#Blue Bloods Fan Fic

[0vergrowngraveyard]

"tails" takes an L

[xenonsreturn]

Garrus Gets Legos

A Mass Effect Story

This story takes place after Shepard “dies” at the beginning of Mass Effect 2. Shep and Liara are a couple and Shepard has an 11 year old daughter from a previous relationship, Ridley (sometimes referred to as RJ). Liara has adopted Ridley in Shep's absence.

--------------------

"Hello, Garrus. This is Liara calling. I hope you are well. I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor. I need . . . well, I need someone I can trust. I have a project, an important project I am working on and I need to be away from home for an evening next Thursday, but I cannot bring Ridley with me. If you are not otherwise occupied, would you consider watching her, spending the evening with her while I am out? I believe the human term is babysitting, which I do not understand, because Ridley is neither a baby, nor should she be sat upon. When I talked to her about it, she said she would be willing to “hang out” with you. I don’t understand this term either, especially because it would be incredibly dangerous, considering the level we live on. At any rate, if you are free, I would very much appreciate it. Just don’t sit on her or allow her to dangle out of our windows. Thank you, Garrus. Please call me back."

----------------------------

Garrus stood at the comm in his apartment, waiting for his call to go through. After a few moments, a familiar face – well, mask, really – appeared on the screen.

“Hey, Garrus.”

“Hey, Tali.”

“What brings me the pleasure of your call, G?”

“Well, I need some help.”

“You do? That’s unusual – not that you need help, but that you would ask for it.”

“Now, wait a minute –“

“Just teasing. What’s going on, Garrus?”

“Okay, well, I’m looking for some sort of gift for Ridley. Liara asked me to watch her next Thursday. I want to bring something.”

“Garrus Vakarian, babysitter.” She chuckled. “Okay. What sort of thing?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m afraid if I just show up empty handed, we’ll just stare at each other . . . and I want to make a better impression than that. I hope I can . . . I mean, I’d like to help with Ridley, for Liara, and for Ridley, of course, but also . . . for Shepard.”

Tali sighed. “I know you miss Shepard. We all do. But she’s gone, Garrus. You have to let her go . . . as hard as that is.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m trying.”

“But now you’re trying to somehow connect with Shepard through her daughter.”

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. “Well, yes, I guess that’s true.” It was difficult to admit, and he hadn’t thought that’s what he was doing, but now that Tali said it . . . well, she had a way of getting to the point. “But also, I think Ridley needs more than just Liara, and I . . . I think being part of that would honor Shepard’s memory. It would be what she’d want. But also, it’s been awhile since Ridley’s seen me, and what if she doesn’t like me? Or we don’t have anything to talk about? I mean, she’s been so lonely and withdrawn since Shepard – since she . . . ”

“Since she died, Garrus,” said Tali sadly.

Garrus took a deep breath. “Yeah, since she died.” He looked at the floor. “Dammit,” he muttered. “It’s still so hard to say.”

“I know. It’s hard for all of us.”

“But it’s so much harder for Liara. And even worse for Ridley. Hence, the gift. A toy or something. I want to try to give her something else to think about, something she can maybe sort of lose herself in. Liara wants her to be able to connect with her roots, so it has to be something made by humans, but something we can do together. Like a game, maybe. Or a puzzle. She’s good with puzzles.”

“How about music? Liara has mentioned more than once that Ridley shows an aptitude for it.”

“Yeah, but that makes one of us. No rhythm, see?”

“You know, I have seen you dance. Don’t sell yourself short, Garrus. You’ve got moves.” He could hear the smile in her voice and he felt his face smile back. “Okay, let me see what I can do. Talk to you later.”

--------------------

The next morning, Tali called.

“Hey, Tali.”

“Hey, yourself, Garrus. I think I can help you out.”

“Fantastic! Thanks. How’d you do it?”

“I found a shopping VI on the extranet and hacked it to widen the search parameters, and then I put in all you told me about what you were looking for.” She paused. “It took me four hours.”

“Tali, I think I love you.”

If Tali blushed under her mask, she gave no sign of it.

“What did you find?” Garrus asked.

“Quite a lot, actually. Puzzle games, strategy games, word games, building toys –“

“Building toys. She’s a creative girl. Let’s start there.”

“There are several made on Earth which utilize mass effect technology to create a virtual space to be populated by virtual creatures, designed by the player.”

“Hmm. Can we try something a little less, um, virtual? She seems to really enjoy the tactile, something real.”

“Well, there is one that you both might like. It also has a connection with Earth’s past. When I found it, I thought it would be perfect, but getting a hold of it is going to be a little more involved than the others.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“They were called Legos.”

“Lay Goes?”

“Yes. They were interlocking plastic blocks that could be connected in almost infinite ways, made on Earth in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. They were immensely popular. Here, I’ll send you a feed.”

An ancient video started playing on the monitor, showing human children building vehicles, creatures, houses . . . and plenty of other, harder-to-define, objects. Garrus watched for approximately ten seconds.

“That’s it. That’s perfect. Where can I find them?”

“Well, that’s one of the problems. They haven’t been made in over 150 years, and they are very difficult to come by, even on Earth.”

“Difficult, but not impossible, right?”

“Right. I looked into it last night. There is an art collector on Bekenstein who has quite a variety of Legos in his collection, and has offered them for sale on the extranet. Considering their scarcity, the price is fairly reasonable. It seems the best choice – or at least, the best place to start.”

“Sounds good. I didn���t have anything planned for the weekend, anyway.”

“What about next weekend? You free?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” said Garrus, puzzled.

Tali sighed. “Never mind.”

“Thanks, again, Tali.”

“No problem, Garrus. Let me know if you need anything else. You know I’m here for you.”

“I know. Thanks.” He disconnected the feed.

“Well,” he said to the empty apartment. “I guess I’m off to Bekenstein.”

----------------------------

The billionaire’s house – no, mansion – was impressive, to say the least. So much wealth, on such obvious display . . . well, Garrus's time in C-Sec had made him suspicious. And not a little uncomfortable.

The art collector, dressed impeccably in a tailored, tasteful suit, strode forward to greet him.

“Hello, Mr. Vakarian,” he said in a clipped accent Garrus could not identify. “Thank you so much for your inquiry. I believe we have exactly what you are looking for.”

“That’s good news,” said Garrus, eyeing the security protocols out of habit. They were impressive. “I’m so glad you were available to meet me on such short notice, Mr. - ?”

“Hock. Donovan Hock, at your service.”

Garrus could not help but grin. “Well, that’s a refreshing change.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m just used to being at other people’s service. Especially people with your . . . assets. Never mind. Just a joke.”

“Ah, well. Step this way, Mr. Vakarian. I have the collection on display for your perusal.” Hock turned back to Garrus. “May I ask, what prompted your interest? A toy, from Earth’s past? Unusual for a turian, don’t you think?”

“Well, I’m . . . uh, babysitting a human kid in a couple days and I just wanted to bring her something from her roots. Plus, this kid . . . well, I have a feeling she’ll really like these Lay Goes.”

Hock stopped. “Ah, Mr. Vakarian, I’m afraid I must correct you. They are not called Legos. They are, collectively, Lego. The word is already plural, you see?”

“Hmm. But there are a lot of them, all different. Each piece is a single Lay Go.”

“I’m afraid that is not correct. They are Lego Bricks and Toys, or Lego Elements. I have done extensive research on the subject. The Lego company was quite adamant about the way their brand name was discussed.”

“Well,” said Garrus, deciding in that moment that Donovan Hock was, in fact, an arrogant prick – and Garrus was going to call them whatever the hell he wanted. “Okay. Lead on.”

Hock wound his way through the opulent home, pointing out various priceless works of art along the way. Garrus nodded at all the right moments, although he truly couldn’t care less. In fact, this place was giving him a bad feeling all over.

Finally, they arrived at a heavy security door, which opened at Hock’s approach.

“You keep your toys under some pretty impressive scrutiny,” said Garrus.

“Yes, toys, certainly. Have you ever seen a child deprived of his toys?” Asked Hock. “I was. And I stopped at nothing to get them. And now, even as an adult, I make sure that will never happen again. But there’s more in here than just toys, my friend.”

The door opened upon what had to be one of the largest museums Garrus had ever seen – although, truth be told, he hadn’t seen that many. Works of art and historical artifacts from a thousand worlds were preserved and on display, behind glass or, in some cases, effect fields.

“Well, I have to admit, I’m very impressed with the size of your collection,” said Garrus. “The diversity, too. A lot of races are represented here. Wait,” he said, thinking of Liara. “Do you have any Prothean relics?”

“Oh, a few,” said Hock.

“I have a friend who might like to study them sometime, if that would be all right.”

“Certainly. When our business is concluded, let’s get the contact information set up and they can visit whenever they like. Ah,” said Hock. “Here we are.”

He pointed at a large display case. In it were probably a few thousand small, multicolored plastic blocks, sticks, and other pieces.

“Wonderful,” said Garrus. He took another look at them. “Hmm. They’re a little smaller than I expected.” He glanced down at his hands. “Oh, well. They’re perfect for . . . my charge.”

“I’m glad they are to your satisfaction. You have the credits?”

“Right here,” said Garrus, pulling out a datapad and handing it to Hock.

Hock examined the pad, performed a transaction, and a broad smile crossed his face. “Excellent. The Lego are yours.”

“Great. Now,” said Garrus, looking at a large empty space in the museum, directly ahead. “What’s missing there?”

“Oh, there is a large piece I just made room for, which I hope to acquire quite soon. In fact,” said Hock. “You are going to help me do just that.”

“What?”

The sting of the dart hit Garrus in the neck. His hand reached up to the wound, and dizziness started to overcome him. He fell to his knees.

“It’s nothing personal, Mr. Vakarian,” said Hock, his voice sounding distant and fuzzy. “It’s just that you yourself are worth so much more than the price of the Lego.”

--------------------------

There was some sort of bell that would just not stop ringing. An image of soldiers, their boots marching through mud, kept swimming in and out of focus. He was aware of a dull ache that wrapped itself around his head and penetrated his skull. Every part of his body felt heavy and listless as he slowly awoke from the feverish dream.

“Ah, Mr. Vakarian,” came that clipped voice again, still sounding far away, like it came from the other end of a tunnel. “Glad you could join us.”

“Fuggoff,” slurred Garrus. His hands were bound behind his back, and hi s legs were shackled.

Hock gave a chuckle, sounding a little closer now. “Such spirit. I see why you made so many enemies. No compromise with you, eh?”

With tremendous effort, Garrus lifted his head and said, “Fuck. Off.”

“No, I don’t think I will. See, my friend, when one makes enemies, as you so diligently have, those enemies tend to, well, flock together.” Hock lowered himself to meet Garrus’s eyes. “And they will pay, gladly, to see you suffer.”

Garrus tried to spit at Hock and succeeded only in drooling on his own chin.

“Please, Mr. Vakarian, try to maintain a modicum of decorum. The poison introduced into your system will break down within a few minutes. Then you will be able to spit to your heart’s content. And you will be able to feel this,” he pinched Garrus’s arm. “You see, the people who want you, want you to really feel what they - well, what I have in store for you. It just won’t work if you’re numb.”

Garrus glared at Hock. The art collector stood up and turned his back on his captive. “Ah, Mr. Vakarian,” he said. “You are wanted by four people - well, four groups, actually, and they all have rather sizable bounties on you.” While Hock was talking, Garrus shifted his attention around the room. His vision was still a little blurry, but he could make out cameras, a guard, a door. The guard was armed, assault rifle in hand, pistol in holster.

“At first, I thought of just offering you to the highest bidder. That would go a long way to getting the piece that I want – a piece that, like your Lego, also has a connection to Earth’s past, I might add.”

Garrus was feeling sharper by the second. He subtly flexed his arms, testing the cuffs at his wrist. They were solid, connected to the chair, but separate from the shackles on his ankles.

“Then I thought, well, everyone enjoys a show. So I made them a deal. For all four of the bounties, they could tie your arms and legs to different vehicles, and then they could just . . . pull you apart. Each group could take a different piece of you.” Hock turned around. “They agreed so quickly. We didn’t even have to negotiate the price. In fact, I already have the payment.” Hock smiled. “Either they are naturally bloodthirsty, or . . . well, maybe you just bring that out in people.”

“Yes, well,” said Garrus. “I guess I have a knack for that. Just like you have a knack for being a lowbrow motherfucker, pretending to have good taste.”

Hock’s smile disappeared. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You have no appreciation for anything you’ve got. You don’t have any Prothean relics – if you really think you do, then whoever sold them to you lied and you didn’t know any better.” Hock’s face had darkened like the sky before an oncoming storm, and his hands had clenched into fists. “You’re just a spoiled brat who collects what other people tell him are worthwhile,” Garrus went on. “It’s all just . . . toys to you, so you can feel important, like a big shot. But I bet all the people who come here are laughing behind your back. Because they know you’re really just a little boy, hoping the grown-ups will let him play.”

Hock’s fist slammed into Garrus’s face. At that moment, Garrus dislocated his left thumb and pulled it free of the cuff on his chair.

Hock glared at Garrus. “It’s been a long time since I hit another man, but that was worthwhile.”

“Yes, I’m sure that brought back memories of grade school, where you hired bigger kids to hold down the little ones, so you could really show them all what a big man you are.”

Hock hit him again. Garrus took the impact, allowed it to throw him backward, and swung his legs up, over his head in a reverse somersault as the chair fell over backwards with a clatter. In a heartbeat, he was on his feet, shackled though they were. He swung his right arm - and the chair, still attached, slammed directly into Hock’s stomach. The man doubled over with a grunt, and Garrus brought his left fist down onto Hock’s head. Hock crumpled to the floor. Garrus spat at the unconscious billionaire – successfully, this time.

The guard already had his rifle trained on Garrus, but the turian held the chair in front of him as the guard got off a single shot, which buried itself in the chair’s frame. By then, Garrus had closed the distance and pressed the top rail of the chair into the guard’s throat, holding it there until the guard turned pale, his eyes rolling back into his skull. Garrus held it there a moment longer.

“These close quarters, should have kept your pistol out, slung your rifle over your back,” he said to the unconscious guard. “Amateur.”

He was prowling the corridor less than a minute later when the alarm went off. “Oh, crap.”

He grabbed the pistol and fired into the chain between his feet. Now, about this chair . . . He looked down at the guard, searching for ideas. One obvious one presented itself immediately. “Oh. Keys. Well. Maybe I’m the amateur.”

He had no bearings, no way to see if he was heading in the right direction for the landing bay. There was a doorway up ahead. He threw himself to one side before he opened it, keeping his stolen pistol up and checking the rifle over his shoulder.

The door opened onto a walkway above the museum. Garrus glanced down, finding the door he’d come through earlier almost immediately. Unfortunately, there were a dozen guards below, as well. What I wouldn’t give for a sniper rifle right now, he thought. The last one would be gone before the first one hit the floor.

He thought he saw movement on this level, too, just ahead, out of the corner of his eye. He started forward, then a man stepped out, a few yards ahead, pistol in hand. Garrus started to bring his own up, knowing even as he did so that the man had the drop on him, that he was dead. The man fired, twice.

Garrus froze, feeling a tightening in his belly as the bullets . . . went by his ear. He turned and saw one of Hock’s men behind him, a couple new holes in his face, drop to the floor.

The guards below drew their weapons and fired. Garrus traded his pistol for his rifle in one smooth motion and returned fire, dropping four of them in seconds.

The other man dropped to the floor and tossed something down towards the guards. In two seconds, it exploded, shredding men and priceless artifacts alike.

The man stood up. “That oughta do it.’

Garrus turned back to the other man. “Uh . . . thanks?”

“My pleasure,” the other man smiled. He was asian, with close-cropped hair and a single line of a goatee from his lip to his chin. “Anything to throw a monkey wrench into Hock’s plans.”

Garrus relaxed. “Well, then, you’re my kinda guy, Mr - ?”

“No names,” said the man. “I’ve still got work to do. And so do you.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

“Yes, but first,” said the man, grinning, “don’t forget your Legos.”

-----------------------

Garrus carried the Lego case toward the landing pad.

Almost there, he thought. Seems too easy.

As he approached the nearest ship, he heard a voice behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going, Vakarian?”

He turned around. There were seven mercs there. Blue Suns, Eclipse, Blood Pack, and another group he didn’t recognize. All armed to the teeth. A human in Blue Suns armor said, “We paid good money to see you torn apart. Now we’re gonna make that happen.”

“Ah,” said Garrus. “You know, you guys should really start working together under a single name. Should call yourselves ‘The Cowards’. Making a rich guy do your dirty work for you. Taking on one guy with seven, all hiding behind your guns.”

“Fuck you, Vakarian!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Garrus. “Besides, you can’t pull me apart alive if your shoot me first. Come on, there’s seven of you. Surely you can take me together, hand to hand.”

The mercs glanced at each other.

“If you don’t, you know you’ll always know you backed down, took the easy way,” Garrus goaded.

The mercs put down their weapons.

“Okay,” sighed Garrus as he cracked his knuckles. “Who wants it first?”

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Twenty minutes later, a badly wounded, but exhilaratingly alive Garrus was prepping the stolen ship for departure.

“Hang on, kid,” said Garrus as he lifted off. “I’m on my way.”

----------------------

The door chime rang, finally, and Liara tried to send a smile at Ridley. “That would be Uncle Garrus.”

Ridley looked at her momma. “Great,” she said, her voice flat.

Liara felt her heart drop. She knew Ridley was upset and felt – once again - abandoned. If only I could talk to her, tell her what I am trying to do . . . But she knew she couldn’t. If she got the girl’s hopes up that there was a chance to bring her mother back, and then it didn’t happen, it would just further damage her. And Liara felt Ridley had been damaged enough. The galaxy is so . . . cold. So she could take the pain of Ridley’s mood, if it meant protecting her from disappointment. She sighed and went to answer the door. It would be nice, she thought, so see a familiar face.

When the door opened on his face, however, it wasn’t so familiar. She gasped. “Goddess! Garrus, what happened to you?”

“You should see the other guy. Or, guys, actually.”

The turian’s face was bloody and bruising. One arm was crudely bandaged, and . . . “Garrus, is that . . . is that a bullet hole?”

“It’s not so much a hole as it is a scrape. I’m okay, Liara. I just need a little medi-gel and I’ll be good as new. Well, good enough, anyway.”

Liara’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “Well, come in.” She offered a hand, and Garrus took it. He limped into the apartment. “Sit down,” she said, indicating a chair at the dining room table. “Ridley?” she called. “Can you get some medi-gel from the bathroom?”

“Fine,” said Ridley from the other room. “What, did you get a paper cut?”

Ridley appeared a few seconds later, scowling, but then she dropped the medi-gel at the sight of Garrus. “Oh!”

“Hi, kid,” he said, managing a grin. “Don’t worry about me. Just had a little . . . detour on the way back from getting you a present.”

“A present?”

“Ridley!” snapped Liara. “The gel!”

“Oh, right!” said Ridley, picking it up the floor and handing it to her Momma.

Liara wasted no time in applying the gel to the turian’s many wounds. Garrus’ mandibles quivered a bit when she touched the bullet graze, but he made no sound. Ridley helped a bit and looked on until she was sure her Uncle was okay, then disappeared back into the other room.

Liara whispered, “She has been so clingy, questioning everything I do, but when I ask about her, she barely says a word. I don’t know what’s going on in her head – and I’m scared to ask, because I think I’ll just push her away.”

“My sister was like that when she was about Ridley’s age,” said Garrus. “Seemed to live in her own little world . . . Population: One. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll grow out of it. Just keep doing what you’re doing – which I know is hard. Just so, if she decides to talk, she knows you’re there. But yeah, don’t push. For now.”

Liara sighed. “It’s so hard to be patient sometimes.”

“Sounds like Shepard rubbed off on you some, Liara,” Garrus chuckled.

Liara caught herself, and grinned. “Maybe she did, at that.”

When she was done and he was properly bandaged, she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay to stay with Ridley?”

“Absolutely. After what I went through to get these, there is no way in hell I’m not playing with RJ.”

---------------------

“You mentioned a present?” said Ridley, after Liara had left.

“I thought you’d never ask. Go sit at the table and I’ll bring ‘em over.”

Ridley did so and Garrus brought out the Lego case.

“So, Ridley, these,” said Garrus proudly, “are called Lay Goes. They were made on Earth, by humans, a long time ago.” He dumped the contents of the box onto the table with a clatter. Multicolored plastic pieces spilled across to Ridley.

She was unimpressed. “Uh. Thanks.” She picked one up. “What do they do?”

“Well, it’s not so much what they do, as it is what you do with them,” he said. “See, they kind of fit together, and you can build things with them.”

“What kind of things?”

“Pretty much whatever you want.” He grabbed one block and attempted to snap it on to another. His large fingers made this task more difficult than he had expected. “Hmm. I wish they were a little bigger,” he muttered. He started to wonder if this had been a good idea. She obviously couldn’t care less. He tried to contain his growing disappointment. He hadn’t gone through all this to give up now. “Should be perfect for your hands, though. Give it a try.”

With a noted lack of enthusiasm, she picked up two pieces at random. She turned them over in her hands, looking at the bumps and crannies. “Hmm,” she said. She snapped them together. “Oh,” she said. She grabbed another block and fit it onto the other two with a click. “Oh!” she said again, her face lighting up as she started to see the possibilities. “Ooooh.” She grabbed a handful of pieces and started to put them together.

Garrus smiled as he watched her and saw the wheels turning in her mind, and he relaxed. He’d been right – this was perfect for her.

“What do you say we build something extraordinary?”

Garrus picked up the pieces and clumsily attempted to work with them while Ridley built away. He was thrilled at how much Ridley was enjoying this, but he himself was having trouble fitting the small pieces together, and it was a little frustrating, particularly because this toy really appealed to his need for order and detail. It was an incredible, yet simple, design. Eventually, he limited himself to the largest pieces he could find and did the best he could. But he kept glancing back at Ridley. She was building . . . and building . . .

“Oh, yeah!” she said, her eyes glued to the pieces, her fingers nimbly constructing at random. No, not at random, Garrus thought – there was already a pattern emerging.

He had to ask. “What is that you’re putting together, RJ?”

She didn’t take her eyes off her project. “I have no idea, yet, but this is so fun!”

He got up to get them both a snack. When he came back, a bowl of Tierrot Root chips for himself in one hand and a slice of banana bread for Ridley in the other, he suddenly let out a yell.

“OH GODDAMMIT MOTHERF-“

He slammed the bowl and the plate down on the table and hopped on one foot over to the wall, steadying himself with one hand.

“Uncle Garrus! Are you all right?” Ridley’s forehead creased with concern as she half-rose from the table.

“Ah, yeah, RJ, I’ll be fine,” panted Garrus. He bent his knee and looked at the bottom of his foot. Gingerly, he reached down and extracted a bright blue cube from his biggest toe. “I just . . . stepped on a Lay Go. Ah, man,” said the turian. “That hurts like hell.”

He looked down, and saw a half-assembled smattering of Legos where he had stepped. “Oh, no, RJ,” he said as he picked them up. “I smashed it.” He sheepishly handed it back to her. “I’m sorry.”

She was trying, but failing, not to laugh. “Sorry, Uncle Garrus.”

"It's okay. Just don't tell your Momma I said some of those words."

She took it and turned it over in her hand. “That’s okay, Garrus. I can put it back together in just a sec. Wait,” she said. “No, see this? I can take this part off,” she did so, “and add it back over here,” she snapped the part onto the ever-growing assembly in front of her on the table, “and HA!” She smiled. “See, it’s a cave now!”

Garrus’s jaw dropped. This kid was something else, all right.

In the end, her Lego creation turned out to be a partially synthetic dragon (a cyborgon, Ridley informed him) attacking a starship because the starship had accidentally gotten too close to the dragon’s eggs. Garrus marveled at the complexity of the set, especially considering the girl had only started playing with Legos just over an hour ago. And he was particularly impressed with how she had constructed an entire story around her project. While her hands had been building the model, her mind had been building the story.

Garrus suddenly felt an enormous wave of love for Ridley. He had not felt so happy since before Shepard died. To see her daughter playing . . . just playing . . . brought him a feeling of immense joy that he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed. And he knew that, if Shepard could see Ridley now, she’d be smiling.

Garrus finally gave up working with the Legos himself (damn huge fingers, stupid tiny blocks) and just contented himself with watching Ridley play, occasionally offering suggestions or asking questions.

“How’s school these days, RJ?”

She was now working on what was becoming a pretty close Lego approximation of the Destiny Ascension.

“It’s okay. Music is my favorite, of course, but we only get to do that twice a week.”

“Ah, music. Love listening to it, can’t play or sing or dance worth a damn.” He sighed. “Got any friends?”

“I have two. Katora and Holden.”

“Let’s hear the scoop.”

“Well, Katora and Katie and I share a study pod together. She’s asari and pretty neat. I help her with her homework sometimes. Holden is human and we’re in math class together. He’s blond and smart and he’s good at math and science and he talks a lot and he’s, um, really cute.” The words came out in a rush as Ridley turned a deep scarlet.

“Well,” said Garrus, giving no indication whatsoever that he’d noticed her response when talking about a boy. “They sound like cool kids.”

“Yeah, they are.” She paused, and looked at him. “Can I tell you a secret, Uncle Garrus?”

“Of course.”

“Promise not to tell Momma?”

“Well, that depends on the secret. Will this secret hurt anyone?”

“No.”

“Then, yes, I promise not to tell your Momma.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I really like Holden. Like, really. A lot.”

“Ah,” said Garrus. “I think I see what you’re saying, RJ.”

“Yeah,” said Ridley. “He makes me laugh a lot. He’s super funny. He’s always making up stories. Sometimes, I hear him just singing a song he’s just making up as he goes – and the words rhyme at the right time.”

“Kind of like you, just now,” chuckled Garrus.

Ridley turned an even deeper red. “Stop it!” she giggled.

“Sorry,” said Garrus, grinning. “But I’m not surprised you like that he sings.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “Anyway, at first I just thought he couldn’t shut up – like maybe he had a condition - but then he would remember things that I’d said like a week before. I think he listens almost as much as he talks.”

“Well, that’s a rare thing,” said Garrus. “So why’s this such a big secret? Why can’t you tell your Momma about him?”

“She’d never let me be his – I mean, she wouldn’t want him to be my – well, she wouldn’t like it if we were . . . more than friends.”

“Have you talked to her about him at all?”

“No. No way.”

“Well, then, how do you know?”

Ridley sighed. “Because Momma wants me to stay her baby, forever. But I’m growing up. I’m not a baby.”

Garrus looked at her. “Well, that’s true. You are growing up. And I know she’s proud of you. It’s just that . . . well, you’re very special to her, RJ. You mean the world to her – the galaxy, even. And you have to remember, she’s an asari and asari kids don’t grow as quickly as human kids do. So it’s a little scary for her to see how fast you’re growing up. Maybe she feels it’s a little too fast for her.”

Ridley thought for a moment. “You think that’s true?”

“Yes, I do. She can take her time doing things because she’s going to live for over a thousand years, but your lifetime is barely a blink of her eyes.”

“But it’s my life, and I’m not an asari, and I’m growing at human-speed.”

“Of course you are,” he said. “But really, I think she’s scared of losing even a minute with you. She wants to savor every moment of it because she knows that time has a way of slipping away from us. She knows how life can change in a heartbeat. I mean,” he cleared his throat, “she already lost your mom. I think she’s scared to death of losing you, too.”

He could tell this last had an impact on Ridley. She stopped, the Legos frozen in her hand, and she stared out the window, focused on nothing. A full minute passed in silence.

“I . . . I didn’t think of that,” said Ridley. “Sometimes I forget that Momma lost her, too.”

“Try to remember,” said Garrus gently, “that it’s hard for her, just like it’s hard for you.”

Ridley gave him a sad little smile. “I’ll try, Uncle Garrus.”

“Good. In the meantime, why don’t you invite Holden over to play sometime?”

She flushed again. “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

“Invite Katora over, too, then, if that makes it a little less scary.”

“Hmm.” She turned the idea over in her head. “That’s a good idea. They get along, too . . . although,” she grinned slyly at him, “not too well.”

“There you go.”

“You know what else?”

“What’s that?”

She smiled. “I bet he’d really like Legos.”

“You think so, huh?” She nodded. “Good,” he said. “Then you’ll have something to do together when he comes over.”

They played together without speaking for a few moments, each enjoying sharing the other’s silence. Then Ridley piped up.

“Uncle Garrus?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you still wearing that?” She pointed at his face.

“Huh? Oh,” he said, reaching up to touch his visor. “I don’t know. I pretty much always have it on. I needed it earlier, when I was . . . getting your Lay Goes. It helps me out when I . . . run into trouble.”

“Are you expecting to run into trouble now?”

Garrus chuckled. “Heh, no. Unless you want to fight me for the last bit of ice cream.”

“Come on, you can’t eat that anyway,” she laughed. “Why don’t you take it off?”

“I . . . don’t know. I guess I’m so used to it . . . “

“Well, give it a try.”

Garrus looked away, then back at Ridley. He could face down mercs, but taking off his visor . . . still, here she was, Shepard’s daughter, challenging him. And here he was, trying to build her up, trying to show her courage, when she needed someone to look up to . . . He reached up and unfastened the visor, then looked at her.

She looked at him for a second, then turned back to the Legos. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

If only you knew how hard, kid, he thought. But why?

“You look weird. Like, you’re not yourself.”

“Well . . . uh, thanks,” he said.

“I’m just used to . . . “ she said, then she looked at him. “But this is how you really are. Underneath.”

“Hmm,” said Garrus. “Well, I guess so. Maybe that’s why it’s hard for me to do.”

They looked at each other, then each looked away.

“Did you really beat up seven guys?” Ridley asked.

“Well, not so much ‘beat up’ as ‘make them sorry for getting in my way’.”

“But, seven?”

“Maybe I should have said seventy. And a thresher maw.”

She smirked, and Garrus thought, She looks exactly like Shepard, and he felt a pang deep in his heart.

“You’re gonna have a lot of scars,” said Ridley. “Well, a lot more, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, maybe. Most of them will heal up fine.”

“What about this one?” She pointed at a deep, thick line on his forearm.

“Yeah, that one . . . won’t. But that’s okay. See, I got that one helping your mom.”

Ridley turned away. “Did she end up hurting everyone she touched?”

Garrus reached out and gently turned her face back to his. “No, she inspired everyone. To stand up and fight for something more than themselves. It’s just that, sometimes, that means you get hurt. But the galaxy is a better place because of the things she inspired us to do. Besides, I don’t want to die without any scars. Means I lived through something. And your mom knew a thing or two about that – hell, she could have taught a class in it. She had a few scars, too.”

“But there was one thing she didn’t live through.”

“Yeah.” Garrus swallowed hard and let out a breath. “I could tell you how brave she was, but you’re probably sick of hearing that. And you probably wish she hadn’t been so brave, anyway. I know I do.”

Ridley ran her thumb over the edge of a Lego, then pressed it into her palm. Softly, she said, “I really hate Joker. And I kind of hate her for going after him.” She looked into the turian’s face. “Didn’t she know I needed her? Wasn’t I more important than him? Wasn’t I more important than her stupid duty?” She almost spat the last word.

“I know,” said the turian, quietly. “I was mad at Joker, too. Still am. Should have followed orders, left his post – ah, but then, he loved the Normandy. I mean, loved it. Maybe almost as much as we,” he had to remind himself to use the past tense, as much as he hated it, “loved your mom. And he wanted to save it.”

“It was just a stupid ship!”

“Yeah, it was. He made a bad mistake. The worst. Your mom would have punched him in the face, if she’d . . . ah.” He took a breath and let it out. “And when she . . . when she died . . . as much as I missed her, I was also furious with her for being so damn brave. Because the galaxy was a better place with her in it. And I was a better man, for being her friend.” He put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “But there is something you need to know. She loved you. Maybe she didn’t know how to show it all the time, but you were more important to her than anything. Everything she did, as brave as she was, she did because of you, for you. So you could have a better life, a better future. So you could have hope.”

“But I needed her!” Tears were running down her face in tiny rivers.

“I know. But maybe . . . maybe she never understood that. Maybe she never believed that anyone needed her. Maybe she never believed that she was anything special. The best never do, I guess.”

She looked at him with an expression of equal parts bewilderment and despair.

“Maybe being brave,” he said. “And doing her duty, was her way of showing you how much she loved you. Maybe it was the only way she knew how.”

“Couldn’t she just tell me once in a while? Or just . . . be around?”

“For her, that might have been harder than charging into a thresher maw nest.”

“But she was supposed to be so brave. Why was it so hard to talk to me?”

“Well, there are different kinds of courage. Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared – it means you are scared, but you do what you’re afraid of anyway. Your mom wasn’t scared of taking a bullet, or getting a scar – so maybe it was easy for her to see everything as a battle. But just talking to someone she cared about, letting them see how much they meant to her . . . well, I don’t know, but I think that scared the hell out of her. And I know." He took a deep breath. "Because I'm the same way."

“I don’t understand her. At all.”

“I know. But I know you loved her. And I know she loved you. Maybe that’s what love is – just . . . trying to understand the people who are important to us. Even when they make no sense.” He sighed and picked up a Lego. “It’s not like these. I wish life could fit together as perfectly as these things do.” He looked at her. “She would have loved seeing you play like you did tonight.”

“I just . . . miss her.”

“I miss her, too.”

“I don’t know why I even miss her. She was barely around at all when I was little. I was always just a burden to her, like I was a duty.” She stopped and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Maybe I should have stayed a duty,” she muttered. “Maybe then I would have been more important. But then . . . when Momma . . . she talked my mom into letting me stay with them. And I started to think . . . I started to hope that maybe I wasn’t just a burden after all. Maybe we really could be a family. And maybe someday, I’d get to know her.” She looked at him, and he could see the pain crease her face as the tears started anew. “But now I never will.”

There was nothing he could think of to say, so he just enfolded her in his arms, feeling helpless to soothe this wounded girl. She sobbed into his shirt.

“We’d just started to –“ she sobbed. “I barely had her at all when I was little, and then we got this chance to be together, and now she’s gone! She cheated me out of herself! Because she made Joker, she even made strangers, more important than me! I’ll never know her, I’ll never know what’s it’s like to have my mom love me anymore! I’ll never know what it might have been like someday . . . and I’d just started to wonder what it could be like, growing up with her around . . . and now I’ll never know.”

And Garrus, his arms around Ridley, sobbed as well. Sobbed because he missed his friend, sobbed for the pain in this girl, and in Liara, and in the rest of the crew. Sobbed because they all had to carry on, without their friend and commander. And together, they cried . . . until at last, they fell asleep, their arms around each other, Ridley breathing deeply against the slow rise and fall of Garrus’s chest. And that’s how Liara found them when she returned, well after midnight. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of them, and a single tear fell from her eye, but she could not sob as they had, for the loss of Shepard and the need to be strong for Ridley had built a hardness around her heart. She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes for a moment, then fetched a blanket and tucked it over them, the turian warrior and the human girl.

Liara went to bed, but she did not sleep for a long time.

[blacksunrequiem]

The OG ice-fire eyes that @vulpine-spectacle has cleverly described and given to her version Feyd-Rautha in "Echoes in Our Blood".

"Feyd-Rautha’s eyes are a pale shade of gray-blue akin to a sheet of ice, yet inflamed by rays of sunlight peering through it. Around each iris is a mosaic of cerulean and crackles of ember. It is a dance of fire against ice, crackling together and forming something dangerous. Eurydice has never seen such eyes before." — Chapter 17, “Echoes in Our Blood” by Vulpine_Spectacle on AO3

Austin Butler for the Los Angeles Times in November 2022 Photographer: Brandon M Young Photo editor: Brandon Choe Photo assistant: Brendan McLean Grooming: Jamie Taylor Styling: Sandra Amador

[rubedometa]

What are you doing up so late, Tucker?

Fanart of @illusion-of-sea-axes's amazing fic Lazarus Left the Tomb!

[amarriageoftrueminds]

help 😩 can anyone remember a Hannibal fic where Will kept trolling Hannibal by pretending to have bought himself a hideous [blue?] suit with like shirt-ruffles for the [...opera??] they were going to, and wouldn't let Hanni see it until the last minute when it turned out to be a perfectly normal suit??

[gojorgeous]

���heatwaves”

pairing: alpha!gojo x omega!fem!reader summary: when a work trip takes you to japan, the last thing you expect is a heatwave... and some guy with blue eyes? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, a/b/o dynamics, no established relationship, dubcon (i feel like it’s always kinda dubcon with a/b/o), p->v, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, marking, spit, praise, swearing, pet names (baby/sweetheart/princess), brief mention/implication of pregnancy, knotting, reader gets picked up, reader is american, reader is unaware of their omega status, reader experiences their first heat, reader and satoru “bond” without having a fully conscious conversation, reader and satoru are early twenties. a/n: it's here! somebody spay me. by popular demand i have written alpha!gojo for you all… just a classic reader goes into an accidental heat at work and (x) character happens to be the nearest alpha LMAO. this is entirely uncreative, but i love it for that!!! straight smut with a little plot if you squint hard enough! i hope it lives up to your expectations. find my alpha!geto fic here and find the list of my 1k event fics here. enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. wc: 5k

Nobody ever told you that Japan was so damn hot. 

Hot was not what came to mind when you’d heard you’d be taking a trip to Tokyo. Temples? Sure. Mt. Fuji? Great. Hot? No fucking way. 

But, here you were, boiling away under the sun on what you’d thought would be a fun little work trip. Instead, you were just suffering with every step, trying to listen to what Principal Yaga was saying and failing miserably. 

“These are the sparring courts. No students right now, but they’ll start training within the hour.” 

You rub at the back of your neck, cringing when your palm comes away coated with a thin layer of sweat. Gross. 

You lift your eyes to the sky, wondering how much longer this was going to take. Your little trip to Japan was to organize an exchange program with Jujutsu Tech. Your students had been begging to take a trip to Tokyo, to where their cursed energy would be closer to the source and, consequently, stronger. You had to admit, it was a good idea. A few months spent training here in Japan would do them good. From the moment you’d set foot on Japanese soil, your power had thrummed faster in your veins than ever before. 

Principal Yaga was giving you a tour of the grounds and had sealed your horrible fate when he’d decided to start outside. You barely heard a word the man said. New York was never this hot…

“Are you alright?” You blink, fanning your face as best you can. It provides no relief. God, it felt like the heat was penetrating your fucking bones… 

When your eyes slide to Principal Yaga, you’re surprised to see that he looks genuinely concerned. “Y-yeah.” You blink again, shocked by your own stutter. Maybe you were coming down with something? “I’m fine, just not used to this kind of heat, I guess.” You fan your face again and clench your jaw when it still does nothing. 

Yaga’s brows furrow and you see him glance around, like he’ll find said heat standing next to him. How was he wearing so many layers? 

“How about we head inside and take a break, then? We can continue the tour… later.” You nearly fall to the ground and kiss his feet. Air conditioning is truly God's gift to man… 

You smile and it’s all genuine. “That would be amazing. Thank you.” 

Yaga nods, but you think his eyes linger on you for just a beat too long before he turns. He still looks confused… or maybe flustered? That only leaves you confused. 

You follow after him, each step feeling like you’re sinking deep into cement. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying to get some ventilation. When you finally reach the building you nearly sigh with relief. Air conditioning… that’ll be good. Just what you need. A few minutes inside and you’ll be good to go. You’ll just have to remember not to wear so many damn layers again when you continue the tour. 

You’re smiling as you step inside, so ready for relief that you’re practically shaking– but relief never comes. Your brows furrow. You brush your arm through the air. It… doesn’t help. It’s strange– you can feel the coolness of the air conditioning, feel it gliding up and across your skin, but the heat doesn’t subside, doesn’t so much as lessen. 

“I trust you know how to find anything you might–” Yaga clears his throat. “Need?” 

 Your brows furrow. He’d shown you all the school’s resources last night and your room was already stocked with food, toiletries, and every other thing you could possibly need. Of course you knew where everything was… 

“Yes… Thank you.” 

Yaga shifts so uncomfortably you think that maybe he’s about to pee his pants. “Right, well, you have my contact information. Let me know if I can be of assistance in connecting you to any… resources.”

You’re more confused now than you were at the start of this conversation. “Right…” 

“Take care.” 

Yaga shoots you one last– worried?- glance and stalks down the hall. You’re left wondering what the hell is happening in his mind and why he seemed so desperate to offer you resources? 

You blink, clearing your mind as best you can, but some sort of fog seems to be settling over your consciousness. Definitely coming down with something, you think. 

You make your way through the halls, steps still feeling suspiciously heavy and heat still radiating off your body. A cold shower. That’ll help. Or so you thought. The further you walk, the more each hallway starts to look like the next. Was it left or right next? Was this hallway always a dead end? Since when was there a bathroom there?

You’re leaning against the wall now, panting. Something is pooling in your gut, something warm and far too intense. Your inner thighs are wet, too. You want to convince yourself it’s sweat, but… you’re horny. More horny than you’ve ever been in your whole damn life. You think you might die if you don’t get some dick in the next ten minutes. What the fuck?

You slide yourself into the next room you see: an empty classroom. Thank fucking god. You grab the back of a chair, hands shaking with how hard you’re gripping the wood. You take a deep breath. You need to get a hold of yourself, need to figure out what the fuck is happening to you.  

You swallow and try your best to think. It’s not without difficulty. Your head feels like somebody’s filled it with glue. It takes a minute for a coherent thought to come through, but when it does, you think it’s a good one. Doctor. 

Yes– you don’t feel well, so obviously a doctor is the correct choice, right? You scramble for your phone in your back pocket but freeze when the brush of your own hand against your ass sends a jolt up your spine. What the fuck is wrong with you? 

Carefully, you extract your phone from your pocket, but it’s too difficult to even remember your fucking passcode. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the overwhelming ache that’s forming between your legs. Something is definitely wrong.

You fumble with your phone, but your hands are shaking so hard it just tumbles to the floor. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck?” 

“Yo, who’s baking cookies in here without me?” 

Your head snaps up and, with some difficulty, your eyes settle on a… man. You suck in a breath. He’s… dazzling. He’s wearing all black, but it’s not a student uniform. One of the teachers that you’ve yet to meet, then. White hair and pale skin contrasts against his clothes, but his eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses set low on his nose. Even in your delirious state you still have the wherewithal to wonder who the fuck wears sunglasses inside. 

You get a quick look at him before a wave of intense- fuck, desire?- washes over you. You tremble again and shock yourself when a whimper tumbles from your lips. 

“Oh, shit,” you hear him say. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and watch him inhale again– deeply. His lips part. “Oh, shit.”

You clench your jaw and tighten your grip on your chair. Your legs are shaking now– you can barely stand. You squeak pitifully. 

The second the sound leaves your throat you hear footsteps– rapid, hurried, concerned, ones. Warm hands clasp your waist and you cry out at the touch, electricity sparking on your skin. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He turns you gently to face him, hands steadying your swaying body. “Who the fuck left you alone in here?” His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your lower back now and you think you’ve never felt something so good in your life. It’s so good that you almost miss what he said. Almost. 

“W-What?” You see his brows furrow as you peek up at him. At this angle you can see under his sunglasses. His eyes are blue. Really fucking blue. You think he might be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, even with the expression of… anger?- that he’s currently wearing. 

“Whoever he is, I'll kill him.” 

That makes you blink. An extra sliver of clarity opens in your brain. “What are you talking about?”

He tugs you a little closer, wrapping an arm fully around your waist and pressing you up against him. You try to ignore the fact that you love it, that you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and climb him like a fucking tree. 

“What idiot leaves an omega going into heat?” He’s glaring at the doorway like he’s torn between staying here with you and running after said idiot to pommel him into the ground. 

“‘M not an omega.” The words are out before you’ve even stopped to consider them. It’s true. You’re not an omega. You’re a beta. You’ve always been a beta. You’ve got the little “B” on your ID card to prove it. You were tested at birth, just like everyone else, and even if you really were an omega you would have presented years ago.

He only glances down at you and snorts. “Funny, sweetheart.” His hand is still rubbing those little circles into your back and it’s enough to make that fogginess in your mind grow a little thicker. 

But your fear, your uncertainty outways your instinct. You pound a weak fist against his chest, not to push him away, but to get his attention. He’s still glaring at the doorway like he wants to murder it. 

“‘M serious,” you gasp. “I’m a beta… I don’... know whas’ happenin’… to me.” Each word is a tremendous effort to form. Your tongue seems to have lost its ability to do anything but hang limply. 

That gets his attention. He lifts a hand, gently brushing your hair back from your eyes and then cupping your jaw. “Is this your first heat?” 

You find yourself leaning into his touch despite the fact that you’ve only known him for thirty seconds. Your eyelids flutter. “N-Not a heat… jus’ feel… sick.”

His brows furrow again, deeper this time, and he shakes his head. “How old are you?”

You know why he asks. Most omegas present around eighteen or nineteen. “Older than… nineteen…” You try to laugh, but it only comes out as a whimper.

That answer only serves to make him push closer. You feel his hand trailing down your neck, skimming gently over the skin until he reaches a spot you hadn't even realized was so… sore. You keen at the touch. Fuck, no. There was no way. You had swollen fucking scent glands. 

You try to push away, but he pulls you in, burying his face in your neck. You shudder when he groans. “You smell like a damn bakery exploded,” he chuckles, and the sound is muffled by your skin. When he pulls away he makes it look like the action is physically painful. He cups your face again. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re an omega. If this is your first heat then…” he swallows and your eyes track the bob of his throat. “You’re just a late bloomer, baby.”

You shake your head desperately. It’s just the stupid heatwave. It’s just… hot outside… right? 

You try to think about how this could be possible. It could be that the test you took as a baby was wrong… it happened sometimes. It was rare, but it happened. But if you were an omega, what would have triggered your presentation now? What had changed? 

Your eyes widen. Japan. You’d set foot in fucking Japan. Ever since you’d gotten here, you’d felt power pulsing in your veins. Maybe it hadn’t been just power… 

“N-no–” 

A gentle thumb smooths over your cheek and you meet his eyes again. You shiver when you see a whole lot more black than blue. “You have no alpha?” 

You whimper, leaning into him. Touch me, touch me, touch me, a part of you begs. You shake your head again and a tear slides down your cheek. “No,” you whisper. 

Strong arms slide beneath your knees and you squeak when you’re suddenly suspended in the air. When you glance up he’s grinning triumphantly. “You have one now,” is all he says before he’s carrying you out of the classroom and twisting through the halls. 

Warmth rushes over you at the sensation of being held, and something begs you to give into it, to give into the heat still washing over you, to the throbbing between your legs. You fight it and fight it hard. 

“Where’re we going?” you ask, but your voice is sounding more and more like a whisper. 

His eyes stay focused ahead, even as he presses a comforting kiss to the crown of your head. “Your room, sweetheart.” 

Your brows scrunch. “How d’ you know where–” 

“‘M following your scent, baby.” 

He can do that? You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed, only to be hit by a different scent so delicious your mouth starts watering. You groan. Loudly. There’s a scent pouring from his neck that’s filling your head with memories of spices you can’t name, but suddenly know you love. 

You think you hear him chuckle and then feel a gentle hand on the back of your neck, encouraging you. You snuggle deeper into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and burying your fingers in his hair. Taste him, taste him, taste him your mind chants. It’s too good an offer to deny. You lick a stripe across his skin. 

Your groans are instant. He’s squeezing you closer, leaning into your touch, and you’re pulling him closer. Your fingers curl into his jacket, tugging and tugging. You lick again and now he’s the one groaning. 

“Damn, that feels good,” He sounds as surprised by that fact as you feel. The swaying of his steps comes to a sudden halt. You whine, missing the rocking of his body. “Think we’re here, princess. This it?” His hand is smoothing over your hair, slowly coaxing you away from the curve of his neck. You blink, not wanting to leave the paradise of his scent, but also feeling some overwhelming urge to please him.

Your eyes settle on a door and you recognize a little chip in the wood. You nod. “Mhm.” 

You gasp when his hand grips your hip, wriggling through your pocket until he pulls out a little brass key. 

“Perfect,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s all too pleased with himself. He shimmies your key in the knob until the lock clicks and then you’re inside. The door slams shut loud enough to make you jump and squeak. 

“Oops, sorry, baby. Guess I’m a little excited, heh.” His hand squeezes your hip soothingly and you mewl at the wave of heat that pulses through you. Your clit throbs almost painfully and you feel something gush onto your thighs. You whimper. 

He inhales. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and then you’re moving again. He navigates your room like he knows it. He probably does. From what you can tell, most of the rooms at Jujutsu Tech follow a standard layout. He weaves down a hall to the left and then into your bedroom on the right. 

He lays you on the bed gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid you might break if he drops you so much as an inch. “There we go,” he breathes. You can’t deny that it feels good, that it feels right, to be lying on the softness of your mattress, but it’s not enough. 

You claw at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him close. You want something from him, need something, but you can’t name what. You just know that the heat boiling beneath your skin can only be sated by him, that the throbbing between your legs can only be calmed by him. “P-Please,” you whimper. Tears well in your eyes. You need him so bad it physically hurts. 

The smile he gives you is soft and genuine and it takes your breath away. He dips his head and you think you see him slide those sunglasses down his nose and toss them to the side. You don’t pay too close attention, though, because he’s kissing your neck again and your body is screaming with sensation. 

“Aw, I know, baby. Don’ worry. ‘M gonna take care of you now. Jus’ relax.” 

His words spark something in you– your last bit of consciousness. A brief moment of clarity shines through the fog of your mind and you remember what the hell is happening, what the hell you’re doing. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head desperately. No, no, no, this is not happening to you. There’s no way.

“Hey, now. None a’ that.” Fingers clasp your chin, holding you still. When you peek your eyes open, you see that he has in fact removed his sunglasses and that his eyes are more black pupil than dazzling blue. His jaw is clenched and his breathing is heavy. “Don’t try t’ fight it. Jus’ try to enjoy it…” His head dips and suddenly he’s nipping at your scent gland again. 

You thrash and scream, but not in fear or pain. You’ve never felt something so good in your life. Every graze of his teeth feels like heaven. Your skin zings with electricity, sending pulses of pure need straight between your thighs. 

You grab at him, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging him closer. Your chest is heaving when you speak. “Please, p-please-” 

“Shhh…” You think you hear your shirt tearing, but you’re too focused on pulling him closer to care. His tongue licks a stripe up your throat and your eyes roll back. 

You’re sure your shirt is off now. You can feel the cool air, but it does nothing to ease the heat raging inside you, pulsing and pumping through your veins.You feel him tugging at your pants, too, and you try to raise your hips. He only shushes you again. “Jus’ relax. Let me do the work, baby.” 

Your pants are gone in seconds, even without your assistance. So is your bra and then your panties. He tries pulling away to undress himself, but you mewl and his eyes blow even blacker before he’s back over you again. He settles for popping the buttons straight off his shirt and shimmying out of his pants. 

The sight of his bare skin makes you whimper and then you’re clawing at him again, dragging your fingers across his shoulders, over his chest, down his abs. It’s a greedy touch and one that he returns. His palms move along your body, kneading and squeezing at any flesh he can grab. It feels so good that you think you might pass out– but it’s still not enough. Something is still missing. You feel… empty. 

His fingers trace across your stomach and it’s too late to realize what’s happening before he’s circling your clit. You jerk and jolt at the touch, but he presses his chest to yours, pinning you. The throbbing only worsens when his fingers settle into a rhythm. 

Tears leak down your cheeks. It’s too overwhelming. You’re burning– burning from the inside out. The pulsing between your thighs is all-consuming with its intensity, with its-

“Need! N-Need–” you’re crying out, but you don’t even know what to ask for– don’t even know what you need. 

“God, Fuck, I know, princess,” he groans. He licks a long stripe up your neck. “But ‘s your first heat. Gotta–” he has to pause to swallow. He’s panting, now, just as lost as you are, and you get the sense that he’s restraining himself. “Gotta get you ready… go slow.” 

You shake your head. Now, now, now is all you can think. You need him now. “No… please…” You bury your head in his neck and find that spot that’s pouring his spicy scent into the air. Your mouth waters and you lick him, letting your teeth graze his skin.

“Fuck!” He shivers atop you and you feel the pure strength restrained within his muscles. “Fuck- okay. Okay. Relax f’ me, princess.” 

You try, you really do, but your body refuses to do anything but try to pull him closer. You feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them up, up, up until they’re pressed tightly to your chest and your feet are dangling on his shoulders. The position makes you whine, feeling more exposed than you ever have before. 

“You on birth control, baby?” 

Your brows furrow. It’s becoming harder and harder to focus on what he’s saying rather than simply the sound of his voice. Were you? You try to think, try to remember through the pit of glue that is your brain. No…

You shake your head. “N-No…” 

There’s a slight pause, a beat of contemplation, and then he’s laughing. “Guess I’m bouta be a daddy then, heh.” He chuckles again and the sound rings through you with a wave of pure bliss. His lips brush your neck again, settling on your pulse and making you whine. “Don’t really mind as long as I get you.” Your head rolls back submissively, exposing your throat. Yes, yes, yes, your mind screams. There’s nothing you want more than that, you think.“Okay, here we go, baby.” 

There’s hardly any more warning. One second you feel him shifting between your thighs and the next he’s pressing inside of you, feeding his cock in inch by inch. The stretch is… delicious. It burns, fuels that fire inside you, but it makes the heat feel more… pleasurable. Your back arches and your head rolls back submissively. 

“Oh, fuck, princess.” His voice has gotten higher, more like a whine than anything else. When you gaze up at him you can see the flush in his cheeks, even through the fog in your mind. More, more, more your mind screams. Or maybe you say it aloud, because more is exactly what he gives you. The second you feel him tucked up against your cervix the second he begins to take you. He sets a pace that is somehow both brutal and gentle, with strokes that rattle your skull and also give you exactly what you need. His hands grip your hips, holding you still to take exactly what he wants to give. His head dips until he has his lips wrapped around your nipple, and his tongue is swirling so deliciously that you can’t help but drag your nails down his back. 

Your body rocks with every thrust, teeth rattling and eyes rolling. The heat inside you grows… tighter, like it’s all pooling to your core, waiting for something you still can’t quite name. 

“N-need…” You don’t know what you need, still. Only that you want to beg for it so badly it hurts. 

His tongue slides away from your nipple, tracing a line up between the valley of your breasts, over your collarbone, before he finally settles on your pulse once again. The nick of his teeth makes something click in your mind. This is what you need. Bite me, bite me, bite. Claim me, claim me, claim me. 

“Yes,” you breathe. Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, coaxing his teeth to sink in, to stake their claim. “Oh God, yes. Please.” You sound delirious, you think, but then so does he when he answers. 

“Not yet, princess. Not yet.” His tongue darts out to lick across your neck again and you can only sob. Why not yet? Now, now, now… 

Tightness coils in your muscles, the throb at your core reaching a breaking point. You feel something coming, something like an orgasm but yet also not. You know that when whatever is pooling inside you releases, you will shatter, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be put back together. 

Your nails claw across his back hard enough to draw blood and the action forces out some sort of low grumble from his chest that makes you whimper and melt into the mattress. The tip of his nose draws a line up your throat. “Keep doin’ that, baby. Mark me up.” 

You don’t dare deny him. You scratch at his skin, desperately trying to pull him closer. His thrusts grow faster and your thighs begin to tremble and shake on his shoulders, overwhelmed with the intensity of all you’re feeling. You pull at him, grab at him, thread your fingers through his hair. 

Your body jolts with each thrust and you’re sure you’re going to burst any moment. But you can’t. Not yet. You still need something, something he hasn’t given you yet. He groans and the sound is so delicious that you feel it sliding over your skin and settling in your bones. 

“M’ gonna knot you now, princess,” he breathes. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take care ‘ve you.”

You whimper at his words. You hope they’re true. You don’t think you can take much more of the incessant gnawing of need in your gut. 

“Please…” your voice is hardly more than a whisper. His breath is hot as it shakes against your neck. He’s licking and nipping at you ravenously, like he needs you just as badly, like he wants to claim you as badly as you want to be claimed. 

His thrusts quicken even further and your jaw falls open, neck arching. You don’t think you can hold on much longer. Apparently, neither can he. 

You feel it the moment he starts to swell inside you. It’s perfect, you think. It can’t get better than this– but then it does. 

His teeth graze your throat again, this time a little harsher and with a little more intent. “Mine,” he whispers. The second he bites you everything goes blurry. 

You’re experiencing… heaven. There is a rush of that electricity that buzzes under your skin. It bursts forth and you feel it reaching out, forming a link between the two of you that you know is now impenetrable. It pulses and burns and you can feel him, feel his pleasure, his desire, his need for you and only you– his need to make you his. You think your souls must be blending, merging, with how deep the connection runs. You think you know him, know everything you could possibly ever need to. You know he’s the one. You know he’s yours.

It’s perfect, the way it fulfills every desire you’ve ever had, the way he notches inside your cunt like that’s where he was made to be, the way his teeth clamp around your throat and bond you together forever.

You scream for him, you think, but you can’t tell through the complete and total haze of pleasure. Your walls spasm around him, milking him for every last drop, and you feel the heat of his cum coating your cervix. The heat at your center finally releases, bursting and flooding through you in a way that feels like pure bliss has been injected into your veins. Your thighs quake and tremble with the pure intensity of it all and white spots dot your vision. 

His body is tense above you, shivering with the magnitude of what’s just happened. He’s groaning into your neck, your flesh still clamped between his teeth like he never wants to let go. You’re not sure you ever want him to. 

Your breaths shake in and out, lungs heaving as you finally come down. His knot is still settled deep inside you and with the few strings of consciousness that slowly filter back into your mind you know that he’ll remain there for a while.

His teeth release from your neck with a squelch that you think you would be sickening in any other context, but only makes you whimper at the loss of contact. He only hums and finds your hand, twining your fingers together as he laps at the fresh bite on your throat. It feels… amazing. Not in the way it felt before, like he was licking pure lust straight onto your skin, but more like he’s giving you a comfort you have never known in your life. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt you here. 

His lips press a final kiss to your throat before you feel him shifting. He gently rolls you both onto your sides, getting comfortable and pulling you to his chest while you both wait for the next wave of lust to hit you. It will, you know. Sooner rather than later, too. Your mind has cleared enough to realize what’s happening, what’s to come. You won’t be leaving this room, this bed, for quite some time. 

A gentle hand brushes a sweaty lock of hair from your eyes before it settles on the nape of your neck, massaging the sore muscles there. You sigh and raise your gaze to find him already looking at you, an easy smile on his lips. He has dimples, you realize, and he’s… breathtaking. And now… he’s all yours.

There’s a beat of silence between you, a moment of reconciliation with what’s just happened between you, of what it means. You blink up at him, your lips parting to say something, anything, but instead your brows furrow in thought.

His smile drops instantly. He leans into you, thumb caressing your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Your mouth runs dry. You peek up at him from beneath your lashes. “What’s your name?”

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[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬, 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞 || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: stop, you’re losing me || part two: in the trees, in the breeze (here)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ your memory kept haunting Coriolanus Snow, so he found the way to end his exile. It’s a new era, but the same old feelings between Coriolanus and you keep causing scandals. Although, you are not ready to let go the pain he caused to you.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ Capitol ballerina!reader, angst, drama, violence and death lol, jealousy, unhinged Coriolanus, sex mentions, reader still has health problems, etc. 13k words fic IM SORRY

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_ hear this along Can’t catch me now, I’m not an OR fan but I love that song from her. I mean, who didn’t? And thank you for the wait and loveeeee. PLEASE TELL ME OF ANY ERRORS BC I CAN’T BE ALMOST ACCUSED OF BEING TRANSPHOBIC PLEASEEEE

♪ ♫ awful Coriolanus Snow playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

_____________________________________________

Red, blue, red, red, yellow, green, green, pink.

Every color is correctly marked. A nurse smiles with some papers on her hand before she dissapears.

You can get dressed again. The color test was done, your vision was okay.

Purple and green bruises are scattered across your skin. Some appeared on your inner thighs. Two on your knees and one on the ribs from the day you collapsed after the post-Hunger Games celebration. You sigh covering your skin with a long floral dress. The reflection of yourself on the mirror salutes you with a tired, broken and sad face. It makes you force a smile, pretending more people were watching you. The room in empty though.

“Everything is fine. Your body is responding well to the shots.” A doctor asks as soon as he walks in into the room.

“The only thing that worries me is your mental health. Have you been stressed or has anything happened to you that could be considered a traumatic experience?”

The pointe shoes soaked in blood. The unstoppable bleeding on your feet. The late nights with panic attacks and over thinking. That young blonde man and the songbird together. The night on dressing room, how your hand burned after slapping the man so hard. The shock of all the events surrounding your life two weeks ago. How you lost control, your head spinning, blurred vision, heart pounding, numb arms and how you felt the oxygen was leaving. All the things you did for someone who never deserved you, making you shatter, fainting as soon as you finished dancing.

“Miss y/l/n… Are you okay?” The distant voice of the doctor breaks your bubble. You shake your head in disguise before turning away from the mirror, facing him and smiling politely.

“Yes, I’m fine. I was very stressed, yeah. Working with the production of the Hunger Games. My artistic performances, last days at the Academy. It was a lot…” the doctor sighs, annotating something. He then handed you the paper.

“I’m giving you some treatment for that. And please, you have to be careful and calm. Only that way the medicine will help everything to work here” he points his head. You nod, accepting the paper.

After that, you leave the private hospital. Trevor is there, your chauffeur and friend. He smiles, opening the door for you.

“Thank you, Trevor” he starts the car soon after.

“Is everything okay?” You nod, looking at the bright day at the Capitol.

“I just need to relax and eat well.” Trevor had trimmed his hair. It made him look younger, making you smile at the memory of him saying his wife was his hairstylist.

“Good. Oh, I received a call from your mother. This woman…uh, Dr. Volumnia Gaul? She wants to see you at the Univeristy today” you frown to look at him confused.

“Oh? So… Can we go now?” He nods, turning left to start the route. Meanwhile, you wonder what could she want. You made your part, the games had a higher amount of viewers compared to last year. You engaged with the production and the celebration was at full capacity. Your little accident even made it more attractive to the media. Appearing on the papers and magazines across Panem.

And after everything, you still wanted to keep dancing. Or else range would consume you.

…

It’s the first time you step inside the Capitol’s University. It’s very similar to the Academy, but the floor tiles are green and white. There’s a lot of white, cream, golden and black decorating the halls and long stairs.

Since it’s summer, most of the building was empty. Only some of the staff, and very few people who seemed like students. You see they dress very elegant. Some women wore hats with feathers or flowers. The men wore classy suits and you genuinely thought you would fit in.

You couldn’t wait to have some sense of normality as a Univeristy student along Clemensia and Lysistrata. Your only close friends left. Well, also Festus and Sejanus. At the time, you didn’t event know your dear friend was dead.

What seems like the private office of Gaul has a red door. Inside, she had a laboratory, smaller but weirder than the one you had seen before. Full of dissected creatures, tanks and crystal containers with unknown chemicals.

Some steps further and you see her desk, where she is collecting some folders and putting them away in some shelves.

“Glad to see you breathing, miss y/l/n…” somehow you found the humor to smile coldly.

“As you can see.” You reply standing perfectly correct.

“By this point you should know what happened to Mr. Snow” goosebumps make you shake your shoulders slightly, you nod again.

“He was exiled. Twenty years. He lied to me and did not said a thing about cheating on the games”

“Indeed. However this morning, I just discovered he bribed a woman to be sent to District 12.” You bite your tongue to hide your fury. A hot feeling invade your chest in rage. But you just breathe, failing to not show discontent.

“That’s not any of my business anymore.” Even Gaul seems taken aback. However, she doesn’t say anything, she just keeps pulling away the pile of folders.

“Well, since it seems you both parted ways… I must share that I’m deleting any record or data related to the 10th Hunger Games. Too many things happened before, during and after the games. Things that would compromise the reputation of the whole organization. Including me, the Academy, the mentors, you and Mr. Snow” honestly, you don’t know what to say. You just frown slightly, demonstrating how confused you were. But you also understood with half of the context. The death of Arachne, Coriolanus and his odd ways to make his songbird oustand, the rebel attack, Lucy Gray Baird winning from cheat. And the things you didnt know like Sejanus entering the arena.

However, you stick to your parent’s advice. You have to think about you and anyone else.

“I understand. But I did my part. I completed my task so I hope this decision doesn’t jeopardize my grant” she smiles. Dr. Gaul secretly believed that you and Coriolanus Snow could rule Panem together. In a sick and evil way, so she really hoped her dark intentions would work.

“Of course not. We had a deal. The views went up this year. You brought a new vision for the promotion that I’ll hardly let go.” The ambition started tickling you. Making you roll your tongue inside your closed mouth, at the verge of opening it and talking.

“Good.”

“In fact, you would be a nice option to become head of the promotion and relations team.” From the last games, you realized the director only gave instructions but he rarely did the dirty job. You liked having some power over the games. And now, a childish and unjustified resentment towards District 12 made you smile as Gaul offered you a new job.

“Is it a possible option to be working in behalf of my mother’s institution?”

“You’re very smart, y/n y/l/n. You are going further than Mr. Snow” your smile only grows, knowing you are nit being correct. You are letting the rage and resentment to guide you. You will make your last name shine brighter than your parents did. Just to rub it in the face of certain blonde who was now exiled. Probably savoring the country life of District 12.

“I just want to make my family’s name bigger than it already is” the woman giggles, taking out a red envelope and handing it you.

“I assume you’ll pursue the arts as you’re speciality. But if you want to get involved with the production, marketing and relations. You are taking politics and some lessons with me” when you look down at the envelope, the golden logo of the university is greeting you. It’s the admission letter.

“I expect to see you here by the end of the summer” you nod, thanking her.

And as you walk outside where Trevor is waiting for you, you have a cocky smile. Feelings like things could go better. You don’t even remember the doctor’s appointment you were in before coming to see Gaul.

…

Your soft hands gently brush against his forehead. Coriolanus had chills, he hadn’t had fever since he was 15 years old. But your hands are so soft even when they feel cold as ice. He just knows he’s in his bed. In his rottening penthouse. He can see a slightly blurred image of you, wearing a green dress, your hair in a braid, a golden necklace, dark purple lips. He can’t hear your words, but you are talking to him, spreading some cream across his chest, immediately he felt the mint soothing his cough and pain. He must’ve said something funny, because he can now see clearly your face, gorgeous as always. And he can clearly hear you laughing.

Coriolanus wakes up smiling. And he realised he was dreaming.

He was in a small and creaky lower bunk bed. Sejanus sleeping in the upper bunk. The sun hasn’t come up. And he’s a peacekeeper in District 12.

It’s been weeks since he left the Capitol. And since day one, you seem to be haunting him.

Current dreams of you, swearing to be hearing your voice. It makes him want to call you every single day. But he doesn’t. He was able to forget about you when he was in the peacekeeper training and duties. When he was with Lucy Gray any trace of you was gone. But as soon as he had a moment alone, he would remember everyhting about you.

He missed you. Painfully a lot.

Every Friday, he had been sending the letters. He hoped your mother would hand them to you. But Coriolanus knew you too well to know you likely would not be reading them. Nonetheless, he was letting himself to write the most vulnerable pieces of him, putting his heart on each word and phrase. Hoping that by the time his exile was over, you would have forgiven him.

When the sun came up, he was up along the rest of the boys. Sejanus gives him a friendly smile and they’re out exercising and doing jobs all day long. During his break, he’s able to seat in an old bench, with a beautiful view of an open green field.

That’s when he dreams of seeing you there, dancing or simply standing there with a sundress. Like the ones you used to wear on summer when he visited the house your parents had in District 4. He dreams so hard that he swears seeing the skirt of your dress swaying through the trees. And that’s when he knows he’s so fucked up.

But that’s long forgotten after the break is over. And by the night, he’s on the biggest bar of the town. He sees Lucy Gray singing something new. He honestly never understood the meaning behind her songs, but he was enchanted by her do what she loved.

After her live presentation, a big projector was introduced. They started playing the weather with Lucky Flickerman. Which made Coriolanus miss the Capitol so bad.

“They’re probably waiting for some women. That’s why the always start that thing” Lucy Gray said, appearing by his side and pointing at the projector. He smiled at her.

“To see women?” She nodded, grabbing a glass of cold water.

“You know how are men around here” with no tv around, no ostentatious lifestyles, men could get excited with little makeup and satin gowns. Coriolanus was disgusted by many mannerism of the 12. He had heard and seen many disapproving behaviors. But he was happy to be able to find some peace along the songbird.

“Yes, I know. What’s that thing by the way?” When Coriolanus turned around to see the old projector, he almost choked after seeing the big logo appearing.

It was the summer fundraising charity of your mother. Another luxurious gala to help the constructions of the Capitol after war. However, that wasnt the most impressive part for Coriolanus. Seconds after the recovered from seeing something directly related to his past, you appeared in the projector, entering the stage and getting in pose to start a performance.

Lucy Gray Baird was in shock. So if she was surprised, the men all around the bar where cheering and whistling.

There you were, with curled wet hair, metallic bronze makeup, wine lips, golden bracelets on your arms. But it was the attire. A two piece set that let your legs and stomach show off. With bare feet, and two elegant knives, one in each hand. Your cocky smile was back. And it was ruining Coriolanus Snow.

He literally jumped from his seat, leaving Lucy Gray to cross the river of men and properly see you.

She knew you had broken up with him. And that relieved the songbird, as she felt like she could let her feelings for Coriolanus flow freely. But seeing the boy literally hipnotized as soon he saw you, it made her feel uneasy. Deeply she knew that Coriolanus wasn’t over you. And no matter what, you were a sensible subject for him. That not even herself could ever test.

But he kept going. Each step meant hearing them say how good you looked, the places where they’d put their hands on your body. It boiled his blood.

But finally, the dance killed him. Because maybe for the capitol you were still elegant and classy. Their eyes would publicly appreciate your art, and privately let their mind wander with your half naked body. But for people from the 12. It was like throwing a piece of meat to lions in starvation.

With your hips swaying tentatively, pointed feet and letting everyone know how flexible you were. That sassy look on your face that Coriolanus was feeling too personal. It was like you were saying “look what you lost”.

He was used to see you in pastel tutus, hair in a bun. Not this goddess ritual dance type of thing. The music was very different, something very uncommon in Panem. He really wants to punch every man in the room. He sees how most of the women in the bar see your graceful image with disgust. And Coriolanus couldn’t blame them. But it made him remember that he had lost the right to call you his. And that intrusive thought made him automatically think he wanted to go back home so badly.

Your sensual and meticulous steps keep going, the knives making him remember the folk tales of women dancing with sharp objects to show fertility, honor of their kingdom and to seal a man’s faith. Every minute more desperate for Snow, who’s over the edge of hearing men say plenty of things about you. But soon, the music stops with you arched, pointed feet, your curls kissing the stage, the knives perfectly pointing like a clock.

Coriolanus doesnt miss your evil smile. He can sense you are changing. And he remember all the pain he caused you, making him sigh in resignation. His desire of going back for you only growing.

“I’m sorry I left like that” he explains to Lucy Gray. She notices how quick he drank his beer. She was a woman after all, she knew the effect a fine female could have on men. Especially on the man who was their lover. The one that probably hurt her and left her, ending their history in bad terms.

“It’s okay. I told you she was very pretty before” Coriolanus learns that Lucy Gray was not being sarcastic that day at the zoo.

…

It had come to the point where he couldn’t run away from his thoughts. Coriolanus was borderline obsessed with your memory. He constantly wondered how you were doing. He had to ask Tigris every time they talked to see learn anything about you.

For the first time, since he left the Capitol, Tigris shares that she had talked to you.

Coriolanus was surprised to hear that the reason you gave about the breakup was only because he cheated with Lucy Gray.

You didn’t said a word about him the lies, the last argument you two had. You only say that his songbird was special. And that you stopped to be what he needed.

Which was heavily mistaken. Some days before he accepted that you were the only thing he needed to keep going. He imagines a fake scenario where you came to the 12 with him. You find a humble home where you wait till his training is over. The lake where he spent hours with Lucy Gray and The Covey could’ve been hours with you. Talking about anything and everything. He would’ve come straight home to you when the training was over. Make love to you, promise to fight for a higher position, possibly as a commander one day and marrying you. And soon the years would’ve passed, his exile would be over and you would go back to the Capitol with him. Maybe some children along.

But that would never happen. And his delusion was starting to make him find a way to go back where he belonged.

He questioned if his urges where for power, or to get back with the woman he loved.

Whatever the reason was, a lot of people would pay the price. First were the daughter of the mayor and her partner, then the man who had the decency to hide the gun he used to kill those two. Who also happened to be his alleged best friend.

His hands trembling as he pressed to record Sejanus. But he knew there were high possibilities of being heard. And that way, he would go back. He would find you and slowly start again.

The death of Sejanus would haunt him for a long time. He knew he was a close friend of yours, which made him get chills, uneasy to decide what could be your reaction to the news. Either way, it was done. The heavens had to have heard him. He was offered to serve in District 2, gain some money and he could easily take the train to see you if anything.

But Lucy Gray had other plans. And Coriolanus wasnt even sure of what he was doing. Probably in his rambling and panic after everything he went through as a peacekeeper, one side of him wanted to run away and never see back again. To forget about his decisions as a mentor, to forget about his decisions as a peacekeeper and to forget about you. That way he would never have to face all the pain he caused you.

After some hours of walking, Coriolanus should have seen the signs.

“Everyone in the Covey are really good dancers. But I don’t think it’s my thing. I just have my voice…” Lucy Gray said, holding her bag tightly. Coriolanus only smiled, remembering how bad the songbird was when he tried to teach her how to waltz.

“Is it like… exclusive in the Capitol?”

“I think so. Today there’s only one institution, the mother of…” he goes quiet, realizing what he was about to say.

“…y/n?” She asked, almost nervous about mentioning your name. But in reality, she wasnt. After Coriolanus nodded, they just kept walking in silence.

“Her mother founded it?”

“It was her grandmother actually. Mine knew her, and they were kind of friends” he said smiling, trying to look away from Lucy Gray so he couldn’t see him smiling.

Once you leaned Coriolanus was financially struggling some years ago, you ended up visiting him for the first time. That day you learned Grandma’am was friend of your family before your mother was born. And that only made her appreciate you faster. Which made Coriolanus happy. Finally seeing her grandmother to let go the days of the war and any crazy ideas that stayed on her mind. All thanks to you.

“Grandma’am even started planting pink roses for her.” It slipped out automatically, he couldn’t control it.

“She’s like ink…” Coriolanus missed the point. But after some minutes of silence, he understood what Lucy Gray said. Which resulted true. Metaphorically, you were the brightest tint he’d ever seen. He let that ink fall and splash everywhere, leaving stains on him that probably would never leave.

And finally, Lucy Gray Baird fell to her end in the shallow woods. Hunted like a prey. By a broken man who decided to stop being good. Who was losing his mind for the pieces of a woman he let go so easily.

That changes like the destination of Coriolanus.

He’s going back to the Capitol. With tiny sparks of hope. But firmly believing that everyhting was meant to happen like that so he could go back to you.

However, as he came closer, Coriolanus realized he was lost. He had no idea what would await for him. And what version of you would greet him.

…

There isn’t an exact period over the Capitol that can’t be considered as autumn. The summer was practically over, and winter was already happening. Coriolanus had to wait longer than expected to get into University. In the meantime, he accepted the money from the Plinth family. He decided to get ahead of time. He used the last hot days to get Tigris and Grandma’am back to the penthouse. He bought the whole building and in two weeks the whole place was renewed. There was only one thing he couldn’t get rid of. The living room and entrance olive paint you brought. He painted the halls, dining room, studio and kitchen in a dark blue paint. But he wasnt able to get rid of the memories he made with you. His old self was long gone. But he had his supcisions that the version he was for you would never change.

However, he decided to stay afar from the public eye for that month after returning from exile.

Tigris said she hadn’t seen you. But that was okay. He would soon enter to University. He was going to see you there.

Eventually the day came. He gets rid off Casca Highbottom and then he walks towards the big and imposing University of the Capitol. He had a driver now, but he thought it wouldn’t be bad to use the mornings to walk.

In his first hours inside, he has private lessons with Dr. Gaul. Already mentoring him to be a game maker. She kind of suspects he was involved with the sudden death of Highbottom. But for some reason, Gaul has a lot of hopes in him, so she would easily act blind to keep her plans to keep going.

After that, Coriolanus starts looking out for you. He crosses the big seminar rooms and other halls. Until he is able to locate the arts building. It’s smaller but probably the most interesting. With a beautiful barroque facade. As soon as he enters, he sees a group of girls holding large canvas with beautiful paintings on them. Then, some steps later he spots two guys trying to carry a sculpture. Coriolanus believes that kind of modern art was the future of the Capitol. He had to admit the arts building was fully alive, he even forgot he was still at the university.

Coming down from some stairs, he sees two girls. A red haired and a tanned with black leotards and floral skirts are giggling. They seems like dancers, he doesnt think twice. He’s already approaching the girls.

“Excuse me, ladies. Do you know by any chance where I can find y/n y/l/n?” The girls look cheekily at each other, before smiling at him. Which makes Coriolanus wonder what type of rumours had been flowing around about you and him. Since mostly everyone knew the last Snow heir was dating the daughter of the kings of Panem´s television industry.

“She’s rehearsing a class for new students. It’s on the second floor, you’ll hear the music…” he thanks the tanned girl before going upstairs.

She wasn’t lying. He started hearing the classical piano music. He can hear some distant and low cheering. The whole floor is full of dancers. It’s a long hall, to the right, a big studio, with a classical mural, chandeliers and the most giant mirror he’d ever seen.

The people outside the studio see him with curiosity. But he only has eyes for the ballerina dancing all across the studio.

There you are, with a coral tutu, baby pink leotard and thighs. Your pointe shoes seem new. Your cheeks look so pink and your smile is there.

He has to understand that you have become popular enough to have your own fans. Some rumors said that your mother was offering master classes at the University. And he couldn’t help but think how much your family’s name have growth since he left.

He lost count of many turns you did, but you finish cleanly, offering a beautiful view of your tutu wadding. He can’t stop smiling.

People start a round of applauses. He debates whether to get closer or not. He doesnt have any speech prepared. He doesn’t know what to say to you.

“Coriolanus?” When he turns around, he sees Clemensia Dovecote there. Her old study buddy looked older, but not in a bad way. He saw the scales on her skin. But he didnt had to ask, he knew it was because of the rainbow snakes. It just seemed weird to see her short sleeves but turtleneck, rather than her trying to cover all of her face.

“Clemensia” he greets her. Clemmie was probably your female best friend. It wasnt a surprise that suddenly the woman seemed to dislike him.

“Since when you returned?” He looks back at you again. As the music keeps playing, he just smiles. He know the way things would now work. With no how are you questions or anything like the past.

“Some weeks ago.” Clemensia looks like she’s analyzing every movement and word of him.

“Why are you here?” Her hostile tone only makes Coriolanus to act more relaxed than he already is.

“I made the promise to come back for y/n…” the woman stares at him, probably taken aback.

“She doesn’t need this, Coriolanus. She can’t have this” Clemensia had visited you at the hospital. She learned most of his lies towards you. She knew you didn’t deserved to fall again. And especially not because of him.

“I know, Clemmie. I won’t be a burden for her” the music stops, and Coriolanus decides that it’s not time to talk to you yet. So he smiles once again to Clemensia.

“I hope so. Because you already failed her once…” his smile drops. Clemensia dissapears to get inside the studio. Coriolanus stares at you one last time, before he silently walks out.

…

Before you can reach your glass of posca, a porcelain plate with your food slides on the way. A soft piece pile of fried little steaks, with melted cheese and a golden sauce of mushrooms dripping. Your stomach churns and it makes Clemensia laugh.

She had a salmon fine cut with caviar and other exotic stuff. It was a beautiful afternoon to have dinner at one of the most elegant restaurants of the Capitol Downtown.

“Bless your food.”

“Bless your food” you reply back to her.

“So, How it went the rehearsal?” You roll your eyes giggling.

“It was great, until the girls taking the masterclass appeared to see me” your father was right. After working in the production of the 10th Hunger Games, many doors opened for you. Splendid career opportunities here and there. Only that you didn’t enjoy a lot of attention.

“Are they still at the Academy” you nod.

“Rich girls who can make their parents pay the classes of course” Clemensia smiles, drinking a little bit before getting back to eat.

“Coriolanus was looking for you…” you literally stopped eating. You almost drop your fork, but you decided to hold it firmly.

“What?”

“Apparently he’s back.” She reveals. Making you close your eyes in panic.

“How? He was exiled” you say whispering. Clemmie shrugs.

“Gaul. He’s her pupil star. And with Dean Highbottom dead now…” it must’ve been great for Coriolanus to learn the man was gone. Always putting him in the lowest, it was a mark for change.

“Doesn’t matter, I won’t let this get into my way” she smiles.

“What about what your father said?” During a late lunch, you had been talking with your parents, revealing that you broke up with Coriolanus because he cheated. Your mother was shocked, but soon she joined your father to give a twisted advice. He asked if you still loved him. You answered you weren’t sure.

Then I suggest you to proceed to ignore him. Soon you’ll learn his intentions if he ever comes back. Play with him a little. Show him that nobody will laugh in the face of family like ours. Let your hands get dirty, but never show this insecurity you’re talking about.

From that day, you still wake up every morning without knowing how you actually feel about Coriolanus Snow. You know you can’t just simply forget about all the things you did with him. But you firmly pretended that he was in the past.

“I still don’t know how I feel about him.”

“Are you still in contact with his family?” You remember Tigris and Grandma’am.

“Not as much as I used to”

“Mhm. Did they ever learned what happened?” You sigh.

“Just that he opted to choose the songbird before me. And I know Tigris has her own opinion. I just never gave her the opportunity to share it.”

“With him back… probably you’ll find out sooner than later” Clemensia admits, leaving you thinking for the rest of the dinner.

Turns out that you are not ready to find out yet.

…

The first time you see him, it’s at the gardens of the University. You had lunch and wanted to have a brief walk. Through a maze of flowers and plants, you spot him on a bench. He’s very concentrated reading a book. Your eyes widen, seeing how much different he looked. The posture, the clothes, the hair, the cold look.

Something notoriously changed. And you have your suspicions. It wasn’t a coincidence that Sejanus was gone, and Lucy Gray Baird had dissapeared.

You mourned the death of Sejanus one week. You send your condolences to his parents at the funeral. And that night you can’t help but cry on your pillow. Wondering why had life slowly turned dark. In a matter of months you had experienced things you never thought you would. You lost people, you had your first heart broken. You had lost the will to do much things. But, you had to keep going. And you felt guilty, because you thought you had no right to feel like your life was hard, just for being Capitol. The districts struggled more. However, it’s not on your power to mend their lives. Just as it’s not their case to judge your life.

And now, seeing Coriolanus so firm, so calm, it makes you doubt. Sensing that there must’ve been something off about him. Something bad, like all the things he did and hid from you.

You pretend you’re looking for some papers in your bag when you walk past him. He doesn’t see you though, and you thank it.

A couple of days later, you hear for the first time the rumours about him courting Livia Cardew. It makes you feel depressed. You cry out of anger as soon as you get home.

And to your dismay, the first thing you see after turning into a room for the politics class, it’s them. Coriolanus Snow is talking to Livia just beside the door.

That’s the first time you two look at each other again. He sees the anger, discontent and so much resentment. You see the questioning, curiosity and admiration in his eyes.

Nothing else is said because you break the gazes, you walk inside the room with your head high, and your presence is so evident that even Livia has to look at you. Taking too much time to see your beautiful heels.

A week later, you are having a good time with your friends. Festus and Lysistrata are there with you and Clemensia. You are talking all about the upcoming winter gala held at the biggest auditorium in the Capitol. Everyone is excited because it’s the great opportunity to make contacts and eat the most delicious food.

“Is your mother inviting Coriolanus?” Lysistrata asks with curiosity. You roll your eyes at the subject.

“I hope not. I haven’t even spoken with him ever since he came back” everyone knew you had broke up with him. But only Clemensia knew the details.

“Well, apparently he is courting Livia now” Festus mocks, making everyone laugh. Not that any of you had something personal against Livia. But she wasn’t the most brilliant star at the Academy. Now not certainly at University.

“Why Livia?” Clemmie asks laughing.

“Perhaps it’s becase how naïve she is”

“Or because of her father’s inheritance” you add.

“I don’t think so. He’s now the heir of the Plinth fortune” Festus remarks with dessaproval, which makes you feel angered.

“He’s dancing on Sejanus’ grave” your words create some minutes of silence for your late friend. Even when Festus and Lysistrata had made fun of him for being District and the ways of his parents to go up, at the end, they were friends. And now his absence had created a void.

“Ambitious and annoying. Just like his father…” Lysistrata comments sipping on her glass of water.

“How unfortunate. If he had stayed with you, we wouldn’t be talking bad things about him behind his back” you sigh at Clemensia’s words.

“Speaking of the king…” when you look past Lysistrata seated on her chair, you spot Coriolanus. He was wearing a dark grey suit, he looked so fine you had to admit. But soon you look away, the sudden memories of your last days with him haunt you.

After spotting his old friends and ex lover in a table at the cafeteria, he start walking towards there. Trying to make his first moves to go back to normality.

“Yeah. He would’ve been seated beside me right now. But he consciously choose the songbird before me. At least he’s refining himself a little bit with Livia” your friends turn to look at you in shock after the revelation, Clemmie only rises her brows as she sips her water silently, hiding her smile. By the time Coriolanus arrives the table, you’re gone and he curses himself for not walking faster. Festus and Lysistrata are shocked, making him furrow his brows in confusion.

“Did I missed something?” He asks.

“You had an affair with your tribute?” Lysistrata asks back in disgust. Coriolanus sees Clemensia giggling in silence with her head down. Probably enjoying his embarrassment.

His silence meets the requirement for an answer. One that they take as yes.

“And now y/n knows about you and Livia” Coriolanus frowns ever deeper after looking at Clemensia.

“There’s no Livia and I” He responds firmly. Even disgusted to her his name along the least smart girl of his finances class.

“Oh but everyone believes so. That you’re courting her…” he rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“I’m just talking to her because we’re partners for some stupid research paper” the silent sipping on their drinks at the same time is ridiculous to Coriolanus. He just stares at them annoyed.

“Do me a favor and leave her alone, Coriolanus. You were gone to go to your nobody girl from 12, but I stayed and saw her struggling in that hospital bed” Clemensia speaks confidently. Making the blonde to feel threatened.

So he realises that maybe you could have feelings for him still. And that this rumors could have weight on you. He curses himself. Even without realizing, he’s still hurting you.

“I won’t lose the girl twice, Clemmie. Have a good day” he says with a fake smile before leaving the table in shock.

He had to quicken the pace of his proximity with you. He had to make you see he never stopped caring for you.

…

There’s a shattering mess of broken glasses. You quickly move away from the crime scene, looking for your pills, immediately swallowing two.

Your mother’s assistant opens the door, asking for you with concern.

“Is everything okay, miss y/n?” You turn to look a the woman.

“I accidentally threw the jar. Sorry…” Millie is in her mid thirties. She was your mother’s confidant, and slowly yours too. She sees the news paper in the floor, half of it drenched from the broken jar that had water. She can see the title, The Snow heir tights the knot with the Cardew family?

“I’ll call the maids. Don’t worry” she says looking back at you.

“Thanks Millie.” She smiles, closing the door behind.

You breathe loudly, sighing in stress. Of course you had purposely thrown the water jar because of the news paper. A portrait picture of Livia is placed perfectly aligned with one of Coriolanus. Between some paragraph there’s your name too. But you don’t dare to see why.

You may pretend to be okay to the public eye, but you’re still drowning in the same feelings you got after Coriolanus Snow revealed his lies to you.

It’s almost like if he was still mocking you. Showing everyone how easy he had played with you. And how easy he got rid of you.

Someone had to pay. No, not someone, he. He, himself, Coriolanus Snow had to fail. Only that way you would feel slightly better. Only that way your tears would stop being for him.

The first chance you had, you would take it.

…

While you loved pursuing a dancing career along the production stuff. You still had some duties regarding politics and economy. Which is why you ended up at the submissions office so early in the morning. To send a petition.

You end up at at a messy office. A man is there, moving folders and other type of papers. There’s three baskets that can clearly be read as; approved, denied, pending.

However, you quickly look away to smile at the man who’s sitting behind the chair.

“Good morning.” Your smile is contagious to everyone. The man replies with a warm greeting.

“Good morning, miss y//l/n. How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if you could hand me a petition form to send” he nods, standing up, leaving the mess of papers behind.

“I can, just let me go and print the form. It won’t take too long…” you smile again, letting him go outside the office.

As you wait, you start seeing the racks of boxes and more boxes filled with yellow and lined papers.

Your curiosity grows, making you look at the baskets on the desk.

You see at first glance some graduation petitions, letters, etc. You are still curious to see why some papers where pending. So you look at the door one last time before diving into the papers. You don’t know the first students mentioned. Until you see the third yellow folder, where you can see a white strip with black letter saying Coriolanus Snow.

You open the folder, seeing what it was all about. A petition to start a political campaign at the age of 19. You frowned. He was good at writing. Even with letters he had some charm. But you know he never beated you to be precise and delicate. You always heard Grandma’am saying he would one day be president. But you never seriously discussed it with him. Now you know it was real. And you can’t help but feel an enormous amount of remorse.

He doesn’t deserve it. He had lost everything once, but the way he was earning everything was through breaking you, and probably others you’ll never knew about. Even when it would make Tigris and Grandma’am happy, you slip the folder into the basket of denied. You don’t feel nothing as you do it.

In fact, you offer the sweet man a smile when he comes back with the form for you. You thank him and then walk out.

…

Coriolanus swears he didn’t intend to bump into your father at the bank. Your father was a frivolous man, but since he knew him, he greeted Coriolanus with respect.

The blonde was taken aback when he invited him to have dinner at your house. And he couldn’t say no.

Your house is the same. At least from the outside, because inside, there’s more color. Coriolanus sees your mother. And she offers him a smile before he leans to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Coriolanus, look at you. You look very handsome!” His cheeks warm, as your father giggles, handing his coat to a maid.

“I ran into him at the bank. Where’s y/n, dear?” Your mother laughs, rolling her eyes.

“That girl. I haven’t seen her out of her room since midday” the sudden sound of your heels gets noticed.

“I’m here” you say, coming down the stairs, putting some earrings on. Coriolanus notices the grey dress and black heels along the red tights. A diadem on your head and a bright smile that soon dissapears as you spot him in your house.

“Look who I found earlier” you sigh, standing straight.

“I see…” Your parents can see the way you correct your posture, showing how uncomfortable you are.

“We’re having dinner…” you ignore Coriolanus and his deep gaze on you.

“I can’t stay for dinner. I have rehearsals and I promised Clemmie to go to her birthday dinner party” they exchange looks. And Coriolanus is at the verge of smiling at the way you are making up an excuse to leave. Running away from him.

“Are you meeting with Jan before?” Coriolanus head almost pops to look at your father. And you don’t know if you should smile. Jan was your dance partner, he would dance with you at the gala. He was older, very handsome. And you wished he wasn’t off limits from you. Because you easily could admit your attraction towards him.

“Can you at least stay for some drinks?” You shrug at your mother, accepting your purse from a maid. You ignore Coriolanus and his way of looking at you, almost petrified.

His head was spinning, he needed to know who the hell was Jan.

“Unless you want me to do horrible at the Winter Gala, no. I cannot stay, mother” she sighs, tilting her head towards your father. He understands, your father was the one who convinced you to ignore Coriolanus and play with him.

“Well, that’s fine. Just be polite and say goodbye to Coriolanus.” You nod, watching them leave inside the long corridor to enter the dinning table.

You remain quiet, looking down at your purse to avoid his eyes.

“You look lovely” he says, breaking the ice.

“Thank you.”

It’s the first time you two talk since months ago.

“I heard you want to start your political campaign” you opt to pretend you are okay and you can face him with confidence.

“I did. But the idiots of the council rejected my essay. Guess it’ll give me more time to focus on university.” You nod, grabbing a pair of gloves from inside the purse. You want to smile so badly. He would never know you were the reason of his failed first steps in the politic of Panem.

“Anyways… How you’ve been?”

“I’m fine, Coriolanus.” the way you sound tired. Like tired of him makes him uncomfortable. But he tries to keep his best smile too.

“Who is Jan?” He asks almost too seriously. You smile politely at him

“No one of your business, Snow” you calling him by his last name takes him very aback.

“You know, I just hoped that… you know. Maybe we could start off again… like friends of course” you giggle, lowering your head. He frowns confused.

“Miss y/n, Trevor is waiting in the car for you” the butler say appearing from the side door, you thank him and he leaves again.

“I don’t think there’s a way to start again. You already failed me once, Coriolanus.” You admit, putting on the gloves with a bittersweet smile on your face. You turn to pat his cheek, and he swears he’s about to melt. He lounged for your touch since the moment he left you at the hospital. He closes his eyes, hoping to slow down time and felt your cold touch.

But you move away your hand. He opens his eyes and sees you putting the last pair of the gloves on. You walk towards the door.

“You know where the dinning table room is.” And with that, you are gone.

…

Your father gave him the green light to court you again. Coriolanus had to swear that he would never cause you any type of pain, or else, your father would destroy his career before it officially started.

That was more than enough for him. Since that day, slowly, he had been greeting you almost every day, at Univeristy and when you ecountered him and Tigris in a furniture store. You personally invited her to the Winter gala, and Tigris agreed to not share the news about the invitation. But to the young Snow woman, it was a surprise that your father had already invited Coriolanus to the gala.

Soon the day came. As usual the gala opened with the performance of an specific play, than everyone celebrated in the hall with fine dining, and everyone gossiped as auctions happened. It had been a couple of weeks, very busy ones. Probably it was even more important than the arts gala on March. But for this special occasion you had rehearsed a lot to be an elegant black swan.

You smile at your own reflection at the mirror, the black tutu was gorgeous. The crown you had to use was very intriguing. And the black makeup made you feel very confident.

“I came as soon as I could” Clemensia suddenly opens the door of your dressing room. She looks agitated, but she looked amazing on a beige dress and her hair in half ponytail.

“You look very pretty” she thanks you.

“But look at you. You are going to be amazing.” She sits and both start gossiping.

“Your father invited Coriolanus.” It makes you roll your eyes tired. But you are having a heartache.

“I’m… not sure if I don’t feel anything about him” Clemmie leaves her glass of champagne.

“The newspaper rumour affected you. Right?” Slowly, you nod. Too embarrassed to look at her in the eye. But Coriolanus had been really good. He smiled at you at any chance he could. Some days he would join you and your friends and he was fun, you had to bite your tongue to avoid giggling. And Clemensia had seen it too.

“I can’t blame you. I was there since the beginning…” your friend had seen the courting, the first awkward hand holding, how you two formed a strong connection. And Coriolanus left you at the hospital.

“You two had a beautiful bond. And he broke it. But that doesn’t mean you can’t miss him” Clemmie goes to hug you.

“Pa’ said to keep playing with him, to ignore him. But I’m tired, I just want to heal” she nods, letting you hide your face on her shoulder.

“You want my advice?” You nod.

“Do not force anything. Be polite to him, but avoid giving him any chance yet. As you heal, you’ll find the answer; if you should let him have another chance or not”

A man knocks. When Clemensia opens the door, he receives a bouquet of white roses.

You could recognize those roses anywhere. You get closer, taking the attached note.

Grandma’am and Tigris didn’t know what flowers to cut.

Good luck.

You try to hide your smile. But it’s impossible.

…

The whole place is full. Coriolanus takes a seat with Tigris besides.

“I talked with her yesterday. She said she was very nervous about this one” Tigris says. Coriolanus knows she’s talking about you.

“She’s always perfect, she shouldn’t feel nervous.” His mind was only thinking about Jan. He did his research. And learned he was a former dancer of your mother’s institution. It made him mad.

“Have you thought about inviting her to have dinner?” Coriolanus shakes his head.

“Not yet, I haven’t talked enough to her”

“Well, hurry up. Grandma’am wanted to see you married by the age of 20” she says laughing. But it doesn’t make Coriolanus smile.

“Oh look, it’s starting” Tigris squealed with excitement. The curtains lifted and the show started.

For the first twenty minutes, he’s so bored. Nothing exciting happens. He thinks the white swan is boring. And for the first time, he meets Jan. It makes him feel jealous.

It only worsened when you appeared on stage. Your black attire makes him go mad. He had never seen you in anything like that. He gets very invested in your scenes. He feels the emotion you are trying to project. Sassy, cheeky and attractive. You succeed to him.

Unfortunely, Jan had to appear too. And Coriolanus has to sigh, dealing with the scene of the man holding you to make you gracefully spin. The music doesn’t help, it holds the sense of you and Jan dancing together. Coriolanus knows dancing has a lot to do with acting. But he doesn’t enjoy the looks of lust and desire between you and your partner. The worst part? He had to seat and watch it for at least fifteen minutes.

His head malfunctions. But he already is telling Tigris he needs to the restroom.

It’s a lie. He goes to the dressing rooms. And his luck was so big that he found the one with the name of Jan. He slowly made his way inside. The place was so old that he didn’t need to check for security or anything, but he wanted to make sure nobody would see him in real time.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to accomplish, but surely he wanted to get rid of the man who apparently had your attention now. Your mother had said you and Jan worked very well. And now, with him seeing the performance, he was more than sure he couldn’t let it move forward.

His hand went to his pocket, and his eyes widened. He felt the little glass tubes of narcotics. The same he used to kill Casca Highbottom.

He thought about it just for a little. Was it worth it? Getting rid of a man just to have easier access to you.

Maybe.

Then he questioned how bad he wanted you back. Coriolanus had missed you since day one. He knew he would never love anyone else. He knew no one would treat him as you once did.

So he poured the liquid from one of the tubes inside the water flask resting on the vanity. And before leaving, Coriolanus slipped two more tubes inside the bag that contained Jan’s clothes.

“You took very long at the restroom” Tigris tells her cousin when he came back.

“There was a long line”

…

This time, is different. You smile and you can hear the big round of applauses as you make reverence to go off from stage. You were the last one and the curtains came down finally.

Once you are free, you have all the time in the world to breathe. Other dancers and production staff members congratulate you. But it’s Coriolanus Snow the one who makes you frown confused. He was backstage, looking at you with a soft smile. His classic black suit makes you go back and remember about the Reaping ceremony. How happy that day initiated, and how bad it turned out.

“Coriolanus.” You greet him, he can see a tiny smile on your face.

“You were amazing. As usual, of course”

“Thank you. And for the flowers, they were gorgeous. As usual, of course” he’s so surprised that you were talking to him with some humor sense. Both of you laugh and it feels… warm, and natural.

“It’s nothing. But.. perhaps we could just sit together at dinner?” Your cheeks warmth. You think about your confusing feelings, what your father and Clemensia respectively said. Sitting with him once wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“Yeah, we could.” He smiles, and even when his hair changed, his deeper voice. For some seconds you can see the boy you once loved.

And he almost feels like he was seventeen again. Watching you dance backstage, ready to greet you with a kiss. He sees the girl who helped him so much. And he just know all the horrible things he’d done were worth it.

“I-…” but his words stay lingering in the air. Both of you hear a female scream. Coriolanus and you exchange looks before starting to walk where the sound was heard. In the corridor of the dressing rooms you see a woman lingering to an open door. Immediately you recognize it’s Jan’s room. You quickly make it there, through the pain of your caged foot inside the pointe shoe. Coriolanus goes behind you, already sensing the scene inside.

He hears you gasp in shock, covering your mouth and tears forming on your eyes.

You are in shock, you sob, unable to blink.

Jan is on the floor, pale and blood on his mouth. He’s dead.

And as much as the scene shocks you, you are trained to entertain the Capitol, so you turn to them random woman.

“Go and find Millie. Tell her about this and do keep your mouth shut. Nobody can know beside my parents. Understood?” You indicate the woman with a broken voice. She nods in horror dissapearing through the corridor. When she leaves you can finally cry.

When you don’t know what else to do, you are holding onto Coriolanus Snow. You find comfort on his chest. And he immediately holds you back.

As much as you hate to admit it, you feel you are home in his arms.

With one hand, he closes the door of the dressing room and returns to completely be there to hug you. He smiles, knowing he’s already slowly winning.

Because when your parents find out what happened, they make you put a cute black and green velvet gown with crystals. They make you pretend nothing happened and you sit with Coriolanus and Tigris. Ignoring the upcoming rumors, and certainly not respecting the sudden death of Jan.

…

Two days later, Coriolanus finds you seating on a bench. You are eating a sandwich, looking lost. He takes a seat beside you.

“I’m sorry about Jan. It happened so suddenly” he doesn’t feel sorry. Opposite of what he felt about Sejanus and Lucy Gray. However, he firmly believes it was the only way.

“He was a wonderful man. A devoted dancer, with principales. He had a wife in District 3.” Coriolanus coughs. He wasn’t expecting that. That little detail wasn’t on his research. Something twisted inside him, but he still didn’t regret or felt sorry.

“He didn’t seem the type to use narcotics…he must’ve been very stressed out” you add. Oblivious that you are talking with Jan’s murderer.

“Are you sure you are okay?” You roll your eyes sighing.

“No. I’m not okay, Coriolanus. Not since that cursed Reaping ceremony day”

“I’m just trying to be here for you” he admits, and it’s your breaking point.

“WHY DO YOU CARE NOW? YOU FAILED ME WHEN I MOST NEEDED YOU!” He looks around to see if anyone was around. But the place is empty.

“I know I committed many errors but-“

“BUT NOTHING, CORIOLANUS.” You spit out with such anger, that makes him frown.

“You violated the trust, loyalty, respect and love we had for each other. You dissapear after making me have a damn breakdown. Only to go after that girl. And now you appear trying to mend things?” You won’t tell him about his denied petition and what you did. You just want to share all you couldn’t before at his face.

“Do you know how many doctor appointments I’ve had since you left?” He looks down.

“Twelve. And I have to swallow four different pills every day. Only to stay sane. And who’s fault it is? The hunger games, the galas, dancing, Lucy Gray Baird. But specially, you” when he looks up at you again, you are crying.

“If you really want to be here for me, you need to stay away and leave me alone.” You finall state, looking at his blue eyes one last time, before standing from the bench and walking away.

That wasn’t your day. Neither the following ones. Your pointe shoes died and your size was out of stock. The food took such a long time. Your parents left to have an audience in District 1 and your evening was to listen to music and cry.

But certainly what broke you once again was a phone call.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Y/n?”

“Tigris?” You ask. Her voice sounding worried.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Is everything okay? You sound alarmed, dear” you are able to hear her sighing.

“It’s Grandma’am. She’s sick. Coriolanus is busy at the Univeristy and the doctor I requested hasn’t appeared” your heart beats faster.

“She has a strong fever and it’s been like that for hours.” She adds, finally sounding more worried.

“Tigris, calm down. I’ll call my cousin, he’s one of the most prepared doctors around. I’m going there with you in the meantime” you reassure her, already taking off your nightgown and taking out a dress and coat from your closet.

“Thank you, y/n. I truly appreciate this, thank you.” You hang up after saying everything was going to be okay.

…

You see how changed is the penthouse. Fully renovated, with bright lights that contrasted the dark blue wallpapers. But you find interesting how the olive paint you brought is still there. And your portrait from the day of your eighteen birthday is still with the family pictures.

You wait outside the room of the elder woman, as your cousin is checking Grandma’am. You have to hold the urge from biting your nails. A maid offers you posca, but you can’t think about drinking at the time.

The front doors opens and seconds later, Coriolanus is there. He seems surprised to see you there. Since the day of your argument, he hadn’t see you. He tried calling you but your butler said you were out for the weekend to your grandparents house.

“Y/n?” He asks, dropping his coat on a chair.

“Tigris called me. She wanted a doctor for your grandmother” he worried a bit.

“Is she not feeling better. When I left she seemed better…” he says hurrying to go to her room, but you stop him, grabbing by his forearm.

“Don’t. My cousin is already there with her. I’m waiting for the results” Coriolanus only stares at you. He wants to smile. You came only to help his family once again.

“You look very lovely” you smirk, looking at his window with your arms crossed.

“Really? Your grandmother is sick and you are here saying how lovely I look today?” He smiles.

“You told me to wait. What else can I do?”

“How cynical of you” you respond coldly. After all you told him, he was acting like it never happened.

The door of the room opened and Tigris came out with your cousin.

He revealed Grandma’am was having a little difficulties in her lungs, which made her prone to catch a flu. He gave her some strong medicines and promised it would be fine with some days of resting.

After some minutes, you are also ready to leave.

You say good night to the Snow cousins and leave.

“Y/n. Wait…” Tigris comes out. Stopping you some feet away of the now working elevator.

“I-… Thank you.” She slowly says hugging you.

“It’s nothing, Tigris. I told Coriolanus once I would always help the people I love” Tigris suddenly feels so sad to hear you say that. She really hoped you and her little cousin had a different ending.

“He still loves you so much.” You fight harder against the tears when she says that.

“I know. And I still love him too. But… he never apologized. And I’m not ready to let go my resentment towards him.” You admit looking away.

“Although things did’t work out for you and Coriolanus, I really appreciate and care for you, y/n” se almost whispers in your ear. And your eyes water.

“I feel the same, Tigris. I really do” you reply slowly, controlling your voice to not sound cracked.

“I’ll come back in some days” she nods.

She lets you go and you finally head out. Not noticing that Coriolanus heard everything.

He never apologized.

That night, you are reading on the living room when your butler walks in.

“Coriolanus Snow is asking for you in the telephone” you thank him, walking bare feet towards the kitchen telephone.

“Yes, Mr. Snow?” You ask.

“I just wanted to thank you for coming today. You didn’t have to and yet you appeared here” you sigh.

“Whatever that happened between us has nothing to do with my relationship with Tigris and your mother” now he sighs, from his office, in complete darkness.

“About that y/n…” your hands go numb, and panic floods you.

“You don’t know how much I’m-“

“I know.” You interrupt him, cracked voice and you hang up.

“Sorry” he says through the dead line.

That night, you read his letters. The ones he sent when he was a peacekeeper at the 12. Where he seemed to have projected his more vulnerable and emotional side of his heart. Maybe he had been drunk, maybe Lucy Gray wrote them for him. You’d never know, and you preferred to ignore the idea of him actually feeling sorry.

…

A week later you’re applauding for Grandma’am as she sings for you. You smile, changing her pillow case and complementing how much of a sweet voice she had.

It’s getting late, and you must return to your house.

After wishing Grandma’am sweet dreams, you carefully close her door and you walk with the old pillow case away.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Tigris asks with a sweet smile, taking the pillow case from you. Coriolanus is seated, drinking something as he carefully looks at you. You ignore him.

“I must decline, dear. I have to go back and pack some things” she frowns, stopping to put some plates on the dinning table.

“Pack?”

“Yes. I think I’ll spend the holidays at District 1. My mother is opening a new studio and she’s going to need help. And well, if everything goes right, I might even stay there” Tigris almost drops the pillow case. And Coriolanus almost chokes on his drink.

“What? Why?. What about university? The galas? Your production job for the hunger games” you shrug with an honest smile.

“Lately the Capitol life has... it has been a burden. I want to live a peaceful life. I want to heal” Tigris sends daggers with her eyes to Coriolanus. He coughs, uncomfortable.

“CORIOLANUS!” Grandma’am calls the man, you only sigh. And slowly, he stands up to to the woman. He hears you keep talking with Tigris. And he wants to do something to stop you from leaving. Now he can give you the life he couldn’t before.

“Is everything alright, Grandma’am?” The elder woman looks at him from her bed.

“Are you really letting that young woman to walk away again?” Coriolanus frowns.

“What?”

“You’ve heard me.” Even in her sick days, she was firm.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore” Grandma’am shrugs.

“I don’t think so. Her eyes shine sadly at every mention of you. She was part of the family after all.” Coriolanus remains quiet. But he admits to himself that’s what he missed the most.

“I think she always waited for an apology. One that never came.” His heart pounds very fast. He tried, and you hung up.

“What do you suggest me to do?” Grandma’am smiles, coughing tiredly.

“You run to wherever she goes and beg on your knees. One time you show her vulnerability and you’ll never do it again. We, women, only want real love, stupid love. You show her that stupid love once and you can silently do it for the rest of your again”

“You already won the money and respect. You’re just missing out the girl” Coriolanus sweats, but when he turns to look at her grandmother again, she nods, reassuring him.

“Go. Get her back, Coriolanus” without saying anything back, he leaves.

When he enters the dinning room, he only sees two plates of food. He looks at Tigris confused.

“Where’s y/n?” She shrugs, taking a seat.

“She just left.”

Coriolanus runs. He actually runs out of his penthouse and when the elevator starts taking to much time, he decided to choose the stairs as his getaway. He feels sweaty and agitated, but as he goes down, he can’t help but feel slightly happy, the adrenaline of making it on time make him hurry.

“Y/N!” He yells your name once he makes it to the lobby, where he can see you turning back to see him.

You are waiting for Trevor when he appears running towards you.

And before you can even blink or breathe, he gets on his knees.

“Coriolanus Snow. What are you doing?” You ask confused and blushed.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

“I’m sorry about all the stupid things I did. I’m sorry about letting you down. I’m sorry for ruining our relationship. For letting you in that hospital bed and return to do everyhting but apologize to you” you look at him perplexed, not believing his words.

“I can’t lose you again. Because I know you’re the last and only person I’ll love. I won’t trust anyone else. And nobody would have ever looked down at me like you did when I had nothing” you sigh, feeling the tears coming again. You know he’s not lying. You knew him so well that you sense it.

“If you let me. To give me another chance, I’ll do things right. I will never fail you again in life. You’ll be the only person I’ll cherish and show love.” He offers you his hand, and he looks very suppliant.

You blink quickly to soothe the tears. And you know he doesnt deserve you. But aren’t the best person, so maybe you two were actually meant to be together.and that’s the only viable reason to why you want to let your heart freely beat for him again.

“Please don’t go, y/n” he whispers, waiting for your answer. You sigh, slowly and shaking, but you end up taking his hand.

“You’ll better be the most perfect lover of the history of Panem, then” he wraps your fingers together, and stands up.

“I promise, I swear” he knows the memory of Lucy Gray would always follow him. As well of all the deaths he had caused. But nothing compared to the joy of him kissing you again.

Your lips welcome him in the most sweet way. And he finds himself smiling through the kiss, gently holding you closer to him.

It’s in the start of the Road of Hope in the Capitol where Coriolanus Snow had his fully owned penthouse. Where he had nothing, and now had won everything.

…

Time flies, things had changed, probably for the better. You made Coriolanus keep fighting for a good and healthy relationship. Slowly, he made you completely fall in love again. And although there was certain spark missing, you knew it would never come back. However, you had also accepted that both of you had grown up.

The late talks were mature now. Talking about the future of Panem, planning dinners together. The kisses were more passionate, unlike the softness that was all over your early relationship. The sex was harder rather than slow and sweet like the beginning. Coriolanus would like to leave many hickeys scattered across your body, make a wet mess of saliva and fluids. He loved feelings your almond nails leave gentle scratches across his pale back.

But certainly, the biggest change was the way you two were handling a life together.

After turning twenty, you got married. Soon Coriolanus bought the house he always wished to give you. The one with black and white tiles floor, beige walls and big stairs.

By the first week in, he had done many refurbishments and he had fucked you in every room, every corner and every surface of the house.

Till the day you turned twenty-two. By that time, you had almost ditched your dancing career. Sometimes you still had some chances to perform on galas. But Coriolanus convinced you to focus on public services and the production of the hunger games. Dr. Gaul had officially retired, and it was going to be the first year of Coriolanus as a game maker. Things had really changed.

But everything seemed fine.

“Dear, Are you ready?” You turn to look at your husband, who waits on the frame of the door.

“Just one moment” you run to slip into your silver heels before grabbing your purse.

Trevor kept his job as your chauffeur and Millie was now your private secretary. Sometimes you hated how formal your life had become. Especially now that Coriolanus had some plans in mind.

As soon as you arrive to the fancy patio from a million-dollar man house, many women eye you and Coriolanus.

“Remind me what are we doing here?” You ask him. He holds your hand tightly, smiling at many of the invited people.

“I’m assuming the role of game maker. You are giving a speech about the improvements for the 14th Hunger Games, my dear” you nod, clutching onto his cold hand harder. Both of you were kind of the sensation around the Capitol. You know how they whisper about your dress and your husband’s physic.

“You’re going to be fine. You always choose the right words. And your voice can charm anyone here” he whispers on your ear, pressing a soft kiss on your temple.

“Thank goddess I’ve been studying the constitution. Or else these men would bury me” Coriolanus laughs. Soon you enter the actual event. With long white tables, candles and everyone dressed either on red or black.

“Men around here don’t know how smart my wife is” he says shrugging, remembering how many honors you received from university. Some of the wives ask you to join them. You wave hello to them before leaning to your man.

“Do not make me jealous or leave me alone during the speech.” You firmly say to him.

“Of course not, my love”

“Love you.” And with one last kiss, you walk away.

For the rest of the night. You feel uneasy. Because you succeeded with the speech. But once you read the part from Coriolanus, you are at the verge of babbling.

He shared some of his initial proposals for the games. Like lowering the age of the tributes, increasing the obstacles in the arena, using more mutts, allowing weapons, and making the interviews with Lucky Flickerman longer.

It had been a long time since you think about the games so much. But that guilt you felt after seeing Coriolanus as mentor, never left. And after that dinner, everyone claps for your husband and you, after being considered as the couple of the next generation for Panem.

In the privacy of your new home, you constantly zone out to think about it. You can’t ask Coriolanus to stop the games, but he could make some changes.

You knock swiftly on his door.

“Come in.” You walk in and he drops the papers he was signing to smile at the sight of you.

“Hello, you.” he says cheekily.

“Hello, you’.” You reply. He indicates you to seat on his lap and you do so. His arms lock around you, hands resting on your back.

“Are you coming to bed anytime soon?” You ask.

“I just need to sign some things, darling” he watches you frown, and he won’t say you look older, because you don’t. But you certainly look wiser, mature and more like a woman rather than a girl.

“I’ve been thinking about the games” He’s all ears now. He knows you had some specific opinions. You had said in your first interview how brutal the games were.

“What about them?”

“I would never ask you to stop the games. But…” you stop, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

“But what, my dear?”

“Don’t you think those tributes are humans? Yes, the Districts deserve to be reminded of the consequences of their acts. But most of the tributes are kids. Who don’t even understand everything that conveys a war.” Coriolanus sighs, trying to choose the correct words to answer you.

“What are you suggesting?” He tries to sound calm, but the mere subject makes him a little irritated.

“I don’t know… Maybe giving them more opportunities?” He giggles, caressing the skin on your hips.

“Giving them opportunities means going soft on them. And going soft on them could trigger a new rebellion” this time you sigh, trying to persuade him by brushing his hair, softly grasping his chin.

“Not like that, Coryo. I mean… raising the majority age of the tributes. Giving them at least the chance to train. To eat a proper meal on the last night. To show who they are one last time before they’re sent to die” Coriolanus would always believe that you’re only one weakness was your humanity. How you always turned to see down on others, feeling guilty from being born with all the commodities.

So, he tries to ignore it. He tries to see your suggestions as a way to punish the tributes harder. Give them everything to then killing them.

So, he smiles, urging you to kiss him. You reply immediately, holding him closer to feel the heated proximity.

“I could arrange some changes. Would that make you feel better?” You nod on his lips, smiling.

“Now let me finish this before meeting you in bed. And I expect you have this thing off before I get there” he says grabbing your nightgown. You laugh with a potent blush, gently pushing him away.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly. In two days, we start the tour, we will be very tired to make love daily as we do now” you roll your eyes, almost running away ad your husband laughs, making fun of your embarrassment.

“This is madness. I’m going to bed” you say getting out of his office.

“Don’t forget about what I said!” He yells, making you smile in love as you leave upstairs, wishing good night to the maids and butler. For the record, you do not forget about your husband’s petition.

…

The best part of the house is the rooftop in your opinion. A terrace with cristal walls and ceilings that had a gorgeous view of the Capitol. A view that included some monuments and the snowy mountains surrounding the city.

You had a little bar there, an eccentric dining table and some couches with colorful cushions.

Grandma’am made you take some of his roses so you could start your own garden. That brought tears to your eyes. But now, it was only you and Tigris there.

You asked the chef to make some vegetables and creams as your sister-in-law arrived for dinner. Coriolanus and you were set to leave the next morning for his political campaign tour.

“Have you packed everything?” Tigris asks.

“Yes. I wish I could take Trevor with me. But only Millie will be able to come” you say smiling. Tigris notices how you constantly look at the door, hoping to see Coriolanus entering.

“Have you told him?” You shake your head at the woman.

“Not yet. Probably by the time we arrive District 4. We have good memories from there” Tigris smiles. She was really excited when you got back together with Coriolanus. She even made your wedding dress. And now she was so proud of the career you two were making.

“Sorry for the delay. I was arguing with some incompetent who cancelled the delivery of our new chandeliers” Tigris rolls her eyes as your husband cheekily smiles.

“Dinner isn’t ready yet, anyways” you say patting his back as he takes a seat beside you.

“You shouldn’t be stressing over the tour. Your dear wife must’ve prepared the most wonderful speeches for you to say” Coriolanus smiles, turning to give you a peck on the nose, making you laugh.

“It’s not that, Tigris. It’s the time that’s freaking me out. I don’t want to be gone for almost two months.” You sigh, trying to keep everything together. You just pray that the tour goes smoothly.

“Each district will host you with all commodities” it’s a lie. Coriolanus isn’t ready to go to District 12 again. Where his father died, where he committed the worst decisions of his early life. He knows those days will be a little sour. But he’s willing to play pretend very well for you.

“It’s going to be fine. Pardon me, dear” Coriolanus says after seeing your face of over thinking. His wife is so smart that she’s probably wondering the same as him. And that’s the least he needs of.

You take his hand, before hearing the food has arrived. The air changes, the dinner flows happily as you talk and gossip with Tigris and your husband. It’s a great dinner actually.

Maybe he broke your heart when you were teenagers. But you delayed his political campaign for four years. Maybe he had looked too much at Lucy Gray Baird, but at the end it would only be you.

You could’ve done better to get rid of that guilt for participating in the hunger games, but you just realize that maybe you didn’t because you are not a good person either.

Even so, every morning, you wake up in his arms as he fulfilled his promise of never failing you again.

You just hope that the tour, the upcoming games and everything else doesn’t get into your way. Nothing can be a bother. Not when Coriolanus Snow’s first child rests peacefully in your womb.

The future was uncertain. But your past and present along him always seemed like… a hatred road.

_____________________________________________

fyi, in my head, if reader hadn’t delayed Coriolanus political emergence, the second rebellion would’ve started earlier and probably it wouldn’t have been successful. (Basically it would’ve been like a second time “dark days” situation and then back to reconstruction again)

Taglist: @dear-bunnyboo @daydreamerprocrastinator @lecrercsgirlshhs @athanasia-day @devils-blackrose @reader-bookling123 @cookielovesbook-akie @justacaliforniandreamer @m1ndbrand @blairfox04 @darktrashsoulbear @fartybobabutt @diannana @iwantosleep @sarysuniverse @unclecrunkle @f1-futurewag-16-3-4-63 @didneyworld13 @imguce @angelscrime @impeterporker @lem122 @cryaka @ietss @michelleisheres-blog @capsiclesworldsblog @circe143

[creatingblackcharacters]

Lesson 4: "Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life

Inspired by this ask

So, do Black people blush?

We are human beans 🤣! Blood rushes through our veins! This isn't just a nonblack misconception either; I know plenty of Black people who think we don't blush. Stop saying that shit. It's not true! If you thought this at any point, I'm glad you learned, TAKE THIS L IN SILENCE! I am sparing you the indignity of saying this out loud, ever! 🙏🏾

Jokes aside, the actual issue usually lies with the depiction or description. Depending on our skin tone, most of us aren’t going to turn ‘bright pink’ with a blush (if you write that in your y/n or roleplaying fics, that’s an easy way to negate a good amount of your potential Black audience). Think of a cherry coke- how you still see the tint of red in it, but it’s still brown? Like that.

One way to dodge this in writing is to say “flushed”, or “ears/cheeks became hot”. This is describing the physical action of blushing, without having to describe the color of someone’s face. If you’re really nervous about not writing us correctly via blushing… there you go!

Colorism

Okay. So this is something I’ll likely do its own lesson on, because there’s no way I could encapsulate it into one little blurb and I’m not going to try! After asking the internet an admittedly confusing question 😅, one thing I was able to reaffirm is that people have different opinions on what ‘dark’/’darker’ skin tones mean. People recognize that different cultural upbringings and contexts will change what that means! And that’s good- that an important part of the larger conversation!

However, I want everyone to understand that you don’t have to be Black to be dark/’darker’ skinned- you can be Black and very pale! We discussed that in the last lesson! There’s no ‘singular point of brown-ness’ that designates a Black person as ‘Black’- there’s an entire sociological conversation behind that!

My point is, this isn’t a ‘oh Black people OVERALL aren’t depicted blushing properly’- because there are ‘lighter’ skinned Black people that wouldn’t suffer as much from this particular issue.

Blushes and Undertones

Three Links for Tips on Medium to Deep Skintones

Different complexions are going to require different colors, there's not a 'one fits all' option. However! What we want to do for deeper brown complexions is to focus on BOLDER, not lighter! Putting light pink or a white person’s ‘nude’ on our skin will often make us look ashy and undercolored. And we don’t like looking ashy.

"It looks like they're ashy!"

What do we mean when we say this about a piece? Well, worse case scenario, it looks like this:

This was NOT one of KD’s better days, and he was thoroughly mocked for this. He got more than enough money for lotion! Anyway, when we say that your art looks ‘ashy’, it means that it feels like the skin of your Black character is gray, or dead. Like a corpse. We don’t look like that unless things are dire.

In fan and professional art, you can sometimes find people user a grey undertone for deeper shades of brown on Black people: NO! We are NOT grey! We are not pitch! Many skin shades of brown can be found based in the oranges and the reds. Based on lighting and depth of complexion, you might even have to go into the blues and purple to capture the brown you’re seeking.

I’m begging us to stop desaturating the browns we use. We can see the difference. It’s usually one of those ‘White Man Painted Brown’ techniques I discussed before; an attempt to ‘make a character Black’ without really committing to it because the brown skin tone ‘doesn’t look good’ to the artist. Brown is beautiful! Commit to brown! Commit to the full design!

Put in the work to create the brown you need!

While this is a traditional art piece (follow Ellie Mandy Art, a Black creator), I want you to notice how she incorporated many colors to create the deep brown for her piece.

-8:05 for the list of paints

-8:05-17:29 for the process

She used black, yes, but it was nowhere near the base color. She incorporated blues and reds and other browns to capture that depth. It wasn’t ‘toss in a bunch of black or grey to get the brown darker’. (SKIP TO THE END TO SEE HOW GOOD THIS PIECE IS, BTW. I felt like I was in the presence of a master watching her do this, fr. We gotta pay artists more.)

I want to use this model as an example to show that while we might get very dark, we're still not 'pitch black'. You can see the flat of the black of their clothes versus their deep complexion. They're not the same!

Even if your character's complexion is very deep brown into black, you still need to incorporate ‘life’ into them (if that makes sense). And you know what? Even if you want to describe your characters as having ‘black’ skin, that’s fine, but there are still other ways to do it- obsidian, the night sky, velvet. Find a way to romanticize our skin (there’s an entire conversation about how ‘black’ is used in a negative connotation in language and storytelling, and we’re ALSO going to have that conversation later!)

A Real Simple Way (i.e. how I do it)

I tried, but I cannot find my skin tones palette link anymore. I’m sorry! But, it’s been essential to my character design. If you don’t ever buy anything else, I would HIGHLY suggest investing in a skin tones palette for your art program.

Everyone say hello to Philia, my OC! I’m used to drawing her, so I’m going to use her as an example. Now remember, I am still an amateur! But this is how I do it!

Admittedly, I do the one on the left when I'm feeling lazy, but more often I'll take the time to do the one on the right. Now here’s the thing- I’m not actually blending the red into the brown. This is on a whole different layer. What I’m actually doing is adding to and fading the color until it’s at a color that I feel is natural. There's definitely an easier, smarter way to do this, but that’s what I like to do- I like to see the stages slowly until I’m comfortable.

You have to mess around and practice; see what looks good and what doesn't. Go into the reds, the oranges, the pinks and observe how it looks- I may go through multiple before I settle on one. It’s really just a matter of getting used to drawing Black skin tones and how they look in different lighting. This one's not perfect for sure.

Resources

Here are some really good posts and Youtube videos on how both to paint skin, and to add blush tones. And remember, as per my usual, the best way to learn how the draw and paint Black people is to follow and learn from Black artists! Another good idea might be looking into Black makeup and Black SFX makeup artists. As people that work with skin on a regular basis, they would be a good place to study what colors can and should be used on different skin colors as a whole.

ami0amii

Likelihood Art

Tiara Anderson

Proko

Sinix

Ross Draws

In summary, focus on bolder colors, be willing to test until you get what you need, and practice! All you can do to get better is to practice! And as always: it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Jacked Up Love

Jack Hughes X Best Friend! Reader

(Brothers Best Friend AU)

a.n: I have been bouncing around my living room as I typed this up. I have so many ideas for this fic since I want it to be on the longer side. I hope you guys enjoy and please message me if you have any questions or want to be added to the tag list. <3

warnings: flirting, not proofread, fuckboy jack, alcohol usage, allusion to cheating.

masterlist link

Summary: Caught between a secret crush and family loyalty, she shares an undeniable, electric connection with his best friend, Jack Hughes. Haunted by her feelings and the fear of Lee's reaction, Y/N finds solace in a cozy girls' night where her friends encourage her to take a chance on love.

word count - 3184

...

The music thumped through the crowded living room, the bass reverberating off the walls and shaking the floor beneath your feet. Partygoers spilled out into every available space, red solo cups clutched in their hands as they swayed to the rhythm of the beat.

It was your twin brother Lee's birthday bash, a wild celebration that would seamlessly transition into yours once the clock struck midnight.

Red and purple lights flashed in sync with the music, casting colorful shadows over the throng of people. The air was thick with the scent of beer and sweat, slowly beginning to choke you.

The living room was a chaotic blend of laughter, shouted conversations, and the clinking of cups, with decorations hastily thrown together to give the place a festive feel.

As much as you wanted to enjoy this moment for your brother, you couldn't. The music, the cake your friends had painstakingly made, the thoughtful gifts scattered across a table – none of it could lift the heavy weight in your heart. You were drowning in the secret you'd been carrying for months, maybe even years.

Through the haze of bodies and strobe lights, your gaze locked with a pair of striking blue eyes. Jack Hughes, Lee's best friend and the object of your forbidden affection, stared back at you intensely from across the room.

The connection between you two was electric, undeniable, a connection girls would kill for – but also utterly wrong. You knew his fan girls would kill for that look, that moment alone with him.

You quickly averted your eyes, guilt twisting in your gut.

The pulsating energy of the party seemed to mock your inner turmoil, each beat of the music hammering home the impossibility of your feelings. You took a sip from your cup, hoping the alcohol might dull the ache, but it only served to remind you of the secret you could never share.

As the minutes ticked down to midnight, the anticipation in the room grew. People began to chant Lee's name, the excitement palpable. But all you could think about was the man standing just a few feet away, and the forbidden connection that both thrilled and tormented you.

Instead of suffering in the heat of his presence, you made your way to the kitchen for a refill, snippets of conversation floated past you. But one hushed whisper from Lee's girlfriend made you freeze in your tracks.

"Mhmm yeah I know right!!” she whisper-shouted. “But did you hear? Jack's seeing someone on the side that no one knows about," she murmured conspiratorially to her wide-eyed friend. "But she came and told me. She’s my friend’s cousin. Apparently, he's been sneaking around with her for weeks now."

Your blood ran cold as the words sank in and your breath hitched as you tried to gasp for air but it ceased to work. The room seemed to tilt around you. Jack was cheating?

But how could that be, when just last night he'd held you in his arms and promised that you two would find a way to tell your brother about your secret relationship?

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around to see Jack standing there, his expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," he said quietly, urgently. "Meet me upstairs in five minutes."

With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you reeling. Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of it all. What the fuck was going on?

Trembling slightly, you ascended the stairs, navigating each step slowly on your wobbly legs. You had a sinking feeling that whatever awaited you in the room above would change everything - for better or for worse. The only question was, were you ready to face the truth?

…

5 months prior…

You'd known Jack since childhood, as he and your brother Lee had been inseparable since kindergarten. He was the epitome of popularity in high school.

His easygoing charm and infectious laugh made him a magnet for attention, and he reveled in teasing you relentlessly about the most trivial matters. You had always brushed off his playful flirting, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered, but it wasn't until sophomore year that you started seeing him differently.

It happened gradually at first - lingering glances across the cafeteria, a flutter in your stomach whenever he flashed that crooked grin. But by junior prom, you were head over heels.

You could still remember that night vividly. Jack had shown up at your door looking unfairly gorgeous in his tailored suit, ready to pick up Lee for their double date.

When his eyes met yours, time seemed to slow. "Wow, Y/N," he'd said softly, his gaze raking over your dress appreciatively. "You look beautiful."

Your cheeks had flushed scarlet at the compliment, and in that moment, you knew you were a goner. As Jack and Lee posed for photos, laughing and joking around, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the tall, athletic figure of your brother's best friend.

You loved the way his dark hair flopped over his forehead boyishly, the way his blue eyes sparkled with mischief and intelligence. He was charming and quick-witted, always ready with a joke or a sarcastic quip. But beneath that cocky exterior, you sensed a deep loyalty, a steadfast devotion to those he cared about.

That summer, you found yourself spending more and more time with Jack and Lee, the three of you lounging by the pool or goofing off playing video games.

Every accidental brush of Jack's hand against yours set your skin on fire. You lived for those little moments - a shared inside joke, a knowing glance when Lee said something ridiculous.

Now you found yourself engrossed in videos on your phone as you lay on your side in your bedroom. You felt the weight of the bed shift as it dipped on the other side and a pair of strong arms snaked around your waist, a low, husky voice whispered in your ear, “Miss me?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the familiar timbre. “Definitely not,” you scoffed, tossing your phone onto the bed. “Did you need something, or are you just here to bother me with your existence?”

Jack chuckled softly, his breath warm on your neck. “You're way too serious,” he whispered, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck and pulling you closer. “You need to relax once in a while, you know...”

“God Jack, you're such a fuckboy,” you muttered, voice strained as you weakly fought against his hold, worming your way off your side.

He laughed softly, tightening his grip on your waist. “Aww, don't say that like it's a bad thing,” he whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead. Over the years you had grown used to Jacks subtle affection, but that didn’t help the skip of your heart anytime he came with an inch of you.

“Is it *bad* for me to want to hold my best friend's sister?” His words were laced with a playful, almost teasing tone, but his touch was anything but playful.

It was possessive, almost desperate, and it sent shivers down your spine. “Depends on what your intentions are,” you replied curtly, trying to maintain what composure you had left. “You know we're never gonna happen, right? Can't ever and won't ever.”

You knew you were pushing him away but couldn't help it; the thought of anything more than friendship with him felt wrong, forbidden.

Jack shrugged, “you never know,” he whispered, his voice a husky murmur against your skin. “There could always be a chance...”

His words were a dangerous siren song, tempting with a future you knew you couldn't have. “Trust me, I know Jack.” You whispered back, heart thrumming against its cage like a frantic drum. The sound of your racing heartbeat was a betrayal, a secret you feared Jack would overhear.

“You're nervous,” he whispered against your cheek. “I can hear and feel your heart, it’s so loud y/n… am I making you nervous?”

Panic surged through you at his words and suddenly you felt the need to get away. “oh my god, do you hear that? I think my brother's calling me,” you said placing your hand against your ear, dramatically looking towards the door as if searching for his voice. You finally broke free from his hold.

You readjusted your clothes, trying to regain your composure and walked towards the door, turning back to look at Jack with a forced smile. “Come on!”

“But we were just getting to the exciting part,” he whines, adjusting himself into a seated position. An idea sparks into his mind, and he proposed, “Why don't you go check on your brother while I stay in your room? When you're ready, come fetch me.”

He gave you a sly grin, raising his eyebrows suggestively while he relaxed himself against the headboard.  

“No way,” you protest, marching towards jack and firmly grasping his strong, muscular arm. “Let's go.” Undeterred, he readily follows your lead, allowing you to pull Jack to his feet.

“Alright then, I suppose you're just not in the mood for some playful banter,” He say with a shrug, trailing behind you as you exit your room.

…

As you both made your way down the stairs, you can't help but be drawn to the pictures of Lee and you that adorn the walls. Each one brings back a flood of memories, creating a timeline of your life, that is both heartwarming and bittersweet.

Your eyes come to a stop on a black and white photo of Jack and yourself from three years ago, taken in the very room upstairs on senior prom night.

Jack takes note of you pausing beside him, his eyes following yours to the photo. A small smile tugs at the corners of jack’s mouth as he take in the sight of you both looking so young and carefree. “Ah, I remember that night...” jack says softly, laughing softly. “God, you were a pain in the ass...' he teased, his voice full of affection.

“Like you were any better,” you shoot back, nudging your arm playfully.

Jack laughed, unable to deny the truth in your words. “Hey, at least I didn't whine and complain the whole time. You promised me that if I went to this party with you that you wouldn't complain, but of course you did...” he trailed off, recalling the events of that night.

You pause, mock-offended at his accusation. "Me? Complain? Never! I was just expressing my opinions on the music selection. There's a difference, you know," you say, pretending to be scandalized.

"And it's not my fault your fan girls kept stepping on my feet,” you say with a mock glare. “What even happened to that one girl? Weren't you supposed to go to prom with her that night?”

“You mean Jennifer? It seems like a lifetime ago now.” Jack raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “Yeah, I was supposed to go to prom with her, but she was a bore. I didn’t plan on going to prom with her to begin with.” He admits.

“Being with her felt... forced. It didn't feel right. She found herself a different guy to go with anyway." He shrugs again, not bothered in the least. “But what about you? Who were you going to go with, huh?”

You look away sheepishly. “You’re the only person I asked.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, a flicker of surprise in those azure eyes. But then he smiled softly, feeling a warmth in his heart at your words. "Did you secretly have a crush on me back then or something?" he teases, with a hearty laugh.

“In your dreams.” You scoff, pushing his shoulder before continuing down the stairs.

He catches you off guard by wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close, smiling brightly at you. “Maybe dreams do come true, you know?” he whispers, "Don't worry, it's okay to admit it. You can't resist this face," jack jested, striking a ridiculously cheesy model pose.

“We could never do that, Jack.” You sigh.  

“Yeah yeah... but…” he trails off as you lean your head onto his shoulder, his arms tightening their grip around you.  He was silent for a moment before he started again. “You feel that?” he whispers, referring to how perfectly your bodies fit together. “It feels like we’re made for each other.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.” You turn in his arms, now facing him.

Jack tilts his head slightly, looking at you. “And why can’t I?” he asks, a sly smile on his face. “You don’t feel it too? That there’s definitely some sparks between us?”

He reaches up, gently cupping your face while he presses his forehead to yours, your lips just barely touching. The warmth of his skin and the scent of his cologne envelop you, creating a bubble of intimacy.

You say nothing, just continue staring into his eyes, your thoughts a whirlpool of confusion and desire. “We were supposed to be down there 10 minutes ago, Jack. Let’s go.”

Jack rolls his eyes slightly, looking back at the photograph before sighing in defeat. “Fine, let’s go then.” the creak of the wooden steps underfoot and the distant hum of conversation from the living room growing louder. The smell of freshly baked cookies wafts from the kitchen, mingling with the tang of lemon cleaning solution.

…

You glance around the living room, searching for your brother's watchful eyes before allowing Jack to veer into the living room. The room is a burst of activity: Lee's friends scream in triumph as they win another round of NHL, their cheers filling the space with infectious energy.

The flicker of the TV screen casts a blueish glow across their faces. Lee huffs deeply, turning his disappointed gaze to Jack as he plops onto the couch, the leather squeaking beneath him.

Jack laughs softly, joining his friend on the couch. “You’re just making it easy at this point,” he chuckles, shaking his head mockingly. The warmth of the room, filled with the scent of popcorn and the underlying hint of teenage sweat, contrasts sharply with the cool leather of the couch.

“I get why you’re losing though; you have other things on your mind…” Jack tilts his head slightly as he speaks, shooting a glance in your direction unbeknownst to you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of teasing and unspoken affection.

…

The following weekend, snow fell in thick, lazy flakes, covering the world in a pristine white blanket. Inside, the warmth from the fireplace filled the room, the crackling flames casting a cozy glow that softened the edges of your living room.

Your three closest friends trickled in, each carrying trays of colorful cocktails, the drinks decorated with festive garnishes. Laughter and chatter filled the air as they set the trays on the coffee table, their cheeks rosy from the cold.

"Y/N, this place looks amazing," Sophie exclaimed, shrugging off her coat and hanging it by the door. "And I needed this so much. Work has been a nightmare."

"Tell me about it," Ava chimed in, plopping down on the couch and grabbing a cocktail. "I feel like I haven't slept in days. But tonight, it's all about us."

Mia, the last to arrive, brought a tray of her famous spiked hot chocolate. "Who needs a beach vacation when you have a fireplace and booze?" she joked, handing you a steaming mug.

Jersey Shore played in the background, a comforting, familiar noise that accompanied your weekly girls' night ritual. The girls settled in, curling up on the couch and floor, the room filled with the scent of pine and cinnamon from the candles you had lit.

"So, what’s the latest?" Sophie asked, taking a sip of her cocktail and looking around expectantly. "I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in forever."

Ava leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Okay, you guys are not going to believe what happened at work this week. So, you know that cute new guy in accounting? Well, apparently he's been asking about me!"

Sophie gasped, clasping her hands together. "No way! Tell us everything!"

As Ava launched into a detailed account of her office flirtation, complete with dramatic reenactments, you found yourself relaxing, the warmth of the fire and the camaraderie of your friends soothing the turmoil inside you. For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, sipping your wine and laughing along with the girls.

But just as Ava was getting to the juicy part, Mia turned to you with a mischievous grin. "Okay, enough about Ava's love life. Y/N, we need to talk about you and Jack!"

You nearly choked on your drink, feeling your cheeks heat up. "What? There's nothing to talk about," you protested weakly. Sophie rolled her eyes.

"Oh please, you've been crushing on him since high school. It's so obvious. Why haven’t you made a move?”

"Yeah, remember junior prom?" Ava chimed in. "You couldn't take your eyes off him all night. I thought you were going to combust when he told you that you looked beautiful!"

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. "Ugh, don't remind me. I was so awkward back then."

Mia reached over and squeezed your shoulder. "Hey, we've all been there. But seriously, what's stopping you from going for it now? You're both single, you have history... it could be epic!"

You sighed, swirling the wine in your glass. "It’s not that simple. Lee would be so angry if he found out. Jack is his best friend. I don’t want Jack to have to deal with that kind of fallout. And besides, I don’t even know if he likes me the way I like him."

Sophie leaned forward, her expression softening. "But what if things went right? You can't let fear hold you back forever, Y/N. Sometimes you just have to take a chance on love."

The girls exchanged looks before she started again. "Y/N, come on," Sophie said, rolling her eyes. "Any guy would be falling at your feet if you wanted them to. Jack is no exception."

"Yeah," Ava agreed, "and from the way Jack looks at you when he thinks no one's watching? I'd say there's definitely some unfinished business there."

Your heart fluttered at the thought. Could they be right? Was it possible that Jack felt the same way after all these years?

As if reading your mind, Mia grinned. "I think it's time for Operation Seduce Jack Hughes. Who's with me?"

The girls cheered, clinking their glasses together. You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a rush of affection for your ridiculous, wonderful friends. "Alright, alright," you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. "I’ll think about it, okay?"

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the giddy thrill of possibility, but in that moment, anything seemed possible. Even a happily ever after with the boy you'd loved for as long as you could remember.

…

Tag List <3

@ru-kru, @rebelatbay

[gangplanksorenji]

No Control

Pairing: IVE Gaeul x Male Reader

Word Count: 3229

A/N: Hello Orenjideul! This is a legit BFH fic induced because I've been so down bad for 7 Rings Gaeul and you probably know why though... Also, this is unedited and rushed and hoping y'all enjoy reading this BFH fic. Have a great day!

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The fanchants uproaring alongside the ebullient shouts of the crowd never fails to send shivers down your spine, maybe, another cause would be the performance of the girl that absolutely killed the stage with her charisma. She never fails to make everyone drop their jaws on how incredible she performs and it's in her blood—and you swear to god, she's going to break the Internet with this remarkably hot performance.

You've been with her through thick and thin, comforting her whenever she's at her lowest point and being the paramount of all fanboys whenever she performs—all you ever know is that you're her number one fan and no history books can erase that even until the end of time.

The way her hips sway; her expressions exuding class and charisma; her vocals ringing around your ear that can absolutely melt you—it's everything you could expect for, well, you always expected her to serve and nail every performance she becomes in but not this hard.

God, you can't help it. She probably knows what she's doing and maybe you're the only one who can decipher the context clues—let me give you a hint: it's the way her eyes flirtatiously winked at the camera and lets her know how much she'll seduce you.

Well, you expected that—you always know she's giving her two-hundred percent on stage and knowing that you'll be watching and coming, she almost doubles those efforts and she doesn't really need to but she has to.

Maybe for her… to you…

As the stage ended, the pandaemonium of cheers broke out loose, every person admiring Gaeul's performance and anticipating for the others. As you're in the same boat with the others, a single notification lit up your phone enough to capture your attention as your eyes averted towards the blue pixels and oh god… it's her.

It was nothing much, maybe just Gaeul texting you immediately, wanting to know if you liked the performance—of course you did and probably else will be answering the same too—but it was something out of the blue… and you like it.

“Come to the dressing room quickly. Go in a hurry, I had let the staff know you're coming so they'll let you in…”

Well, that was unexpected but you didn't care. So, immediately, you excused yourself in the crowd and rushed towards their dressing room and once you got there, you couldn't believe what you're seeing.

Of course before that, you knocked on the door, nervous yet anticipating something only to know that it's only Gaeul inside the room and nobody else was there, not even a single one. 

“Where… are the o-others, Gaeul?” You furrowed your eyebrows, feeling uneasy as you didn't expect that it's just her inside yet you didn't really complain about it further—in fact, you love it when it's just the both of you alone together.

“Oh, they're preparing for other members' stages. I said to my manager and the staff that I need to be alone for a moment because of you!”

And then, she suddenly hugs you tight as you can see her gleeful smile, radiating around the room and rejuvenating your happiness. She faces you again with those endearing eyes and asked you if you like what she performed—

“Oh come on, Gaeulie—of course I really love it! God, you don't know how great your performance was! The crowd is absolutely screaming and really cheering for you!”

That earns a sheepish smile from the eldest, the curvature of her lips forming a smile that's too radiant to be described as thanking the fans and especially, you. You then kiss her forehead as a reassurance, and she whimpers silently because of your actions.

“Well, Gaeul, I know I'm here for a reason, right? Then what is it?”

“Hah, that? Oh, baby—” Gaeul places her hands on your chest, feeling the emanating heat of it even still with her gloves on as she looks at you right in the eyes, a look capturing your soul, demanding to be under her spell as she captivates you with her seductive aura. “—you don't know how much I'm feeling so different once I perform on that stage. You know the buttplug you gifted me a month ago?”

No, she didn't. No way on this earth she had that on—

“Yes, baby. I know what you're thinking…” Gaeul traces her finger onto your chest up to the heat of your abdomen, feeling the rock-hard abs she always loved to touch. “You can't believe it, right? But, yes, I performed it with that on and hope to god no one notices because that would be a little embarrassing if someone notices and of course baby, I made it sexier just for you—” Gaeul inches her face closer towards yours, her hot breath brushing towards you cheek as she allured you even more, yourself flustered upon this sudden escalation of this situation. “—and I became so horny after the stage to the point that I want to relieve it with your help, baby.”

God, she invites you so fucking well—you want to resist the temptation but seeing Gaeul being this needy and hot makes it hard for you to resist

Luring you to her utmost lustful desires is the first thing you wanted to hear escaping her lips, and you're loving this.

Yet, of course, she's still going to perform later so you're really hesitant about this—

“That's the point, baby. Let's not waste time here. Come on, now, baby—please, I want to feel you inside me…” Gaeul unbuckles her belt, getting ready for what's about to come. You then warned her about everything that may happen if they get caught and the possible consequences but she didn't seem to care at this point, the primal lust taking over her and letting it control over her body.

“Please, baby—I want you right now—”

And you agree. She kissed you because of it and there's no reluctant thing that brushed off your mind while thinking of it. You then kiss her neck, suckling on the soft skin gently and nibbling your tongue onto it as she moans silently in response. 

“I'm s-still sweaty, b-baby—ahh…”

“Doesn't matter, Gaeul. I love it when you're this hot.”

You continue suckling onto the porcelain skin as courses her way on undressing her bottom half. Still with that faint concern, you ask her how much time the both of you have until the no-return.

“Probably twelve minutes, baby—please, I need you inside right now! Please!”

Undressing your bottom-half completely as well, you tell her how she wants you as an answer immediately linger around your ear, your eyes lit up because of the thought of what she likes to do with you.

“I want to ride you, baby—oh god!” Brushing your fingers over her labia, she squeals uncontrollably as she tries to silent herself but fails to do so, earning a glare of trepidity directed towards her. She then brings her hands on her mouth, closing it as you continue teasing the heat of her lower lips. In response of your 

“Please, we don't have much time! I sweat, baby—please! Just do this sometime but not now!”

She begs for you and teases her within your own accord. You just need her to get herself wet enough for what you're about to do and with the thought of not prolonging the tease, you then stop fingering her pussy and immediately lay down at the leather couch, getting ready for what's about to come. Gaeul pounces at you like a wolf on its prey—and the only thing she's preying is your cock and you. 

You really hate to see her outfit get undressed—that's the reason why you got down bad for her at the moment: they way she looks spectacular and sexy in it. But, it doesn't matter, because you also wanna feel her walls clenching around your shaft at this given moment, also considering how the both of you have such a limited time for a hot, steamy session.

“God, Gaeul—if your pants only had a hole, I would love to see you riding me with these pants on—you looks so fucking sexy in this.”

“Oh, thank you, baby~ Glad you liked it!”

Getting a better angle at straddling your lap, she places her hand at your chest for support and strokes your shaft gently with the other, getting you fully-erect and in no time, she's now a step closer to engulfing the desired promised land.

“Oh god—baby! You're s-so fucking big—s-s-shit!”

And she’s so fucking tight. Her pussy grips onto your entire length like there’s no tomorrow and it’s probably for the best since the time is limited. She supports herself for the time being, getting used to the entire length of your cock as she gyrates her hips, herself starting to move up and down is probably the most euphoric thing the both of you are experiencing. 

Of course, it’s natural. The both of you are just exchanging moans and praises towards each other as the sudden serotonin running down your veins unable to make you think straight nor articulate such words—her pussy clenching in each bounce she does hypnotizes you into the abyss of lust that you couldn’t escape and all you need to do is to submerge through it, deeper.

In response, your hips thrust upwards as a recoil from her actions but she stops you, saying that she wants to ride you at a pace that she likes and not in accordance with what you want. She knows you want to help her, but being the (im)pure angel that she is, she lets herself do the job as you completely relax yourself, in a state of bliss and tranquility. The clapping of her cheeks towards yours becomes so redundant that it reverberates around the room. You find it hotter as you can see her thighs jiggle, the muscles ricocheting in every contact it makes on your skin.

“Gaeul—god, you ride me so well. You missed this, didn't you?”

It takes her seconds to respond as the overstimulation makes it hard to comprehend your question. “Y-yes, b-baby! I m-missed riding t-this big cock of y-yours! Y-you don’t know h-how long I’ve been w-wanting this!”

With minutes and minutes of Gaeul fucking herself onto your cock and riding you until her own ecstasy, she orgasms without even warning you, her legs convulsing and her pussy constricting around your cock as her nectar streams like a rivulet. She almost screams because of the sudden course of pleasure as your hands assist her as she came harder than what you’ve expected. Even after her orgasm, the cock-drunken Gaeul still wants more and you’re willing to give it to her no matter what happens.

“B-baby…”

“Yes, Gaeul?”

She then immediately reaches for your necktie and pulls you closer to her, unsure about what trick she’s going to show up her sleeve. As she bounces onto your raging length with a leisurely slow pace, you feel the urge of just pinning her down to the couch and fucking her there but on how hard she grips onto your necktie, you probably know it’s one of her growing kinks that she’s now showing you.

“Wanted like a collar to hold on whenever you ride me, hm, Gaeul?”

“Fuck—b-baby—you know me s-so well.”

Yes, read her like a book since she’s been gripping on it for dear life and possibly choking you—you even wanted this thought and made sure that you’ll take note of that whenever the two of you fuck again.

With this pace of hers, there’s nowhere on earth you'll be able to last for a minute as you can feel the tingling sensation on your loins, signaling your near high and probably releasing everything inside her.

“Gaeul—I’m s-so fucking close!”

When she immediately picks up the pace, you lose it. Symphony of moans escapes your filthy mouth as you’re already getting too close but she decides to stop riding you which earns a frustrated expression towards her, puzzled and perplexed on why she suddenly stopped once you’re chasing your own high.

“But why would y-you stop, Gaeul? I was so fucking close!”

She pouts cutely yet seduces you, her eyes burning in deep lust as she wanted to do something more with you as there’s still time left.

“Sorry, baby, but—you can’t cum in my p-pussy right now—no, no, no…”

Gaeul then lifts herself up, getting off on your raging length as she whimpers, feeling empty without your rod inside her. You’re still unaware on what she’s about to offer you as see the silver shining at her buttplug with the help from the fluorescent lights above and the thought of fucking her ass at this moment is beyond exceptional—probably, you’re foreshadowing yourself about it but you could never be so sure. 

She then positions herself on all fours and god—she just looks so damn fuckable and ruinable on that position. You really can’t tell how she wanted you from the first and up to now, you really can’t read what her thoughts might be at the moment but you know she’ll be liking—

“Yes, baby—see this buttplug? I’m just getting ready for what you’re really going to give me for today. You can reach out for the lube inside my purse and you probably know where this is going, right?”

You damn sure know where this is going and you could never be so sure about what’s on her mind. Gaeul isn’t really a stranger to anal sex—the both of you probably onto it even months ago—and that’s the beauty of it: you can experiment different things with her even in these risky situations.

Getting the lube on her purse, you hurriedly squeeze a desirable amount on your hand and spread it onto your still fully-erect cock as you play with the buttplug inside her snug hole, earning a small whimper in need escaping her lips.

“Please, baby—we don’t have that much of a time left—just fuck me in the ass real good!”

And you concur with her in this given moment. You swear to god, you just can’t wait until you feel her snug walls around your shaft and it twitches just by the thought of it. Now with just a few seconds of teasing her asshole with the buttplug, you give her the best stimulation possible before ejecting the metallic object outside her hole and replacing it with your lube-lathered fingers. You spread a good amount inside her hole and onto the rim of it, earning plenty of lustful moans from her as the noise outside it just a background sound as you averted all of your senses towards Gaeul and her only. 

You’ve been longing for this god knows how long and you could never feel better. Within a single second, the adrenaline kicks in like a truck as her walls wraps around your rod, hugging it for dear life as the tightness of her rim makes you groan in pain and pleasure, the lube aiding you to go deeper but she calms you down, letting you know how she needs to get used to the entirety of your member before doing the unthinkable. You give her a breather, a time to comprehend the sudden set of things happening within just a second as she pushes herself, impaling herself more onto your shaft as the both of you add up to the sea of moans that sails down on the ocean of lust.

“Fuck me hard, b-baby. Fill my little asshole u-up all the way to the hilt—god!”

She screams in delight as you push your shaft into her, developing a moderate pace that will soon increase as you’ve only just started revving up your engines. With a harsh grip on her hair, you pound her snug hole in the point of no-return, your hips in full throttle as you’re only clouded with lust and the urge to break her. The both of you didn’t care about the consequences that may happen as the both of you let your primal desires take over you—your animalistic urges dominating every action the both of you do. With the makeshift ponytail you made while ramming her asshole, there’s a point where you pull her head up as the once muffled moans now become deafening screams of pleasure as she cries in every thrust you do.

“God, baby! Please fuck me h-hard and fast, please! Use me, use me, use me, please! Hngg—ahh!”

She’s just uttering useless, repetitive syllables at this point—too broken to think articulately as you pound her asshole, bringing in an onslaught of thrusts which only aims to ruin her.

She’s broken and there’s probably a little time left before your breaking point and it’s all going to break loose from here.

“Gaeul—I’m going to fucking c-cum—please let me cum inside y-you!”

“J-just cum inside m-me, baby! I’m going t-to cum too!”

You’ve never noticed that she’s been fingering herself in tandem with your thrust as you're going to explode within a given second. Count off to five and you wouldn’t even last until four as you groan, giving her the last hammering thrusts before burying your entire shaft in her and letting everything break loose. You paint her insides as you let out your carnal desires fulfilled, filling her up to the brim. After like a full-fifteen seconds of an entire state of bliss, you pull out slowly only to see the little semen leaking out of her hole as she commands you to pass her buttplug, plugging it back onto her hole and wanting to store the cum that you gave her.

“God, baby—that feels, so fucking good… Oh god, you came a lot in me…”

“You felt incredible too, Gaeul…”

You then lean in to kiss her passionately, also exchanging hot breaths in the process. She immediately reciprocates as you smile at her, satisfied with what just happened as she faintly laughs because of the short discourse.

“Oh shit—” Gaeul quickly realizes that she’ll be up for a short amount of time so you hurriedly helped her get dressed as gratefully, her makeup didn’t get messed-up and her hair is somewhat, still styled perfectly. 

“This is not good. Help me get dressed?”

“Sure—are you okay though? Did I fuck you too hard?”

“No, my legs are a bit painful but I can still perform. Don’t worry about me, hihi~ Glad you trained me well in these kinds of situations.”

“You’re crazy, Gaeul…” You mouthed as you can’t believe how risky she took this but somehow, the both of you managed to get off without getting caught. Without wasting a time, you help her put her pants back on as she receives a text from her manager, saying that she only has two minutes left before they group together. 

“Thank you, baby. I’ll text you whenever we are already all set-up, okay? Just enjoy the rest of the concert from the crowd, bye!”

You waved goodbye at her as you still ask her if she’s fine and thankfully, she is and walked out of the room like nothing ever happened, maybe of course with a little leg pain and absolutely used holes.

She’s crazy and you love it, and it’s only a matter of time before everything comes to the right place…

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 1: Am I More Than You Bargained For Yet]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, a brief history of burn treatments, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), a wild Sunfyre appears, catching feelings for literally the single most inappropriate man on the planet.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

💜 I’m going to tag like a bazillion people since this is the first chapter of a new fic, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. I hope you are all doing well, wherever you are in the world! 💜

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Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! 

You scream when he grabs you, this lightning strike of a man with a grip like an animal trap that splits bones. He pulls you away from the soldier you’re soothing—a young dark-haired Norcross, disoriented, doomed, his intestines spilling out onto the grass and blood on his lips—and through the forest of smoke and corpses and pine trees. Your eyes sting and water, your boots snag on gnarled roots. When you yelp and stumble to the earth, the man drags you upright again. You struggle like a beast with a blade at its throat, cold, serrated, pressure on the jugular. You shove and scratch at him, trying to plant your boots in soil strewn with gore and glowing embers.

“Stop, stop it, you’re hurting me!”

“Hurry up.”

“You’re going to break my wrist—!”

He wrenches you around to look you full in the face, and only now do you know who he is. A gasp hisses through your teeth; the acrid air in your lungs vanishes. Every muscle and tendon and ligament of you is taut with horror, tight enough to snap. It’s like meeting one of the Seven, the Warrior or Stranger or Smith, a shade you know only from myths and nightmares. It’s like being led to the executioner’s scaffold. His long silver braid hangs over one shoulder. His eyepatch conceals the childhood maiming that left him half-blind. There’s blood and ash on his scarred face, a ruthless breed of fear in his remaining eye, icy blue, creek-shallow, soulless. The man clasping your wrist is Prince Aemond Targaryen. “I’ll break your neck if you don’t come with me now.”

He does not wait for your protest or acquiescence. You couldn’t give it anyway. Your muddied boots move numbly as he tugs you forward, this man they call Aemond One-Eye, a monster, a murderer, a kinslayer. The earth is littered with carnage from the battle, charred ribcages and disemboweled horses, scattered armor and severed limbs. Ashes fall from the smoldering treetops like dark snow.

What does he want from me?

Rape seems unlikely; everyone knows Prince Aemond’s deviancies do not run in that direction. He is cold, hateful, dispassionate, made of stone. He does not lust for anything but power and retribution, fire and blood.

To kill me?

But why not do it here, now? There is a sword hanging from his belt, a dagger in one fist. There is no reason to wait.

To take me prisoner? To feed me to his dragon? To torture me for information?

Surely there are more knowledgeable people around to torture. What use could you be, a healer, a woman? Unless…

Unless he knows who my father is.

You glance down at the fabric band looped around the upper half of your right arm, the only mark you wear of your house, stark white banner, skittering red crabs. It is soaked through with blood. It is unreadable.

Someone is shrieking, but not like a dying man. He has too much fight in him for that, too much glass-clear agony, unwanted blistering consciousness. He screams like someone being flayed, gutted, burned alive. You’ve only ever heard this sound once before. You choke on the greasy, putrid, metallic sweetness of scorched human flesh as it sears down your throat, not knowing if it is real or remembered.

There is a tent in the midst of the pine trees, fluttering canvas that’s green like emeralds or jade. The wind is picking up; you will need to evacuate soon. The cinders will spread and the forest will blaze. Somewhere a dragon is roaring, wounded and mournful like the cry of a lost child. The screams of the man grow louder; they fill your skull like a fever, scalding and senseless and red. Aemond yanks the tent flap aside and pulls you in. And when you breathe it is nothing but the sickening miasma of burnt flesh, coppery blood, suffering, sweat, ruin.

He’s writhing on a wooden table, the man the Greens call king. It has to be him: white-blond hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes and fine aristocratic bones. Two ancient, shaky-handed maesters—hastily commandeered from the defeated House Staunton, you assume—confer nearby, clutching glass bottles of milk of the poppy. A man in armor is cutting tatters of clothing from the so-called king. When he lifts the fabric away, skin sloughs off with it. Aegon wails, struggles, begs him to stop. Aemond goes to his brother and carves away scraps of melted leather and charred cotton with the swift blade of his dagger.

“Shh, shh, don’t fight us, we’re trying to help—”

“Aemond, let me die,” the burned man rasps. He is trembling violently, he is half-mad with pain. Meleys’ flames claimed a swath of his right cheek, his neck and chest and back, his arms down to his wrists, his belly to the crests of his hip bones. “Please. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want it to hurt anymore. Don’t try to help me. Just let me die.”

Aemond looks back at you. “Can you treat this?”

He thinks I’m a Green, you realize with panic, with relief, with terror. And of course he would: you had wandered into the Greens’ side of the battlefield and therefore did not surrender or flee or die with the other Blacks, you were tending to a Green soldier when he found you. Aemond the Kinslayer would not comprehend the notion of service to humankind without a line drawn down the middle of it, of uncategorical compassion.

“Can you help him or not?!” Aemond shouts; and you know that he is not just afraid but shattering, spider-leg cracks inching across a window or a mirror. Perhaps the Greens have souls after all.

You shed your paralysis like daylight erases the stars and approach to examine the so-called king. You do not touch him; still, he whimpers, sobs, quakes like waves in a storm. “He needs more milk of the poppy. A lot more of it.”

“Yes,” Aegon agrees immediately. His streaming eyes—a bleak, murky blue like the sea off Claw Isle—list to you, agonized and grateful.

The maesters gape. “More could kill him,” one says. And they are petrified of being blamed for it. They are plagued by visions of Aemond hacking off their heads and displaying them on spikes above the stone walls of captured Rook’s Rest.

“No drawbacks at all then?” Aegon manages between moans.

“If his pain does not abate, he will die of shock,” you say. “He must be unconscious.”

“Knock me out,” Aegon pleads, pawing at Aemond. “Tell them, tell them.”

Aemond looks to the man in armor: dark-haired, olive-skinned, Dornish. Sir Criston Cole, you realize. The Hand of the King. The Kingmaker. After a moment, Criston nods. “Do it now,” Aemond orders the maesters.

Grimacing, grim, they pour the opalescent liquid into Aegon’s mouth. He gulps it down as quickly as he can. “Enough,” you tell the maesters. Instinctively, you reach out to comfort Aegon: a palm rested lightly on his forehead, fingers threaded through silvery hair that’s filthy with soot and blood. You should hate him, but you don’t. When you look at the Greens’ broken king, you cannot see a murderer, a usurper, a depraved hedonist, a consumer of innocence. You can only see a man worn threadbare by ill-advised bravery.

“Hello, angel,” Aegon murmurs as he gazes up at you, a ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes really do remind you of home: ocean currents like iron, fog like flint. “Welcome to the end of the world.” And then he’s out, extinguished, eclipsed.

Servants bustle into the tent carrying heavy buckets. “What is that?” you ask.

“Pork lard,” one of the maesters says. “For his wounds.”

“No, no, no, some of these burns are nearly down to the muscle. They’re too deep, too fresh. Lard is for later, to help with scarring, although olive oil or rose oil would be better. He needs to be cleaned with vinegar diluted with water. Or red wine, if that’s all that can be found.”

“Vinegar?!” one of the maesters exclaims.

“It helps prevent infection. Nobody knows why.”

The same maester turns to Aemond, imploring him. “My prince, I can assure you, the Citadel recommends pork lard or cow dung as topical cures, or both used alternatingly. There are also reports of cases where frogs have been helpful, warmed in oil and then rubbed on the affected area.”

Criston blinks. “I’m sorry, you do what with the frogs…?!”

They’re going to kill him, you think. Not with malice, but with stupidity. A wasted life, a wasted death. You demand of the maester: “When was the last time you treated burns this severe?”

He glowers at you, sharp dark eyes like flecks of onyx in a nest of wrinkles. And you know you’ve won when he replies: “When have you?”

“My brother was burned in a housefire started by an upturned lantern. It was five years ago, but I remember the direness his injuries. And what was done to save him.”

Silence in this tent the color of summer: green grass, unsinged trees. Aemond waits for the maesters to produce some astute rebuttal. When they cannot, he orders the servants: “Vinegar, water, rags. Now.” They dash off to oblige him, wide-eyed and quivering like small dogs. Then Aemond looks to you. “What next?”

“His wounds should be treated with honey and then bandaged. The dressings must be changed frequently, at least once per day. He must be repositioned so the scar tissue does not immobilize his joints. He will suffer, it cannot be avoided, but he should suffer as little as possible. Listen to him when he says the pain is too much. Let him sleep. When he is awake, he must drink plenty of fluids. He is losing water through his burns, and it must be replaced. Milk is preferable. Tea and fruit juices are good as well. Some wine is acceptable if that’s what he likes best.”

“And it certainly is,” Criston mutters. You’ve heard the same: that the Greens’ king is a drunk, an adulterer, a coward, a ghoul. You cannot speak to any of this. You know him only as someone who is horrifically pained and sick to death of fighting. Again, without thinking, you comb your fingertips distractedly through his hair as he lies unconscious on the table, bleeding from everywhere. He’s so young, so breakable, so unlike the monster you’ve been led to believe he is.

“Get honey and bandages,” Aemond tells the maesters. They depart, casting each other incredulous glances: Are these our new overlords? Men who heed the wisdom of impetuous young women filthy with blood and earth?

“I’ve heard salt can be helpful for wounds,” Aemond says. “They used it on me when…” He gestures to his eyepatch, to his scar. Lucerys Velaryon took that part of him in self-defense; at least, that is what you have always been told. But you’ve read enough to know that for every event, there are at least two stories. Whatever the truth is, Luke paid for that eye. He paid, Rhaenyra paid, the world continues to pay the price over and over again.

“Because it dries. It absorbs moisture.” You skim your palm over Aegon’s forehead, without lines of fear or anguish as he sleeps. There is a ring on his left hand, a gold dragon with glinting dots of jade for eyes. You twist off the ring so it will not hinder circulation as his fingers swell and give it to Aemond. “But burns weep as they heal. They need to be wet. If they get too dry, they will crack open and fester.”

“Is that what happened to your brother?” Aemond asks.

“Where we did not pay enough attention. The backs of his knees, the soles of his feet.”

“But he survived.”

“Yes,” you tell Aemond; and you can see how desperately he is searching for hope in your face, your words. “He did.”

The servants return with buckets of water, handfuls of rags, glass bottles of vinegar that is cloudy and rust-colored.

“What’s it made from?” you say.

“Fermented a-a-apples, my lady,” one of the boys sputters. He watches Aemond out of the corner of his eye like sheep look for the shadows of wolves. He shivers, he sweats. This boy, who last night was fetching meat and mead for Lord Staunton, has heard the same stories you have: the degenerate king, his murderous brother.

“That’s fine then.” You haul over one of the water buckets and Criston helps you lift it up onto the table. You empty half a bottle of vinegar into the water, mix it by wobbling the bucket back and forth, and then soak a rag in the pungent liquid. “You can help,” you tell Aemond and Criston. “Dip a rag in the bucket, wring it out, then press it to his wounds. Remove any dirt or scraps of fabric. But don’t rub. Try not to damage the skin he has left.” You demonstrate: dabbing at flesh that is torn and bloody and blistered, a black-and-ruby wasteland that at best will leave him irreparably scarred and at worst will swallow his life like ships sink in storms.

Tentatively—with hands at ease with killing but not tenderness—Aemond and Criston join you, studying your movements and imitating them with great care. There is a sniffle, a teardrop that falls onto Aegon’s filthy but unburned left hand and glistens there like a splinter of glass; you are alarmed to see that the Kingmaker is weeping.

“Criston,” Aemond says gently. “We are doing everything we can for him.”

“Since the day he was born, I promised…”

“I know.”

“Your mother…”

“I know,” Aemond says again, and you think: The Greens aren’t demons, they aren’t savages. They’re just patchworks of memory and flesh and suffering, the same as any of us. “He will live. And his sacrifice won us a victory today.”

As you tended to wounded men caked with blood and pine needles, you saw them tangled above in the overcast sky, scales of scarlet and gold and an ancient muddy viridescence. There were flames and shouts, and then all three dragons hurdled towards the earth and out of view. “The Red Queen?” you ask Aemond, mindful to keep your voice perfectly level.

“Dead,” he says: dark satisfaction, fearsome pride. “And so is her rider.”

“The gods are good.” You are amazed at how easily it slips out, a reflex of self-preservation while your mind is elsewhere. Does my father know yet? Does Rhaenyra, does Daemon, does Corlys? People will be searching for you soon. If you do not appear from the smoke and chaos of the battlefield, your eldest brother Clement will come looking with his sword in hand. Everett, scarred and unagile but clever, will be pouring over maps to see where you might have ended up.

There is no suspicion in Aemond’s face when he glances over at you. He is gingerly cleaning soot and charred strips of ruined skin from Aegon’s chest, which rises and falls in deep, slow breaths. “Which family is yours?”

House Celtigar, but you can’t tell him that. You scramble for a noble family of the Crownlands whose accent you share, whose history you have been taught, whose men fight for the Greens but are not so distinguished that Aemond will know them well. “House Thorne.”

He nods. “Are you one of Sir Rickard’s sisters?”

You startle. Perhaps you have chosen the wrong disguise. “Far less illustrious than that. Just a cousin.”

The two maesters return, their archaic hands piled high with linen bandages and glass jars of honey, a fiery gold like sunset. “Set them down over there,” Aemond orders, pointing. He has a presence, it cannot be denied. He is tall, fierce, swift yet calculated. He moves like a man who has killed once, twice, again until it is no longer something that keeps him awake at night. It is something that has become a part of him like arteries or bones. “Prepare a room in the castle.”

“For Prince Aegon?” one of the maesters says, then quickly corrects himself. “I mean, for the king?”

“For until we decide what to do with him.” Aemond stares at Criston. Criston stares back, his dark eyes huge and shiny. There is a war to be waged, but Aegon will not be able to help them. Not for months, at least. Not ever, if he dies. The maesters disappear again, grumbling to each other. Unwelcome tasks, unwelcome guests.

Rhaenys is dead, you think as you work. It doesn’t feel real. Meleys is dead. Hundreds of Black soldiers are dead. Rook’s Rest is the Greens’ greatest victory yet, and one they desperately needed. This war is nowhere near over. And the betting odds keep changing.

You say to Aemond and Criston: “Help me turn him. We must clean the burns on his back as well.”

They listen, they obey, they help you because helping you means helping Aegon. When he is washed as well as he can be, you spread a thin sheen of shimmering honey over his wounds—an amber river that will trap moisture and discourage inflammation—and wrap him in bandages. The only burn you leave uncovered is the one on his right cheek. It creeps up over his pale face like red tentacles, curling and grasping, hungry, insatiable. They match now, you think. Two brothers, two scars.

Criston assembles a group of Green soldiers and Aegon is carried in a litter to the castle that serves as the seat of House Staunton, once allies of Rhaenyra, now traitors, now dead men walking. Outside rain has begun to fall, putting out flames born from dragonfire. The pine forest is saved; wounded men lie in the dirt with their mouths open hoping to quench their thirst. By the time Aegon is placed in an opulent bedroom with a view of Blackwater Bay, he has already bled through his bandages. You clean him again, bandage him, dribble milk of the poppy down his throat when he begins to stir and whimper. Aemond gives you command of a makeshift fleet of caretakers: the two requisitioned maesters, three maids, servants to bring food, drink, bandages, wood for the crackling fireplace.

My family is searching for me, you know as you battle to save their enemy’s life, this maybe-king with silver hair and eyes like deep water.And then: I cannot leave him. Not now, not yet.

In the night, as cool rain patters against the ocean and Aemond and Criston are slaughtering House Staunton men down in the castle courtyard, you dose Aegon with milk of the poppy every few hours. The maesters refuse to take responsibility for it; if the king is poisoned, it will be you who swings from a rope for it. You hold cloths dripping with cold water to his forehead. You feed him nibbles of bread and venison when he is conscious enough to eat, cinnamon tea, pomegranate juice, goat milk. You inspect him for any signs of infection. You braid a small lock of his hair before you’ve stopped to consider why you’re doing it.

And when no one else is watching, you untie the bloodstained armband of your own house and burn it to ashes in the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~

Someone is jostling you, grabbing at you. You fell into an exhausted, sporadic sleep in the next room long after midnight. It’s morning now; warm sunlight blooms like flowers on your face, yellow roses and buttercups and daffodils. When your eyes open, they are sore and unfocused. Aemond is a blur of white hair and black leather. He is tugging on you again, his lithe fingers like a vice around your forearm.

“Stop it, get off me!” You shove him away. He waits, bemused. “You can’t keep dragging me around like this!”

“Why not?”

Because my father is one of the wealthiest men in the Seven Kingdoms. Because I may not have silver hair or a dragon, but if you cut me open the blood of Old Valyria would spill out like red waves. Because the man I am pledged to marry is good at killing, very good at killing, maybe even better than you. “Because I’m a noblewoman. I’m a lady.”

“You don’t act like one,” Aemond counters. “Ladies flee from blood and gore. Ladies are nowhere to be found on battlefields.”

“I like being useful.”

“Then I have brought you a gift. You are needed now. Aegon is asking for you.” And then, when you hurry out of bed, finding your footing on chilly wood floors: “Well, that certainly got you moving quickly.”

“He’s in pain?”

“Not especially, from what I can tell. I think he just wants you.” Aemond glides out of the bedroom. You follow him to Aegon’s chamber. The Greens’ king is propped up in bed on a great mass of pillows, bandaged, limp, eyes glazed and barely open. There are men huddled around him. You recognize Criston, though not the other ones, some old and some young and all in armor. You hope that none of them are Sir Rickard Thorne.

You feel Aegon’s forehead for fever. To your relief, he is no more than modestly warm. He catches your hand, holds it tightly, doesn’t let go. After a moment’s hesitation, you sit down beside him on the edge of the bed. There is a curl of his lips, just a whisper of a smile, just a phantom of one. Aemond glances at you and Aegon with mild interest, then turns his attention to Criston.

“Aegon,” Criston informs the king, patiently, like a good father would. “We have to move you back to King’s Landing.”

“No,” Aegon says. His voice is so low and weak that he’s difficult to hear.

“Your recovery will be long and arduous,” Criston explains. “Aemond and I will be needed in combat. We cannot stay to guard you. The Blacks may try to retake Rook’s Rest. You staying here is not an option. King’s Landing is safer. It is well-supplied, it is protected. And we have our own maesters there who will help tend to you.”

“Can’t leave,” Aegon croaks. “Sunfyre.”

“Aegon—”

“I can’t leave without Sunfyre,” he forces out with immense effort. Then he gasps and moans, tears pooling in his eyes. You offer him milk of the poppy; he guzzles as much as you’ll allow him to have.

Criston sighs. “You can’t stay. And Sunfyre can’t leave. One of his wings was nearly ripped off, he’ll never fly again. We have no way to transport him, he’s too heavy.”

One of the armored men mutters: “And that’s assuming he wouldn’t incinerate anyone who ventured close enough to try.”

“Where is he now?” Aemond asks the man.

“Down on the beach, my prince. Eating dead soldiers.”

Criston shudders. Working in close proximity to dragons has not given him a liking for them.

“Can’t leave him here,” Aegon whispers, shaking his head.

“You must,” Aemond says.

“What if it was Vhagar?”

“I’d leave her. I’d have no choice.”

Aegon frowns, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s all too much for him. “Not the same.”

No, perhaps not; Aemond’s dragon may be the largest and most lethal in the world, but Aegon’s bond with Sunfyre is said to be what legends are built of, words written in ink and stone. You watch the agonized confliction on Aegon’s drawn face: can’t leave, can’t stay, can’t fight, can’t run. You say softly: “Could Sunfyre be assigned a detachment of guards?”

Aemond looks at you as if just remembering you’re here. “What?”

“Men could be tasked with ensuring the dragon is secure and fed. From a safe distance, of course. They could report on his health. Then perhaps when he is stronger, he can be reunited with the king.” The king. Again, it stuns you how easily the treason rolls out, like waves bubbling over rocks and sand.

Aemond turns to Criston. “Could it be done?”

“I don’t foresee many men volunteering for the task. But it could be done, yes. Sure.”

Aemond asks his brother: “Would that make a difference?”

Aegon’s eyes drift to you. They are churning with sluggish, clunky thoughts, heavy burdens to bear on raw shoulders. The braid that you wove absentmindedly into his hair is still there. “Alright,” Aegon agrees at last. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Aemond says. “We leave at dawn tomorrow.” Then he looks to you. “You will come south with us.” His tone invites no argument. He doesn’t even conceive of it as a possibility. Why would you refuse? Why would you, a purportedly devout Green, shy away from the opportunity to nurse your king back to health? You bow your head in compliance. You wonder what is being discussed in the Black Council; you wonder what your father is thinking, what Everett believes happened to you.

“But I have to see him first,” Aegon says.

Aemond does not understand. “See who?”

“Sunfyre.”

“But you can’t walk to the beach,” Criston says. “You can’t walk anywhere.”

Aegon grins, showing his teeth. His dazed, deep blue eyes glitter mischieviously. His hand has not disentangled itself from yours. “Then carry me.”

The deal is struck, like a face minted onto a coin or a bolt of lightning meeting the earth. Soldiers transport Aegon down to the stony, mist-sopped shoreline. Blade-sharp agony is flooding back into his face, but he refuses more milk of the poppy. He wants to be awake when he gets there. He wants to be himself.

The soldiers cannot get too close to Sunfyre; no one besides Aegon can. He is helped off the litter and then tries to amble across the wet, grey sand. After a few steps he collapses. You rush to him, dodging Aemond and Criston’s grasps as they try to stop you.

“No,” Aegon says when you attempt to help him to his feet. He is panting from the pain, his face flushed with torment and exertion. His white-blond hair whips in the wind. “Do not follow me. Not even if I pass out, not even if I’m dead. I don’t know what Sunfyre would do to you.” And then he crawls forward alone on his hands and knees.

Waves crash, spraying saltwater into the air. Crabs scuttle over rocks. Gulls swoop low to claim mouthfuls of flesh from bloated corpses in worthless uniforms. The dragon known as Sunfyre the Golden is curled up on the beach. Many of his metallic scales are singed; the pink membranes of his wings are tattered like lace. His right wing hangs at a ruinously odd angle. You would know how to set that if he was a human. And you could do it without the threat of being reduced to ash and history.

Sunfyre unravels as Aegon nears him, long angular face rising, frayed wings settling by his sides. You have seen dragons before, of course—Syrax, Caraxes, Arrax, Vermax, Meleys—though never from this close. They horrify you. You cannot look at them without thinking of the devastation they sow like a plague, of how they so unmistakably no longer belong in this world.

Sunfyre’s head stretches out towards his rider, a half-dead man kneeling in wet sand and wearing only bandages and loose cotton trousers. Beside you, Sir Criston Cole sucks in a noisy, nervous breath. Aemond watches Aegon, his face like stone. His hair hangs in long, damp waves.

Aegon embraces Sunfyre, clinging to him, resting his face against the dragon’s. They stay like that for what feels like a very long time. Then Aegon crawls back to you, sobbing with pain by the time he is lifted into the litter. You give him milk of the poppy and he accepts it eagerly. He is unconscious again within seconds. Down the beach, Sunfyre looses a soft desolate cry like a plea: Don’t go. Don’t leave me. You might never come back.

~~~~~~~~~~

The drivers have been instructed to proceed slowly and with caution; still, the carriage pitches and jolts as you traverse the Rosby Road towards King’s Landing. In addition to the caravan’s most precious cargo—the Greens’ fragile and intermittently sentient king—it transports also two severed heads: Lord Simon Staunton’s in a basket, and Meleys’ in the bed of a mule-drawn wagon. High above in slate-grey clouds, Aemond and Vhagar are safeguarding your progress. Criston rides on a monstrous warhorse just outside the carriage. You are leafing through a book that you found in the castle library at Rook’s Rest: anatomy, surgery, sicknesses and cures. Aegon is bandaged and heavily medicated in the cushioned seat across from you. While servants flit in and out frequently, you are the only passengers in the carriage at the moment. You do not know that Aegon is awake until he speaks.

“Sinful,” he says. His voice is groggy, only half-here. He is gazing blearily at the illustration on the open pages of your book: a quite detailed naked man, his arteries and veins mapped like the roads of Westeros, his cock bare and sizeable.

“It’s informative,” you reply in your own defense, smiling.

“My father would have hit me for looking at something like that. If he’d noticed.” Aegon smirks, resting his head against the back of his velvet seat. His hair has been scrubbed and rinsed by servants, the braid you made for him undone. “He probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Mine has a great love for all books.” Bartimos Celtigar is eternally turning pages: computations, records, revenue. He does not just sit on Rhaenyra’s council. He is her Master of Coin. He funds her war effort, he fuels her like wood to a fire. “Besides, I have seen naked men in person. No book can scandalize me now.”

A little twitch of his silvery eyebrows: fascination, amusement. “He does not lose sleep over your spent innocence?”

“He has other things on his mind presently.”

“Like what?”

Like helping Rhaenyra win the war. You find a different truth to tell him. “Some men consider one daughter to be too many. My father has four. His attention is thoroughly divided.”

“He doesn’t like you?”

“He likes me plenty. He just doesn’t need me.”

Aegon nods. His eyes travel over you slowly and meditatively, not leering but learning, memorizing slopes and angles, taking you in like he’s never been able to before. He is in the brief lull between doses of milk of the poppy: lucid enough to speak but not so much that he can feel the full extent of his injuries. “Are you married?”

This is a bit of a fraught subject. “I am betrothed.”

“Oh,” he says, with what might be disappointment. “And he wouldn’t rather have you home right now? Putting all that knowledge of male anatomy to good use? That’s difficult to believe.”

You peer evasively down at your book. “He has a role to play in the war. I’ve been given permission to serve in my own way until it is over.”

“Permission,” Aegon echoes. He finds this interesting. He studies you for a while before he asks, his voice gentle: “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He’s honorable, he’s brave. He’s marvelously formidable. He could carry you around like a sack of potatoes.”

Aegon chuckles, a slow reflective laugh, curiosity, intrigue, something to think about besides the fact that he’s missing half his skin. “Do you fear marriage?”

What is the answer to that question? Do you even know yourself? “I fear being possessed. And having no remedy if the circumstances are not to my liking.”

“You can’t get one of your three superfluous sisters to marry him instead?”

You smile faintly. “No, we’ve met. He chose me, he favored me. I’m not sure why.”

“Probably because you’ve read all there is to know about cocks.” Aegon grins, drowsy and crooked and playful. “Who is he?”

“Just a man,” you say. You can’t tell Aegon more than that. It would give your Black affiliations away.

You are betrothed to the Warden of the North, Lord Cregan Stark.

[mamaestapa]

Closer|| Joe Burrow x reader

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•summary: After the first pre-season game of the season, Joe helps you become somebody else while you help him get away from himself…

•word count: 4.4k

•warnings: SMUT, inspired by the song Closer by Nine Inch Nails, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex, oral sex (male and female receiving) ,foreplay, hair pulling kink, whipped cream, belly shots, brief blindfolding (inspired by @tigertales9 fic) reader has a belly button piercing (even if you don’t have one, you do for this fic bc it’s so hot), blood, choking, SMUT, this is pure filth (i think it’s so cringe i’m so sorry babes😭)

You were sitting on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram as you waited for Joe to get back home from Paycor stadium.

Tonight was the first pre-season game of the 2023 season. While Joe wasn't able to play tonight due to his calf strain (and the Bengals not playing starters), you still attended the game to show your support for your boyfriend and his team. The game didn't quite go the way you or the fans had hoped, but you had to remind yourself—It's just pre-season.

During the game, you sat up in the suite with Morgan, Holly, Jess, and some of the other Bengals WAGS. As you sat up in the suite, you split your attention between the game and your phone—scrolling through Instagram and Twitter to try and find a photo or a video of Joe. Since he wasn't playing tonight, you weren't seeing much of him. As soon as you opened Twitter, you came across a video of Joe on the sidelines.

You pressed play, eyes widening as you watched the clip. Joe was wearing a black shirt and shorts with the Bengals logo on both articles of clothing. His right calf was covered with a black sleeve and he had on a bucket hat. In the video he took the hat off, running his fingers through his grown out hair before putting a backwards cap on instead. 

Your heart raced and you crossed your legs as the video came to an end. Joe looked insanely hot on the sidelines in all black wearing a backwards cap. Something about that look had you going absolutely feral and feeling your pulse in other areas.

You shut your phone off and set it down in your lap. You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth as you looked out onto the field, watching the rest of the game.

You couldn't wait for the game to be over...

So here you are now a couple hours later: sitting on the couch and waiting for Joe to come home. Just as you picked up your phone to check the time, Joe entered the house through the garage. He set his belongings down on the counter, huffing out a loud sigh as he did so. You chuckled to yourself and got up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. A small smile pulled at Joe's lips as he looked at you.

"Hey hot stuff." you greeted as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend. Joe chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, leaning down to kiss your temple. "Hey yourself."

You hummed and pulled away from Joe, looking into his soft blue eyes. Your eyes scanned Joe's figure, taking in his beautiful eyes, his chiseled jawline, and that stupid backwards cap that had you feeling things you shouldn't be feeling. You brought a hand up to Joe’s head, slightly tipping the cap back which made Joe chuckle.

“What?” you asked coyly, even though you knew exactly what he was going to say to you.

“You have that look on your face.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joe smirked and snaked his arms back around your waist, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. You could feel the warmth radiating off of both of your bodies as you stood pressed against each other. Joe leaned in to the side of your head, his voice growing lustful as he spoke into your ear.

“You know exactly what look I’m talking about sweetheart…”

You pulled back from Joe, looking up at him with a slight smirk on your face. You brought your hand back up to the backwards cap on his head.

“You looked so good tonight Joey, in your all black and your backwards cap…” you sighed blissfully, “something about you on the sidelines has me all worked up.” Joe‘s eyes grew dark with lust as he smirked down at you. He gently squeezed your waist as he said, “Well maybe we should do something about that.”

“Maybe we should…” You trailed off. Before you knew it, your lips were smashed against Joe’s as you rushed into the bedroom, taking the cap off of his dark blonde hair and tugging at the hem of his black shirt.

…

Joe hooked his fingers underneath your t-shirt, ripping the black material off your body with ease as he continued to kiss you hungrily, wanting to taste more than just your soft lips. Joe's veiny hands gripped your bare sides as he pushed you up against the wall of his bedroom. His blue eyes grew dark with lust as he gazed down at your breasts sitting perfectly in a red, lace pushup bra. It was Joe's favorite bra of yours. It never failed to grow his arousal even more.

"Much better." Joe smirked as he eyed your perky breasts. He harshly cupped your left breast, digging his digits into the cup as he kissed along your jawline. Your breathing grew shallow as he bit at your skin. You threw your head back at the feeling of his lips, bringing your hands up to his unruly dark blonde waves and tugging at the tips as Joe began to suck harshly at your neck.

"Mmm," you moaned out as Joe's kisses grew sloppier. He pulled his face away from your neck, smirking slyly at you as he toyed with the waistband of your jean shorts. He slipped two fingers into your pants, brushing them up against your clothed core. You gasped as Joe's fingers teased your sensitive clit through the lace, his movements making the wetness between your thighs more apparent. Joe gave you a sultry look with his tongue pressed against the side of his mouth as he pulled his hand out of your shorts. Joe harshly pulled you away from the wall, pushing you down flat onto the bed instead. You let out a breath as excitement swirled through your body. You haven't been this way with Joe in a long time.

Joe ripped your buttoned shorts open with ease, slowly sliding them down your legs before tossing them to the floor next to the bed. His lustful eyes scanned over your body. He looked at your face first taking in those doe eyes and your plump lips. His eyes trailed down to your chest, his heart was racing as he looked at your breasts sitting perfectly in the cups lined with lace. He then trailed his eyes further, a smirk pulling at his lips as he looked at your perfectly pierced belly button and your lace covered core. You were the most beautiful girl he's ever laid his eyes on.

As Joe looked at your figure, an idea came to his mind. Something he's never done before, but something he's wanted to try for a long time. He reached out to the bedside table and grabbed what he was thinking of.

"Put this on..." Joe trailed off, handing you his black headband with the Bengals logo in the middle. You eyed Joe as you took the headband from him, sliding it onto your forehead and wearing it just like he did. Joe shook his head at you and leaned in to grab the headband, pulling it down so your eyes were covered.

"There we go." He whispered huskily, his arousal growing at the sight of you blindfolded by his headband. "What are you doing?" You asked, voice quiet and also slightly confused. Joe has never blindfolded you before.

"You'll see." Joe purred as he trailed a hand down your body. Your core ached and your heart fluttered at the thought of trying something different with Joe. Not only were you excited, but your body was excited, too. You closed your eyes as they were met with darkness from the headband. You couldn't see anything, but you could hear everything going on. Joe grabbed the whipped cream and the bottle of rosé from the bedside table. He took the lid off of the whipped cream, shaking it before taking the lid off and putting it in between his lips. He spit the lid out, the red cap hitting the wall behind the two of you before it fell to the floor.

Joe eyed your breasts as he shook the can of whipped cream in one hand. He reached out for you with his other hand, placing it on your left rib. His long, skilled fingers slowly trailed up your sides, making you shiver at the sensation. Joe unclasped your bra, wetting his lips as he watched the red material fall from your chest, letting your breasts free. Joe pressed the white tip of the whipped cream can. He made a circular motion with the can as he sprayed the cream onto your hard nipples. As soon as he was satisfied with the amount, he threw the can to the side and immediately attached his mouth to the sensitive bud, sucking at the sweet cream that adorned your breasts. His tongue swirled over each of your nipples, making sure to lap up every last bit of the sweet cream.

"Oh Joe," you let out a breathy moan at the feeling of Joe's tongue swirling around your hard nipples. You could feel yourself getting wetter just from him lapping up the whipped cream. Joe chuckled at your reaction as he detached his lips from your right breast. He leaned over and grabbed the bottle of rosé off of the bed and pulled the cap off with a slight pop. You pulled Joe's headband off of your eyes just in time to see him bring the tip of the bottle down to your belly, letting it rest against your skin as he poured the rosé into your belly button. He eyed you as he quickly slurped the rosé as some of the liquid trickled down your sides

"That's new." You said, an amused smile on your face as you watched Joe slurp the rose out of your belly button. Joe's never done belly shots from you either...

Tonight is already proving to be one of those nights where you and Joe help each other become someone else together, not only romantically but sexually, too.

Slurping out all the rosé, Joe bit down on the jewelry adorning your navel. He loved to play with your piercing during sex. Something about the silver diamond jewelry just got him even more excited. You brought your hands down to Joe's hair, running your nails over his scalp as he continued to bite at and play with your navel piercing. You bit your lip and let out a soft whimper as he tugged harshly at the ring while gently cupping your breasts as he did so.

You could feel Joe's chuckle vibrate against your belly. "You like that?" he asked, a teasing smirk on his face as he looked up at you through his lashes. "Mhm..." You trailed off, your response coming out as a blissful moan. It was hard for you to form words right now with the way Joe was teasing you. Joe smirked as he kissed down your belly, his hot breath against the skin of your abdomen making that warmth pool in your belly already. Tonight was supposed to be about you taking care of Joe, but right now, it seemed like Joe was taking care of you instead. Joe stopped his trail of kisses once he got to the waistband of your lace panties. Your eyes widened in disbelief, your heart pounded with excitement, and your pulse was felt in your most intimate area as you watched Joe hook his finger into the waistband of your panties. But his finger wasn't the only thing trying to take your panties off...

Joe lowered his head so that he was now lined up with your clothed core that was practically dripping just from the sight of him. He kept his blue eyes locked on yours as he bit down on the waistband of your red panties. He slowly started to pull the fabric away from your waist. You lifted your legs slightly, giving Joe just enough room to slide pull your panties down your legs with his mouth. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. Not only could you not believe what you were seeing, but you loved what you were seeing. You've never seen Joe act this way before. Something about the hungry look in his eyes as he stared at your aching, dripping womanhood made you feel another level of turned on you've never quite felt before. Joe ripped your panties out of his mouth and threw them off to the side with the pile of other clothes. He lowered his head back down to your dripping core, his tongue instantly lapping at your glistening folds.

"Oh- fuck..."you whimper out as Joe ate you out like a starved man. Joe chuckled against your folds, the vibration sending what felt like an electric shock through your body as it made you jolt. Joe brought his veiny hands up to your thighs, keeping your legs spread open as he buried his tongue into you. He moaned against your core as the taste of your sweet juices hit his taste buds. You tasted like sweet honey...

"You taste so good, Y/n." Joe praised as he took a hand off of your thigh, placing it onto your womanhood and letting his thumb rub circles against your clit as he continued to lap at your soaked core. The feeling of both Joe's tongue and fingers sent you over the edge, turning you into a whimpering and quivering mess in no time. You bucked your hips slightly as Joe's movements quickened. His jaw clenched with each swipe of his tongue and the muscles in his forearm flexed with each stroke of his thumb. Your chest heaved as Joe licked a stripe up your core.

"Fuck Joey, don't stop..."

You brought your hands down to the back of your boyfriends head, gripping the ends of his hair as you pushed him closer to your center. Joe panted against you, feeling your walls clench around his tongue as you grew close to your first orgasm of the night. You let out a whimper as Joe pressed down on your lower belly with his hand. He knew you were getting close from the way the your chest rose and fell, and how your hips were bucking every time his tongue swirled over your clit.

"That's it baby," Joe praised, "Let me taste you."

You let out a few more whimpers, moaning Joe's name in pleasure as you felt the familiar warmth in your lower belly. Soon enough, your chest was heaving as it all came crashing down and you were overcome with complete pleasure and bliss. Joe lapped up your juices with his tongue, pulling his face away from your soaked core. He licked his lips dry, making sure to get every last drop of you into his mouth. Joe smirked as he watched you come down from your orgasmic high, your heaving chest soon going back to its normal rythmuc rising and falling.

"I don't think I've ever seen you cum that hard." He smirked, a sense of pride in his tone as he spoke. "That was hot."

“All because of you.” You replied, still trying to catch your breath and recover from your climax.

Joe pulled you up into a sitting position before crashing his lips onto yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trailing your hands down his back as your nails dug into his skin. You could taste yourself on Joe's lips as the two of you shared a passionate kiss. As his toned body was pressed against yours, you could feel Joe's erection poking at your thigh. It was his turn to be taken care of now. You were going to help him get away from himself for a few minutes...

You pulled away from Joe, smirking up at the blonde quarterback as your hand traveled south, brushing over his erection as you spoke, "Your turn, Joey."

Joe bit his lip in anticipation as he watched you slide out from the bed, moving so that you were now directly in front of him. You gave Joe a sultry look as you slowly got down on your knees in front of him. Despite his calf strain keeping him out for several weeks, making him miss another pre-season yet again, Joe felt like the luckiest guy in the world right now. You reached out and palmed Joe through his boxers, making him wince slightly at the feeling of your hand on his manhood.

"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his undergarments. Joe couldn't form words, so he just nodded. He needed you so bad.

He needed to feel your soft lips around him.

He needed to feel your soft hands around him.

He needed to feel you take him deeper, and deeper.

Joe lifted himself from the bed, helping you remove his boxers from his body. Once the boxers were removed from his waist, Joe's impressive erection sprang free. He sat back down on the bed as you prepared to take him. You gazed hungrily at him just like he did at you moments ago when you were the one being pleasured. You bit down on your bottom lip as you placed your manicured hands on Joe's thick, muscular thighs, spreading them apart as you slowly leaned down. Joe closed his eyes as he waited for the feeling of your lips around him, taking him in deeper with each bob of your head. You brought your lips down around the tip of his dick, pulling them off with a pop as your tongue teased his slit, licking the pre-cum off of the red tip. Between the feeling of your warm breath and your tongue toying with his manhood, Joe threw his head back.

"Fuck," he groaned deeply as you slowly took more of him into your mouth. Your lips were sealed around the head of his cock, sucking and licking tentatively at his skin. Joe bit his tongue, holding back the sounds of pleasure as you suck him off. He let out a strangled sound as you took more of him into your mouth. As you started bobbing your head, Joe couldn’t stop himself from bringing his hands up to your hair and pulling you closer to him.

"Fuck, Y/n-," Joe moaned out as you spit on his dick, jerking him off with your lips still around him. Joe hasn't felt this good in weeks. The stress of training camp, dealing with a calf injury, and trying to be ready to go by week one has put a toll on Joe's mind and body. But right now, he wasn't thinking about any of that stuff. All he was thinking about was you and how you make him feel. You make him feel perfect. You always have and you always will.

You bobbed your head rhythmically, making Joe moan in pleasure. "You're doing so good sweetheart," he praised as he noticed the tears in your eyes from his size, "So good."

You could tell Joe was growing closer to his release because every time you bobbed your head you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth. Joe's chest heaved up in down as his face contorted into a look of pleasure. He let out a few grunts as he came undone in your mouth. You brought him into a pure state of bliss, something he hasn't felt in a while. You pulled your mouth off of him and swallowed, giving him a couple minutes to come down and recover from his high.

“Closer” by Nine Inch Nails begins playing…

You stood up from being on your knees, standing in between Joe's legs as you leaned down and crashed your lips onto his. Your mouths moved in perfect sync as you let him taste himself on your lips just like he had done for you. Joe bit down on your bottom lip, making you wince slightly as he drew blood. Joe licked the blood off of your lip before attaching his lips to yours once again. The metallic taste of your blood filling both yours and Joe's mouths as the drops of crimson hit your taste buds. Joe continued to kiss you hungrily, his movements urgent as he gripped your waist with the pads of his fingers. He pushed you down onto the bed, bringing you underneath him as he hovered over you. Joe inched closer to your ear, his hot breath on your neck sending shivers up your spine.

"I'm gonna fuck you till you're screaming my name and shaking so hard you won't be able to walk."

His husky voice and the words he uttered down at you made you bite your lip in anticipation. Joe gently bit down on your earlobe, slightly tugging on it as he brought his head away from your neck. Joe hovered over you with his left arm on the mattress as his right arm played with you. He harshly kneaded your left breast as his thumb and index finger pinched your sensitive, hard nipple. He did the same thing to your right breast as he began to suck relentlessly as your neck, making you moan in pleasure as he marked his territory. Joe wanted everyone to know that your were his, and only his. Joe licked a stripe up your neck, his hot breath hitting your sensitive skin as he whispered huskily into your ear.

"Here we go."

Joe slid his cock into your slick entrance, burying himself deep inside of you. The feeling of his impressive length made your thighs clench and your eyes squeeze shut as you let out a moan. Joe snapped his hips forward, making your hips buck up, matching his rough thrusts. You wrap your legs around Joe, allowing him to thrust harder, faster, deeper.

"God," he groans out as your walls clench around his cock, "You feel so good." His grunts mixed with the sounds of your moans and skin hitting skin.

Joe could feel himself getting away from himself and his thoughts of the game tonight as he fucked you senseless. Each thrust of his hips and groan that escaped his lips had you feeling pleasure in all the right places. Joe buried his face in your neck as you scratched harshly at his back. Joe left sloppy kisses on your neck as he pulled his hips forwards, roughly thrusting into you. In and out. In and out. In and out. Each thrust grew deeper, the tip of Joe's cock hitting your cervix repeatedly made your body jolt with pleasure. You screamed his name as Joe grunted under his breath.

"Fuck," he praised, "You feel so good, so tight."

Joe continued to fuck you senseless, making you feel as if your whole existence was flawed as you laid underneath him. You immediately grew submissive from his touch, seeming to lose every ounce of dominance in your body. The sounds of yours and Joe's moans filled the bedroom, as all you could smell was sweat and sex. After you let out a particularly loud moan, Joe brought his hand up to your neck, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing you gently. You gasped at the feeling of your lovers hand around your neck as he ruthlessly thrusted himself into you, pushing deeper and deeper.

"Joe," you moaned out as you placed your hand over his that was around your neck, "don't stop."

Joe shook his head and removed his hand from your neck as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, falling onto his lip. He leaned down and crashed his lips onto yours. You could taste the saltiness of his sweat as his tongue swirled around your own. Your bodies continued to move in a perfect rhythm as you and Joe became panting and moaning messes underneath each others touch. You felt a familiar warmth pool in your lower belly. You were so close.

"I'm so close Joe." You practically whined as Joe picked up the pace of his rough thrusts. Soon enough, your walls were clenching around Joe's cock. The clenching of your slick walls around him made Joe grunt. He could feel every inch of you from the inside, and it felt amazing.

"Fuck," Joe growled, his deep voice making your body jolt in pleasure once again. The sound of him, the feeling of him, and the smell of him made you grow even closer to your orgasm.

Joe could feel your walls clench once again, this time with more force. He knew you were close.

"That's it baby," Joe pleaded, his chest heaving as he panted, "cum for me. I wanna feel you." He continued to pound into you, making sure you felt every single inch of him. The feeling of his large cock filling you up made your legs shake as you moaned in pleasure. You came down harshly on Joe's cock, your hands coming up to his head and tugging at his dark blonde locks as he had you seeing stars. You whimpered out his name as your chest heaved up and down. You were completely blissed out as Joe continued to pump into you. He reached his climax shortly after you, groaning, and gripping onto your thighs as spurts of his hot cum filled your insides.

Joe fucked you so hard that both of you were completely blissed out, not thinking straight and feeling yourselves being brought closer to god. Joe pressed his forehead against yours as you both came down from your highs, chests heaving and bodies sticky with sweat.

“I love you so much.” He breathed out, his hot breath hitting your face as he spoke. “I love you too Joey.” You said, your breathing matching his. Joe pulled out of you and plopped down on the bed next to you, pulling you into his side. You immediately laid your head on his right pec, wrapping your arms around his sticky torso as you laid on him.

“That was amazing.” You said, “I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything except just lay here.” Joe smirked down at you as he gently stroked your bare arm with his fingertips. “Well,” he breathed out, “I think I should wear that backwards hat more often.”

You craned your neck up to look at your boyfriend, chuckling softly at his sly remark.

“I think you should too.” You replied honestly.

You definitely think Joe should wear that backwards cap and all black combo a lot more often. Seeing him in that outfit made you act and feel like somebody else…and you absolutely loved it.

hi loves!!

uhh so this was something different than what i usually write LOL. but i was listening to music and this song came on and i was hit with an idea…so i just had to write something😂

i apologize if this was super cringy or not what you were hoping for/expecting! im kind of shocked i was able to write something like this

i’d appreciate some feedback, but if you don’t want to say anything i completely get it ;)

i’ll be updating daddy issue’s tomorrow, and it’s the complete OPPOSITE of whatever this was lol.

thank you for all of you kind words and support with my writing. you are the best! i love talking with all of you and getting to share my work with you. THANK YOU ALL🤍🤍

tags: @hoodharlow @wickedfun9 @bernelflo @ilovejoeburroww @klips118 @killatravtramp @katelyn102 @theflawedwriter @kristencochefski1125 @schumacherburrow @samanthamark5 @joeys-babe @sinners-98-world @burrowstyles5 @m-1234 @marz22224 @emaanemaa

[wave2tyun]

eyes locked, hands locked | ☆

pairing: prince!soobin x reader

genre: royal!au, fluff<3

prompts: - “was that your first kiss?”

- “stop looking at me like that”

warnings: none!

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i apologise for the long wait my lovely anon!!😔😔💞 have fun reading hehe!! :DD<3💞💓💖💘💞 honestly, going through this one again really makes me want to have another go at royal aus, perhaps something longer?? but at the same time i have too many wips going on and AHHHHHHHH i wish the fics would write themselves as fast as my thoughts go through my brain<//3

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

there was nothing more besides the cheery, tiny crickets in the grass that kept you company in the coldness of the night.

while everybody else was busy running around the castle, setting food down on the tables or balancing the champagne-filled glasses on silver trays, your one and only job was to watch over the garden’s flower section, careful so as not to let any curious kids wander off around the perimeter and trample all over them in the darkness.

that was how you were supposed to spend your evening: pacing around the cobblestone pathway, watching the moon and stars, feeling your heart ache as the grand classical music pierced the silence at midnight, wondering if soobin had found himself a partner to dance with, to hold close, to court.

you could tell that the chore had been specially tailored for you by the queen: it kept you away from the ballroom, the guests, and most importantly, from her son. she wasn’t exactly fond of the way the relationship between the two of you had been evolving- your presence left a bitter taste in her mouth, she couldn’t risk having you, a maid, impede the royal family from continuing their pure, blue blood heritage.

you were way too absorbed by the dancing silhouettes you could see from the windows -wishing that you, too, could slip inside- that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

soobin was right behind your back, out of breath, hands slightly sweating while he looked at your figure. he wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you in tightly as he tenderly embraced you “i missed you” you heard him whisper, his breath tickling the back of your neck.

you couldn’t fight back the smile taking over your face, feeling relief that he was alongside you, and not with some stranger, holding them close to his chest, swaying them across the dance floor “how did you sneak out?”

“beomgyu helped me- he made a mess at the dining table while attempting to pull a magic trick” soobin chuckled, remembering the way all the plates and glasses flew in the air as his friend pulled at the table cloth “needless to say, my parents were too astounded to keep their eyes on me”

you laughed at his explanation, knowing beomgyu, the incident must have been much more ridiculous than anything you could ever imagine. he sacrificed himself just so that the two of you could meet. however, the royal family adored him too much to ever throw him out, not matter how chaotic his endeavours were.

“i missed this” soobin placed a kiss on your right shoulder “-and this” he sweetly pecked your cheek, then spun your body around so that you could fully face him. the dim light shining from the lamp poles illuminated your features, giving them a gentle, mellow glow, and, perhaps without even realising it, soobin was leaning closer towards your lips. your breath hitched in your throat as you noticed how short the distance between you was getting, and yet, you allowed him to do it- to close the remaining gap.

you were stiff, anxious, forgetting to close your eyes or at least kiss him back, your mind could only focus on the softness of his lips and how his hand began to trail further down your waist. soobin separated himself from you hesitantly, not too much, only to the point where you could still feel his breath fanning on your face “i apologise, did i go too far-“

“no- that’s not the case” you cut him off. there was a tremble in your voice and it was impossible for him to tell whether it was from anger, sadness, or perhaps nervousness. you tapped your lips with your fingers, struggling the words that wouldn’t make this more embarrassing for you than it already was.

soobin’s head tilted to the side, expecting you to go on further. he couldn’t quite understand why you just stood there when he kissed you, like a statue devoid of emotion. you had always been cold on the surface, mostly unaccepting of any external forces. that didn’t stop soobin from delving deeper inside your heart, he knew that, in reality, behind all your pretending, you were warm, a certain kind of warmth that he’d crave more and more as time went on.

which is why, despite all the distance you had desperately tried to place between the two of you over the years, he still found himself calling out for you. it was inevitable- you were pulling him in like a magnet.

the flowers seemed to pick at his interest only when he walked around the garden with you. maybe because he was all too immersed by your gaze, wanting to find out which plant had your wholehearted attention. maybe it was because he wanted you to look at him that way too- or, maybe he just dreamed of gifting you a bouquet of all your favorite flowers, all handpicked by him from the garden.

the pastries tasted better whenever you were the one who made them, not mr. hughes, the main chef, or any of the other maids. so, each time he spotted a fresh batch made by you in the castle’s kitchen, he’d place one in his mouth stuffing his pockets with at least four more pieces. the butter from the sweets turned the fabric into a dirty, buttery mess, which the maids on cleaning duty loved to complain about. they couldn’t get how, at some point during the week, the pants in his laundry basket managed to reach this state.

he couldn’t deny it, he was completely, thoroughly infatuated by you.

“it’s all new to me” you attempted to reveal the truth, unaware of how vague your statement must have sounded.

soobin continued to look at you with a purely clueless look “what is?” the tone of his voice was a mixture of confusion and concern.

“this” your thumb reached out to graze his lower lip, eyes following the motion. soobin took your hand, holding it against his cheek while smiling.

“was that your first kiss?” his voice quivered as he asked, hiding a laugh. the situation, albeit embarrassing for you, was foolishly endearing for him.

“stop looking at me like that” you dodged his question, returning to your usual, rash behaviour, but soobin knew that you were only doing it out of nervousness.

“why? am i making your heart thump faster?” he whispered, placing a kiss on the inside of your palm “or-“ he leaned down, continuing to speak in a low tone as he reached your ear “perhaps you already want more?”

you gave his shoulder a slight push. where was the flustered boy from a few seconds ago, the one whose eyes widened at the thought of having stolen your first kiss?

“i think you’re getting way too ahead of yourself-”

“i’m not, you’re just afraid” he provoked you, now that it was clear in his mind that you did want the kiss, you just didn’t know how to return it. knowing your ego and short temper, how else could he ensure himself another taste, if not by teasing you?

“afraid of what?” you scoffed.

“of being a bad kisser”

“i’m not-“ your tone sharpened as you looked at him.

“well, how would you know?” he snickered “wasn’t this your first kiss, or am i mistaken?”

by the way he spoke, you could tell that he was enjoying this more and more by the second. catching on to the trap he was leading you to, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt, a tangled mixture of his collar and necklace in your hand as you pulled him closer, pressing your lips to his. you didn’t know exactly what to do, you only puckered your lips, hoping that it was enough to make a difference from your earlier kiss. soobin pulled away with a chuckle, tilting your chin up with one finger “i believe you need more practice, sweetheart”

taglist: @huekalover3000

[mikanotes]

goodbyes are sour

connor x gn!reader — 2.1k words

genre: angst sorta! mutual pining in denial

warnings: mentions of guns and killing, kabedon for the sake of science, connor unreliable narrator LOL u have feelings android man… maybe ooc idk. (wrote this w the idea of connor being deviant since the beginning bcs Yeah!)

synopsis: You meet Connor again. Turns out things are much more complicated when you aren’t working together.

author’s note: hi dbh fic?! i Love connor nd i’ve been writing this for a while (crazy since it’s rly short) but i don’t like it much… anyways whoevers alive in the dbh fandom have this!

“Detective.”

There’s just something about the way Connor speaks. The cadence, the pitch, the enunciation of each word. It’s painfully evident that he isn’t human. Everything about him is so machine-like that even his perfect, human-like exterior could not fool anyone. However it is something you got used to. Hearing the android speak your name and call you ‘Detective’ back a while ago felt somewhat unsettling. Now it’s so easy to recognize that it almost makes you feel at ease.

“Do you seriously think I’m an android? I don’t wanna deal with those fucking machines, either. I’d be glad if you put a bullet through them rather than me.”

Turns out hearing him fake being a human is ten times more terrifying than his android speech patterns could ever hope to be.

This was not part of the plan.

You were sent with a unit to patrol around the streets for any android who still hadn’t been brought back or destroyed. You weren’t a fan of this whole assignment, but felt better than the rookies who were sent out to shoot humanoid robots as their first field mission probably did.

It would be fine, is what you told yourself, because you didn’t feel anything towards Cyberlife’s creations enough to be completely uncomfortable with the idea of their blue blood on your hands, though it wasn’t ideal. You could manage. Until the first person you came across happened to be the one android you genuinely cared about.

“I don’t think he’s one of them…” one of your fellow officers murmurs next to you. You suddenly become very aware of the gun he, too, is holding and pointing towards the target. Fuck. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough.

At least this idiot’s performance seems to be fooling them.

You wait one second, then sigh on the second, and finally lower your gun on the third. “You shouldn’t be here.” you say casually, prompting your colleagues to relax and the atmosphere to lighten a little. Your heart is in your throat, however. “We’ve got orders to round up every android we see around here. You should go home. This isn’t exactly safe.”

“I know, I know.” he sighs, rolling his eyes a little, “I was gonna leave anyways, thanks.”

Your coworkers mumble to themselves about how disagreeable this guy’s attitude is and it’s enough for them to miss the wink the latter sends your way as he leaves. You almost regret not shooting a bullet through his head.

Still, you sigh in relief, setting your gun back at your side and running a hand over your face. You don’t think you can continue patrolling in peace. There’s one too many questions in your mind and the key to answering them is escaping from your grasp.

You take the phone in your pocket and pretend to get a call, moving it to your ear and looking at the members of your team. “I’ll join up with you later.” you say, gesturing towards your phone. They nod and walk away, and you do the same, feeling more relieved than ever that these people see you as a leader of sorts. They won’t question you on anything. You hurry towards the direction your so-called partner left to the moment they’re out of sight.

A rooftop door, stairs, and more stairs. You’re jogging down like you’re chasing a criminal on the run. You’re down to the fifth floor out of eight when someone grabs your arm and pulls you out a door.

“Wha—” you try to yell, but a cold hand settle over your mouth. Your body relaxes but your expression tenses. Connor. “Let me go,” you mumble incoherently, surprisingly succeeding in getting him to let you step away.

You sigh and shake your head, turning around abruptly. His ‘human costume’ (which really just was a grey suit jacket thrown over what should’ve been his Cyberlife uniform, glasses, and a cap to hide his LED) is already gone, replaced by his usual attire, just missing his jacket.

“What the hell was that about?” you ask, annoyed, pointing towards the staircase (back there, on the roof) and the android simply shrugs. “Connor.”

“I was undercover, Detective. I thought someone as smart as you would recognize that much.” he says, his tone back to normal. You’d feel relieved if he wasn’t being so irritating. “Was I wrong?”

Your face drops. “No. I figured as much. But what for?” you sigh, crossing your arms.

“Same mission as always.”

“Who are you chasing? Did you find the place?”

“I have no reason to tell you.”

It only clicks then that while you know about Connor continuing his mission after being laid off the case, you’re not part of it anymore. He had to be sent back to Cyberlife, and you should’ve been forgetting about him entirely. You’re still DPD, and you have orders to shoot Androids on sight— Which you clearly aren’t following. He’s right. He has no reason to tell you.

Still.

You grab his arm when he threatens to walk away. You’re not sure what you want to say, but you’re not done talking. He lets you. “Connor.”

“Detective.” he says. You straighten your back and sigh, not breaking eye contact. He tilts his head to the side and his LED flashes yellow for an instant. “You’re angry.”

Of course you’re angry. He’s infuriating. There’s something about how logical and dead-set on following every single rule he is that makes Connor the most annoying individual you’ve ever talked to. Everything he does has to be for his mission. Every single thing.

“Do threats work with you?” you ask blankly, “If you don’t tell me where it is, I’ll get Cyberlife to bring you back, and all that?”

When he takes a step closer to you again, forcing your back to press against the wall, and his LED does not even threaten to change hues, you’re taken aback. Just a bit. It’s the same kind of frustrated attitude you would’ve expected from a human after saying what you just did. But not Connor.

He doesn’t seem frustrated, though. And you know he can look annoyed. He just doesn’t. So he must not be. And you want to find what it is he’s doing exactly, stepping closer to you without even saying a word, but your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting at the distance between you two. You know he does everything for his work. Does he think you have new information on deviants? Does he really believe you would call Cyberlife on him? Is he using his stupid interrogation module on you? Whatever it is makes you even more annoyed.

The silence feels heavy. It makes things worse. It gives your brain time to process how this is making you feel and it’s no good at all. “What?” you break the silence, tone somewhat irritated.

“I’m trying to understand the reason why you’re so angry at me.” he explains simply, like it makes sense. His eyes narrow a bit and the LED at the side of his head flickers yellow for a moment. “And no, Detective. Threats don’t work on me. Not when I can tell you’re lying so easily.” he adds, quieter.

“Shut up.” you scoff.

“I dont think I will.”

“Connor.”

“— However,” he interrupts, “I can step away from you at any moment if you tell me to.”

“No.”

“No?”

What— No?! You register the word after saying it and sigh, face contorting into a somewhat pained expression. You panicked and said it, your mind processing his offer as him leaving you again— With no information and nothing to ease your stupid worries. Now it just sounds odd.

Is that embarrassment?

“You didn’t finish what you were trying to do, did you? You haven’t told me why I’m angry yet. Since you apparently care so much.” you say, tone sounding much softer than before. Your apparent discomposure took away all the bitterness from your voice. Interesting.

Truth be told, Connor knows why you’re angry. He’s not letting you in on the details of what he’s doing despite the time you spent working as partners a very short while ago. He’s spent enough time with people, and you especially, to know that after forming some kind of bond with a work partner, it would be frustrating not to receive information about their mission the way you used to from them—

Especially considering he was still chasing after something you both knew about. Jericho. But he cannot tell you about that. Not… Right now.

What he really was trying to do was evaluate how much of a threat you really could be to his investigation. He didn’t sense any hostility before and he doesn’t now, and you could’ve shot him but you didn’t. But it’s not enough. He needs more time— More evidence that it’s fine. That’s why he pulled you here in the first place. That’s why he pressured you to talk.

He needs to make sure killing you isn’t necessary.

“Because I posed a threat to the stability of your current mission earlier. You wouldn’t have been able to shoot me had I been discovered, and your reaction to your colleagues shooting me would’ve jeopardized your job itself.” he answers.

This reasoning would make sense.

“That’s not it.” you sigh.

Your heartbeat is slowing down. No good. Connor leans his arm on the wall next to you and moves closer. Your heartbeat picks up in speed. It’s almost alarming. He can tell all the details about your physical condition and deduce what you’re thinking or feeling based off of them, sure. But he’s no human. The way he views and comprehends emotions is registered in his system in a much more clear and logic-based way than it is in humans’ brains.

So maybe he won’t ever know why your heart beats so heavily against your ribcage. So he just has to pressure the right places and demand answers. He unfortunately can’t allow you to relax. He won’t get anything out of you if you’re calm. You’re much too turbulent for that.

Or maybe he’ll just have to ask. In a normal way.

“Detective, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” you scoff, eyes widening. Wrong question.

You seem like you want to be angry but something is holding you back from displaying just how much he gets on your nerves. You sigh deeply and look at him, “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting so weird. More than usual. Why’d you pull me here if you didn’t want to tell me anything? And I’m worried. What if you really did get shot? Wasn’t Cyberlife supposed to deactivate you? They wouldn’t have brought in another Connor this time. You’re off the case, you— You would’ve died!”

“Maybe.”

There’s circles under your eyes. There always are, but they’re more defined now than they were the last time he saw you. Now that you’re actually being honest, your whole voice and mannerisms betray any of your usual annoyed and dismissive facade. He didn’t think you cared this much, though he understands that some humans are quick to empathize. To a fault.

Now it’s clear he doesn’t need to eliminate you at all. Part of him seems to have grown fond of your company. He couldn’t risk that getting in the way of his better judgment.

“I only pulled you here so you wouldn’t pointlessly chase down the streets searching for me, since I made sure no one would follow.” he says, stepping back and giving you more space, “You’re a police officer. It doesn’t matter what you say you’ll keep to yourself or not. I can’t compromise. This is too important.”

You’re hurt, it’s visible. He’s saying he can’t risk trusting you. He figures that must not feel nice.

The sound of the radio attached to your side breaks this prolonged silence with the promise of separation. You take it, eyes not leaving Connor’s, and listen to your colleague speak. You tell them you’ll be right there. You’re not one to be late. He knows you’ll really leave this time— Too far away for him to hope to talk to you again, if anything goes awry.

You turn the radio off and put it back where it was. “Hope you succeed, then.” you say, bitter, and push yourself up to start walking away.

“Take care of yourself, Detective.” Connor says. Asks. The words come out before he can really think. Something about your voice and this whole atmosphere made him… Feel uneasy. Like he needed to say something. If this is how your partnership ends, he doesn’t believe it should be on such a sour note. He cares doesn’t dislike you at all, so why should it?

You stagger a little, seemingly stopping in your tracks, but moving again no more than a second later. “You too, Connor.”

Somehow, goodbyes had never seemed so sad.

[krashoutluv]

I can't stop thinking about Princess Mononoke AK!Jason, dude is just so feral and full of anger just like San, but I like the idea of that famous scene:

"I'll cut your throat out and that'll make you stop talking!"

"You're beautiful."

But with a reader who had never seen his face before, maybe they save him and he scold them for it and threaten them, but reader is just to mesmerized and busy losing blood to care.

YOURE FEEDING ME DAWG— I swear i needa write a fic of Ak!Jason and a Civilian!Reader or smthn cause youre so rightfjorbdkdjdjd.

but i dont think ak!jay would threaten someone he cares about. it’d make him feel like his time with the joker rubbed off on him too bad :(

HOWEVER. short fic of this bc i LOVE THIS so BAD

“You’re So Beautiful.” / Eyes Are Windows Into The Soul Ak!Jason SHORT FIC SFW

tw: blood! not super in depth! but reader has a not detailed wound!

NO BETA, I DIE LIKE A REAL NIGGA!!

What you did this night will always be unequivocally, undeniably, unmistakably, DOWNRIGHT, stupid. But was it worth it? A little.

JASON was grappling across rooftops as fast as he could to his bunker; your wound wasn’t a death sentence but needed to be tended to quickly. His arm was wrapped around your lower waist, body tightly pressed against his as he zipped across Gotham. Jason had adrenaline rushing through him, especially because he could feel your warm blood seeping onto his clothing. He was so quiet, it made you wonder if you were gonna die, but tried to rationalize it with the fact that he’s never been much of a talker. He landed on a roof and propped you up against a wall as he unlocked the door that connected to the top of his bunker. Jason kept his eyes trained on you through his mask, you were light headed and his Hood showed that your heart-rate was higher then average as well. Obviously really use to this kind of action, he wasn’t sure if he hated himself for getting you involved in his Gotham gravity or the fact he couldn’t protect you. It was BOTH.

JASON wrapped his arm around your waist, then threw his other under your knees. Princess carrying you down to the bathroom. “My knight in shining armor?” You joked as he set you down onto the toilet lid, trying to ease both your nerves just a bit. “Not funny.” He grunted, crouching down under the sink to grab the first-aid kit he had under it. “Understandable..” you said meekly in return. Jason kneeled besides you, quickly making work on disinfecting the wound. “Not a big fan on dark ‘poorly timed’ humor?” He paused, and took off his helmet, damn thing was too detailed for him to see properly. He needed to work on stitching this, not know your god damn blood type and parents. His annoyance peaking, he responded sharply “I’m not a big fan of you stupidly jeopardizing yourself for me.” he knew not to look at you, just fucking knew not to. You were gonna say something— you had to—he cant— he fucking looked. They say the eyes are windows into the soul, “You’re beautiful.” Not what he expected, not even a little. Maybe a ‘How’d you get that?’ or ‘The hell happened to you?’ but that? Yeah not fucking that. It had you both staring into each others eyes for just a few seconds too long. He turned away once he felt his face burning,” God, how much blood are you losing?” You snickered.

THE Red Hood is a pretty boy, with pretty blue eyes, and a pretty face, and a pretty bottom lip.

so worth !

i loved this so bad, inbox is open for more rqs and rambles!

[wildlavendermoon]

Just a summer thing

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

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pairing. Ethan Landry x fem!reader

warnings. Fluff, swearing, mention of blood

summary. You decide to spend your summer as a camp counselor and meet another camp counselor Ethan Landry whom you quickly catch interest in and so does he

a/n. The characters are from the Scream universe but there's no Ghostface involved. I'm actually thinking about doing another part let me know what you think this is the first fic I'm publishing here! please do not repost.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was just the beginning of the summer, and you could still feel the heat slowly rising. It was your first summer being a camp counselor at Camp Moondale you didn’t know anybody; it was a new experience, and you hoped to get out of your comfort zone.

As the scent of wood lingers in the air, you take in your surroundings, which you will become familiar with over the next month.

The room was packed with other counselors. You sat by the window, listening attentively to a tall guy with blue eyes and dark hair. He welcomes everyone and explains the rules of the camp, his face is very serious, but he has a charming side that doesn’t make him cold or irritating.

A girl with black hair and freckles is sitting next to a tall muscular guy with a big smile, and a girl with short curly hair looks at him disappointed.

Then your eyes meet with brown eyes; he has a little smile and curly brown hair. You look at him for a few seconds, then look away, flustered. Your attention goes back to the head counselor, whose name is AJ

“Well, if you don't have questions, we can move on and put you in your assigned cabin”

You soon learn you will be in the squirrel cabin with the two girls you saw earlier. The brunette comes up to you with a big smile 

“Hi, I'm Tara It's nice to meet you and this is Mindy” she points to the taller girl next to her 

“Hey, I hope you don't snore or anything, right?”

A small chuckle comes out of your mouth 

“No worries, I don't. I'm y/n, by the way”

Mindy smiles at you 

“Is this your first time here ?”

“Yeah actually... I’ve never done this before”

Tara looks at you with a reassuring smile 

“It’s quite fun here; it's going to be a great summer, trust me!”

Mindy has one hand on her hip with a little grin. “I hate to admit it, but it's not that horrible, and we come back every year with my twin brother.” She points at the tall, muscular guy with a varsity jacket; he moves toward you with a dazzling smile and says,

“Hey, I'm Chad, and this is my roommate Ethan!”

You smile back at him and see the guy with whom you exchanged looks earlier behind him. Mindy puts a hand on your shoulder.

“This is y/n she's at our cabin, and she's our new friend”

Ethan flashes a smile and simply says hi. His eyes are dark, but you could easily lose yourself in them for hours. He has a defined jawline, and overall, he is very attractive. Your heart skips a beat the second he looks toward you.

Then Tara interrupts you in your daydreaming: “We better get going to our cabin now; see you later, boys!”

Tara grabs your arm, and you three walk to the cabin. You unpack your bags and talk with the girls, trying to get to know each other.

As the sun sets and the night breeze hits your neck, you walk towards the campfire, where all the camp counselors are. You can hear some laughter and fire crackling in the distance. You sit next to Mindy and, a girl with black hair with some blond streaks. Furthermore, you look up and see Ethan sitting in front of you, talking to Chad, as the fire warms your face. You haven't had the chance to talk to him yet; all the girls have told you is that he is a big horror movie fan, and he is a bit shy.

Your conversation with Mindy gets more joyful and you get to know Anika the girl next to you, but you can't help yourself with some glances at Ethan. Feeling the tension between Anika and Mindy you decide to leave them alone, you see Tara and Chad cuddling up and decide to approach the fire.

As you look in the distance you hear footsteps behind you, Ethan emerges and sits next to you you look up at him

“What are you doing all alone?” he asks

“I think Mindy and this girl are flirting with each other and I didn't want to interrupt anything”

“Yeah I kinda feel like the third wheel when Chad and Tara are together”

You chuckle softly

“How long have you guys known each other?”

“Um It’s been less than three years I think, I moved in with Chad and I've been part of the group ever since”

“And you go to this camp every summer?”

“Yes basically it's just really cool to go here together”

“Well it's cute that you have each other”

He looks at you more attentively

“Why did you decide to go here?”

“I just needed something new…I just wanted to change my mind you know?”

He nods and doesn't insist on it, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"Besides this place is very cute it’s kind of refreshing”

“Doesn’t it scare you the woods?”

“Well as long as Jason doesn’t crawl from them I’m good” you chuckle and he looks at you surprised

“Wait you like horror films?”

“Guilty! It’s my nerdy side”

“Well, I’m a pretty big nerd when it comes to horror movies too!”

You smile at him glad that you could make a conversation with him after dying to talk to him all day.

You and Ethan talked about horror movies all night until you went back to your cabin. You waved goodnight to him before going to sleep, unable to stop smiling about the day.

The first few days were pretty relaxed, with activities around the camp with the kids and getting to know everyone better. You often talked to Ethan late at night.

The heat today was intense, making your skin feel like it was melting. You smelled like sweat and sunscreen. Naturally, everyone decided to freshen up and go swim in the lake. The kids were excited, and you couldn't hide your excitement either. You notice Chad playfully fighting with Tara in the distance. As you turn your head, you catch a glimpse of Ethan in his swimsuit and shirtless. You slowly take in his ripped physique, unable to look away from his abs. The temperature seems to rise suddenly, and then he notices you and smiles. The group starts heading into the water, and you decide to join them.

Everyone was enjoying the moment and laughing playing games in the water, and then you were alone with just Anika

“You know Ethan was checking you out!” she says playfully

You open your mouth a little surprised“No you're lying!”

“I'm not! He can't stop looking at you” playing with her eyebrows

“Really?” you smirk

“I can assure you he only got eyes for you”

She points with her head behind you

You look behind you and see Ethan with Chad and you catch him looking at you

“What should I do?” you say to Anika

“Maybe you should try a move on him and see how he reacts. But be subtle not too forward!”

“I will try that thanks Ani”

You swim back to the group but it's just you Ethan as the two couples go do their own thing.

“It's just me and you again!”

“Yes, are we like the 5th and 6th wheel?” you laugh

“Do you not like spending time with me y/n?” he teases

“It’s like torture you can't even imagine!” you tease him

He acts offended faking a pout

“Oh really?”

You nod and he decides to splash you

You're surprised at first but then attack him back as you two act like kids playing in the water.

After a few minutes, you say “I'm thirsty I'm going to get some soda you want some?”

“Sure let’s go!”

Ethan gets out of the water first picking a soda from the cooler, as you get on the ladder you feel something scratching on your knee you hiss in pain.

Chad notices it and sees blood on your knee

“Are you okay? shit your bleeding” he helps you out picking you up, Ethan rapidly makes his way to you

“What happened? Are you hurt ?”

As you look at your bleeding knee in pain you say “fuck I think a nail from the ladder scratch me or something”

“You are bleeding a lot let me take you to the nursery” he puts a towel on you and hands you your shirt.

“Let me help you” he puts his arms around you helping you walk to the nursery.

You walk into the quiet room and sit on the bed, putting on your shirt and feeling the cold air. Ethan looks around for something to clean you up with. You glance at Ethan and appreciate how caring he is, taking care of you. He sits in front of you, applying antiseptic on a cotton ball and gently approaching your wound.

"Thankfully, it doesn't look too severe, there's just a lot of blood," he says. You flinch in pain as the antiseptic stings your wound. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Not your fault, Ethan," you reply. You gaze down at him, admiring him. He is still shirtless, and you notice his freckles and moles spread all over his chest.

"You've got moles and freckles everywhere," you gently trace them. He looks up at you, smiling, and you can't help but admire his brown eyes. "Your eyes have a little bit of yellow in them, it's almost golden in the sun," you say. Ethan's cheeks blushed a little, and you could swear you heard his heart pounding. After he finishes cleaning the wound, he puts a band-aid on it, gently caressing your knee.

“Why do you have so many bruises?" he asks.

"I'm a little clumsy," you laugh.

"I see that," he chuckles softly. He is still caressing your knee, and with his other hand, he puts a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your hair is still wet, and his touch is warm.

Your stomach is all in knots as you look into each other's eyes, feeling the tension between you and Ethan, wanting to taste him.

It has to be broken. Suddenly, Ethan traces your lips with his thumb; he is dangerously approaching them now, just a few centimeters between the two of you.

Your lips meet his, your right hand is in his hair, and your left one is grazing his jaw, feeling the butterflies in your stomach.

His hand is still on your knee, caressing it gently. As the kiss deepens, he puts his hand on your waist, pulling you closer to him. You let out a gasp, which allows him to push his tongue inside your mouth.

He pulls you closer until you are sitting on his lap, kissing his neck. He lets out a little whimper as he strokes the sides of your hips.

You stroke his bare chest, feeling his muscles. It is now your turn to whimper as he kisses your neck and whispers in your ear, “Feeling better?”

“Much better; thank you, nurse,” you whisper back.