#when “Anything your heart desires will come to you” goes too far

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

I’m living for Trein interacting with Crewel Yuu, honestly he probably is kinda like a grandpa out of (misplaced) guilt. I’m still trying to figure out what exactly happened to make em disappear cause they’re in the place that should have been the most protected lol.

-🦑

Someone on earth was very determined to wish on everything so they could have a child. Surprise! A stolen and teleported child appears.

Trein hugs Yuu the moment he learns they're Crewel's child.

Trein "You're home. I've been blaming myself every day since your disappearance."

[dontbesoweirdkira]

I'm not saying yandere Dick Grayson would baby trap his darling...but he most definitely would

Warnings: toxic and abusive themes. forced domesticated life, mentions of baby trapping, purposeful weight gain, manipulation, dick is a good hubby though, he's just so desprate

Please just hear me out on this concept. Now i've said before that Dick Grayson would've realistically had to put a halt on his personal life and relationships because alongside being nightwing and keeping his family together, it'd just be too much.

Could you imagine Yandere! Dick is like hitting his mid-thirties at this point, work is growing old and all of his siblings are just about adults and he's exhausted. One day, the siblings are all just chilling around the mansion and the topic of what they plan to do with their life after being a vigilante comes up. Dick hadn't though about it ever because well...this consumed every minute of his life but he figured he'd probably settle down and start a family. Jokingly one of his siblings said, "How could you ever find time for another family when you're already the matriarch of this one?", and it just hasn't left his mind since.

Fast forward and he's sitting in a dinner alone after patrol and he's just watching this family and their kids and it just hits him that he'll never have that at the rate he's going. If he doesn't end up dead from his work, he'd probably end up rotting in that mansion alone because he's too busy fixing the messes Bruce made with the others. He's been a "father" to his siblings since his teen years and he has not much to show for it. I mean he's proud of all of them but...he's still just their older brother...

He goes home and is thinking about just how happy that father looked while throwing his kids up in the air...or how beautiful his wife looked carrying their unborn child. He envied how simple and perfect their life was. They didn't have to miss out on life to fight crime around the clock or to piece back together something he never broke. They could happily go home..with each other and be proud of what they've made. He's looking back at his life and while he knows he's accomplished so much but being an actual dad is something he'll never get a chance to be. Not while he's still playing as the head of Bruce's household.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who now wants to be a father so badly and to come home to a pretty wife who truly loved him. Not just some one nighter who couldn't see past his body.

He met you by chance a few weeks later. It was while he was grabbing food before his nightly patrol, and the spark was like never before. It was fate. or delusion You were destined to be his pretty wife and be his ticket out of that mess. You're so perfect

Dick is maybe a little too eager to make his desires a reality. Like he's completely ready to let go of his previous familial duties to make way for his new ones. It's a huge shift but it's a necessary one. This is his Fiona Gallagher moment. He's steadily loosening the grip and ignoring calls to be fully focused on you. Dick wants to prove he'll be a great husband who won't neglect you for anyone else even if they're as close as family. He can't let them get in the way anymore.

He doesn't care if he has to manipulate his way into your heart, he's going to have you. He's the only one that'd ever be as good to you as he will be. There's not even a money limit on how much he's willing to pour into this process. If it takes paying your rent or car note to prove he's provider material...then so be it. Anything for the future mother of his children.

!Yandere Dick Grayson who doesn't even know if you want kids or marriage but he's so far gone in his own fantasies that he just assumes you have the same goals as he...even if you don't...you soon will..I like to think he slowly shifts you into being a stay at home girlfriends and floods your mind with ideas of this being your purpose. He needs you to know just how great you are at being domestic...this isn't so bad right? You could do this for the rest of your life!

Like i said he doesn't mind throwing money at you if it'll make you desire this life with him. Besides, he prefers you to be financially dependent on him. You are so shy when you ask him for things but he loves knowing that you need him, just like a good wife does.

First he's just always wanting you over his house for cute dates, then it's becoming a weekender situation...then a few days out of the week and now you practically live with him.

In the meantime he's doing subtle things like cooking dinner and breakfast with you at the same times every day. This is so you'll automatically start doing this on your own and so you know what he likes and at what time. He's got you doing shopping runs for the home. He's a sneaky little shit who asks you to throw in his laundry and clean up his messes while he's at work. He of course compensates you for being such a great helper. Your new job is here at his home. It fills him up with so much joy when he comes home and all your tasks are completed.

Yandere! Dick who is always surprising you with foods and snacks you cannot resist to make you plumper for when you're carrying his baby. Of course he's denying the allegations when you jokingly tease him about making you fat on purpose but we know the truth. Still, he's loving your body regardless, it needs to be healthy with extra fats to keep your children protected. He can barely contain himself though when he sees your little stomach pudge , it gets him all too excited for the real deal. It makes him feel all the less guilty about tampering with the contraceptives when he thinks about how gorgeous you'll be when you're swollen with his baby. I mean you're already this cute with a little bloat.

Oh just the thought of you walking around in public and everyone who sees you know that you're already claimed..ugh He doesn't know what to do with himself. You're all his and no one can steal you away from him. Not when you don't have any time. You're too busy taking care of the home and the baby to be bothered by anything else.

You won't be too mad at him, right? I mean just so desperate to have a quiet new life. He wants to be a father so bad, please let him have this. He'll be so so good for you and the baby.....he needs this.

[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x reader | fluff, a little bit domestic, a little bit intimate, a little bit suggestive? (not really) | cw: cursing, a very modest bath scene

-bakugou only knows how to give, you wish he'd let you do the same for him-

Thinking about the newly domestic give and take between you and Katsuki. It doesn't come naturally to him. He's hell bent on doing everything himself, at first. That's the way he's always lived after all—hyper self-sufficient, independent to a fault, and so goddamn stubborn about it all.

It makes you feel almost useless, his insistence on doing everything, not only for himself but for you as well. Honestly, you should have expected it; he was like that well before moving in together. Taking all the responsibilities on himself, wrangling you out of the way when you so much as try to help, because he "feels like it", or he's "better at it", or "just move, f'r I make ya".

But you were a guest in his house, then—so you let him have his way, bullheaded as it was. Now that you share a house—a home—you want nothing more than to take care of it, of him.

Though moving mountains would be easier than convincing him to accept it.

You try brute force, first. And it goes as well as you might expect, like throwing pebbles at a brick wall. Putting yourself between him and the dishes is just as futile; he cooked dinner, you should be the one to do this. It's only fair. Still, he takes it upon himself to pick you up and physically remove you from 'his' spot by the sink, ugly yellow gloves dripping dishwater all the way to the counter.

The floor is completely soaked by the time he plops you down on the countertop, as are your jeans, your flailing arms and exasperated "Katsuki!" having done little to deter him. Your mouth opens in protest but his hands, firm at your sides and eyes, red, and stern and definite leave no room for discussion.

So you try to 'talk about it', second. When his mood has cooled and he's feeling a little sweet. He usually is, when hero work has worn him down, chipped away at his fire until there's nothing left but his worn down bones and the aching desire to be enveloped in you—his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair.

He's nothing but mush in your arms by the time you bring it up, nearly two hundred pounds of limp muscle, eyes half lidded, and slow, warm breath. You think he doesn't hear you at first, more likely he pretends not to; but then you hear a half-hearted, "hmph". And you sigh.

"I'm serious, Kats." you rake your fingers across his scalp absently and he groans in appreciation, furling into you more. "You can't do everything, just look at you."

He peers up at you with one eye, an almost glare, more playful than anything; too tired for anything more. He huffs gently, warm breath across your chest when you don't back down. "We'll talk about it later."

'Later'; meaning never. Still, you don't press him. Not when he's so tired, not when this small moment of peace is all he allows you to offer him.

Ever predictable; there isn't a later, and he finds a way to avoid the conversation, in one way or another. Over and over and over again. You're at the end of your rope just trying to get him to listen.

So you try a last ditch effort at patience, at compromise (usually a losing battle, with him); working him over, little by little.

And it works, mostly.

You find that, most times, you can slip past him while he's cooking to steal the dirty mixing bowls and discarded pans; wash them while he's preoccupied trying not to burn the chicken or fretting over cutting the vegetables 'just right'. That him doing the cooking is non-negotiable, but he'll let you help as long as you stop trying to kiss him while he's "tryin' to make y'r dinner over here, god damnit".

(Don't let him fool you, he likes it).

That it takes you far too long to realize how much he craves being asked for 'help', instead of your usual insistence on helping him. That when he feels appreciated and useful, he's almost eager to share the housework with you, looking almost boyish standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, the tepid scowl twisting his pretty face betrayed by the blush creeping up the back of his neck when you hum a lilted, "Thank you, Katsuki".

Your strategy's not foolproof, of course; he's still quick to steal whatever you're working on once he's finished his, itching to make himself busy once more.

But it's progress.

Still, no matter how much you try, or how long you pester him, he puts his foot down at taking care of him while he's sick, while he's training or on patrol. Anything that could end with you hurt, or put you in harms way is a hard 'no'—always, always, always.

That's not to say he doesn't let you take care of him ever. Though it was more hassle than it should have been, getting him to just sit comfortable instead of disappearing into the bath for hours, or taking his frustrations out on his poor, battered training equipment.

These days, when he's had an especially tiring evening, he'll sink down into the sofa without you having to say a thing, let you press your fingers into his shoulders and down his spine until the knots unwind. That occasionally he'll let you take him by the hand even, coax him gently into warm water and vanilla scented bubble bath.

That he becomes particularly docile when you're massaging your flowery conditioner into his wily blonde hair. The scent of you—over his waist, around his shoulders, in his hair—it's almost intoxicating, and he wraps his arms around you, like he's desperate for more, burying his face in your chest; sighs like he's at ease for the first time in his life.

It isn't easy, teaching Katsuki to take—but when he lays down with you at night, his eyes are a little brighter, hands hold you a little tighter, a little longer than when all he knew was how to give, give, give. And when his lips find yours, and you can feel his smile against them, you figure all the trouble is worth it.

And when he rolls the both of you over til you're pinned beneath heavy thighs, impish grin on his lips and calloused fingers beneath your shirt, trouble and promise brewing behind his newly fired eyes, well that's just a bonus.

[perrywrites]

Absentmindedly murmuring that you want him inside of you during his practice;

NSFW 

Includes; Isagi, Hiori, Bachira

Part 2 (Chigiri, Reo) and part 3 (Kaiser, Barou) and part 4 (Nagi, Shidou, Kunigami) and part 5 (Sae, Rin, Karasu, Otoya, Yukimiya)

Isagi: it’s time for his break during practice, and he’s gulping down water, adam’s apple bobbing as he hydrates himself. He’s loosely aware of your dazed stare as you continue looking at him from the bench, after all you haven’t been very subtle in staring at him throughout practice - and although he could ignore it on field, not so much off of it. He’s still gulping down water, about to go towards you afterwards just for a quick chat, and to ask you why you’ve been staring at him so much, unusually quietly. Then you say something that makes him freeze up, setting fire to his face and nearly killing him in the process. “I want you inside of me…” you mumble that, sighing in a manner as if he had romanced you. The surprise proves near fatal, and he’s choking on his water, turning away from you as his ears burn up fiercely. What? What? Did you actually just say that? Or has he somehow actually gone crazy now? Some sort of brain fatigue? An answer to his unasked question comes in the form of your lighthearted giggle, as you apologize casually for letting your thoughts slip out. That doesn’t do anything to calm the fire heating up his skin, heart thundering throughout his body, especially not when your eyes are still just as dazed when you look up at him, all lovesick and opaque with longing. “You can’t just say that,” he says, voice quiet and strained, face still heavily flushed. You giggle, and tease him a bit more, before he goes back to practice. Except now he can’t focus on anything anymore. All he can think about are your sweet words, that lovesick gaze of yours, and the softness of your plush walls. His mind is failing, and you’ve proven to be a magnificent distraction. The only thing on his mind right now is how badly he wants to sink into you and fuck you hard for even daring to say that outloud. He wants to pin you down and have his way with you, make you so dumb on his cock, fill you up - and oh god. He’s clenching his hands, flexing any muscles in his body that he can, trying to divert the blood away from his cock, because his shorts were starting to feel a little too tight. Fuck, look at what you’ve done. Are you proud of yourself? You’re not going to be getting away with this, you know that, right? Why did you think it was a good idea to tease him like this during practice, make him want you so badly? Was last night not enough? Just wait until the end of practice. He’ll be pouncing on you with a growl, dragging you somewhere private he can pound some fucking sense into you. Don’t bother trying to run away, you know he’ll catch you.

Hiori: he finds himself raising an amused eyebrow as he walks towards you during his break, noting how you’re still looking at him, all dreamy and dazed, gaze thick with longing. He knows more than well enough the meaning of that stare, your expressions always give away far too much, but he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he asks you lightly if something’s wrong, taking sips of his water. He freezes before he can go in for a third sip, some water spilling out from the top of the bottle at his sudden pause. Did he hear you right? Did you actually just say that? He blinks, looking at you, and his eyes narrow darkly when he catches that spacey fuzzy look on your face. How do you manage to look so innocent and corruptible despite just saying such a perverse thing? He doesn’t understand it, no matter how many times he thinks about it, but what he does know is how that spaced out look on your face never fails to stir sinful desires within him, cock twitching in his pants as his body heats up. On the surface, he looks calm, as always, nothing amiss - but his eyes are clouded over deeply, and his jaw is tense. You love to test his self-restraint, don’t you? For some reason, when you two first started dating, you seemed to have the impression that he doesn’t yearn, doesn’t have a sexual appetite, and it was amusing for him to prove you wrong again and again, take you by surprise - because every time you’d be befuddled by the fact that he wants you, and that he wants you badly. That’s why you’re capable of saying something so inviting so carelessly, right? Even right now, you don’t know a single thing that’s running through his mind, do you? How he wants to watch your eyes turn all dewy, tears pooling as you whimper and sob out his name beneath him, face flushed and lips quivering, an expression only for him on your face, make you vulnerable and helpless underneath as he loves you to death. He wants to do all of those things and more, make you so weak and useless, cherish you and make you take him until you break. But, he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he smiles impassively, walking over to you as he pats your head, but when he speaks, there’s something veiled in his controlled voice. “Don’t worry, ya only have to wait a little longer, okay?”

Bachira: throughout practice he catches your stare, noting your listless gaze as your eyes follow him run and score across the field. He’s not oblivious, though, he can tell well enough the simmering desire sitting heavy and darkly in your seemingly empty and unthinking eyes. “What’s with that look?” he asks, all toothy smirk and teasing eyes as he drinks from his bottle, eager to badger you during his small water break. But it seems like you’re a little too out of it, feeling a little too bold, because you respond bluntly, murmuring quietly that you were thinking about wanting him inside of you. He’s taken aback at your unintentional provocation, blinking away the shock as he smiles, amused. You really will be the death of him, won’t you? He tries lightheartedly teasing you, asking you what made you so impatient that you couldn’t even wait until you two were alone to tell him this, and when you say that neither of you would be able to resist right now if he got you alone, he damn near loses his mind. He can feel the heat spreading through his body, itching to do something to you as you continue looking up at him all dazed and yearning, and he tells you that exactly so, voice all husky. With a smile as normal as ever, except his eyes are glinting in a way that sends fire down your core. A whimper bubbles up your throat. “I want you to do something to me so badly, you have no clue,” you say, whimpery voice bursting out, and you’ve done it. His eyes darken needily, smile faltering, and he quickly ditches his towel and water bottle; practice be damned. Hand on your arm, he pulls you up and begins lightly dragging you somewhere else, somewhere isolated, somewhere he can fuck you and make you cry so hard on his cock you lose your voice. That’s what you get for tempting him. This is what you want, right? He’ll give it all to you, don’t worry. Just be good and submissive for him, spread those legs for him and leave your body all pliant under his hungry touch. He’ll fill you up, and he’ll keep filling you up until you’re satisfied - or rather, until he’s satisfied. Because you’ve lit a fire in him that you absolutely can’t handle - but don’t worry - he’ll hold you and love you even when you become a babbling mess on his cock, so let him break you apart right now. You’re the one that started it this time anyways, so he doesn’t have to hold back, right?

[https-lvesick]

( 천러 ) ── college boyfriend headcanons!

content . . 𝜗𝜚 fem!reader, jealous chenle, smut, groping, dirty talk

lola’s notes .: i don’t think i have any intentions to do more of that... AND THE FLUFF WILL COME IT WAS JUST DONE!!

college boyfriend!chenle, who goes above and beyond for you—doing everything, from the simple to the impossible. he makes sure you get to and from college safe and sound, always treating your safety as his top priority. and, of course, he spoils you, paying for lunch and anything else your heart desires, because seeing you happy is his greatest reward.

college boyfriend!chenle, who takes on your assignments when you’re too tired to keep your eyes open. even if he’s in a completely different course, he’ll dive headfirst into your subjects, determined to learn just enough to give you the best work possible, because your success matters as much to him as his own.

college boyfriend!chenle, who constantly tries to convince you to move in with him. he lives closer to campus, and it just makes sense—logically and emotionally. he pulls out all the stops: pleading with puppy-dog eyes, sweet-talking you with tender words, and even decorating his sleek penthouse with cozy accents that match your vibe just to make it feel more like home… your home.

college boyfriend!chenle, who can’t stand it when you have to pair up with another guy for a project. the thought of someone else taking up your time—time that belongs to him—drives him crazy. he’s always present during your meetups, subtly asserting his place by your side with that confident, protective smile.

college boyfriend!chenle, who’s constantly stealing kisses—whether you’re surrounded by classmates or not. you’re his girlfriend, after all, and he believes he has every right to kiss you whenever and wherever he pleases. if he feels deprived, he’ll whisk you into an empty room, locking the door behind him, refusing to let you leave until he’s thoroughly satisfied.

college boyfriend!chenle, who can’t resist sending you suggestive texts and making obscene gestures while you’re in class. the way your thighs press together, and you squirm in your seat when he has you all hot and bothered is pure perfection to him. watching you try to keep your composure when your panties are soaked? priceless.

college boyfriend!chenle, who constantly praises your beauty and the way you make his heart race—and more. he’s not shy about showing you exactly what you do to him, guiding your hand to rest firmly over his hard, throbbing length, making you feel how much he needs you.

college boyfriend!chenle, who lives for teasing in public but draws the line at public sex. the mere thought of anyone hearing the sweet sounds you make just for him sets his possessive heart aflame. but nothing stops him from whispering filthy promises in your ear, leaving you dripping with desire while you burn under the weight of his words.

college boyfriend!chenle, who’s far too impatient when it comes to you. if you take too long with your lessons or assignments, he’ll hoist you onto the table, his impatience unraveling as he claims you with passionate abandon. he’ll make you forget everything but him—how he feels, how he moves, and how completely he overwhelms your senses until you can only focus on the ecstasy he delivers.

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🏷 @jungaji @spacejip @lyvhie @sinisxtea @jirsungs

[jessiexflem]

– not so friendly | jessie fleming x reader

content: light cursing, overprotective reader

word count: 1.1K

“You okay?” Sam holds a hand out to help you up. You nod, grabbing her hand and pushing yourself off of the ground. You had been fouled for the umpteenth time, your ankles getting clipped from behind as you dribbled the ball on a breakaway. 

Back on your feet, you brush the turf beads off of your legs before jogging over to your spot for the free kick. It was the second of two friendlies this international break, and tired legs were leading to a chippier game this go-around. You were starting to feel like you spent more time on the ground than on the ball, and your frustration was building at the lack of cards shown. 

Lindsey stands over the ball as she waits for the referee’s whistle. She sends a cross into the box, the ball bouncing off of multiple heads before falling at your feet. Seeing a defender out of the corner of your eye, you attempt to lay off a quick one-touch shot – which goes straight into the keeper’s gloves. You shake your head and groan, knowing that you should’ve found the back of the net.

“Is that all you got, Y/L/N?” your opposing mark jeers as you jog past. You ignore the younger girl, who had been chirping at you most of the game. You normally kept a level-head when it came to trash talk, your opponents finding it difficult to get under your skin.

“You could use your girlfriend’s little drone next time to see how we defend set pieces, but it probably wouldn’t help your shitty finishing anyway,” she continues. 

You stop in your tracks, heat rising up your face. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” you turn around, trying to keep composure. 

“I said, even with your spying, cheating girlfriend, you’re still a terrible ass player!”

Your heart starts pounding, and your ears begin to ring. Your breathing quickened, your chest tightening. You could feel the veins in your neck popping out. Stomping toward the opposing player, you repeatedly clench and unclench your fists at your sides.

“Who the hell do you think you are talking about her like that?” you shout, getting into her face. You were absolutely seeing red at this point. “You have no fucking right to speak about Jessie that way.” 

You could see the girl’s mouth moving, but couldn’t hear anything she was saying. You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling you away from your opponent and snapping you out of your daze.

“Y/N, let it go, it’s not worth it,” Sam steers you away from the group that had formed around you, Lindsey and the opponent’s captain attempting to get their players back in order. You nod at your teammate, knowing you wouldn’t be able to. You didn’t care what anyone said about yourself, but bringing Jessie into it was too far. You tried to shake off her comments, but a few bad touches later found you on the bench in the 74th minute. The game ended in a 1-0 win for the United States, and you went straight into the locker room after your obligatory pleasantries with the other team, having no desire to entertain anyone else.

A few days later, in the Portland locker room, you’re bombarded with questions about the game from your club teammates.

“Y/N, what’d she say to you? I’ve never seen you react like that,” Morgan asks.

You shake your head, giving her the same answer you gave Jessie when you had gotten home, “Nothing, she was just chirping shit all game, and I was tired of it.”

“Oh, come on,” Mackenzie nudges you with her cleat, “She had to have said something insane.”

“It was nothing, not a big deal,” you shrug, hoping your teammates drop the subject. You get up from your cubby and head to the trainer’s room to get your ankle taped.

Once you’re out of the room, the entire team turns toward Sam and Sophia, who both had their mouths closed in a tight line.

“Okay, spill, what the hell happened?” Morgan probes.

Sam and Sophia share a look, the former shrugging before turning to the group. 

“So, it was after a free kick, I’m running back toward half, and Y/N’s in front of me, right?” Sam begins to relay the story.

Jessie listens intently, face dropping when Sam reveals what caused her girlfriend to lose composure. 

“No, literally, I was on the opposite side of the pitch, and when I saw Y/N approach her, I was like ‘holy shit, what is happening?’. I thought she was going to punch her,” Sophia shares.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared of her,” Sam chuckles, shaking her head.

After training, you and Jessie find yourselves on the couch, you laying with your head in your girlfriend’s lap. Jessie glances down at you, biting her lip.

“Sam and Soph told us what happened.”

“Oh,” was all you could get out. You weren’t planning on telling Jessie what was said during the game, not because you were embarrassed or wanted to hide it, but because you knew how much of a toll the Olympic scandal had taken on her. 

“You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

You shift yourself to a seated position, “Jess, she was saying horrible stuff about you, I couldn’t let her think that was okay.” 

“Y/N,” Jessie places her hand on yours, “I appreciate you, and I love you more than you know. I just don’t want you to get in a scuffle, or carded, or whatever because of someone else thinking they should speak about something they don’t understand.”

You stare down at your lap, embarrassed. Morgan was right. You had never reacted that way to anything before, and you’re realizing how childish you probably looked. It was a friendly, nothing to play for except pride, and you blew up in front of 50,000 people. 

Jessie gives your hand a squeeze, drawing your attention back to her. 

“Are you mad at me?” you sigh, unable to look her in the eye.

“No, of course not,” your girlfriend shakes her head, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Jessie lifts your chin up with a finger, forcing you to look up at her, “Don’t be sorry, love. I know you meant well in trying to defend me.”

You give her a meek smile, “I don’t know what happened, Jess, she wouldn’t stop talking about you, and I saw red. I didn’t mean to go nuclear, it just happened.”

“I know, but no more, okay? Promise?” Jessie holds her pinky out.

“You’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes despite locking pinkies with her, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, even when you do go nuclear,” your girlfriend gives you a cheeky grin, “I will say, though, you were pretty hot when you were mad.” 

“Yeah? But you don’t want me to get in any more fights, right?” you tease, “Or, have we found something new that you’re into?”

“And I’m supposed to be the ridiculous one?”

[ashtavula]

OMGOMGOMG COULD I ALSO REQUEST THE REST OF DIASOMNIA WITH THE ACCIDENTAL LOVE LETTERS?!?!!

I LOVE YOUR WORK AHDJBAJSNFF

aaaaa thank you!!!

Sebek, Silver, and Lilia accidentally receive your love letter

Sebek:

-The two of you had been studying together. Well, more like Sebek had been fussing at you while you struggled to understand the complex theorems in front of you. You end up having to leave in a rush, and your love letter ends up fluttering to the floor. Sebek tries to tell you that you dropped something, but you leave without paying attention to his words. He picks it up, and his eyes go wide when he realizes what's been written.

-Sebek sputters as he reads, and his cheeks turn pink. He'd been trying to ignore his feelings for you, but your letter makes his heart pound in his chest. Sebek is consumed by the desire to go to you, to tell you that he loves you more than anything. And before he can think to try and stop himself, he's already shoved his things into his bag and is tearing off after you, still holding your letter.

-When he finds you some time later, he immediately grabs your hands and pulls you close. Sebek, in all of his usual enthusiasm, loudly declares that he accepts your feelings. He goes on to vow that he will be a devoted husband to you, and that his adoration for you will never wane. As usual, he's going too far, but that's just one of the many things you love about him.

Silver:

-Silver was confused when he woke up to find a letter sitting on his chest, delivered by one of his avian friends. He rubs his eyes, yawning as he opens the folded paper. The lingering drowsiness quickly leaves him once the contents of your letter are revealed to him.

-You...you love him. Silver has a hard time coming to terms with that. He loves you too, but he's not sure if he'll be able to give you the sort of life you deserve. Silver isn't oblivious. He knows that his condition is difficult and frustrating. He also knows how most people see him. It takes a few long minutes, but Silver eventually decides that there's no harm in at least trying.

-A week later, a letter arrives for you, telling you to go to the botanical gardens after sunset. When you arrive, you find Silver. He appears almost ethereal in the moonlight, holding a bouquet of flowers for you. The two of you wander through the garden, and Silver points out all of the flowers that only bloom at night. He shows you just how beautiful things can be in the quiet of the dark. At the end of the path, surrounded by the sweet scent of the flowers, Silver gets down on one knee, and he confesses to you. He tells you that he can't promise much, but he can promise to love you, no matter what.

Lilia:

-He tilts his head to the side as one of his little bats comes flying towards him with some paper clutched in it's claws. Once Lilia receives it, he's quick to note that the page is covered with your handwriting. And it doesn't take more than a few words for him to realize exactly what kind of letter you've written for him.

-Lilia's lips spread into a sly smile as he reads, little giggles escaping him. He's happy, but also rather amused by the novelty of actually having a love letter addressed to him. It reminds him that even he can be surprised every now and then. And since you're being so sweet to him, he decides that it's only fair to return the favor.

-Since you sent him an old-fashioned love letter, he's going to show you some old-fashioned fae courtship. He surprises you by arriving at Ramshackle one evening, bearing a container of homemade food and his bass guitar. Once you've been given the food, Lilia clears his throat, and starts strumming on his guitar. He's written you a love song. The lyrics are lovely, even if he does take a few...liberties with the vocals. And once you accept his somewhat odd courting, he'll give you one more gift. A sweet kiss, right there on your front porch.

[dreamermonica]

you belong with me !

when someone else approaches their partner, how do they react?

—includes itoshi rin, michael kaiser, itoshi sae

—gender of reader isn't specificied, fluff, established relationships, angy bllk boys, mentions of creeps, unwanted contact and such. first post in this blog, hope everything goes well!

all hell goes loose when RIN catches sight of another person gripping your wrist—especially when you look utterly terrified and confused. they dare to touch someone that is leagues above their own, someone that's already taken by one of the most well-known soccer players in the world, and do it without the bare minimum of consideration for your own feelings? in that very moment, he only sees red.

quickly apprehending the cause of your discomfort by ripping the person's hand off of your arm and retracting you to his chest with a small oomf from you—a harsh glare burns onto the person's face. you could probably see the intensity of his stare just by looking at the person's horrified reaction.

“who are you to touch them like that?” his airy voice brings comfort to the erratic beating of your heart, your tense form slowly melting in his hold.

right now, he doesn't care that he's attracting unnecessary attention. the crowd that's slowly forming around the commotion he'd caused is the least of his problems right now. sure, it'll probably ruin the stealth of your date but he needs to see this insignificant pest to drown in shame until he's satisfied.

“rin—it's fine. this type of stuff is normal, let's just go, hm?” you probably sensed that he was ready to take it a step too far, and when he kills down the glare on his expression to look at you properly with his usual indifferent eyes, you heave out a sigh of relief.

tugging on his coat, you smile at him nervously. “c'mon now! let's resume our date before anyone recognizes you!”

contrary to the usual soft and compliant rin you're used to, he does not budge an inch. seemingly glued to the floor after your words. “what did you say?”

“...huh?”

“before what you just said right now. you mean this type of interaction is normal?”

with how intense his stare burns into yours, you grow sheepish each passing second—hand reluctantly raising to rub the back of your neck in confusion and slight bewilderment.

wait, he didn't know that until now? how are you going to word this properly without sounding sensitive? “well—uh, you see...you're like, crazy popular, and everyone knows i'm dating you, so of course i'd also grow popular too, and then you know you also have some of these crazy fans that hate me and—” you cut yourself off when you feel a familiar air of anger rise once more.

your lover does not reply, and only carefully brings out his phone to dial what you recognize as his manager's phone number—and very, very scary words coming out from his lips while shifting his stare back at the person who's now groveling at his feet.

his little conversation about hiring bodyguards and telling the media they're doomed for affecting your safety does not faze you one single bit. there's only one thought inside your pretty little mind as you stare at the dark expression of itoshi rin.

oh lord. what have you done?

if there's anything KAISER hated more than anything, it would be when someone touches something, or in this case, someone who solely belongs to him. a emperor usually has his own certain treasures, and they're kept away from the hands and eyes of commoners and peasants for a reason. should one give into their selfish desires and attempt to take away his treasures—an inevitable treason is in line.

“what the hell is this? some irrelevant bumpkin treading where he doesn't belong?” with how loud and condescending the blonde sounds, you're certain that he's doing it so that it garners the entire room's attention.

a celebration party is held to commemorate bastard münchen's latest victory—hence the crowd full of friends and families of the football team's members alike are gathered, along with expensive investors and celebrities wanting to meet the famous aces of the country. funny acts committed in parties like these are not common, yet not all that uncommon either.

but it's mostly happens for the nobodies. who would even consider getting too friendly with the infamous partner of michael kaiser—who's offhandedly the embodiment of bastard in bastard münchen?

at the end of the day, it seems there's someone with more-balls-than-brains here in front of him. it's interesting, in a way. kaiser thinks as grins as the man's face contorts into a way that feeds his own sadism. the day was starting to get boring until this little failure came to ruin his—

a gentle squeeze on his hand halts his violent thoughts.

he cranes his neck to look at you with an eyebrow raised, your [e/c] hues glinting in a way that's telling him to stop whatever he's going to do before it goes too far.

contemplating options as the football ace glances back at the man drowning in shame amidst the sea of judgemental looks thrown his way, he heaves a deep sigh. one of defeat rather than disappointment. he's already well-aware of your forgiving nature.

“okay. i'll cut it out. but in one condition,” he looks back at you, squeezing your hand back as a smirk creeps on his face. “we ditch the party.”

“wha—? but isn't this whole event your idea in the first place?” you come nothing short of confused, hand still in his.

“meh, who cares.” he retorts boredly, snapping his fingers to call on forth the body guards hired for the party, before gesturing towards the man—kicking him out for the good and betterment of guests. “it was getting boring anyway. 'only hosted this event just so i could see you all dressed up.”

dressed up for his victory, he chooses not to add to spare your blushing face. that final goal he scored would've made his fans froth at the mouth if they were up close. he briefly wonders if you had reacted the same. er—most likely not, but a man can dream.

“you're so infuriating, you know that?” you comment without any malice, a small smile spreading on your lips when kaiser starts tugging you away from the room filled with expensive champagnes and rich ambassadors. almost feels like a daydream to run away like this, hand in each other while noa's scoldings fall on deaf ears.

a light laugh escapes his lips, “but you still love me anyway.”

he sends a playful wink your way right after, and you might just faint—knees weakened and all.

SAE seems indifferent at first, blankly staring at the person attempting to woo you. is it of disbelief? disgust, even? whatever it was, he just kept staring while the person uttered the most horrendous pick up lines your poor ears have ever heard. you were too preoccupied in tuning out the person's musings to even notice sae moving towards you.

it sure is a pain to have an attractive s/o. the famous football player just went to the bathroom and he comes back to see another man kissing up to you like some dog whimpering for scraps of food. in this case, the scraps of food the dog was getting desperate for was your number. a shitshow, he thinks.

“sorry, but i'm actually waiting for someone.” you finally managed to formulate a sentence without the man cutting it off once again with his terrible lines. you forgo the urge to compare him to an npc designed to rizz up a rock. it was genuinely that bad. bad enough that the rock would probably grow legs just to get away from him.

“you've said that what, three times now? where's that person yer' talkin' about, huh?” the man leans closer while rubbing the insides of his ear, causing you to cautiously take a step back. god, a bath could really help this man, and he's right—where is your boyfriend? “just lemme hit now, you won't regret it one bit—”

a sturdy hand places itself onto the creepy man's shoulder, roughly, and i mean, roughly turning the man around to face a maddened pair of emerald hues. right before you and the man stands an enraged itoshi sae—one of the most well-known aces of the entire country. from the way the man stays paralyzed in his place, it's not hard to deduce that he probably recognizes the living and breathing legend right in front of him.

“out of my sight, unless you want things to get dirty.” the soccer genius is known to be level-headed and rational even in dire situations when it comes to within and outward of the field, so who exactly are you staring at right now?

the redhead coldly dismisses the man with a chilling glare, before approaching you with hands now stuffed in pockets, eyebrows raised as if to question your dumbfounded look. “let's get going. the grime is starting to rub off on me.”

ah, that's right.

you let him grab your wrist to drag you away, his demeanour doing a complete 180 as he asks about what kind of food you'd want to eat today, naming your favourite restaurants one by one whilst he tugs you around, ignoring the double takes of passerbys making sure they didn't just see sae itoshi in the flesh.

the man you're staring at right now...is your lover

the very same man who shut down the touchy feely dude earlier, not to mention him completely dismissing the entire situation as to not ruin your mood, the one who has all your favourite restaurants memorized, the very same guy who invited you out today because he simply wanted to see you and enjoy the day with you, the boy who chose you out of millions, and millions of admirers—

you're simply looking at your boyfriend, itoshi sae. not the genius revered by multiple nations, but simply a man who loves you just as much as you do to him.

a smile spreads on your face as you finally keep up with his pace, now beside him instead of being dragged around like a lost puppy. “hmm, why don't you choose? i'm feeling like trying some new today.”

“okay. we're going spicy then.”

(ik bastard means like sword or smth for germans ok kaiser being THE bastard just sounded right for me)

edit; okay just found out bastard actually means bastard, it makes more sense now

ALSO YES I HC SAE LIKES SPICY FOOD

[chilling-seavey]

Formula 1 Masterlist

♡ Welcome to my Formula 1 masterlist! Here, we will explore and create universes together - straying far from the pit lane we know all too well to, instead, journey through new realities ♡ Comments are always incredibly appreciated and please feel free to send in questions or ideas or asks so I can write some blurbs and help keep these universes thriving! Happy reading!

George Russell

Enchanté ↳ On a brief business trip to Paris, you find yourself enamoured with this handsome stranger and the fleeting promises he offers in the city of love Desiderio ↳ It's been a year since Paris. A year since you've seen George. In the middle of the storm of a century, in another foreign city, fate sometimes works in mysterious ways.

Blue Moon Motel ↳ George has decided that his affair with you needs to end but he takes you out for one last night before saying goodbye.

Don't Worry Darling ↳ Married and thriving in an idealised community based on routine, gender roles, and arguable paradise, you and George seem to be just as perfect together as the utopia you live within - but not everything is as it seems on the surface.

Love Thy Neighbour PART ONE PART TWO ↳ It’s the end of summer 1984 and you and your perfect little family move into a quaint suburban neighbourhood to escape the hustle and bustle of the Manhattan lifestyle. Your next door neighbours are a picture-perfect family of their own - or so it seems from the outside. But, as you spend more and more time with the handsome husband, the cracks in your own marriage start to come to light.

Little Bit of Luck ↳ You fly to Bahrain to surprise George before the first race of the season, giving him a bit of good luck in his driver's room before lights out.

Silence of the Mountains ↳ George decides to rent a motorhome for the Austrian Grand Prix weekend like some of the other drivers do; he's sure it'll make everything so much more convenient. Sharing the space with his trainer might be beneficial for work but certainly not when it comes to taming your insatiable appetite.

In The Middle - feat. Pierre Gasly ↳ The summer of 1985 had your time filled with two handsome men who, with each, you had a non-exclusive friends-with-benefits relationship. They were completely unaware of the other’s existence in your life but that’s what added to the thrill. Once you faced a few close calls where they almost discovered your cheeky little secret, you decided to lay all your cards on the table and see if you could have the best of both worlds on the same night.

The Patriarchy ↳ Of course George is a feminist; but who is he to deny you when sometimes you just want him to treat you like his property.

What He Deserves ↳ George just won in Monaco and there's only one way he wants to celebrate. You wouldn't dream of saying no to his request; not when he deserved the world, and more.

Confessional ↳ George is the golden boy of the congregation and can do no wrong as the pastor’s son and purest of heart, body, and soul. You find yourself fantasizing about ruining each other's purity more than anything, although little do you know, after an unexpected fess up in the confessional booth, he’s not as innocent as meets the eye

Lessons in Love and Other Ilicit Desires (Multi-Chapter Novel) ↳ Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

The Way It Goes (Slice of Life Blurbs) ↳ A collection of stand-alone blurbs centered around George and his growing little family in which I can use their world to purge my domestic George thoughts and daydreams.

Lando Norris

Nothing Looks the Same in the Light - feat. Oscar Piastri ↳ "I watch you breathe, I cannot sleep. I touch your hair, I kiss your skin, and hope the morning sun won’t wake you too soon [...] Nothing looks the same in the light. Only a fool like me would take to heart the things you said you meant last night."

Dreamland (Mini Series) ↳ As a flunking university student in dreary Bristol, Lando is sure there’s another life waiting for him elsewhere. A life that he can only dream of living with the girl with a million dollar career, verified instagram, and a stunning smile that he swears was created for him. But maybe those dreams stray no farther than his phone screen.

Pierre Gasly

Even out of View (WW1 Drabble) - feat. Esteban Ocon ↳ It's 1916. They were supposed to be fighting for their country, but now, with the world in peril, Esteban was to be treated as the enemy by his own people. Pierre is Esteban's nightwatch before he is executed for treason.

In The Middle - feat. George Russell ↳ The summer of 1985 had your time filled with two handsome men who, with each, you had a non-exclusive friends-with-benefits relationship. They were completely unaware of the other’s existence in your life but that’s what added to the thrill. Once you faced a few close calls where they almost discovered your cheeky little secret, you decided to lay all your cards on the table and see if you could have the best of both worlds on the same night.

[callistoscope]

soaring ahead

Summary: Harvey deserves some extra loving, and you’re more than happy to voice that opinion. In multiple ways.

Pairing: Sub!Harvey x Soft Dom!Reader

Word Count: 2.0k.

Warnings: explicit sexual act/smut! more specifically, harvey gets a bj!

a/n: this doesn’t really have hard sub/dom undertones lol, reader is a verrryyyy soft dom, but it’s really important to me that it’s made clear! Harvey’s the biggest sub in the world in anything I write!

——

It isn't about control. This is not about making him vulnerable in your hands, for the sole sake of satisfying your own whims— but it's getting embarrassingly close the farther you get into this.

Harvey is a gentleman, with not a single bone in his body dedicated only to his own pleasure, and he will remain that way for the rest of his life likely. In some minute way that sprawls out through all of his actions, all his shy but endlessly loving glances. He's selfless with devotion.

Here, Harvey is still wholly himself, every bit of the soft man you love. Not that you'd expected differently. His brown eyes faltering, but still steadfast in their approach to meet yours as he continues to whisper if you're really sure about this— right as you drop to your knees in front of the bed.

It's taken a lot of reassurances to get even this far. Harvey, in his unyielding consideration of your feelings, can never quite bypass his need to assuage any pressure he frets over putting you under. He'd even tried to insist you both lay down on the bed, so you don't hurt your knees from being on the floor.

You still aren't sure if you've ever seen him turn redder than when you'd insisted you prefer it— this way, I get to see your face more clearly, you'd told him maybe too honestly.

Despite stating the reason for your preference, Harvey is still shying away, torn between looking at you in admiration and averting his eyes in mortification. It's cute, to see him flounder between either option, hesitantly holding his first to his mouth. He seems to decide on closing his eyes, fist trembling with the effort it took to not fully cover his face. Trying earnestly to please you without completely forfeiting his desire to hide. He squirms a little when your hand makes contact, wrapping carefully around his dick.

"Hey," you start, voice low but soft. Plush like a warm blanket, knit with thick yarn, "... Can you look at me?" One of your hands goes to rest on his bare knee, right where it bends, thumb rubbing where you can feel the faint indents of his bone.

You can see his shut eyes scrunch closed a bit tighter for a moment, whining quietly when your other hand moves a little as well, stroking his dick in a slow and smooth motion. You'd already gotten his pants and underwear down, were already well on the cusp of giving him the attention he deserved. You trail your thumb up towards the underside of his tip in a misshapen circle. This makes Harvey's eyes fly open with a start, an exhale sharply bursting from his lungs. He still presses his hand to his mouth, the fingers curled into his palms digging in particularly hard when you carefully lick up from hilt to the very top.

His hand flexes, another little noise regretfully getting muffled into it. He blinks wildly, and it shakes you then how disheveled he looks, hair mussed from your hands, face flushed scarlet. The thin sheen of sweat adds a shine to him, but where Harvey truly becomes striking is at his eyes.

It's not unusual to catch him looking at you as if you were a miracle, as if that's the only way he could comprehend a person like you coming into his life.

It's not a look you didn't expect, but there's a rawness now that you've only seen a handful of times. When all the attention's on Harvey, when he allows it to soak into his heart instead of gently ushering you back into the loving spotlight along with him. It's not that he only ever tended to you— he seemed to like it plenty when you were in the lead, guiding you both, gently guiding him where to go. Lavishing him with praise that got him all but melting under you, but he rarely let you take care of just him much farther than that. Not for more than a few moments.

The warmth in his brown eyes causes you to raise your hand, the one that had been on his knee, stretching it until it comes into contact with his cheek. You have to strain your arm like this, but you hardly care, especially when he readily leans into it, effectively abandoning his wrist. You press a kiss right to his tip, getting to feel him inhale shakily against your palm, nuzzling your hand in another attempt to hide.

"... You're so pretty." You barely have a chance to ruminate on the thought before it slips out of your mouth, Harvey's eyes rapidly focusing back on you. His hand and your own partially disfigure the look you get at his face, but the warm light of the lamp shows the red color settling on him nicely. "... I love you so much, sweetheart. You know that?"

Harvey seems to want to answer, his lips parting only to close with an unabashed moan as you settle your mouth down, taking him halfway and carefully keeping your teeth from grazing him. It seems to hit him all at once, whimpering as you look up at him, his hand that had been at his mouth, interestingly enough, rushing for the one on his cheek.

He takes it into his right hand, pressing a sweetly chaste kiss to your knuckles before lowering it to his upper thigh, away from where you were settled. His fingers twine with yours, holding it in a way that felt all too pure. He's looking at you with stars in his eyes, like your own have galaxies and more. You have a sneaking suspicion he knew you were straining your arm.

"... I love you, too." Harvey whispers in a wavering voice, body trembling when you push yourself farther down. You twirl your tongue around the head of his dick, and you can feel him fight the reflex to buck up from his next shiver, the next sound that escapes him sharp, head falling back for a quick moment before he's leaning back forward to look down at you. You suck and he almost repeats the motion, his free hand reaching to tenderly press some of your hair back.

You back off for what might look like a breather on Harvey's part, but it's only really because you want to talk. You shift on the floor, knees starting to ache. "Do you know that I love you?" You say gently, voice a little more hoarse than you'd expected. He hadn't answered your question.

That makes him glance down bashfully, which only seems to make his embarrassment worse since he mostly gets a reminder of what exactly's going on below the metaphorical belt. "O-Of course." He breathes shallowly, seeming to have needed the breather more than you.

"Of course... I wouldn't doubt you." Harvey says softly.

It's not that you don't trust him, but you know him. The doubts that are always riding his coattails, coasting along no matter how adoringly you touch him, no matter how much you praise him. You could give him the world on a sliver platter, kiss every atom of his body, and he'd still struggle to accept it. You want him to know it, down to his bones. For your love to be the airplane he can trust to see in the sky, through the radio, a certainty he can glimpse even in the clouds.

"Can you say it a few times for me?" You ask, swallowing as you gaze up at him determinedly. One hand continues to stroke his cock languidly, the other squeezing the hand he's holding. "Say that I love you."

Harvey blinks, looking a little uncertain. He shudders faintly regardless, sensitive to every touch. "You... love me?" He echoes doubtfully, as if not sure that's quite what you meant him to say, only to gasp when you take his dick back into your mouth, bobbling steadily. You nod as best as you can, which you're sure looks a bit silly, but Harvey doesn't seem to be focusing too much on how silly anything might be, thankfully.

In any case, he seems to be getting it, eyes widening in understanding. He whimpers again, maybe also because he understands. You can't remind him when you're like this, so you're pushing him to remind himself.

"... You love me." His voice shakes, but there's something imbedded in it that warms you. His face is twisting faintly with emotion, eyebrows scrunching when your free hand strokes at his base as you slide your mouth further down. Harvey's grip on your hand tightens, his breaths coming out quick, every other one a bit whiney. He's shaking.

"...Y-You—" His sentence is thoroughly chopped in half when you keep going, fighting your gag reflex as you aim for getting Harvey as deep as he can go. "— God, y-you love me. I love you. So— So much."

You roll the flat of your tongue against the very tip, light and cautious. Harvey's body goes tense before abruptly twitching.

"Honey..." He gets out, brown eyes fluttering shut, "H-Honey, I'm not gonna... I'm not..." He trails off with another noise, breathy and a touch desperate.

Embarrassment creases a few lines into his forehead from his own implication. You squeeze his hand this time, thumb moving to stroke the skin of his own. You're looking up at him again, the way his eyes soften impossibly for you. You can't really nod now, but you try to tell him when your eyes: It's okay. He flinches, endearingly sensitive.

You breathe through your nose, relaxing your throat before you go for the next inch. You don't think you quite succeed, but Harvey seems to think you have regardless. He's holding your hand like a lifeline. The hand in your hair retreats, going back to grasp the sheets with a grip that would have been painful. Your heart flutters with love as much as lust, doubling your efforts.

Harvey's whole body trembles, and you're focusing a bit too much on swallowing to fully appreciate how he sounds, high pitched and shuddering. Even still, it echoes loud in your subconscious mind.

When his body loosens, his hold on your hand loosening but firm enough to portray how little he yearned for its absence, you pull away with a sharp inhale, breathing a bit deeply. Harvey had moved his hand behind him to keep himself propped up, and you can tell it's taking some energy for him to not fall back-first on the bed in midst his bliss, but you can feel his concern reignite.

You leap up on sore knees before he can say anything, arms finding his back and tugging him forward tightly. His face ends up finding the crook of your neck as sinks into you like a ship consumed by the sea, nuzzling into your warmth and hugging you back as if you've been separated for years.

"I love you," you murmur, stroking his back, "I love you, I love you." It's as if you're making up for lost time, saying the words for when you couldn't. That makes him pull away, and you're quick to cup his cheeks, eyes looking meaningfully into his own as you rest your forehead against his. "I love you." Your voice wavers, caught up in a tide of affection that ebbs higher the more you look at him.

Harvey smiles brilliantly, a bashful tinge to it, as if he's still questioning his right to such joy and fortune. He leans until your noses brush in a featherlight touch, needing to touch you however he can. "I... I love you, too." He's still breathless, words a little too hushed, but his eyes glimmer a little from his own emotions. A deep brown that still somehow shines like the sun as they start to glisten with tears.

You pull him back into a hug. His chin rests on your shoulder, a content filling him as he relishes in the feeling of floating— the one time being so high up in the sky doesn’t feel so terrifying.

[lustnhim]

‘ corruption. ‘ — elvis x fem! reader

note: requested + dead-dove(ish) / warnings: big age gap (18 + 35) corruption kink, innocence kink, size kink, naive reader + demanding elvis, elvis has been lusting over you for a while, pervert elvis, elvis is a family friend, goes from gentle to rough pretty quick, p in v sex, no protection, fingering, oral m-receiving, loss of virginity, bleeding, prop typos/spelling mistakes. / summary: elvis offers to ‘babysit’ while your parents go off on vacation, when the two of you are left alone– he wants to see just how much you know and how much he has to teach you.

A staring problem. That’s what Elvis had. He cursed himself for every glance he took at you, his eyes would wander to your chest, your legs and thighs– he could stare forever at your pretty lil’ face too though. Your eyes were gorgeous, your lips, pouty and your cheeks still a bit chubby. Babyface. He had called you that a few times, when he thought about it too much it made his stomach turn. At your birthday, he watched intently as you leaned over the table, your little blue dress too short to cover your pretty behind. He had sung the last bits of happy birthday through clenched teeth and excused himself to the bathroom while the image was still fresh in his mind and when he was done, he begged God for forgiveness. He had watched you grow up, been around for all your life– what would your daddy do if he knew? If he knew his best friend wanted his daughter more than anything else in this world. Being pulled aside by your father, he thought the worst. He knew his gaze wasn't well hidden-- even though he tried with everything in him. When your father asked him to ‘babysit’ he couldn’t believe his ears. "Me an' the wife are heading down to Florida, just the two of us this weekend. Will you be free..." Elvis' mind blanked. Alone with you. For weeks. Just the two of you. It sounded like heaven— it was to him. He could hardly listen to the rest of what your father said, stuck on the thought of being alone with you. His mind was blank, nodding mindlessly and making small ‘ah’ sounds and saying ‘gotcha’ with every other sentence. This weekend could not come any faster.

Elvis was shaking. When he pulled up to the house he struggled to stay still— his knuckles white from the grip he had on the steering wheel.  He forced himself to take slow, steady breaths as he made his way to the front door, trying to calm his nerves. When you open the door, he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of you. The cutest little sundress, white with small blue detailing, black knee high socks, one slightly lower than the other. Elvis swallowed hard, trying to keep his eyes from wandering too far. “Oh hi Elvis, mama n’ daddy already left–” You said simply, giving a soft smile to him. “Ah, they ain’t been gone too long have they?” He asked as you scooted out of the way, allowing him inside. His voice was surprisingly calm, he was afraid it would’ve came out hoarse and strained. “No,no bout’ five minutes–” You say, closing the door behind Elvis. “Here, I'll show you your room.” You smile, carelessly taking Elvis’ hand as he sits down his suitcase. Your skin is so soft and warm against his cold and calloused hands. Your fingers intertwine with his, he takes note of how small your hand is. How small you are compared to him. It would be so easy to grab ahold of you, hold you close to his chest as his free hand would wander across your body. He can feel it. The heat. The straining against his pants. He prays you don’t notice. “Here! They moved the guest room– it’s beside mine now.” You let go of his hand once the two of you are upstairs. Elvis watches as you let go of his hand, a sense of loss filling him as your warmth disappears. He clenches his fists, trying to control the overwhelming desire that threatens to consume him. You open the door and walk inside the guest room– your mama had made it all up for him, even leaving some spare clothes in the wardrobe just in case he needs them. Elvis watches as you plop on the bed, your sundress riding up slightly exposing more of your thighs. Elvis clears his throat before speakin, “Thank you, Darlin’...I appreciate it..” He says, this time his voice is shaky. The heat becoming overwhelming. “You’re welcome! I already ate dinner– did you?” You asked, falling back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling, your legs carelessly parting just slightly. Elvis’ breath hitches, the small sliver of baby blue panties just barely visible. Elvis could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to keep his eyes from wandering too far down your legs. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "No, I ain't ate yet," he replied, his voice strained. "I reckon I could go for a bite though." He forced a smile, hoping you wouldn't notice the way his hands tried to cover himself. You sat up, adjusting your dress as you did so. "Well, there's plenty of leftovers in the fridge if you want some. I could heat it up for you if you'd like." You offered, standing up from the bed. Elvis nodded, his throat feeling tight. "That'd be mighty kind of you, darlin'. I appreciate it." He managed to say, his eyes following you as you walked out of the room. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. This was going to be a long weekend.

Following the next few days, Elvis tried to keep some distance from you, he didn’t know what he would do to you if he didn’t. Innocent, sweet, bubbly– and so eager. He would give anything to be the one to teach you, to teach you how to feel good, how to make him feel good. Only him. There had been a few instances in which you had habitually walked out of the bathroom and into the hallway past his room, only wrapped in a towel and Elvis had to fight everything in him not to stand up from his bed and follow you into your room. The two of you would talk in the morning, every now and then in the evening– and virtually none at night. He was cooped up in his room, and you were cooped up in yours. Elvis could feel the tension building up within him as the days went by. He knew it was only a matter of time before he caved to his desires. The way you moved, the way you talked, the way you looked at him with those big, innocent eyes, it was all too much for him to handle. The night air was heavy with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant sound of crickets. Elvis couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He got up from his bed, unable to stay put any longer. He quietly slipped out of his room and headed towards your bedroom. He didn’t know why he was, his mind was telling him to just go back to his room but his legs just kept moving. You were fast asleep, your soft breathing the only sound in your room. Elvis hesitated for a moment, his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open. The moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a soft glow on your sleeping form. Elvis walked over to your bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched as your chest rose and fell gently with each breath. He couldn't resist the urge to touch you. His hand brushed against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear.You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open. You looked up at him, confused, and a bit sleepy. "Elvis? What are you doing here?" He smiled gently, his hands resting gently against your cheek now. “I couldn’t sleep babyface…” Elvis' gaze lingered on your face, his desire for you burning like a wildfire. He wanted nothing more than to crawl over top of you, to have you experience what he so craved. His fingers traced down your jaw, making their way towards your neck. His touch was feather light, sending shivers down your spine. "El-Elvis what are you doin’?" You stammered, rising up in your bed– your mind foggy from sleepiness. “Nothin’ yet, Darlin’...” Elvis' eyes darkened with lust as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "But I aim to do plenty," he whispered huskily, his hand drawing small circles on your collarbone, "You're so innocent, so pure...You’re old enough now, somebody’s gotta show ya honey…." Elvis eyes scan your face. Your eyes were so wide and confused you looked like a lost puppy. “I don't..” You started but Elvis shushed you, “Scooch over baby.” He says, taking his hand out of your hair and pushing you over giving him room. 

Elvis watched as you moved, the soft mattress creaking slightly. He crawled over you, his body pressing against yours. “Tell me baby, what do you know about sex..?” He asks rather bluntly, causing a pink blush to spread across your face. “Uhm, I- I know enough.” You could feel his hardness against your thigh, causing you to squirm slightly. Elvis chuckled softly, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you in place. “I doubt that honey…” He replies, his hands tracing along the hem of your nightgown. “I do know enough…why are you even askin’?” You replied huffing and annoyed. Elvis smirked, his fingers inching closer to the hem of your nightgown. "Because I'm 'bout to teach you, darlin'." He said, his voice low and seductive. He could feel your heart racing against his chest, the feeling only fueling his desire. "I'm gonna teach you everything, from the tip of your head to the tips of your toes." His hands slid under your nightgown, his fingers ghosting over your skin, causing goosebumps to rise. Elvis leaned in, his  lips brushing against your ear. "Do you wanna learn, babyface?" He whispered, his breath hot against your skin. He could feel your body tense up, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through you. He gave you a moment to respond, his fingers continuing their exploration. He bit his lip, waiting for your answer. He wanted nothing more than to take you then and there, to have you experience all the pleasures he'd been craving. But he wanted you to want it too. He wanted this to be something you'd remember, something you'd crave as much as he did. “E-Elvis..I ain’t sposed’ to…” You said, your body shaking. You didn’t know what to do, of course– you’ve never done anything with a boy, let alone a man. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” He replies hastily, the desperation in his voice was overly evident. You hesitated, looking at the man–studying his expression. Pure lust. “Okay…” You said and that was all Elvis needed to hear.  "No runnin' off now, Darlin'." He whispered, leaning in immediately, his lips trailing kisses down your neck. You gasped, arching your back, your head falling back. His lips found your earlobe, nipping and sucking gently. A soft moan escaped your lips, your body responding to his touch. "Elvis...what are you doing?" You whispered, your voice trembling. "I told ya, teachin' you things, sweetheart." Elvis replied, his hand moving gently up your thigh, his fingers sliding across the fabric of your panties. You let out a sharp breath, your eyes widening as he rubbed his thumb against your clit. “Elvis! S-slow down.” You pleaded and felt his fingers move off. “Oh honey..” You cood, his hand moving gently to your chest, groping you gently. 

“Can I pull this down?” He asks, and you nod. Pulling down the top of your nightgown just enough to where both of your breasts pooled out he let out a shaky gasp. “Perfect.” he moaned before bending down to take one in his mouth causing you to gasp. Latching on to your nipple he sucked gently as his hand massaged the other. You looked down at him, your fingers finding their way in his hair. This felt...so strange yet so good. Elvis was in heaven. Your soft skin in his calloused hands as his tongue flicked against your nipple before moving to your other breast– giving it the same treatment. Palming himself through his pajamas you let out a soft whimper as he bit down gently onto you before pulling away. “So fuckin’ soft.” He groans before palming himself through his pants one last time and pulling out his erect cock, pre-cum leaking from the tip. “Gonna show ya somethin’ else babyface. Get tween’ my legs.” He orders, stroking himself lazily. Elvis could’ve died and gone to heaven as he watched you crawl across the bed and lay between his legs, your face right next to his cock. Elvis watched as you hesitantly reached out to touch his cock, your small hand wrapping around him. "That's it, baby. Feel how hard you make me." He encouraged, his hands gripping the sheets beside him. He could feel his heart racing, his breath hitching as you touched him. “Like this?” You asked and Elvis nodded slowly, "Yes baby…Good girl...such a good girl. Can ya put your mouth on it baby?" He whispered, his fingers tangling in your hair . You hesitated for a moment, looking up at him. "Do it, Darlin'." He urged, his voice thick with lust. You opened your mouth, your tongue flicking out to taste the pre-cum coating the tip. Elvis groaned, his hands gripping your hair as you took him in, your lips wrapping around his cock. You sucked gently, your eyes wide as you explored him with your mouth. Elvis could feel his control slipping as you took him deeper, your mouth warm and wet. "Fuck, baby...that's it."  He praised, his hips bucking into your mouth. He was losing it, his body trembling as you continued to suck him. "I'm gonna cum, Darlin'." He warned, his fingers tangling in your hair. He exploded, his hot cum filling your mouth, the taste overpowering. You pulled away, swallowing the last of his cum before looking up at him. "That's a good girl." He praised his hand, smoothing your hair as he caught his breath. "Here honey," he said, tucking himself away for the time being and moving closer to you.

His hands raising to remove the rest of your nightgown. Looking down at you in just your panties Elvis could hardly wait. Sliding two fingers into the sides of your panties he pulled them down and watched as you shyly closed your legs. “Now now baby.. Keep em’ open.” He said, opening them and admiring you. So perfect… he could see the wetness pooling from your core.  "You're so wet for me, baby." He said, his voice heavy with lust. "I'm gonna show you how good it feels to be touched, how good it feels to be wanted." He slid one finger into you causing you to immediately gasp. His fingers were much bigger than yours, not that it ever mattered– you hardly touched yourself anyways. Stretching you open, you cried out, your hips bucking against his hand. "Fuck, you're tight." Elvis groaned, his other hand moving up to knee to make sure your legs stayed spread. Elvi slipped in another finger, curling them up inside of you, a moan escaping your lips. Elvis giggled and began pumping his fingers in and out of you, stretching you open as sick wet sounds filled the room.You could feel a buildup in your stomach, your walls clenching around his digits. Elvis was about to cum in his pants. The sight of you so overwhelmed just by his fingers was too much. "Cum for me, baby," Elvis growled, his words sending shivers down your spine. He felt your body tense, your walls squeezing his fingers as you came. He smirked, pulling his fingers out of you, coating them in your juices. He brought his fingers to your mouth, "Taste yourself, Darlin'." He said, watching as you licked his fingers clean. The sight a dirty contrast, your soft pink lips sucking eagerly at his calloused wet fingers. 

Pulling out his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop he positioned himself above you. "Now baby, m’ gonna need you to relax." Elvis said, straddling your legs. He positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes never leaving yours. "Ready, baby?" He asked, his voice thick with desire. “Please go easy…: You begged and he nodded, rubbing his swollen tip against your slit. “I will baby, I promise…” He said, as pushed inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate him. You cried out, your back arching. He waited for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. "That's it, take all of me, baby." He encouraged, pulling out slightly and pushing back in. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders. Elvis started to move, his thrusts slow at first but picking up speed. "Fuck, you feel so good, baby." He grunted, his hips struggling to keep this slow pace.  Elvis felt himself getting lost. He wanted you so badly, and this slow, tantalizing pace was killing him. Gripping your hips roughly he pushed you down onto him, his cock splitting you in an instant. “Elvis!” You yelped, feeling a sharp pain rip through your body. . He leaned down, kissing on your neck as he moved one hand down to between your legs, rubbing gently on your clit. “I’m sa’ sorry baby…I- I can’t help it.” He apologized, as he began moving rapidly. Each thrust causing a loud whimper to escape your mouth. The pain was evident but pleasure soon replaced it as his fingers worked expertly onto your nub.  "I'm gonna cum, baby," he warned, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Cum with me." He urged, his pace increasing. You let out a soft moan, your body trembling as you came, your walls clenching around him. That was all it took for Elvis, he let out a loud groan, his body tensing up as he filled you with his cum. He collapsed onto you, his heart racing as he caught his breath. He could feel your heart beating against his chest, the sound of your heavy breathing the only noise in the room. Elvis pulled out, his cock leaving you feeling empty. Dribbles of cum and a bit of blood oozing out of you,, “Oh honey…” He whispers, running his hand gently across your slit as if to soothe the pain. “Didn’t know any better…” He said, pulling you close to him, kissing gently on your forehead. Elvis was feeling rather satisfied with himself…he had been your first. He had done it.

He had corrupted you.

i promise the next fics will be better i jus gotta get back into it 😓 hope y’all enjoyed nonetheless!

taglist: @hooked-on-elvis @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @callieselvisobsessed @eapep @auntbee22 @wildhorseinkansas @elvisiana @spookyeagleflower @ladelinee @jhoneybees @elviswhore69 @sissylittlefeather @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @louisejoy86 @elvisalltheway101 @cherrycolaride @sloppyzengarden @faeolwen @slayingjd

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[luvrodite]

lover, be good to me. jason todd [3.4k]

synopsis. in the third summer of your love, you get sick.

cw. gn!reader, sickfic, mental health issues, descriptions of weight fluctuation, angst, hurt/comfort. medication. this one is a bit heavy so please exercise discretion. written from the perspective of chronic illness but nothing is specified beyond discussion of mental health symptoms.

There’s a ghost that lives in your home.

This thing lives between you and Jason, a haunting in every room, a presence you can’t not feel. You feel its baleful eyes on you in dreams and upon waking, strongest in the winter, when the East Coast chill sinks its teeth into your arms hard enough to reach bone. 

It goes like this: sometime in the third summer of your love, you get sick. There isn’t anything to point to what it is exactly, only that one June morning you don’t get out of bed. It’s nothing until it is, the next several weeks spent making a home in the four walls of your shared bedroom. 

A flip switches seemingly overnight, and you’re further from your lover than you’ve ever been. 

Jason - and the part of you that knows better, dormant now, buried beneath the rubble - watches in mute horror as you bring yourself to ruin. The desire to be good, the control you’ve held over yourself, slips free of your grasp in seconds. Invisible threads are picked at until you’re frayed at the ends and your beloved home, this reprieve the two of you had as good as built from the ground up, falls victim to it. 

You pick fights. You slam doors and hide in the bathroom for hours on end. You want to scream yourself hoarse, your fingers itching for violence, longing to shatter something if only to give life to this sickness that lives in you, as if by breaking, you’ll cast it out. The exorcism does not come, but a cloying feeling sits beneath your skin, strangling, blood sitting stagnant in your veins and rotting. 

There are moments of clarity, when you lift your head from the haze and the gravity of all you’ve done barrels into you like a freight train. Those do not last long, invisible hands pulling you back under before you can correct your course. It's as though you take the backseat, replaced by something entirely that takes the controls, watching in mute horror as you destroy everything around you.

Jason gives it back just as good but even then, even in the anger, there’s something else in his eyes. You catalogue it, feeling as though your very soul has split – it’s the you from before that weeps at this, reaching out for your lover in prostration, begging for forgiveness. The being that lives in you now, volatile, ever shifting like a burning flame, burns too bright to feel shame. He is there, and he loves you – enough to bear the brunt of your pain, apparently. Shards of shrapnel, your anger is explosive and shatters everything in its wake. It cares not for sentiment, for history and love. You hurt, and it is blinding. 

The doctor’s appointment is booked far later than it ought to be, after weeks of tumultuousness that have left a dour cover over your home, seeping through the cracks in the walls and into the surrounding apartments. Your neighbours must loathe you. You’re too detached, too selfish to care.

The night before is the most clear headed you’ve felt all month, haze lifting as if to show you – look what you’ve done, look at all you’ve wrought. The devastation floors you, the grief you’ve caused to the one you love most curdles your blood and you weep in Jason’s arms. Knelt before him, you press your wet face into his lap. 

I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll try to be better, I’m sorry. 

You can barely breathe through your tears, broken hearted, sure you must be dying. Has anyone ever felt such grief, you wonder, and the thought is immediately followed by a tidal wave of self loathing. Selfish, so focused on your own misgivings. This is no way to live.

He tells you he loves you and it feels like a kindness you don’t deserve. Too good a man for you, an exhaustion from the last month lines his features. The thought terrifies you, that you’ve veered too close to the precipice of forever splintering him, that under your hand he knows other, less gentle things. Yours has not been a peaceful love as of late, and you wonder if this will be the straw that breaks his back.

In the waiting room, his hand finds yours. A good man, one you do not deserve. He doesn’t let go. Not when your name is called, not when you tell your doctor what’s been happening.

You hope, foolish, desperate thing that you are, that they’ll offer a quick fix. It’s laughable, but the soft turn of the doctor’s gaze makes your stomach twist. So begins the year of doctor’s visits.

You become very familiar with waiting rooms, sterile rooms and the low buzz of the news channel playing on TVs, pale walls and water coolers, paper cups shredded in your lap. 

The first shrink you talk to is, at first, the answer to all your problems – Jason balks at it, in the beginning, and you hear him muttering to his brother on the phone but he doesn’t breathe a word of it to you. If it helps you, that’s all that matters. The man listens. He understands how hard things are and how your hurt is poisoning you. He makes the right noises and his cardigan lends him an air of sincerity, brown eyes framed by thick glasses that in the glare of the light feel kind, almost like kinship.

You’re desperate for a solution, even if it means taking the prescription pills that after about a week, leave you with hands that shake violently anytime you raise them, shedding too much weight, way too fast. The insomnia comes next, and then the pills that are meant to fix that. Orange, smaller than the nail on your little finger. The tremors do not go away, but in settles a new drowsiness, bringing with it vivid dreams that feel terrifyingly lifelike. You wake in a sheen of sweat to the already awake gaze of your boyfriend, eyes wide and wary, hands finding yours in the dark, whispering reassurances when you cry again. 

How many tears have you spent this year, and how many have you subjected him to?

His kindness feels like a balm over your jagged edges, and you shake your head when he first tentatively suggests that the medicine isn’t working. You’re determined to stick to your vow. You love him, you need to get better. You can’t keep living like this, can’t do the fits of rage, can’t do the mood changes. You can’t keep hurting the both of you.

Still, sleep evades you, a cruel thing dancing out of reach even when you’re told to double down on the dose. The dreams only worsen, virulent hues of fluorescent greens and red, blood and viscera on your hands. 

It feels like a condemnation when Jason mutters one night, after you’ve woken from yet another dream, body stiff with fright and reaching out for him, less hesitant now in the face of your tears, “This isn’t working.”

Bitterly, you find you can’t argue with him. Worse, you’ve shelled out a horrifying amount of money simply to vent to a yes-man. The pills are disposed of in the morning and another appointment scheduled.

Back in the waiting rooms, back to discussing other, not-shrink options, Jason’s hand finds yours once more. You watch the news, watch tired parents wrangle their sick children, watch the colourful plastic toys. 

“I hate this,” you whisper, leaning into his side. 

You’ve been unwell for a month and then some, by now. The waiting room feels like a taunt – you are sick, you are suffering. The sickness festering in you, the rot you can’t explain, makes you feel smaller than ever, frail in a way you haven’t known before. 

Before, you used to like that Jason was so much bigger than you, that he could protect you. This, though, he cannot save you from, a fact you’re sure frustrates him just as much as your weakness does you. There is the anger, of course, but there is also fear. What is to become of you now? Your life, through your failing health, has been torn from you. You feel robbed, feel a distinctly you-shaped loss in your frame that leaves you teetering on a precipice. How quickly things had taken a turn, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Jason sighs, turning to press his mouth against your hairline. “I know. I know, baby.”

You’re sent off with forms for another blood test. Maybe it’s something different, and there burns a beacon of hope. It is also entirely possible you’ll spend another six months on medication that doesn’t work. 

You don’t care for this. There is a hopelessness and vulnerability to feeling sick that you do not care for, catching sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror and doctor’s office scales and fluctuating weight – you begin to turn your head away from the numbers at this point like you're being stuck by a needle, meeting your lover’s eye while the doctor takes his notes and finding comfort in teal irises, in the small grin he gives you when you’ve done something he thinks to be brave. You don’t care for any of it, but you must. For him. 

He hasn’t breathed a word of contention to you – a good man – but you know it weighs on him. You’ve woken once or twice in the night to find him watching over you, something in his eyes like he fears you’ll slip away, a hand always in yours, or holding you close to him. 

Guilt, ever-cutting, roils in your stomach. The anger cedes these days to make way for it, and your eyes burn, shame becoming a familiar friend.

“I’ve put you through the wringer, haven’t I?” you whisper on one of these nights. He blinks, unaware you’ve woken, and it speaks to how tired he must be that he’d not noticed, too lost in his thoughts to feel your eyes on him.

He cradles your jaw tenderly with one hand, kissing your temple. “No more than I’ve worried you.”

It’s true that you’ve faced your own set of troubles with him. Still, it feels distinctly different – his anger had been the product of fear, a genuine terror at the thought of letting you get too close. There’s decay in you, one you aren’t sure has entirely left, despite your placidity these days. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologise and he narrows his eyes, but you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “You’re a good man.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles. “Obviously I’m going to fuckin’ look after you.”

Do I deserve it? You think.

“Wish you’d let me do the same for you,” you whisper, instead. It’s a truth you’ve often spoken, but feels like a lie in this moment, a deflection of your feelings. Guilt, once more, settles on your tongue, cloying against your tastebuds.

He kisses you sweetly, and you wonder if he can taste it. Something in the slant of his lips tells you he knows. How could he not? Once, twice, he brushes his mouth over yours. Chaste, loving. “Just get better. Then, maybe. I’ll consider it.”

Your eyes burn, fear like the tide, washing in once more. “What if–” your breath hitches, a lump forming in your throat.

“What?” His voice is soft, encouraging.

“What if it isn’t–if I don’t–” you can’t make out the words. The pad of his fingers brush over your lips.

“You will,” Jason whispers, voice thick. His eyes are bright in the dark, you realise, horrifyingly, sapphires covered in a sheen of liquid. “You will, ‘cause you promised me. And I’m holding you to it.”

You hear it for what it is – I’m here. I’m here and I’m not letting go of you. Don’t let go of me.

He’s asked for so little. Good men are rare to find in Gotham and you’ve got the best of them. You reach up and clutch his wrist, hands turning until your fingers slot comfortably between each other. 

“Okay,” you tell him, and you know he knows. I’m going to get better. 

The diagnosis comes eventually. In your relief, there is also bitterness. Another step forward, it still feels entirely too late. It should have come before, you think. Before you’d taken a sledgehammer to your love, before you’d fractured yourself and Jason from the inside out, before you’d put scars where there had been none, invisible lacerations lining the walls of your chest.

The medication – pills, pills, always pills – is difficult to adjust to at first. It leaves you short of breath, and more anxious, reaching for Jason to ground you. You cry a lot and though it isn’t anything new, there’s a misery in Jason’s eyes that only makes you weep more. You want to be okay again. You want to smile at him without the weight of all you’ve done, without knowing you’ve made him cry when he thinks you’re asleep, tears bleeding silently into the space of the pillowcase above your head. You want to go back so bad it makes your hands shake.

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Jason, on his side, brushes a finger over the swell of your cheek.

“Can I say something.”

You hum, sliding your eyes over to him. He gives you a tentative smile - the barest quirk of his lips. 

“Maybe I’m being hopeful, I don’t know,” he mutters, eyes tracing the slope of your nose. “Tell me to shut up if I start talking too much.”

This bashfulness makes you laugh a little. It’s so much like before, and you ache for it. For a moment, you can pretend nothing bad has happened, that the two of you are just in love and home. 

(You wonder if you will always be reaching for before. If you’ll ever get it back, if you’ll always long for it. You wonder if Jason does too.)

“What?” you breathe out.

“Think the meds are working.”

Your breathing shallows and you blink at Jason. Hope is a fickle thing, and it feels tremulous, dancing just before your fingers, as if coaxing you to reach out. You trust him more than anyone in the world, but you’re scared to hope. “What?”

His knuckle brushes over your cheek. “You don’t look as tired.”

You avert your eyes. “Maybe I’m just sleeping better.” Tell me. I’m selfish, I know, but tell me I’m doing better. I need to hear it from you.

He shakes his head, and you quietly marvel at the bloom of pleasure in his face, a contentment you haven’t seen in months in the crease around his eyes. “It’s not that.”

The doctor confirms this when you go back a few weeks later and Jason, so like himself for a brief moment, meets your eyes over the man’s head and mouths, I told you. You bite back a grin, still wary, barely out of the woods. 

“You’ve gained weight,” the doctor says when he gets you on the scale, and he sounds so pleased the sound shoots straight through to your heart, flintstone striking a light, kindling hope for the first time in months. You look down to the numbers flashing back at you, to your lover – but he’s already watching you, eyes creased in silent pleasure. 

You are the last to accept this tentative beginning to peace, to healing, but he waits for you at the threshold, hand outstretched. 

There is no tangible evidence of the destruction you’ve wrought in your home but it lingers, even as you begin the slow crawl out of the woods. You see it in the lines of your lover’s face. There are corners of the room you cannot bear to look at for the first few months following your appointment, too reminiscent of words you’d bellowed in a rage induced haze, captive to your own body. 

This history is one too fresh, too tender to accept just yet, wounds still pink and raw. You cannot face yourself yet. There is too much to do, too much work to do, too much at stake to jeapordise if you slip and fall now.

But Jason is a good man. Much better than you think you deserve – but he’s said the same about you, so perhaps…just maybe…you think it might even out. 

He doesn’t shy away from the worst bits of you, the ugliness you’ve bared to him does not run him off, not like how you flinch from it. You made a promise. I’m holding you to it. He’s hard to shake off, but you don’t want him to. You’re thankful, even, for the dog teeth he’s sunken into your forearm, bound together in blood.

There is grief in beginning to heal. 

Perhaps heal is not the right word, and yet there is no other for this, overcoming the last few months feels like it ought to be called healing. But this is a forever thing. You will know this deficiency for the rest of your life, will know doctor’s appointments and bloodwork – strictly cautionary, we need to make sure the dose is right so we can adjust it accordingly. 

There is grief in finding your footing. It lingers, the horror of falling victim to a biological response – that your mind should so easily be lost, it feels indicative of something greater, a weakness you need to cut out at the root. Jason shakes his head when you voice this one night – you are only ever honest like this under the cover of darkness, sleep softened and gentle enough to be frank with him. 

“You’re not weak.” He says this with love in his voice, but a thread of steel weaves through his words. “Don’t fucking say that. You’re here. That counts for a fucking lot.”

He tugs you closer and you feel it again, that fear that grips his heart. Like you might dissolve in his arms in the middle of the night. 

“I feel better–than before,” you tell him, peering up at him, eyes burning. You press a hand to your heart. “But I still feel it. It’s still here.”

He presses his forehead against yours. “I know.”

And you suppose he would know. “Is it gonna be like this forever?”

He takes a moment to think, and you have to tuck yourself into his neck to hide your tears. Raw – this year has left you raw. You’ve spent a fountain of tears, but they’re yet to run out. You find solace in the hollow of his throat; if you could, you think you would attach yourself there permanently.

“Yes, but no.” You make a questioning noise and he smooths a hand down your back. “‘S gonna be different, now. Not always going to be bad, or good, just – different.”

“Different.” The word fits oddly in your mouth, and whether it’s the late hour or your grief, you can’t make sense of it. He shudders out a breath, weary, and you press closer.

“Yeah,” he whispers into your hair. 

“I just–” you swallow with some difficulty, a lump in your throat. What is there to say that you haven’t already? “I hate this.”

His lips twitch into a tired, sympathetic grin. “I know, baby.”

Silence follows his words, where you mull over all that there is to say, sorting through the jumble of words in your head. You shift until there’s a little room between the two of you, looking up at him.

“Hey.”

He hums, and you feel his hand raise from your back to cup the back of your neck, thumb sweeping over your nape gently. 

“I’m gonna –” your breath hitches, stumbling over the words. “I’m gonna be good, I’ll – I’ll be better. I promise.”

And he knows you’re not talking about your health. This is a forever thing, after all. Your words point to the hidden cracks in the walls, the foundation of your home and heart – I’ll be better. 

Tourmaline eyes crack open a little wider to look at you, tired, but hopeful. “I know, baby. We’ll be alright.”

Ah. Of course he knows. You grin tremulously up at him and press forward to smudge a kiss against his jaw, breathing your promise once more against his skin, hoping it takes root. 

Jason waits at the threshold of your new normal, arm outstretched, knowing you’d join him eventually. He’d known, of course he had – every inch of your soul was his. He holds his hand out. 

Out of the woods, you take it.

fin.

this fic has been in my drafts since 2022 and it always felt too vulnerable to write and finish. like there needed to be a big ceremony about it. this fic is incredibly personal to me, and i always thought i had to be 'ready' to finally finish it, whatever 'ready' means. but it's a sunday night and the semester begins tomorrow, and i'm writing this in bed listening to whatever my spotify plays for me. i'm not sure if this will make sense to anyone but i hope it makes you feel something regardless.

this is a love letter to myself first and foremost, because i'm no longer afraid of reopening an old wound!! i carry her with me always and i love her and i'm taking care of her. i love her and i love you.

[spideyjimin]

INTRO | un cielo di perle

“un cielo di perle” means a sky of pearls in italian

⏤ pairing: taehyung x female reader 

⏤ genre: college au, rich kid!taehyung, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, and smut

⏤ rating: 18+

⏤ words: 941

⏤ summary: taehyung doesn’t know how to love, he actually has never loved anyone, not even himself. he dreams of escaping this life, a life where he can do whatever he wants and where his parents don’t exploit him. his dream becomes a reality when he meets you; however, it comes with a challenge. at first, you hate him. but as the saying goes, there’s only one step between hate and love. and when taehyung loves, he can steal a sky of pearls for his lover.   

⏤ warnings: mature language, swearing, mention of sex, and that’s it

⏤ playlist: brividi - Mahmood ft. Blanco

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT

Kim Taehyung is walking on the campus with a little handbag in his hand. His black hair is pushed back, and he’s wearing a white button-up shirt with brown classic pants. The outfit is complemented by a black watch on his left wrist. His entire being breathes old money as always. Taehyung was born into a very old and powerful family. A family whose history dates back several centuries. 

However, with such history comes also strong responsibilities. He can’t do whatever he desires because the family’s image and reputation are at stake. He has grown up knowing it, especially since he’s the firstborn and only son, he only has a younger sister. So the responsibilities have all fallen onto his shoulders. Responsibilities that are way too heavy to carry. But what can he do? 

As he’s walking to the lecture hall to attend his history class, everyone turns their heads to look at him. On top of being a handsome man, he has quite a strong presence and charisma. All eyes are always on him, he knows how to catch someone’s attention. Nonetheless, sometimes, he considers that to be a burden more than anything else. His parents make him use his charms to conquer new investors for their couture house. 

Quite quickly, he reaches the lecture hall and takes a seat next to his best friend, Jimin. They grew up together and they have always counted on each other. Taehyung knows that Jimin will always be there no matter what, and that he’ll try to help him find a solution. However, there’s one problem that he’ll never be able to help him with. You.  

“Hi,” Jimin says with a little smile appearing on his face. “Where were you last night?” he asks.

Taehyung disappeared last night, he wanted to be alone. Alone with his thoughts. He was supposed to be at a party organized by Jungkook, one of his closest friends but in the end, he didn’t go. He is completely heartbroken and instead of getting drunk, he decided to stay alone to realize the extent of what his life has become. And he realized that for the first time in his life, he deeply loved someone. But it's someone he can’t have and keep in his life. 

“I stayed home,” he replies to his friend. 

Jimin frowns, it’s quite surprising since Taehyung wouldn’t miss a party. However, he has noticed that his best friend has changed for the past 2 months. He was acting differently and he was definitely happier. 

Taehyung’s eyes notice you entering the massive room full of students. You’ll always be the only person he’ll notice in a crowded room. You’re talking to your best friend, Nari, and you don’t even see him. In some way, he prefers you don’t so you don’t notice how he’s devouring you with his eyes. His heart wants to be next to you but his mind reminds him that the only way he can protect you is to keep you far. 

Life isn’t particularly easy for him. His parents are always there to remind him that his responsibilities come first, and when he doesn’t listen to them, they threaten him. He never has a choice. Whatever he might feel isn’t important. They decide for him, and he needs to do as they say. He’s completely powerless. He’s just a puppet in his parents’ hands. They found out about you, he still doesn’t know how, and they told him that they would destroy your life if he didn’t stay away from you. 

His future is with Hyejoo, the daughter of another powerful family. The daughter of one investor of Kim Couture. That’s the girl his parents chose for him. The saddest part is that she even likes him a lot when he only finds her stupid and ridiculous. He’ll never be with her. 

As his eyes follow you, he’s brought back to the intimate night you shared a couple of nights ago. For a brief moment, he closes his eyes. It was the best sex session he had ever in his life, and god, he has fucked many girls in his life. He can perfectly see you again under his body while he fucks you with no mercy. He can perfectly hear you moan as your body contorts with pleasure, and the way he perfectly fits inside you. He can still sense your soft skin under his fingers, and he can still taste your lips on his. Damn, now, he wants to kiss you. His fingers run over his lips to imitate the feeling of your lips.  

But he quickly reminds himself that he can’t have you. His eyes abruptly open again. 

“Are you okay?” Jimin asks. Taehyung only nods.

Very discreetly, you look around to look for the man that broke your heart. It doesn’t take you long before finding him, and to your surprise, he’s also looking at you. You’d even say he’s intently glancing at you, but you believe it’s only your imagination playing with you. He rejected you after all so it wouldn’t make any sense to be looking at you this way. 

You rapidly look away, and this anger you’ve been feeling since he broke your heart comes back. You hate him just like you did two months ago. Maybe even more because you let him in. You let him use you. Two months ago, he was simply a stranger that you didn’t like. Now, he’s a lover that you hate. But, you totally ignore that Taehyung is protecting you from his family. 

To understand how you both got here, we need to go back in time.

[mako-neexu]

Edguda and Obeguda.

There's a special sense of distance to be found between them. I think its really good... Along with their own way of caring for guda, comes their different views for their star. Based on what Dantes has said along with his actions he's the one who supports and grants what his accomplice desires.

"If that is what you desire, then I, the Count of Monte Cristo, shall obey you." He's said this in game himself its still insane....So I think he's very indulgent in guda's whims, never denies them in a way that this kind of sweetness makes guda clam up. Because if they asked, they know their Avenger would do everything in his power to follow through. Dantes listens to them, accepts what they say and gives his utmost support that it makes it hard for guda to say something.

On that regard, I think guda is careful in saying what they want in front of Monte Cristo.

"You mean you could buy me an entire island if I just said so?" Ritsuka asked, giving the man a mixture of amusement and slight mortification.

"Yes." The Avenger replied without hesitation, "Anything you desire goes. Only if that is what you wish."

Of course, Ritsuka rolls their eyes, showing a hint of displeasure and pain, but also fondness before holding both sides of his face, "Okay...But what if I want you to take care of yourself? That includes no more sacrificing your well being for me. Will you grant that too?"

If it is for my sake. If you truly are willing to grant what I want...

For so long, Dantes is silent, strangely bearing a man who was given a task far heavier than what Atlas carried on his shoulders before oh-so hesitantly conceding with closed eyes, he accedes, "..............Mm."

Id chapter considering, along with Prison Tower this guy's form of salvation is to be someone like Abbe Faria who became a guiding light, wherein their own body is used for a means to escape the tower of despair. So of course he would be hesitant on that part. He wouldn't hesitate to lead guda to a brighter future or shower them in comfort and riches...but I do think when it comes to himself, he doesn't/can't see himself in it because of his nature. EVEN SO his own heart yearns to be with guda even as all of his actions and determination point in the direction of letting them go towards the future.

So it's up to guda to be the one to tug him to be by their side when they walk together. Not just as a shadow who watches and protects, but also as an "accomplice".

There remains a sense of distance between them that I can only describe as "their bodies are so close, pressed up against each other, and yet their lips remain forever merely a centimeter apart."

As for Obeguda, Oberon sees guda through far better along with Castoria. Fellow bystanders in the story, fellow actor in this seemingly neverending play, reflections of the others as people who are too stubborn to give up, bearing their own star to reach as they run towards their end.

Though I have Monte Cristo brain, Oberon's care and love for Guda is still so sweet and far more gentle. His valentines, summer lb6, material 13 is proof of that. Furthermore, I think its just highly sweet he does his best to get around his lying curse just for guda... because the most common phrases he'll use is commonly described by JP as very "roundabout". he wants to convey clearly his thoughts and feelings to them, cursed his tongue may be. Just like Monte Cristo, he is compassionate and kind in his own way...

But as it is his own way, his care is different from Monte Cristo.

Because the Avenger spoils Guda as "accomplice", the Pretender's way of caring is through truly seeing the other, the thoughts and feelings of Fujimaru Ritsuka lay bare before him. A "friend". I feel a romantic sense like a lover wouldnt accurately describe it (the feeling Obeguda has in comparison to Edguda) but its that kind of feeling to me to be honest.

A "friend". A "foil", is a better term i think. Where there remains a sense of distance between them, but there is a bond that allows the other to harshly criticize each others' actions, out of compassion, out of care, out of love. That's why the times Oberon in fanon calls Guda out is really so good... even during the Garden, even though "Oberon" is just a reflection of Guda, it doesnt change the fact that Oberon sees right through them. Especially considering his valentine's gift to them.

Of course, a distinct difference in care is their brand, namely, Monte Cristo wants Guda to keep going in their journey to be happy (because that is what Guda needs), Oberon's brand is giving them an "end". A peaceful end away from the horrors and nightmares, where he takes their willing hand and holds them as they both fall into the abyss out of the World's reach, an eternal rest and reprieve that relieves their soul from burdens... towards oblivion.

"Hopeless idiot, that you are," Oberon clicked his tongue, yet gently sat beside Ritsuka, deep into slumber sporting fresh bandages, the blankets that covered them in disarray. "You've chosen to sacrifice yourself again, knowing you'd get killed... and despite my offer once more, you denied yourself of it."

The low tone gradually descending to become a harsh whisper, the Pretender looked back with a glare.

The star's light flickers like a candle in the storm, try as it might to shine its best throughout the night or give warmth to those gathered around it, there's only so much time until it miserably dies out.

Until nothing of it remains, until it gets discarded, used, thrown away without a care by those who were protected by it.

Before it comes to that point, someone needs to take away that light from those ungrateful wretches. From the hands of those foolish, greedy pigs, from the strings of fate that wraps around that tiny light's neck like a noose...

A black clawed hand reaches out, its talons sharp as a knife that could easily cut through, that could so easily end it all-

Yet merely brushes away the lone tear that slipped past the sleeping Master's eye.

Oberon closed his eyes as his jaw clenched, his bangs hiding his gaze while his hand retracts, merely moving back to his initial position of sitting beside them... intent on staying by their side until they woke up.

He wants to give them an end, but Ritsuka doesn't need it just yet. But they want it. An "end". Of things finally coming to a close. of that "game complete" their own star advised them to reach.

Their sense of distance is like that. Exactly like Edguda

So Ritsuka can't stop now, Monte Cristo encourages them, but to reach an end is natural and Oberon is is more than willing to give it, to guarantee rest and sweet dreams... Both of Monte Cristo and Oberon holds themselves back as the former is a flame destined to scorch those around him/a man who restrains himself to avoid tainting that star's light and the latter is a doomsday device who only holds himself back because he cares for what Ritsuka wants.

Both idiots are hopelessly sweet and caring for Fujimaru Ritsuka.

[celepom]

It’s Pride 2023! Time to put up some more comic recs!

This time I’ve put together some stories about discovering one’s own queer identity, outlining a family history of queerness, and several stories where being queer isn’t the focus - queer characters are simply allowed to be.

Belle of the Ball By Mari Costa

High-school senior and notorious wallflower Hawkins finally works up the courage to remove her mascot mask and ask out her longtime crush: Regina Moreno, head cheerleader, academic overachiever, and all-around popular girl. There’s only one teensy little problem: Regina is already dating Chloe Kitagawa, athletic all-star…and middling English student. Regina sees a perfectly self-serving opportunity here, and asks the smitten Hawkins to tutor Chloe free of charge, knowing Hawkins will do anything to get closer to her. And while Regina’s plan works at first, she doesn’t realize that Hawkins and Chloe knew each other as kids, when Hawkins went by Belle and wore princess dresses to school every single day. Before long, romance does start to blossom…but not between who you might expect. With Belle of the Ball, cartoonist Mariana Costa has reinvigorated satisfying, reliable tropes into your new favorite teen romantic comedy.

---

The Moth Keeper By Kay O’Neill

Anya is finally a Moth Keeper, the protector of the lunar moths that allow the Night-Lily flower to bloom once a year. Her village needs the flower to continue thriving and Anya is excited to prove her worth and show her thanks to her friends with her actions, but what happens when being a Moth Keeper isn't exactly what Anya thought it would be? The nights are cold in the desert and the lunar moths live far from the village. Anya finds herself isolated and lonely. Despite Anya's dedication, she wonders what it would be like to live in the sun. Her thoughts turn into an obsession, and when Anya takes a chance to stay up during the day to feel the sun's warmth, her village and the lunar moths are left to deal with the consequences.

---

Hollow By Shannon Watters, Branden Boyer-White & Berenice Nelle

Isabel "Izzy" Crane and her family have just relocated to Sleepy Hollow, the town made famous by—and obsessed with—Washington Irving's legend of the Headless Horseman. But city slicker-skeptic Izzy has no time for superstition as she navigates life at a new address, a new school, and, with any luck, with new friends. Ghost stories aren't real, after all.... Then Izzy is pulled into the orbit of the town's teen royalty, Vicky Van Tassel (yes, that Van Tassel) and loveable varsity-level prankster Croc Byun. Vicky's weariness with her family connection to the legend turns to terror when the trio begins to be haunted by the Horseman himself, uncovering a curse set on destroying the Van Tassel line. Now, they have only until Halloween night to break it—meaning it's a totally inconvenient time for Izzy to develop a massive crush on the enigmatic Vicky. Can Izzy's practical nature help her face the unknown—or only trip her up? As the calendar runs down to the 31st, Izzy will have to use all of her wits and work with her new friends to save Vicky and uncover the mystery of the legendary Horseman of Sleepy Hollow—before it's too late. 

---

Until I Meet my Husband By Ryousuke Nanasaki & Yoshi Tsukizuki

The memoir of gay activist Ryousuke Nanasaki and the first religiously recognized same-sex marriage in Japan. From school crushes to awkward dating sites to finding a community, this collection of stories recounts the author’s “firsts” as a young gay man searching for love. Dating is never ever easy, but that goes doubly so for Ryousuke, whose journey is full of unrequited loves and many speed bumps. But perseverance and time heals all wounds, even those of the heart.

---

Is Love the Answer? By Uta Isaki

When it comes to love, high schooler Chika wonders if she might be an alien. She’s never fallen for or even had a crush on anyone, and she has no desire for physical intimacy. Her friends tell her that she just "hasn't met the one yet," but Chika has doubts... It's only when Chika enters college and meets peers like herself that she realizes there’s a word for what she feels inside--asexual--and she’s not the only one. After years of wondering if love was the answer, Chika realizes that the answer she long sought may not exist at all--and that that's perfectly normal.

---

M Is for Monster By Talia Dutton

When Doctor Frances Ai's younger sister Maura died in a tragic accident six months ago, Frances swore she would bring her back to life. However, the creature that rises from the slab is clearly not Maura. This girl, who chooses the name "M," doesn't remember anything about Maura's life and just wants to be her own person. However, Frances expects M to pursue the same path that Maura had been on—applying to college to become a scientist—and continue the plans she and Maura shared. Hoping to trigger Maura's memories, Frances surrounds M with the trappings of Maura's past, but M wants nothing to do with Frances' attempts to change her into something she's not. In order to face the future, both Frances and M need to learn to listen and let go of Maura once and for all. Talia Dutton's debut graphic novel, M Is for Monster, takes a hard look at what it means to live up to other people's expectations—as well as our own.

---

Golden Sparkle By Minta Suzumaru

Himaru Uehara’s first year of high school is off to a good start, minus one problem—he keeps having wet dreams. With only his mom and sister at home—and having skipped health class in middle school—he thinks it means there’s something wrong with him. Thankfully, a new friend has just the remedy and teaches Himaru exactly how to deal with those pesky dreams! But his solution only leads to more confusion, and the two find themselves navigating feelings they’ve never felt before.

---

Thieves By Lucie Bryon

Ella can’t seem to remember a single thing from the party the night before at a mysterious stranger’s mansion, and she sure as heck doesn’t know why she’s woken up in her bed surrounded by a magpie’s nest of objects that aren’t her own. And she can’t stop thinking about her huge crush on Madeleine, who she definitely can’t tell about her sudden penchant for kleptomania… But does Maddy have secrets of her own? Can they piece together that night between them and fix the mess of their chaotic personal lives in time to form a normal, teenage relationship? That would be nice.

---

Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic By Alison Bechdel

Meet Alison's father, a historic preservation expert and obsessive restorer of the family's Victorian home, a third-generation funeral home director, a high school English teacher, an icily distant parent, and a closeted homosexual who, as it turns out, is involved with his male students and a family babysitter. Through narrative that is alternately heartbreaking and fiercely funny, we are drawn into a daughter's complex yearning for her father. And yet, apart from assigned stints dusting caskets at the family-owned "fun home," as Alison and her brothers call it, the relationship achieves its most intimate expression through the shared code of books. When Alison comes out as homosexual herself in late adolescense, the denouement is swift, graphic -- and redemptive.

---

She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat By Sakaomi Yuzaki

Cooking is how Nomoto de-stresses, but one day, she finds herself making way more than she can eat by herself. And so, she invites her neighbor Kasuga, who also lives alone. What will come out of this impromptu dinner invitation...?

Kasuga and Nomoto promised to spend their Christmas and New Year’s together. Now, they find themselves learning more about each other’s families through the food sent by Nomoto’s mother. Cute character bento, salmon and rice, stollen, fruit sandwiches, roast beef…Nomoto and Kasuga warm up to each other over a cheerful holiday season.  

[annwrites]

⸻ eating from your hand. ⸻

· pairing: larys strong x bastardtargfem!reader · type: one-shot · summary: during rhaenyra's betrothal celebration, larys & rhaenyra's elder sister share a small moment · tags: fluff, mutual pining, angst · word count: 1,024 · ꒰a/n꒱: gif

You scan the crowded room, desperate for an escape. But it's all too much—the music, the dancing, the people, the strong scents of food and perfume, the obnoxious man at your back, still trying to vie as a candidate for your hand—you feel far too overwhelmed to concentrate. Until your eyes finally land upon Larys—who's standing across the room, his eyes already focused on you—gesturing for you to come to him.

You turn back to Lord Jason one final time, interrupting his speech about gold and castles—or perhaps it was golden castles, as if all you could possibly care about is wealth—and force a smile. “Thank you for your offer, Lord Jason, once again. But I'd like to spend the remainder of my evening in the company of friends. I hope you enjoy the rest of yours.”

Before he can say anything further—can wrap his arm around your waist—you're already forcing your way through a throng of people.

When the crowd finally breaks—dance partners separating for just a moment as the music mellows and then begins to swell again—you move as quickly as possible through them, finally reaching the other side of what has now become a ballroom.

When you finally make it to Larys, you're nearly out of breath, simply from the prospect of having almost been caught in the middle of a buzzing crowd.

He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his palm. “Are you all right?”

You nod. “Thirsty.”

You both sit and Harwin goes to hand you a mug of ale, but Larys shakes his head at him, his expression disapproving. Larys instead hands you a chalice full of water and you drink it down greedily, a few drops sliding down your chin. Larys brushes them away with his thumb.

“Would you like to tell me what that was all about, then?”

Instead of immediately answering, you instead wrap both your arms around his left one and press your forehead against the tip of his shoulder. Your heart is still pounding, so you wait until it has calmed before you bother trying to speak again.

“Do I need to have Harwin break something on Lord Jason?”

You giggle when you hear Harwin's reply. “You know I will.”

You shake your head, gently resting your cheek against Larys' upper arm. “No. He was just proposing.”

He begins to sputter, choking on his wine. Harwin slams his hand against his back, forcing him to finally swallow and then inhale a ragged breath.

“You alright there, little brother?”

Larys nods, fervently.

When he looks at you again, you're staring at him with an alarmed expression. “Are you sure-”

“Just went down the wrong pipe.” He states before taking a sip of water and grimacing.

He faces you then. “He proposed? Was your father aware he was planning this?”

You shake your head. “I...I don't know. Perhaps? It felt more like he was simply making me his second choice. Rhaenyra is to be married in the next few days. She's the one he wanted, but now will never have. So what better way to still get close to the Throne than to...”

You shake your head. Always the second choice. Always an afterthought. Always expected to be submissive and obedient. Perhaps that's why, when he spoke to you, he did so in a way which made it sound as if the matter was already settled. That you already belonged to him.

Did he truly assume you would just agree so easily? Then again, who else would want you?

Rhaenyra. It was always Rhaenyra that men seemed to desire. Never the bastard. Never you. It didn't matter that you were legitimized.

Larys places a finger under your chin, tipping your face until your eyes are looking into his own. "And what did you say?"

There's something within his expression, deep within his eyes—a feeling you can't place. Worry? No, surely not. You're just his friend. He would never...

But, even in spite of that knowledge—that you would never be more to him than just a companion to take the occasional walk with, to sometimes have dinner with—you sit even closer to him, pressing yourself into his side.

"I made sure to mention how I'm his second choice. He tried to assure me otherwise: that I'm the one he's wanted all along, but I'm not quite that gullible. I couldn't get away from him fast enough."

He nods, releasing a breath. "So, you do not wish to marry the Lord Lion?"

You shake your head. "No," you say, barely a whisper.

But you wonder if perhaps you should, anyway. He may be prideful and arrogant, but he would make a good match, nonetheless. You do not wish to spend your life alone. And you wish desperately to one day be a mother. No one else had yet offered their hand to you. This may be your only chance.

You look across the room to where Lord Jason now sits beside his twin. He's handsome, you consider. And they say the West, especially from atop the Rock, is breathtaking. You could find contentment there, with him. Probably...

Rhaenyra had already been difficult enough in your father finding a match for. You do not wish to be the same. If he orders you to wed the Warden of the West, you will do your duty. Which you always resign yourself to.

Larys kisses your hair, then presses his forehead against the side of your head. "What is it, my love?"

You shake your head and he leans back to look at you. You force a feigned smile. "Nothing."

"You should eat something," he says while handing you a cracker with cheese atop it. You take it from him, popping it into your mouth.

"Good?"

You nod, picking one up and holding it in front of him, smiling as he eats out of your hand. He always makes your heart feel lighter. You decide to think no more of golden lions and second choices tonight. For once, you can live in the moment around you.