#want to see more of them.. (pure cope)

[roe-oo]

🏹💗…

[archiepelago]

alternate surface au inspired by a few ive seen around on tumblr :3

[elixirfromthestars]

By The Warmth Of The Oven

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You are baking cookies for the Avengers holiday party when a certain super solider comes into the kitchen tipsy for the first time...

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. tipsy bucky.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> is it those cookies that smell delicious or is it you?

a/n: This fluffy drabble is my holiday gift to you my dear Bella @nickfowlerrr ♡ In honor of Can You Feel It? being the first of many beautiful fics I read of yours 🥹🩷 Thank you everyone for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

“Smells good…” Bucky’s voice comes out of nowhere from behind you as you grab another tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. You glance over your shoulder to find him sauntering into the kitchen, making his way over to you. 

“Freshly baked cookies always do,” you reply with a gratified grin, placing the tray on top of the stove so the cookies have some time to cool off before you plate them. Your friends had already gone through three batches of them and they practically begged you to make more. It was a nice feeling, almost rewarding in a way, knowing something you made was so loved by your friends. 

“‘m not talking about the cookies, doll,” there’s a bit of a slur in his cadence that catches your attention at the same time that your heart skips a beat at his words. You turn to him to see he’s staring at you with a dreamy smile and a twinkle in his eyes, propped up against the counter by his elbow. You frown at his unusual nonchalant demeanor. You’ve never seen him act this way before. 

Your head tilts slightly as you examine him a little closer. There’s a bit of a sway to his stance and his cheeks are tinted pink. “Bucky, are you drunk?” Almost immediately he shakes his head at your question, “No. I can't get drunk,” he replies with an obvious tone, and yet the pouty frown on his face tells a different story. 

“Right, you can’t…” you affirm, mulling it over for a moment,“Unless…did Thor give you some of his special Asgardian liquor?” You ask, stepping slightly closer to him, the apples of his cheeks getting rosier in response. 

“I took a shot. I started feeling funny and came here—felt safe,” he mutters that last part reluctantly, sharing something with you he wouldn’t if it weren’t for the alcohol in his system.

“In the kitchen?”

“With you.” 

Your amusement is replaced with a soft expression at his response. He most likely hasn’t felt the effects of alcohol in decades and a part of him doesn’t know how to cope with the resurfaced inhibitions. The fact that while feeling unwell his first instinct was to come looking for you—it made a warmth spread throughout you that could easily rival the heat of the oven.

You reach out to cup his cheek, soothing the flushed skin with your thumb. He instinctively leans into your touch, his eyes shining with a gentle vulnerability that causes your heart to squeeze in your chest. You and Bucky have always had a flirtatious friendship for as long as you can remember, but it's never gone past that. Seeing him so openly affectionate with you stirs emotions deep within you that you aren’t sure you’re ready to bring to the surface.

“I don’t think the alcohol is going to stay in your system for long, Buck. How about we do this…you wait for me here while I go out and serve the cookies I baked,” his eyes widen slightly and you can tell he wants to protest until you add, “I’ll bring back some hot chocolate for us to share and we can enjoy it along with some cookies while we wait for that liquor in your system to wear off. How does that sound?” You suggest softly and you can see the way he thinks it through before he agrees with a nod.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you plate a few dozen cookies on decorative plates, leaving a handful behind for you and Bucky to share. You make sure to quickly take them out to your friends and serve up two piping hot mugs of hot chocolate before making it back to the kitchen in no time. 

When you meet back with Bucky you find him sitting on the counter where he watches his legs as he swings them lazily to and fro. You observe him fondly for a moment longer than necessary. Trying to commit to memory how carefree and unguarded he is at this moment. When he notices you his face lights up in a way that makes you feel like the most precious person on earth. 

“Here, as promised,” you hand him a mug of hot chocolate which he takes eagerly—too eagerly—as he immediately goes for a sip of it. Before he can, however, you stop him, placing your hand as a barrier between his lips and the mug. His mouth ends up pressed into your palm, and you ignore the heat that finds its way to your face at the softness of his lips brushing against your skin.

“Bucky, it's scalding hot! You’ll burn yourself! Wait until it cools down a bit, please.”

“It’s not gonna burn me, doll. I’m a super soldier. Watch—”

“Bucky!” 

You use the cookies as leverage to coax Bucky into waiting for the hot chocolate to cool down before he drinks any of it. For the next hour or so, you enjoy each other's company. Between the sweet treats and the lighthearted conversations, time flies by in a heartbeat. 

Then, while in the middle of a discussion over your last mission, Bucky does something that completely takes you by surprise in the best way possible—he kisses you. It’s short, but profound in the way he pours everything into it. Every flirtation you ever questioned could mean something more was proven here with this kiss, that it had meant so much more for more than just you. 

You’re speechless when he pulls away beaming as if his heart might burst.

“Looks like I was right.” 

“Huh?”

“I asked myself what was sweeter. You or the cookies. I knew it'd be you,” he states as a matter of fact, drinking up the way his words affect you as much as the kiss had. There’s a part of you that doesn’t believe him, but it's not because of him, but more so because you think you must be dreaming. 

“That's the liquor talking.”

“I've sobered up a while ago, doll.”

You search his eyes for the truth of it all and you find it. This is real. This isn’t a dream. And the yearning that burns bright in his eyes is one you know all too well. It’s the same one reflecting in your eyes as your gazes lock on one another.

“I still think the cookies are sweeter,” you whisper, your eyes shining with a playful challenge despite the way your heart races in your chest with anticipation. He catches on, licking his lips as his flesh hand snakes its way to the back of your head to cradle it gently.

“‘m gonna prove you wrong, doll,” he declares in a huskier tone as he pulls you in for another kiss. And that night, by the warmth of the oven, Bucky continues to kiss you until he successfully proves you wrong. 

[therinaes]

banned 🐚

in which rafayel regained his memories as the sea god after the events at the tome (ref. branch story — land of secret flames) and now freaks out at the sight of you handling sharp objects (iykyk)

tags: rafayel x reader, hint of angst, fluff, crack

wc: 0.4k

ri’s note: yes take this as my coping mechanism from that devastating myth (as a god of tides and fragrant dream truther i was ruined)

You knew your boyfriend Rafayel had a natural inclination to the dramatics, but it wasn’t this bad before.

Well, at least not until you two returned from the Tome of the Sea God. 

After his awakening, Rafayel would first be turned into a ferocious feline before he’d allow you to use — let alone touch — any sharp objects. 

It was so bad it even influenced how you do your missions with him now.

It started with him accompanying you one time on a trial. Now, it was no secret to your beloved that you are adept at wielding different types of weapons — guns, swords, polearms, claymores, or possibly even more. However…

“Cutie, please, have mercy on your poor boyfriend. I feel like I chugged down twenty cups of pure black coffee with ten shots of espresso each every time I see you holding that… that abomination!”

“Raf, it’s just a sword.”

“Exactly! It’s a sword!”

“It’s a weapon. Used for slaying wanderers. I’m a hunter.”

‘Yeah, guess who else it could slay.’ He frowns at his own thoughts.

“Darling, you can use other weapons, right?”

“Should I use a claymore then?”

He winces. “No, not that either!”

“Rafayel, really, what is happening?” 

“My dearest miss bodyguard, for the love of lemuria, for the love of the sea god, I beg you — please just use your guns during your mission instead of those crude, edged weapons.” He pleads. Despite the apparent whine, you could sense that his request is not a mere jest.

Why he is doing this, you do not know. But for the sake of his sanity and yours (he’s a handful when insisting on something), you comply.

Only when he’s with you on missions though. When he’s not… well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

—

“Cutie, why are you holding that?!”

He immediately sprints toward you from the doorway of his kitchen. He slightly slumps over the kitchen counter, beside you, as he gently pries the kitchen knife away from your hands.

“There. Perfect,” He says as he subtly squishes himself parallel to the cutting board, causing you to move to the side involuntarily. Chopping sounds then fill the kitchen.

You dramatically whoop your head to glare at him, who is now looking very pleased with what he has done.

“Rafayel, I’m cooking!”

“No sweetheart, I’m cooking.”

Yes.

Your lover also took over the kitchen upon returning from the tome.

Oh, you want to cook for him? Okay then, but let him do the cutting and chopping.

However, if you really do insist, he’s supervising you closely.

“Why are you acting like that? I won’t stab myself.” You quipped.

“Yeah, that’s what she said.” He grunts.

“What?”

“Hmm? I didn’t say anything. Must’ve been the wind.”

And so, with him around, you and sharp objects are practically a no-no combo. Especially with his own daggers. He’s really protective of them (you, actually). God forbid you wield his dagger again.  He might die if that happens again.

[orcasoul]

The Plus One

Summery: You and Pedro have been in a relationship for a while but for some reason he'd stopped inviting you to social events. Has he grown tired of you...?

Warnings: swearing, angst (because I liiive for it!), mental health issues, low self esteem from reader, caring Pedro, fluff, use of Y/N.

This is inspired by the video of Pedro dancing his arse off at Sarah Paulsons 50th birthday party. God bless this man for randomly inspiring us when he's not even trying to lol.

Word Count: 3,516

It's a quiet evening at home. The living room fireplace is softy blazing, the crackling red and orange flames along with the Christmas tree lights and low lamp light bathes the room in a reposeful ambience. You're snuggled up on the settee in your favourite fluffy Oodie, sipping a hot chocolate as you finish reading a Christmas rom com by one of your favourite authors. And while this is something that usually helps you to unwind at the end of the day, you can't seem to shift that gutting feeling deep down in your stomach. You should have been with Pedro tonight at Sarah's party instead of here alone. With the book finished you're about to check Kindle for your next read but before opening the app, you'd decided to check your notifications on facebook.

Now you wish you hadn't. Of course the first thing to pop up would be a video of Pedro having the time of his life at the party. Not that that is the real issue here. You're not the controlling or possessive type who wants to keep their partner all for yourself and deny them any kind of social life; quite the opposit, in fact. The thing that really hurts, that makes your heart physically ache is that you're never included in Pedro's social events anymore. You would have loved to have been his date to Sarah's party and make memories with him like normal couples do. You've met Sarah on several occasions and the two of you had always got along really well, so why would he rather go alone than bring you?

You've been together for six months now, so it's not like you're in the early stages where you're both yet to meet the others' family and friends. It just doesn't make sense. You had attended a few ceremonies and promotional events for Pedro's movies with him before now and even though they had been quite intense environments to be in, you were just thrilled to be there with him, to support him and show the world how proud you are of him. And you'd like to think that you were adept at hiding the effects that your social anxiety had on you during these occasions. You'd smile, engage in chit chat and if it became too overwhelming you'd always secretly resort to your special coping technique to calm your nerves; stroking slow circles on the palm of your hand.

But it had been months since you'd last attended any events with him and as time goes on it just hurts more and more. You'd hoped time would have made it easier to accept, but truthfully it makes you feel abandoned, insignificant, like you don't belong in his world. Is that it? Is he embarrassed by you? It's true you're both from very different worlds, having met through friends of friends and not through working together in the film industry. Sometimes you still can't understand why he'd chose to be with a nobody like you when he could literally have any woman he wanted. As your mind continues to spiral, taking you to dark places, tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

To love him so much, only to feel it's not enough for him to want you around is... soul crushing. You'd been trying for so long to ignore that niggling little voice in the back of your mind; the one telling you that you aren't good enough for him and there has been times when you'd been able to mute it, especially when you're together and he looks at you with pure adoration in his eyes, or the times he would come home to LA between filming, even if it was just for a couple of days to see you or if he couldn't make it he'd fly you out to the set. No matter what he always made time for your relationship, but only out of the public eye. Pedro has always been a private person, especially when it comes to romantic involvements, but it feels like he's trying to hide you.

And now, this latest video has turned that niggling little voice into a full on megaphone, screaming an endless barrage of ugly truths at you; you're not enough for him. He's bored of you. You're an embarrassment, a stone around his neck. It was only a matter of time. You clutch at your chest as your heart shatters into a thousand pieces, sobs wracking your body. It's over! How could you have not seen it sooner?! He doesn't need you in his life. He's bloody Pedro Pascal for heavens' sake.

You were a delusional fool to ever believe you had anything to offer him. Maybe this is his way of subtly telling you it wasn't working for him anymore. Maybe he'd hoped showing you the stark differences between you both would have made you realise it couldn't continue, and being the kind and gentle man he is, he didn't want to outright dump you and hurt you, so this was the best strategy.

Now your sorrow is tinged with anger. If he wanted to end it all this time he damn well should have had the balls to tell you instead of dragging it out. So, it's down to you now; if he won't do it, you'll have to. Your tablet screen is now shining with your tears. You wipe it dry with your sleeve and throw it down beside you, Knidle well and truly forgotton. Fluffing up a cushion, you curl up on the settee while your broken heart mourns and weeps.

As the party came to an end Pedro couldn't help but feel a little relieved. He'd had a great time and wouldn't have missed one of his best friends' milestone birthdays for the world, but he missed you like hell tonight. He especially felt the sting of your absence when he would see couples dancing or sitting together, hand in hand or snuggling up. He feels selfish, but he wishes you could have been here tonight. And not just tonight, but to all his recent public appearances like the premiers for The Wild Robot and Gladiator 2, but he won't put you through that again.

The guilt still eats away at him when he casts his mind back to the last couple of times you'd attended high profile events with him, even low key and private ones where there isn't a constant blinding flash of cameras. He knows of your struggles with your mental health, in particular with social anxiety (something he can absolutely relate to) and even through your obvious facade he could see what the pressure was doing to you, often feeling a slight tremble in your hand while laced with his. He could see the difference between your forced smile and your genuine smile; the one that would make your eyes sparkle and he could lose himself in them completely.

But the worst thing was when you start rubbing the palm of your hand over and over when you'd thought he wasn't watching. He knew then it was all becoming too much for you and that's when he'd decided that he won't be selfish anymore, that he had to prioritise your well being and comfort before his own and if that meant attending ceremonies and large gatherings alone, so be it. Of course, he always felt incomplete without you at his side, but your needs far outweigh his own as far as he's concerned. Knowing he can shield you from even a fraction of discomfort makes the sacrifice worth it.

After slipping into his jacket, Pedro found Sarah at the front door of her house, waving some guests off. Wrapping her in a big hug, he said, "Happy birthday again, sweetie and thanks for inviting me." Sarah returned the hug. "I'm so glad you came, but I missed seeing Y/N tonight. How is she?" Pedro couldn't hold back the grin that broke out across his face at the mention of your name. "She's great. I wanted to bring her tonight, but I think the crowd would have been too much for her." Sarah smiled endearingly at her friend. "You really do love her, don't you?" Pedro chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh no reason..." she smirked. " Only that I've never seen you so smitten and protective over any other woman in all the years I've known you. You've got it bad." Pedro rolled his eyes, playfully. "Yeah, I guess I do." "So, what are you waiting for?" Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you talking about?" Pedro asked, knowing exactly what she meant. "You've been carrying that ring around with you for weeks now and still haven't asked her. What's holding you back?" Pedro shifted uncomfortably, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Just worried about her, that's all. The moment word gets out of an engagement, paparazzi will be circling like vultures. I don't just want her overwhelmed." "I think you underestimate her," Sarah began, "I don't think she'd ever let her anxiety get in the way of being with you. It's obvious how much she loves you. In fact when I'm around you two for too long, the sweetness gives me temporary diabetes." Pedro let out a deep belly laugh at that, drawing one from Sarah in return.

"Just do it..." she urged, gently. "You know she'll say yes." Pedro smiled and nodded, "I know." "Well..." Sarah yawned, "Get out of here. I'm fifty now and need my beauty sleep." She gave Pedro another hug. "So, I'll see you and Y/N for lunch next week?" "Sure," Pedro replied, "Goodnight, sweetie." He waved as he walked to his car. "Night," Sarah called out before closing the door.

Settling in his car, Pedro connected his phone to the car speaker and rang your phone. He promised he'd call after the party to say goodnight and couldn't wait to hear your voice. But as soon as you answered, he knew something was wrong. "Hey baby, everything okay?" he asked, worridly. His worry only increased when you cleared your throat, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. "Yeah um... I'm fine." You most definitely aren't fine! "You're a shit liar, you know that?" Pedro says, lightheartedly to help put you at ease. Now his tone turns more serious. "Tell me what's wrong." Silence... "Y/N? You're starting to scare me now." "I told you I'm fine. I'm just... tired." You tried to sound convincing but failed, spectacularly.

"I'm coming over -" "No!" Your abrupt outburst silenced Pedro. You've never turned him away in all the months you've been together. "It's... uh... it's late. You should just get home safe." Pedro sighed. "I know something's wrong and if you won't tell me on the phone I'm coming over." At that, you burst into tears. A pang shot straight through Pedro's heart at the sound of you crying. "Hey, baby, talk to me!" he pled. "What happened?" In between the the sniffling your voice became strained. "I didn't want to do this over the phone." Pedro suddenly had a sinking feeling in his gut, not liking the tone of this conversation. "Do what?" he asked, hesitantly. "Its..." sniffle, "It's over."

If Pedro hadn't already been sitting in the car his legs would have given out on him! "W- what?!" he stuttered in disbelief. "What do you mean it's over?!" His hands gripped the steering wheel for support. Where the fuck did this come from all of a sudden?! "Please..." you whispered, sounding mentally drained. "Don't pretend you didn't know this was coming. If you don't want me anymore you should have said something sooner." Pdero jerked his head back, blinking in shock. "What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?" You are full on sobbing now, your words just an unintelligible jumble. "I'm coming over, right now!" "No, please-" "I'm coming over!" he cut you off bluntly and hung up the phone.

His hands shook as he started up the engine and it took all of his willpower to not floor it to your house. Getting pulled over for speeding is the last thing he needs right now. The whole way over, his mind was a frantic mess. What could have happened between the last time he saw you (which was only yesterday) and now? Did he say something? Do something? When he got to your house, he practically flew from the car, his fist pounding on your front door almost as hard as his heart was pounding behind his ribs. "Baby open up, please. I'm not leaving until you talk to me." A few moments later the door cracked open and there you stood, puffy eyed and blotchy faced. Your lips had swollen and your nose shone red from crying.

Pedro could have cried himself from the state you're in. Without a second thought he pushed his way through the door and swept you into his arms, cupping the back of your head to his chest. To his relief, instead of pushing him away, you encircled your arms around his waist, holding him tight. He reached back to close the door behind him, then guided you to the setee, sitting beside you. "Now, what's all this about, hmm? I know this isn't what you really want." You shook your head, a small humourless laugh escaping you. "Of course it's not, but deep down I think it's what you want."

Pedro's forefinger gently tipped your chin up so you were looking into his eyes; big puppy dog eyes filled hurt, confusion and fear. "What I want?" His bottom lip twitched as if he was lost for words. You nod, wiping your cheeks. "W- why would you ever think something like that, sweetheart?" Pedro's shocked expression now has you doubting yourself. Were you wrong? But how could you be? For a while, you've been trying to ignore the feeling that he was slipping away but looking at him now... It's like he'd never even entertained the idea of leaving you. All this uncertainty is giving you whiplash and you can't hold it in anymore. You need to get everything off your chest.

"I..." you trail off as you feel more tears gathering, ready to pour out along with all your insecurities. "...I feel like you don't want me around anymore..." you begin, chest shuddering with nerves and hiccups. "You never invite me to anything, whether it's to do with your public life or even your social life. I'm never included like a partner should be. I need you to be honest... Are you ashamed of me? Because sometimes I feel like you don't want to be seen with me and that you've been pulling away..." You're rambling now, but you just can't stop. "I know I'm not on the same level as you and there are so many beautiful women out there throwing themselves at your feet. Maybe I don't belong in your world. Maybe I'm not enough for you-" Pedro's hands on either side of your face stops your self deprecating tirade.

"Baby, don't you ever put yourself down like that again, you hear me?" You're shocked to see Pedro's cheeks are now wet too. "I'm sorry. Fucking hell! I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I thought I was protecting you this whole time." "Protecting me?" you ask in bewilderment. Pedro gave you a sad smile. "I Know from years of experience that being in the spotlight is tough. It can be draining and I could see how hard it was for you." Pedro took one of your hands and turned it over, rubbing slow circles into your palm. When you realised what he meant by that action, he nodded and kissed your forehead.

"I know you tried to hide it from me, but I noticed every time." "I'm sorry," you mumbled, shame burning your cheeks. "No." Pedro squeezed your hand. "You never apologise for that. I'm the one who's sorry. I was afraid if I mentioned it, you deny it for my sake, so I stopped asking you to come with me thinking it was the best thing for you." Pedro exhaled and your heart ached for him, seeing the guilt and remorse crushing him. "I didn't think it would have looked like I never want you around, 'cause the truth is I miss you, EVERY GODDAMN TIME I have to attend these things without you. I want you with me, now and forever. I'll tell you what..." he looked to be carefully considering his next words. "if you feel up for it, come with me to the next event and if you feel overwhelmed at any point, you tell me and we'll take some time out or even leave."

More tears fall, but this time from sheer relief. You hadn't realised you'd dropped your head again until Pedro, once again, lifted your chin. He looked into your eyes with a fierce and passionate determination. "Now, I'll say this only once; I'm not ashamed of you, we are on the same level, you are more than enough for me and you ARE my world. I love you, so much!" You couldn't fight the beaming smile that practically split your face and you grabbed Pedro by the collar of his jacket, crashing your lips against his.

A surprised "Oomph!" came from his throat and you felt him smile against your mouth. His hands slid to your waist and he pulled you flush to his upper body. His tongue licked your lips and you opened them, allowing him to deepen then kiss; a kiss filled with love, reassurance and a promise of forever. Pedro then broke the kiss, pulling you into a hug. "I love you too," you whispered into his ear. "And I'm sorry, I should have told you how I was feeling instead of keeping it from you." Pedro cupped your cheek, wiping away a tear. "I'm sorry too, for making that decision for you instead of talking to you."

You let out a lighthearted chuckle, Pedro's frown softening at the sound. "I guess it was just bad communication on both our parts." "Yeah..." he agreed. "Let's make a promise to each other, right now; that we'll always be open and honest with each other and not keep things bottled up." "I promise," you smile and kiss the tip of his nose. "And I promise, too," he returned the kiss. With all the tension drained from your body, you suddenly feel exhausted and can't stop the big yawn taking over you. Pedro smiled at you, adoringly. "I think we should get you to bed, sweetheart." He stood up, picking you up off the setee and made his way to your bedroom.

"Will you stay tonight?" You whisper as you snuggle into his neck, inhaling the scent you love so much. "Of course I will." He kissed the crown of your head. While you used the bathroom, pedro changed into a pair of PJ bottoms and an old T-shirt he'd left here for when he'd stay over. He used the bathroom after you, rushing through brushing his teeth just so he could return to you sooner. Walking into the bedroom, he laughed to himself when all could see was your eyes peeking at him from the edge of the quilt, which was pulled up to cover your nose. God, you look adorable. Your eyes creased in the corners as you laughed under the cover, then pulled it away for him to settle in next to you.

Pedro laid on his back, lifting his arm for you to snuggle into him. Sighing happily, you lay your head on his broad chest and lace a leg over his hips, the steady thump of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body soothing you instantly. "I love you." You tipped your head up to kiss him softly on his lips. "I love you too," he purred, tightening his arms around you. It didn't take you more than ten minutes to drop off, judging by your slow breaths. Pedro, on the other hand, stayed awake long after you'd dropped off, just relishing the feeling of holding you in his arms. He feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about how close he came to losing you tonight, and all because of a misunderstanding.

He thinks of the ring he's been carrying around, how he almost lost the opportunity to give it to you. Well, he won't wait any longer. If tonight has taught him anything, it's that nothing is guaranteed in life and, even though he never once doubted you'd say yes, just your devastated reaction to believing you'd lost him proves that you love and need him as much as he does you. Tomorrow he'll ask you; He'll wine and dine you at your favourite restaurant, take you on a stroll along the beach and then, he'll get down on one knee and invite you to share the rest of your life with him.

@greenwitchfromthewoods @picketniffler @liciafonseca @misscornelia13 @missadangel @southernbe

[rosenclaws]

ok, ok “suck on my fingers.” and “don’t make a mess, baby.” prompt with the worse wolverine? btw i love your words!!!

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, squirting, fingering, dirty talk, overstimulation, cum eating (kinda? i think thats whats this called idk he just sticks his fingers in ur mouth after fingering)

600 follower drabble masterlist

a/n: I'm gonna be so real I am coping hard rn. I am devastated and worried for the future but if writing wolverine smut is what helps that is what I shall do. I hope you like it!!

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Fuck at this point you'd believe that you've been here for days. Wrapped in his arms. Trapped under his adamantium bone and super human strength. The sheets slip through your fingers as your grip grows weaker. Logan has been teasing you, playing with you like a piece of meat.

Logan is upright against the headboard. He’s got your back against his chest. One of strong arms is keeping you upright. Forcing you to sit there. His other hand is shoved into your panties. He didn’t even bother to take them off.

There’s something playing on the TV in your room but you lost any sense of your surroundings about an hour ago. Logan likes to play with his food. Always has.

Your big hot boyfriend loves to make a mess of things before he eats.

“Oh Fuck Logannnn.” You whine as he slips two of his fingers into your already soaked cunt.

Your panties are soaked from Logan’s touch. He won’t even bother taking them off. He likes the obscene sight of his hands down them. Loves seeing his fingers disappear and watch your cute face scrunch up in pleasure.

You’re trying with all your might to squirm away. Not that you wanted him to stop but the pleasure was overwhelming. Your body was moving without your brain at this point. Pure instinct. Logan growls in your ear. Shoving another finger inside to shut you up.

“Quiet. I’m not done with you yet.” You tilt your neck to the side as Logan’s rough thumb starts to circle your clit harshly.

The sounds of your pleasure are loud and Logan is unashamedly eating them up. His fingers movie faster and faster. Pounding into you with a force that makes you scream. Your dripping down his hands and onto the sheets. Logan tuts and shakes his head mockingly.

“Don’t make a mess baby.” He scolds as he drives his fucking fingers deep inside of you. Fucking liar. He loves when you make a mess. Nothing boosts his ego more.

He feels so good. His fingers are tearing you apart. He’s hell bent on making you come harder than you ever have. He can never get enough. It's like a competition with himself. Making sure you know only he can do this to you over and over. A pressure builds deep in your core and your eyes widen when you feel a certain feeling.

“Logan wait I-“ Your pleas are silenced as another moan rips through your throat.

You chant his name over and over as your legs start to shake. Logan watches in awe as you squirt all over the bed. He doesn't let up as he pulls as much as he can. You're moaning only pushes him further. He's whispering dirty things in your ear but you can barely hear him. Your body is screaming in pure pleasure and its all you can hear.

"Too much." You manage to whimper out as Logan continues to fuck his fingers into you.

He hums and in a moment of mercy decides you've had enough for tonight. Such a good pet. His fingers are coated. He pulls them apart and smirks as he brings them to your lips.

“Come on, suck on my fingers." He coos as you lazily open your mouth. Your perfect pretty lips surrounding his fingers, sucking your own juices from his fingers.

"Taste yourself, see why I can't get enough of this delicious cunt." His eyes grow dark as he watches your lips take his fingers so easily. You look up with glossy eyes. Completely fucked out because of him.

"Cute." He presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls you closer. His fingers slip out of your mouth and he dips back down into your soaked underwear. You whine when he gently brushes over your sensitive clit.

"Shhh sweetheart," His moves are softer this time, gentle.

"Just relax. Let me get my taste too."

[chondrichthyes-x-mantodea]

Sooooo as someone going into fields that contain biology I think it's time we talk about how we see it from a fully male perspective. It's gotten to the point for me that I cannot listen to men talk biology, specifically reproduction. When we talk about male competition, we talk about it as "the right to mate". However this sees reproduction as a sentient, default specimen (male) doing to the secondary, inanimate vessel (female). In reality males fight for the CHANCE to win female attention. Females will forever be more selective sexually in the majority of animals. This is because females expend more energy in reproduction (the simple fact eggs are the larger gamete). Even in most fish, where care is commonly paternal, you will find heavy selection on the female side. Females are not fought over like an object to earn or "inseminate" the pure attention we give is what's fought over. Females almost always control their species. Look at tiger endlers. It may seem like the males harass females, but females actually CHOOSE exactly which sperm they concieve with and retain sperm for up to a year (trust me I have SEEN it myself). There's also this notion that males are all about genetics while female is about love or is about being a vessel. That's laughable. Females want their genetics to succeed just as much as males. They just dont have to fight as much because they have the limited gamete, its not a competition to be chosen when the other sex is unlimited. And the way we talk about paternal vs maternal. Paternal animals are all about "self preservation" but maternal animals are robots to their love. Dont get me started on how people act when I tell them my betta males do the incubating. We like to see it as a male competing to spread his genes and not a female choosing to complete her genes with the perfect individual. Every time someone tries to symbolize sex this shit comes into play. Male is the default that uses female as his tool. Be it describing it as penetration, fertilization, and much more. On the topic of "fertilization" did you know that the egg chooses the sperm? Did you know eggs are more complex than sperm? Did you know that eggs are not infertile without a sperm they just arent a embryo? We see female as defined by male, made valueable by male. A vessel filled by male. I think it's time for females to realize that nature is actually quite female centered. Hopefully as we get more women in this field, that will change. Because right now I'm starting to learn that a lot of science is worded in a way so males can cope with actually being quite lesser than females and at our disposal.

Edit: thanks for all the attention everyone! I've always wanted a space I could talk about this sort of thing. Glad to know I'm not alone on this. Trying to be in this field as a feminist can be insufferable

[princessbellecerise]

Rotten Soil, Rotten Fruit

Summary ✩ You are Alicent Hightower’s pride and joy. Sweet and innocent, you’re the apple of the Queen’s eye more than her own children are. But how will she react when you slip into the hands of her enemies?

Warnings ✩ Mentions of pregnancy, birth, reader is a very distant relative of Alicent, mentions of religion and sa (but it doesn’t happen), Alicent being bastardphobic

You were not from her womb, but the Queen loved you like a daughter anyways.

You were good, sweet and kind with a gentle heart. Mayhaps the fact that you did not come from her body was the reason you possessed such traits, for you seemed to be everything her children were not, even though she often prayed for them to be.

Maybe it was the fact that you came from her mother’s side, a distant relative but blood no matter how thin it might’ve been. The one that survived the fire wiping out your family, though you had been too young to remember such a thing.

You were a connection and a reminder to a side that Alicent hadn’t known for years. A connection to Lady Alicent—now lost to her—who was sweet and pure once, and now everyday you reminded her of what she had been. You were everything that Alicent wanted and more, and yet, you did not belong to her.

Not forever, anyways.

You were at the age where it was considered necessary for a young lady to wed, but Alicent would be lying if she said that she was ready to give you away. She already had to suffer once in marrying her other sweet daughter to Aegon, and now that the time had come both Viserys and Otto were pushing to do the same for you.

“It is time the girl begins a life of her own, Alicent,” Viserys had said. “She cannot stay under you forever.”

“She must wed now, or risk remaining a spinster. Helaena was wed at three and ten, Y/N is five years past that. It is time, Alicent.” Her father had reminded her. And then he added, “Though I am sure if it were up to you, daughter, keeping Y/N a spinster would most please you.”

And it would’ve. Alicent wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not again. To watch another person she loved be ripped away and forced to endure a fate like her. It almost as painful watching it happen than it was to experience it herself. Painful to see her girls become nothing more than a womb to spill retched seed into.

Please, not her. Not yet is what she prayed to the Mother every night.

Prayed that you’d be spared if not now, then at least a little longer. Alicent needed time to cope. She needed time to grieve your absence from her as well, but the goddess did not listen.

In fact, it seemed that the Mother loved you more than Alicent herself did, because she was intent on taking you away. Intent on seeing Alicent suffer, as if she hadn’t enough already.

She would’ve forgive the Mother for all of her pain and suffering had it been anyone but him. Had it been anyone except Jacaerys Velaryon that ended up leading you to the fate of motherhood, then Alicent would have rejoiced, truly. Because it would’ve meant that the gods may have been cruel, but at least they didn’t outright hate Alicent.

Be as it may though, all of her fears came to fruitation in the early days of 132 AC.

The Prince Jacaerys and his mother had flown to court on account of defending his younger brother’s claim to Driftmark, a usurpation that Alicent herself had put into motion.

She’d heard the complaints of Vaemond Velaryon and she along with her father agreed that Driftmark needed to go towards someone of his blood. Someone with true Velaryon roots, and not that brood of bastards Rhaenyra had cooked up.

The Princess had decorated them like cakes, putting on the ultimate farce as they pranced around in Velaryon clothes and colors.

Alicnet herself hadn’t been there to greet them upon their arrival to the Red Keep, her own pettiness forbidding her to step foot into that courtyard. But from what she had heard from you, someone she had sent in her place, Rhaenyra had truly outdone herself.

“They all arrived on their dragons and in such nice fashion, too! The patterns on Princess Rhaenyra’s dresses were just beautiful, your grace. And oh, the dragons! They were magnificent, e-especially Prince Jacaerys’ mount,” You had gushed.

Alicent should’ve known then that was something was wrong. The way you looked, the way you smiled when you mentioned Rhaenyra’s spawn didn’t sit right with her even then. She thought it odd how much you stuttered when speaking of Jacaerys but Alicent had just chalked it up to your girlish excitement for new visitors.

Oh how she wished that she hadn’t.

How she wished that she hadn’t been so blind, blinder than her dear husband and son not to notice what was going on in front of her.

Alicent hadn’t even noticed until all of it smacked her in the face. She hadn’t noticed all of the stares, all of the lingering touches and the things that were being done in the shadows.

She was still recovering from the loss and the humiliation of losing Vaemond and Driftmark, all because her husband had decided to crawl out of bed and put himself through immerse pain just to defend Lucerys’ claim.

Alicent had been so distracted by the failure of her plan that she didn’t even know you were seeing the Prince Jacaerys, sneaking behind her back and meeting up with him in secret.

Had she been in her usual state of mind, she would’ve heard the whispers from the maids. Heard about how he’d walk with you in the gardens, show you obvious favor by gifting you flowers and jewels. Alicent had noticed those, but she had assumed that they were from other suitors, not Rhaenyra’s bastard Prince.

You never said otherwise either, and you had many suitors vying for you hand—and for the favor of the Queen. It could’ve come from any one of them but never once did you mention it was him until it was too late. Until one day, you had no choice.

It had been only two moons since the petition when the maids came running to her and told Alicent that you hadn’t bled. Of course, still nursing the fall out from Rhaenyra, Alicent was taken off guard by this new information. This new revelation that included you possibly being in a scandal. After all, everyone knew that missing one’s moon blood was a clear sign of pregnancy, but Alicent hadn’t wanted to believe that at first.

“What are you saying?” She had asked slowly, as though she were a fool that needed it spelled out. “Speak it, and say it plainly Talia. Now.”

Briefly, Alicent was reminded of the time Viserys had uttered the same words, demanding that her Lord father explain what he meant by Rhaenyra being in a pleasure house. Alicent hadn’t understood his willful ignorance then. After all, it did not take a scholar to figure out what her father was trying to say. But now, as she stared at the nervous maid in front of her, she understood Viserys more than she ever had.

What was Talia trying to say, exactly?

“Your Grace, Lady Y/N has not received her moon blood for two months now,” She explained after taking a deep breath. “And furthermore, she has shown signs of…sickness in the mornings. Sore breasts, and her clothes do not not fit her anymore either. Some say…well they say that Lady Y/N has been seen visiting a man late at night. They say…they say that she has been having an affair with the Prince Jacaerys.”

Alicent blinked, and suddenly the Queen found herself standing in your room, staring at the evidence of what Talia had said, or rather, the lack of.

True to her word, there was no blood on your sheets even though the usual date of when you bled had long passed. The sheets were as white as snow, and Alicent could tell by the way they were crumpled they hadn’t been changed, either.

Rage, white hot and blinding, creeped it way into her bones.

“What has happened? Were you raped?” Was Alicent’s immediate thought. She was furious, thinking that he must have taken you in a way that you did not want to warrant something like this.

Alicent would never, ever believe that you would willingly lie with that bastard, so that must’ve been the only explanation. Her sweet girl…Talia had been wrong. It wasn’t an affair at all.

“No! No! I wanted to, I swear it, your grace!”

Alicent didn’t believe you. Even as you blubbered and tried to explain the details of what transpired to this, she didn’t believe that something like this could happen without you being forced. Ignoring your protests that you absolutely weren’t, she felt the heat of a thousand suns coat her voice as she exclaimed, “That bastard! I will have him exiled for this!”

Never before had she spoken a threat with such hatred. Never before had the Queen dared to say such treasons out loud. In all her years, Alicent had never spoken of the Velaryon boy’s parentage in anything but riddles. And even then, it was hushed whispers and jests coated in honey that left her mouth.

Never before had the plain accusation left her lips, wording clear as daylight as she seethed. “I will…I have him hanged! I will feed his body to the dogs myself for what he has done!”

For once, Alicent wanted revenge. She would punish that bastard to the most extreme that she could; make him pay for what he had done to you. Her heart ached as she stared at you.

How could she have been so stupid? How could you have been harmed in a such a way and how had she not even noticed? This was her fault, Alicent thought with horror. With a heavy feeling growing in her chest, she realized that she was too caught up in her own feelings, too caught up in politicking to take care of her domestic affairs.

And now because of her ignorance, because of her greed she had been punished. You had been raped, defiled and disgraced by a monster.

And where was she when you needed her? Where was she when you were taken no doubt against your will, probably terrified as the bastard spawn nipped at your tender flesh.

Alicent felt so sick she could hardly breathe. Had her senses not already been dialed to eleven, she would have missed the way you began to cry harder, shaking your head as you protested,

“Please, your Grace, don’t! You…you can’t! Jacaerys loves me, and he would never. You can’t send him away! You can’t hurt him!” The sound of your wailing was almost enough to make Alicent begin to crumple. In fact, she felt her knees shake as she covered her mouth, pity flooding her veins as she shook her head.

“He told you that? He told you that he loved you after dishonoring you?” She asked in disbelief. Just when she thought that it couldn’t get any worse, her poor girl now defended her defiler and had been told lies about how he truly felt. Words meant to keep you quiet, she had no doubt. Telling you that he loved you so that you wouldn’t see his acts for what they really were.

“Y/N, any man who does such a thing could never love you. To take a maiden by force, and to disgrace you by impregnating you with a bastard is not love. Look at me!”

Alicent wasn’t expecting to see the way you immediately changed. Instead of crying, you became panicked as you shook your head.

“No, no, my babe isn’t a bastard,” You insisted tearfully. “We are married your grace, I swear it upon the Gods themselves! In the Sept of Seven Prince Jacaerys married me and Princess Rhaenyra was our witness. You have to believe me, Queen Alicent! We did everything the right way! He never forced me and he loves me, I swear it!”

Now it felt someone had slapped Alicent across the face. She stared, dumbfounded as you revealed this information and it was like the entire world stopped spinning.

The Queen regent trembled as her knees gave out. She had to take a seat on the edge of your bed to stop herself from collapsing as she became hysterical.

“She knew? Rhaenyra knew about this?” Was all that she could manage to get out. Of course. Of course she should’ve known that Rhaenyra was behind something like this. And not only that, she had sanctioned it, a feat that made Alicent want to throw up.

The entire time that she had hosted Rhaenyra in her home, the entire time that she played nice and allowed her bastards to eat her food, sleep in her beds, Rhaenyra had thrown her hospitality in her face and allowed her son to defile the one good thing Alicent had left.

You, so sweet and kind, who probably did not even understand the things he had done to you, had been ruined. Right under her nose, her only salvation in this world had been stolen away and breeded like some common whore. Married with no ceremony which Alicent wanted to attend. That she had dreamed of having for you ever since you had ended up in her care.

And worse that than, you now carried a child. The trueborn heir to Jacaerys Velaryon. An heir to the Iron Throne.

“You…”

Alicent would’ve rather it had been a bastard. Gods, she could have handled a bastard. She could’ve gotten rid of it, or given it away to save you some shame. But this…harming your trueborn child would be an act of treason.

For all of Alicent misdoings, this was the one where truly, Viserys would have her hanged if she harmed the babe in your belly. There would be no mercy for her. Not this time. And for first time time since she had become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Alicent felt really and truly helpless.

All the power in the world couldn’t help her overcome this. It couldn’t save you from being taken from her in quite literally the worst way imaginable. She knew that one day it would happen, but this…for it happen to like this…For you to be stolen by Rhaenyra of all people…

“Oh, my sweet girl.”

She collapsed as you sank to her feet sobbing, allowing you to rest your head on her lap as you cried. Alicent shakily brought a hand up to stroke your head, trying to soothe you even though she herself felt numb.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Rhaenyra had betrayed her, once again lying straight to her face. But this time her step daughter had done something that could never be undone. Sanctioned a marriage between you and her bastard, witnessed it before all of the Gods and defiled you and the holy temple with such an act.

The sept, the very place where Alicent used to spend time with you, used to take you to pray when all her other children had no taste for it, was tainted by her sins.

We are Targaryen’s, we do not worship the Gods of Westeros Viserys had once told her.

But you did. She did. And it made sense. It made sense why the two of you were the only decent people left in this dishonorable world, and it was because you worshiped the only Gods that taught true honor and decency.

Yes, yes, Alicent had thought for so long that that was the reason her other children were so wicked, as was their father, their sister, and their nephews. They did not answer to the same Gods as you did, did not have the same respect for honor and sacrifice as you both did.

And because of that, because of her unwavering faith, it that meant that as much as she wanted to, as much as she wished that this was all a fairytale and she’d be able to annul this farce of a marriage and free you from the bloody shackles that still had her chained, Alicent couldn’t.

You were now bound to House Targaryen as she was, first by oath and now by order of blood and seed. Just like she was, you were forever a prisoner of this miserable keep, never to leave those who were served but never served themselves.

She wanted to talk to the idiot Septon who had done this. Who had officiated this…this vile farce. When Alicent found out who it was, she’d have their head for it.

But for now, all she could do was take your crying figure into her arms, stroking the cheeks that were drowned with tears. Come morning, she would make sure that they were gone but for now, she let them flow, watching as they ruined her green dress.

“Does he know?” She managed to ask quietly, waiting until you were at least done sobbing to question if Jacaerys, the father of your babe, was even informed. “Does he know what your sins have resulted in? That he has saddled you with a child?”

Alicent wasn’t even when shocked when you nodded your head.

“Yes. He and Princess Rhaenyra both know,” You hiccuped. Once again, the Queen saw red.

Of course. She’d wager that everyone knew expect for her. Every one of them…they had played Alicent for a fool. Pulled the ultimate stunt and now they were no doubt laughing behind her back. That was probably exactly what Rhaenyra wanted. At the moment, the Princess was probably laughing at Alicent, smug that she had once again managed to blindside her.

“Always the fool, aren’t you?” She imagined Rhaenyra saying. And she was right.

“My last living flower. My last sweet tasting fruit. You are now rotted as well,” Alicent grieved. You did not quite understand what she meant, but Alicent did. She understood that she was indeed a fool.

She was a fool to think that anything good could ever grow from her womb, and she was even more foolish to think that you, who was planted in the soil and grown by her love would be any different.

No matter what she did, the outcome was the same. One way or another, her flowers wilted, her sweet fruits decayed. From her womb or from her love, nothing good ever came of a child from Alicent Hightower, and this was only further proof.

Alicent wasn’t sure if she was more angry at Jacaerys or at herself. She wasn’t sure if the guilt she felt was for not protecting you, or because one way or another she knew that this was her fault.

Even if she hadn’t sent you that day out of her own pettiness and all but planted the seeds for this to happen, then it would still be fate that you would end up corrupted.

Alicent had been plagued with the curse of her children turning out that way since Aegon was born. She had passed it from child to child, all the way down to her youngest Daeron and she was a fool to think you, who she loved as her own, could escape it.

For a while, she had truly believed that you had. From the moment you were brought to her, barely a babe of two, and up until now, Alicent thought you escaped the curse.

After all, you were good and you were kind and she had raised you, so that had to mean something, right?

But now Alicent realized that all good things came to an end. Just because it hadn’t happened didn’t mean that it wouldn’t. The Gods had time above all else. They would see to it that every prophecy would become fulfilled; no matter how long it took. And now, everything Alicent had ever feared came to light in that moment.

You were indeed still rotten fruit because you were grown from her rotten soil. How could she expect you to be any different, how could she be so foolish?

She should’ve expected this. She should’ve known since that first conversation that it would happen.

But she had turned an eye and let her hopes blind her. And because of that, you now paid the price of being loved by her.

You too, were now corrupted.

—

Your pregnancy was a miserable thing. You were constantly sick from the day that you told Alicent, always hunched over one bucket or another and miserablly hot.

Alicent remembered that feeling. Remembered how she never felt comfortable, how she always felt like she was burning alive as the fires of her dragon babes licked at her womb. She knew it was the same for you, and she pitied you above all else.

The blood of the dragon ran hot, and it wasn’t easy carrying it. Often times, Alicent would find you indoors, being fanned by the largest that they had or on the days where your body temperature climbed really high, soaking in a bath with cold ice and water.

It was heartbreaking, really, to see how you almost identically suffered as she did, but unlike her you didn’t seem to mind. You were always so happy, so optimistic even when your husband’s devil spawn was burning you alive.

You were never without a smile as you flaunted about the Red Keep, giggling happily with the other young ladies. There was always a hand on the swollen bump that had grown larger than you, another reminder to Alicent that it shouldn’t be there.

It was far too soon for a girl your age to be carrying but of course, no one cared. They were all too occupied and fascinated with the future heir and Queen of Westeros to notice how this pregnancy was slowly killing you—even your so called husband.

He never missed a chance to show how much he loved you and adored the babe growing your swollen belly. But Alicent figured that if it were true, he would’ve slipped you moon tea and saved you from this miserable fate.

Be as it may though, Jacaerys always seemed just as excited as you were, never too far away from his lady wife and his heir. He lingered like a shadow that was meant to consume you, casting you in a shade of darkness that took away from your light.

It always made Alicent sick to see the way he pretended to care about you, as if anyone could ever love you better than she had tried.

Yes, yes, Alicent firmly believed that she was the only one who truly had your best interests at heart, the only one who was there for you, and not the babe. She was the only one that believed that Y/N mattered more, which why when the day came and the spawn in your stomach decided to finally claw its way out of you, Alicent insisted on being in the room.

Nevermind that it was improper for the Queen to do such a thing, or that Rhaenyra was also there.

Alicent would suffer the whispers and the presence of her step daughter if it meant that she could be there, that she could hold your hand as you screamed and cried and labored for a babe that should never have been conceived.

She was there for you as your body stretched, making sure that you were well looked after and comfortable. More than once, she had wiped the sweat from your brow with her own handkerchief, had placed your hair in braids so you wouldn’t tear it out from the pain you were suffering. It hurt Alicent, it really did, as you cried and held onto her like her little girl.

“It’s too much. I can’t…I can’t…” Is what you constantly told the Maesters, and despite their encouragement, only Alicent knew that it was the truth.

Your body was not yet equipped to handle such things, too young and too weak to be bringing a babe into this world. Try as she might have, even Rhaenyra, your good mother as Alicent saltily recalled, could do nothing to soothe your pains. She held your hand and whispered stories of how she’d gone through something similar with Jacaerys, but it didn’t seem to help.

“The pain was the worst thing I’ve ever been through, but I did make it though. As will you sweetling. I promise,” Rhaenyra cooed and Alicent hated her presence even more when she found that she herself could not speak.

She could not offer you the same condolences or reassurance as Rhaenyra did, because with Aegon everything went quickly and without a fuss. Her other children were the same so Alicent herself had nothing to offer you beyond sweet empty words.

She hated Rhaenyra even more for being able to relate to you in such in a way, as it wasn’t her place. I am her mother, Alicent mentally snapped at her. You cannot take that from me as well.

When all was said in done though, she found herself putting away these jealous thoughts when it was time for you to push. Somehow, you had gathered the last of your strength and was able to sit up, squeezing both Rhaenyra and Alicent as the baby crowned.

“My sweet girl. My brave girl. You are doing so well, only a few more,” Alicent encouraged you, and the Queen fully believed that it was her words, not Rhaenyra’s, that gave you the courage finally squeeze the babe out.

“There! It’s a boy, Princess!”

Eveyone in the birthing room laughed and sighed of relief as the babe slipped out. Round faced and squalling, even Alicent was slightly overjoyed when she saw him; a beautiful babe with white hair and all of your features.

Alicent couldn’t even see the babes’ eyes yet, and everything was too fast, too emotional to check. But one thing that she knew for sure was that it was your babe, not his, and that made Alicent’s heart grow fonder than it ever had since she found out that you were with child.

Laughing slightly, the Queen stroked your hair as you sobbed and reached for you babe, getting the pleasure to witness the unbreakable bond of mother and child for the first time.

The two of you, so young and innocent, pressed against one another, bare skin to bare skin as you smiled down at your baby. The squeaking little thing immediately came to hush as his mother’s eyes laid upon him, innocent little creatures observing each other while Rhaenyra stood.

“I will go and bring Jacaerys,” The Princess said, unable to stop smiling as she glanced at her new heir.

Surely, the Princess was more than pleased with herself that the babe had inherited her coloring, but Alicent tried not to think about that. Whatever Rhaenyra felt, whatever the realm saw when they looked at this baby, only Alicent knew that he was yours through and through.

There was no amount of white hair or violet eyes that could take away from the fact that he was yours first. He was your blood, your pain.

As she finally realized this, Alicent decided that she could love this babe after all. He would be hers to spoil, her to protect as much as you used to be but he would not suffer the same fate as you had.

After all, your womb was not hers. It wasn’t stained with the sins of greed and hatred, and your children wouldn’t be born or grown from such things.

Alicent had made a mistake thinking that she would distance herself from the babe, afraid of bringing the same curse upon him by loving him and unwilling to accept anything that resembled that bastard.

But now that she saw how much he looked like you, how much he was you, she saw the truth.

Maybe her womb was rotten. Maybe it was too late for her. But the womb that this babe had come out was not cursed, and a flicker of hope rose in Alicent as she realized there was still a chance for him, and her.

Yes, yes. Perhaps the Gods had not been so cruel after all. Perhaps this too was a test, the final one for Alicent to prove that fate wasn’t inevitable. To prove that her destiny wasn’t to corrupt all innocent creatures in her care, and that she too could help nurture something into being great.

With you, with Healena, with Aemond, Aegon and Daeron she had failed; but not again. Alicent wouldn’t allow this babe to end up like all her children had. She would love him, she would protect him, and in time Alicent Hightower would prove that her love was not rotten.

She would prove that it did not poison everything she touched, but rather, it could be a beacon that one day guided this babe into being someone great.

If she failed, well then maybe her destiny was to never learn from her mistakes.

But as she looked at you, her sweet girl nursing her sweet little babe, Alicent became filled with hope.

She felt the strength that had left her years ago replenish itself. Her head cleared, her mind sharper than it had ever been. With everything in her, she was ready to fight again. To bare her teeth and claw her way to a new destiny.

Because now, she had another innocent to protect. This time for herself. Alicent had gotten it wrong not once, but five times, but this time around would be her redemption. This time around, it would be different. She would be different, and Alicent swore that upon the old Gods and the new.

[deniable-masterpiece]

the note | wally clark x gn!reader

a/n — this was gonna be more smutty but I didn't feel like it should go down that path, so a gender neutral wally fic it is! Christmas themed because Christmas is year-round, and also I love that little Christmas scene in the new episode

warnings — started out as smut but abandoned the smut part, so there's a few comments about hot and sexy you are. is cringe a warning? not proofread

words — 2.1k (surprisingly short for me omg)

summary — Wally writes you a note in a Christmas card about how he really feels.

~~~

“The things I dream about doing to you…”

Wally sighed, placing the Christmas card down on his desk after penciling those words into the top left corner of its inner blank space. His leg bounced, and he looked off to his left to stare out the window, a mix of snow and green covering the expanse of the field outside. Anything to clear his head and focus, but maybe he shouldn’t have taken a seat in a class that you were currently in, painfully unaware of his existence. Telling you would be so much easier. Showing you, even. He wished a long time ago that he could affect the living world; he wished that he could tell someone who he didn’t already overly annoy that he exists and that he’s not gone. He wished for a lot of things, but he was waiting for a miracle on this one.

Mr. Martin suggested this, a way to cope with the uncontrollable: write a note inside of a Christmas card to someone at the school and send it to them. He said it would be the key to accepting that the only lifeline—from the fun they could have to the ways they could express their feelings of grief about their own feelings to even Wally’s favorite pastime, exercising—could only exist within the walls of this school. Wally was the first to accept this challenge, but that was only because he could think easily of writing it about one of the many living people he found hot. The only thing is that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

He used to be so blunt—and still was—but there used to only be one person that could push him to do the opposite of what he wanted. And he was doing this so that he wouldn’t have to think about her, and yet, this Christmas card was taunting him all the regardless of its stupidly thin presence. 

Why did he even bother writing words down when they would just disappear? When the generically empty cards they teachers swiped these off of returned back to one of the drawers in their desk? How long could he keep pretending that this was more than a glorified way of lessening Mr. Martin’s workload?

He picked it up again and started writing, letting his mind flow.

“The things I dream about doing to you, well, if I could dream. If I could dream, it would be all about you, obviously. You would hear me talking in my sleep like that stupid song by The Romantics, and I’d have the biggest boner because you’re so damn sexy.”

Wally paused, thinking about whether or not he should hold himself back. The card wanted that, to keep its crisp, pure inner-white pages free from the filth he scribbled over it. But he was supposed to be raw, real, and he wanted you in a way that could only best be summed up by coming straight from his mind. No filter. 

He continued writing, 

“I think I’m taking this too fast. Obviously, I would say ‘hi’ to you and I would tell you my name instead of keeping it from you until the end of this. I think I’m already saying obviously too much. Obviously, Wally. Right. Let’s get to the totally rad intro where I introduce myself and break your heart when I tell you that I’m a ghost. Hi, I’m Wally Clark. And I’m haunting the halls of this place like Poltergeist but not really because I’m only freaky like that movie in the parts where it matters. The ghost part is true, and the not seeing me part. Could they see the ghosts in Poltergeist? I don’t actually remember. If you could write me back, I’d love to know what you think about it. Don’t tell me everything, though. I don’t want to think about that weird man-eating tree. It was grody. Maybe you’ll like it. I barfed out halfway through.”

Wally cursed at himself for rambling so much, but if you could read this letter, he would want you to know how the whole ghost-thing worked.

“If you could watch it, all you do is have to speak out loud and I would hear you. It sounds creepy, but I would know at least. And hey! I’m telling you what I would do if I dream about you, and now I’m realizing how much space I wasted writing about some dumb movie you’ll never see. We could watch it together? Date night—you and me? Eight p.m., in the gym?”

This wasn’t like passing notes in the 80s, because you would never feel the card between your fingers. You would never crease it with your hands while you hold on tight to it as you cling to every word—Wally hoped you would do that when he got to the stuff that he felt would rock your world, anyway. 

“I guess I should get into it. We do movie nights here, and I always choose the best ones to watch, and I save the couch for us. I think about putting my letterman over you while we watch the movie so you’re sandwiched by me from the back and the front when I pull you onto me, and you lay on me, and sometimes I wish you could take things from the ghost world like we can from your world. Just so you can have it. I think about you fitting into every spot at this school. I think about doing it in every spot of this school. Every time you wear a new outfit, it makes me go feral. When you wear something I’ve seen, I still love it. You’re the hottest when you wear those clothes that reveal skin all over your body, and you play dumb to the teacher that dresses you because you wanted to feel hot that day. You’re hot. You’ve got my desired approval. I think about walking next to you in the hall—I do, you just can’t see it—and holding your hand as you have your five minutes of fame. Strut down the hall, make everyone’s head turn. You deserve to feel that way, and you deserve the punishment I’d give you for being such a skank. For letting everyone see your rocking bod.”

Wally took a beat to breathe and look over at you. You were wearing clothes that made heat travel to his pants—if blood could flow down to there. He envied the way you looked to the teacher and gave him those eyes he wished you were giving him. The eyes you’re currently giving a forty-year-old balding has-been who doesn’t know the privilege he has to see you every day in his class to just ask him to use the bathroom. He watched your backside as he permitted you to use the restroom, and you stood up and left the room. Thank god, Wally would have left the room to slip this card in your locked locker with a pair of wet sweatpants, or left his desk a mess of sticky white. He returned to the card and noticed that the underside of his hand was smeared with grey lead. The whole card had smudges on his already messy writing, but he continued on,

“Okay, fuck. You’re really going to make me say it? I want you, and I can’t have you, and I hate this power you have over me. Not even my own death holds that much weight, and it’s the thing keeping me from you…”

Wally finished off the letter with a few more blunt thoughts. Anything and everything heedless and stupid was carefully spelled out with the last bit of lead in his pencil. He would get up to sharpen it, but the fear of losing these words until he was ready to let him go took ahold of him. These were words he needed to say, even if you could never read them.

He concluded his thoughts with an aggressive signature at the bottom. He wanted to shut the card and imagine like the words had already reset, melted away from the paper like a bad storm had turned the thick stock into indiscernible mush. His heart was on this paper in a string of words that would only ever make sense to him, but Mr. Martin insisted on the next step he was about to take.

Wally left the room with a couple of minutes to spare, yelling a dramatic Goodbye! to you on the way out. He knew the schedule of the bells so well that he didn’t even need to think about it when he left. He had one destination in mind, and the bell had rung by the time he got there. On the first floor of the school, down the hall with all the English classes, was your locker, right near your homeroom. The lockers had a few slats near the top of each of them, and the card was the perfect width to fit and slide right through. Wally held it in his hands for a second, creasing it with his fingers and thinking of all the things that could happen if you just got to see it. Communication, even this bizarre, would be perfect for him. A place to overshare his actual feelings and not the constantly happy, empty-headed jock he always pretended to be. He had real feelings, and only a fraction of them were captured with stationary. It was more than something for you to read; it was the first step on processing his own feelings, to distract himself from thinking of missing his family’s holiday traditions. You helped him with that, unknowingly. And this was something to pay you back with, for being the unwanted object of his attraction.

Wally lifted the card to the horizontal grooves in the locker, pushing it inside. He heard it scrape against the metal and land on the stuff in your locker. There wasn’t much else he could do besides walk away. The note and all of his raw emotion were gone. Knowing the path you usually took, he expected that you would open your locker and find nothing. So, with the new weight off his chest, Wally moved through the hall, filling with students moving to their next class to throw hoops in the gym or convince the other ghosts to make holiday treats with him.

He went down towards the opposite end of the hall from where you would be coming in, putting an unknown distance between you and him as you walked to your locker. Standing exactly where he had been, you started twisting the lock embedded in the blue metal door to get it open. When you did, a Christmas card fell out and landed on the shiny linoleum.

You reached for it, picking it up and opening the card. The words were a bit faded and smudged, looking too messy to be some joke, so you assumed it was written with pure intentions. It looked to fill up the whole card, the letter written inside even going around the “Happy Holidays” wish written in red and green lettering on the right side of the card. Though, you started to question the legitimacy of it as you read further into it. The stuff about your appearance, and how they admired you from afar made you feel seen in a way that other guys at school were too dumb to see express on their faces or with their words. But ghosts? That part had you questioning what was actually real about this letter, and who was using a dead kid as a sick punchline to this joke of a letter. But the end of it what really got you, it being somehow both too cheesy to take seriously but also too specific to not be straight from the heart.

“It’s so hard to watch someone that you can only have in your fantasy. Every day I think about you and do things that would get me in so much trouble if anyone could see it. I think about you in ways that tell me I really love adore you.” The sentence originally used the word ‘love,’ but it had been scribbled out to become almost unreadable and replaced with the word ‘adore.’

Your eyes scanned over the final few sentences, which really stuck out to you. Unbeknownst to you, it was the first time Wally was at a loss for words. He could always offer support, even if he was bad at it. But this was the hardest thing he found himself trying to say.

“I don’t usually notice the living. They’re boring and lame, but you’re different. I dream about us doing the—“ The sentence ended there and picked up again at the start of a new one. “Well, I can’t describe it. The best way to put it would be doing the most. Everything. Anything. My world tilted off its axis, and it was already upside down. I love you.”

At the bottom of the note, it was signed,

“Worlds apart, 

Wally Clark

Class of ’84”

[moonlight-prose]

this one from the touch-starved prompt list w logan 😩🫶:

when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine

don't mind me

a/n: i need you to know this is pure softness and i am swooning at the thought of how sweet it is. logan is such a gentlemen (cue his words in the wolverine about being old fashioned) and just this thought of him being gentle with the reader, but also respectful. i'm dead. i'm also attached af to this dynamic and would be so open to exploring more with these two. i see the logan here as dofp!logan (especially at the end with that shirt).

summary: you refused to admit that you were smitten with the man who melted your otherwise intelligent mind. you were however...horrible with subtlety. luckily the same could be said for him.

pairing: logan howlett x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none, fluff, logan howlett is a tease, blossoming of a relationship.

Chaos remained the baseline state when it came to life at the mansion. You couldn't find a way to escape something so natural—a piece of your existence that settled in close to your heart. You liked hearing the children's voices raise in pitch the more excited they got. You liked being showered in hellos as you passed through the halls.

You'd even grown fond of the way you always somehow found yourself stuck in this particular situation. Standing in the kitchen, searching for food, as Logan attempted to make his way through the busy environment.

Few things made you smile the way seeing him in the mornings did. Mussed hair, eyes glazed in partial drowsiness, as he sought for the largest mug tucked in the back of the cabinets. A gag gift from Scott with the claim that the Wolverine needed a cup that could handle him.

(Neither of them would admit it, but the gift remained Logan's favorite piece in the house. A staple in his usual rushed breakfast.)

"Have a nice night?" you asked, attempting to keep your gaze from dropping to his chest.

The white beater he wore never seemed to get old; you absolutely didn't mind seeing him in it at the start of your days.

He grinned, polite and gentlemanly and never anything more. There came days where you wondered if the tension you felt hanging in the air was merely a figment of your imagination. Possibly a delusion to help you cope with such early time slots and late night papers to grade.

"I heard you down here last night."

A grunt rumbled from deep in his chest as he took a sip of coffee large enough to scald his mouth. Screams filtered in through the open doors, quickly followed by a group of kids ready to rummage in the cabinets you both occupied. Which meant your short allotted time with him would soon come to an end, forcing you to pick it up tomorrow morning.

"You want something to eat?" Nodding to the stove with a pan coated in leftover burnt bacon (Scott's attempt at cooking for the kids), you watched Logan's face screw up slightly.

Who could blame him. You wouldn't eat it either.

"Coffee's fine," he mumbled, pouring another helping before small hands were shoving open the door to a variety of cereal. "Gotta get to my class."

You nodded. "History. Right."

He hummed, entirely aware of what occurred inside your chest. How you fidgeted slightly with the watch on your wrist, your eyes unable to remain stuck on his for longer than a few seconds at a time. Logan wasn't an idiot. He understood the tells long before you would dare to admit them out loud.

Clearing your throat, you set your now empty mug in the sink—shifting out of the way to give the students more room. Though the mornings began with enough chaos to keep you on your toes, it was seeing Logan that put you on edge.

The emotions that rifled through your mind mere moments after stepping into his proximity. You began to wonder if there was a way to fix this. Put a stop to how you pined (rather pathetically) over a man who clearly held no interest. You had half a mind to ask Charles for assistance—knowing full well you'd never get over the sheer mortification.

He might laugh—ask if you were in your right mind—but he'd never hold it over you like the others.

But that predicament would have to be settled at a later time. As of two minutes ago...you were late for your first class. The lecture notes were still buried in a stack on your desk; you made a mental note to pick them up on the way.

"Have a good class." Offering a smile, you moved to step out of his way.

Only for the timing (and quite possibly the universe itself) to lead towards you stumbling back from three students barreling towards the kitchen.

His hands latched onto your waist, steadying your movements with a soft grunt, and you tried your best not to choke on your spit. That sound. His touch. You wouldn't make it through the day without those small aspects of him entering your mind—distracting any viable insights you might have had on astronomy as a whole.

Did he have any clue what he did to you?

Or was he merely toying with you on purpose?

Glancing over your shoulder, you caught the small grin that appeared on his face. Barely there yet bright enough to punch a hole right through your chest. He stood tall behind you. A wall you could very well fall into without any worries. That alone left you clutching for some bits of your sanity—whatever remained now sparse enough to be considered laughable.

You tried not to think about the skin you caught small glimpses of in training last week. The sight haunted you for a week—fraying the edges of your mind and turning you to mush. For fucks sake you were a professor. You held enough intelligence to keep Charles Xavier on his toes when wrapped in conversation.

Yet Logan fucking Howlett managed to undo everything that made you the person you were before him now. He muddled what aptitude you had and rendered you entirely dumb.

Some days it left you seething—desperate for a chance to get back at him.

Other days you longed for its familiar warmth.

"You alright there bub?" he rasped, hands still pressed to your hips.

Fighting against your own mind, you plastered a smile on your lips—hoping he might ignore the flutter of your heart. "I'm fine! Thanks for that."

"Have a good day," he replied, his palm brushing the base of your spine as he stepped around you.

Chills clashed with a bewildering heat and curled around your stomach, teasing you with the prospect of his touch somewhere else. You watched his grin deepen, eyes dark with something you'd never before witness from the Wolverine. Want.

"Yeah..." You sucked in a breath, flustered beyond what you could contain in your own body. "You too."

He ducked out towards the hallway long before you had a chance to melt into the floor. A small chuckle resounding in the small confines of the kitchen. Slamming into your chest with enough power to leave you winded.

On your rush to the classroom you finalized your decision.

You'd make that meeting with Charles after all.

[unoislazy]

For Me?

Vi x Piltover! Reader

Vi deserves the world and a partner that cares about her. Being from Zaun comes with its insecurities when being with someone from Piltover. Luckily, you know exactly how to counter them.

A/N: You guys wont have to worry about that much angst from me for a while, I need to cope from act 3 by giving Vi the best life possible and all the fluff imaginable because oh my god??

There were times when you’d think back to when and how you and your girlfriend met for the first time. Such a chance of it happening was very slim given you two belonged to two different cities, you Piltover, her Zaun. You never thought the girl who rammed into you after fleeing from an explosion from an unauthorized lab would one day come back into your life. 

The story of your reunion however was quite the convoluted one. Once again, a meeting set by nothing but pure fate and chance. 

You weren’t supposed to be at Zaun at the time. In fact, you weren’t supposed to be in Zaun at all. You went on your own, against your family's wishes, for the sake of immersing yourself in a culture that is not your own. You were raised to believe that the people of the undercity were monsters, the filth under Piltover's feet, nothing more than animals. It never felt right to you, there had to be more to it. After all, they were people too.

So, you went to see for yourself how awful these “animals” really were. 

You knew better than to walk in expecting everything to be rainbows and unicorns, but you refused to let go of your optimism as you traveled around the labyrinth like maze of streets and alleyways. 

It wasn’t until the smell of a peculiar type of food filled your senses. 

You didn’t know what it was, it was very different from anything you had ever tried before, so you decided to check it out.  

Once there, you were greeted by a fairly jolly fish-like man with a large smile. He laughed heartily, gesturing for you to take a seat and gave you a list of things to choose from. There were so many options, you had no idea where to start, and it wasn’t until you heard someone else set directly beside you did you finally have an idea. 

You looked to your left and were quickly met with a head of bright pink hair. Quite a unique shade which you could’ve sworn you’d seen before, but you brushed the thought off. There were probably plenty of people with the same hair color, besides if there’s one thing you knew not to do in Zaun, it was to stare. 

You heard one of them, a woman, order something specific off of the fish man’s list, whom she referred to as Jericho. He happily took her order before turning to her friend who denied wanting anything, and then turning back to you. 

“I’ll have the same.” You said with a polite smile. Jericho nodded before turning around and getting right to work. As you waited, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the girl next to you once again, there was something familiar about her despite her back being turned to you for the most part. 

That was until her friend noticed you staring and began to pull her hood over her eyes which grabbed the pink haired girl's attention. She quickly turned around to face you with an angered look on her face, clearly ready to fight if need be.

“Can I help y-“ She began, but before she could finish it finally clicked with you. 

“You’re the girl.” You whispered, having not realized that maybe saying that to a girl who looked, for lack of a better phrase, like she could rock your shit, probably was not a good idea.

“I’m sorry?” She asked, clearly confused, but still clearly not happy about your interruption.

“That girl, from the explosion, that was you.” 

Her reaction to your realization was less than friendly, and you couldn’t blame her. You hadn’t known at the time but she had just gotten out of jail for that same crime. She didn’t know who you were, she didn’t know what you wanted, and she didn’t want to involve herself with more pilties than she needed. 

And yet despite everything, here she was, now living with you on her days when she wasn’t in Zaun. You had quite the rocky start in the beginning but you became useful to her quest for her sister, and the more time you spent with her, the closer you two got. At first she was a bit standoffish, not believing someone from topside was capable of showing so much empathy, if any. Yet somehow you proved her wrong. You chipped away at that stone wall she built around her heart all those years away in prison and became one of the few things she coveted most. 

You two didn’t live together all the time, but your house was always open to her as you had now managed to move away from your parents. You knew Vi could never stay topside for too long, and you’d never ask her to do such. So there were a few days here and there where she would stay with you, then go back to the undercity to continue to help out, then come back up with you.

Now today was the day for Vi to come back, so you decided to surprise her to the best of your ability with the dish she got from Jericho the day you two met once again. It was quite a feat that required you to go to the undercity a fair amount of times to visit Jericho and ask for help. Luckily the sweet man was more than happy to let you in on a few of his trade secrets for the sake of a thoughtful gift. 

You weren’t the biggest fan of this type of food, you’ve tried it on more than one occasion, but it very clearly wasn’t for you. 

But it was what Vi liked so that was enough. 

As you continued to cook, you heard your door open, without even needing to look you knew it was your partner walking through the door.

“Welcome back.” You greeted warmly. 

Just then, You felt two hands wriggle around your waist before the weight of her head rested on your shoulder. She tilted her head slightly, her face now moving towards your neck, enough for you to feel the light feeling of her breath wafting over your neck. 

You ignored the feeling to the best of your ability but you couldn’t ignore the small smile that made its way to your face, this of course didn’t go unnoticed by Vi as she mumbled against your neck, 

“What are you making?” She asked, pressing her body a bit more into yours. She had a tendency to be clingy after being away for long periods of time, which you didn’t mind. 

“Something new. Just got the recipe, I think you’ll like it.” You said with a smile, which earned a short chuckle from your girlfriend who turned to begin peppering light kisses against your neck.

“If it’s made by you Sunshine, of course I will.” She said sweetly, despite the fact she was trying to ‘discreetly’ distract you. It wasn’t actually very discreet but she thought it was and you weren’t going to correct her.

“It smells familiar.” She said quietly after pausing for a moment to look back over your shoulder.

“Means I’m doing something right then.” You said happily, glad that it was going well. Her confirmation that she at the very least was beginning to recognize it was enough to motivate you to continue. However despite your motivation it was clear your girlfriend still had other plans in mind. 

Her hands slowly began to move their way up from your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as her face remained by your neck. 

“Can I at least finish the food first?” You asked with a laugh as your left hand went up to lightly brush against Vi’s face, acknowledging what she was trying to do. 

She once again mumbled quietly against you before finally pulling away. 

“Fine.” She said with an overly dramatic sigh before continuing, 

“You’re no fun.” She teased as her hands slowly, reluctantly, left your sides as she moved to the counter next to the stove you were using to cook. She leaned the back of her waist against it, her arms crossed in front of her chest, as she looked at you with a look you could only describe as a lighthearted pout.

“Save that for later you just got back. You have to eat first.” You said in a somewhat stern manner, not looking away from the food cooking in front of you. 

“Who says I can’t have a bit of dessert first?” 

“Vi!” You exclaimed as you walked her softly with a cloth that you had placed by the stove. She laughed, a full genuine laugh, which she felt like she could only do near you. You were the only one to really bring it out of her at this point. 

“Just… go sit down, the food is almost done.” You instructed, turning back to the food as she chuckled once again before walking back towards you. Her hand made its way back to your waist once again as she leaned towards your ear,

“Can’t wait.” She whispered cheekily before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and walking towards the dining room. 

You, being from a family who had lived in Piltover for quite some time, were able to afford a house with multiple furnished rooms with ease. It always threw Vi off just the slightest bit, the difference in what the two of you grew up with. It got to her more than she’d like to admit. A few times she believed herself to be holding you back, you came from a life of glittering buildings, and she came from nothing but metal scraps. 

You were so different and yet you always managed to remind her that it didn’t matter. She loved you for you and you loved her for her, wherever you came from had no effect on that.

Vi sat down in one of the few chairs in your dining room, looking around at the paintings that littered the walls, her previous thoughts remaining on her mind before she was interrupted by a plate of food entering her view and landing in front of her.

“Tada!” You exclaimed into the silent room, the only other sound being that of the plate lightly hitting the table. Vi sat in silence for a moment as she looked down at the food before her, it took her a moment before she recognized it.

“Wait. Did you-“ She began to ask.

“Find the recipe to your favorite dish from your favorite food stand? Maybe.” You responded with a proud smile as you sat down in the chair next to her, eager to have her try it. 

“How did you get the stuff for it?”

“Well, I visited a friend.” You said with a shrug. Vi looked towards you, her eyes wide with shock. As each moment passed she realized just how much effort went into this one dish.

“You hate this kind of stuff, why would you-“

“Cause I know you like it and I wanted to make it for you.” You said simply as you placed your hand atop hers.

Suddenly Vi couldn’t think of a response. Her sudden silence worried you almost, was she mad? Was she upset at you? 

You then looked at her eyes and watched as they softened, the powder blue irises glistened as water lightly began to form in them.

“Holy shit.” She said quietly, entirely taken aback as she sat back in her chair. For someone with such a tough exterior you could see the walls slightly begin to crack as she looked down at the food before her. It meant more than the world to her that you had put so much effort into something she liked, for her, and for no other reason. 

Just because you cared.

It had been a long time since Vi had been truly reminded she was loved. Just having such a simple yet, such a powerful reminder in the middle of nowhere by the one person she truly loved was almost disorienting. You went out of your way to get ingredients you couldn't get easily in Piltover, a recipe you had to go to a specific stand for, her favorite stand no less, and then put it all together?

“Vi?” You asked quietly, your other hand going up the cup to her face so she would look at you a bit more as you looked at her with a bit of concern. You didn’t expect such an emotional reaction from your gesture that you were worried you had done something wrong.

“Are you o-”

Before you could finish your question, Vi had turned to you quickly and engulfed you in a hug. This took you completely by surprise. In the time that you and Vi had been together, more often than not when it came to specifically hugging, you were the one to initiate. She just never seemed like the hugging type unless it was an occasion where she truly meant it.

And in this case, she did. 

“Thank you, Sunshine.” She said quietly as she squeezed just a bit tighter. Your hands rested against her back as you smiled, feeling as if you had done a job well done even without her trying her dish. You knew Vi had been through a lot over the years and while you didn’t know the full extent of everything just yet, you knew you could at least try to offer her some sort of comfort. So that’s what you strived for and it seems like that's what you succeeded to do. 

Once she pulled back from the hug, you reached up to wipe her tears, the smile still present on your face as you spoke. 

“Well, are you gonna try it?” You asked, to which she smiled and let out a slight chuckle. She then eagerly turned back around towards her plate and dug in as she usually did in the undercity. She knew you didn’t care about the messy nature that often came with Zaun cuisine, even if it wasn’t what you were raised on, it meant a lot to her that you at least tried it out. With one taste she immediately released a sound of pure bliss and dove back in for more.

You laughed, knowing that was Vi’s way of saying you had done a perfect job, even if she didn’t pause from her eating to just tell you so herself. 

[zairaalbereo]

“Please don’t do this.”

So after binging the whole four seasons of Black Sails last month, I’m now on a more leisurely rewatch… or so I thought.

But god everything hits so much worse or better or harder knowing about Flint’s past and motivation now. And then this scene came up, and I’m just… fuuuuuck. Crying, screaming, throwing up. I’m not okay. This is devastating. (Did I mention I cope with art?)

On my first watch, Flint killing Gates truly shocked me. He would really kill his friend just because he wouldn’t go along with his plans? To not have to give up on the Urca? Sure, Gates is going against his command. It’s mutiny, but Gates seems to be trying, and he sounds so bloody reasonable. And more importantly, he’s been a loyal friend up until now. A fatherly friend (I want to throw up). And even now he’s… trying to protect Flint, right? (Fuck. Seriously. Feeling ill.)

But yeah, I was shocked. And as he whispered broken apologies to the friend he just murdered, I wondered… could I forgive him for this?

And now…omg now it’s like watching a completely different train wreck happening, and it all makes perfect, tragic, horrible sense. The way the whole scene mirrors James McGraw’s futile attempt to convince Hennessy of their Hail Mary plan to save Nassau. Every step. The urgency when things have already gone sideways, but James refuses to give up, because it can still work. People just have to listen. Let him explain. Have a little faith. Back then he trusted Hennessy, and now he still trusts Gates. He trusts them to understand, asking them to believe in him. He doesn’t see it coming. (How does he not see it coming this time?)

And then the moment the floor is ripped out from under him. And it’s all there, on Flint’s face, in the moment when Gates says “They know.” It’s not the mutiny. It’s the betrayal. The way Flint’s face falls, and for a moment he looks just like James McGraw in Hennessy’s office. The same devastation and disbelief when he asks “You told them?” And of course for him it is the same betrayal. It is the same fight, to prove Thomas right. To stand against those who took him and everything else away from James.

And Gates, that poor bastard, doesn’t even understand what sin he is committing. He doesn’t even see it as mutiny. He sees it as doing the right thing, containing a madman. (Omggg…) And then there is Flint, reliving the worst moments of his life. And that point it doesn’t feel like it’s about the Urca anymore. It’s an emotional massacre, to which Gates seems completely oblivious. When Flint asks if he will see him get hanged, only to be promised an opportunity to flee for him and ‘Mrs Barlow’, Gates thinks he is doing him a kindness. Like Hennessy probably thought he was doing him a kindness, saving him from the gallows. It’s all right. Flint just has to leave, vanish and never be heard of again. He should be grateful. And the way Flint’s eyes close briefly in disbelief that this is happening. Again. The way he pleads with Gates, just like he pleaded with Hennessy. So unlike Flint. But once more he is told that his actions are unforgivable. Simply too much. He’s not just rejected, but he is abandoned. He is cast out for who he is and his supposed sins. A monster that can’t be allowed to exist amongst the rest of them.

The whole scene is executed so brilliantly, the way he fluctuates between James’ almost innocent appeals to be understood and Flint’s anger at being denied. But he keeps trying until the last moment. And then, when he acts, it’s not a calculated move. It’s pure desperation, the only purpose to do something, to stop what is happening. Because James McGraw didn’t. But where James McGraw hesitated, where he maybe still hoped, still didn’t comprehend, and where he still thought he had something to lose… Flint doesn’t. And yet we can see it break him. We can see how it breaks another part of his soul. 

(And of course it will happen again. Screaming. Crying. Throwing up.)

[dykespirk]

I think both tos and aos Jim survived Tarsus. but I think tos Jim was older (15-17) and aos Jim was younger (10-12).

I think tos Jim became the de facto leader of children survivors (as we see with Kevin Riley and Thomas), because of his age. That Jim carries the survivor’s guilt of not being able to save more kids—of watching the youngest ones die (ostensibly) in his care. his coping mechanism is thus leadership—usurping and clinging to positions of authority in an effort to save others; he craves authority, wants and needs to embody it to turn it into something that would’ve saved the others, would’ve saved him. Starfleet becomes his white whale. he needs the myth of Starfleet—an intergalactic emblem of peace, carving through deep space purely to discover (and defend). he embraces starfleet’s militarism because it echoes his understanding of power (some evils need to be defeated; innocents need to be protected). Jim also loves to defend—to entrench and hold boundaries (with the Klingons, the Romulans, with any hostile life). deep space is at the same time mystical—where birth and rebirth are always possible, where miracles happen every day—and orderly, where regulations and boundaries are clearly defined. Jim finds solace and role stability in this space, defending others, acting as a father figure, and indulging in hyper-independence & isolation.

that’s how we get tos Jim, who’s desperate for connection & intimacy, but ultimately clings to his leadership role like it can sustain him—like it’s all that can sustain him. (love, you’re better off without it, and I’m better off without mine. this ship, I give, she takes…I’m the captain…I’ve lost the enterprise, I’m losing command…nothing is more important than my ship) the guardian role is essential to his self-image.

conversely, aos Jim was the child. he was the scared, too-skinny kid who had the rug ripped from under him. aos Jim is born into a world where fatherhood/authority is already dead; George Kirk’s absence is a gaping hole in his life. Starfleet’s idealism makes martyrs, but it also cannibalizes its men to sustain its ideals. George’s replacement, Frank, neglects if not abuses him. that Jim witnesses the complete breakdown of authority. he watches Starfleet come with too little, too late. he sees the older kids die. he watches his only solace from Frank’s terror, his fresh start, become a waking nightmare.

that Jim learns that no one is coming.

his coping mechanisms are withdrawal from the system entirely; to bare his teeth at it, to claw at it, to draw blood. scare them before they can scare you. act bigger than you are. appearances are everything. to distrust authority entirely. give up on Starfleet, because Starfleet is an empty vaccum that will take and take, ineffectual at its core and hypocritical at best.

instead of being defined by his attraction to space, aos Jim is defined by his inability to stay still; his distaste for Earth, for Iowa, for groundedness. for him, staying in Riverside is a kind of self-harm, one he doesn’t understand how to escape and ultimately believes he deserves.

this Jim is lonely not because he uses distance as a defense, but because he’s so distrustful of others, he genuinely can’t imagine an open hand. (enlist?)

that’s how we get the Jim that ultimately cares way more about his crew than his ship; who latches onto Bones like a leech and craves Spock; who wants connection with far less shame has absolutely no expectation of receiving it. this is the Jim that blares sabotage while charging into battle, says fuck you to the admiralty, and would rather die saving lives than live with taking them—that’s what I was raised on.

there’s also the fact that tos Jim is a Jewish man written in an era of liberal internationalist optimism underscored by the early Cold War and the shadows of the Shoah whereas aos Jim is the flashy product of peak commercialized Hollywood in a post-9/11, post George-Bush America. anyways.

[tfone-continuity-au]

Drawing, doodling, and writing a goofy ass AU to transformers one, aka I’m just continuing where the movie left off with some self indulgent Bee trying to fix everything XD

Not a comic, purely just me wanting more content of that movie and making it myself to cope.

The entire premise is Bee attempts to mend Orion’s and D’s relationship through the war, he’s basically the tether between them and we get to see their slow descent/growth into both the Optimus Prime and Megatron we know and love.

It’s a lot of dysfunctional family type stuff and Megs & OP still have a semi cordial relationship because of bee, but it’s complicated and gets messy because those friendship divorces always are.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part forty-one: lost

word count: 4.1k

warnings: this chapter contains strong themes of grief and mentions unhealthy coping mechanisms. reader discretion is advised.

forty | forty-one | forty-two

Y/N didn’t cry much after that night.

Not because it didn’t hurt anymore — but because the pain had settled into something colder, something quieter. The hurt became a folded up little thing she could tuck into her pocket like a gum wrapper, the kind of thing you could carry around without anyone noticing. 

She became quieter too – though not in any obvious way. 

She still smiled at customers. Still made the drinks just the way people liked them. Still answered questions in class and turned in assignments on time. But everything was... dulled. Worn thin. Like the brightness had been turned down on the world and she didn’t know how to turn it back up again.

She spent most of her time at the café now, each of her shifts starting sooner and ending later than the one before. 

Her coworkers noticed the change.

The Y/N they knew — the one who used to hum while she brewed espresso, who always snuck an extra cookie to the regulars and let the college kids study past closing — was quieter now, tired in a way concealer couldn’t fix.

“You should go home,” Susie tried gently on her way out one night as she watched Y/N wipe the already-clean counters for the second time. “You’ve been here more than twelve hours.”

“I’m fine,” she waved her off, not looking up. And she was, really.

She wore clean clothes, answered emails, turned in assignments. She smiled when people expected her to.

She certainly functioned.

Yet there was a wall now — thick and soundproof — between her and the girl she used to be. The one who’d looked at him and seen safety instead of danger. The one who’d kissed a man she didn’t know was capable of murder.

That girl was gone. In her place stood someone quieter, someone less trusting. This new version of her flinched every time the front door creaked open at the café and had to see the face before she could breathe again.

He hadn’t come back.

Not yet.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

She didn’t know what she wanted more — for him to stay gone, or to show up and give her a reason to let him back in. What hurt more than the lies, more than the betrayal, more than the night she held a knife in her shaking hand was the part of her that still wished it could go back.

Not to fix it, not to forgive – just to freeze the moment before it all broke, when she still believed the man who held her was just a little strange, but still safe. 

Still hers.

Soon after, Y/N stopped coming home before dark. Started spending longer hours at the café, telling herself there was always something else to do — inventory, supplier calls, mop the floors again even though they were clean. She picked up more shifts than she needed. Said yes when her professor asked if anyone wanted to stay after and help sort research journals.

She told herself she was moving on.

Unfortunately for her, however, everything in her life was still steeped in his memory.

There was the mug he’d dubbed as his own still in her cupboard, their throw blanket bunched on the couch where they’d up napping one way or another. There was still the half-read book on the nightstand that he’d teased her about, still dog-eared on page 214. She couldn’t be certain if his fingerprints remained embedded anywhere in her apartment, but somehow, she could feel them. 

Y/N could’ve sworn they were still there.

She didn’t delete his number. She didn’t throw away the hoodie he left or scrub the memory of his laughter from her walls. 

That would’ve meant acknowledging what happened. 

And when she finally did come home — late, exhausted, too numb to think — she kept the lights low, brushed her teeth in silence, and crawled into bed without looking at the spot beside her.

The spot where he once slept.

He had taken something good — something pure — and twisted it with lies.

And now she was left sorting through the pieces of something she couldn’t fix, because she didn’t know what was true anymore. What memories were hers to keep, and what had been built on deception from the beginning.

It had felt real. And that’s what made it unforgivable.

At first, it was just a notification – one missed call from a familiar name lighting up her screen like a wound.

Frozen in some sort of trance, she simply stared at it until it stopped ringing.

Then came the texts.

liam!: Please. liam!: Just tell me your okay? liam!: I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just need to know your safe. Read 12:55 AM

liam!: Y/N. liam!: I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. liam!: You don’t have to respond. But I’ll still always be sorry. Read Yesterday

She didn’t block him. She told herself it was so he’d know she was alive, so he’d stop worrying, so he wouldn’t show up.

But as fate would have it, he didn’t stop.

liam!: I shouldn’t of lied liam!: I don’t really know how to be who you needed. I just wanted to be near you liam!: You made me feel like I was more then the worst thing I’ve done liam!: Please let me explain. Please can I talk to you liam!: I can’t sleep. Can’t think strait liam!: I miss you Read 11:57 PM

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t block him. She couldn’t. She told herself it was because she wanted proof — a paper trail in case she needed to file something, explain something. But the truth was simpler.

She wasn’t ready to let go.

So she watched as the texts came in. One after the other.

liam! : Please talk to me

liam! : I didn’t know how to tell you. I never wanted you to find out like that.

liam! : I'm sorry

liam! : I miss you

liam! : Please. Just tell me youre ok

She didn’t answer. Not once.

But against her better judgement, she read every word.

She held her phone in her hand some nights, thumb hovering over the keyboard like maybe, just maybe, this time she’d respond. Maybe just one message. Just to say stop. Or I’m alive.

But she never did.

She’d walk into the café and feel her phone vibrate against her thigh and know it was him. Her thumb hovered over his name more times than she’d ever admit — but she never replied.

It only took a certain amount of concentration, she found, to not focus on the barrage of texts she knew awaited her the moment she would unlock her phone. So really, if she just focused on trying new recipes for the cafe or starting books she’d been meaning to read or walking Kika’s dog while she was out of town, then she wouldn’t have to even acknowledge the existence of those texts until she put her stupid phone on charging each night.

It was simple enough – stay busy, and she could go on pretending Lando never even existed.

Perfect.

The first call came two days after she told him to leave.

She didn’t answer it.

The screen lit up with his name — liam!, the way she’d saved it back when she still believed that’s who he was — and her hand hovered above the phone for just a second too long before she let it go dark.

He called again the next night.

And the night after that.

Eventually, he stopped leaving voicemails. Maybe he realized she wasn’t listening to them. Or maybe he couldn’t stand hearing his own voice echo into a void.

So he continued texting instead. AT least those, he knew, she read.

At first, they were long. Apologetic. Rambling things she never read fully. Things like “Please just let me explain,” and “I never meant for you to find out like that,” and “I swear, I didn’t plan any of it. Not with you.” He told her he missed her. That he couldn’t sleep. That the bed didn’t feel right without her.

She didn’t reply.

The messages kept coming anyway.

Over time, they got shorter. Less coherent. Frustrated.

liam!: I know you’re reading these. liam!: Please. liam!: Say something. liam!: Anything. liam!: I don’t care if you scream at me. liam!: I just need to hear your voice. Read Sunday

Eventually, she stopped looking at them at all.

But still — her phone buzzed at night. Sometimes just once. Sometimes over and over, until she had to silence it and shove it in a drawer just to breathe.

She never blocked him.

She told herself it was because she wanted evidence, just in case. Because cutting him off completely would’ve been stupid, unsafe.

But the truth was much crueler: perhaps some part of her wanted to know he was still trying.

The first time, she thought she was imagining the soft, hesitant knock at the door of her apartment at 11:47 PM. In the middle of getting ready for bed (or at least trying to), she just froze in place. She just stood there in the hallway, staring at the door like it might open itself.

Then it came again – softer this time, like he was worried about waking her, even now.

“Y/N?” His voice was low, broken. “I just… I wanted to say this in person.”

She backed away slowly, hand covering her mouth, breath caught in her throat.

Please, go. Just leave me alone. 

How much more are you going to hurt me?

“I know ’m the last person you want to see. I know I don’t deserve anythin’ from you. But I meant every word I said. Every morning. Every night. Every, like, stupid inside joke. That– that wasn’t fake. That was me. Fuck, I swear to god– It’s me. 

‘S the only real part I’ve got left.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I don’t regret meeting you,” he whispered, almost like these words were meant more for himself than for her. 

“I regret what I did to you. What I hid. But never you.”

Please, she begged. Please just go.

He did, eventually. Hours passed before she heard the sound of his footsteps retreating, before she finally felt like she could breathe again.

Only for him to be back the next night.

Some nights he just knocked and called her name softly, on to leave after he got no response in return. Other nights, he sat outside her door for over an hour, saying nothing. She could hear the way he shifted, the soft sound of his back resting against the wall. If she listened closely enough, she could even hear  the occasional crack in his breathing like maybe he was crying again and trying not to.

It took everything in her not to open the door.

There were a few nights where her willpower waned, her hand hovering over the handle. Sitting there, directly opposite to where he sat on the other side of the door, her body would ache with the memory of him — the once-familiar weight of his arm around her, the warmth of his breath on her neck, the way he used to say her name like it mattered. 

Like she mattered.

It became a pattern after that – not every night, certainly not enough to be predictable. But it happened often enough that she started to expect it.

Sometimes he talked. Sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he sat there for five minutes, like just being near her was enough.

Once, she found him curled up against the door the next morning, fast asleep, as if the last thing he said had knocked the breath out of him and he hadn’t found the strength to leave.

She didn’t open it.

But she slid down to the floor on the other side and cried quietly into her sleeve. She cried herself sick, her own body torn between being repulsed by his betrayal and needing to be in his arms again like it was oxygen.

She could only cry harder when she remembered the way he kissed her shoulder when she fell asleep on the couch. The way he brewed her favorite tea before she asked. The way he laughed like he didn’t belong to a world so dark, even though he did.

She wanted to believe he could still be that person, but the truth was that he hadn’t lied about loving her. He’d lied about everything else. 

And no amount of heartbreak could make that okay.

On Thursday, she came home late, like always. The hallway smelled like floor cleaner and whatever her neighbors must have cooked dinner, and the lights above her door flickered like they always did.

Y/N stepped forward to open her door, looking down to reach for her keys when–

Lando?

There he was, slumped on the floor just outside her apartment, that familiar mop of curls resting against the doorframe, his arms limp at his sides.

He stood as soon as he heard her.

“Y/N—”

Her keys trembled in her hand. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she only gave him one long look – whether it was out of hatred or heartbreak, he couldn’t quite tell. 

A moment later, she just turned around, and walked back down the stairs, needing to be anywhere but there.

When she returned, Lando was no longer there. Unsure of what she felt was relief or disappointment, she’d nearly missed the small, brightly coloured sticky not stuck to her door.

But she wasn’t so fortunate. Memories of studying late at night, passing note back and forth with him on sticky notes much like this one to help pass the time. Reminders like i’ll take out the trash when i come by tonight or can we get the yogurt covered berries again? stuck to her refrigerator door, evidence of the way their lives had begun to overlap.

It made her angry. It made her furious, in fact, and for no real reason other than the fact that it was yet another reminder of him.

Y/N didn’t hesitate to ignore it in favor of pushing her door open and letting herself in, leaving the note to fall gracefully on her doorstep, unread.

It was nice seeing you today.

Sometimes when he showed up outside her door he’d talk — softly, like he thought she might be listening. Sometimes he told her stories about the café, little things he remembered, like the time she burned a whole batch of scones and tried to pass them off as “toasted." Other times he talked about his past, things she never knew. The kind of confessions that sounded like he was bleeding them out. That maybe no one else had ever heard.

And sometimes, he just sat there in silence.

One night, she heard a quiet thud and opened the peephole to see him curled up beside her door.

Asleep.

His body had gone lax like it’d given up out of sheer desperation, merely succumbing to the exhaustion of some invisible weight on his shoulders. In fact, he didn’t look relaxed at all, if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication. He’s frame had also gotten scrawnier, as if maybe he hadn’t been eating well.

For a moment, a faint memory of warm food delivered at her doorstep flashed in her mind, but it went away just as quickly as it had appeared.

It’s not like that. He’s probably eating just fine. Don’t be stupid.

As she stood on the other side of that door, she tried quite desperately to convince herself of all sorts of perfectly reasonable things – that she should open the door to kick him out again, that she should shout at him, that she call the cops like she’d threatened to and tell them that he was harassing her. 

With her thumb hovering over the call button, the tear that slipped down her cheek and dripped onto her phone screen only confirmed the same cursed truth she’d been doing everything in her power to hide from.

That she simply couldn’t.

Because every night she came home and saw him there — wrecked, waiting — it took everything in her not to fold and forgive him, right then and there. It took everything in her not to remember the way he used to hold her like the world didn’t exist beyond the two of them.

Despite the twisting sensation in her chest, she still didn’t open the door — all because remembering what they were was easier than facing what he was.

It was overcast when she went.

Not raining, but the kind of heavy gray that made the whole world feel muted — like even the sky had the decency to keep its voice down. The cemetery was quiet. Clean. Rows of headstones lined up like a frozen library of stories no one would ever finish reading.

Y/N didn’t come here often.

Not because she didn’t miss Margot. But because every time she stepped between those stones, it reminded her that Margot was really, truly gone. There was no text waiting. No sarcastic note on the café register. No spare bobby pins or blister Band-Aids tucked into Y/N’s apron pocket without asking.

Just a name carved into cold stone.

And now she needed her more than she had in months.

Y/N didn’t bring flowers. Margot would’ve hated that. She wasn’t the type to coo over daisies or pretend roses fixed anything. She would’ve rolled her eyes and said, “If you’re gonna visit me, at least bring gossip.”

So Y/N brought a coffee instead. – hot and with no cream, just the way Margot used to drink it.

She found the grave — small, simple, covered with pebbles and a few crumpled flowers from someone else who remembered. She sat cross-legged in the grass across from the headstone, carefully setting the coffee beside it.

She looked down at the grass, chewing the inside of her cheek until it hurt.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice raw from disuse. “Sorry it’s been a while.”

The breeze stirred the dead leaves behind her. The silence filled the space between heartbeats.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and sat beside the grave.

“I miss you.”

The words came out cracked. Smaller than she meant them to.

“I know that’s not news or anything, but…” She shrugged. “It’s getting harder. Not easier. You always said heartbreak’s just grief that’s still breathing, and I didn’t get it until now. Except this time I don’t even know if I’m grieving the person or the lie.”

Y/N let out a long, shaky breath as she looked down at her hands.

“I don’t know who else to talk to about this.”

She swallowed hard.

“I found out Liam’s not Liam,” she said, quietly. “His name’s Lando.”

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t try to stop it. The words some to spill out now, bubbling over into the silence that finally held enough space to hold what she’d been keeping in for so long. The emotions poured out, hitting her like a wave, winding her with their realized intensity.

“Can you believe it? I fell in love with a liar. With a… with a fucking killer, Marg. A- A mob boss. The mob boss. The one they talk about on the fuckin’ news! 

The one who was there the night you died.”

Her throat clenched so hard she had to stop and force herself to breathe.

“I told him to get out. I meant it. I still do.”

She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against her clasped hands. Angry tears escaped from the corners of her eyes, warm as the rolled down the cold skin of her cheeks. Hastily, she tried to wipe them away, like doing so would somehow wipe away this deep, burning frustration she felt.

It did no such thing.

The heat of her anger spread through her chest, heating up her flesh until she could feel it. What bothered her even more was how, deep down, she knew this anger wasnt directed at him.

It was directed at herself.

“I meant it, but… I fell for him. I fell so hard. Like, I keep thinking about how he used to stay on the phone with me until I fell asleep, remember? When the insomnia was really bad. Or– Or that time I had a panic attack before the final and he just- he sat outside my class building for three hours, like he didn’t have anything else to do until he knew I was okay.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. 

“And he’d help me study. He’d bring me snacks, too. He’d even let me nap on him when I was too wired to lie down alone. It was like- Like he made it feel easy to breathe, even when everything else felt too loud, y’know?”

Only silence answered in return. A bird chirped somewhere nearby, small and defiant.

Y/N drew in a breath, steadying herself.

“I keep thinking about what you’d say. If you were here, what would you tell me to do? Would you tell me to forget him? To hate him? Because every time I think his name, it hurts. Like, it actually physically hurts.” Her hand pressed lightly to her chest. “Because  every time I see him… my brain doesn’t think, like, mob boss or liar or- or murderer.”

Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out anyway.

“It just thinks him. The man who held my hand when my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The man who stayed up with me when I couldn’t sleep. The one who helped me color-code my exam notes even though he couldn’t care less about tort reform. The one who—” Her voice cracked. “The one who believed I could actually make it into law school.”

Tears welled up again, but she didn’t fight them this time. After all, maybe this grief would be all she ever had left of him.

“He had this crazy dream that I could do it. That I’d make it. Even when I didn’t believe it myself. He’d sit next to me on the couch and highlight things he didn’t understand just so I wouldn’t feel alone.”

She looked at the headstone.

“I think he really loved me, Margot,” she dared to whisper, the confession fracturing something in her.

She swallowed.

“And I think that’s what’s killing me the most.”

She leaned her head against her knees, curling into herself as the cold seeped deeper into her skin. The grass was damp beneath her boots. Her hands were shaking.

“I don’t know what to do.”

The wind stirred gently through the trees, soft and slow.

“I don’t know how to stop missing him.”

Y/N wiped her face roughly, smearing an ugly mix of tears across her face. It made her feel worse, and that only made her want to cry more.

“I hate him for that, you know? For being the one who believed in me most. For making me want things I didn’t even know I was allowed to want.”

She looked down at the headstone.

“If you were here… what would you say? Would you tell me to push him away?”

She reached out and traced Margot’s name with trembling fingers. The wind picked up again, rustling the trees behind her like applause in reverse. Y/N sat there a while longer, eyes closed, forehead bowed.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“But I don’t think you would.”

She blinked fast. Her throat burned.

“I think you’d say you get it. That you’d tell me I’m not crazy for still loving him even when everything in me is screaming not to.”

She swallowed, her jaw trembling.

“Because I do. Love him, I mean. I wish I didn’t, but I do. And it hurts, Margot. It hurts because all I see is what he did. All I feel is that betrayal, sitting in my chest like it’s going to split me open.”

Her fingers curled into the dirt beside her. Anchoring herself.

“But when I see him... when I hear his voice, or think about the way he used to look at me — like I was his safe place — I can’t un-feel it. I can’t un-know how much I loved him. How much I still do.”

She wiped at her eyes roughly, like she could scrub the ache away.

“And I hate that, Margot. I hate that he still owns that part of me. Because I don’t know how to forgive it. I don’t know if I can.”

Silence followed. There was only the wind, gentle enough to not knock over the now-cold cup of coffee that remained her only company as she let herself finally feel it all. 

Hours seemed to pass as Y/N sat there, letting herself miss them both, and wondering which ghost hurt more to love.

a/n: so i know i promised this chapter literal ages ago, but at least it's out? i really wanted to like this chapter, but i think i spent so long on it that i kind of got sick of, so... yeah. not really my favorite work i've put out, but at least it something. hopefully it's still the quality angst you guys deserve :)

[rowarn]

okay i'm back to expand on toxic situationship simon vs smitten golden retriever könig fighting for ur attention!!!

when simon first met you, he had no intention of interacting with you let alone "dating" you. but it just kind of....happened. you had a way of worming your way into his thoughts and his life.

the problem was that he was not build for a relationship. he had problems. a lot of them. he wasn't the type to work on himself, he was the type to find distractions to cope with the mess that was in his head at all times.

the closer you tried to get to him, the further he pulled away. but then when you backed off, he remembered he needed you as a distraction. so he'd rein you back in only for the cycle to continue.

he ignored how much it hurt you, how sometimes your eyes would swim with tears when he gave you the cold shoulder and told you to leave him alone. it wasn't like you understood what was going on — simon refused to open up and tell you that he was just...fucking messy in the head. instead, he just let you think he was some sleazy douchebag who used you for a quick fuck only to toss to the curb when you annoyed him.

part of him wondered (but didn't care bc it benefited him) why you kept coming back after how much he hurt your feelings. but when he wasn't being an intentional jackass to get you to leave him alone for a week or two, he was a great guy. a gentleman. he spoke to you with a soft but not condescending tone and was patient even when you asked stupid questions. when he had you as his distraction, he enjoyed your company and you enjoyed his — only for him to turn around and spew vitriol out of left field.

it was during one of the times he had chased you off that you met könig. on an elevator of all things. the entire mechanical box shuddered with his weight and you were downright shocked as the hulking mass of him ducked to step in.

when you asked what floor, he spoke with a quiet, almost nervous tone to tell you. as you rode the elevator down, you couldn't help but notice how he sort of shrunk in on himself as if he was trying to take up as little space as possible — as if that was even possible. he was massive. he avoided your gaze in a way that was shy instead of suspicious.

it was kind of...cute.

when you both got off the elevator, the lobby, you took a deep breath and stopped him, asking as confidently as you could if you could have his number. his eyes had widened but he surprisingly didn't say no — jackpot!

tho you couldn't see all of his face — the bottom half of it covered by a mask and his large hood concealing his hair, you felt a bit of an attraction to him.

as you walked out, hastily typing his number into your phone as you parted ways, you realized you may have a thing for masked man since this man — könig, he had said with an accent, and the ass that was simon both wore masks.

in between the time of The Simon Cycle, you went on a couple dates with könig. he was charming and sweet, if not a little shy. he was clumsy and almost always bumped his head on doorways before shamefully rubbing the spot he bumped with a look of embarrassment in his eyes.

he was excitable and energetic. he loved animals and always pointed out whatever animals he saw while walking with you — people walking dogs, cats in windows, ducks floating on ponds.

the more time you spent with him, the more you forgot about simon.

until his name popped up on your phone one evening when you were spending an evening in with könig. it was nothing crazy, he wanted to watch his favorite horror movie with you (an ancient black and white).

könig caught sight of your frown as your phone rang, catching sight of the name 'simon' with a blank picture.

"who is this?" he had asked, tho it wasn't out of jealousy, just pure concern and interest.

you let out a sigh, "i dated him....sort of...? not really..." you had responded, earning a confused look from him.

you explained everything to him, from meeting simon all the through his on and off behavior. by the end könig looked upset on your behalf, shaking his head.

"if he cannot decide if he wants you, then he should leave you alone," he said softly, smiling under his mask with a crinkle of his eyes, "that way someone who knows that they want you can move in!"

that was one thing you liked about könig, he was actually open to communicate his thoughts and feelings with you. he told you were pretty, how he liked your laugh, how much he enjoyed your company and was excited to see you again when you both had time.

simon was closed off. he was quiet, mostly listening rather than talking. but he listened well. you remember mentioning that you broke your lamp and had bought a new one but couldn't figure out how to set it up. a week later, after a nice evening spent in bed together, you woke up to find him sitting on your living room floor putting together that lamp for you.

even though könig was...lovely. there was something about simon that was so intoxicating that you couldn't seem to let it go. but also the sex with simon was....spectacular. you never had a man so eager to make you cum until you were incoherent — never had a man who could.

and könig was....traditional. slow. he wanted to date for a long time before jumping into bed. he wanted to properly court you and go through a whole process. which you respected but...you were impatient. greedy.

it wasn't like könig was against you seeing simon. he had told you that you were free to do what you wished, but unless you made it official with the other man he was not going to back down from trying to court you.

so when simon called on you again a couple nights later, you answered.

he was glaring when he opened the door for you, motioning for you to enter before shutting and locking the door.

"why didn't you answer?" he grilled. clearly you ignoring his call when you were with könig annoyed him more than you thought.

you raised an eyebrow before slowly answering, "i was on a date, simon."

that seemed to make him freeze where he stood, eyes narrowing even more into a glare.

"a date?" he spat, "with who? you don't need to go on any dates, you're with me."

that made you roll your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a headache, "a nice guy named könig. simon, i'm not even sure you like me beyond wanting sex. i want a boyfriend." you huffed, "and clearly you don't want that!"

"oh yeah? then why are you here instead of with your boyfriend?" he hissed the last word in disgust.

"we're not official. he hasn't asked but we've been...seeing each other." you decided simply.

at that, simon jerked his mask over his mouth to kiss you in that heated way that made your legs tremble, "does he fuck you as good as i do? hm?"

that got your attention, a sly smile coming to your lips as he worked you out of your clothes.

he was jealous. this revelation was exhilarating to you. simon, the guy who acted like he couldn't care less about you, was actually jealous that you were seeing another guy!

the sex that night was as phenomenal as usual and more. he spent a good half of it with his head between your thighs, pinning you down with strength alone as he ate you to orgasm after orgasm until your cum was a sticky, stringy mess on his lips and chin.

then he worked you to two more orgasms on his cock, the last one he hadn't even needed to touch your clit before you were creaming around him with a sweet little squeal.

simon had a point to prove. you were his and he was not going to lose you to some asshole. deep down, he knew he didn't deserve you and that he should let the better man have you but he just couldn't. he needed you. he wanted you. he was selfish and greedy.

simon disappeared after that. but for once had actually communicated what was going on — deployment, he said. didn't know how long he would be gone. he had actually gave you a goodbye kiss that left you spinning.

the next time you saw simon, you were on a date with könig. it was a quaint little bar that könig said he liked. so there you were, sitting across from him at a booth, nursing a drink and softly talking with one another.

you didn't even know simon was back. he hadn't said anything. when he walked into the bar, his eyes scanned the place like they always did before landing on you.

his gaze lit up as he took a step towards you but quickly halted when he saw you were sitting across from another man. but that didn't stop him for long.

you cursed under your breath, catching könig's attention before simon was right there at the end of the table, glaring at könig.

"can we help you...?" könig asked softly, clearly a little nervous.

"hi...simon..." you sighed softly. könig straightened up in his seat at that.

"official yet?" he asked you, ignoring your greeting.

you gritted your teeth, casting a glance towards könig who looked confused.

"no." you answered simply.

with that simon, yanked a chair from a nearby table and sat right at the end of your table. you concealed a groan of despair.

simons glare fixed upon könig, a challenge clear in his stare alone. he reached forward and grabbed your drink from your hand despite your protest, lifting his mask enough to take a sip, the cocky smirk visible briefly on his lips.

könig quickly understood what was going on and his own eyes narrowed into a glare. you could practically see the sparks going off between them and buried your face in your hands.

it was going to be....a painfully long night, you feared.