#thoughts?? comments?? violent reactions??

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Keep Your Eyes on Me - pt.ii

tara carpenter x female reader

part i | part ii

summary: Tara begins to question her own emotions, especially when the thought of losing Y/n's attention unexpectedly stirs something deeper.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: slight violence

————

"Is Y/n dying?" Mindy asks with genuine curiosity looking back at you and Tara. "What the fuck is wrong with her face?"

The five of you had just gotten off the subway and exited the station, but your mind was still stuck a few moments behind. Tara had wrapped her arm around yours and spoken the five words that made your heart skip a beat: Keep your eyes on me.

Since then, you hadn’t been able to function. Stiff as a board, your brain was in a daze, replaying those words over and over. Now, you were walking aimlessly, arm-in-arm with Tara, trailing behind Mindy, Chad, and Sam, who were a good distance ahead.

"I think it might have something to do with Tara," Chad chimes in, glancing back at you both.

That comment got Sam's attention and she finally turned to see what was happening. "Yikes she does look—hold on why would Tara be responsible for whatever is going on with Y/n's face?" She asks with a raised brow, looking at the twins genuinely confused.

"Look at her arm," Chad says, pointing at Tara. "It’s wrapped around Y/n’s."

"She's looking up at her like Y/n put the stars in the sky," Mindy laughs.

Sam squints her eyes still confused. "So? Tara's finally warming up to Y/n. I spoke to her a few weeks ago about how Y/n is good for her."

"Her arm is around Y/n's," Chad states again with more emphasis.

"I hold my friends by their arm all the time," Sam shrugs like it's no big deal.

"Oh honey... did you say friends?" Mindy says gently wrapping her arm around Sam's shoulders like she was trying to soften the blow. "You know Y/n has the hots for your sister right?"

Sam wasn't stupid. There was instances in the last six months where the thought had crossed her mind. The way you always glanced at Tara after one of Mindy’s outrageous jokes, just to see her reaction. The way you went silent every time Tara got too close. The way your cheeks flushed crimson whenever Tara did something particularly sweet or kind.

Sam sighs. Deep down, she knew. The way you were attentive to Tara wasn’t just friendly—it was something more.

When she’d encouraged Tara to give you a chance, it wasn’t about dating—it was about letting someone in, letting someone care for her. But now, watching you and Tara in this new light, the possibility of her little sister entering her first relationship suddenly felt real.

That’s what unnerved her. Not you, specifically. She liked you. And if anyone was going to date Tara, she was glad it would be you.

"Don’t worry, Sam," Chad says, trying to reassure her. "Y/n’s a total dork. She can’t even admit to herself that she likes Tara. She just genuinely cares about her, even if she only gets to do that as a friend."

"Dude," Mindy cuts in, laughing so hard she’s clutching her stomach, "you literally helped Y/n get into your sister’s pants!"

“You gave Y/n first class tickets to take your sister to Pound town!” she adds in between laughs.

Chad groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Why are you like this?"

Sam felt her blood run cold. She changed her mind—maybe she did have a problem with you.

————

Meanwhile, about twenty steps behind the group, the younger Carpenter sister was freaking out for a completely different reason.

Sure, she hadn’t expected to enjoy the feeling of her hand resting on your bicep this much. That was its own problem. But what was really throwing her off was the deafening silence. Why weren’t you saying anything?

She’d called your name a few times now, but you hadn’t so much as blinked in response. She considered taking her arm away. Maybe she’d overstepped. It had been a bold move—not just saying what she did but closing the space between you two like this.

It was a stark contrast from what's the usual between you two—her throwing violent insults your way, half the time just to see how you’d react.

Okay maybe it makes sense why you weren't responding. Still, was it too much to ask for a little reaction?

Fearing she’d made you uncomfortable, Tara began to pull her arm away.

"No! Wait—" you blurt out, snapping out of your daze at the loss of contact. The words hang in the air, and the realization of what you just said slaps you in the face. Your face flushes red. "I mean—wait, not no! You can keep your hands to yourself if you want!" you stammer, awkwardly backpedaling as you take a step closer to the road to create a distance between you two.

She just told you that you can keep your eyes on her and you told her she can keep her hands to herself.

In that moment, you’d honestly prefer to be hit by a car than embarrass yourself any further in front of Tara.

You brace yourself, expecting her to roll her eyes, to call you an imbecile, to tell you to get over yourself. Maybe she’d point out that she doesn’t need you to give her permission to keep her hands to herself—that she has full autonomy. Or worse, she’d say something cutting, like how she’d never touch you in a million years, even though she was the one who had grabbed your arm in the first place.

But instead, she laughs.

And it’s not a mean laugh. It’s soft, warm, and unexpectedly genuine, catching you completely off guard.

Not that you were complaining, but

What the fuck is she doing?

————

"What the fuck am I doing?" Tara mumbles to herself.

“That’s what I want to know,” Mindy fires back with a teasing smirk, leaning closer to Tara who was seated across her on the table.

Fortunately for you, soon after you heard the melodic sound of Tara’s laugh that made your brain short-circuit, the bar you were all heading to came into view giving you the perfect excuse not to dwell on it—or, more accurately, to avoid melting into a puddle of feelings. For the first time ever, Tara had laughed because of something you did, and the thought alone made your heart do a happy little somersault.

Upon entering the dive bar, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom while the rest of the group found a table to be seated at. Thankfully, the bathroom was empty, so you were able to think out loud.

“What even is my life right now?” you muttered to yourself as you leaned over the sink with a goofy smile. Catching your reflection in the mirror, your face was beet fucking red. Oh no. Did Tara notice how red you were? You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

How did things change so fast? How had it gone from her hating your guts, calling you Ghostface at every opportunity, and throwing insults your way—barely even sparing you a glance—to this?

Mindy had told you to stop chasing Tara, to ignore her, to let her come to you. You’d managed to stick to that advice for maybe an hour, and somehow, this was where it got you.

Not that you were complaining—oh, you definitely weren’t—but wow, this was a lot to handle. Your heart felt like it might burst from how warm and fluttery it was. Tara was kind of adorable… and terrifying. Mostly adorable. Okay, maybe all adorable.

"Fuck, this girl is going to be the death of me."

————

Outside, Mindy, Chad, and Tara stayed at the table while Sam headed to the bar to scope out the scene.

"Sooo… did I just see you holding Y/n’s arm?" Mindy asked, probing Tara for more answers.

Tara groaned dramatically before dropping her head onto the table with a quiet thud. "Yes," she mumbled, her voice muffled against the surface.

"What the hell happened in the two weeks we didn't hang?" Chad questions. "You couldn't stand her last time we hung out. And you're pulling the Carpenter rizz?"

"I don’t know!" Tara whined, her words still muffled by the table." Sam talked to me okay? And I guess I was being harsh to Y/n."

"Uh-huh, sure," Mindy replied, her grin widening. "But that still doesn’t explain why you were holding her arm. That’s a huge leap from ‘I hate Y/n, she’s totally Ghostface,’ to... this." Mindy explained, clearly enjoying the situation.

"Unless," Chad cut in, his grin matching Mindy’s as he wiggled his eyebrows, "there was always some hidden feelings under your 'supposed' hatred for her..."

Tara’s face shot up from the table, bright red as she glared at them. "There are no hidden feelings!"

Mindy gasped, clutching her chest like she’d uncovered a scandal. "Oh my God, there totally is! Admit it, Tara—you’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time!"

"Absolutely not!" Tara protested, her voice climbing an octave.

"You have," Chad teased, leaning closer with a conspiratorial whisper. "And you loved it."

Tara groaned again, hiding her face in her hands, as Mindy and Chad erupted into laughter.

"Shut up!" Tara muttered, but the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips betrayed her completely. She sighed, trying to compose herself. "I don't like her like that, okay? She was just ignoring me today, and... I guess it sucked not having her care about me like she usually does," she mumbled, hoping the explanation would get the twins off her back.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Mindy replied casually to Tara’s surprise. Well, that was easy.

But then Mindy smirked, leaning back in her chair. "So, it shouldn’t bother you that Y/n’s getting hit on at the bar right now, huh?"

Tara froze. "What?" she snapped, whipping her head around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t pull something. Her eyes darted frantically toward the bar. "Where is she?"

The brunette turned back around so Mindy could answer her, and that’s when she realized—she’d walked right into her trap.

Mindy burst into laughter, slapping the table. "Oh my God, you’re so obvious!"

Tara frowned and crossed her arms as Chad joined in on the laughter, both of them clearly enjoying how flustered she’d become.

————

You finally leave the bathroom once you feel like you can function like a normal human being again. It doesn’t take long to spot your friends at their table—sometimes, you swear you have a built-in Tara radar, always able to sense exactly where she is.

As you make your way over, your eyes are drawn to her, bathed in the soft red glow of the bar lights. She looks stunning, her features highlighted by the warm hue. She’s speaking animatedly to the twins, her hands flying up to cover her face in between bursts of conversation, a mix of shyness and excitement that makes her even more captivating.

Sometimes you wish you weren't the awkward human you were, and met Tara in better circumstances. A world where Ghostface didn't exist as well. Maybe then—maybe then you two could be something?

Your heart leapt at the thought. And you felt almost guilty for thinking the way you do. You never wanted it to seem like you only treated Tara with kindness because you had some sort of ulterior motive. It made you feel guilty. But it was getting difficult denying it any further. Maybe it was seeing her in this setting, so relaxed, so beautiful—maybe it was her touch and words earlier that sealed your fate.

But all you wanted right now was to slide into that booth beside her, feel her hand on your arm again, and be the person she could lean on.

You really liked Tara.

And you also really needed a drink.

————

"Okay, hold on—help me out here," Mindy says, holding her hands up. "If you do have some kind of interest in her, then why, and I say this with love, were you such a massive dick to her?"

Tara groans, letting her head drop back dramatically against the booth. "I wasn’t trying to be! It just... happened," she mumbles, rubbing her hands over her face, as if she could wipe away the embarrassment. "I don’t know, okay? She just gets under my skin. She’s so infuriatingly... nice. And smug. And—"

"Hot?" Chad offers with a teasing grin, earning a glare from Tara.

"I wasn’t going to say that!" Tara snaps defensively, though the red creeping up her neck betrays her.

Mindy snorts. "Oh, sure. That’s why you grabbed her arm like she was the last person on Earth. Real subtle Carpenter."

Tara exhales hard, crossing her arms and slouching down in her seat. "I didn’t plan that, okay? She was ignoring me. I didn’t like it. And I panicked."

Chad raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with that smug big-brother energy. "Sooo, you panicked and held her arm? You panic-flirted?"

"I did not panic-flirt!" Tara protests, sitting up straighter, her voice pitching higher with frustration.

"You so panic-flirted," Mindy grins, leaning closer. "Face it, T. You’ve got it bad. I mean, you did just admit you didn’t like her ignoring you. That’s classic 'please-pay-attention-to-me' behavior."

Tara opens her mouth to argue, but freezes. She can’t deny that part—because it’s true. Too true. She didn’t like the way you’d suddenly stopped caring, stopped looking her way like you always did. It left her feeling... off-balance.

"Fine," she mutters, looking away as her fingers trace patterns on the table. "Maybe I didn’t hate it when she cared."

Chad and Mindy exchange a glance before turning back to her with matching smirks.

"Uh-huh," Mindy drawls. "And maybe you didn’t hate holding her arm."

Tara groans again, sinking lower into the booth like she could disappear into the cushions. "I really need you both to shut up right now."

"Why am I getting interrogated? And more importantly, where are the drinks? Sam? Y/n?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

————

You weave your way through the crowd, finally making it to the bar, where you flag down the bartender and order a drink—something strong to calm the storm brewing inside of you. Taking a seat, you take a deep breath, letting the hum of the bar settle around you.

"Another round," a familiar voice says beside you, and you turn your head to find Sam, casually gesturing for the bartender to line up several drinks. You blink, surprised.

"Sam?" you ask, brow furrowing. "What are you doing?"

Sam doesn’t look at you as she responds, eyes focused ahead, her tone completely serious. “Mourning.”

You stare at her, processing. “Mourning?” you repeat, confused. “Who… who died?”

Sam finally turns to you, expression deadpan. “My baby sister.”

You freeze, mouth opening slightly as your brain short-circuits. “Tara? Tara died?” you ask, voice rising in disbelief as you whip your head toward the booth where Tara is very clearly alive and animated, still talking to the twins.

Sam sighs dramatically, shaking her head. “Not literally. Spiritually. She’s about to get into her first relationship.”

Your face contorts into the human equivalent of the surprised Pikachu meme. “Her what now?”

Sam gives you a look, like you should already know. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re the relationship.”

You nearly choke on your drink, sputtering. “Me?!”

“Yes, you,” Sam replies matter-of-factly, grabbing one of the drinks the bartender sets down but not leaving just yet. She leans against the bar, eyeing you like she’s assessing your soul. “And don’t make that face. You’re the one she’s been all smiley and weird about lately.”

You blink at her, utterly lost. “Smile-y? Weird? What—Tara doesn’t even like me like that.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really,” you insist, though your voice wavers slightly.

Sam just smirks, sipping one of the drinks slowly. “You’re even worse at lying than you are at hiding how red your face is right now.”

Your hand flies to your cheek like you can stop the blush burning there. “It’s the bar lights!” you blurt defensively. “They’re red. They make everything red.”

"But I'm not lying I swear! She hates me remember? I'm supposedly Ghostface?" You ramble, trying to jog Sam's memory, because what in the world is she talking about. Tara likes you?

Sam chuckles under her breath, shaking her head. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, sinking further into yourself before glancing up at her. “But seriously… what do you mean me? I thought you were mourning because of some jerk she’s into—”

“Oh, I still think you’re a jerk,” Sam interrupts, though there’s a teasing glint in her eye now. “But you’re a tolerable one.”

You blink again, confused. “I’m… tolerable?”

“For now,” Sam confirms, narrowing her eyes at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re back in high school, being questioned by a teacher. “But listen to me, Y/n—I don’t care how flustered you get or how much you like her, I’m watching you. If you so much as make her frown, I’ll know. You’ll regret it.”

The seriousness of her tone makes you sit up a little straighter, but there’s still something soft in the way she says it—like, beneath the overprotective big-sister act, Sam really does care.

“I wouldn’t do that,” you say quietly, surprising even yourself with how genuine you sound. “I’d never hurt her. Ever.”

Sam studies you for a long moment, like she’s trying to read the truth straight from your eyes. Finally, she gives a small nod, satisfied. “Good. Because she deserves someone who looks at her like she’s the best thing to ever happen to them.”

Your heart stutters at her words, and you look down at your drink, trying not to smile too obviously. “I already do,” you admit softly, almost to yourself.

Sam pauses, her expression softening ever so slightly. “Yeah. That’s what worries me,” she mutters, more to herself than to you, but before you can ask what she means, she straightens up. “Now come on. I’m not carrying all these drinks by myself.”

You blink up at her, still a little dazed by the conversation, but you quickly grab a couple of glasses and stand up to follow Sam back toward the table.

But as you rose, the sudden sound of shattering glass and the murmur of rising voices pull your attention toward the commotion. A crowd begins to form in the center of the bar, the tension thickening with every heated word exchanged. It’s only when the circle shifts slightly that you spot her—Tara, her small frame squared off against a guy who looks a little too angry for the situation, and a girl glaring daggers at her.

You and Sam exchange a glance before rushing over, the protective instinct in both of you kicking in instantly.

“Look, I said I’d buy you another drink,” Tara says, her tone calm but laced with frustration.

“Yeah, well, maybe watch where you’re going next time dumbass,” the guy snaps, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Okay then maybe don’t stand in the middle of the fucking bar like a human traffic cone,” Tara bites back, her words sharper than you’ve ever heard from her.

The guy’s girlfriend steps in, practically seething. “Who do you think you are? Bumping into him like a slut and then acting like it’s his fault? God, you’re so full of yourself!”

Tara rolls her eyes. “Trust me, I do not want your man. This isn’t that deep.”

The guy snickers, leaning closer to Tara. “Yeah, right. With that attitude? You’d be lucky if anyone wanted you.”

You feel your chest tighten with anger, but you force yourself to take a deep breath. You step forward, hands up in a gesture of peace, trying your best not to escalate things.

“Hey, let’s all just calm down,” you say, your voice cracking slightly under the pressure. “I’ll get you a drink, okay? On me. No big deal.”

The guy turns to you, sizing you up before sneering. “Who the hell are you? Her little lapdog?”

That stings more than you’d care to admit, but before you can respond, he takes a step closer to Tara, clearly trying to intimidate her. Tara doesn’t back down, her glare unwavering, but his shoulder roughly “brushes” against hers in what’s definitely not an accident.

The nudge sends Tara stumbling backward, but thankfully, she lands against Sam, who steadies her instantly.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

Something snaps inside you, and before you can think it through, your fist is already flying. It connects with the guy’s jaw, sending him reeling back a step. The bar erupts in gasps and shouts as the guy recovers, glaring at you with fire in his eyes.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he growls, lunging at you.

Chaos ensues. Tables scrape against the floor as people back away, forming a wide circle. You’re barely aware of Sam pulling Tara further back, her voice sharp as she tells her to stay put.

The guy swings at you, but you dodge, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I was trying to be nice!” you shout, your voice somehow still awkward despite the situation. “But nooo, you had to go and—”

His next punch grazes your shoulder, and you retaliate, landing another hit square in his side.

“Y/n!” Tara’s voice cuts through the noise, and for a split second, you falter, glancing in her direction.

That’s all the guy needs to get a cheap shot in, his fist connecting with your stomach. You stumble back, the wind knocked out of you, but you manage to stay on your feet steadying yourself by having your palm planted on a nearby table.

Unfortunately luck wasn't on your side, and the table had a broken bottle on it, the jagged glass slices into your palm. You wince, but thankfully, the chaos around you masks the pain, and no one notices it.

Suddenly, Chad steps in between you and the guy, his broad frame blocking any further blows. “Alright, enough,” he says, his voice firm, but not without a hint of warning. “You don’t want to take this any further bro. Trust me.”

Before the guy can respond, Sam steps in too, her hand flashing a taser from her waistband, her expression icy cold. “I suggest you walk away,” she says, her voice steady and threatening. “Unless you want to leave here with more than just a bruised ego.”

The guy hesitates, clearly debating whether to push his luck. But the bartender steps in then, a burly man who looks like he’s seen his fair share of bar fights. “Alright, that’s enough!” he barks. “You—out. Now.”

The guy glares at you one last time before grabbing his girlfriend’s arm and storming out, muttering curses under his breath.

As the crowd disperses and the bar settles back into its usual hum of activity, you turn to Tara, who’s staring at you with wide eyes.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

She nods, her gaze softening as she takes a step closer to you. “Are you?”

You wince, clutching your stomach. “I’ll live. But, uh, maybe next time, don’t antagonize the guy holding the drink?”

Tara scoffs but smiles faintly. “Maybe next time, don’t throw punches for me.”

Sam snorts, crossing her arms. “No, by all means, keep throwing punches. Just learn to dodge better.”

You laugh weakly, glancing between the two Carpenter sisters. “Noted. So… anyone else need a drink, or is it just me?”

Tara shakes her head, her smile growing, her face red. “It’s just you. But… thanks. For standing up for me.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, and despite the ache in your hand, you can’t help but smile back. “Anytime.”

You catch Tara glancing at you, her expression softer then ever, and for a moment, she seems to be looking at you like she’s seeing something more than the awkward dork you think you are.

And in that instant, she can’t help but think you're even more amazing than she already knew. But before she can fully process it, Chad suddenly approaches, glancing at your hand, his face faltering in concern.

“Hey, are you good?” he asks, his eyes scanning your hand. “You look like you're in pain.”

You wince, still trying to play it off as no big deal. But Chad catches sight of the blood trickling from the glass cut on your palm, and his eyes widen. "Holy shit, dude, we need to take you to a hospital."

You shake your head quickly, your voice still a little shaky. “It’s just a scratch, really. I’ll be fine.”

But Tara, her brows furrowing in concern, steps forward, and glances at your hand and gasps. “That’s not just a scratch,” she insists, her voice filled with worry. “You’re bleeding bad. Get up—Mindy call an Uber.”

You open your mouth to protest again, "No hospital, I'm fine I just need a first aid kit." Sam steps in with a calm, no-nonsense tone. “On it, I'll ask the bartender.”

Tara, who’s been silently observing the whole time, takes charge. Her voice is soft but firm as she grabs the first-aid kit from Sam’s hands once she rejoins the group. “I’ll do it,” she says, her gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve done enough tonight. Let me take care of you.”

Mindy, who’s been watching the exchange with a smirk, suddenly chimes in, a teasing edge to her voice. “Look at you, Y/n. Who knew you had this much of a protective streak? Tara’s got you all worried, huh?”

You feel your face flush, but before you can respond, Tara shakes her head at Mindy’s comment, her worry deepening. “She’s hurt, Mindy. It’s not funny.” Her voice softens as she turns back to you, “You’re really gonna be okay, right? I— I don’t want you to be hurt.”

You can see how much she cares, and it makes your chest tighten with emotions. Tara’s usually so tough, so guarded, but right now she’s nothing but concerned.

You try to reassure her, even though the tenderness in her gaze makes it hard to keep your cool. “I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry so much.”

But Tara doesn’t seem convinced, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I can’t help it,” she admits softly, her voice almost a whisper. "I care."

The weight of her words lingers in the air, and for a moment, everything feels a little clearer between you two. Tara doesn’t just care for your safety—she cares about you.

She gently guides you to an empty booth, pulling you away from the noise and chaos of the bar. It’s just the two of you now, in your own little corner of the world. You slide into one side of the booth while she settles on the other, a table separating you, but it somehow feels closer than ever.

The silence stretches between you both, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. You hold your hand out toward her, palm facing up, your fingers trembling slightly from the sting. Tara’s gaze softens when she sees the injury, and with a quiet sigh, she reaches for the first-aid kit.

Her movements are slow, deliberate, as she opens the kit, pulling out antiseptic and gauze. You watch her, your heart pounding for reasons you can’t quite explain. She carefully dabs the cotton swab in the antiseptic, then presses it gently to the cut. You wince, a sharp sting jolting through your palm.

“Sorry,” Tara murmurs, her voice low and soothing. She frowns, her brows knitting together in concentration as she takes more care, dabbing at the wound more carefully this time. “I’m trying to be gentle. You’re not a fan of this whole ‘injured’ thing, huh?”

You chuckle softly, still feeling the burn of the antiseptic. “Nope. Not my favorite thing," your voice coming out a little more awkward than you intended.

"I can't believe a dork like you got in a fight."

You let out a small laugh, trying to hide the fact that her words have made your heart race. “I’m not a dork,” you protest weakly.

Tara raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. “Really? Because I could’ve sworn you were about to pass out the second I touched your hand.”

You blush even harder. Tara’s smile is warm, genuine, and it makes the sting of the antiseptic a little easier to bear.

“It’s not the touch,” you mumble, “it’s just... you’re too close.”

She laughs softly, a sound that makes your heart flutter. “Yeah? Guess I’ll just have to keep getting closer, then.”

Her words, teasing as they are, send a warmth rushing through you. You try to play it cool, but inside, you’re an absolute mess. The way she cares for you, even in such a simple moment, makes everything feel... different. It’s like a tiny shift in the air, making you want to stay in this little bubble of quiet with her forever.

Tara looks up at you, the gears turning in her head. Was she being unfair right now? Giving you mixed signals.

She continues cleaning the wound, but now with even more care. She choses her next words carefully not wanting to sour the mood, “I'm really sorry for how I treated you. I think with everything that happened last year, I was scared to let new people in, and so I was wary of you even though you’ve been nothing but amazing to me. I guess I just had my guard up and it was unfair and—"

"I know Tara, I forgive you don't worry," you smile at her. And its pure and genuine, and Tara knows that you mean that whole heartedly.

As Tara finishes bandaging the cut on your palm, she gently flips your hand over to check for any other injuries. Her fingers graze across the back of your hand, and she notices the bruised knuckles. For a split second, she pauses, her breath catching in her throat.

Her eyes linger on your hand—on the faded bruise, evidence of the fight you’d just gotten into—and for some reason, she can’t help but think it’s... hot. The way your hand looks, bruised but still strong, it makes something in her chest tighten. You got into a fight for her.

She quickly shakes her head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingers. What the hell is wrong with me? she thinks, her face flushing slightly. Tara quickly looks up at you, trying to mask her sudden embarrassment with a forced nonchalance. But you're just sat there beaming at her, telling her its okay for how she treated you in the past, that you forgive her.

Suddenly, Tara couldn’t just take it anymore. The way you were looking at her, so soft, so genuine, made her heart flutter in a way she couldn’t ignore. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and then, without warning, she leaned forward, her eyes locking with yours.

“You know,” she started, her voice low and teasing, “Mindy said you were incapable of acting first.”

You blinked, confusion flashing across your face. “What?” you asked, not sure where she was going with this.

Tara smirked, clearly amused. “And that if I wanted something to happen, I’d have to be the initiator.”

You furrowed your brow, still not understanding. “What are you talking about?”

Tara’s smile widened, and she leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping even lower. “I find that hard to believe, given how you just got in a fight for me. I know there’s a little boldness in you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and before you could even process what she was saying, she added, “But I guess so do I.”

Without warning, Tara reached across the table, her hand grabbing the front of your shirt. You froze, your breath catching as she pulled you closer, her face just inches from yours. Your heart raced as she leaned in, and then—before you could even think—her lips were on yours.

It was soft, tentative at first, like she was testing the waters. But then it deepened, and everything around you seemed to fade away. The kiss was warm, gentle, but there was an undeniable intensity to it, as if she was pouring everything she felt into that moment. Your uninjured hand instinctively reached for hers, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat against your fingertips.

When the kiss finally broke, both of you pulled away, breathless. Tara’s eyes were wide, a soft blush coloring her cheeks as she looked at you, her lips still tingling from the kiss.

You blinked, your mind racing, and then you couldn’t help but grin, a nervous laugh escaping you. “Damn... I should’ve gotten into a fight a lot sooner.”

Tara rolled her eyes, but her smile was all warmth, and you could see in her eyes that there was something deeper. Something unspoken, but undeniable.

Something that was always there.

Taglist: @cobaltperun @machyishere @freakshow2501 @nwestra @mcchicken88 @101rizzlrr @snowdrop1026 @ilovesneezing069 @btay3115 @burntoutghost

[nereidprinc3ss]

hii! could i request something w spence where he asks uni reader to move in with him and r is kinda nervous about it please🙏🙏 love all of ur fics, and thanksss 🫶🫶🫶

yass this is super cute!!!! thank you for the request, hope i did it justice

warnings/tags: fluff!! a teensy bit suggestive at the end if u squint... i cant help myself. i'm an animal

requests are open! sfw and nsfw welcome

(a/n: this is probably an awkward spot to put this but I didn't wanna make a whole other post: THANK YOU GUYS FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT!!! i have gained over 100 followers since i last posted and have over 1k notes on both of my recent works thats literally bonkers insane crazy town ACTUALLY. i love hearing your thoughts and reactions to my work even if its just a silly little comment. so yeah. thanks and so much love to u ALL)

“So basically, I’m not allowed in the dorm except to sleep because she always has her boyfriend over, and I told her that’s literally insane—I’m paying thousands of dollars to be there just like her. If she wanted privacy she should have gotten a single. She can’t just lock me out of our shared bedroom all the time! I live there!” 

You’re stabbing violently at your food by the time you finish your verbal tirade. 

“Okay, maybe put the knife down before you hurt yourself,” Spencer suggests, readying a hand to take the implement away from you if necessary. The knife clatters against your plate as you drop it. 

“She’s driving me fucking crazy,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes until you see fireworks. “And the housing department said I don’t have grounds to transfer rooms, so I’m stuck with her for the rest of the year.” 

There’s no reply from your boyfriend, and a pang of guilt in your chest makes you look up at him again. His expression, as so often is the case, is inscrutable. 

“I’m sorry for ranting. I’m really happy to see you and I don’t mean to ruin dinner, I just—” 

“You could stay with me,” he interrupts. 

You blink. 

“Like... when she locks me out?” 

Spencer laughs self-consciously. 

“No, like... permanently.” 

For a moment you just gape at him like an idiot, trying to comprehend his offer. 

He wants you to move in... with him. Permanently. He wants to live with you. 

You realize you’ve been staring at him for far too long, and you lean back, inhaling deeply as the world launches into motion again. 

“That’s... a big step, Spence,” you breathe. His eyes scan you head to toe, and you realize he’s most definitely analyzing your body language. 

“You don’t have to say yes. It was just an offer,” he shrugs, standing up and clearing the plates from the table.  

“Wait,” you call, following him to the kitchen. “Are you upset now because I leaned away from you when you asked?” 

He turns from the counter, looking at you blankly. 

“Of course not. That would be ridiculous.” 

Oh, he totally is. 

You tentatively step forward, gently lacing your fingers through his—but unable to meet his eyes.  

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you begin gingerly, “but I’m... I’m not done with school. We always said I would move in once I graduated.” 

“That’s an arbitrary limitation we set for ourselves. There are plenty of ways to get you from here to campus every day.” 

“But you’re not even here sometimes. I would just be alone.” 

“You would have the whole apartment to yourself. You would have my bed. You wouldn’t have to share a shower with an entire floor of college students anymore. And ultimately, we would get to spend a lot more time together.” 

You try to speak but find your throat is tight. Spending more time together is exactly what you’re afraid of. 

“What’s your real objection here?” he asks quietly, running his thumb back and forth over the underside of your wrist. You swallow, watching the motion of his hand.  

“I’m afraid, that if we move in together... you’ll stop liking me.” The words come out paper thin, barely audible. 

And he laughs. Your teary eyes dart up, surprised by the reaction—slightly hurt, even. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m not laughing at you,” Spencer says, sobering up when he sees your baleful expression. “I just can’t believe you think I’d stop liking you.” He wipes away the tears beading on your eyelashes delicately. “I’m in love with you. Neurologically that is pretty hard to undo.” 

You study his face, looking for any sign of hesitation or dishonesty. All you find is pure fondness in the curve of his lips; utter devotion in the soft set of his eyes. 

“You promise you won’t start hating me as soon as I move in?” 

“I promise.” 

You lean against his chest, craning your neck to look up at him. 

“I can be pretty annoying.” 

“I think I can handle it.” 

“I take really long showers.”  

He kisses you softly. “Me too. I’m sure we can figure out a way to conserve water.” 

Despite your reservations you smile against his lips. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Okay.” 

[susicheng]

▬▬ڪ smoke signals . . . p.js

childhood friend! jisung x gn! reader themes: fluff, getting together, first time smoking tgt, getting high, high confessions, high kissing, best friends to lovers, very minor sexual references(?)

in which: you teach a man how to smoke, take a vow of celibacy, and discuss your future children's bedroom designs before the first date. or: weed makes you lose your filter around jisung, which just so happens to be exactly the push you needed.

word count: 1773

smoke billowed up around you two as he exhaled, blowing a cloud out smoothly— until his cough. just one, short burst before he was done. you giggled helplessly as he watched on in confusion. nothing had hit him yet, even after his second hit. you hadn’t watched him when he took his first, but now that you did, you could pinpoint exactly the cause behind his normalcy.

“jisung you have to— oh my god, you aren’t hitting it right.” you grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his face as he looked on at the cart in confusion and tried to raise it to his mouth again.

“i’m doing it the same way you did. seriously, how could i be doing it wrong.” he pouted, far too dramatically for the situation, eliciting another round of quiet giggles from your lips.

“no you aren’t! you’re just letting the smoke sit in your mouth. listen to me closely jisung: you have to breathe in again after you hit the cart, before you blow it out.”

“you have to— what!? what are you talking about?”

you took both of his hands in yours, turning your expression into one demanding the utmost level of seriousness. 

“take one more hit.”

“what?”

“take another hit. but listen to me as you do it, mmkay?”

“i guess…” he sounded so defeated, it was adorable. 

he raised the cart to his lips again, holding down the button as he hesitantly sucked in a hit. his gaze met your own, seeking direction, as he lowered the cart from his mouth slowly.

“okay. now gasp like i just confessed my undying love for you.”

his reaction did not disappoint, a violent gasp effectively moving the smoke from his mouth to his lungs. this time, when he coughed, it was more of a coughing fit. that was more like it. you knew it was complete bullshit when he insisted he had to be “a natural” since he didn’t cough at all the first time. 

“there you go. attaboy!”

“i still don’t feel anything.”

“that’s because it takes time, silly. you don’t get high off your ass from one proper hit after 3 seconds have passed.” you laughed in his face, taking the cart from where he had left it between his pointer finger and thumb. your stupid, horny weed brain decided to freeze your eyes on jisung’s hand, staring like a creepo as thoughts of “wow.. nice hands. wow…. how have i never noticed” began to flood your brain. it took a muffled “what the fuck” falling from jisung’s lips to break you out of your trance. 

for a moment, your heart stopped, thinking his comment had been about your sudden interest in his hands.

instead, what was waiting for you when you finally raised your eyes, was a jisung with very dilated pupils and big round eyes. you smiled.

“feeling it yet?”

“jeez. i feel like i’m levitating right now.”

this time, your own giggles were mirrored with jisung’s fit of laughter. 

“hold on— i can help.”

without a second thought, you adjusted to swing a leg over his hips, effectively placing yourself— guess where— directly on jisung’s lap. the same jisung that you had been irrevocably in love with since the 7th grade? yeah. that one.

stupid, stupid weed brain. you were never going to smoke again. that was it. you’re taking a vow of celibacy. but, like, weed celibacy. was there a weed equivalent to alcohol anonymous, you wondered. you were about to reach for your phone to google “weed wanonymous near me” until you remembered— oh yeah, you were sitting on your best friend’s lap right now.

as you exited the little room you were occupying in your mind, consciously using your eyes to see again, you were met with a face of wide eyed shock: jisung. his body was completely frozen, hands hovering hesitantly above your waist. but he wasn’t pushing you off. he wasn’t reacting immediately with disgust. 

“is… is this okay?” even if his immediate response didn’t show signs of clear discomfort, you had to make sure. you loved him too much to let impulsive thoughts ruin the friendship you had built up over years of knowing each other.

a desperate nod of his head told you all you needed to know, a bright smile lighting up your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug.

“you’re the best. you’re so warm.” his arms around you filled you with warmth, fighting the chill of the a/c. 

you had no idea how much time passed like that, your rhythm completely obscured by the effect the weed had on you. all you knew is how warm, and comfortable you felt in his embrace.

suddenly, the little demon in your mind woke up again. the weed demon.

well, the horny weed demon. the weed sex demon. the high sex demon. that one. that little demon woke up again. “ask to blow smoke into his mouth” it said. no, it demanded. demands were a bigger deal than “said”s. you had to do it now. that held the same weight as a triple dog dare. and you could never turn down a triple dog dare. 

“hey jisung?”

“mmm?” oh. that boy was high. he was in the barely verbal stage. when the fuzziness became the main player.

“jisung, wake up.” you shook his shoulders once, twice, until you saw the awareness return into his gaze.

“oh my god. this is crazy, i feel like i’m going insane.”

“you’re cute. can i try something?”

he looked at you inquisitively, eyebrow raised. his hands were still on your hips, only having adjusted slightly to a more comfortable position there since pulling away from the hug. you noticed this just now, but you had to get your thought out now. overthinking his hand placement was a game for the future you to play at. 

“have you ever heard of shotgunning smoke?” he looked at you in confusion. of course he doesn’t fucking know what that means, idiot. he barely knew what a cart was before you showed him yours in 10th grade. 

“fuck. okay um. basically. i’m going to take a hit, and then we’re going to basically kiss, and i’m going to blow the smoke into your mouth.”

“so like a fake hover kiss with smoke?”

“yeah, exactly like that. you got it jisung. that. i want to do that.”

“isn’t it kind of pointless? neither of us will actually get a real hit out of it. plus, why not just kiss for real?”

“you’re right. you’re right. yeah actually… that kind of is just a waste of a hit.” you sighed, horny demon put to sleep. until, hold on, there was another line of that sentence. alarms were blaring, your horny demon was screaming, you were staring silently at jisung, and you were also taking too long to continue in a way that was coherent.

“i want to raise children with you.” that’s what you ended up on. this is the fate that the horny demon decided for you. you were busy accepting the sad fact that your nearly 15 year long friendship with jisung was over as of tonight. you could wave bye-bye to your twisted fantasy of wooing him with your astronomical knowledge when you visited that observatory you had bought tickets for a month ago. there goes that plan.

and then you felt hands slide up your body to cradle your face. you felt one of those hands move into your hair to gently coax your head downwards, and you felt soft, slightly chapped lips meet yours in a gentle press. it was a peck, simple and innocent. except your heart was racing. your head was blaring “i’m so in love with this man” “i need to have him in every way imaginable” “i need to be by his side for the rest of my life” and you decided to silence the onslaught of thoughts by eagerly reconnecting your lips to jisung’s.

there was more to it this time, both of you getting the chance to move your lips slightly out of sync (marijuana does not make synchronized movement an easy task). a slide of your hand onto his chest. a gasp as you nipped at jisung’s lip. a smile, interrupting the (admittedly mismatched) flow of your kiss. in no time, both you and jisung were smiling ear to ear, high as hell and drunk off of each other’s lips. 

“hey.” his voice was a little squeaky, like he hadn’t recovered enough air yet to get the word out properly. you laughed.

“hey.” you parroted him, smiling softly.

“i’m kind of in love with you, honestly.” those words, falling down from his perfect lips, floating up into your auditory range, registering in your head. your heartbeat picked up. a flush found its way to your cheeks. jisung just said he was in love with you.

“oh. that’s perfect actually, because i’ve been crafting an in depth bedtime scenario of our entire life story together since we graduated high school.”

“you’ve been what?”

“we’re scheduled to have a wedding at yerkes observatory in exactly 824 days.”

“you would make our wedding venue be an observatory?” he seemed genuinely touched. you fucking knew that would be the right choice. 1 point to the little employee in charge of sleep scenario crafting in your head.

“i’m proposing to you when we go stargazing in 437 days at the same field we go to on our first date. i felt like the space theme should be continued. we also paint the milky way on our first daughter’s nursery walls.”

“you’ve really thought about it that much?”

“you should see my notes app, jisung. i have to cut off my whole ‘falling asleep’ process if i start imagining a situation that’s too good to get lost to my dreams.”

“can i be your boyfriend? please?”

“oh. yes. yeah. of course.”

his responding smile was blinding. he was practically vibrating in place. his hands snapped up to hold your face gently, his lips frantically pressing all over your face, kissing on the tip of your nose, on your forehead, on the corner of your mouth, on your eyelids when your eyes fluttered closed. he pulled back slowly, still grinning as he moved his hands down to your waist again. the look in his eyes shifted slightly. you were too high to process what his change in expression meant.

“you can blow smoke into my mouth if you want to, by the way. i think it sounds hot.”

“... huh?”

mel yaps: did i reread this before posting? nooopeee. did i write this while high? yurp! am i posting this while still high? you know it!! happy new year all, this is my real new year present for you.

#: @f6llsun (sorry for ur 10 thousandth tag of the night... idk why i keep uploading stuff that's my bad)

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare part.4

Aemond Targaryen x reader Description: Aemond has won the love of his handmaiden, but he worries that her shyness is stopping her from feeling truly comfortable expressing her affections. When Y/N receives unwanted advances from another Lord, Aemond proves just far he'll go to protect his lady.

Previous Part Part 5

Writer's note: I cannot express enough how much all your lovely comments mean to me. I still feel quite new to writing fanfic so it's amazing to know people actually want to read what I write. There's a brief mention of sexual assault in this so please don't read if this is triggering or upsetting to you in any way.

Warnings: female reader, brief mention of sexual harassment and attempted assault, protective (aka violent) Aemond, incredibly fluffy, lengthy as always, I have an obsession with Ewan Mitchell's hands; I'm being so brave about it but I will make it everyone's problem.

Aemond gently grazed his knuckles up and down Y/N's ribcage absentmindedly as he read to her, her body pressed into his side. She had appeared nervous when he'd first suggested it, a week having passed since then, but she never seemed so relaxed in his company as she did now listening to him read of ancient Targaryen dragon riders. He had been so happy, so relieved, when his shy girl had reciprocated his love. But he had not accounted for her shyness around him persisting even now that she knew he loved her. She was always tentative about expressing her feelings, and rarely initiated any physical contact with him. He had been concerned at first that she had reconsidered her feelings, a worry exacerbated by her reticence to inform anyone else of their betrothal. He thought back to the moment she'd agreed to marry him, how he'd immediately wanted to take her to see his mother and declare his intentions. It had been Y/N who had stopped him, frantically grabbing onto his arm and pulling him back to her, immediately putting him on alert.

Crouching back down in front of the chaise where she sat, his gaze had softened as he saw her eyes widened in alarm, hand still gripping his sleeve tightly. He spoke in as calm a tone as he could muster as he tried to ignore his own disquiet. "What is it my love?" Y/N smiled at him, but he noted that it did not reach her eyes.

"You might find me rather silly." Aemond brushed his knuckles lightly over her cheekbone in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "I assure you I will not."

"It is only that I cannot help my more reserved nature. I feel comfortable with you not to judge me for it, but not others. And I know there will be whispers about your choice of a handmaiden to wife."

Aemond's good eye narrowed slightly. "I will have the tongue of anyone who bismirches you."

Y/N had lightly shaken her head at his suggestion. "I do not wish you to. Just allow me some time to get used to the idea that you love me first. I wish for it to be only us for now."

Aemond took hold of both her hands, saddened by her choice of words though desiring to be understanding of her wishes. But he would be firm on one matter.

"I do love you."

Aemond tried to oust these thoughts from his mind, comforting himself that Y/N did not shy from his touch at least, rather she always leaned into it. Though, it would always have to be him who took her hand, pulled her in for an embrace, or brushed his lips against hers. And he had begun to worry she did not think she could touch him. That their difference in status, her naturally timid disposition or, gods forbid, fear of him or his reaction prevented her from doing so. He wanted her to know she did not have to ask for his permission or wait for him to initiate, although he was more than happy to do so. He wanted her to understand that he adored her and would gladly welcome any and every affectation she would permit him.

Y/N seemed to be the most comfortable when he read to her and sometimes she would even rest her head on his shoulder, her breathing slowing so much he thought she might have fallen asleep. It made his heart soar every time for her to feel such trust in him to do so and he would always wrap an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer,  tilting his head down to lean it against hers, in the hopes he could encourage her and assure her that he appreciated and greatly desired her affection. Removing his hand from her to turn the page, he noticed that her eyes followed his movements. From their first meetings, when he'd observed her watching him weave a coin through his fingers, her gaze had always gravitated towards his hands. It had pleased him to know that she found him attractive despite his scar, though for him she was the most beautiful girl in the world. Dropping a hand down from the book he was holding, he took hold of his lady's hand, which was resting in her lap, and interlocked their fingers, a smile forming at the light dusting of pink on her cheeks at his action. He only wished she'd feel more comfortable to take his hand herself should she want to.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat as Aemond took hold of her hand in her lap, sure he must have spotted her staring. She thought every part of Aemond beautiful, but she had a particular fascination with his hands from the beginning. At first she'd just thought them elegant for someone who looked so fierce, whose sword was almost an extension of his hand. Looking down at their intertwined hands she marvelled at how large his looked over hers. There was a time when this might have frightened her. Now, along with his ever present gaze that always seemed to follow her, the warmth of his hand encasing hers just felt safe, protective. She struggled to initiate any physical affection with Aemond, still not fully able to comprehend his regard for her. So she was ever grateful for his patience with her, always taking the lead. But Y/N knew it would be unfair for her to always rely on him in this way, and she worried that he'd begin to think she did not love him in equal measure.

Resolving to at least try to set aside her nervousness for him, she separated their hands in favour of taking his in both of hers. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a look of confusion cross Aemond's face until she began to lightly trace her fingers across his knuckles, making her way slowly down his hand, tracing veins and drawing patterns along his skin. She heard his sharp intake of breath at her actions and willed herself not to be self-conscious or alarmed by this, slowly turning his hand over to trace patterns along the lines of his palm. Aemond seemed only too happy to relinquish his hand to her, awkwardly turning the page with one hand in favour of withdrawing the one she held. She continued her ministrations and Aemond continued to read without comment, perhaps not wanting to draw attention to her affectionate gesture in case it should embarass her. Y/N smiled at the thought, keenly aware of how gentle and caring Aemond always was with her. While she found it difficult to be confident in showing affection, Y/N determined to find small ways to express her love for him.

Aemond was pleasantly surprised to see Y/N grow in confidence each day, his gentle encouragement helping to make her more sure of herself. She'd begun by simply taking his hand of her own accord. Yet this small attention still served to drive him almost to complete distraction as he tried to focus on reading the words before him rather than the soft touch of her fingertips against his skin. It was not long before Y/N was comfortable to take Aemond's hands whenever she wished, assured he would only grasp hers tighter in response. Thereafter, she would reach up on tiptoe to sweetly kiss him on the corner of his mouth as she saw him off to the training yard each morning. She had looked away from him sheepishly the first time she had done so, but quickly lost her embarassment as he eagerly pulled her in to kiss her himself.

The Prince came to realise that Y/N would always retain her shy disposition, but his heart was gladdened to find that this was not a reflection of any wariness towards him any longer.  Throughout Aemond's life, he had lacked the unconditional love he'd longed for, ignored by his father, relentlessly teased by his brother and bastard nephews. The loss of his eye had only served to distance others from him further, and it was only the strength of his bond with Vhagar and the kindness of his gentle sister Helaena that prevented him from succumbing to his overwhelming feelings of loneliness. He could not understand how Y/N, who seemed to be made of pure light, could be drawn to him in spite of the darkness that festered within his heart. But he was everyday grateful she had chosen to love him and he admired her bravery to push through her trepidation and show him as much. This only emboldened him all the more in his own expressions of his love for her.

Y/N was lost in thought as she passed along the halls of the Red Keep. She often found herself so, thinking of Aemond when she was not with him and pondering on her own apprehension to marry the man she loved. She knew that Aemond would have married her the instant she'd agreed to be his wife. He'd told her as much. Yet she could not fully suppress her fears over the judgements of others, the potential opposition they would face for such an unorthodox match. Though, day by day she found herself growing less concerned by these possibilities, moved by the extent of Aemond's love for her and patience to wait until she was ready. With her mind thus preoccupied, she was thoroughly startled when a hand encircled her wrist and tugged her into a sequestered passageway, letting out an audible shriek. The momentum caused her to fall forward into whoever had accosted her. Arms wrapped around her, hands splaying out to cover her waist...Aemond's hands, she realised as she looked up to see him grinning at her playfully.

Before she could scold him for scaring her, he crashed his lips against hers. Y/N's hands flew up to grip Aemond's shoulders as he slowly shifted them backwards until she felt the cool stone of the Keep's walls pressing against her back. Aemond brought a hand up to rest against her cheek, tilting her head up to his to deepen the kiss. Y/N broke away from him a few moments later, shoving lightly against his chest, out of breath. She was sure she didn't strike a particularly intimidating figure, panting for breath, her hair mussed and cheeks surely ablaze. But she tried to fix the Prince with a stern look nonetheless, lightly swatting at his chest. "Aemond, you scared me half to death."

Aemond only smiled wider and grabbed her hand before she could retract it, placing a gentle kiss upon her knuckles before lowering his head to brush his lips against her jaw, his breath tickling her skin as he spoke. "Are you very angry, my love?"  Y/N found herself unable to reply at all as he slowly planted kisses along her jaw, her cheek and finally her forehead. He paused briefly to hum at her questioningly, having received no response. When Y/N only gripped his tunic to pull him closer, he recaptured her lips with his. She reached up with her free hand to entangle her fingers in his hair, feeling him smile against her lips as she did so.

It was Aemond who pulled away then, resting his forehead against hers. "I earnestly apologise for scaring you my love. I missed you and it could not be helped." Y/N ran her fingers through the lengths of his soft white hair.  "You are forgiven." Aemond smiled at her and went to kiss her again but she quickly turned her face from him, laughing at his boyish eagerness. "Aemond, I have my duties to attend to and I am certain you have your own. You are Prince Aemond Targaryen of the Seven Kingdoms, you cannot spend all your time with me."

Her tone was jesting but she laid a particular emphasis on his title. She did not wish to distract him from his duties as a Prince of the realm.  Aemond shot her a smile so dazzling she felt her heart stutter, before tilting his head down to meet her eyes and speaking so softly it was almost a whisper. "I am your Aemond." Y/N gulped, her hand subconsciously tightening its hold on Aemond's tunic. Seemingly pleased with himself at having once again left her speechless, he pulled back. "But if you insist, I will accede to your wishes and withdraw." Y/N shook herself from the dazed state she too oft found herself in around the Prince, taking embarrassingly deep breaths to calm the uneven fluttering of her heart.

But she grew suspicious when Aemond remained planted to the spot, a strangely knowing smirk upon his features. "Aemond, I promise to see you later. But we must go our separate ways for now." Aemond's eyebrows glinted mischievously, in complete contrast to the seriousness of her tone.  "In order to do that you would have to let me go, little one." Y/N's eyes widened with alarm as she looked down to find herself still clutching onto Aemond's tunic, abruptly releasing her hold. Aemond laughed before affectionately tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "It is alright my darling, I did not wish to let you go either." The rogue did not wait for her response before turning to walk briskly away from her and out of the passageway.

Y/N's heart leapt in her chest as she watched an ornate vase emblazoned with the Targaryen House sigil shatter on the stone floor of Aemond's chambers. She'd knocked it off a side table by accident whilst she'd been making her survey of the room for the evening, and as she cleared up the mess she was racked with nerves at the prospect of telling Aemond, not knowing if the vase was valuable to him in anyway and if he would be angry with her for her carelessness. In her guilt she took him by surprise as he returned to his chambers for the night, all but barrelling into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and hiding her face in his chest.

Aemond had immediately brought his own arms up to wrap around her and return her embrace, letting out a pleased laugh at her display of affection. "While it gladdens my heart that you are happy to see me, might I ask what fortuitous circumstance has prompted you to throw yourself at me?" He spoke low and teasing close to her ear. When his lovely handmaiden only tightened her grip on him in response to his jest he grew truly concerned.

Pulling back from her slightly so he could see her face, he was startled by her penitent expression. "Has something happened?"

Y/N looked up at him regretfully.

"Promise you won't be angry."

Aemond's face had fallen at her request. While he had kept his promise to never again raise his voice to her after he'd first done so and frightened her, the memory still pained him.

"I give you my word."

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath before rushing out "I broke the vase on your side table. It was done accidentally and I am sorry for it."

Aemond nearly laughed again with relief that it was such a small thing that concerned his lady, but did not wish her to think he was being cruel or laughing at her. He bent his torso slightly so he could look into her eyes. "Is that all? You can change anything to your liking or break it if you will, these will be your chambers too one day when you are my wife. I do not wish you to worry yourself about such an inconsequential matter."

Y/N was grateful that Aemond had not been angry, indeed he was not in the slightest bit perturbed at her clumsiness. But his allusions to their marriage and shared life together had her cheeks turning red with embarassment and she quickly returned her head to his chest to hide the fact. She'd felt his chuckle resound in his chest as he gently extricated her from him oncemore to hold her face. "Do not hide from me, my love. I will not rush you. We will marry when you are ready."

Y/N rushed from Helaena's room, brushing aggressively at the tears blurring her vision. She'd hoped to visit the Princess and return a book she'd borrowed, having grown to see her as a friend. But she was surprised to find her chambers empty save for Martin Reyne, one of Prince Aegon's retinue of friends. His lecherous smirk upon spotting her sent shivers down her spine, as she watched him mentally undress her.

"No need to leave on my account, I was just looking for Prince Aegon. Alas, he is not here."

Y/N bristled at his presumption to skulk about the Princess Helaena's chambers, only shooting him a furtive look before she turned to leave, not wishing to remain in his presence alone any longer. But he quickly closed the distance between them, grabbing her arm forcibly and pulling her further into the Princess's chambers. No sooner had his hands began to wander than the door was flung open by Ser Erryk Cargyll, who'd angrily shoved the Lord away from her. She had only just been able to whisper her thanks to the knight before falling apart and fleeing from the room. Y/N could hardly breathe through her attempts to stifle her sobs as she stumbled down the halls of the Keep, hoping she could avoid running into anyone. She needed to be find somewhere to calm herself and found herself headed in the direction of Aemond's chambers, where she felt safest, before she had even consciously made the decision to do so. He was never in his chambers at this time of the day so she did not expect to see him standing by his desk, back turned to her. She let out a startled gasp at which Aemond instantly turned to face her. Falling against the nearest wall for support, she placed a hand on her chest in an attempt to calm her frantic breathing and stop the flow of her tears, aware that both were causing her to feel faint and unsteady on her feet.

At the sight of her distress, Aemond ran to her side, lightly taking hold of her elbows to keep her steady as he looked over her rapidly for any signs of injury. Y/N couldn't speak, she could only fall against him and sob into his chest as his hands flew up to hold her against him. One hand stroking her hair, he tried to whisper words of comfort to her and hush her cries for long enough to ascertain the cause. "It is alright, you are safe. Can you tell me what happened?" When her breathing only became more erratic, Aemond swept her up into his arms, her own instantly finding purchase around his neck, and carried her over to his favoured arm chair before setting her on his lap.

In any other circumstance he would have been deliriously happy to be able to hold her this close, to have her nuzzle into his neck as she did now. But he had never seen her so upset, not even on the one occasion when they'd argued, and he felt his own heart race and dread seep into his very bones at what could have prompted such a response from his lady.

It was a long time before Y/N felt able to tell Aemond what had happened and she could not bring herself to meet his gaze as she did so. Aemond had to tilt his head to hear her voice muffled against his shoulder, stiffening and feeling rage rise up in him at every word. He did not interrupt her, only speaking once he was certain she had finished. Kissing the crown of her head, Aemond tried to contain his anger so as not to frighten her further, promising to himself that he would deal with the bastard who'd dared touch her later. But for now he knew Y/N needed him more. "No one will ever harm you again."

A short while later, Aemond stormed into the throne room, where Ser Erryk had informed him Aegon and his lickspittle friends would be. He heard their laughter before he saw them, and that only served to fuel his rage further. It did not take him long to pick out the object of his ire. Aegon had turned upon hearing his heavy tread "Ah, brother."

Ignoring his brother entirely, Aemond headed straight for his friend, his voice booming across the hall. "Reyne!" The Lord in question looked thoroughly alarmed at being addressed in such a manner by the one-eyed Prince, taking a cautious step back, his own voice wavering. "My Prince?"

Aemond roughly grabbed hold of the Lord's front. "Did you think your actions would go unpunished you craven bastard?"

Reyne's eyes widened with alarm as he took note of the dangerous glint in the Prince's eye and his venomous tone. "My Prince, I do not recall committing an infraction against you."

Aemond shoved Reyne against a nearby pillar, hearing a satisfying smack as the Lord's head resounded off it. Aegon swiftly stepped in to aid his friend.  "Come now brother, what is the meaning of this?"

"He assaulted my handmaiden in our sister's chambers" Aemond all but growled through gritted teeth. Realisation dawned on Reyne's face and Aemond narrowed his eyes, feeling the blood of the dragon heat within him as a light-hearted grin broke across the bastard's face. "All this over a girl? It was only a bit of fun, she didn't need to go getting upset over it." Aegon saw the danger before his foolish friend and made a grab for his brother, but Aemond was stronger and quicker, merely shoving his brother aside before punching Reyne in the face with enough force to break his nose. As blood began gushing from the Lord's nose and he unceremoniously fell to the ground clutching at his face in pain, Aemond grabbed him by the back of his neck, roughly dragging him from the hall. He dragged him all the way to the front entrance of the Keep before throwing him atop the stairwell, leaning down into the Lord's face, his voice low and dangerous. "If I catch you within the walls of The Red Keep again I will fucking kill you."

When Aemond returned to his chambers dusk had fallen and Y/N had yet to move from where he'd left her, curled up in his favoured chair. Seeing her look so fragile, her arms wrapped about herself, he wished he'd killed the blaggard after all and resolved to comfort her as best he could. Her head snapped up at the sound of his footsteps and she jumped up to greet him, her eyes gravitating towards his still bloody knuckles. He quickly moved to assuage the concern forming in her eyes. "The blood is not mine. Mostly. He will not touch you again." Y/N took his hand to place a tender kiss upon his grazed knuckles. "I am grateful, Aemond. Though I would not have you hurt yourself in defence of me."

Aemond was moved by the sweetness of  his beloved's temperament and her concern for his wellbeing. But he wanted her to see him as her protector, for he always would be. He levelled a charming smile at her. "Do you really think me so fragile and weak?"

Y/N's eyes widened. "Of course not Aemond, I did not mean that."

With the hopes of amusing her, and thereby distracting her from her current troubles, he feigned offence. Pulling away from her he paced to the other side of the room and sighed exaggeratedly. "Alas, my lady does not think me fit to protect her. I do not know that I can stand the shame."

"Aemond, I know you are powerful and perfectly capable of defending me. You are a formidable swordsman. That is not..." Y/N started to apologise but stopped mid sentence as she looked suspiciously at the upturn of his lips, realising he was just teasing her. "Aemond that isn't funny", she tried to look stern but struggled to repress her own smile at his antics. Aemond quirked an eyebrow up at her. "So my lady thinks me powerful, does she? Formidable even?"

Y/N blushed at her own words thrown back at her, stuttering out her response. "You know what I meant, Aemond. Don't be arrogant."

Aemond's smile broadened in response and he slowly began stalking back towards her. He had a playful gleam in his eye that had Y/N stepping backwards in response and moving around his desk, unsure of what game he was playing. "What are you doing, Aemond?"

Aemond halted on the other side of his desk. "It would appear I have to assure my lady of my capability to defend her."

Y/N's confusion at his words lasted only a moment before he darted around the desk, reaching for her, and she turned to run from him. It wasn't long before she found herself giggling as he chased her about the room. She knew he was only pretending, purposefully allowing her to escape his hold each time his fingers grazed her waist, but that only made her laugh harder. She'd not known Aemond had such a playful side to him.

Wishing to hold his lady, Aemond decided to end their game, pleased to have made Y/N laugh and to have distracted her for the moment. He caught up to her and swept her back into his arms, her back flush against his chest as he spun her about, picking up speed in accordance with her laughter. Placing her gently back down he cupped her face between his hands and looked at her seriously, wanting her to know he was in earnest now.

"I will always protect you, defend you with my life if I have to. You are my love and will be my wife one day, whenever you give the word."

Y/N smiled up at him with gratitude and love in her eyes. "Aemond, I think I am ready to be your wife now."

Aemond could not contain his joy at her words, feeling a weight lift from his chest. He had been willing to be patient for her, but each day Y/N continued to feel unsure of their marriage, of him, the deep seated insecurity that had haunted him since childhood had grown stronger.

"Truly, my love?"

"Truly." That was all he needed to hear before he captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

You were expecting Aemond fanfiction and instead you got an ode to Ewan Mitchell's hands. Whoops 🤭

@jjkysnk

@ieieibhibu8

@skymoonandstardust

@truly-abysmal

@idonotknowenglish

@leonesimp

@hyacinthesiss

@nanawaffles

@callsigncrushx

@bitchyfestivalbouquet

@void21

@sapphiresandferrari

@pinkykats-place

@superintenseart

@youknownothingjohnwatson

@iportes-22

@misspinkonmars

[sabersandsnipers]

A Stray on the Road

Author’s Note: I work with a lot of the pediatric population as a nurse, so I thought about what Halsin and Astarion’s reactions would be to me having to protect and take care of every kid I find lol

The day was grueling. The sticky sensation of blood covers every inch of your skin. Aches and pains rattle your bones, and the road seems endless as your group searches for a good place to set up camp. The only thought keeping you going is that of curling up between Astarion and Halsin later. 

“Gods, this is hell,” Karlach complains. 

Wyll responds with some snide comment, but you’re only half listening, because you’re approaching a rather violent scene. Wagons are tipped over, and bodies litter the road. You slow as you approach, noticing a small figure sitting by a pair of bodies. 

Your gaze sharpens, and you see it’s a young girl. No older than 5. Tears stream down her cheeks as she sits by a pair of dead bodies. Your heart sinks as you realize it’s probably her parents. 

“Hang back, guys,” you say. You fear the approach of such a large group will frighten her. Attempting to wipe the blood off your face, you walk up to the girl. 

Her clothes are tattered, and you notice she has a few cuts lining her arms and legs. You crouch next to her.

“Hey,” you say softly. 

Big beautiful brown eyes meet yours. Something twists in your chest. 

“What’s your name?” you ask.

She sniffles. “Eowyn.”

“Eowyn, do you have family nearby?”

She shakes her head. “No. And I don’t know where I am.” 

Her voice trembles, and your heart breaks for her. You look back to your companions. Most won’t mind her staying with them, except for Astarion, who will be annoyed by the young presence.Your friends look back at you expectantly, wondering what your next move is. 

“Would you like to stay with me and my friends for the night?” you ask her.

She looks to the group behind you, and you half expect her to run away in fear with how harsh they look. 

But her expression doesn’t change, she simply nods her head. 

“Do you think you can walk?” you ask her.

She shakes her head. 

You smile at her. “That’s okay. Halsin?”

The elf approaches. Eowyn stares up at him, eyes wide. 

“Is it alright if my friend carries you?” you ask her. 

She nods. “He’s so tall.” Her eyes are filled with wonder.

“He is,” you say with a chuckle. You look to Halsin and he nods. He reaches down and picks up the child, placing her on his shoulder. 

“Hold on, child,” he says. There’s a slight smile on her face, but then darkness fills her eyes again. 

Your group ventures forth once more. The sun is beginning to set, casting shadows along the road. But you can’t help but admire the beautiful colors streaking across the sky. 

Astarion falls into step beside you. “Picked up another stray, I see.”

You nudge your shoulder against him. “You were a stray once too.” 

He gives a half smile. “I’m just worried you’re going to burden yourself with her safety.”

You let out a sigh, knowing he wouldn’t like her presence. “She has no one, Astarion.” 

He doesn’t say anymore, but you can feel the tenseness between you two. Your relationship is still being navigated. But even with your difference in values, you couldn’t stop yourselves from being drawn to each other. 

A giggle pulls you from your thoughts. You look back to see Eowyn playing with Halsin’s braids. He’s grinning back at her, thoroughly enjoying her laughs. The sight sparks a warmth within you, and you can’t stop the smile from growing on your lips.

“Ugh.” Astarion comments. “Does he always have to be so…Halsin?” 

You shoot him a half hearted glare. Despite him being agreeable to Halsin joining your relationship, he always seems taken aback by his general goodness and willingness to help others. 

Your trek continues, Astarion allowing your hands to brush ever so slightly as you walk the dusty road. 

The fire crackles as Karlach throws more wood onto the flames. A warm stew has been shared amongst your group, Eowyn getting a healthy portion. Conversations scatter around, commenting on the latest tavern you stopped at, or how a fight went along the way. 

You sit on a log between Eowyn and Halsin, but Astarion sits over by his tent. He’s reading one of his books, sipping on some wine. 

Every time you glance to Eowyn, you notice her watching Astarion. Her gaze is curious, and she seems completely enthralled with him. Not that you can blame her. You’re completely enthralled as well. 

“He’s so beautiful,” she suddenly comments. You smile at her and then look at your love.

“Isn’t he?” you respond. “He’s awfully nice too, to the people he likes.”

“I saw you kissing earlier. Are you married?” she asks. 

You laugh. “No, but I do love him very much.”

Confusion crosses her face, as if she can’t comprehend how you can be in love but not married. She takes another bite of her stew. Her eyes flicker back to Astarion. 

A few minutes later she taps you on the shoulder. You turn away from your conversation with Halsin as she leans over to you. 

“Do you think he would read me a bedtime story?” she asks in a whisper. 

You grin, and glance at Astarion. Although he would most definitely deny her request, he can’t deny you. 

“Yes. You should go over and ask. Tell him I sent you.” 

Her expression brightens. She gets right up and makes her way over to Astarion, who doesn’t acknowledge her until she’s standing right in front of him. He finally looks up, his expression mildly annoyed. Eowyn talks for a few moments and then he shoots a glare in your direction. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to say no. He bites the inside of his lip. The seconds pass as you wait for his response. 

Finally, his body relaxes and he nods his head. Eowyn sits down on the cushion next to him, snuggling up right close to him. Although Astarion tenses a bit, he doesn’t push her away. You watch them for a bit, admiring how adorable they look together. 

A pair of hands find their way to your shoulders. 

A familiar voice whispers in your ear. “I’m going to bathe in the river. Would you like to join me?” Halsin asks. He places a hot kiss against your neck. 

“Halsin, the day I say no to that question, I want you to push me off a cliff, because clearly I’ve gone mad,” you respond. 

A breathy laugh caresses your skin. You give him your hand and the two of you make your way to the water. 

When you return from your excursion with Halsin, skin still tingling, you’re astounded by the sight before you. Astarion and Eowyn still sit together, except Eowyn is sound asleep in his lap. Astarion looks down at her, his hand resting lightly on her hair. You can’t read his expression. 

When you approach Astarion, you crouch down and place a kiss to his temple. He smiles at you, and it makes your heart flutter just like the first time. 

“I can have Halsin take her to my tent,” you offer, brushing back a strand of his white curls. 

He hesitates, looking down at Eowyn. “I think we’ll be okay. She looks so comfortable.” 

She’s curled right up, her head resting on his chest. Her face looks so serene after all the horrors she’s experienced today. 

“Okay. I’ll go spend the night with Halsin then. Just come get me if you need me,” you tell him. 

“I think we’ll be okay, darling,” he replies. 

You smile and kiss him goodnight. As you make your way to Halsin’s tent, you take one last look over your shoulder, and allow yourself a moment to admire the two of them. And it brings you great joy to know Astarion is finding just as much comfort as she is. 

[yayi-fuji]

“Rae, why does this coin look so unique compared to the other yen?”

“Oh! See how this one has a face instead of the number of value on it? It’s because this is American currency, this here is a quarter, worth 25 cents. They have George Washington’s portrait in them.”

“That- That’s George Washington!? The first president of the United States!?”

“Uh… yah? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I simply, uhm… envisioned him rather differently than… this.”

Based on Even in the Next One !!! This isn’t an actual scene inside the chapters, but it’s just so easy to imagine them with how lively they feel. Please go give it a read if you haven’t yet <3

To @jobrrr : AUUGHH I’M IN LOVE WITH YOUR FIC!!! It has been a few months since I last became this invested in one :’D It just feels SO real and there are so many thoughts in my head as a result; hopefully I overcome my shyness and drop a comment proper sometime soon. Thank you for your service.

ALSO @melpymoo ! HUGE thank you for reading this alongside me omfg this is crazy, never before has a hyperfix been revived this violently 😭 Ty for granting me the space to be totally normal about these 2, looking forward to the rest of your reactions ^^

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 6

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Wanda wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, then goes through emotional whiplash. Curtesy of a rich, sexy CEO.

content warnings: mentions of throwing up

word count: 4.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Warmth. The sounds of muted bird calls filter through Wanda’s brain, her eyes squeezing shut tightly as she registers golden light from behind her eyelids. She’s comfortable, wrapped in a thick blanket on a soft bed. She sighs, breathing in deeply and snuggling further into the silk pillow. 

Wait. 

Silk pillow?

Wanda’s eyes shoot open, blinking against the sunlight streaming in through the open window, a slight breeze ruffling the curtains. Sitting up, she feels her head spin from the abrupt change in position, and her head pounds from sharp pangs as she remembers the night before. 

Holy fuck. 

The memory of liquid fire streaming down her throat pulls Wanda’s face into a grimace. She can’t remember how many shots she took, but she can remember the feeling of it regurgitating out of her throat into the bushes while someone held her hair back. Someone with firm hands and soft hair and strong arms and bright… green… eyes…

Shaking her head, Wanda glances at the bedside table. A glass of orange juice waits, the condensation dripping down the glass. Two pale pink pills lay beside it, and Wanda gratefully swallows them, washing the Advil down with ice-cold orange juice. The rancid, bitter taste in her mouth disappears, and Wanda gratefully drinks more of the juice. 

It’s more than she probably deserves. Cringing internally, Wanda remembers how Ms. Romanoff had rubbed soothing circles on her back while she puked her guts into the bushes, and throws her head back into the pillow, the blanket falling off her shoulders at the action. She breathes deeply, realizing that she’s wearing unfamiliar clothes. 

She’s in her t-shirt, bra, and underwear. Her pants and socks are nowhere to be found. 

A violent flush spread across Wanda’s face, the heat starting from the tips of her ears and descending towards her chest. God, this was embarrassing. Not only had Ms. Romanoff witnessed her unfortunate reaction to too much alcohol, but she also had undressed her and tucked her into bed like some sort of… wayward child. 

There’s a knock at the door, and Wanda has just enough time to feel her heart drop to the pits of her stomach before Ms. Romanoff is strolling in. 

Of their own accord, Wanda’s eyes roam the figure of the woman before her. She’s dressed in a long-sleeve compression shirt and sweatpants, her hair braided neatly behind her. Her pants are hanging off of her hips, almost low enough that if she happened to stretch, Wanda would be able to see far more than she’d anticipated. 

Shaking her head from those thoughts, Wanda glances back at Ms. Romanoff’s face. 

Great, she’s smirking. Wanda would like to wipe that infernal smirk from her lips, and she’s in the middle of deciding whether she wants to punch or kiss the woman when Ms. Romanoff begins speaking. 

“Good morning, Wanda. How are you feeling?”

Her shirt is sweaty, a dark patch running from her collarbones and down her chest. Wanda can’t focus, the sight of Ms. Romanoff’s slightly damp skin sent her brain reeling. She wonders what type of workout the woman does, what her muscles look like when she’s lifting weights of what her form is while she’s running and-

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you?”

Wanda remembers the pounding in her head. She takes another large sip of her orange juice, watching as Ms. Romanoff smiles. The woman doesn’t even attempt to hide her amusement. It makes Wanda want to throw something. 

“How did I get here?”

Ms. Romanoff sits on the edge of the bed, her fingers splaying out on the comforter. She’s close enough that Wanda can smell her perfume, the cinnamon mixing with a subtle hint of sweat. Wanda takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, shooing away the inappropriate thoughts that linger at the edges of her mind. 

“I brought you here.”

Yeah, no shit. 

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to risk you throwing up in my car on the drive to your apartment. The hotel was closer.” Ms. Romanoff’s voice is low. Wanda feels her head spin. 

“Did you put me to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Did I throw up again?” Wanda’s voice is quiet, and she hates how meek she sounds. 

“No.” Ms. Romanoff’s face is impassive, her green eyes dark and locked on Wanda’s face. She fights the flush that attempts to rise. 

“Did you,” Wanda clears her throat, glancing down to where her fingers are gripping the edge of the comforter. “Did you undress me?”

“I did.”

“Did we?” Wanda can’t finish the question. 

Ms. Romanoff quirks an eyebrow, her face serious. 

“Wanda, you were unconscious. I would never take advantage of you like that. Somnophilia isn’t really my thing. I enjoy my woman receptive, conscious, and yearning for more.”

“Ah,” Wanda responds lamely, “Well, I’m sorry.”

Those lips quirk up again, “It was a very riveting evening. It won’t be easily forgotten.”

Wanda is about to agree, before she sees the sparkle in the woman’s eyes. Ah, she’s making fun of her. 

Fuming slightly, Wanda looks back down at the soft comforter she’s gripping between her fingers. Whatever, the woman can laugh all she wants. It’s not like Wanda had asked Ms. Romanoff to come and get her. She feels scolded, like an unrepentant child, and immediately resents the feeling. 

“You didn’t have to track me down like you’re some kind of spy with top-secret government equipment,” Wanda snaps, her voice frigid. Ms. Romanoff stares at her, those green eyes widened slightly, a wounded look appearing in them. 

“The technology that allows me to track cellphones is available over the internet, Ms. Maximoff. If I hadn’t come to get you, you’d probably be waking up in a very different room right now, with a photographer who doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no,” Ms. Romanoff responds, her voice raspy and eyes hard. She’s glaring at Wanda, her posture tense, and Wanda can’t help the vision of an angry raccoon as it flies through her mind. 

Biting her lip, Wanda smothers a chuckle. “How noble of you. What fantasy book did you fall out of?”

Those perfect eyebrows crinkle, and Ms. Romanoff seems unsure of how to respond. Blinking slowly, she processes the quick change of emotion, before her expression warms and her eyes soften. 

“If anything, I’m the misunderstood villain,” she says, her smile sharp. Then, she changes tactics. “Did you eat last night?”

Wanda shakes her head, admiring the way Ms. Romanoff clenches her jaw. She lets out a sharp breath, running a hand over her braid before beginning to take it out, her long fingers nimble. Wanda can’t take her eyes off of it, her imagination running wild.

“You need to eat, that’s why you’re feeling like this,” Ms. Romanoff waves a hand in Wanda’s general direction, and she can’t help but giggle at the statement. Those green eyes find hers again, a surprised look in them. 

“Are you just going to scold me all morning?”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes.” 

“Well,” Ms. Romanoff stands, moving towards the desk and grabbing a towel draped over the side of it. She turns towards Wanda, wrapping the towel around her neck and grabbing onto the sides of it, her posture tall. “You’re lucky I’m only scolding you.”

“I-” Wanda blinks, the barest hint of a smirk on Ms. Romanoff’s face. God, this woman is insufferable. “What do you mean?”

“If you were mine, you wouldn’t be so smug after the stupidity you displayed yesterday. You didn’t eat, got drunk and put yourself at risk. I hate to think what could have happened to you.” Her eyes are cold again, something that looks like fear flickering in them slightly. She walks towards Wanda, her steps slow and sure.

“I was with Kate, I would’ve been fine.”

“Mhmm,” Ms. Romanoff murmurs, leaning over the bed, her face dangerously close to Wanda’s. “And the photographer?”

“He just,” Wanda doesn’t know what to say. “He just got a bit out of hand.”

“The next time he gets out of hand, maybe I’ll teach him some manners.”

“You’re quite the disciplinarian,” Wanda says, her voice as acidic as venom. She’s frustrated with the turn in conversation. Honestly, she was having a fine morning, and now the woman had to bring Vision, of all people, into this?

“Oh sweetheart, you have no idea.” Ms. Romanoff’s smile is blinding, her eyes sharp. It's completely disarming, and Wanda finds herself wheeling from the whiplash. She can’t find any words, completely mesmerized by the rare smile Ms. Romanoff has graced her with. 

Also, the pet name? Fuck. 

“I’m going to shower, unless you’d like to go first?” Ms. Romanoff’s voice is sickly sweet, dripping with something Wanda can’t comprehend. It feels like every synapse she has in her brain is firing all at once, her breaths short as her heartbeat races. 

“Breathe, Wanda,” she whispers, reaching over to trail a single finger down Wanda’s face. It grazes her lips, sending electricity tumbling straight to her heart, before resting under her chin. “Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Standing, Ms. Romanoff gives her a look, a silent command of some sort. Wanda feels completely out of her depth. 

“You must be famished, having emptied your stomach last night so… ungracefully.” With that, she winks and closes the bathroom door. 

Wanda lets out a long breath, leaning back against the headboard as the water turns on. She’s never had this urge before, this… desire. All she wants to do is wrench open the bathroom door and get in the shower with Ms. Romanoff, or punch her straight in those beautiful lips. Wanda hasn’t decided which one she wants to do more, yet. 

‘If you were mine.’

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And why does Wanda’s heart race at the mere thought of it? 

Ms. Romanoff is confusing, Wanda decides. An anomaly sent into her life to destroy any semblance of peace she’s managed to scrape together. She’s sweet and alluring in one moment, then antagonizing and difficult the next. Who else sends a first edition of a book worth thousands, then tracks her all within 48 hours? 

Regardless, Wanda has never felt more safe than she does at this moment. In a hotel room, a penthouse, from the look of it. She feels protected, and a sliver of warmth nestles itself in her heart when she remembers that Ms. Romanoff came to rescue her. 

Then, she scoffs. Danger. As if Vision could ever truly be dangerous. The memory of his cologne seeps unbidden into her mind, the suffocating weight of his body pressed against hers as his alcohol-flavored breath hit her face capturing her thoughts. 

She feels like throwing up all over again. 

Scrambling out of bed, Wanda looks around wildly. She suddenly feels the need to escape to… run, far away from the situation she’s found herself in. She turns over the covers, her heart racing once more as she searches the room for her pants. 

The door opens, and Wanda whirls around. Ms. Romanoff seems just as surprised to see her out of bed, the towel wrapped neatly around her still-glistening body. Wanda can’t take her eyes off the woman’s bare shoulders, the muscles shining as she gently wrings her hair. 

“If you’re looking for your pants, I’ve sent them to be laundered.” Her eyes are dark, trailing over Wanda’s awkward form. “They were covered in your vomit.”

“Oh,” Wanda flushes. She doesn’t know how to respond. 

“I sent Nick out for another pair and some shoes. They’re in the box next to the desk.” 

She sent her driver out to shop for new clothes. Wanda will never live this down. Although, clean clothes aren't the worst thing in the world. 

“Well, um.” Wanda stutters, bending down to grab the box while Ms. Romanoff watches with intent eyes. “I’ll be in the shower then. Thanks.” She darts into the bathroom, locking the door behind her and letting out a shaky breath. How was she supposed to react when she was mere inches away from the perfect body of Natasha Romanoff?

Stepping into the shower, Wanda lets the hot water run over her face, washing away the night before. God, she can’t believe this is her life. She turns the water to a slightly cool temperature, willing her flush to disappear. 

She wants Natasha Romanoff. That much is clear to her. Everything else is… muddy. Doubts and insecurities creep into her mind, and Wanda washes them away as she lathers her hair with a coconut-scented shampoo. She can’t even read the name of the brand, and decides to not think about the price as she continues to shower. 

Opening the body wash, Wanda breathes in the scent. It smells just like Ms. Romanoff. She rubs it over her body, the suds gathering as she fantasizes that it's her rubbing this soap into her skin, across her chest and circling her nipples, over her stomach and down between the soft skin of her thighs with those strong, long-fingered hands. 

“Breakfast is here.” She knocks on the door, and Wanda drops the bottle. 

“Okay,” Her voice is strained, and she curses herself as she picks up the soap, rinsing the suds off. She takes a breath, ignoring the wetness between her thighs as she finishes her shower, washing all evidence of her erotic daydream away. 

Toweling herself dry, Wanda inspects the box of clothes. Not only is there a pair of new pants and Converse, but also a dark, forest green shirt with black panties and a bra. And fuck, they’re perfect. The design is soft, with a gentle lace design around the edges that has Wanda giggling at the thought of Ms. Romanoff’s driver standing in the middle of Victoria’s Secret picking out her undergarments. 

Slipping the clothes on, she marvels at the fact that everything fits perfectly before toweling her hair dry. She eyes the hair dryer, but decides to let it dry naturally instead. She’d rather not have crazy, blown-out hair in front of the most gorgeous woman on earth. Taking a deep breath, Wanda finds a sliver of courage and opens the bathroom door. 

The bedroom is empty, her footsteps quiet and muffled on the soft floor. She scans the room for her purse, not finding it. Pausing to steel herself, she walks into the living room area of the penthouse, her eyes widening at the sight of an actual dining table and multiple plush chairs. Everything is elaborate, and Wanda finds herself nervous to touch anything in the room, sure that even the silverware was more than her month’s rent. 

“Fuck, Kate,” Wanda mumbles. Ms. Romanoff looks up from where she’s seated on the couch, laying her newspaper on her lap. 

“She knows that you’re alive and here. I texted Yelena.” That damned smirk is back again. 

Oh, God. Wanda remembers the looks that her roommate was giving Yelena the night before. Kate had really put on the maximum amount of charm to seduce Ms. Romanoff’s sister, and Wanda sighs slightly. The last time Kate had picked someone up from the bar, Wanda was seated on the couch watching sad movies and eating ice cream out of solidarity while she lamented. She just hopes that Yelena shows the same respect that her sister has.

“Sit,” Natasha says, gesturing towards the table. She stands, uncovering the multitudes of platters adorning the table. 

“I didn’t know what you would like, so I ordered a bit of everything.” Her smile is small, her eyebrows crinkled slightly. Wanda finds it cute.

“Thank you.”

A pleasant silence fills the room for a moment, each of them eating their respective breakfasts. Natasha finishes first, having scarfed down some bacon and eggs. She reaches for the sausages as Wanda slowly cuts up her pancakes before lathering them in butter. 

“That color suits you.”

Wanda blushes, her knife clattering against her plate. 

“You should learn how to take a compliment,” Natasha says, her tone kind. Those green eyes watch her, and Wanda finishes her bite before speaking. Her fingers shake slightly around her cutlery, and Natasha glances down at them. 

“I should give you some money for the clothes,” Wanda mutters, noticing the way Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up. “I can’t accept your book either, as nice as it is. Please, let me pay you back.”

“Wanda,” Natasha’s voice is barely a whisper, and she stops her rambling. “I can afford it.”

“That’s not,” Wanda lets out a breath. “That’s not the point, I mean- why should you buy these nice things for me?”

“Because I can and because I want to.”

“That doesn’t mean you should.” Wanda’s voice is equally as quiet. Natasha simply raises an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling. 

Sitting back in her seat, Natasha watches her for a moment. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“I- what?”

“I believe I asked you a question, Wanda.”

Flushing, she sets her fork down. The topic change has her mind reeling, so Wanda simply chooses to observe the woman across from her for a moment instead. It doesn’t help to clear her mind, but she doesn’t really care. 

Natasha is seated casually, her arms resting on the arms of her chair. She looks regal, her head tilted slightly as those lips quirk at the corners. Her hair has almost dried, only the tips still slightly damp. Wanda has to urge to smell it, to see if she used the same heavenly-scented coconut shampoo. 

“I’m moving up to Seattle.”

“For?”

What’s with all the questions? Wanda hadn’t realized this was an interrogation. A sliver of annoyance creeps up in her mind, but she pushes it away in favor of admiring Natasha’s sharp jawline. 

“I’ve applied to a few internships, I’m still waiting to hear back from them.”

“Ah,” Ms. Romanoff nods, drumming her fingers against the table. “And did you apply for the one I recommended?”

Wanda can’t help but let out a sharp laugh at that. “No, I haven’t.”

“Is there something wrong with my company?”

“No, it’s not that. It just feels like cheating, somehow.” Wanda bites her lip, unsure of how else to answer the woman. Dark green eyes follow the movement and Natasha sits up in her chair slightly. 

“Don’t do that,” Natasha’s voice is hoarse and strained. Wanda’s eyes widen in realization.

Fuck, she wants to hear more of that. Wanda hasn’t seen the woman lose even a small bit of her composure, and yet here she is cracking over a small lip bite. It just makes her want to do it more. 

“What are you gonna do about it if I don’t?”

Those eyes flash, glancing up and meeting Wanda’s. A shiver runs down her spine at the heat behind them. Natasha’s voice is raspy and low, her words slow and sure. “I’ll bite it for you, only much… much harder.”

Wanda doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Before this progresses any further, we need to sit down and have a discussion about our interests and intentions.”

What? Wanda blinks, curiosity blooming. What a cryptic and definitely-not-confusing statement from Ms. blunt-is-my-middle-name. 

“When are you free this weekend?” 

After a moment of hesitation, Wanda’s curiosity wins. She wants to learn all of Natasha’s secrets, unraveling them one-by-one until she finally sees the truest form of the beautiful woman seated before her. This is the first step. 

“I’m free tonight.” 

“Perfect, we’ll fly up to Seattle then. My home is much more comfortable than this hotel room.” Ms. Romanoff’s tone is matter-of-fact, but Wanda is still stuck on one word. 

“Fly?”

“Yes.” There’s a smirk on those lips again, and Wanda finds that she doesn’t quite mind much anymore. “I have a helicopter.”

“We’re flying… by helicopter… to Seattle?”

“That’s what I said. I don’t like repeating myself.”

Wanda flushes, her jaw working slightly. “Why?”

“Because I can.” Natasha grins, and Wanda blinks. She feels like she’s in a daze, but lets out a quick breath. If she doesn’t think about it too much, maybe she can pretend like it’s completely normal for people to buy thousand dollar books and fly to the next city over. 

Fuck that. Natasha Romanoff is anything but normal, and Wanda is surprised at how easily the thought settles within her. She decides to change the subject. 

“Where did you sleep last night?”

If Natasha is surprised by the question, she doesn’t show it. “In the bed, on top of the covers.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, it was quite a different experience for me as well.” Her face is impassive, her fingers trailing down the side of her glass. 

“The not having sex part, or?”

“No,” she shakes her head, her brows furrowing slightly. “Sleeping with someone.”

Wanda blinks again, slowly eating her pancake as she mulls that over. Had Natasha truly never slept with another person in the room? But the woman was obviously not a virgin, not with the confidence in which she spoke about sex and… if Wanda was hers. 

A pleasant shiver runs down her spine, and Wanda resumes eating. She pushes her questions to the back of her mind, studying Natasha as she reads the newspaper. Allegedly, the woman would reveal her secrets tonight… her interests and intention, as the woman had so eloquently put it. 

Now all Wanda had to do was wait.

—

“Ready?”

Wanda nods, her body brushing against Natasha’s as she slips past her into the hallway. Peeking up at her through her lashes, Wanda bites her bottom lip gently as she suppresses a smile. 

A second date, that’s essentially what tonight will be. She genuinely can’t believe that she’s made it this far, with Natasha Romanoff of all people. Wanda glances over at the woman again, feeling the barest brush of fingers against her hip. It’s intoxicating, and she immediately wants more. 

The elevator dings, and they step in. The elevator is empty, and for some reason, most likely the close proximity in an enclosed space, the energy between them changes. Wanda breathes in slowly, filling her lungs with that addictive cinnamon scent as a charged sort of anticipation fills the space. 

The only thing Wanda can hear is her own heart pounding in her head, the pressure of Natasha’s shoulder against hers sending her senses into overdrive. Wanda turns her head slightly, and sees the other woman do the same. Dark green eyes meet hers, something heady and wanting behind them. The air crackles with tension, and Wanda gently, slowly, bites down on her lip. 

“Fuck,” Natasha growls. In one smooth movement, she presses Wanda against the wall of the elevator. Before Wanda can even process, her hands are being held above her head by Natasha’s strong fingers while the woman’s other hand is gently gripping the back of her head. Her hips are pinning her against the wall, and her fingers tangle with her hair before pulling. 

Wanda’s face tilts up at the action, a gasp escaping her for a moment before Natasha’s lips are pressed against hers. She moans into the older woman’s mouth, not caring if the sound is desperate, and feels a strong tongue moving against her own. 

Natasha’s lips are insistent, practically devouring her with gentle swipes of her tongue and harsh bites to her bottom lip. Wanda has never been kissed like this, so passionately and thorough. 

Pressing her hips against Natasha’s, she smiles into the kiss at the strangled sound that claws its way out of the other woman's throat. Her tongue finally starts to work, tentatively stroking Natasha’s and dancing with hers as another moan escapes her. 

The hand in her hair moves to grasp her chin, holding her in place. Wanda feels helpless, and moans deeper at the thought. God, she has never felt so comfortable or dominated, with her hands pinned and her hips restrained by another woman’s. 

“So. Fucking. Good.” Natasha rasps out, each word accentuated by her lips against Wanda’s. She never wants it to stop. 

The elevator dings. The doors open, and Wanda is suddenly pushed away, the air feeling much colder than it was mere seconds ago. She brings a hand up to cover her swollen lips, and avoids the three smirking businessmen as they enter the elevator. 

Glancing towards Natasha, she glowers. The older woman looks cool and collected, like she’s been sipping tea and doing a boring sudoku puzzle all morning instead of kissing Wanda within an inch of her life. There’s a light flush on her cheeks, and she lets out a slow, long breath. 

Wanda smirks. Not totally unaffected, then. 

The elevator dings again, and the three men get out. The doors take an agonizingly long time to close, and Wanda sucks in a deep breath the moment they do. Natasha turns towards her, eyes bright and her lips sculpted into a salacious smirk.

“Oh, Wanda Maximoff, what am I going to do with you?”

Next Chapter

---

Dm or comment to be added!

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato @justarandomreaderxoxo @godhatesgoodgirls @snowdrop1026 @maximoffmorale @noturlondonboy @wandaspuppy @xenaizogie @imjustvibingsworld @tobiaslut @subby-lesbian @xenaizogie @sxlfishbrokenheart @huggingkoalas @deliriosinrose

[meanbossart]

What is it about Astarion that DU Drow fell for? Which traits/habits/quirks/whatever were the ones that he first noticed/piqued his interest?

Oh boy, I mean, at first DU Drow didn't care for Astarion at all. He was extremely on edge around all of these people and Astarion's rather invasive strategy only put him off further - his insight checks may be awful, but he can still tell when someone is trying to suck up to him a little too hard. DU drow thought he was attractive, of course (see.: the narrator's comment about the quote-on-quote pretty corpse) but otherwise didn't think very much of, or very highly of him.

Once he got his confidence back, and after Astarion caught onto the fact that he needed to play hard to get to string him along, there would have been a little while where DU drow only saw him in the context of a trophy or conquest - but admittedly, he also thought Astarion was funny, and he thought he was smart - even someone as dense as him could see that the guy had read him perfectly, and proceeded to adapt as necessary to get what he wanted out of him - and DU drow fell right into it, willingly so. There would have been some mutual respect there between them from understanding each other's games.

Their ritual of letting Astarion bite him definitely planted a little seed of something too. I've talked about it plenty of times so I won't dwell on it, but DU drow enjoys the intimacy implied in allowing someone to hurt him. This was far from an emotional turning point in the relationship, but it did prompt him to start seeing Astarion differently (not better or worse - just differently.)

(I'm a little drunk and went on and on, enjoy LOL)

Then, after one or two intimate encounters, the Urge would have started taking too much of a toll - violent lust turned into lustful violence, and hence DU drow didn't want to have sex anymore out of a fear of losing control during the act; yet, he had learned to trust Astarion by then and would seek out his comfort and companionship all the same. Faced with the situation where sex is no longer an option, I imagine Astarion would have been caught off guard and let the mask slip more often than usual. Pair that with the fact that DU Drow is a surprisingly affectionate (in private) but highly withdrawn person, left him in the role of leading their exchanges. Astarion, I think, would have felt the need to talk; if for no other reason but to fill the air whenever they were alone together. Eventually DU Drow would have started talking back.

These were long nights of just looking up at the sky and going through things that happened that day, what led them here, what the companions are doing, talking shit about whats-his-or-her-name, often just straight up gossip. Astarion eventually realized he could say whatever he damn pleased in front of DU Drow and nothing seemed to phase him, and vice-versa. DU drow enjoyed his bluntness, his earnest impulsivity that matched his own, he laughed at his jokes (as well as some things that weren't meant as jokes) he enjoyed his teasing and his reactions when he said something putrid in return, he liked the way he smelled when he was clean and he liked his stink when he was filthy, he watched him fidget with his own clothes and hair until Astarion gave him a weird look and aggressively asked what he was staring at. He enjoyed when Astarion got angry at something he said, because it felt very genuine - and he didn't use to think of him as a very genuine person.

Astarion was the first to notice something was wrong with him - so DU drow felt comfortable talking about it openly. On the other hand, DU drow never pressed Astarion about his past unprompted - instead just letting him talk about it if he so wished and without trying to milk it for more details when he did choose to do so. Because they spoke a similar language of violence and operated under the same hedonist-based beliefs, it was easy to talk to each other even when there was friction between them - similarly, they were both always willing to move past and quickly "forget" when someone said something truly hurtful.

I don't know if there was a key moment where he realized this had turned into love; that was probably a word DU Drow dropped quite unabashedly sometime after they got to Baldur's Gate, and before they faced-off with Cazador (to no reciprocation or acknowledgment then, not that he minded). But sometime during act 3, DU drow simply assumed that after this was all over they would still stick together.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Kinktober Day 26: Overstimulation- Ivar Ragnarsson

Summary: Ivar shows his new wife just how much pleasure a cripple can give her

Word count: 2, 002

Many people would think that being wed to a prince would be a blessing, especially if he was a brave warrior as well, but those people did not have to marry Prince Ivar. Your mother had assured you that he couldn’t be too bad, but you had heard differently. The many awful stories from many people ran through your mind when you had to walk up that aisle.

Now you sat beside him at the celebration of your arranged marriage and he had still not spoken a word to you. He’d barely even glanced at you since you’d wed five hours earlier, even the kiss he had to give you was barely a peck. Although it was disappointing to have such an inattentive husband, from what you heard it was better than the wrath he could inflict on you.

Despite Ivar’s actions you still managed to have a good evening thus far, his three elder brothers being a lot more charismatic and funny than your new husband. Your previous anxieties were beginning to dull as Hvitserk and Ubbe continued to make you laugh with tales of their childhood and adventures.

While the alcohol seemed to make you feel more excited and Hvitserk and Ubbe to be more funny, it seemed to have the opposite affect on the youngest of the three, Sigurd. The more he drank the more passing comments and glares at Ivar he seemed to dish out. The other two brothers did a good job of distracting you to not notice, but the elder brothers, and unfortunately Ivar, definitely did notice.

So far others had managed to distract Ivar enough that he didn’t react as violently as Sigurd had hoped, that was until a certain comment seemed to cut just a little too deep.

“You know, Y/N, if you ever notice that Ivar is lacking as a husband, I’m more than happy to keep your bed warm in the evening. I mean hahaha I am sorry to say but he is a cripple with a cock that doesn’t work!” He loudly laughed, unknowingly embarrassing himself as he was the only one laughing.

The room stood still, most people in the large hall having heard the suggestive comment.

At hearing such a crass comment you couldn’t help but choke on your wine. It was the forwardness of such a suggestion that caused you to cough out your wine, but unfortunately Ivar thought you were laughing.

“This is my wedding, Sigurd! Y/N is my wife!” His intimidating voice boomed at his brother, startling you slightly.

“Ivar, careful.” Ubbe gently warned as all eyes landed on your table.

With dangerous eyes, Ivar snarled at both you and Sigurd before angrily hobbling away on his crutch.

Even though Ivar was apparently a brute and hot-headed, he was still your husband and you believed his reaction was warranted.

“Wait! Ivar!” You found yourself calling after him as you ran to catch up with the surprisingly fast Viking.

Ivar made you follow him all the way to your shared bedroom, his steps fast and full of understandable rage. If you hadn’t been quick enough to catch the door with your palm, it would have slammed right in your face.

Stepping into the spacious room you make tentative steps towards your rage-filled husband.

“Ivar?…” you quietly call to him.

His head quickly whips around to you, a rage-filled look etched onto his face. Before you could even attempt to calm him, he had you pinned to the door, his strong forearm digging into your chest.

“You are my wife and you laugh with my brother about me.” He angrily growled at you.

“Ivar- I-I…” You began, before his strong hand around your throat stopped you in your tracks.

Seeing your startled reaction to his anger seemed to switch something in Ivar. Though he was infamous for his rage and his bloodthirsty reputation on the battle field, you were his wife and though many saw him as a brute, he didn’t want you to despise him. Ivar had worried what you’d think of him or that he’d ruin his chance at this relationship working out, that’s why he’d been so distant.

His breathing seemed to calm, his breaths coming out in slow huffs through his nose. Though his grip on you loosened and his breathing slowed, he still had a dangerous look in his eye.

His eyes never leave yours as his hand around your throat descends. The light touches across your chest and abdomen surprise you, there was fire in his eyes but grace in his touch. As his hand makes its way to your hip, he grasps it tightly in a strong hold. Though his hold was strong, it was not violent, it was filled more with passion then pure anger.

“What my brother says about me is true, my cock does not work. Though I can not bare you a child, I can however still bring you pleasure and consummate this marriage.” He confidently declares to you.

His gaze was so intense and his voice so powerful, you had not noticed that both of his hands had moved to the neckline of your dress. It wasn’t until you heard a loud ripping sound and you were pulled slightly away from the door that you noticed where his hands had moved to. Your eyes widened and your body shuddered, but whether it was from the strength your new husband had just shown or from the sudden warmth of the fire on your exposed skin, you couldn’t be sure.

Taking his eyes away from yours, they traveled down to your now exposed breasts. His strong calloused hands began holding and squeezing them, looking upon you with marvel.

“You are a beautiful woman, and you deserve someone who can provide you with the pleasure you deserve. Let me show you how much pleasure I can provide.” He tells you, his eyes once again landing back on yours, his gaze softer now.

One of his hands leaves your breast, making its way to cup your cheek lovingly. You lean into his soft touch as he brings his face closer to yours. His lips press against yours in a kiss that is both gentle and passionate. Your tongues do not meet, but he seems to have no problem showing his passion and causing your core to flutter in excitement.

“Take off your dress and lay on the bed for me, my beautiful wife. I will show you just how much pleasure a cripple can give you.” He tells you, his forehead resting against yours as dominance returns to his voice.

Intrigue filled your body and mind as you quickly pushed off the door, the eager way you rush to remove your clothes causing your new husband to chuckle. His eyes never leave your body as new skin is exposed to him.

Finally laying on the soft furs of the large bed, you find your breathing getting heavier just from watching Ivar make his way over to you. Though he walks with support from a crutch, there is still dominance and power in every step.

Finding his place on the edge of the bed, his fingers lightly trace from your ankle to your inner thigh, goosebumps following the path of his light touch. His passion filled eyes meet yours again as his fingers inch closer to your core. Your legs instinctively bend and spread at his touch.

Taking his other hand, his strength surprises you once again as it wraps around your thigh and drags you closer to his seated spot. Your surprised yelp quickly becomes a moan as his fingers make contact with your warm wet core. He has barely touched you and already your body is alight. Dragging his fingers up and down the length of your pussy, his eyes marvel at the way your body responds.

“You’re so beautiful and you’re all mine.” He speaks softly, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

“All yours, Ivar.” Your soft voice speaks up, causing his head to shoot up, like you’re a dream he’s just realised is real.

His eyes become slightly dangerous again as his strong fingers begin to push into and circle your sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your head pushes back into the soft bed and the sweet moan that escapes your lips, drives Ivar wild. He craves to hear more of your sounds as he positions his body to be between yours legs.

Leaning down he begins to bite and kiss your already quaking thighs, desperately trying to pull more of those sounds from your gorgeous lips.

The feel of his fingers on your clit mixed with the hot kisses he leaves all over your sensitive skin is quickly pushing you to your release. You can feel your core tightening, desperate to come undone.

“Oooh-Ooohh! Ivar, I’m gonna cum!” You call out, your nails digging into his strong forearm.

“Mhmmm. Do it, my love. Scream my name and let everyone hear who makes you feel so good.” He demands, the force and speed on your clit growing more intense.

“Oh fuck! Ivaaarrr!” You scream out in pleasure as your head shoots back in pleasure and your nails dig into his skin harder.

As you lay there catching your breath, you barely register your husband manoeuvring your body to lay against his against the headboard, until you feel his fingers on your sensitive clit.

“Ooohh Ivar! It’s too much!” You pathetically cry out.

His strong arm wraps itself around your centre, holding your squirming body still. You attempt to escape the intense pleasure by closing your legs, causing Ivar to growl and bite at your neck.

“Do not deny me your sweet sounds, my darling wife. I wish to draw as much pleasure out of you tonight as your body is able to take. Be good and keep your gorgeous legs open for me.” He growls lowly in your ear.

Though the overstimulation begins to hurt slightly, you can not deny such a command.

Your next orgasm approaches embarrassingly quickly as you loudly shout Ivars names once again, your head slamming back onto his chest. Ivar chuckles delightedly at your state of overstimulated pleasure.

Once again giving you no time to come down from your orgasm, Ivar deftly thrusts two fingers into your wet pulsing pussy.

“Oh fuck!” You shout out in surprise at the intrusion.

Wasting no time, his fingers begin to curl and thrust into you as his arm holding your middle moves slightly to rub your clit. The combined pleasure of Ivars skilful fingers hitting the sweet spot inside you and rubbing deliciously on your clit is too much for your body to handle, and once again your body thrashes and scream out in overstimulated ecstasy.

“No more, Ivar, no more.” You weakly beg him, your mind feeling fuzzy and your body heavy at the way he’s now made you cum three times.

“Just one more for me, my gorgeous princess. I know you can give me one more.” He almost begs you, sweetly kissing the side of your face as his hand strokes along your inner thigh.

“Just one more.” You weakly nod to him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He excitedly chants as he kisses your cheeks and his fingers return to your clit.

The light chuckle that his sweet kisses cause are quickly cut off by a loud moan of pleasure. This being the fourth time of the night you will cum, your body takes barely twenty seconds before it is thrown into a feeling of blinding ecstasy once more.

The pleasured scream that leaves your body is animalistic as your body goes completely limp against Ivar. Breathing heavily, your eyes begin to close as you feel sleep taking over you.

“You did so well, my love.” He gently coos as he positions you under the soft furs.

His strong arms wrap around you and you feel a sweet kiss on your forehead before you fall into a blissful sleep.

[manicpixiefelix]

all this, and love too (will ruin us)

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: The night of Oliver's party and both yours and Felix's moods are ruined upon finding out Oliver had been lying to you both for your entire friendship. While sticking with Felix all night to make sure he doesn't maim Oliver, Felix realises he doesn't like sharing you anymore. You're more than okay with this, but Oliver doesn't seem to be okay with sharing Felix, even if he has no say anymore. Canon tries to happen, but you get there first, so you kill the problem at it's source.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: MAZE SCENE; death, murder, violence, nongraphic smut, dominant felix, bathroom blowjob, oliver's birthday party situation, oliver being incredibly manipulative, reader being incredibly manipulative back at him, heavy drinking and drug use, You VIOLENTLY Murder Oliver Quick In The Maze.

A/N: 6074 words. oh god these oneshots are only getting longer and longer. whoops. but also PLEASE heed the warnings. this is the Reader Kills Oliver oneshot (first of two) that i was talking about. not sure how i feel about it. its very unedited.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

On the drive back from his parents' house, Oliver sits in the back. Like a scolded child he keeps his gaze low and voice even lower. None of you speak the entire drive back; you try and focus on the wind in your hair and the hum of the car and not how your stomach is turning. In your mind you see the connections as they light up, small things you'd missed, things that are starting to make a lot more sense.

You wonder what other lies you could have gotten ahead of if Oliver hadn't been so nervous about you going through his file at Oxford.

Every single thing about him was designed specifically to be appealing, to you, of course, but more importantly to Felix. It was meant to be you who knew it all, could see the full board and all the pieces the people around you moved; it was meant to be you who could plan well enough and see far enough out to keep Felix out of situations exactly like this.

Felix is curt and swift the moment he's out of the car, trying to escape Oliver who rushes after him, his desperation echoing through the halls. You're several steps behind Oliver, silent, watching the exchange, watching Oliver cling to an ever-dwindling hope for even friendship, as Felix calls out the weirdness of his ongoing lies, tearing that hope asunder.

"I just wanted to be your friend," is all Oliver can say when pressed about his lies. It's genuine, it breaks your heart, but it doesn't make it better. For a moment, you see conflict as it flashes across Felix's face, but he clearly can't do this right now, needing at least the night, but promising not to tell his family.

As you go to leave, go to follow him, Oliver catches your sleeve, holds it too tight for just a moment -

"I thought you knew," his voice wobbles, but there's something like alarm bells in the back of your mind. Everything about Oliver is purposeful, even now. But you know him, you know how he likes to play.

"No you didn't," you look at his fingers still coiled in your sweater, watch him drop them, "you knew I trusted you." You wouldn't let him shift this blame; the faint dismay you can see in his eyes behind the hurt gives him away. He knew Felix had more emotions than sense, but somewhere along the way he seemed to have forgotten that you were so much more than another adoring fan in Felix's shadow.

"'m sorry," stumbles from his mouth almost like a reaction to the look in your eyes, "for hurting Felix with all this, I- I never wanted that," he shakes his head, dropping his gaze, "or hurt you," tacked on as an afterthought. Both of you know where he was placing the importance of that apology. Everything Oliver Quick does is with purpose.

"I know you are, Oliver," you tell him, standing tall and unflinching as you left him alone.

"If you leave my side tonight I'm going to maim him," is how Felix greets you when you enter your room. Sitting on his bed, you see a little, ornate box open in front of him, and you recognise it as one of the few stashes he had around the estate for desperate times. This one, if you recall correctly, was shoved well beneath Henry the Eighth's bed, and had a decent amount of coke that you'd left here after last Christmas.

"Can't fucking believe- I can't fucking believe him!" He rants, cutting up lines of coke on the little hand mirror Venetia had donated to this particular stash box. Mind working a million miles a minute, you're quiet, letting him rant. Running on autopilot, you begin to strip down to your underwear, pulling out your costume for the night, frowning at it in the afternoon light.

"How complicated is your costume?" Felix asks, finally looking up, gazing over at you and the sheer, shimmering thing in your hands. Without a word, but with a vague shrug, you turn it to him.

The base was like something you'd see at a rave, little more than green underwear, with straps, and beading, and jewels, and loops of green and purple pearls by your hips that would bounce while you walked. The overcoat, though it was far to generous to call it that, was pure gossamer, sheer and green, with hand-stitched silk leaves making up the hem that fell perfectly to your ankles, and intricate, hand embroidery of vines that extended across both shoulders, and both arms, ending with little, purple flowers embroidered by your wrists.

There's large, brown boots with a bit of a hell and some large buckles, and a belt that's half a skirt that hit just below your knee to give you some coverage, at least on your left, sewn to look like it was covered in leaves. Plus a leather thigh harness and flask that Farleigh had gotten you made for your last birthday.

Leaning back, Felix reaches out to feel the gossamer between his fingers, frowning for a beat.

"Don't be precious about it."

For a moment, you frown in confusion. Despite your entire outfit being exquisitely and perfectly tailored, you knew you could afford to not be precious about pretty much anything, even this. But that's never been an outright request he's made.

"I'm not?"

Quiet follows, the soft rustle of your garments as you begin to get dressed, and Felix quickly snorting a line of coke.

"I'm going to lose my fucking mind tonight," he mumbles. Even though you're half dressed, you still lean over his shoulder automatically as he lifts the mirror and the rolled bill up to you like an offering, holding the mirror steady for you.

"I need a drink," you groaned, to which Felix immediately agreed.

"God, why don't we stash anything in here?" He lamented, laying back and watching you head to the door once more while you're trying to do up your belt to hold up your partial leaf skirt, still without your overcoat.

"Because that's tacky and we're not alcoholics." Even with your explanation, Felix pouted. Still, it's a quick trip to the Blue Room and the bottle of rum you're glad Venetia hadn't found in the broken piano.

The night gets blurrier, gets better, with half a bottle of liquor in your veins before the sun even sets. As you're making yourself dreamy and ethereal with glitter and gems and makeup in the mirror, Felix drapes himself over your shoulders, pouting again. The drinks and drugs are already hitting you both and you can hear the revelry beginning outside.

"It's not going to last," he says pointedly, and you're confused until you see him trying to poke at the iridescent eyeliner that wasn't quite dry. Rolling your eyes, you smack his hand away. So he makes his point again, adding, "I'm going to get glitter all over me."

You smirked at him in the mirror, tipping your head against his.

"Don't be precious about it."

A spirit amongst the fairies, you greet your college friends with open arms and boundless enthusiasm, always keeping Felix close at hand. He was more subdued than you, more subdued than many of your friends were used to. Whenever you looked at him, it seemed like his gaze was searching, his expression drawn unless someone had caught his attention, and he wore a smile that seemed to convince them.

"Need a drink," his hand around your wrist and no time to protest, Felix dictated your night and it's pace. Frustration and apprehension keep him tense, even as he tries to loosen up; you feel every time that tension spikes, even if you don't know it's cause. His nails dig into you, wherever he's holding you, shoulder, thigh, arm -

In the bathroom, doing lines with India and some guys who claim to be friends of friends of the Cattons, you're leaning against the sink until you Felix nudge your knee with his own. Looking to the door, you see Oliver in white, taking up it's space. Felix only has to gently tap your thigh for you to shift, sitting in his lap.

"You can't ignore me forever," Oliver tells him, watching you both, watching the way Felix wraps an arm around your middle to hold you close and secure on him.

"I can try," Felix practically sings, his nails sinking into your stomach. With his free hand, he offers you his cigarette, raising it to your lips. You drop your gaze as you inhale, trying to only focus on keeping Felix secure in this moment.

"Felix we need to talk," Oliver insists, "Felix, come on man -"

"Look, man, I tried to be nice -" Felix started, and though you tried to gently warn him, pressing against him with Fi on your lips like you hope he won't say something he'll regret, he just holds you tighter and continues on, "but can you fuck off and bother somebody else?"

India half snorts with laughter in the middle of a line of coke, the others all judging Oliver the longer he lingers in the doorway, but Felix drops his gaze. His lips are on your shoulder to keep from saying anything else.

One of guys whose names you don't know asks who Oliver even was, but Felix can't answer; tension again, maybe anxiety or frustration, but his mouth moves from the gossamer and embroidery on your shoulder to your bare skin above the neckline, where your collar meets your throat. His teeth sting. His nails still sting. He swears under his breath before he lets go.

"Sorry," he mumbles finally, sighing and resting his forehead on your shoulder. You tell him it's okay, voice fond, but when you lean over to do another line of coke, you meet India's reproachful gaze. It takes you a long few seconds to connect the dots, to realise what was going on in her head. You're so fucking over everything tonight.

"You know Farleigh was lying to you about us, right?" You say casually, taking your line and sitting back up. Her eyebrows rise in surprise, "I know you think we're all gross and cousin-incest-y -" you hear Felix's faint laughter behind you, and feel him nudge you with his thigh, silently asking you to get up. Both of you do, and Felix manages his first proper smile of the night, even if it is smug.

"But we're not related," he tells her, "thank fucking god," and smacks your ass as the two of you exit, as if to just prove a point.

You're on your knees in a different bathroom when you hear everyone else start to sing happy birthday, but Felix's voice is a low growl of don't you dare stop, and his hands in your hair. Nothing else matters to you in this state of mind, blurry, pliant, desperate to follow his every command. It's as if you've forgotten what exists outside of Felix's hands on you.

The night becomes lights that are too bright, and music too loud, and laughter and glitter and the warmth of the people dancing around you. After a few hours you feel yourself starting to come down from your high, starting to come back to yourself, still on the dance floor. Venetia's dancing with a blonde boy, looking so pretty, like she's having a genuinely fun night, but when you point it out, Felix takes your hand.

"Don't look at Ven," there's that hunger in his eyes, that firm tone he'd been using all night, "don't touch Ven, don't -" he cuts himself off, wets his lips. Looking around for a moment, he spots something in the crowd that makes him scowl. Just a moment, as you follow his gaze, you see Oliver. The moment your eyes lock with his, however, Felix has his lips on your jaw.

"Fucking mine."

There's half a second where you and Oliver are still locked in this moment, you watch the way his expression starts to shift, jaw tensing, something like anger flickering in his eyes. But you can't bring yourself to give a shit about Oliver as Felix has his arms around you, kissing down your throat with a feverish, almost lewd intensity in the middle of the dancefloor.

"Prove it," and you let him drag you from the house, heading towards the place that had always felt a little special for you both, almost a little magical.

"I'm being selfish," Felix announced as you finally hit the tree line just before the maze, "I don't fucking care anymore, I'm being selfish, about you -!" He turns to look at you, only to see you gazing up at him with starry-eyes, hanging on his every word. He breaks into a sheepish grin momentarily, shaking his head as his voice drops for a moment, "oh, you're fucking loving this, aren't you?"

"I want you so bad right now it's actually embarrassing," you agreed with a wide grin, unable to contain your laughter, despite how genuine the feeling was.

"I'm being selfish," he said once more, muttering it this time, though as you entered the maze and the moonlight peaked down upon you, you could see the blush still upon his cheeks, "I don't want anyone else to fucking touch you again, you hear me?" This time, when he looks at you, he thinks he can see hearts in your eyes; your overwhelming love and acceptance, even for this -especially for this- is making it very hard to keep the stern act up, except -

"Anything you say," you tell him, breathless as you approach the centre of the maze, voice edging on desperate, "anything at all." And you see it hits him just where it had needed to, to hear you wanting and wanton and offering yourself to him -

The gossamer overcoat is ruined, scratched all up the back where you're pinned against the statue, half sitting on the base with your legs around Felix's, your fancy green undergarments around one ankle. His nails scratch down the bare skin of your back, fucking into you with furious intent to match.

"You've always been mine," he groans into your ear.

"Felix -" you whimpered. Immediately he was grinning, lips inches from yours, gazing at you through his lashes.

"How's that proving anything?" He teases, low and knowing, and as his hips snap up to meet yours, you take the hint, his name getting louder and louder on your lips as you almost chant it, till his hand is between you both, helping get you off, and you're close and all but screaming his name and -

"Felix." Not from you. Oliver.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Felix immediately looks murderous, and not in a fun, sexy way. Oliver's demanding to talk to him while you struggle to pull your underwear back on.

"Could hear you out there," Oliver mumbles, half stumbling over his words, unable to look at you, focused on the dirt by your feet instead.

"Kind of the point, Ollie," you snapped, frustrated and now unsatisfied, but dressed once more.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Oliver?" Felix demanded. Oliver advances on him, presses into his space with desperate eyes and a bottle clutched to his chest. He doesn't look at you, he can't fucking look at you, you don't matter. It's Felix and his emotions who lead every situation the two of you share; it's Felix he has to win back over.

But he should have expected you not to leave, should have expected that when Felix pushed him away, shouted for him to get the fuck away, that you would try and step in.

"He's already got you on a leash, can I just have this one fucking moment?!" He snaps at you; he doesn't hit you but you recoil like he has, and Felix's gaze grows cold. Oliver seems to sense this before he even turns back, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I just- they already have everything -"

"Back off." Felix warns sharply, but Oliver can't help himself, won't listen.

"I just gave you what you wanted!" Oliver throws himself at Felix, pins him to the statue, their bodies flush and Oliver rambling, "like everyone else does! Everyone puts on a show for Felix..." his voice drops, childish and weak and wanting, and you watch him press himself closer as he turns gentle, "so I'm... I'm sorry if my performance wasn't good enough..."

"I think..." some part of it was working on Felix, his voice soft and placating, "I think you need to see somebody," or maybe he knows by now exactly how Oliver wants him to act; his eyes never leave Oliver's face, even when he doesn't let him go, "you need help okay, seriously -"

"No, no, I don't," Oliver's voice is rising again, "I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you," a tremble in his voice, sounding so raw, so needy, "you're the only friend I ever had, Felix." The manipulation is so blatant it almost hurts; you don't matter to him in this moment, all that matters is saying exactly whatever Felix needs to believe.

"I mean, doesn't this just prove how much of a good friend I actually am? How well I actually know you?" That hope, that dangerous, heartbreaking note of hope that's going to make your skin crawl. But you're not leaving without Felix, and he's not leaving this moment it seemed, "I'm still the same person, yeah? I'm still the same person," he insisted.

A long few moments pass, Felix's gaze searching Oliver's face for something beyond you. But then, finally, his gaze slips to you. All you can do is shake your head.

"Don't-" Oliver murmurs faintly, tipping his head to try and block you from Felix's line of sight, but Felix turns his attention back, expression helpless.

"I don't know what you are," he breathes, "but I do know you; you make my fucking blood run cold."

The fight drains out of Oliver, as does every last drop of hope. He lets Felix push his hands away, makes himself give Felix space to breathe. After a beat, he looks back at you, unsteady on his feet, pain in his eyes, but then he lurches, quickly shoves his half-finished bottle into Felix's hands, and rushes away to be sick.

Oliver is doubled over, retching, when you get to Felix. Before he can raise Oliver's bottle to his lips, you tuck yourself under his arm and wrap him up in a hug. He's trembling, but you feel the bottle against your back. Felix tucks his face into the crook of your neck, tears unspilled, clinging to his eyelashes.

"Better?" You ask forlornly once Ollie had gone quiet.

"Fuck off," he spits, finally coming back around. You watch him over Felix's shoulder, and the glare he levels at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand is almost surprising. Still, you try and show the same compassion you knew Felix would in this moment.

"Wash the taste out of your mouth," you try and tell Ollie gently, moving carefully out of Felix's arms, wrapping your fingers around the neck of the bottle he'd brought with him, "I think you should go to bed after." Oliver doesn't even reach for the bottle, but he does stop, looking between it, and then between you and Felix.

"Please," Felix sighs, head bent and bottle clasped tightly in his hand, "I need this."

"We can get another," you tell him quietly, calmly. Felix's gaze flicks to yours, imploring for just a moment, but dropping again when you don't relent. Felix sighs, once more, but finally relents, handing you over the bottle. Which Oliver has kept his focus on, brow now furrowing.

"I gave you everything else of mine, my drink's not even good enough for you anymore, like the rest of me?" He sneers, reaching unsteadily for the bottle in your hands, though his eyes and their focus betray him. Something lights up in the back of your mind, like one of those memories that made far more sense once Oliver's lie had been revealed. Alarm bells once again.

Felix stumbles to a halt -

"Fucking fine -" but as he tries to reach for the bottle again you step out of his range, beginning to see red as you got closer to Oliver, prickling with suspicion, "what is your problem, Y/N," Felix sounds so fucking tired, but all you can see is the deer of a boy before you growing wide eyed as he looks into yours.

"It's Oliver's," trying with all your might to not jump to conclusions, you hold the bottle out, desperately hoping that you'd connected the wrong dots, that Oliver was just drunk and as helpless as he appeared, that he couldn't be this malicious or vindictive-

"You want me to be sick again?" He tries to stand up to you, bottle pressed to his chest and refusing to step back even as you continue to crowd his space, "fuck off." He's seeming more sober, more alert, more with himself with each minute that passes. The distant noise of the party rings in your ears and all you can think about is the cold bottle between you and how Felix had almost -

"Leave him alone," Felix called out, footsteps in the grass sounding as though he was making his way back to the maze, "he's not worth it."

"He's pathetic," you spit, nose to nose with Oliver now, face heating up as hot, angry tears begin to close your vision. Still, you can see in Oliver's eyes that he's finding fewer and fewer ways to escape the situation.

"I don't care what either of youse think of me anymore," Oliver's lip curls as it quivers, trying to play distraught and callous all at once, "go fuck each other to feel like you're not just a fucking waste of space, vapid cunts -" he can see he's touched a nerve by the way your expression lights up with malevolent fury.

"Fi," there's a shake in your voice that you can't even fight, "please leave."

"Can you please come with me," Felix sounds like he's on the verge of tears, and when you turn, he's reaching for you, his hand shaking, "please can we go?" He begs.

An angel. Your best friend. Your everything. Your Felix.

Seeing him like this, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Oliver's greed and jealousy would rather see Felix hurt than not in love with him, you couldn't let him get away with it. Finally you start to cry, even if you hadn't meant to, and the sight of it has Felix begging for you to leave with him. Oliver starts pushing, demanding that you both fuck off.

"Give me a minute, My Felix," you tell him, trying to smile, trying to reassure him, "I'll catch up."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"I don't want you to see this," you turn back to Oliver with newfound resolution. He's stepped back, leaning himself against the statue, doubled over, head in his hands.

"See what?" Felix asks dubiously, and Oliver looks up, sees the way you're approaching him, and scrambles to straighten his posture.

"Ollie's going to have a little drink," you offer him the bottle again.

"Tryna make me sick again?" He snarls.

"Then use it to wash your mouth out, then swallow," you order coldly, "and repeat until the bottle's empty."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's just as perfectly fine as when you handed it to Felix," you hissed, voice low enough that Felix himself couldn't properly hear. Oliver narrowed his eyes, matching your tone.

"If I don't?"

"What I will do to you, Oliver Quick, will be much worse than whatever you've put in that bottle, so you'll drink it all up," you leaned in, whispering close and menacing, "and if you do throw it up, I will have you on your belly, like the worm you are, sucking your own sick off of the fucking ground."

"What the fuck is going on?" Felix demanded, and you turned, taking a deep breath and hopefully giving a much more convincing, determined smile.

"He made you cry."

Felix's expression immediately changed. All soft and fragile but understanding, he just asks that you don't be long. You promise not to be. Both you and Oliver watching him go.

Once in the clear, you turn back to your captive audience, keeping your voice low.

"I'm not going to make you drink it," you admit, and though Oliver's confused and on edge, he seems to relax, just a little.

"The fuck do you want from me then?"

"I just need to hear you say it," you step back from him, give him space, even step around to place the bottle at the foot of the statue and lean your forehead against the cool stone.

"Say what -?"

"I'm not fucking stupid, Ollie," you groaned, looking at him out of the corner of your eyes, "you think I could hurt you? I ruin lives behind the scenes, I couldn't -" you flail your hands awkwardly, rocking back on your heels, turning to him properly once more. It appears to work, however, as Oliver is now only regarding you warily, instead of seeming actively cautious. "I was... hurt," you admitted, "I know why you said it, but I was hurt to hear you say Felix was your only friend."

"That's not -" he tried, defences lowering further as he attempted to defend himself.

"No, I get it; I've done terrible things because I love Fi, I couldn't imagine," you cast a pitying, apologetic look to Oliver, "him not loving me back."

And it works. He cracks, little by little. The tears begin to form, the lip starts to tremble.

"It's not fucking fair," it already sounds like there's a lump in his throat, "why do you deserve his love?" He scowls, "why can't I? I can be like you, I can be good -" he babbles, sniffling harshly amongst his defiantly sharp tone, "I know I could be," you gently wrap an arm around him and he fists a hand to tightly in your overcoat that it tears, "I was everything he wanted me to be -"

"I know, Ollie, I know," you carefully remove his antlers, holding them in one hand as you coax him in close, running a comforting hand through his hair.

"I wanted him to love me, I wanted- I never wanted him hurt, but wanted him dead so it wasn't my fault if he didn't love me; he couldn't love anyone -" he breaks down into furious tears, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. I hate you, I hate that he loves you without you even trying -" there's no apology in his distress, even as he lets you hold him close, and you, for a few more moments, whisper reassuring nonsense. "I never wanted to hurt him," he mumbled softly, "but I wanted to kill him. I could never hurt him," there's anger and guilt in his eyes as he looks up at you, tear soaked and helpless, "but I wanted to hurt you." What you give him in return is pity, is sweetness and apology, but your blood is burning through your veins.

"You would have regretted it."

"I know..."

"Are you lying?"

"I think I am."

You have what you need, the confession, the intention; validation for your motivation. Hook, line and sinker.

"Hey, Ollie, Ollie, darling look at me, I know, okay, I know-" you try, taking his face in your free hand.

"No you fucking don't!" Oliver insists, but you keep insisting, "don't fucking take that tone, I just told you I was trying to kill Felix to hurt you -!" He thrashes, but your gentleness is unrelenting in this moment. You will give Oliver Quick what he deserves.

"Ollie, look at me, okay? Look me in the eyes, please -" you begged, and finally he did, despair and anger all there amongst the tears, "keep looking me in the eyes," you tell him gently, and firmly, and he does, too curious for his own good and wanting to see where this was going -

"Everything," you give him the faintest, reassuring smile, one hand on his face, shaking, messily wiping tears from his cheeks with your thumb as he keeps your gaze, "is going to be -"

- and you ram one of his antlers into his soft, exposed belly with all your strength. Surprise and pain hit him all at once and suddenly he's scrambling, trying to get your hands off of the headpiece. But he's winded, and suddenly in overwhelming pain.

"- fine," you breathe out, shaking with adrenaline. You have him pinned against the statue, just like he'd had Felix only minutes ago.

"Eyes, Oliver," you ordered coldly, while making sure to keep smiling, even as fresh traitorous tears were gathering and already spilling down your cheeks. Hand in his hair coming to grip him tightly, keeping his gaze level with yours, "what did I say? I want you to look me in the eyes -" and you rip the antlers out before plunging them back into his gut. Lips twisting into an animalistic snarl involuntarily, Oliver splutters and fights and squirms but everything is becoming slippery, and warm, and slick with his blood. The antlers, your hands, and his; hard to get a grip like the firm one you had on your weapon of choice.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-" he chokes out helplessly, bloody hands moving up, trying to grip your arms, your shoulders, your face, "how -fuck- why -?"

"Whatever you had in that bottle is too good for you; you tried to kill Felix, you said so yourself."

As his strength begins to fail, the way he holds your face turns tender, almost gentle, before his hands fall back to rest on yours, both gripping the bloody antler. Oliver's weight rests on the statue, watching you with despair and helpless, pained moans. Cheeks wet with tears, you can't even fathom how you're doing this, or who you will be once it's done.

"You are not the minotaur of this maze," you grit your teeth, leaning your weight on the headdress, driving it into his guts until the bloody antler snapped clean off of the headdress, you still can't bring yourself to stop. It doesn't feel like enough. He tried to kill Felix. So you took the other antler in hand, unable to stop yourself, shaking with rage and tears, "you are the dear in my fucking headlights; you tried to hurt Felix, you tried to kill Felix! You are nothing, nothing, nothing," you punctuate each nothing with another bloody, unnecessary jab until you can't keep going. The second antler collapses to the ground, and you stumble back, hands shaking.

"Didn't want to hurt him," Oliver insists weakly.

"You were someone we loved," you can see the first antler still jutting out of him, stemming the blood flow but undoubtedly causing excruciating pain. But you spare him no sympathy, only a look of absolute loathing, finally taking in what you've done, the blood your fury had shed. "Someone I loved!" Burst from you, raw brutal betrayal scraping its way from your throat, face hot and wet with tears, falling to your knees, looking up at him with an exhausted fury, "you will never hurt him again. I will never give you that chance."

But Oliver's quickly unfocusing gaze slips from you, rising to a point beyond you, out into the maze. A weak, faint, but somehow still triumphant smile works it's way across his lips.

"Him?"

Like in a horror movie, you cast your gaze over your shoulder. You hear when Oliver finally gives out, stop holding himself up on the statue and fall to the ground, but all you can see is Felix at the edge of the maze.

And that look in his eyes.

Oh god, what have you done?

"Felix," tears start welling in your eyes again, and finally he looks away from Oliver's body, his own antler protruding from him, slowly bleeding out, to you. From here, he can't see the blood on your hands, the blood that's all over you, but he can see it all over Oliver, "Fi, please, you need to -" but he's stepping towards you, almost automatically; he looks ill. You have to look away, can't bear for him to see what your rage has brought about.

"I'm not," his words are robotic, still a bit slurred, and he keeps looking at Oliver, "going without you. 'said that." But he stops behind you. Eyes closed, you wait, you can't bear to even look at him. Then, slowly, he moves. When you breathe, it makes you shake, but you slowly open your eyes.

Felix approaches Oliver. You watch the faint, far away smile wears as he sees Felix up close once more.

"Fe-lix," he sighs faintly, reaching out with weak, shaking, bloody hands, feather light finger tips leaving red streaks along Felix's cheeks, his jaw, his lips. Felix's head dips in close, into Oliver's aching touch, his forehead resting against Oliver's in this moment.

"You were going to fucking kill me, Ollie?" Felix whispered through clenched teeth, on the edge of tears.

"'m sorry," Ollie mumbled weakly, shock and blood loss catching up with him as he struggled to keep his eyes open, "didn't want to hurt you."

"You wanted to kill me -"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"It would have hurt them!" Felix grabbed him by the collar with one hand, wrenching the dying boy up enough to see him pointing at you, still kneeling on the ground, second bloody antler laying in front of you. All Oliver could do was make a pained whimper, and Felix dropped him back to the ground, "and you said it yourself-" his voice is venomous, but your breath catches as you realise just how much he must have heard to know that, "and even having a thought like that," he snarls, hatred burning in his eyes, "means you don't fucking know me at all."

Felix is by your side in the very next moment, pulling you into his lap as he leaned back against the base of the sculpture. You're sobbing into your bloody hands, nothing else to do or say. Even as he's shaking, as he's crying too, Felix doesn't let you go, doesn't let you feel anything but secure with him.

"You saw it all, didn't you?" You whispered finally, and feel him nod.

"I said I wouldn't leave without you."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -" and while he tells you that you don't have to be, the words, the fears, the desperate justifications and rationalisations pour out of you, "he said he was trying to kill you, Fi, and I couldn't- I should have walked away, just gotten him kicked out or taken away or- or- but I couldn't," you gasped, "I couldn't let him ever have that kind of chance again, I couldn't risk that, my mind wouldn't let me -"

"I know, I love you," Felix murmurs weakly, his forehead against your shoulder once more, "dad and Duncan will know what to do, they'll take care of it tomorrow," he sounds so young in this moment, so tired and fragile. You nod quietly, leaning into him. When his hands find yours, threading your fingers together and holding on tightly, Oliver's blood is still sticky on your skin. Neither of you seems to care.

"How did you know something was so wrong?" Felix finally asked, the air cooler and quieter now. You have no idea how much time has passed, but it sounds as though the party was winding down. Oliver's party.

"He wasn't that drunk," you said after a long moment of deliberation, "could see it in his eyes," taking a deep breath, you cast your gaze to the guest of honour, completely still, chest no longer shifting with shallow, frantic breathes, "if he wasn't drunk, why was he sick?" Sighing, you leaned into Felix. You felt so hollow; "everything Oliver Quick did, he did with purpose."

[aayakashii]

Please I beg for Rui crumbs *violently shakes my tin can*

Anything will do

Please 😩

/also hello :3

HELLOOO

I offer you 🤲 rui angst and mild yandere-ism

I'm gonna be honest: I wrote this half asleep so I might change some things later and I will probably expand on it to make a longer fic just of him suffering( ¬ ̀᎑ ¬ ) so this is just a liddol taste for now!!!

Rui knew you didn't take him seriously.

He knew what he looked like, what he sounded like. He had a full length mirror and, even if he didn't, he was pretty sure Ed would be more than pleased to rub it in his face.

Rui knew he was the spitting image of a player. Flirting came naturally to him, winks and flying kisses were mere greetings.

He knew very well that, at some point, his host club image became a way to cope with his curse – since he couldn't ever touch anyone, unless he wanted them dead, what was the harm in being just a little bit more forward, right?

One thing he didn't account for, is how you'd see right through him. You managed to see beyond his carefully crafted mask of nonchalance – not as an irredeemable flirt, but as someone who would gladly trade all the attention he gets from his antics for a way to free himself of his awful curse.

While he acted like he's used to his fate, you saw how inside he was constantly clawing his way out of despair.

Rui didn't really know when the messages he sent your way started stirring his insides. He didn't know when his groin began to feel uncomfortable at the thought of you on his bed, at his mercy (or maybe he could be at your mercy, who knows? He'd be more than willing to adapt).

What he knew very well, much to his chagrin, is that his comments began to feel more and more like truths, rather than harmless flirting.

Suddenly, his fingers hovered a little longer on his phone's keyboard – write, erase, write, erase and write again. Typing a simple message became so difficult when the words mattered, when Rui wanted you to believe his words.

And as he saw the way your hands ran through Lyca's hair while you brushed it before school, he felt the thorns of a feeling, green and rotten, pierce his core relentlessly – the last nail on his coffin of insufferable pining.

Rui, then, thought: how could he finally convince you that he, more than anyone else, truly wanted to know you?

How could he prove that he wanted you to sleep every single night in his dorm, even if he couldn't touch you?

That he just needed to know he was breathing the same air as you – becoming one with you through atoms and chemical reactions, since he couldn't through a kiss.

How could he tell you that he was all yours to take if you wanted to?

It was something new, this longing. And staying awake for so long became a torture, because even as he cut the branches of his plants or cleaned his bar, his mind still went straight to you. 

Would you prefer a sweeter beverage, or a bitter one? 

Would you like the taste of the new drink he was concocting? 

Would you try some of his favorite creations? 

Would you please drink from one of his cups so he could just never wash it again and find a bit of reprieve through an indirect kiss and–

Oh… Yeah… He was losing it.

After all, the world wasn't unfair when it gave him that awful curse. The world was unfair, however, when it sent you his way and prohibited him from touching you like he needed to.

And he desperately needed to be able to hold you in his arms, until he couldn't tell when his body ended and yours started, in order to quench the madness that brewed, so dangerously close to boiling, inside his core.

[sabo-torao]

Small disclaimer before you head in: this whole post will be referencing the TCB translation. I know VIZ handled the exchange I'm discussing differently, but I couldn't find anyone who talked about the original version and as a result I don't really know who is closer to the original meaning. In any case, the "analysis" should still stand. Whether Dragon was commenting Sabo's firmness or admiring his resolution, Sabo's still putting on a mask, and that's the point I'm trying to break down. Enjoy!

This very specific interaction between Dragon and Sabo in chapter 1083 has always stuck out to me.

"My, you really are unshakeable."

which is an appropriate response to what Sabo said, of course. What kind of sensitive person reacts that way to the death of an innocent, right?

Even so, I can't help but compare the thing Sabo said to his actual, genuine reaction to King Kobra's death.

He's devastated.

Sabo brokenly screams Kobra's name, and his expression is one of full despair; he never thought about killing Kobra, let alone letting him die. On the contrary, he actively tried to save him.

Kobra told him to just let him go, that he was dead weight and he shouldn't be concerned about him, but Sabo straight up refused. In fact, Kobra's actions read way more as a sacrifice than an inevitable death; the king let himself die, knowing that this way Sabo could flee and reach Vivi and Luffy safely.

On the Lulusian ship, we see Sabo think about Kobra's last words to him and actively trying not to cry (and failing).

That's not an unshakable man. He's suffering, he's grieving. He realizes he failed his very own mission of saving the king and lets the meaning behind Kobra's actions and words sink in.

It really puts his former reaction into perspective.

Sabo's firmness, seriousness and coldness in front of Dragon and Ivankov are nothing but a façade. He acknowledges that what he's about to say might come off as harsh, and that, even if he does feel sorry for Kobra, the tragedy doesn't weigh him down thanks to the results it brought, but it all sounds like he's reassuring himself more than actually showing his indifference.

Hell, he even drinks his glass of wine right after having said that "he doesn't really care". How can anyone take his words seriously?

And we've been knowing Sabo is inclined to do this sort of thing since Dressrosa; he acted all cool and composed in front of Luffy but the second Koala called him on the Den Den Mushi he was weeping, having a hard time believing that his little brother didn't punch him or hate him for being alive all along. He even denied he was crying!

All because Sabo hates being seen as vulnerable, especially in front of the people he thinks he has to be strong for (Luffy, Dragon, etc). It's something I think goes back to how his parents treated him, since they scolded him for, y'know, having emotions and being a normal kid in need of love, but i digress.

I once saw someone describing Sabo as a very cold person in comparison to his brothers, even going as far as to say that Sabo doesn't care if people die if it means achieving the Revolutionary Army's goals (using this very interaction as proof), which couldn't be further away from the truth.

Bonney even says outright that it's weird seeing a "radical revolutionary" act so friendly when Sabo helps her out. Why would he do this if all he ever did was for "The Cause"?

Yes, Sabo is ruthless, rude, violent at times, and his friendly demeanor could be seen as a little more volatile than that of his brothers', but he's not heartless. He's not a "meanings to an end" guy, he proves it time and time and time again, and it's disheartening seeing people label him as such.

Sabo is kind. He may not be as warm as Ace and Luffy, but he is fundamentally a good person. A generous, kind, caring, sensitive person.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it.

[dovesdreaming]

The eye of the storm

Summary: it takes reader getting injured while out storm chasing with Kate for her to realise she loves reader.

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: none

-

The air was thick with anticipation as Kate Carter checked her weather radar one last time. The storm was brewing, and today promised to be one of the most intense chases yet. But before the whirlwind of adrenaline could sweep her away, she paused, glancing over at you. You were sitting on the tailgate of the truck, your eyes scanning the horizon, already lost in the possibilities of the chase ahead. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that held a promise. A promise of thunder, of lightning, of something exhilarating. But for Kate, at that moment, the only thing that mattered was you.

“You ready for this?" she asked, walking over to you while slightly tilting her head, her voice teasing but warm. You turned to her, a smile breaking through the excitement. "Ready as I'll ever be. Though, I have to admit, it feels like we're waiting for something to happen more than usual”.

Kate chuckled, leaning against the truck beside you. "Isn't that always the case with storms? They keep us on edge until they decide to show their hand”. “True" you said, your gaze meeting hers. "But maybe it's not just the storm keeping me on edge this time” you teased, this was common for you and Kate to do. Always finding new ways to slightly and discreetly flirt with one another, yet nothing ever came of the comments, maybe that was for the better even if you wished something would.

She tilted her head slightly, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh? And what else could possibly be making you nervous?". “Maybe it's the thought of spending the entire day with you” you admitted, your voice dropping to a more serious tone, which was unusual for you and kate, usually trying to keep the air light especially before a chase. For a moment, Kate was taken aback, but the warmth in your eyes softened her reaction. She reached out, her hand brushing against yours. "You don't need to be nervous about that. We're in this together, remember?". You nodded, squeezing her hand gently. "I know. I just... I want to make sure you're safe out there”. Kate smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for you, and it tugged at her heart in a way she hadn't expected. She had always been focused on the chase, on the science, on the thrill. But now, there was something else or rather, someone else, who made her want to be more than just a storm chaser. “Same goes for you” she replied softly, her thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "I'll keep you safe, promise”.

You shared a quiet moment, the impending storm momentarily forgotten as you both reveled in the quiet before it all began. It was a simple, comfortable silence, the kind that made everything else feel distant, like the eye of the storm where all was calm and still. “Guess we should get going," you finally said, breaking the silence before you became too absorbed in the moment and the usual gaping hole could open in your stomach to crush any hope you had for things between you and Kate. “Yeah” Kate agreed, though she found herself reluctant to let go of your hand. "Let's catch ourselves a tornado”.

The chase had been everything you'd anticipated, chaotic, intense, and absolutely thrilling. The storm system was stronger than any you'd encountered together before, and for hours you and Kate had worked seamlessly, driving through rough terrain, dodging debris, and getting as close as safely possible to the swirling vortexes that danced across the plains. But as the storm began to wind down, so did your luck.

You’d been repositioning, trying to get a better angle on a particularly photogenic funnel cloud when the unexpected happened. A rogue gust of wind, more powerful than either of you had anticipated, hit the truck. Before you could react, the vehicle was flipped, and the world turned into a violent blur.

When the dust settled, Kate found herself crawling out of the wreckage, her ears ringing, but otherwise unharmed. The same couldn’t be said for you. Panic gripped her as she called out your name, her voice breaking as she saw you lying on the ground, a few feet from where the truck had landed. You were unconscious, blood seeping from a gash on your forehead. “No, no, no” Kate muttered, rushing to your side. She pressed her fingers to your neck, relieved to feel a faint but steady pulse. But you were hurt, badly. She could see the pain in your features even as you remained unconscious. “Stay with me, please” she whispered, her hands trembling as she reached for the emergency kit she always kept in the truck. She did her best to stop the bleeding, to keep you stable, but the fear that she was losing you gnawed at her insides. The wind whipped at her face and hands as she patched you up the best she could, she felt like ice but her mind was focused on keeping you alive. She kept her body close to yours and never let her eyes stray away from you.

In that moment, surrounded by the fading storm and the wreckage of what had been such a promising day, Kate realized just how much you meant to her. This was more than a partnership, more than a shared thrill for chasing the storms and a whole lot more than a friendship. She loved you-deeply, completely. The thought of losing you was more terrifying than any tornado she’d ever faced. “Don’t you dare leave me”she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “You can’t leave before I even got to tell you I love you, I can’t do this without you!” She half yelled now with tears brimming her eyes, the majority of her words were swept away with the wind.

It took an eternity for help to arrive, but Kate never left your side. When the paramedics finally took over, she was there, holding your hand, refusing to let go even when the paramedics asked her to. Hours later, after surgery and countless prayers whispered under her breath, Kate sat by your hospital bed. You were stable, the doctors had said atleast. You were going to be okay. The relief was overwhelming, and for the first time in what felt like days, she allowed herself to breathe. As you stirred awake, your eyes slowly fluttering open, Kate leaned in, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Hey” you croaked, your voice weak but unmistakably you. Kate smiled through the tears that had started to form. “Hey yourself. You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”. You gave a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. I’m guessing the truck’s seen better days too?”. She chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re okay”. There was a long pause, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air between you. Finally, Kate took a deep breath, her hand still holding yours.

“I love you” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, the words escaping no longer being able to be trapped inside her. “I’ve never said it before, but I do. And I’m not going to waste another second pretending otherwise”. She rambled but you didn’t hear much after that as your eyes softened as you squeezed her hand. “I love you too, Kate. And I’m not going anywhere. Not without you”. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, careful of your bandages. “Good. Because I can’t lose you. Not now, not ever”.

As you drifted back to sleep, still weak but safe, Kate stayed by your side, holding your hand as the storm outside finally faded into nothing. And in the quiet aftermath, she knew that this was where she belonged, with you, in the calm after the storm.

-

Thank you for reading!

[shantechni]

No one asked, but my favorite part of the scene where Mikey comforts Leatherhead in front of his brothers isn't just that they're witnessing it.

It's the varying reactions we get.

It's a literal "blink and you'll miss it" moment, but Raph hardly reacts to Mikey's display; he's the first to turn to Donnie and signal him to inquire about the power cell.

We've seen how he looks when Mikey genuinely catches him off guard, and this isn't one of those moments.

It's fitting that Raph would be the least surprised by the spectacle because he's often portrayed to be the one who best understands Mikey, even in the 2012 comics when Leo and Donnie scold Mikey for his lack of focus in one issue (there are other examples). While they argue with Mikey, Raph is seen chilling in the background because he doesn't have that big of an issue with Mikey's attention span, and he even calls Mikey out when he claims he's not bothered by their comments as he walks out in irritation. He then goes on to scold Leo and Donnie later for running Mikey off as they look for him. He may be the biggest culprit when it comes to calling Mikey out once his attention starts to stray, but contrary to what he said in New Friend, Old Enemy, he understands Mikey quite well, sometimes better than anyone else.

So seeing Mikey pull the therapist card on someone isn't out of the ordinary for him. He knows Mikey well enough to anticipate something like this.

Leo's next in line for actually reacting very subtly to Mikey pulling Leatherhead out of his headspace.

His eyes are already widened by the time the camera pans back to him, but they widen an extra notch before he too turns back to Donnie.

Leo has borne witness to Mikey's skills plenty of times prior to this episode, and we can take their decade-and-a-half spent underground into consideration, so seeing Mikey behave so compassionately doesn't strike him as anything supremely noteworthy. But he's clearly impressed that Mikey managed to befriend the hostile mutant in such a short amount of time; he recognizes that his youngest brother is mentally intelligent and strong enough to calm down the easily angered Leatherhead while no one else thought it to be feasible.

It surprises him, but Leo understands that Mikey is the most sympathetic out of all of them, and he doesn't take long to get over his surprise.

Donnie, on the other hand, takes the longest amount of time to move on from what transpired.

Unlike Raph's lack of feedback and Leo's mental approbation, Donnie is awestruck.

As I said before, I highly doubt this is anyone's first time seeing the level of maturity Mikey has, but (and it's a very close race) Donnie's the main one out of the brothers who both accidentally and purposefully sees Mikey as the tactless, accident prone little brother everyone makes him out to be most of the time. Though he knows Mikey is proficient at critical thinking when he's needed to be, bringing in a mutant with violent tendencies and perceptible trauma that gets triggered by the mention of a name isn't a territory they've frequented.

And yet, much like Leo, he sees for himself that Mikey was clearly capable of mellowing Leatherhead out and knew how to steer him away from his horrendous memories with the Kraang.

[possessiveandobsessive]

Another Lucanis Obsessed Post

It's only a problem if we call it that...

**Spoilers for late game events in Dragon Age: The Veilguard. If you havent finished and care about being spoiled, stay away!**

Something I think about a lot is Lucanis's reaction to Rook being pulled into the fade after they kill Ghilan'nain. This kind of scene is definitely making it into my current work, but I need to get it out of my brain.

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

Lucanis is riding a magnificent high for all of a minute. He just killed one of his two targets. A GOD. Finally, he completed the contract that slipped through his fingers so narrowly last time. He has this blissful, thrill of adrenaline singing through his veins. And then, it's all gone in an instant.

The hot blood that had been rushing through his limbs following his vistory turns to ice at once when he realizes: she is gone. The woman who had believed in him from the start. The one person who never once had looked at him with disgust or fear. The woman who had only just broken through the last of his walls and now held his heart. Lucanis can see her smile, can see her head thrown back in laughter at some silly comment he made. And then he watches as all that fades out of his view. She was GONE, and she took his heart, his soul with her. He never got the chance to tell her...

Lucanis can faintly hear a raw, primal, and broken wail. It sounds distant at first, before he realizes it's coming from him. The agonized scream tears from his chest violently without him even realizing. An enraged chant fills his mind and blinds him to his surroundings. His vision fills with only a blinding purple light and all he can hear, all he can think is, "GONE. TAKEN. GONE. LOST. OURS. OUR ROOK IS GONE. MUST GET HER, MUST SAVE HER, MUST HAVE HIS BLOOD. GONE. GONE...."

The chanting, screaming really, continues over and over. Each word caused pain anew to cut through him like a blade. He had already lost everything, become a monster, and now he was losing the one thing that kept him tethered to this reality. She was the one thing that made him feel human. Rook trusted him even when he couldn't yet trust himself. And the elven god of lies and betrayal had just stolen her from him.

Lucanis was dimly aware of shouts directed at him and hands pulling at his arms and shoulders. The team must be trying to stop him from completely destroying, leveling, everything in his immediate vicinity. All he knew now was this pain fueled rampage. Their pain fueled rampage. Spite and he are currently of one mind. They always are when it comes to Rook.

Suddenly, he feels a wave of magic wash over his body. Lucanis shudders as his bones seem to turn to liquid and his body begins to feel as of it weighed thousands of pounds. His eyes were closing against his will, and he could hear Spite's screams grow more desperate as they both were pulled under into a deep nothing. The last conscious thought Lucanis had was of her face, terrified and screaming his name as she disappeared in a flash of light.

I will find you Rook, NOTHING CAN KEEP YOU FROM US....

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

You're welcome for the devastation! If it lives in my head rent free then it also gets to live in yours 🥲 Look forward to a more fleshed out version of this scene later in my current work in process: The Spirit of Determination.

[neocrias]

really nice guy who only hates you

Summary : Jeno hates you and always makes it clear, but you don't care because the feeling is mutual. Until one day, your mutual friends set you up and the unwanted encounter ends in a way neither of you could have imagined.

wc: 4,6K gênero: fluff; kind of haters to lovers; slightly suggestive

Jeno doesn't know why he hates you so much, but he definitely hates you.

From the minute you walked into the arcade, walked into the hangout of his friends, clinging to Jaemin's arm and pretending to be all cute and innocent, he knew he didn't like you and decided to make it clear. Jeno didn't look in your direction when you spoke, he didn't laugh at your jokes - even though his whole group of friends thought it was funny - and whenever he had to talk to you he was harsh and rude.

He never bothered to be at least a little polite to you and there were many times when he bumped into you on purpose just to annoy you. He succeeded every time, by the way. 

Also, you were never a very patient girl and this only worsened the hostile atmosphere between the two of you. 

Maybe it was your very confident manner, or your different style, maybe it was the way you gestured when you spoke... Jeno doesn't know what it was, but he knows he hates you. And if he could do everything he wants, surely, "spill a bucket of paint when you pass him in the hallway" would be the first thing. Oh, he longed for the moment when he could tear the confident, self-centered expression off your face, removing all the happy sparkle from your eyes was his biggest dream.

You hated it too. So maybe the enmity was reciprocated, but you knew it wasn't. You didn't hate Jeno, not in the same way he hated you, but you sure hated the way he treated you.

He never bothered to be even a little polite to you and there were many times when he bumped into you on purpose just to annoy you. He succeeded every time, by the way. You were never a very patient girl and that only made the hostile atmosphere between the two of you even worse.

One day you went to see the new cafeteria that opened on the university campus.

At first the whole group would go, until everyone, one by one, canceled. Leaving only you, Jaemin and Jeno to go alone. Of course, none of the three bothered to check the group chat conversations, so the reaction of disgust you and Jeno had when meeting each other was too dramatic and annoying even for Jaemin – who has always been very patient and playful with your mutual hatred.

That day, however, he didn't want to hear about the bullshits between you, feeling too tired to deal with it. Jeno didn't take the hint and made sure to hit the bottom of your glass when you went to drink your juice, consequently dirtying you on purpose. You also didn't act as polite as you should’ve and on impulse threw all the rest of your cold drink in his face in retaliation.

— I told you, man — Jeno commented when you shot back. The boy wiped his face with his hands and then twisted his wet shirt with an arrogant look and proud of the reaction he managed to get out of you. He was talking exclusively to Jaemin, his best friend, as if you weren't by their side. — She hides behind this sweet girl façade, but she's stupid.

— YOU are stupid, stupid asshole.

— You don't even know how to curse —  Jeno crossed his arms, being the arrogant bastard he's always been with you. He had a sneer gracing his thin lips and an eyebrow raised in defiance.

You wanted to rip that evil smile off his face in the most violent way, but you prioritized your friendship with Jaemin and only for that reason you made an effort to have a greater tolerance for the boy's teasing, unfortunately you lost control this time and already felt the guilt because of the disappointed look Jaemin gave you.

— Jaem… — you called in a restrained voice, pouting your lips when your eyes filled with tears of anger and frustration, you tried to hold back the tears, refusing to cry in front of Jeno.

The blond let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples hard, looking at you with the most tired and annoyed expression. — That's it, let's go.

— Oh, what's up!? — Jeno complained nervously. — Are you going to stay by her side even when she does shit?

— You're the one who started it — Jaemin warned.

— It was just a joke — Jeno said.

— A joke, my ass — you grumbled and Jeno gave you an angry look, silently yelling at you to keep your mouth shut.

— I'm tired of you two — Jaemin complained. The blond chattered endlessly, complaining about you at such a fast speed that the two of you missed half of the scrambled words. — Act like an adult at least once in your life and stop messing it up for everyone.

This happened a few weeks ago. About the same number of weeks you don't see Jaemin, or the other boys in the group. It's not that they're purposely excluding you. You're just too ashamed of your lack of control to face any of them, especially your best friend.

Even remembering it makes you angry. Because of the damn Lee Jeno you don't even have the courage to look at Jaemin and what makes it worse, is the knowledge that he's only like that with you.

You see how Jeno is so kind to everyone else, always offering to help anyone who needs it, even the ones he doesn't know, always promoting group study sessions for friends who are struggling, and you've been actively excluded from all the sessions by him. Jeno has even driven his car over a puddle of water just to get you wet, when earlier that same day he handed over the umbrella to a pair of freshmen to get home without getting wet.

Tired of feeling lonely and miserable, you decided that you would go after Jaemin today. You felt the need to apologize for your behavior before, even after the boy asked you incessantly to have a little more patience.

The walk to Jaemin's dorm was very quick, taking no more than 15 minutes at a slow pace, and the cool spring weather was an incentive for his apology. Without realizing it, you arrived in front of the small and old dull yellow apartment, the doorman didn't even bother to announce your presence, already used to you wandering around the building. Tired of feeling lonely and miserable, you decided that you would go after Jaemin today. I felt the need to apologize for your behavior before, even after the blond asked you incessantly to have a little more patience.

— I haven't seen you in a while! — he greeted.

— Hi, Mr. Choi — you replied with a sympathetic smile. — Is Jaem home?

— Oh, yes. He arrived a few minutes ago, you were lucky. 

With a restrained thank you you took the stairs up to the third floor, where he shared an apartment with Renjun, a design student, and Jisung, a freshman in the dance course.

You give three rhythmic knocks on the door, his trademark and after a few minutes of waiting, Jaemin appears disheveled and with swollen eyes. 

— Thank God, I thought you were going to run away from me forever — he complained, but he wasn't mad, and pulled you into a tight hug. 

— I was embarrassed — muttered. — I know I promised I wouldn't do anything stupid, but…

— But Jeno won't give you a break — Renjun shouted from the couch.

— You didn't have an internship today? — you asked. 

— I traded my time off with Soohee — he replied simply.

— That's weird, you know? — Jisung, who was coming back from the kitchen, eating another one of his many packages of ramen, asked rhetorically. — Jeno hyung is usually very nice and kind, I don't understand why you guys are like that... 

— Because he hates me!

— That's the problem, Jeno hyung doesn't hate anyone.

— Well, there's a first time for everything, I guess.

Jaemin remained silent during the conversation and sat down next to Renjun on the couch, going back to paying attention to the movie they were watching before you arrived.

— I’m really really sorry, Jaem

— Don’t be. He had it coming — Jaemin comforted you, pulling you to sit with them and watch the movie. Suddenly, everything was fine again.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

— Dude, I think you're crossing the line with her — Chenle complained about the drama between Jeno and Jaemin's best friend.

The Chinese didn't understand what his friend had against you, in fact, Chenle liked you. To him, you were a nice, funny, decisive girl, you knew very well what you wanted and you didn't give much confidence to anyone who wasn't your friend. This, of course, gave you a bad name in the halls of college during integration week, some upperclassmen didn't like being continually let go by you, so they made up a rumor or two out there, but you never cared. Chenle admired that. 

— Fuck, even you, dude? — Jeno was unhappy. No one was on his side, and he began to question whether he was really overreacting to you. This made him hate you even more, again for no reason.

— At this point it just seems like you can't control that you're like SUPER into her — Haechan proves.

— Not everyone is a weirdo like you who likes to make girls cry, Haechan — Jeno pinched the tip of his nose.

— Not everyone — the brunette agreed — but you sure do.

Chenle let out a loud laugh, amused by Jeno's irritation, but he couldn't help but think about how Haechan's theory made a bit of sense, so the Chinese asked incredulously. — Dude, are you seriously into her?

— Of course not, idiot. 

— So you're intimidated by her? — Chenle insisted once more, and that only made Jeno even angrier. Jeno rolled his eyes hard and crossed his arms uncomfortably and replied with an arrogant voice.

— Intimidated by what?

— Well, she has a reputation.

— So? 

— SO you are afraid to get dumped by her? 

— Ugh! As if!

The two boys continued arguing heatedly as Jeno grew more and more annoyed, which only amused Chenle more and more and made the Chinese man laugh loudly. Eventually, Jeno got up and locked himself in his room, slamming the door hard to make his anger clear.

Haechan smirks and Chenle realized right away that their older friend was planning something bad – or good, if seen from the right point of view. 

— What are you planning?

— Only good things — Haechan replied. Then the two exchanged complicit glances and smiled mischievously at each other, already knowing where they wanted to go and immediately agreeing to the plan.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

haechan created the "genius idea" group haechan added renjunnie haechan added Jaemin

jisung: I don’t think this is a good idea, hyung

haechan: Don’t be a pussy, jisung

Jaemin: no, he is right, haechan-ah that’s a terrible idea

haechan: Jaemin, trust me a little, ok? I know what I'm doing, man!

Jaemin: i don't think so… rejunnie: maybe he’s right

haechan: I’m always right, man.

chenle: My thought exactly

Jaemin: i should know you’ll be involved on this you little brat

chenle: You know what they say: great minds think alike

haechan: Come on, he’s so into her. It’s getting stupid!

renjunnie: what could go wrong? they already hate each other…

jisung: So… what do you think, hyung?

Jaemin let out a tired, thoughtful sigh. He knew that this was definitely not a good idea, but maybe it was a necessary move.

If Haechan's theory was right and in fact Jeno was into you and just didn't know how to react, then maybe it would change things for all of you and for the whole group to be honest. But if Haechan was wrong...

Jaemin doesn't even like to think about that possibility.

In the end, he decided to give his - almost always - well-meaning friend's crazy ideas a chance. Without giving it much thought, Jaemin typed his reply:

Jaemin: fine let’s do it

Now he just needed to talk to the two of you, especially you. 

It would be easy to convince Jeno to go out with the group, all he needed to say was that it would be a date with the boys and the brunette would be there in a flash. But it was different with you. 

You two hung out a lot, Renjun and Jisung joining you often, but when Haechan and Chenle got together, it meant that Jeno would join in too. And you'd been avoiding him like the plague ever since the incident in the cafeteria, wanting to ignore him at all costs. So it would be hard to convince you to go out with the whole group again and Jaemin was the one responsible for thinking of something to change that.

He called you earlier that evening, biting his nails anxiously at having to lie to you when one of his promises was never to lie. Guilt was already coursing through him, so he hoped it would pay off.

— Jaem? Did something happen? — your sleepy, soft voice rang out on the other end of the line when you picked up after the fifth ring. — Are you all right? Do you need help?

He only realized he'd been too long without answering when you started firing off questions in a hurried and worried manner. Jaemin let out a nervous, breathy laugh before answering. - I'm fine. A bit anxious, actually.

— What do you want now, Na Jaemin? — you asked from the other side, this time in an impatient and accusatory voice.

— The boys are going to have a meeting at the usual arcade, to celebrate Haechan's scientific initiation…

— No — you cut him off, knowing full well that he was going to ask you to go along and, normally, you would have accepted, because you liked going out with the boys, but now you were avoiding Jeno like the plague.

— Please, I need you there! — Jaemin hurried. — Yuki's going and she hasn't left my side for months, I kind of need...

— That I help you get her off your back? — you cut him off once again. — Why don't you just tell him you're not interested? 

— I've already tried!

— Jaem, I don't know if...

— Please, for me? — Jaemin knew it was a low blow, but if he wanted you to go he'd have to appeal to the emotional. Anyway, it's your fault for being a butter heart.

He heard her heavy sigh on the other end of the line along with annoyed grumbles, cursing herself for being so soft.

— Okay...

— Yes! I love you, you know that, right? — he thanked you, and imitated various kissing noises. You laughed tiredly and hung up on him, not wanting to put up with any more of your best friend's mushiness.

Okay, you've gone, now all that's left is Jeno.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

You entered the arcade alone after waiting for Jaemin for long minutes outside. You also flooded his number with messages and calls that he deliberately decided to ignore. 

— Na Jaemin, I swear to God... — you grumbled, entering the vintage arcade that no one knows how it has managed to hold together over the decades and looking for the boys at the tables in the integrated cafeteria, but finding no one.

You picked up your cell phone again and checked the time: it was just after 6 p.m. "Maybe I'm too early," you thought to yourself, calculating the possibilities and deciding that this was what had happened.

To pass the time, you ordered a strawberry milkshake. You were happily savoring the sweetness of your frozen dessert, feeling minimally happy at the start of the evening, but your happiness didn't last long because it was at that moment that you noticed Jeno entering the arcade, also alone and angry.

— Of all people… — you grumbled, rolling your eyes.

If the boy saw you here, he made a point of not showing it and walked straight past you. Jeno sat at the last table, sprawled on the brown leather sofa and typing furiously on his cell phone, his thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration until he raised his face in confusion, feeling that he was being watched.

So your eyes met and he made a sneer that was promptly reciprocated by you. When Jeno raised an eyebrow, as if to silently say "what are you looking at?", you responded with an exaggerated roll of the eyes and turned away from him.

The arcade was still partially empty and therefore quieter than usual, so it wasn't hard to hear the sound of heavy boxes falling to the floor in a loud thud, followed by a thin scream that aroused your attention and concern.

— Oh my God! Are you all right? — you asked hurriedly and got up from the bench you were sitting on. Just as you were about to lift the mobile bench to help the attendant, Jeno pushed you, getting in front of you to get to the little accident faster.

— Idiot — you grumbled.

— Are you all right? — he asked, gently lifting the girl off the floor and checking that she had no apparent injuries.

— I'm fine — the girl replied quietly. — I was startled by the boxes falling, but they're all empty, so I'm fine.

She let out an embarrassed laugh, looking at Jeno and then at you with cheeks red with embarrassment. You realized that there was no point in trying to help her, thanks to Jeno who monopolized the girl's attention with his exaggerated worries, so you decided to pick up the boxes that were scattered on the floor and the few packages that fell out of them.

— Thank you, you've been very kind — she thanked you for what seemed like the fifth time in a row. — You can order whatever you like — she suggested, looking hopefully at the two of you as you gathered outside the counter again. Seeing your refusal, she insisted — It's on the house.

— I've already eaten — You pointed to the half-empty glass of milk shake.

— My friends aren't coming anymore, so I'm leaving — Jeno denied it and you turned your face away in confusion, looking at him in shock and denial. 

You took your cell phone out of your pocket, looking for the group chat and frantically reading the messages in search of answers. You refused to believe Jeno, but Jaemin's singular message apologizing was the cruel confirmation you needed.

— Shit! — you both complained together - which surprised both of you - but the reasons were quite different for you.

You were stressed that Jaemin had let you down, you felt angry and disappointed that he had lied to you and used the "for our friendship" card to manipulate you into meeting the tormentor of your nightmares.

For Jeno, the situation was a little worse, as his stalker was walking towards him with a wide, frightening smile that didn't reach his glazed blue eyes. In the same minute he felt his breathing become heavy and his knees give way, he looked around, thinking of the best way to get out of there without the girl catching up with him.

You noticed your enemy's desperate face, trembling hands and ragged breathing after noticing the foreign girl approaching. You looked at him, then at her, then back at him and decided that you could revel in the suffering of the boy who was too nice to everyone but you. So you turned your back on him and picked up your bag, preparing to leave and leave him behind.

Jeno didn't react with anything other than frightened glances and an unsure step backwards when the girl started to come closer and try to touch his face with her pale hands. You wanted to punch yourself in the face for worrying about the boy who had been nothing but cruel and rude to you, but his cowed reactions got to you.

Jaemin was right, you do have a heart of butter.

With an exasperated sigh you moved back closer to the boy, entwining your arms with his and stared at the girl with your typical cold, sharp eyes that you wore as your personal armor against the harassment you suffered from seniors at the beginning of college.

The blonde girl looked at you with the same fury in her eyes as you looked at her, but you didn't let yourself be intimidated. She was no match for you anyway.

— Is something wrong? — you asked with disinterest.

— Yes! — she was impatient and clenched her fists in a firm, furious grip. — You're touching my boyfriend!

— Your boyfriend? Are you sure? - you replied condescendingly. — Because it seems he can't even stand to look at you and neither can I.

— You don't know who you're messing with — said the girl, trying to look intimidating.

You just smiled mischievously in response and took two steps towards her, towering over her who is considerably smaller than you. With your chin held high and a glint of pure evil in your eyes, you replied: — And do you know who you're messing with?

You must have looked really scary because she blinked in shock and staggered backwards, her eyes blinking nervously, trying to understand what had just happened. Jeno was also surprised - and a little scared - by your attitude, suddenly remembering the feeling he had when he first saw you on campus.

Contrary to what he remembered, it wasn't with Jaemin. On the first day, the veterans organized a hazing to welcome the freshmen and you were there, looking all proud and fearless for refusing each of the challenges they proposed until the leader got too angry to deal with you and sent you away with a simple wave of his hand and a tired sigh. 

That day he realized that you were everything he wanted to be and would never be: able to stand up for yourself. That day he also realized that he was jealous and intimidated by you, so when you showed up behind Jaemin, acting completely different from when you were alone, he decided that he didn't trust you and therefore hated you.

Now, Jeno couldn't feel more grateful for your duality. Thanks to you, Ava was gone and he could return home without having to deal with the girl's obsessive and stalkerish attitude.

He sighed with relief. But the feeling only lasted a brief moment, because as soon as he looked at you again, he saw the way your eyes looked worried. Worried about him.

Without understanding what he were feeling, Jeno got angry again and shoved his shoulder into yours as he walked away. You snorted in disbelief and glared at him angrily, watching his broad back move away towards the alley where he had stashed his bike. 

In an impulse of rage, you went after him, stepping heavily as you were equally annoyed, running a little to catch up with him.

— Is that what I get for my thanks? — you shout marching after him and when all he does is walk faster without looking back, taking the bike key out of his jacket to leave, you feel even angrier and run after him, pushing his back hard.

Jeno stumbles, but manages to balance himself and turns to you with a red face and furious eyes. — I didn't ask for your fucking help, okay? — he shouts back and towers over you.

You don't back down, in fact you take another brave step forward, coming face to face with him. — You couldn't do that even if you wanted to. You were acting like a puppy who'd lost its mother — you teased, pushing his chest with your index finger. It wouldn't hurt, but if you were going to annoy him, you'd take your chance. — You missed peeing your pants, scaredy little puppy.

He pushed your shoulders back in retaliation and, after a shocked sigh, you retaliated by doing the same thing to him. The two of you repeated the childish act a few times, never too hard to hurt, but enough to cause a nuisance.

— Dude, what's your problem with me? What the fuck have I ever done to you? — you shouted. Lucky for you, the street was empty, except for a trio of friends who had passed you both earlier without caring. — Apart from getting you rid of that crazy bitch, of course!?

— You get in my way all the fucking time. You've wormed your way into my group of friends, into my life and now I can't even hate you in peace because you can't stop being the Miss heroine who has to save the day, can you?

You laughed out loud, throwing your head back. — Have you heard yourself? — you asked incredulously. — You sound like you're into me and you don't know how to ask me out.

You tried to joke, hoping that sarcasm would be able to get you out of this weird and confusing situation you've gotten yourselves into, but Jeno was serious. Staring at you in shock and realization, expressions that you were quick to copy the next second.

Before you could say anything else, Jeno grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you eagerly. It was quick, strong and desperate, like the first impulse to breathe after drowning for so long. You gave in almost automatically, your body instinctively knowing what to do, accepting him as if he had always been yours. In fact, he was, he just didn't want to admit it.

You melted in Jeno's warm hands. The boy's soft lips tasted like paradise itself. You almost felt your knees give out when he circled his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. 

You encircled the boy's neck with your arms and propelled yourself on tiptoe so that you were at the same height, making the kiss more comfortable for both of you. You pushed back, trying to make space between you so that you could breathe.

Jeno wasted no time and trailed kisses down your cheek, jaw and neck, sending shivers down your spine at the ghostly sensation of his touch. Everything was so new and intense for both of you that all you wanted to do was give yourself to each other right then and there.

He took precise steps forward, pushing your body back until you were leaning slightly against the leather seat of his motorcycle. His right hand went to the back of your neck, gripping your hair to keep you where he wanted you.

Your lungs were burning from lack of air, and although you didn't want to, you pushed back, trying to make space between you so that you could breathe.

But Jeno wasn't satisfied with just that. When you pulled away, he wasted no time in trailing kisses down your cheek, jaw and neck, sending shivers down your spine at the ghostly sensation of his touch. It was all so new and intense for both of you that all you wanted to do was give yourself to each other right then and there.

— I can't fucking believe it, Lee Jeno — you complained, but this time your voice had a tone of amusement, causado by the situation and the playful little bites the boy was leaving at the base of your neck.

— I don't believe it either… — he replied and gently brushed the hair from your face. — I still hate you, just so you know.

— It's mutual — you replied teasingly and they both smiled mischievously.

— Yeah? — he replied before coming closer once more, surrounding you with his scent. His lips brushed against yours so lightly that you leaned in, wanting to kiss him again.

Você acenou com a cabeça em confirmação, o que só fez Jeno sorrir ainda mais.

— That's even better.