladder.

“Mando!” her voice carried through the silence.

He turned hesitantly. 

“Thank you,” she said. “For saving me.”

Mando nodded and disappeared into the cockpit.

**

He had come back.

The Mandalorian had come back.

Any second later, and you would have been dead. 

You didn’t know if you should be thankful or scared; what did he want from you now? You had begged him to keep you out of sheer fear of the outcome with Kesi’s men. But you had meant it, right? This was a better situation than death, but how long did you have? Mando had the credits, but you were still a bounty. 

Your head was foggy as you stumbled towards the refresher, acutely aware of your shirt in tatters. Had Mando seen your breasts? Something inside your core stirred awake with that possibility, but you shoved it back into your mind. The refresher door hissed open, revealing a small space with only a toilet, a grimy mirror, and a shower. It was compact and clean, telling of how Mando lived his life. Everything had its place, and you feared ruining his lifestyle. What he wanted to do next with you… well, that was up to him.

All you could focus on now was taking a fucking shower and washing off all the dirt and sweat from your skin. The water ran cold at first, nipping at your skin as it pelted down in a steady rhythm. You kept to the corner of the refresher until it started to steam, and then finally, let the water run over your body. Swirls of brown coasted down the ceramic floor of the refresher, the day ridding itself into the drain. You dipped your hair back, letting the water soak you completely. But it wasn’t until your eyes drifted close that the memories started to invade your senses again.

Kesi’s dirty grin.

The taste of the spice.

Your erratic heartbeat and slipping consciousness.

Mando’s soft voice.

It all kept coming in waves until you found yourself slipping down onto the refresher floor, clinging to your body with fresh tears stinging your eyes. You may be free of Kesi—for now—but you weren’t free.

And you wondered if you had just traded one shitty life for another.

Time blurred as you continued to sit under the pelting spray of the refresher, your eyes boring into the white walls until the world around you faded into nothing. The water had long since run cold, and your body was riddled with goosebumps and wrinkles. But you felt paralyzed by nagging thoughts and memories; you really couldn’t muster the energy to move.

A sharp bang came from the other side of the door, forcing you to jolt against the tiled wall, slamming your elbow into the corner of the refresher.

“Fuck!” You hissed. 

“Are you okay in there?” Mando’s voice was rough and oddly laced with a hint of concern.

“Yeah,” you called out. “Yeah, I’m fine. M’sorry, lost track of time.”

There was a beat of silence, and you wondered if you couldn’t hear him speak over the sound of the water. Standing to shut it off, you wrapped your arms around your body and waited silently.

“Left some clothes outside the door for you,” he said. “I’ll be back in the cockpit.”

You waited for the sound of his heavy footsteps to move away from the door, and once you heard the snap of the cockpit door closing, you finally reached out to retrieve the clothes. An oversized sleep shirt and tight black pants were stacked together, and you wondered where in the hell Mando had gotten them from. They were your size, absolutely, but were they someone else’s?

The thought of another woman here with him left you irrationally jealous, even if you knew nothing about him. Why should you care about a bounty hunter? 

But the bigger question… why did he care about you?

You shook away the thought and changed quickly, your body still sore in some areas. The mirror was still fogged from the shower, but you wiped away some condensation just to glance at yourself. Your skin was paler than normal, and a dark hue rimmed around your eyes. 

You looked fucking terrible. 

Smoothing down your hair, you finally exited the refresher, taking in the ship around you. The cargo hold was quiet, a few empty crates scattered around the floor. The interior was made of strong metal, and there was a distant whirring from the carbonite chamber. You shivered at the thought of being forced into it, the endless coldness that would wrap around you. At any point, the Mandalorian could still do that. You weren’t sure what he thought of you–a bounty, a burden, a person to discard. 

Were you better off here than with Kesi?

Your mind drifted back once again to the junkyard on Tatooine. The feeling of his hands on your jaw, the wild look in his eyes–

“How’re you feeling?” A gruff voice came from behind you.

You jumped at Mando’s voice and turned to see him leaning against the ladder. You felt small in his presence, the dim light around you bouncing off his shiny beskar. His posture was lax, and he observed you silently as you shifted nervously. 

“Better. Yeah, better. Thank you.”

He dipped his helm slowly, elongating the silence between you. You shifted again under his gaze, hands twisting in the sleep shirt that hung off your body. 

“Good.”

“Um, Mando. Why–why did you come back?” You asked your eyes on the floor. “You had your reward.”

Mando shifted his body, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Again, there was a steady beat of silence between you as he watched you squirm under his gaze. 

“I don’t know.”

It was all he offered. But it wasn’t enough. 

“What happens now?” You asked. 

“I have to meet with someone,” he explained. “You’ll stay here.”

He didn't give you time to respond before he retired to the cockpit, leaving you alone in the silence.

[justmystyles]

Now You're In My Life

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-down and leads you on a whirlwind romance with one of the biggest pop stars in the world.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7*

Part 8*

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11*

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

One Shots

All I Ask*

You're finally starting to get over Harry, what happens when fate brings you back together?

Having Your Baby

You get some life changing news, and come up with the perfect way to tell your husband.

Wallflower

You're sitting alone at a wedding, can a handsome stranger help you come out of your shell?

Line of Fire

You and Harry have been keeping your relationship off the radar, but his concern for you overwhelms his need for privacy.

Coming Home To You*

Harry comes home early and catches you by surprise in the best way possible.

Scars

Can Harry be the comfort you need after falling back into old habits?

Home Stretch

As the tour comes to an end, the schedule starts to visibly take its toll on Harry, and you can't help but worry.

Ooh La La

After a revelation on movie night, you and Harry decide to reenact one of the scenes.

Love Don’t Cost A Thing

Harry loves to spoil you, but you're having a hard time adjusting to his lavish lifestyle.

The Battle in Barcelona

A crazy crowd at the airport comes between you and Harry.

Misplaced Emotion

As Harry prepares to jump back into the spotlight, he has a hard time re-adjusting to public life, and it manifests in the wrong way.

Good News All Around

You reach a big milestone in your life, but feel overshadowed when you call to tell Harry about it.

Perfect Harmony

You're in the final days of the tour, and Harry makes a suggestion that ends up changing everything.

Lose You to Love Me

A run-in with your childhood sweetheart brings up old memories, and lingering feelings.

Lights, Camera, Action

What was supposed to be just another job becomes the start of something new.

Business or Pleasure?

You return to Love on Tour after an extended break, but after your last interaction, you come back to an awkward situation with Harry.

Reigning it In

You're about to participate in your first horse show, but the nerves overwhelm you. Harry finds you just in time.

Family Portrait

Harry has a couple of heartfelt surprises for you while you're visiting him on tour.

All or Nothing*

You find a new way to tease Harry during a tour visit, which leads to a new way to drive him crazy.

With this Ring

Harry takes his commitment to you to a new level.

Veiled Insecurities

Harry has some insecurities about your relationship, but instead of talking to you about them, they end up coming out in the wrong way.

Crossing the Finish Line

A sequel to Home Stretch, it's the final show and Harry charms you into making good on a promise you made last time you were together.

Lost and Found

A sequel to Lose You to Love Me, you and Harry reconnected a month ago, and he insisted you come along for the final show. when your emotions start to get the better of you, you wonder if you and Harry could ever really just be friends.

Heart Song

As a former member of the Love on Tour band, and current girlfriend of Harry, he asks you to reprise your spot for the final show.

Road to Recovery

After reading some negative comments about yourself, you nearly spiral back into old habits. you try to keep it from Harry, but he finds out and confronts you about it.

A Work of Art

After procrastinating for a few weeks, you finally make moves to finish your assignment, but run into an unexpected road block.

He's Not Me

You introduce Harry to the guy you're seeing, and you see a side of him you've never seen before and are shocked by his reasoning.

Sharing is Caring

You can't find your favorite handbag, Harry assures you he doesn't have it, but you see some photos tell a different story

Cantaloupe

In this one shot/flash forward from the Now You're In My Life storyline, you and Harry recap the big news from your family's Thanksgiving dinner.

Like Riding a Bike

Despite being on break, Harry manages to find his way back onstage.

Fa La La La Freakout

You will be meeting Harry's family for the first time over the holidays, and you are desperate for them to like you.

The Morning After

The morning after Harry's 30th birthday, you're hungover and Harry reminds you of your drunken actions from the night before, leading to a conversation you never expected.

Big Winners - Part 1

Harry and Y/N have been friends for fifteen years, they finally work together on an album, and it leads them to a night that will change everything for them.

Baby-Baby-Baby

Harry meets his niece for the first time, the joy and excitement are quickly replaced with a whole new set of feelings when his best friend, Y/N joins him at the hospital.

(*) - NSFW

[lemurious]

[triumvirate]

Drabbles and ficlets for @lesmis-prompts. October 21st: Triumvirate. Also on AO3

An AU for when the revolution succeeds, if only for a brief couple of years. Honestly, I was going to make it darker, with shadows of the '93 - but somehow it kept insisting on hope instead, even if it ultimately comes at a cost.

(Might turn it into a proper AU and a much longer fic one day).

The soldiers are approaching, the heavy cannons are being rolled ahead, barely visible through the smoke, and Enjolras turns back for one last encouragement to his lieutenants – and sees the crowd.

Wine-sellers and shopkeepers, lamplighters and priests, maids and seamstresses, his fellow students and professors too, and sailors on shore leave, and ladies of the night and what even looks like a policeman, just around the corner.

Gavroche shouts something unintelligible from the roof of the Musain, god only knows how he got there, perhaps his angel’s wings have sprouted a bit prematurely, but Enjolras hears the triumph in his voice, and he knows that the streets around them must be bristling with barricades, and he takes a deep breath and starts in a clear, high voice, Allons, enfants de la Patrie, holding a flag in his right arm and wrapping his left around Courfeyrac’s shoulders, who is helping Combeferre up, and the lieutenant of the National Guard is looking confusedly behind him, and the crowd roars.

They have come when called.

--

They do not even need to kill the king. He takes care of it himself, and the cleanup goes faster and smoother than in the stories they’d heard from their parents, a noble in exile is almost a rite of passage this time.

The prisons are full, but Courfeyrac has changed the laws for the treatment of all prisoners, though they don’t have enough wardens with so many being sacked from excessive use of force, and eventually he turns to the old man who’d stood side by side with Marius during the triumph, and asks for help.

They have not rolled out the guillotine yet, though they could not get around the summary executions, always held at dawn and out of sight of the citizens, and if they got drunk on wine and philosophy after the first one, shaking in each other’s hands when the memories hit, by the time they reached the eighth they got used to the minute of silence followed by a clear command and a thought sent towards the future.

They sack the ministers, but keep the lesser bureaucrats, because the country stretches far beyond Paris, and they don’t have time to take care of it all, busy as they are with the reforms. Courfeyrac’s prisons and courts and a single, unified law code is only the beginning.  

The doctors are now paying house calls in the alleys where nobody had ever seen a doctor, unless one had been signing a death certificate, and while Combeferre gets death threats daily for the taxes that he had levied to pay for them, he shrugs them off, at least in public.

Enjolras, now, Enjolras takes up the mantle of his Patria and begins to spread the revolution beyond the borders of France, and barricades rise in Vienna and in Berlin, and Rome is on fire, and Madrid is shuddering from explosions, and London is taking a lesson from its former colony.

Their friends are all helping them run the government, but in the end, it has always been the three of them. The Triumvirate, ringing through the streets, written on the walls. Courfeyrac. Combeferre. Enjolras.

--

They think of Robespierre, Saint-Just and Couthon, and swear not to take that next step towards terror, even if the rumors from Marseilles are speaking of a new king, a relative of who knows which king or emperor, returning with the army and the backing of all provincial nobles who’d only been paying taxes when the guard was stationed outside their villas to collect them.

They think of Caesar, Crassus and Pompey, and swear to keep their Republic from falling back into the hands of those who would make it an Empire. (They refuse to even consider the other Roman triumvirs; they think themselves beyond such petty warlords.)

They had found the treasury empty, and the guards and the weapons and the medicine and the schooling and the soup and the work offices all cost money, and soon the tax-wars of France are in the front pages all through the Continent. They barely sleep, and their faces are lined with perpetual care mixed with brazen determination, and their decisions are harsher and their sentences are tougher by the day, though they still would not turn on each other. The line becomes thin, sometimes, between their Triumvirate and those they have succeeded, but it hasn’t been erased yet.

They hear of war, now – only in a few districts, only a few villages at a time, but open war, paid for from abroad, and families are torn apart and houses lie in ruins, as in every war before theirs.

And yet. The epidemics have all but stopped, in a single year of a sanitation campaign. The hovels have turned into houses; small and humble, but with a window and a fireplace, and water nearby instead of a well. The bakers and the fishmongers, and so many traders they haven’t ever really thought about before their victory, are wearing new hats, because their business is booming, because suddenly everyone can afford better wares.

There is a new song in the streets of Paris, and while it is dressing down the Triumvirate in the most scathing manner possible, they know exactly who has put it together, and can hear the hope between the lines.  

--

They last a year, and then another, until the fires go out in Europe, quenched by the iron of the sword and the coin and the machine, and the skirmishes in the provinces suddenly turn into armies marching on Paris, ready to starve them if they do not give themselves up to the new king.

They have barely raised a military, they’ve simply had other preoccupations, and secretly they all agree that they’ve paid blood enough for the revolution already, even if it hasn’t been their own.

They have the daring, and the knowledge, and the kindness, to negotiate a treaty. A simple trade. The end of the war, in exchange for the three of them.

They walk outside, together, hand in hand, and the sun is blazing down on them, just like that June morning two years ago, when they knew they had won. They do not speak as they walk towards the gates, to where the new king has stationed the guards, ready with their guns. The regime will return. All through the night they sat with heavy hearts as they wrote their wills, as courageous to speak of defeat as they did of victory.

The people are lining the streets, throwing carnations under their feet. High on the rooftops, a boyish, irreverent voice starts a song, and soon the entire Paris is singing as the Triumvirate is walking to their execution, and someone has thrown a flag in their way, and Enjolras lifts it up with a smile, bright and radiant as the dawn when they walk through the gates, side by side, and barely hear the command to fire through the words still ringing in their ears.  

[satrs]

Can’t feel my face - bllk x fem!Reader N°12

TAGS; 1.9k NSFW CONTENT! MDNI. oral(male receiving).

"SO,"

You seated yourself to the opposite to him, adjusting the expensive silk robe as you threw one leg over the other, a teasing smirk decorating your face as you looked at the man in front of you expectingly. "What are we doing here?"

His eyes subtly looked at the sewed on your chest, the Name 'Mikage' visible in crimson color. His gaze went back to your pure face, taking a sip of the expensive champagne he served the both of you, a sly smirk creeping up his lips. You didn't even notice his name imprinted on the robe. But he must say, the name Mikage really suits you.

"Nothing, nothing." You looked at him confused, leaning forward in your chair after you took a sip of your glass, arms on the table as your head rested in both of your hands. "Just wanted to talk to you, that's all. This is our date."

Your eyes slit in suspicion, humming as a response. This caught Reo's attention, placing down his glass as he slightly pointed his chin in your direction. "How's your new job?"

You let out a low laugh, "Seriously, Reo, I'm not dumb. What is it?" His facade broke, leaning in near you as he took your hand in his, eyes lingering on your ring finger, finger gently stroking it. "I want to help you."

Your face twisted in skepticism, looking down at your intertwined hands. "I know how you're struggling with your rent getting higher and," How the hell? "And I just feel like-" "How'd you know?" His eyes widened as you removed your hand, placing it in your lap, sitting upright.

He let out a huff before explaining himself. "It's my property." It was silent until you let out a huff in disbelief. You lived in there, paying rent to one of the richest men in the country, while you were barely holding yourself above water? What a fucking joke. "Oh wow."

His lips formed a thin line, knowing what thoughts rush through your head. "I know that this is surprising and all, but that's business. I'm sorry I just told you. I was just trying to explain it to you and prevent any misunderstandings."

Business. Fuck that shit. Was that the reason he brought you here? To tell you to move out? Well, at least he got a bite out of you, right? Damn those rich bastards.

"So what you're saying is-" Your lips closed at the sound of keys jiggling, Reo's hand presenting a key to you, confusion clouding your mind. Is this?-

"It's what you think it is. A house key. Your house key." you looked at him, perplexed and unable to understand what he was getting at. He chuckled, shoving the key in your direction along the table, purple orbs starring at yours. "I'll arrange everything, you don't need to think about anything else but your new apartment." Your what?

"Reo, I can't possibly-" He hushed you, shaking his head in disagreement. "It's in the city center, near your working place. It's bigger than where you're living at right now, big floor-length windows, luxury built-in kitchen, and much more. It's all yours."

"Are you crazy? How am I supposed to afford that? And don't tell me you already bought it or something." He looked at you, a nervous smile decorating his handsome face as he let out a nervous chuckle. "Well about that..."

"You, Reo Mikage, are unbelievable." He laughed at that, amused by your expression. Your smile soon turned into a soft expression, looking at him in a serious manner. "But why?"

"Why?" He waved your question off. "It's not like it cost the world for me. Also," His hand took yours again, causing you to look at him as his gaze wandered between your face. "Y/N, I-" He what? Loved you? He didn't quite know himself.

He had never felt like this, so normal. Once, someone talked with him because he is Reo, not because he is the billionaire heir Mikage. It was different. "You're dear to me. I know, we don't know each other for that long, but-" I know you're the one, Y/N. "But I just wanted to give you a little treat for working so well. You really do a great job at Blue lock, and I couldn't imagine anyone else in your place." Great Reo. Talk about business again, that's how you let her know your feelings, you Idiot.

"I'm really flattered, boss." Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, flashing you a genuine smile, only for it to fall flat at the sound of his phone ringing. He flashed you an apologetic look. "I know. Business." He bit back a smile at that, answering the phone.

"Hello?" You couldn't catch anything but slight fragments the person on the other line was saying, something about an important meeting' and 'now'. "It's almost four in the morning, and you expect me to catch a flight to Norway? Now?"

You fidget with your fingers as you listened to the conversation, a small pout on your lips as you realized you might have to go home now.

He ended the call with a defeated sigh, spitting out curses under his breath. You restored your comprehension, earning tons of apologies in return as he got up from his seat.

"You can stay the night. I'll get someone to drive you to your new apartment tomorrow. Your stuff will be there by evening at the latest. You can stay off work that day." You nodded, still in a daze about everything, as Reo approached you, planting a kiss on your temple.

"We'll probably not see each other for a while. I'll drop by and see how you settled into your new home, alright?" You nodded, heat rising up your face at his action, bidding him goodbye.

"I'll miss you." This made the man in a hurry stop his movements, head snapping back to where you sat. He quickly moved back to you in a hurry, capturing your mouth in a heartfelt kiss, his eyes squinted together.

"Me too." He said in a low whisper after letting go of you, leaving you in your seat perplexed as he hurried to his flight.

【☆】★【☆】

"Nagi?" You looked at the man who stood before the entrance of the mansion perplexed, slight traces of sleep still visible on your face. He lightly laughed at the sight, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Good morning, doll."

He was quick to clear up your confusion, explaining how close Reo and him are, so close even that Reo entrusted him with you. He leads you to the car, telling you that all your stuff already got moved to the apartment, waiting for you to be unpacked.

"Is anyone else there or just you? Maybe Ryusei?"

He huffed at that, turning around the corner to drive to the apartment, brushing off the fact that you call his rival by his first name. "God no. I wouldn't have picked you up then. Sorry, doll. Nothing personal."

You were curious about Nagi's and Shidou's relationship and how it turned out that way. Did they have a fight once? You couldn't help but ask. "He's the biggest pain in the ass you could ask for." You chuckled at that, his eyes swiftly moving to take a quick look at your smile, his lips threatening to smile too. "That guy is just hellaaaa jealous I get to chill all day. He's probably working a 9 to 5 right now."

Another laugh came from you, biting your lip in an attempt to stop it. "Don't be so mean to him now." His head turned at that. "Oh? So he already got to your head, huh?" His voice was meant to come out sarcastic, but a tint of jealousy was noticeable.

You shrugged playfully, looking out the window. "You should look at the road, you know." His eyes slightly widened, gaze flickering back onto the road as he took one hand from his lap to wipe it across his face.

He was trying to play everything off and act cool, but he can't lie, the memories with you were still heavy on his mind. He thought about you all day and almost fell from his bed in excitement when he got a call from Reo that night, telling him to pick you up. If it was up to him, he would've driven to Reo's place at the moment he rang him up.

"You alright there?" He cleared his throat, heart beating in his chest as he reassured you he was fine. You were still suspicious, and it really pleased you to tease the young man, his reactions were always hilarious.

"You're still thinking about yesterday? Getting all worked up over a hand job is crazy." A choked-out laugh was heard from him at your question, car stopping at a red light. "Are you trying to do something, doll?"

Your innocent act made his body fill with excitement, snapping out of his mind once he heard someone honk behind him, urging him to continue driving.

" I'm crazy over you, that's for sure." You let a shit-eating grin creep up your features, turning your head to look out the window.

Those past weeks were exciting and something you never thought you would experience. It's something else to get so much attention from so many different but handsome men. You couldn't complain, you were about to have a stable, no- a fucking great income and a perfect home. And men drooling over you.

And Sae? It's done. This is your time now to enjoy. And you sure as heck would. Of course, your feelings for him were still there and there was no denying that you loved him but, some distraction wouldn't hurt.

Or would it?

"Say, do you want to inaugurate my new apartment with me?" He grinned at that, sparing you a quick glance before turning back to the road. "Just the two of us? Don't you usually do that with more people present? Or do you got something planned already?"

You chuckled at his suspicion, your hand resting on top of his thigh in a teasing manner, his change in demeanor not going unnoticed by you. "I want to thank you for helping me, that's all."

【☆】★【☆】

"Fuckkk." Nagi's head flew back, hitting the headrest of the covered couch, crinkling of the plastic barely drowning out the sinful gagging sounds from you, your head bopping at a steady pace, hand fondling his balls.

"Just like that- shittt, gonna cum, doll." You hummed around his length, tongue swirling around his tip, grin adoring your features as you look up at him, taking in his pent-up form.

His fingers brushed through your hair, taking hold of your head as he stuttered up into your mouth, a strangled moan leaving his lips as his abs tensed up, cum threatening to spurt out in mere seconds.

Your other hand clawed into his clothed thigh as your throat clamped down on his length, brows furrowed in concentration as you choked around his thick cock.

The grip of his hand tightened as his thighs tensed up. "shitshitshit." He reached his climax with one more flick of your tongue, hips bucking up and holding your head down as he bit his lip in pure ecstasy, deep growl flying past his lips.

His cum shot out in strings and down your throat, as you swallowed it whole, tongue lapping up remnants of it from his slit, flashing him an innocent look up right after.

His hand flew to his face while he caught his breath, hodded eyes, eyeing your form, breathy laugh escaping him.

"Home sweet home."

🏷️; @seiamor

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