#THAT'S the 'but how/why do they even work‚ really...'

[cupid-styles]

brat (sex columnist!harry x best friend!y/n)

in which y/n is best friends with harry, a sex columnist, who needs a little help answering a reader's question.

word count: 3k

content warnings: SMUT!!!! (mean dom/bratty sub dynamic, dirty talk, pussy spanking, paddling, sir kink, degradation, slight edging, fingering)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m really not.”

“No, but you are.”

“It would be for work and work only—”

“I don’t care.”

Harry sighs as he lifts a hand to run it through his curly hair. The noisy puff of air is filled with unsaid annoyance and Y/N tries her best not to roll her eyes at her best friend’s stubbornness, instead focusing on toying with the bracelet around her wrist. Instead of replying, he quickly runs his fingertips over the trackpad on his laptop so it glows back to life. 

“Can you at least hear me out?” he asks, his tone teetering on a polite plea, “You know writing about sex is my job. How am I supposed to help this person out when I can’t even offer a fair answer?”

Y/N crosses her arms and shrugs and Harry wishes he could reach across the couch and push them to her sides. 

“What makes you think I have any experience being a sub, anyway?” she fires back, keeping her eyes glued on the TV in front of them.

They're currently binging the newest season of The Bachelor, but Harry was more so using the dialogue and Y/N’s periodic gasps as background noise. For the past year or so, he’s held down a job at an online publication as a sex columnist. He loves it — people write in anonymously, asking him questions about everything from premature ejaculation to open relationships. Under the pen name H.E. Bell, he gets paid to write lengthy, thoughtful responses, helping his readers with approaching whatever sexual issue they’re facing. And this week, his editor really wants him to address a particular question about a dominant and submissive relationship. 

The thing is, though, is the letter comes from a sub. And Harry’s a dom. 

A mean one, at that.

So while Y/N’s diving into a pint of her favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (Phish Food, obviously), and Harry’s trying his best — and miserably failing — to place himself in the shoes of his submissive reader, he knows what he has to do.

“I hate to tell you, but you scream submissive,” Harry replies, pushing his laptop off of the couch and onto the coffee table. “Don’t even try to deny it. Just… just hear me out. Please. My deadline’s tomorrow afternoon.”

Y/N lets out an irritated huff as she grabs the TV remote and presses pause. Silently, she sits back against the couch, facing her best friend, and shoots him a displeased expression; a wordless allowance to speak. 

“I’m a dom and I’ve literally always been that way. You’re a sub, through-and-through. This person is asking about situations pertaining to experience as a submissive, and I can’t really provide them with the advice that they’re looking for since I’ve never been in that headspace.”

Y/N shrugs carelessly. She’s unbothered by his frank analysis of her subordinate behavior — it’s not exactly surprising that Harry, the sex columnist, is able to identify a sub, dom, or switch from 10 miles away. But that doesn’t mean she has to get dragged into his research, or whatever the hell he was trying to play it off as.

“Why don’t you just skip the question, then?” Y/N asks. “If you don’t have the right resources to offer an answer—”

“My editor thinks it’ll bring in a lot of page views,” he says, his throat bobbing with a swallow. His eyebrows draw together some, creating a small worried wrinkle between them. “Listen, I’ll fuck off if you’re totally uncomfortable with helping me, but you’re my best friend and I don’t know who else I could ask with this short of a timeframe.”

She sighs and brings her knees up to her chest. 

“Fine. Read me the question.”

A grin breaks out on Harry’s face as he grabs his laptop. He taps on the trackpad a few times as he brings the email up on the screen, eyes scanning over his bright inbox. 

“Okay, here’s what they said,” he clears his throat and Y/N really does roll her eyes this time, “Dear H.E.— I’ve been in a sexual relationship with my dominant for three months. Up until now, we’ve clicked really well. The chemistry is great and we always mesh really well both during scenes and aftercare. But lately, I’m worried I’ve been a little too bratty. For context, I’m a bratty sub with an attitude, but my dom knew that going into this. I fear that they’ll grow tired of my nonsense and insistent disobedience, but when I’m in my subspace or engaging in a scene with them, it’s hard for me to pull away from it. What should I do? Do you have any advice for what I can do as a sub to best help my dom?”

Y/N’s plucking at her bottom lip as Harry glances up from his computer. Blinking, she thinks for a moment before crafting a response.

“Well, it sounds like the sub needs to communicate their feelings to their dom. There seems to be a lot of insecurity.” she says. He hums, nodding his head as he types a few words on his keyboard. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” he murmurs, “They said it’s hard for them not to be in that bratty headspace, though.”

She shrugs, “I mean, if you’re a bratty sub, you’re a bratty sub. That’s just who you are.”

“Do you think there are any punishments that would work, then?”

“You’re the dom, shouldn’t you be able to answer that question?”

“I guess,” he replies, running his palm over the short bit of facial hair that’s grown on his chin in the past few days. “Spanking, edging, overstimulation, types of shibari, I guess…”

Y/N’s thighs squeeze involuntarily.

“...I just don’t know what works best.” he finishes his sentence, halting the tapping of his fingertips over the keyboard. “What do you think?”

She forces a swallow to coat her dry throat. “It depends.” she pushes out.

“Well, what works for you?”

She thinks for a moment. It’s been a minute since she’s been in a proper dominant/submissive dynamic — the last few times she’s had sex have all been one night stands and quick flings, all of which don’t allow enough time to learn about hard limits, punishments, and safe words. Her brain has to float back to a year ago, when she was sleeping with Reese, a soft dom who tried his best to tame her bratty nature but came back empty every time. He was good — the sex was good, but she wanted — no, needed — more.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really had a dominant… achieve that, I guess,” she mumbles thoughtfully. “I mean, I know what I like, as far as punishments go. But it’s not really about what the submissive likes, is it?”

“No,” Harry agrees. He hums as he opens up a second tab and she watches as he types the words “punishments for submissives” into the search engine. She sniffles and attempts to disregard the way her core instantly clenches. 

He’s silent as he reads through a few lists, occasionally jotting down some notes into his Google doc. Y/N swallows noisily when he glances back up at her, this time prepared with an apparent list of proposed consequences. 

“Okay, can you just tell me which ones you think most submissives would be fine with?”

She nods.

“Withgoing underwear in public?”

“Mhm.”

“Pussy spanking?”

“Yeah.”

“Nipple wax play?”

“Depends on the sub’s pain tolerance, but um… yeah.”

“Paddling?”

“I actually haven’t done that one before.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise. 

“No?”

She shakes her head. “None of my doms have ever had one.”

“Doesn’t sound like they were proper doms, then.”

“They’ve all been on the softer side,” Y/N explains shyly. “But… yeah. I guess it’s always something I’ve wanted to try.”

“Is it?” 

She can tell by the way his eyes have darkened, that there’s something wicked stirring in that brain of his. She knows she can put a stop to this now if she wants — he’s her best friend and he wouldn’t care if she ended the conversation here and now. 

But she doesn’t.

Not for a second.

So instead she nods. And she’s completely unsurprised by the next sentence that falls from his lips.

“Do you want to try it now?”

By now, Y/N’s brain is all fuzzy and melty, so she doesn’t even think before she’s nodding her head eagerly. Harry chuckles and closes his laptop, shuffling onto his knees to lean forward and pluck at her bottom lip. A smirk curves at his mouth as she leans into his touch.

“Getting quite desperate on me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, cradling her cheek into his palm. “Get naked for me then and I’ll go get the paddle. No touching while I’m gone.”

Her stomach flips at the domineering tone in his voice. All too quickly, they’ve fallen into their most intimate roles, and Harry’s carrying himself to his bedroom as Y/N continues sitting there, all gooey-eyed and foggy. And maybe he should have expected it when he returns back to the living room a few moments later to see her sprawled out across the length of the couch, her bralette and underwear still on with her fingers tucked beneath the waistband of the fabric.

“Kitten,” Harry all but growls, making Y/N shiver at the pet name, “Are you already disobeying me?”

She hums as she watches him through half-lidded eyes, soft fingertips petting at her pearled clit. His eyes glimpse down at the tented material and he instantly sets the dark red paddle down on the carpeted floor, kneeling between her legs.

“What’s your color?” he breathes, locking a hand around her ankle. Her pussy quivers just from the simple grasp.

“Green,” she answers, “I’ll tell you if anything changes. Safe word is licorice.”

Harry nods, allowing his large hands to float up her legs. They reach the gusset of her sodden underwear and he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, snapping the fabric against her swollen pussy.

“Take your hand out of your panties now and I won’t smack your pussy until she’s raw.”

Y/N doesn’t move. In fact, he thinks her circling fingers only quicken.

“I’ll give you one last warning,” he grits out, squeezing the flesh of her thighs, “I’m not a nice dominant. You won’t be able to walk if you keep going against me.”

But of course, her hand stays glued to the bundle of nerves. Instead, she breathes out a sultry response: “Think I could cum like this, having you watch me.”

In a moment, her cotton underwear is being ripped from her body and thrown aside. He’s swift in his movements as he collects her wrists in his palm, squeezing them harshly and throwing them up, high above her body. She gasps, noisy and wet.

“I don’t fuck around with brats like you for a reason.” 

The first spank he issues to her puffy pussy is quick and fleeting, hardly offering a lick of pain. He’s eager to find where her pain threshold lies; if she’s all talk or if she can take the full force of his large palm. By the time he lands the sixth one, her skin now reddening beneath his smacks, he thinks he’s found it and he admits, he’s relatively impressed. 

“Aw, did that one hurt?” Harry mocks, watching as her face twists in an expression of discomfort. “That’s because punishments are meant to be mean. You’re not supposed to enjoy them, little brat. You’ve had it too easy, hm?”

“H-haven’t,” she stutters out, wincing as he delivers a seventh, “I’m good, sir, I swear—”

“Oh, bull-fuckin’-shit,” he retorts. “You’re a silly little brat is what you are.”

“‘m not—”

Smack—

“You are.”

She whines until he reaches the tenth one. She’s a wiggly mess of sniffles and whimpers and he shushes her, brushing a thumb over her clit. She gasps lowly and he laughs.

“On your belly.”

This time, Y/N doesn’t defy him and Harry is admittedly surprised. She buries her face in the throw pillow and he rolls his eyes at the theatrics. Before picking the paddle up off the floor, his blunt fingertips scratch at her scalp, gentle and kind as they trail down to the nape of her neck. 

“What’s your color, kitten?” he asks softly, rubbing a docile palm over her bare ass.

“Green, sir.”

“Do you still want to try the paddle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, “We’ll start with five and then see where you’re at. You know what to say if you want me to stop, right?”

“Red or licorice, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Since it’s her first time, he decides to ease her into it. He uses only a smidgen of his strength to smack the paddle against the thick of her cheek, watching as the wood ricochets. Her skin jiggles in response and he swallows, noting the way her nails already dig into the couch.

The second and third are just as light but he adds a bit more pressure to the fourth and fifth. When he’s finished, he rubs over the flush skin, slow and intentional.

“How was that?” he asks. 

“Good,” she replies, her voice slightly muffled from the pillow, “I can take more.”

A hand quickly finds its way to the back of her neck and her eyes instantly widen. He shifts her head, smushing her cheek into the soft fabric so her voice is no longer dulled. 

“Need to hear you loud and clear,” Harry says. “And now you’ll count for me.”

When the oak paddle makes contact with her ass for the sixth time, she grits her teeth but still calls out the number. She follows suit for the next five and, while it’s painful and harsh in the most uncomfortable of ways, she’d be lying if she said her skin didn’t feel like it was on fire. She’s burning for him, feeling her arousal leak down between the apex of her thighs with every last spank. 

“Good job, kitten,” Harry announces, dropping the paddle at the end of the set. “You did good, hm? Did the bratty girl learn her lesson?”

Y/N’s bottom lip juts out in a pout when his soft palms begin to soothe her aching bum. He instantly takes notice, wrinkling his eyebrows in confusion. 

“Can’t give you anymore tonight, kitten. It was only your first time.”

Instead of replying, she simply shakes her head.

“Use your words. I’m not a mindreader, brat.”

Swallowing, she lifts her head up slightly, only enough to give her a peek of Harry’s concerned expression. 

“W-wanna cum,” she mumbles, blinking at him, “Will you make me cum, sir?”

And instead of immediately getting what she wants, Harry does the unthinkable.

He rolls his eyes.

“You act like a slutty brat all night, begging to get paddled, and now you want me to make you cum?” 

She nods, ashamed and embarrassed.

“What the fuck makes you think you deserve that?”

“I-I took my spankings and paddlings without complaining. And I didn’t disobey you a-after that.”

“But you did defy me to begin with, didn’t you?” he pushes, weaving his hand into the hair at the back of her head. His fist tightens and he lifts her head so her neck cranes back. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And now you want to cum.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But not only do you want to cum— you want me to make you cum.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine then,” he decides, sitting down and leaning back against the couch cushions. “Come here. Straddle me.”

She forces herself onto her knees and ignores the way her ass and pussy both sting from her punishments. Right now, all she can focus on is her buzzing clit and its need for attention. 

She does as she’s told and splits her thighs to fit his own legs between them. Almost instantly, he cups a hand beneath her mouth and glares at her expectantly. 

“Spit, brat. Are you dumb?”

She shakes her head, allowing saliva to pool behind her lips before spitting it into his palm. With his eyes staring into hers, he lowers his spit-slick hand down to her mound and pushes a finger inside of her. Immediately, she clenches around it, her eyes threatening to flutter shut.

“Keep them open,” he instructs, “Jesus, your cunt is already milking me.”

She swallows and forces herself to maintain eye contact with the man sitting before her. He’s merciless in his ministrations, especially when he nestles a second, then a third finger and curls them up to her most sensitive spot. Her hands form tight fists as she grinds against his hand, moaning loudly when his thumb reaches her clit. 

“What a desperate little pussy,” he murmurs, speeding up the tight circles over the swollen bundle of nerves, “You like getting stretched out, don’t you? Say it.”

“I-I love when you stretch me out, sir.”

“Of course you do,” he smirks viciously, “Is your cunt gonna cum like this?”

“Y-yes, sir—”

“Ask for permission first, kitty.”

“Please sir, can I cum? P-please?”

She’s whimpery and mewling as she bounces helplessly on his fingers, the ribbon in her lower stomach threatening to unravel at any given moment. He hums, stilling the digits inside of her.

“Hold it.”

“Sir—”

“Hold it, brat.”

Her pussy clenches around him but she does. She restrains herself until he finally allows the ribbon to come undone, a slew of whines and curses sounding from her plush lips as she does.

It feels like it goes on forever but when the pleasure finally ceases, she collapses into his chest. Harry gently pulls his fingers from her center and wraps an arm around her waist, giving it a gentle, loving squeeze. 

He lets her stay like that for a bit and, maybe selfishly, he enjoys having her limp, exhausted body so close to his. 

“Gotta clean you up and rub some salve on your bum,” he finally manages out, ducking down to whisper the words in her ear. 

Tiredly, she nuzzles her head against his shoulder. “Five more minutes?”

He swallows. 

He doesn’t think she’s in her subspace, but he knows she’s sleepy and fuzzy from the mix of pain and pleasure he just instilled on her body.

And so for that, he’ll give her five more minutes.

Six, if she’s lucky.

[dostoyevsky-official]

Last August, Lucy Letby, a thirty-three-year-old British nurse, was convicted of killing seven newborn babies and attempting to kill six others. Her murder trial, one of the longest in English history, lasted more than ten months and captivated the United Kingdom. The Guardian, which published more than a hundred stories about the case, called her “one of the most notorious female murderers of the last century.” The collective acceptance of her guilt was absolute. “She has thrown open the door to Hell,” the Daily Mail wrote, “and the stench of evil overwhelms us all.”

The case galvanized the British government. The Health Secretary immediately announced an inquiry to examine how Letby’s hospital had failed to protect babies. After Letby refused to attend her sentencing hearing, the Justice Secretary said that he’d work to change the law so that defendants would be required to go to court to be sentenced. Rishi Sunak, the Prime Minister, said, “It’s cowardly that people who commit such horrendous crimes do not face their victims.”

The public conversation rushed forward without much curiosity about an incongruous aspect of the story: Letby appeared to have been a psychologically healthy and happy person. She had many close friends. Her nursing colleagues spoke highly of her care and dedication. A detective with the Cheshire police, which led the investigation, said, “This is completely unprecedented in that there doesn’t seem to be anything to say” about why Letby would kill babies. “There isn’t really anything we have found in her background that’s anything other than normal.”

The judge in her case, James Goss, acknowledged that Letby appeared to have been a “very conscientious, hard working, knowledgeable, confident and professional nurse.” But he also said that she had embarked on a “calculated and cynical campaign of child murder,” and he sentenced her to life, making her only the fourth woman in U.K. history condemned to die in prison.

[...] The N.H.S. has a totemic status in the British psyche—it’s the “closest thing the English have to a religion,” as one politician has put it. One of the last remnants of the postwar social contract, it inspires loyalty and awe even as it has increasingly broken down, partly as a result of years of underfunding. In 2015, the infant-mortality rate in England and Wales rose for the first time in a century. A survey found that two-thirds of the country’s neonatal units did not have enough medical and nursing staff.

[...] A woman came to the hospital after her water broke. She was sent home and told to wait. More than twenty-four hours later, she noticed that the baby was making fewer movements inside her. “I was concerned for infection because I hadn’t been given any antibiotics,” she said later. She returned to the hospital, but she still wasn’t given antibiotics. She felt “forgotten by the staff, really,” she said. Sixty hours after her water broke, she had a C-section. The baby, a girl who was dusky and limp when she was born, should have been treated with antibiotics immediately, doctors later acknowledged, but nearly four hours passed before she was given the medication. The next night, the baby’s oxygen alarm went off. “Called Staff Nurse Letby to help,” a nurse wrote. The baby continued to deteriorate throughout the night and could not be revived. A pathologist found pneumonia in the baby’s lungs and wrote that the infection was likely present at birth.

[...] A team from the Royal College of Paediatrics and Child Health spent two days interviewing people at the Countess [Letby's hospital]. They found that nursing- and medical-staffing levels were inadequate. They also noted that the increased mortality rate in 2015 was not restricted to the neonatal unit. Stillbirths on the maternity ward were elevated, too. [...] The Royal College could find no obvious factors linking the deaths; the report noted that the circumstances on the unit were “not materially different from those which might be found in many other neonatal units within the UK.”

[...] In September, 2022, a month before Letby’s trial began, the Royal Statistical Society published a report titled “Healthcare Serial Killer or Coincidence?” The report had been prompted in part by concerns about two recent cases, one in Italy and one in the Netherlands, in which nurses had been wrongly convicted of murder largely because of a striking association between their shift patterns and the deaths on their wards. The society sent the report to both the Letby prosecution and the defense team. It detailed the dangers of drawing causal conclusions from improbable clusters of events. In the trial of the Dutch nurse, Lucia de Berk, a criminologist had calculated that there was a one-in-three-hundred-and-forty-two-million chance that the deaths were coincidental. But his methodology was faulty; when statisticians looked at the data, they found that the chances were closer to one in fifty.

[...] “Looking for a responsible human—this is what the police are good at,” Schafer [a law professor at the University of Edinburgh who studies the intersection of law and science] told me. “What is not in the police’s remit is finding a systemic problem in an organization like the National Health Service, after decades of underfunding, where you have overworked people cutting little corners with very vulnerable babies who are already in a risk category. It is much more satisfying to say there was a bad person, there was a criminal, than to deal with the outcome of government policy.”

[...] Several months into the trial, Richard Gill, an emeritus professor of mathematics at Leiden University, in the Netherlands, began writing online about his concerns regarding the case. Gill was one of the authors of the Royal Statistical Society report, and in 2006 he had testified before a committee tasked with determining whether to reopen the case of Lucia de Berk. England has strict contempt-of-court laws that prevent the publication of any material that could prejudice legal proceedings. Gill posted a link to a Web site, created by Sarrita Adams, a scientific consultant in California, that detailed flaws in the prosecution’s medical evidence. In July, a detective with the Cheshire police sent letters to Gill and Adams ordering them to stop writing about the case. “The publication of this material puts you at risk of ‘serious consequences’ (which include a sentence of imprisonment),” the letters said. “If you come within the jurisdiction of the court, you may be liable to arrest.”

Letby is housed in a privately run prison west of London, the largest correctional facility for women in Europe. Letters to prisoners are screened, and I don’t know if several letters that I sent ever reached her. One of her lawyers, Richard Thomas, who has represented her since early in the case, said that he would tell Letby that I had been in touch with him, but he ignored my request to share a message with her, instead reminding me of the contempt-of-court order. He told me, “I cannot give any comment on why you cannot communicate” with Letby. Lawyers in England can be sanctioned for making remarks that would undermine confidence in the judicial system. I sent Myers, Letby’s barrister, several messages in the course of nine months, and he always responded with some version of an apology—“the brevity of this response is not intended to be rude in any way”—before saying that he could not talk to me.

[...] Michael Hall, the defense expert, had expected to testify at the trial—he was prepared to point to flaws in the prosecution’s theory of air embolism and to undetected signs of illness in the babies—but he was never called. He was troubled that the trial largely excluded evidence about the treatment of the babies’ mothers; their medical care is inextricably linked to the health of their babies. In the past ten years, the U.K. has had four highly publicized maternity scandals, in which failures of care and supervision led to a large number of newborn deaths.

[...] Johnson, the prosecutor, pushed her to come up with her own explanation for each baby’s deterioration. Yet she wasn’t qualified to provide them. “In general, I don’t think a lot of the babies were cared for on the unit properly,” she offered. “I’m not a medical professional to know exactly what should and shouldn’t have happened with those babies.”

“Do you agree that if certain combinations of these children were attacked then unless there was more than one person attacking them, you have to be the attacker?” Johnson asked at one point.

“No.”

“You don’t agree?”

“No. I’ve not attacked any children.”

Johnson continued, “But if the jury conclude that a certain combination of children were actually attacked by someone, then the shift pattern gives us the answer as to who the attacker was, doesn’t it?”

“No, I don’t agree.”

“You don’t agree. Why don’t you agree?”

“Because just because I was on shift doesn’t mean that I have done anything.”

[...] After a few days of cross-examination, Letby seemed to shut down; she started frequently giving one-word answers, almost whispering. “I’m finding it quite hard to concentrate,” she said.

Johnson repeatedly accused her of lying. “You are a very calculating woman, aren’t you, Lucy Letby?” he said.

“No,” she replied.

He asked, “The reason you tell lies is to try to get sympathy from people, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“You try to get attention from people, don’t you?”

“No.”

“In killing these children, you got quite a lot of attention, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t kill the children.”

[...] Toward the end of the trial, the court received an e-mail from someone who claimed to have overheard one of the jurors at a café saying that jurors had “already made up their minds about her case from the start.” Goss reviewed the complaint but ultimately allowed the juror to continue serving.

He instructed the twelve members of the jury that they could find Letby guilty even if they weren’t “sure of the precise harmful act” she’d committed. [...] The jury deliberated for thirteen days but could not reach a unanimous decision. In early August, one juror dropped out. A few days later, Goss told the jury that he would accept a 10–1 majority verdict.

[...] The public conversation about the case seemed to treat details about poor care on the unit as if they were irrelevant. In his closing statement, Johnson had accused the defense of “gaslighting” the jury by suggesting that the problem was the hospital, not Letby. Defending himself against the accusation, Myers told the jury, “It’s important I make it plain that in no way is this case about the N.H.S. in general.” He assured the jury, “We all feel strongly about the N.H.S. and we are protective of it.” It seemed easier to accept the idea of a sadistic “angel of death” than to look squarely at the fact that families who had trusted the N.H.S. had been betrayed, their faith misplaced.

Since the verdicts, there has been almost no room for critical reflection. At the end of September, a little more than a month after the trial ended, the prosecution announced that it would retry Letby on one of the attempted-murder charges, and a new round of reporting restrictions was promptly put in place. The contempt-of-court rules are intended to preserve the integrity of the legal proceedings, but they also have the effect of suppressing commentary that questions the state’s decisions. In October, The BMJ, the country’s leading medical journal, published a comment from a retired British doctor cautioning against a “fixed view of certainty that justice has been done.” In light of the new reporting restrictions, the journal removed the comment from its Web site, “for legal reasons.” At least six other editorials and comments, which did not question Letby’s guilt, remain on the site.

it looks like a british nurse was wrongfully convicted based on poor evidence and the tabloid media environment. this new yorker article is embargoed in the uk!

[girlgenius1111]

to be worthy.

and impromptu mother's day fic in the sol-verse it's a difficult day. and a weird day. but it's also a day for family, and for people stepping up to take roles they didn't have to. a day for love, really. angst. but also sickeningly fluffy.

You’d never second guessed yourself more than you were in that moment, parked outside the flower shop, watching people enter and exit the building. It was barely 7am, and you had been there for almost a half hour already. Just sitting. Just thinking. 

Mother’s day. It hadn’t ever been your favorite day. No matter what you did or bought or made, your mom was never very happy with you. She didn’t want anything you could give to her. She didn’t even really want you around. She wanted Ingrid with her on the day, and she always made that very clear. 

This year was obviously… very different. Different because you weren’t speaking to your mother, and you didn’t have to get her anything. You didn’t have to write lies down in a card about how much she meant to you, or buy a gift she’d throw out in a few days anyway. You didn’t have to do any of that; there was no pretending this year, and you weren’t really sure what to feel about that. 

It was suddenly a day with no obligations, but then again… not really. Because if anyone in the world deserved to be celebrated it was Ingrid, and it was Mapi. 

Ingrid was your sister. Mapi was your sister's girlfriend. You knew this. It just felt… inexplicably wrong to let the day pass without acknowledging all they had done for you, all they were doing for you. There was no… older-sister-acting-as-your-parental-figure-day. You were left with this sunday in may, a day that already made your heart ache. Now, you were terribly anxious, too. You didn’t want to overstep, nor did you want to… understep? Too little, too much. Not enough.

Logically, you knew that Ingrid and Mapi would probably be completely fine with anything you chose to get them. You weren’t feeling very logical, though, so you grabbed your phone, and called someone you knew would be. 

“Hi älskling,” Frido greeted, suppressing a yawn. It was quite early for her to be answering the phone, but she wasn’t in the business of not answering calls from you. If you were calling, it was important. 

“Frido, does Ingrid like flowers?” You asked, nervously cracking your knuckles. 

“Flowers? Everyone likes flowers, Solstråle. Why?” 

“I just… I wanted to get her and Mapi something, and I don’t know what to get. I don’t want it to be too much or too little, or ugly or stupid or something they don’t like and I don’t want to make them uncomfortable but-”

The words rushed out of your mouth like someone had turned on a faucet, and Frido sighed, now understanding what you were so stressed about. 

“Hey, Solstråle, relax.” She interrupted. “Flowers are good. Ingrid likes daisies I think. And Mapi loves pink roses. It’s not weird, it’s not too much, or too little. They’ll be happy with anything, really. Don’t overthink it.” 

“Right. Okay. Daisies and pink roses. I can do that.” 

“I know today isn’t the easiest for you, but just try to remember-”

“I have to go Frido, sorry. Thank you, I appreciate you.” You said quickly, not really wanting to get into that  at the moment. The Swede sighed, hoping you’d relax a bit as the day went on, and as you got a good reaction to your gift. 

------

Dropping the flowers off at home, along with the cards you’d gotten, and fleeing hadn’t been your best idea in retrospect. The idea of being with them… when they say what you’d gotten for them and when they read their cards… was nauseating. Sickening. Horrifying. You wouldn’t be doing that. 

You set everything up on the counter, grabbed Scout’s leash and Scout himself, and headed out the door, intending to spend the morning at a cafe just down the street. You had your computer and some school work to finish, which seemed like as good of a distraction as any. 

Back home, Ingrid was lying awake in her bed, as she had been for a few hours. It was only when Mapi rolled over into her, her head clunking against Ingrid’s shoulder, that the Norwegian realized it was probably past time to get up. 

“Morning.” Mapi grumbled, pressing a kiss to the skin of her girlfriend’s shoulder. 

“Good morning,” Ingrid replied softly. The single word, dripping with anxiety, was enough for Mapi to lift her head and blink groggily at the other woman. 

“Something wrong?” She asked. 

“It’s mother’s day.” Ingrid whispered, tears inexplicably clouding her vision. Mapi was sitting up in a flash, pulling the younger woman into her chest. Ingrid nuzzled close to the soft t-shirt Mapi was wearing, inhaling the comforting scent of the woman she loved. 

“Mi amor,” Mapi sighed. “I know, it’s a hard one right now. You don’t have to call her, though. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can cancel lunch with my mom, stay here with Solstråle. We can pretend it isn’t mothers day.” 

Ingrid shook her head, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “No, your mom deserves to be celebrated. We’ll go to lunch. I want to give Solstråle some space today, but I’m worried about her. And I don’t want to call my mom. That would be like… betraying my sister. I don’t want to speak to that woman. She doesn't deserve it.”

“Okay.” Mapi agreed, running her fingers through Ingrid’s thick hair. The Norwegian’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, and she relaxed into her girlfriend once again. “We’ll keep an eye on our Sol, and we’ll be quick at lunch. And you can have as many hugs as you want.” 

“Can’t I always?” Ingrid asked with a small smile. 

“You have a point.” Mapi chuckled. “I am going to go make you a coffee, be right back.” 

With that, she rose from the bed, pressing a quick kiss to Ingrid’s lips, heading for the kitchen. Ingrid stayed in bed, worrying about you and how you’d act today, until she heard Mapi call out for her in a strangely choked voice. She was out of bed within a second, rushing down the hall towards her girlfriend. 

“What?! What is it?!” Ingrid shouted, sliding in her socks on the wood floor into the kitchen, looking around frantically. 

She saw Mapi first, staring with tears in her eyes at a little card that had the Spaniard’s name on it. She saw the two vases next, sitting precisely in the middle of the counter. One with daisies, one with pink roses. There was a card with Ingrid’s name on it on the counter, too, and it wasn’t hard for Ingrid to connect the dots. Her first concerns were with her girlfriend, though, who’s lip was wobbling dangerously, as she blinked rapidly down at the card in her hand. 

“María?” Ingrid murmured. “Baby, are you-?”

Mapi blindly reached a hand out towards Ingrid, a hand that the Norwegian took. Gently, Ingrid rubbed her girlfriend’s back, reading the card over her shoulder when Mapi tilted it slightly in her direction. 

María,

It’s mother’s day, and it didn’t feel right to let today go by without telling you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You allowed me into your home without a second thought. You met my stubbornness and hostility with love and kindness, and I will forever be grateful to you for that. You love Ingrid so deeply, and I couldn’t wish for a better partner for my sister. I think I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be as good of a person as you are. I hope you like your flowers, and I hope you know how much you mean to me.

Love, Solstråle.

By the time Ingrid had finished reading, Mapi had turned in her arms, burying her face in the crook of Ingrid’s neck, and was sobbing quietly. They were happy tears, Ingrid realized. Emotional, but happy. Ingrid couldn’t do much but hold Mapi tightly to her, and press kisses into the top of her head. 

“She means every word, you know? And she’s right. You are the best person I know, the kindest, the most loving. You deserve the flowers, María.” 

That set off another round of tears, bringing a small laugh out of Ingrid, always astounded and impressed by how emotionally… healthy her girlfriend was. 

“Damn you Engens. Making me cry.” Mapi huffed, using Ingrid’s shirt to wipe her tears away. 

Ingrid took her girlfriend’s face in her hands, carefully kissing her lips. “Because we love you very much.” 

“Cut it out, Ingrid.” Mapi complained, though she was smiling shyly. “Open your card, I want you to cry.” 

Ingrid laughed, reaching for her own card, though she hesitated before opening it. Mapi had moved to get the coffees going, but turned to glance at Ingrid when she fell silent. 

“Open it.” Mapi encouraged, turning away to give Ingrid space to read. 

It was another little card, in your big handwriting, a bit longer than Mapi’s. Ingrid took a deep breath, trying to stave off tears before she even started reading. 

Ingrid,

Mother’s day is weird now. It kind of always has been, but I’m sure it’s weird for you now, too. I hope today isn’t too difficult for you. You are a lot more to me than a sister. I’ve always looked up to you, always seen you as a role model. And I still feel that way. Now, though, you’ve taken me in and been so patient with me. More patient than I deserve. I feel safe here, with you. For the first time in a really long time. Safe and loved, in a way I had kind of forgotten existed. Ingrid, you changed my life. You saved my life, too. I’ve never felt very worthy of love or care, but it’s so readily available here. And if someone as good as you thinks that I am worthy of your love, your time, your attention, then I must be. At least a little bit. There aren’t enough flowers in the world to express how thankful I am for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you Ingrid. Really, just thank you. I love you very much, even if I don’t always show it or say it. 

Love, Solstråle. 

And now Ingrid was crying, and Mapi was abandoning the coffee to pull her into a tight hug, and you were walking in through the front door at just the perfect time. You had just barely unclipped Scout’s harness before you were being forcibly pulled upright into some kind of suffocating group hug.

And normally, something like this would have probably made you uncomfortable. You felt yourself melting into the hug, though, before you really knew what you were doing. Embarrassment flooded you. Regret flooded you. Because even though the hug was nice, you felt dangerously exposed. Dangerously vulnerable. 

------

You insisted that Ingrid and Mapi go to lunch with Mapi’s parents and her brother, without you. Both girls tried to explain, while respecting your privacy as much as possible, why you had stayed home, although Mapi’s mother was rather insistent that she wanted you at lunch, too. You were part of the family, after all. 

It was only when you were home alone, curled up on the couch with Scout, that the reality really hit, that questions you didn’t want to consider really started to flood into your brain. 

Had they really liked the flowers? The cards? There wasn’t much time to talk, as they’d had to get ready for lunch, and both of them had clearly been crying. Maybe… maybe they didn’t really like what you had to say? Maybe you were putting pressure on them to be something they weren’t. It was so easy for you to spiral into self doubt when you were left to your own devices. 

Should you have called your mom? 

No matter how much time passed. No matter how many times Ingrid and Mapi told you that you hadn’t done anything wrong, that she had been the issue. You were pretty sure you’d always blame yourself, at least a little. You’d spent so long thinking you were at fault, and that kind of thinking was hard to break out of. Knowing that you weren’t to blame, and really believing it were two different things. And something was easier about blaming yourself. Safer. 

Maybe you should have called. Maybe you should take the first step. She was your mother, after all, and you only had one. You couldn’t help the guilt that began to suffocate you, the insecurity, the self hatred. 

You wished you could just hear Ingrid and Mapi tell you that they loved you, that you were a good person, and believe it. You were kind of afraid, though, that you’d never fully believe that. 

The best thing to do, the most logical thing, was to shut yourself in your room for the rest of the day. So you took Scout and some snacks and buried yourself under as many blankets as you could, tucked away in your room. A closed door between you, and the avalanche of emotions and feelings you’d let out earlier in your cards. 

Too vulnerable. You’d been too vulnerable, and there was no taking it back, and that was terrifying. Being vulnerable in the first place wasn’t easy, but not wanting to die afterwards was even harder. 

-------

Ingrid and Mapi returned from lunch to find the house dead silent. Your bedroom door was tightly shut, and when Ingrid peaked her head in, you had been pretending to be asleep. So, she headed for the living room, tucking herself into the corner of the couch, thought after thought running through her head. 

Had she been too emotional with you earlier? Had you not really meant what you’d said in your letter? Were you just trying to be nice? Ingrid had learned not to push you before you were ready for something, and she felt like today, she had. She should have played it cooler, not made it as big of a deal. 

And, fuck, she should have called her mom. 

She shouldn’t have, but she should have, and there was no correct answer in her head. Either decision made her feel like she was being bad. A bad daughter or a bad sister. 

And now she was being a bad girlfriend, because Mapi had been trying to get her attention for several minutes, and she’d been too spaced out to notice. 

“Ingrid!” Mapi said again, this time reaching out to grab onto her girlfriend’s hand and squeezing. 

“Sorry, sorry. I was distracted.” Ingrid said. “What?”

“I checked on Sol. She seems upset. You should go up there and talk to her.” 

“No, no, today has been a lot for her, she has to process her emotions.” Ingrid said, shaking her head. “She doesn’t want to see me right now.”

Mapi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly. The two of you were both hyper aware of the others’ feelings while simultaneously being too afraid to actually talk about said feelings. You needed each other, today, and Mapi was done trying to get you to figure that out yourselves. 

“Enough of this. Vamos.” She stated decisively, standing up from the couch, grabbing Ingrid’s hand and pulling. Ingrid groaned her annoyance, but went somewhat willingly.

Mapi dragged her up the stairs, knocking on your door before entering upon your response. You were still on your bed, trying to hide the evidence of your almost constant tears, when Mapi entered the room with Ingrid in tow. 

“Alright. Both of you need the other right now. Sol, Ingrid isn’t mad at you. Ingrid, Sol isn’t mad at you. Everything is fine. Stop overthinking.” And with that, paired with a small shove to Ingrid’s back, pushing the Norwegian in your direction, Mapi looked between you two expectantly. 

You looked very cautiously, but also somewhat hopefully, up at your sister. 

Ingrid looked at you similarly, taking a hesitant step closer to the bed. “What do you need, Solstråle?” She asked, determined, at least, that you get better about asking for what you needed. If it was space, she'd respect that. And if it was a hug? Well. Good. Because she really needed one too.

You shifted slightly, lifting one of your arms in a half gesture. “Sit with me?” You requested. 

Relief flooded Ingrid’s face as she all but launched herself onto the bed next to you, instantly pulling you into a tight hug. You were relieved, too, that you hadn’t been too much for either of them. That your love in return wasn’t too much. Your mom had always made you feel like it was suffocating, the way you tried to get her to pay attention to you and love you.

Ingrid and Mapi never did that. They just… gave you what you needed, without a second thought. Before anything else. As you sat squished in between the two of them, listening to all the details from the lunch you’d skipped, you realized that all you’d needed today was Ingrid. Being with Ingrid and Mapi made your head go quiet. There wasn’t room for doubt when they were on either side of you. Mapi trying ridiculously hard to make you laugh. Ingrid combing her fingers through your hair without a second thought. 

You fit here, in this family. With them. They told you you fit, that you were wanted, and that was something that was getting more and more believable as time went on. You had a family, and even if you didn’t really have a mother to celebrate today, you had two people who put you before anything else. People that loved you more than your mother had. You had a family, again. And that was really something to celebrate. 

------

:) happy mothers day to everyone who celebrates, and to everyone that doesn't.

however you feel is valid. if today is hard, or if today is easy, there will always be tomorrow, and tomorrow will be even better.

<3

[angel5ofp0rn]

Ummm, how about price sabotaging the dates that the reader goes to

he would never do such a thing…

pt. 6 😋

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

*im so shy at writing smut plz b patient ._.

“John, I really can't talk right now.”

“Who is he?”

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew better than to talk about your plans around the children.

“He's just...” You sigh, unable to lie to him even though you wanted to. “His daughter is on Gabriel's soccer team.”

The line is silent.

“…John?

“Have you been seeing each other for a while, then?”

“This is none of your-”

“How long have you been seeing him?” John reworded his question, sounding more stern than casual.

You don’t need to tell him anything. It’s been a month since the two of you kissed outside of your oldest child’s school, and that was an accident.

“It’s our first date.” You mumble your admission.

John grunts, as if he’s finding the news amusing.

You look over yourself in the mirror, suddenly feeling anxious. Shaking hands smooth over your little black dress, you run your fingers through your hair.

God, why does he still have this effect on you?

“Where’s he takin’ you?” John asks casually. “That little Italian place you like?”

You roll your eyes at this, picking your phone back up from where it was laying atop your vanity.

“I’m hanging up now.” You huff. “Tell the kids I love them.”

You didn’t give John a chance to say anything else before ending the call.

•••

The ambiance of the Italian restaurant is warm and inviting, with soft lighting and a gentle murmur of conversation. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort from your phone call with John.

Tonight is about moving forward. For leaving your past in the past.

Your date, Matt, smiles at you across the table, his dark eyes twinkling in the low light.

"I'm really glad you agreed to go out with me," he says, his voice warm and genuine.

You return his smile, feeling grateful for his patience and understanding even after the several times you’d turned him down.

You were too busy, Linnie was sick, you had to go in to work…

You were hung up on John.

"Me too," you say softly.

As you delve into conversation, the outside world fades away. The past is in the past.

For the first time in a long while, you weren’t thinking about John.

Just as you start to lose yourself in the moment, a familiar voice interrupts from behind you.

“Mummy!”

Your heart sinks as you see John, that smug grin playing on his lips. On either side of him were your children, wide-eyed and excited, each clutching one of his hands.

"Daddy said we're having a fancy dinner!" your youngest exclaims, bouncing with enthusiasm as they approach your table.

Your stomach churns with disbelief as you try to comprehend what's happening. "John, what are you doing?" you demand, your voice tight with frustration.

He shrugs, his expression unapologetic. "The kids wanted to go out for dinner," he says casually, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You glance at Matt, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. "I'm so sorry," you murmur, mortified by the scene unfolding before you. “This is my-”

“John Price,” John reaches out to shake hands with your date, “Ex husband. SAS.”

“Uh… Matt.” Your date introduces himself, looking to you in confusion.

“I’m so sorry…” You squeeze your eyes closed, trying not to cry out of pure frustration. “I didn’t know he was going to do this.”

“Where’s our chairs?” Your oldest looks at you, noticing your table only had a seat for you and your date.

“We’ll be right over here, buddy.” John smiles, guiding the kids to the table next to your own.

It had a folded card on top that read “Reserved”.

This wasn’t a spur of the moment stunt.

John knew about your date and planned on crashing it all along.

You glance helplessly at Matt, feeling a pang of guilt for dragging him into this mess.

To your surprise, he reaches out to squeeze your hand, a small smile on his lips.

“Maybe we should go,” he says gently.

You nod, grateful that he’s so… understanding.

The two of you stand, and before you leave you stop by John’s table to give each of the kids a kiss on the cheek and let them know that you’ll see them tomorrow. You don’t even glance at John.

•••

“I had a really good time tonight,” Matt smiles as the two of you stand on your doorstep.

You hardly believe him; after John pulled that stunt at the restaurant, you were sure Matt would completely lose interest in pursuing this any further…

But to your surprise, he tried to make sure you enjoyed the rest of the night. The two of you had an impromptu picnic at the park, got ice cream and he even bought you flowers.

Matt is so… Nice.

“I did, too.” You smile, looking at your date with a small blush on your cheeks.

The two of you stare at each other for a beat before Matt speaks again, shyly this time.

“I’d really like to kiss you, if that’s okay.”

“That won’t be happening, mate.” John announces in the now open doorway, a bowl of cereal in his hand.

“John-!”

“Oh…” Matt blushes, taking a step back. “You two are still living together..?”

“No, we’re not,” You explain desperately. “John, what the fuck are you doing here?!”

John shrugs, taking another bite of his late-night snack. “Kids missed their real beds. I have the emergency key.”

You glare at him. He smiles.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll call you, yeah?” Matt offers as he starts towards his car. “It was nice seeing you.”

“Have a good night, Mike.” John waves with a grin, knowing damn well his name is Matt, not Mike.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” You grumble, pushing past him into the house.

“What? I was bein’ nice to him.” John plays innocent, pushing the door closed with his foot. “Wasn’t really your type, though.”

“What’re you talking about?” You frown, removing your earrings.

John smirks. “He has brown eyes.”

You look at him like he’s insane… because you fully believe that is.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You like blue eyes, lovey.” John says softly, setting the bowl on the coffee table in the living room. “Mad for ‘em. You’d chase a man out to the parking lot over a pair of blue eyes.”

You don’t say a word.

John takes the bouquet of tulips from Matt from your hands, looking them over. You just watch.

“Doesn’t he know you hate tulips?” He looks back up to you, an eyebrow raised.

“Don’t be an ass.” You mumble, taking them back. “How would he know that? This was our first date.”

“I knew by our first date.” John counters, his arms crossing over his chest. “Knew you wanted a white house with a garden in the back, a big bathroom with a claw tub, an engagement ring with a garnet or a pearl instead of an ‘ugly silver and diamond ring’… and a hundred blue-eyed babies.”

You look down at your tulips, then back up at John.

You hate that he’s right. That he knows you too well. That he always has.

“You still didn’t have to crash my date.” You mumble, sitting down on the sofa, laying the flowers down next to you.

“Couldn’t help it, love. I go after what I want.”

John’s familiar words made you feel something in the pit of your stomach… Something you couldn’t quite name.

You lean back on the sofa, lifting your foot to him.

John crouches down to help you remove your heels, gently setting them aside.

“So, how was he?” John murmurs, his hands creeping up under your dress and starting to slowly pull your panties down your thighs.

You lift your hips, making it easier for him. “He was nice…”

“Hm.” John shakes his head with a tut. “You’ve never liked the nice ones.”

You watch as your panties are now being pulled down around your ankles, John’s head near your knees. He looks up for a moment, waiting for your signal.

You run your fingers through his hair gently before pushing his head towards your sex.

John wasted no time pushing your dress up your thighs and pulling you closer to devour you like he was starving.

Something about John on his knees in front of you, your legs over his shoulders...

“You’re such an asshole,” You groan.

John pulls back, lifting his head from your wet, needy pussy. He’s teasing you out of revenge, you’re sure of it.

Your back arches, trying to get his mouth back where you want it, but John leans back a bit more.

“John,” You whine, desperately trying to push his head back down.

“What is it, lovey? Hm?” John asks softly, pushing his fingers into your entrance, slowly dragging them in and out as he looks up at you. “Tell me wha’ you want.”

“I want-” You bite back a moan. “I want you.”

“You have me, sweetheart. Always have.” John’s husky words sounded like poetry.

You nod, because he’s right.

It doesn’t take long for John to make you come; he still knows your body better than anyone ever will.

He presses a few gently kisses to the inside of your thigh before pulling back. He rubs your legs as you come down from your climax.

“Forgive me, lovey?” He asks smugly.

You nod, a small smile on your lips to go with your flushed cheeks and heavy eyelids.

“Good. Now c’mere, you never got that goodnight kiss.”

<< prev next >>

[zerokaram]

college basketball!abby x reader

synopsis: you're suddenly seeing abby, your best friend since your childhood, in a new lens. is it her arms? her strength? her drive? or the way she refuses to talk to, or even look at any other girl but you?

a/n: these are formatted like headcannons + scenarios to match them! not necessarily like a fic unfortunately. but if you guys would want that, i'd be glad to write something along those lines. enjoy!

at first, it was just something small. something so, so extremely small. maybe sometimes, she would look a little too good after practice. the way the wisps of her hair would stray out of her braid, her arms glistening in sweat and her shirt practically see-through from how hard she worked in the gym prior to her practice. or maybe it was the way she constantly towered over you, how she looked down at you when you two spoke, or how her arms carried everything and anything effortlessly, toned and muscular.

you don't know if you were just fucking imagining it or what, but holy, fucking, shit.

was it just your brain fucking with you? maybe you were just desperate or something?

you didn't know. but you were embarrassed to admit the fact that you were completely, and utterly infatuated with your 100% platonic best friend that you definitely should not be and definitely aren't swooning over. she was just a friend, and for gods sake, your best friend at that.

she just came home to your dorm, which she's been staying at for a few weeks now, covered in sweat. her arm and leg muscles practically bulging from her jersey, about to burst the fabric at their seams with only that and a compression shirt under it, paired with shorts that you've probably borrowed from her, her hair in a messy braid; stray strands sticking to her face.

anyone would be sensible enough to drool at this shit. it wasn't your fault that you had a hot best friend. right? i mean- what?

okay, but you couldn't help it that she had really nice arms. really defined, muscular, beefy, strong, capable, sporty, hot, sexy arms. it was just a general thing. it definitely couldn't just be you. this is totally fucking normal for a 100% platonic relationship. like, yeah. this is literally just normal. its literally just normal.

soon, your stares burned into her back. she could practically feel the way your eyes lingered from her face, trailing to her arms, and all the way down to her thighs. turning around to face you, she inquires cluelessly as if she didn't plan this whole scenario out on purpose. "baby, you okay? you look...dazed or something." she says, sneaking in a smile once she turns around again to get herself a glass of water.

baby. baby? did you hear that right?

you probably heard it wrong. you snicker, "oh, yeah. yeah i'm..fine."

one of abby's big games were coming up. only one more game, and it would mean that her and her team finally won the whole season. usually, she'd be pumped to finally get to train for the moment she's been dreaming of since the season started, but something's been conflicting her. a certain someone. she's had a crush on you for at least 5 years now, but the crush has been at it's all time high ever since you've started wearing her jerseys, her hoodies, and her clothes this past semester. god, fuck it. why not offer for you to do it again?

lounging on abby's couch in nothing but her hoodie and some boxers of hers that you found lying on your side of the bed from when you slept over, you held your phone in your right hand, scrolling through tiktok, while you held a cup of coffee in the other. abby (very willingly) agreed to let you sleep over at her place for as many nights as you wanted, since your roommates aggravatingly threw parties all day and night long.

you were interrupted by the door abruptly creaking open, abby stepping through the door, still in her basketball gear. she set her things down onto the kitchen counter, taking her hoodie off, revealing a more comfortable shirt under. she joins you on the couch; lying on her stomach, making a groaning noise. "shit..arms fuckin' hurt." she says, muffled whines getting silenced by the pillow she stuffed her head in.

you chuckle at her childishness. she's kinda always been like that, hasn't she? "too bad." you say, to which she frowns with a slight pout, looking up at you, wanting you to change your answer. you have no choice but to oblige. "-whatever. what can i do to help?" you ask in a playful tone, flashing her a smile.

she gets up from her position almost immediately, sprinting to her bedroom and grabbing her jersey before quickly running back to the living room and throwing the jersey in your face as if she planned this. "wear this to my next game." she says in a half-laughing, cocky way. you desperately pry the piece of fabric off of your face, trying to process what just happened. "no fuckin' way abs." you say, teasing her. you take a look at the shirt. it had 22 on the front, with ‘anderson’ printed on the back.

she frowns, sighing as she flops next to you, snaking her arms around you and stuffing her face in your shirt (in a definitely 100% platonic way). "c'mon." she says, "need someone to cheer f'me. js' wanna see my girl cheer for me. it would make me so happy."

you chuckle at 'my girl', "abs. this isn't helping with the rumors about us."

she accidentally blurts out, "don't fuckin' want it to."

...what?

before she knows it, and before you two could even talk about what she just said to you a few days before, it was finally game day. screams and cheers of girls who came just to see abby stretched from one part of the arena to another, echoing in your eardrums. you said you weren’t going to, but of course you wore her fucking jersey anyway.

abby looked into the crowd of people, searching for you desperately. she couldn’t play without you watching :’((.

about to give up on finding you, she feels two hands come around the side of her torso, hugging her from behind. she turns around to see you. wearing her jersey.

“you better win, i’m not parading your name on me for nothing.” you say sarcastically.

[acey-wacey]

True Love's Kiss

Feat. Idia, Azul, Vil

Synopsis: You've fallen under a mysterious sleeping spell. Who can wake you up but your true love?

...

🎮 Idia Shroud 🎮

"ME?!"

Idia's shriek resounded through the infirmary before he was hushed by one of the nurses. He shrunk back in his embarrassment and turned back to the cheeky cat that was standing on the infirmary bed next to your sleeping form.

"Yes, you, shut-in. What have you got brimstone on your ears?" Grim scowled at the blue-haired boy who's hair was becoming quite pink with embarrassment. "Who else would kiss my henchman awake?"

"Literally anyone else, maybe?" Idia argued, hiding his face behind the collar of his jacket. "It's always Prince Charming in the stories. I'm about the farthest thing you could find."

"I think you're plenty charming, Idia!" Ortho chimed in with what would have been a smile if he didn't have his mask on. "Who's to say you won't break the spell?"

"I say," Idia groaned, his voice muffled by his jacket. "Aren't there any other cures? I thought Professor Crewel was working on an antidote."

Before Grim could open his mouth, Ortho interrupted.

"Nope! No other cure!" Ortho beamed with glee uncharacteristic for delivering grave news. "I already scanned and if my databases say there's no other cure than there's no other cure and you have to kiss them!"

Idia whined in mortification and buried himself further in his jacket, now almost entirely engulfed by the fabric, except for the tufts of flaming hair sticking out the top.

Grim tapped his paw impatiently, quite fed up with Idia's reservations. Every second you were asleep was a second that your poor, poor kitty boss went without tuna (he couldn't reach the cabinet where you put the cans).

"I could always go get Leona. He's a prince, so it's close enough, yeah?"

"No!" Idia shot up, his hair flared up in red, startling Grim so bad, Ortho had to catch him before he fell off the bed. Idia took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair until it returned to its regular electric blue.

"Don't even joke about that," Idia muttered through gritted teeth. "Makes my skin crawl to think of that grubby jock getting his slimy lips anywhere near Y/N."

"Fine, if you don't want anyone else to do it, then what's the issue?" Grim put his paws on his hips and shot Idia an impatient look. "You like them, they like you, they probably want to kiss you anyway so just hop to it! I'm starving over here!"

Idia snapped up in shock at Grim's words.

"Y/N... likes me?"

Grim scoffed in ridicule and rolled his eyes.

"Duh! What, have you been living under a rock? Oh, wait, you have, haven't you?"

Ortho immediately began protesting Grim's insult. Idia himself might've been offended if he wasn't preoccupied with his overheating brain.

Why in Wonderland would you like him? I mean that was just a ridiculous claim even though both Grim and Ortho seemed to believe it. Not many people even liked being around him much... but then again, you weren't other people.

You were the one who messaged him to go to sleep at midnight after gaming for too long. You brought him snacks and sat in comfortable silence in his dorm while he played video games. You never expected more from him and without realizing it, he has gotten used to having you next to him. It even happened sometimes that he would turn to say something to you while he was gaming, only to find you weren't there. It baffled him how you made your way into his daily routine almost without notice.

"Do they really?" Idia asked softly, catching the attention of both Grim and Ortho who had been exchanging some heated words of childlike manner. "Like me, I mean."

Ortho giggled at his brother's bashfulness.

"Of course they do! They never shut up about you!" Grim huffed, recalling the countless times he'd heard you practically gushing about the vitamin D deficient geek. "No clue why though. Guess Y/N likes 'em pale and sickly."

"I'm not- whatever," Idia didn't really have the fight in him to argue with Grim's impression of him. He took a deep breath and looked at Ortho. "Do you really think it would work?"

"Only one way to find out!" the little robot responded cheerily.

"What if..." Idia gulped. "What if it doesn't work and I just kiss them for nothing? What if..."

"Shut up and pucker up, dracula! I'm wasting away without my henchman!"

That earned Grim a pair of yellow-eyed glares.

Idia collected himself with a deep breath and leaned towards you.

"Nope, nope, nope, this is a bad idea, I can't do this," he panicked, standing up and waving his hands around in anxiety. Grim rolled his eyes and jumped onto Idia's shoulders, pushing him onto you with all the momentum the little creature could muster.

It was effective. Idia toppled forward onto the infirmary bed, catching himself just in time to not crush you, but not before his lips brushed yours.

Idia jumped back, crashing to the floor quite devoid of grace. He, Ortho, and Grim all held their breath, waiting for something to happen.

"Aw, man, our first kiss, and I wasn't even awake for it!"

Idia brightened at the sound of your voice. He jumped back to his feet to see your drowsy eyes locked on him.

"Hi, Charming," you lazily smiled at the blue-haired boy. "Thanks for rescuing me."

Idia's face went slack with shock and his face turned so red you were afraid he might explode.

"Perfect! Now that you're awake, get me tuna, human!"

...

🐙 Azul Ashengrotto 🐙

"This is such a bad idea."

Deuce echoed for the nth time since Ace had come up with his little scheme.

"I know but just think," Ace smirked at your sleeping body, which the two were carrying through the Octavinelle dorm, Ace supporting your arms, Deuce carrying your legs, like they were carrying a dead body. "Imagine the look on the prefect's face when they wake up and see Azul They'll probably think they're dreaming."

"Yeah, I think they've had that dream before," Grim scowled from where he rode atop your belly. "Wouldn't be surprised with how down-bad they are for that slimy little junior mafia boss."

"It'll be fine, I'm sure," Ace dismissed, ignoring Deuce's concerned look. "And if anything bad happens, it'll probably be the prefect ending up with a contract, not us."

"That's kind of a terrible thing to say about a cursed person," Deuce pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Pssh, where'd your moral compass come from, huh?"

"From my mom," Deuce spat defensively. Ace was about to respond when they were both startled by a looming figure standing menacingly behind Deuce.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

Both first years gulped in fear at the sound of the eel's unison voices.

"Is our poor prefect injured?" Jade frowned though his eyes held a devious sparkle.

"Sort of..." Grim started but jumped back when Floyd grinned at him menacingly.

"We can't have Shrimpy being hurt, now can we?" he flashed his sharp teeth at the sleeping prefect. "We'll take 'em off your hands, fix 'em up real nice."

"Will we get them back?" Ace asked, fearing the answer. Jade responded with a squinty smile.

"That remains to be seen."

"Hey, wait a minute-!" Deuce tried to protest but was cut off when Floyd lifted your limp body with two hands and flung you over his shoulder.

"Careful, Floyd," Jade warned. "We can't have damaged goods."

The unfortunate trio was left to watch as you were hefted into the Mostro Lounge, wondering if they would ever see you again.

Meanwhile, in the Mostro Lounge, Azul was peacefully tallying profits in his office when his door was kicked down.

"What the-" he shrieked. Azul stared in horror as Floyd barged into the room with a body flung over his shoulder. "Did you... Did you actually kill someone this time?"

"Not this time," Floyd responded cheerfully. Azul managed to stand up from his chair right before Jade swept everything off of the polished mahogany desk in front of him.

"What are you doing?!" Azul yelled but was quickly silenced when Floyd set your limp body down on the now-empty desk. "Is that Y/N?"

"Yup!" Floyd said, popping the "p" with a sly smile.

"Are they...?" Azul asked hesitantly.

"Just sleeping, fortunately," Jade responded with a similar grin. "But I'm afraid it's the work of magic. They won't wake until..."

At this point Azul was very concerned. His crush was unconscious on his desk and his business associates were far too smug to have good intentions.

"Until what? Seven's sake, just tell me why you brought them here!"

"Very well," Jade bowed his head in respect that felt more mocking than anything. "The prefect will remain asleep until they are woken up by true love's kiss. It is the belief of myself as well as Y/N own friends that you may be able to fulfill this requirement."

It must have been at least a full minute before Azul spoke again.

Jade waited patiently with a smile as Azul stared in shock and confusion, the gears behind his eyes obviously turning at superhuman speeds.

Azul finally snapped back into his regular businessman persona.

"Well, of course, I am obviously the most qualified candidate to undertake his task," Azul said nonchalantly, though both eels could easily tell it was a front.

"We'll leave you two alone then!" Floyd winked suggestively at Azul, the octopus' calm facade cracking ever so slightly.

Jade and Floyd shut the door to Azul's office and he could hear their laughter through the wood.

Azul took a deep breath and looked at your sleeping form. You looked so peaceful, your forehead free from worried wrinkles and lips devoid of any kind of scowl. Azul was used to being on the receiving end of some of these scowls/ incredulous looks. He couldn't deny he might have deserved some of the scrutiny you gave him, given that he did attempt to trick your friends into contracts so you would have to come visit him to save them. Perhaps if you wanted him to stop, you should stop wearing that adorable pout when you confront him!

You took a breath and Azul stood up so fast it scared him.

"Sevens," Azul muttered, running a hand through his hair. "When did I get this jumpy?"

He looked at you once more, taking in every still detail about you.

"Might as well stare, since you'll never be this calm around me again," he whispered as if he was afraid you would hear him through your enchantment. He sighed contentedly as he stared at your sleeping face.

After only a few seconds, he snapped himself back out of it.

"Stop it, Azul, that's creepy," he scolded himself, taking to pacing around his room. "Though to be fair, kissing someone who is under an enchanted sleep is far more creepy than just looking at them."

He peered at you again. Though it was easy to admire your serene expression, it was uncanny to see your face motionless, without a laugh or groan or yell behind it. Azul took a deep breath and steeled his nerves.

"Even if they hate me forever, it's worth a shot," he quietly hyped himself up. "But isn't it just true love's kiss? There's no way I'm their true love, that would be impossible. They dislike me far too much. But I would never forgive myself if I could have saved them..."

Azul grappled with his inner thoughts for who knows how long, before landing on the conclusion that he should just go for it and kiss you.

"If they do wake up, I'll apologize profusely until they forgive me for kissing them and then possibly draft a marriage contract...?" Azul hit himself in the head to snap himself out of it. "Stop it. Now's not the time to be thinking about that."

Azul took a sharp inhale and turned back to you.

"Oh, screw it!"

He exclaimed and rushed back to his desk, pressing his lips to yours before he could rethink it. It was the slightest kiss, barely even a kiss. Azul wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he had truly taken advantage of you.

He turned away faster than even the brief kiss. He held his breath, trying to notice tiny details about his walls to distract himself from the tension.

"What is... Where am I?"

Azul spun around, eyes wide with genuine shock. Upon seeing you groggily looking around, he straightened and cleared his throat.

When you turned toward the noise, you saw Azul, the absolute picture of perfection he always was. You would never have known he was feeling anything akin to anxiety if it weren't for the nervous tapping of his custom-tailored leather shoes.

"Azul?" You narrowed your eyes, taking in your environment. You were laying on a table, alone in a small room with Azul. "What is this? Don't tell me you finally got the tweels to drug me."

Azul opened his mouth to protest, a bit concerned that you were so used to stuff like that that you just sounded tired instead of worried, but he remembered his gentlemanly guise and rethought his next words.

"Honestly, Y/N, do you really think me so cruel?" Azul smirked, praying to the Seven for an excuse you would buy so he wouldn't have to explain the real situation. "I was not the one who brought you here. You were merely... dumped on my doorstep, shall we say."

"I just remember Ace and Grim screwing around in alchemy and they dropped some dumb potion..." You put together vague pieces of your memory before it clicked. "Ooooh, sleeping potion. I was knocked out, wasn't I? Bit stupid of those idiots to bring me here, but isn't that how they always are."

You jumped off the table as if you hadn't just been passed out. Azul was honestly surprised by your chipperness. You sighed and turned to him.

"So what did you do? What do I owe you?" You looked at Azul expectantly. He blinked a couple times before he felt embarrassing heat rise on his neck.

"I didn't- well I- that is to say-" Azul stared, scrambling for words. Nobody but you could make him this inarticulate. He took a deep breath and collected himself. "You don't owe me. If anything, I should be paying you for recompense."

You furrowed your eyebrows, very skeptical of any supposed kindness coming from NRC's resident schemer.

"What do you mean recompense? What happened?"

"I may have-" Azul coughed, trying to brush off what was so clearly bothering him. "This particular enchantment required-" Another cough. "I believe the particular wording was a true love's kiss. I provided a kiss of such manner. Because of the impropriety of this particular cure, I feel a certain responsibility to compensate you for such lack of consent."

You stared for a long time. Azul imagined that must have been what he looked like when Jade first told him about your condition.

"True love's kiss..." You trailed off, subconsciously bringing your fingers to your lips.

"Yes and I will be happy to provide compensation for emotional or physical damages or- or other."

You looked at Azul incredulously.

"You just told me you're my true love and you think I want money?!"

Azul was quite confused now.

"Do you not want money?"

"Well, I could always use it but at the particular moment, what I really want is for this dumb octopus to come and give me a real kiss."

...

🪞 Vil Schoenheit 🪞

It had been a few hours since you had been unceremoniously dumped on Pomefiore's doorstep. Apparently, some alchemical accident had happened, leaving you magically asleep with no known cure. Crowley had dropped your limp body at Pomefiore and offered extra credit to anyone who could fix you. It only made sense. After all, the Fairest Queen was quite proficient at potions, and so Vil prided himself on the same.

No one else had dared touch you once he spotted your body and glared at them. He had Rook carry you to the makeshift potions lab next to Vil's room. Rook, ever the drama queen, took every step to ensure your comfort while in your enchanted sleep. He set you up on a table with plush pillows and a lacy blanket. Vil thought the flowers Rook had arranged in your hands were a bit excessive but he was more preoccupied with finding a cure.

Vil told himself he was doing it for the extra credit, but really, anyone who knew him knew he didn't need it. Some part of him didn't like seeing you cursed.

For the past two hours, Vil had been rifling through every potion book he had, trying multiple recipes and feeling a little more disheartened every time it didn't work. One of the elixirs he whipped up burned right through his potted fern. He elected not to test that one on you.

Eventually, Vil came upon a book about curse-breaking.

"Can't believe I didn't see this before," he muttered to himself, flipping open the table of contents.

There was only one page on sleep spells. Vil ran his finger over the passage as he read it.

"The only way a sleep spells can be reversed is thought true love's..." Vil interrupted himself with a scoff. "That's ridiculous, that can't be the only way."

He looked over at your sleeping form, clutching your bouquet of flowers. The color was drained from your face and even the shade of your clothes looked grayer. Vil felt a pang of emotion, like a hand squeezing his heart at the sight of you so lifeless.

You were usually so full of life, bringing joy to those close to you. You stayed just out of the limelight, content to support your friends in their shenanigans but having your own fun outside of the public eye. Oftentimes, you took Vil along with you, giving him a taste of what it's like to be treated like a normal person.

It disturbed him so see you devoid of a smile or eye-roll or any sort of emotion that you wore on your sleeve.

No matter what it took, he would find a cure.

"You've already found a cure," Vil imagined you saying to him. "You're just too scared to use it."

"What do you know?" Vil grumbled quietly. Had he really fallen so far he was talking to himself? He wished you were really talking to him, really showing signs of life, even if it was to scold him. "There must be another cure somewhere. I don't care how long it takes me to find it."

"You know true love's kiss is the most powerful thing in the world," Vil's imaginary you said. "There isn't another way. And besides, would you rather me be awake now instead of in the 6 months it takes you to find something else?"

Vil huffed, more annoyed by the fact that he really didn't want to wait than what you were saying.

"Then why don't you tell me how to find your true love, hm? That'll take me longer than 6 months."

His imaginary you just stared at him, blinking pointedly. He stared back, trying to decipher what his psyche was trying to tell him.

"You don't think..." His face fell when he realized what that look meant. "It's not me, believe me."

"Well, some part of you obviously thinks it could be, because I think it could be you and I'm just in your head," you shrugged.

"I refuse," he immediately declared, turning away from where your real self laid. "If you were real, you would not agree. And by the way, who am I to kiss you while you're asleep?"

Vil looked over at your peaceful face and he swore he could see incredulity in your motionless expression.

"Stop looking at me like that, potato. I refuse to kiss you without proper consent."

Imaginary you stared at Vil again, unsettling him more.

"Come now, I don't need this from both of you," he picked up a potion book, pretending to read it.

"You could save me," imaginary you offered, your voice solemn in a way he couldn't imagine perfectly. He'd never heard you that serious. Guilt suddenly hit him in the chest, drawing his attention back to you.

Vil stared at you longingly for much longer than he would have allowed himself if you were conscious. He groaned and walked towards you.

"I want to save you, Y/N," Vil declared wistfully as he stood over you. "I do know if I can be your true love, but Seven, I'm out of ideas."

Vil leaned closer to you and brushed a hair out of your face.

"Maybe I'll be able to do this right one day."

Vil brought his lips to yours gently, barely touching them before he pulled away. He watched your face for any signs of movement. When you stayed stationary, he turned away, trying to shut out his disappointment.

"Honestly, when did I get so delusional?" Vil scoffed, desperately trying to push down his feelings. "In what sort of foolish fantasy do I count as Y/N's true love?"

"Mine, probably."

Vil whirled around, his usual grace abandoned in his shock at hearing your voice in his ears in lieu of his head.

You groaned as you sat up, a bit confused as you examined the flowers you were holding.

"Sorry, that was probably a dumb thing to say," you laughed, shocking Vil with how easily you adjusted to your surroundings. "Though I guess you really are my true love. You can't try to deny it, I've got the receipts."

Vil's lip quirked up at your instant snap back to teasing.

"My word against yours, potato."

...

Buy me a Kofi! ☕

[nouvellevqgue]

IT GIVES YOU WINGS OR LOVE?

pairing: max verstappen x redbull athlete!reader

summary: summary: sometimes, the team that brought you in, could also gives you more opportunity to even meet your lover there.

note: they're unserious, nothing was actually romantic based on my perspective.

taglist: @queenofmanydreams @muglermami @4limq @avengers-assemble123456 @cabbyhabs @meowtastick @4mula-1 @miarabanana @amel1ee @dinosushilun1 @auggieblogs @namgification @charli123456789 @cherry-piee

yourusername

liked by redbull and 237,144 others

yourusername Woohoo !!! SO hyped to grab 🥈 at my first slopestyle World Cup since the 2022 Olympics. Genuinely had so much fun out there today. Congrats to everyone for the insane level of riding, and thank you, as always, to the supporters for all the love ❤️ A few areas need a bit of work still, but none more than my champagne skills 🥴

view all 1,247 comments

redbull Super proud of you, Y/n! 😍

username there's something about redbull athletes and winning and i can't really put my finger on it...

maxverstappen1 Proud ❤️

username What is this motherly comments, Max

username MAX LATE COMMENTING????

username Rb downfall is real y'all

username rb downfall is started from max late commenting?

username That's a sign too

username I'm planning our wedding as we speak

redbullsnow It was magnificent

landonorris ahem, probably i can teach you my *signature* champagne pop

yourusername Hmm, but I don't want to destroy anybody's trophy though

username 💀💀💀💀

username OKAY OKAY WE GET IT

username until now i'm still questioning on how did he pulled this baddie

username I really need to see her with another Red Bull athletes out there

username her bf is literally max verstappen

username wait fr?

username She literally confess it in GMA, how's that fake?

username PR relationship is real yk...

username RENEW YOUR CONTRACT, MOTHER

username istg she looks like lily's lost twin

username At least she's not dutch, I'm with her

username why? what's wrong with being dutch?

username I'M TIRED OF HEARING THEIR NATIONAL ANTHEM OKAY LEAVE ME ALONE

username naw brother, prepared to hear them national anthem at the same time

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 and 188,316 others

yourusername Celebratory lunch + A lil hair touchup 😆

view all 1,589 comments

username Ahem... No pic cred?

username I think you forgot to dry your hair

yourusername My stomach's grumbling so loud already, I can't hold it anymore to even dry my hair 😂

username UGH SHE'S SO PRETTYYY 😍😍

username PLS SAY YOU WILL RENEW YOUR CONTRACT

maxverstappen1 Don't forget to spare me some 🍴🍴

yourusername How cliché of you to comment this while eating my sushi 🤨

username HER SUSHI 😭😭

username Max late commenter is back but not with his motherly comments, but with a LIE who is now debunked by his own girlfriend

maxverstappen1 I thought she wouldn't reply to this

username better not to lie to a skier

username All of these were very much so obvious. You guys don't have to act like doing a soft launch when she already dropped a literal bomb to confess that she's dating Max in GMA

username heart eyes heart eyes heart eyes heart eyes heart eyes heart eyes heart eyes heart eyes heart eyes

username I want to be her gf 😭😭😭

username You're unreal OMG

maxverstappen1

liked by carlossainz55 and 472,580 others

maxverstappen1 Flexing master #TiffanyPartner #TiffanyHardwear

view all 1,096 comments

yourusername I agreed to post here but what was the caption supposed to mean?

username It's giving Lily + Albon's dynamic

username Max influencer era is here and ready

username I want that hand to choke me

yourusername Whoa

username Istg she looks like a carbon copy of ＠lilymhe period.

username omg max is stealing her endorsement????

landonorris okay. the trial's over, let's make your own jpg account.

maxverstappen1 Wait, really?

landonorris no, just baiting.

username WHY IS HE SO ANNOYING 😭😭😭😭

username supportive bf max is my new favorite gender

username Who taught him to be like this?

alex_albon He's definitely has attended Alex Albon school of boyfriendery

username how come did her hair never looked the same in every frame she's in?

username but the hair color remain consistent till the end of the day

maxverstappen1 Drafts do exist, you know.

username OO ENDED THEM

username pls do a tutorial on how to make your fingers as long as hers

username I bet that is not Max's hand

username Break the bet, it is not

redbullracing · 24m

yourusername

liked by victoriaverstappen and 102,445 others

yourusername Truly enjoying my paddock debut here. Thank you ＠redbullracing for the invitation, definitely having much fun in Shanghai 🥰

view all 973 comments

username Me and the bad bitch I pulled after being WDC:

username LILY GO BACK TO ALEX'S GARAGE

username Rb couple domination is real

username Max: 🧍

username you guys better believe when they said red bull enjoyer belong, they were.

lilymhe Why are you guys looks so stiff? 💀

yourusername Wait until I asked him to go skiing. Let's see how stiff he would be.

maxverstappen1 NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

username Can't wait to see Max skiing with her. Wonder if his skiing skill has improved ever since he's with her.

username next stop: the alps

username Oh it's her paddock debut? I thought I have seen her attending gp in Ausgp?

username That time she wasn't his gf just yet

alexandrasaintmleux Ahhh your fit is so cutee <3

yourusername YOURS TOOOOO 🌹🥺

username QUEEN IS BACK IN TOWN, SLAYING AS USUAL

username Whys your paddock pass looks different from the rest of the WAGS?

yourusername I was invited by ＠redbullracing as a guest. So that's why mine's different 💁🏼‍♀️

username Why would they invite you as a guest when you're already his gf tho😂

username Can you stop asking?

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername and 463,197 others

maxverstappen1 Alps: Day 1 ⛷️

view all 1,638 comments

username Wait why is it different?

maxverstappen1 Sometimes, one of us played it harshly and losing the original glasses. So we bought it new.

username AND IT ISN'T YOU??!?? OMG

username Awwww if my relationship not this sweet, I don't want it.

username Y/N WITHOUT HER RB STICKER HELMET AND ATTRIBUTES??? WOWOWOW

username mother and father🥴🥴🥴

username They're cute asf

carlossainz55 What a good day for a ski couples

username probably i should drink red bull to have someone like them

danielricciardo Who wins?

yourusername We're both... Losing, actually

danielricciardo I KNEW IT

yourusername

liked by schecoperez and 157,839 others

yourusername Turns out, he's not that bad of a skier too.

view all 2,630 comments

maxverstappen1 Hey, I don't look like that

maxverstappen1 How could you do this after I posted out sweet moments yesterday

maxverstappen1 What is this betrayal

username Alright Granny, let's get you to bed

username WHO'S THAT ON THE SECOND SLIDEEEEEE

charles_leclerc What was that outfits 😂😂

yourusername Don't say as if your fits were not like that

charles_leclerc Mine's fashionable, sorry.

lilymhe Fashionable just for leo's eyes

username i love how contrast their posts are. ah soulmate

username I want what they're having toooooo

username His digital footprints is something that I have to go for a dig

username Well apparently the both of them were losing

username says who?

username Daniel and Y/n on Max's post

username I know they were never gonna be the best at competing at each other

username if their relationship was really a pr, i don't believe it

[spaceman-earthgirl]

“Did you see this?” Lena asks, holding her phone out towards Kara. “It’s about your cousin.”

Kara’s instantly worried. If there’s a news article about Clark, there’s only two things it could be. One, he’s been in a big fight or something else dangerous has happened, or if it’s about Clark, and not Superman, then that could only spell bad news for Clark and his secret identity.

Kara’s heart actually stops for a moment when she sees “Clark Kent” in the headline, but lets out a sigh of relief when she realises it’s not a Daily Planet article, but an article from an online gossip magazine.

Lois Lane and Clark Kent, Metropolis’s Hottest New Couple?

Kara quickly scans the article, which is nothing but gossip, and two photos, one of Clark and Lois holding hands, another of the couple leaning close at a restaurant.

Kara smiles as she hands the phone back to Lena. Despite the lack of privacy some papparazi have, Kara is happy for her cousin.

“So, it’s true then?”

Kara nods. “It is. Clark called me last week. He was so happy they’re soulmates. Anyone with eyes could see they belong together but it’s nice to have it confirmed.”

And nice for Kara too. She’d always wondered if it was still possible that she could have a soulmate, one not from Krypton.

Turns out it is.

“That’s-“ Lena cuts herself off. “Wait, confirmed? What do you mean?”

Kara’s eyes widen as she realises her slip. She’s thought about telling Lena in so many different ways, at so many different times. But fear has always stopped her. What if she told Lena the truth, what if they kissed, and she finds out Lena isn’t her soulmate?

Kara’s never felt this way about anyone before, doesn’t think she could ever feel like this about anyone else either.

“I…do you believe in soulmates?” Kara asks, stalling slightly.

“No.” Lena replies. “Or I didn’t, until you just implied that soulmates are real.”

read the rest on ao3 or under the cut

Kara sighs. There’s no getting out of this. “They’re not real, at least not on Earth. Or not usually. Lois is the only human I’ve seen or heard of that has a soulmate. Clark and Lois are soulmates. All Kryptonian’s have one.”

“Are you…” Lena narrows her eyes. “You’re being serious?”

Kara nods. “The legend goes that Rao picks your soulmate, the person whose soul matches yours, the one most suited to you. But he doesn’t tell you who it is, you have to find that person yourself.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, they just find each other.” Kara had lost hope, with no one but her cousin left on Earth. But then she’d found Lena. Even before Clark had told her about Lois, she’d wondered if Lena could be her soulmate. “And then after your first kiss, a mark appears on your skin with their name, and that’s how you know they’re the one.”

Kara can see Lena’s mind working. “Does that mean Clark and Lois now have the other’s name written on each other?”

Kara laughs. “Yes. It was actually pretty funny when Clark called me, he’d had to explain to a very confused Lois why she now had a tattoo of Clark’s name.”

“So, you have to kiss someone to know?”

Kara nods. “I’m not sure why. I think it gives you a chance to get to know someone before you find out you’re destined to be together.”

“Have you found your soulmate?”

Kara shakes her head, though it feels wrong when she’s pretty sure her soulmate is right in front of her. Not that she knows for sure. “Not yet.”

“Do you wonder, every time you kiss someone, that they’ll be the one?”

“Yes and no. When I was younger, I’d hoped, just to prove I wasn’t alone. Sometimes I know they’re not the one, but now I know there’s someone out there for me, and I just have to wait.”

Lena lets out a little laugh. “I guess it puts more pressure on a first kiss, like there isn’t enough already.”

Kara laughs too. “It really does.” She can’t help but wonder, that without this extra pressure, whether she would have already told Lena how she feels.

“Who knows,” Lena says, still smiling. “It could even be me.”

Kara chokes on nothing. The hand that appears at Kara’s back, soothing up and down as Kara tries to catch her breath, doesn’t help at all.

“It…it could be,” Kara finally manages to get out.

Lena looks amused, clearly enjoying Kara’s struggle, and Kara suddenly wants to do nothing more than kiss that look off of Lena’s face.

Lena shrugs. “We’ve never kissed so you never know.”

“I haven’t kissed a lot of people,” Kara points out unnecessarily. “It could be any of them too.” She’s not sure why she says it, except for the fact she wants to point the focus of the conversation away from Lena and kissing.

“Well, you’re not getting any younger, you need to start crossing people off that list.”

Kara rolls her eyes and suddenly everything feels back to normal, she’s just talking to her best friend, the person besides Alex she trusts most in the universe.

“Are you hungry, we could-“ Kara starts, assuming the conversation is over, at least for now, until Kara can work up the courage to tell Lena how she feels, but Lena isn’t done.

“Kara,” Lena cuts in, looking suddenly serious. “I don’t know if I’m way off here but I know I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about this.” Lena reaches out and takes Kara’s hand and Kara’s breath catches in her chest. “Please tell me you feel this too? Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s fallen in love with their best friend? I didn’t even believe in soulmates before today but I’ve always believed we found each other for a reason, that we belong together. And maybe this is why.”

There are tears in Lena’s eyes by the time she finishes talking and Kara’s own heart is racing as she reaches up to catch a tear before it spills down Lena’s cheek.

And then she doesn’t even think as she leans forward, capturing Lena’s lips in a kiss she’s dreamt about too many times to count.

Lena’s breath catches as their lips meet and now Kara’s crying too as Lena’s hand grips her shirt, holding her close.

The kiss is brief, only because Kara’s forgotten something crucial and she has to tell Lena. “I love you, too,” Kara says as she pulls back, the words brushing Lena’s mouth as she does.

Kara’s whole body is on fire as green eyes meet hers, still so close. Kara doesn’t even need to look down to where her arm is tingling, to know that Lena’s her soulmate. She’s pretty sure deep down she’s known since she first laid eyes on her.

With great effort she does look away from Lena, only because she wants to show Lena the words now written on her skin.

Kara pulls up her sleeve and there it is, in black ink, undeniable against her tan skin. There is Lena’s name, and Kara is crying again.

“That’s going to be tough to hide,” Lena says, and it’s meant to be a joke but it comes out too breathless to be anything but awe. Lena lifts her hand, runs her fingers gently over the name, and Kara’s knees go weak.

“Do you…” Kara asks, because now she wants to see it, needs to see her name on Lena’s skin too.

Lena turns, and she must have had the same feeling as Kara because she lifts up her shirt and there it is, low on Lena’s back, ‘Kara Zor-El’ written clear as day.

Kara reaches out, thumb ghosting over the spot her name is written.

“It is there?” Lena asks, voice filled with such hope that Kara places her hands on her arms, spins her gently until they’re facing each other again.

“Yes.” Kara lifts her hands, cups Lena’s cheek, thumbs catching more tears as they fall. They both know they’re happy tears. “I love you,” Kara repeats, because she can now. She’s going to say it so many times, Lena will get sick of it.

“I love you, too,” Lena repeats, her smile so bright Kara’s knees go weak again. And then Lena leans forward and kisses her again and Kara is lucky she manages to stay upright because Lena’s mouth feels so right and perfect against her own.

---

Two days later, in the CatCo gossip column, there’s a picture of the two of them kissing in Noonan’s, with the title:

Lena Luthor and Kara Danvers, National City’s Hottest New Couple?

[llamagoddessofficial]

Le gasp..

Mafia Bad Sanses’ HCs

Mafia Bad Sanses’ HCs?

Horror likes bashing in heads. He likes that his job means he gets paid to bash in a lot of heads. He doesn't really care that he's considered one of Nightmare's top enforcers, that even the hardest criminals tremble in fear at the mention of his name, that he's called things like the beast and the monster... he just likes that he gets to take out all his worst frustrations on whichever face Nightmare points him to. As a nice bonus, the money he makes means his brother and surviving friends live in safety and comfort.

... But he also likes pretty things. Pretty, soft things, that make him feel fuzzy and warm. You're all three. You find out pretty quick that his frightening face hides a softspoken, sensitive creature, who keeps appearing at your door with flowers (when did you give him your address?) and homemade food. It's bizarre, how such a violent man can equally be so gentle, getting flustered just from you looking at him too long. He wants to do to you what he does with everyone he cares about - use his money to make it so that you never have to worry about anything in life again.

Probably for the best that you let him. He famously doesn't have great control over his temper.

Dust doesn't appear too happy about working for Nightmare. It's clear to anyone watching that Nightmare has something over him; whatever it is, it must be pretty bad, because Dust never questions Nightmare's orders - no matter how terrible or violent. He does exactly what's asked of him, no more, no less. And it's obvious why Nightmare might want to force someone like Dust to work for him... there's no job this silent demon can't do.

Dust, with you, is a different man. He almost becomes his old self again. When you're alone together, he actually smiles. He desperately wants to keep you away from the world he's become trapped in, and he'll probably spend the first few weeks of knowing you trying as hard as he can to separate you from him and the other skeletons. But... he's in love. He can't help it. He's always drawn back to you again, no matter how many times he tells himself he has to let go.

You're his escape. You make him forget the things he's done, and the things he has to keep doing. He's addicted to that feeling.

Killer is Nightmare's right hand. The moniker 'Nightmare's dog' is often used, mostly in an attempt to offend him, but it just makes him laugh. Much like Horror, he very much enjoys his job... he enjoys the power, indulging in his violent desires and getting paid for it. Killer is just about the closest thing Nightmare has to someone he trusts; Killer is privy to many of their 'family's deepest secrets, partly because of his position, but also partly because Nightmare knows Killer genuinely has absolutely zero interest in these massively important secrets. Killer just wants to stab things.

For some reason he seems intent that you trust him. It's really hard to tell what he wants, behind that smile... you're cautious with him, given his clear loyalty to Nightmare. But maybe that loyalty isn't as unshakeable as it seems. It starts with little things... casually lying through his teeth and fully taking the blame for something you did. Conveniently 'forgetting' to mention you around Nightmare. Failing a mission you expressed horror at. Lying about the nature of your personal information, pretending (in front of the guys) that he doesn't know stuff he very much knows.

It's impossible to tell what he wants. But it seems like, whatever it is, he wants it more than all the power he's got now.

Nightmare will obviously want to learn the identity of the person who's somehow managed to completely disarm his three most valuable and violent soldiers. Despite all of them doing their damnedest to keep you out of Nightmare's crosshairs, you can't be hidden forever.

Nightmare is supposed to have everything - there's no luxury he can't afford. But he's always had this... void inside him. It's the very void that pushes him to keep expanding his territory, to keep killing and taking, maybe if he has just that little bit more he'll feel complete. Maybe if he just has that one last shiny thing, he'll be happy. But it's never been enough.

Then he finally meets you. And something clicks.

Dust, Killer and Horror tried so hard to keep you away from Nightmare, because they were terrified of what would happen to you if Nightmare decided he didn't like you. Instead, something much, much worse happened.

Nightmare likes you.

[alotofpockets]

Embracing opportunitues | Lotte Wubben-Moy x Arsenal!Reader

Where you're overworking yourself to earn a spot in the starting eleven

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.1k

-----

You hadn't realised how late it had gotten until the floodlights surrounding the pitch turned on engulfing the field with bright lights. “Shit.” You mutter under your breath, and start packing your stuff immediately.

While Leah had been out on injury you had started almost every game, but ever since she had made her comeback, you were back to starting out on the bench. Of course, you were overjoyed for Leah to be back from the horrible injury she suffered from, but you couldn't help the sinking feeling in your chest every time after that your name was no longer amongst the starting eleven.

That is why you had been training more and more outside of your regular team training sessions. Running drill after drill, to perfect your form, and build your stamina. You were doing everything in your power to better yourself. Anything to give you a leg up, and to prove to your coaches that you deserved a starting position.

“You were out late again.” Lotte's voice comes from the kitchen. You can’t quite place her tone, so you drop your bag in the hallway and rush into the kitchen to apologise to her. “Love, I am so sorry, I totally lost track of time. I didn't mean to stay out so late.” 

Lotte stops your rambling by placing her hands on your shoulders. “Baby, relax, it's fine.” She brings you in for a hug and you relax into her arms. “How about you go take a shower, and I'll have dinner ready once you're done?” You thank her with a kiss, before quickly making your way to the bathroom, not wanting to delay dinner even longer.

Your girlfriend knew how you were feeling and tried her best to support you in everything. She even trained with you some of the days you were training extra. Recently she had gone through a similar situation with her national team. After years of hard work she finally earned herself a starting position with the Lionesses. You had been so proud of her, she deserved that spot on the field, and that wasn't just you being biassed. She was an amazing defender, one you would add to your team any time someone asked you to build a team.

The quick shower did you good. You got dressed in a pair of sweats and a hoodie from Lotte. When you head downstairs, you’re immediately met with the most amazing smell coming from the kitchen. “Oh love, you’ve outdone yourself. It smells incredible.” You peck her shoulder a couple times as you hug her from the back while she’s washing up the dishes and utensils that she used. 

The soft moment between the two of you gets interrupted by the loud ringing of your phone. You take the device out of your pocket and see Jonas’s name on the screen. “It’s Jonas, I’ve got to take this really quickly.” Lotte nods, “Take your time, love, dinner needs another 10 minutes anyways.”

“Hi Jonas, I'm alright, thank you. How are you?” For the rest of the conversations Lotte hears you hum and say okay a couple of times, but it's still unclear to her what the call was about. “Alright, thank you. I will let you know tonight.”

You slowly pocket your phone again. With furrowed brows you turn back to Lotte, you were trying to process the offer that Jonas just gave you by speaking your thoughts out loud. “He just asked me if I wanted to play in midfield while Lia is out, and Kyra can't play for a couple games.”

Lotte nods, “And what do you think?” she asks, careful not to assume your feelings. “I don't know Lot. I'm a defender. I've been training my whole life to be a defender, how am I supposed to prove myself if I don't even get to play in my own position.” 

Lotte reaches out and takes your hand in hers. “Sometimes, opportunities come in unexpected forms. You are an amazing footballer, and I don't think that is limited to defending. You're always moving forwards on the pitch, trying to work the flanks. I think you spend more time in the midfield than you think already. I would say embrace the opportunity and show them what you can do in that position. Make the position your own, and show them that having you in that position is something the team needs.”

You took a step towards Lotte, who instantly wrapped her arms around you. “You always know what to say, and you're so good with your words. What did I do to deserve you?” Your girlfriend chuckles lightly, “You didn't have to do anything but be yourself, and I try.” She keeps holding you until the oven dings, letting you know that dinner is ready. She kisses your forehead before stepping away to get the lasagne she made out of the oven. 

“Alright, eat up cause you’ve been training hard.” She puts some of the lasagne on your plate and you dig in instantly. “And a good cook, I’ve managed to get the whole package.” Lotte rolls her eyes jokingly. “It tastes amazing, baby, thank you for dinner.” While you loved a good joke, you would always show Lotte appreciation for the things that she did for you.

After dinner you called Jonas back, letting him know that you’d fill the spot in midfield. Lotte had convinced you that you should embrace the opportunity with both hands. You were determined to prove that you were more than just a defender. That you could be the versatile player to help the team. That you would be the difference that the team needed.

A couple months later, Lia was fully back from injury, and Kyra had been playing for a while again. You had been working hard, and actually finding the new position rather exciting. 

You had sat down with Jonas and Kim, talking about your future at Arsenal. Kim was very pleased with the way you had stepped up, and wanted to discuss the option of you being a part of the midfield squad moving forwards. 

After your meeting with them ended, you rushed to find Lotte. “How did the meeting go?” She asked the moment she saw you. “So... I’m going to be a regular starting midfielder!” Lotte’s face lit up at your words. What you had been working so hard towards was finally becoming a reality. 

She steps towards you and wraps her arms around you, lifting you in the air. “I am so proud of you. All your hard work led you to this moment, baby. You did it!”

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

[amourane]

smitten

pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

genre: fluff

w/c: 0.7k

summary: jeonghan is completely smitten for you and he refuses to admit it.

warnings: noneee

a/n: aaa i hope you guys like this <3 i wasn't gonna post two fics in a row but i whipped this one up in about half an hour so i hope you guys enjoy it! not sure if i should make it a mini series, lmk!

Jeonghan found it hard to breathe with you around. He found it hard to focus, to concentrate. He had always been one to keep his cool, to stay calm and collected but ever since he met you all logical thinking had been thrown out of the window. He wasn’t a type of guy that would get nervous and he certainly wasn’t the type of guy that would get distracted. Jeonghan prided himself in being the stoic and very attractive star student at Seoul National University. 

So why did he find himself completely befuddled in front of you?

You who were so beautiful, so pretty, so gorgeous yet so annoying. He had never met another girl who would claw at his bones more than you. Your tinkling laugh and bright shiny eyes. It all made him go positively crazy and he couldn’t do anything to help that. You had this magnetic pull that would drag Jeonghan along despite his protests. 

His friends had all teased him for it. They had seen the way his cheeks would flush whenever you stared at him or the way he would look at you with the most lovesick eyes. Nevertheless, he continued to deny his affections. 

It didn’t matter anyway. You were too dense to notice how everyone seemed to snicker whenever you went up to Jeonghan or the way everyone would peer over their textbooks whenever you asked to partner up with the infamous student. You, who’s smile was so bright, failed to see how everyone could tell how smitten Yoon Jeonghan was for you even if he denied it. 

“Hannie!” Your voice echoed through the hallway and Jeonghan winced at the loud sound. His expression remained neutral as you came bounding up towards him with the most adorable grin on your face. “Guess who just got full marks on her test? Me!”

The test paper you shoved in his face made Jeonghan go cross eyes as he struggled to decipher your scrawled answers and the red pen the professor had marked with. The biggest thing that caught his eyes was the 100 in the top right hand corner. 

“That’s good Y/n.”

“Is that all you have to say?” You pouted as you removed the test paper from his face. “I worked so hard for that Hannie, I pulled all nighters and everything! I didn’t even ask you for any help, isn’t that impressive?”

“Yeah.” Jeonghan felt the cage of butterflies fly open in his stomach and he gulped. “That’s amazing Y/n but you really shouldn’t stay up revising, it actually decreases the chance of taking information in. You can enter sleep deprivation and it has a really high chance of simply going blank in exams and that’s not good at all you know.”

Your smile remained on your face as Jeonghan continued to rattle off the side effects of lack of sleep. You stepped closer towards him, only inches away. Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he stared at your pretty face. His eyes flickered to your lips and then your eyes. The eyes he could stare into forever and not get bored with. 

“Then you help me revise. I could use help from that brain of yours. I actually did go blank in my exam but it wasn’t because of sleep deprivation.”

Jeonghan knew better than to ask what but he couldn’t help the curiosity that was gnawing at his mind like a beast begging to be set free. He stared at you, your bright expression rendering him speechless as he tried to come up with words to say.

“What was it then?” He croaked out, voice trembling at the close proximity. “Why did you get distracted?”

You giggled leaning in closer so that your lips were brushing his ear. “You.”

Jeonghan froze, his whole body stood still like ice and you continued to giggle and he saw the way your smile seemed to grow bigger. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched you step back, the test paper still clutched in your hands. He felt his cheeks burst into flames as his jaw hung open in shock at your words. 

“See you later Hannie! I’ll pop over so we can exchange notes.” 

You waved him goodbye before skipping away as if you hadn’t just caused the poor guy to melt in his shoes. Jeonghan gripped his textbooks tightly and he tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. The beating of his heart could be heard in his ears and he tried desperately to calm himself down.

You were the only one capable of making Yoon Jeonghan grow completely flustered and he hated it.

[thejujvtsupost]

The Red Queen

So this isn’t entirely smut but it’s definitely suggestive so I’ll still say it’s 18+? Anyway, I love this trope of sweet husband! Sukuna so much. I picture this set in a somewhat modern time where he lives in a large castle/estate and rules over land; but it can definitely be read like it’s the Heian era. It’s also my first Sukuna work!

Notes: F!reader, lovesick sweet husband sukuna, period and blood mention, suggestive/light smut throughout, almost oral sex (f receiving), reader is victim to the ridiculous stigma surrounding periods.

Sukuna is familiar with menstrual cycles, it’s one of the reasons he had more than one concubine until now- when he only had you. His queen.

He didn’t mind blood, but there was too much complaining mess and disinterest. He wasn’t going to fuck someone that wouldn’t worship him.

And you were one of them, at least at first. Starting out as a concubine and carrying out some maid duties as well until you quickly became the master’s favorite.

He tried to rationalize his feelings at the time. Maybe it was the way you squeaked when he was inside you for the first time, or the way you rode him… perhaps, and the more likely reason, was how you treated him. You were worthy of being his queen, and dare he say, he experienced love for the first time.

You didn’t look away like the others when you witnessed him covered in blood (even though blood made you squeamish), instead you ran to him to see if he was alright.

“Master Sukuna! Are you alright, did someone attack you- woah!” Your voice wavered when you tripped on your own kimono. Sukuna caught you easily, though one hand facepalmed at your clumsy display when he did.

Okay, maybe you were a bit oblivious. And clumsy. And hopelessly charming. “I am fine. I intend to bathe shortly.”

“I’ll start the water then- oh, or would you like me to find Uraume?” The pout you sported amused him enough to humor you. His other concubines hadn’t been this concerned about him before. You were strange, but not bad…

You also sympathized with him while he took out his stress on your smaller body.

“I should kill him for his insolence!” Was expressed between sharp thrusts, yet you were too overwhelmed to do more than moan and cum. By this time you were the only concubine being called for quite some time, you took the brunt of his anger by yourself, happily.

As you were collecting your clothing afterwards, you went out on a limb that you know could have gotten you killed, but he deserved to be validated: “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, my king. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to make it easier for you. Good night.”

You were mid bow when he barked out “stay”, is your assumption that he wanted your body again was incorrect. It was the first night you slept in his chambers and you’ve slept beside him ever since. You didn’t question him, you weren’t afraid.

You were happy to stay.

It wasn’t long after that night when he decided you would be his queen.

You were married under cherry blossom trees in the spring.

The plush bed did little to help your suffering. The aching of your womb didn’t stop, and after a particularly painful cramp, the tears were coming.

The arrival to your shared chambers had him concerned, he hadn’t sensed you elsewhere and your energy was drained- yet you weren’t asleep.

(And you didn’t greet him cutely, which he totally wasn’t looking forward to after being away for a week.)

“My love?”

Your pained grumble led him towards you, and as he grew closer he smelled the blood. “Where are you injured? Why isn’t anyone tending to you?” He knelt down to be level with you and brushed the hair from your eyes.

“‘m’not injured, it’s… it’s a girl thing. It’s just really bad this time around.”

“Ah, your menstrual cycle.”

“Sukuna! Don’t just say it out loud! It’s so embarrassing, I bled on the sheets too and Uraume is washing them alone so I don’t crawl into a hole and die. I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Or what? I’ll be smited? It’s just a sign of fertility, that you can carry my heir. Don’t hide, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re always so secretive about it but I know anyway, it’s not a big deal.” He tried to placate you but you burrowed into the blankets further.

“I just feel gross like this, like I’m an ugly mess and it’s so bad this time. I can’t even move without it hurting and I’m frustrated! This is hardly fair.” You winced at another cramp and he tutted at you.

“You tried heat and the usual stuff I’m assuming?” Your pathetic nod was his only response. “Alright lie on your back, I’ll get rid of the cramps.”

His robes were dropped off the edge of the bed and he tossed the blankets back to get to you. “Wait I don’t think I can handle sex right now-”

“Who said anything about fucking you? I’m going to eat you out until you can’t feel anything except my tongue on your cunt. Release soothes cramps.”

“Oh my god, you can’t there’s so much blood! That’s gross-”

A large hand took hold of your face to meet your eyes, “no part of you is gross or ugly or whatever nonsense is in your head. Do not speak of my queen that way, my love. I’ve killed for less and I have no problem spanking your ass raw when you’re no longer menstruating. Understand?”

“Yeth s’kuna” your cheeks were smushed in his firm albeit gentle grip, causing your words to slur. He released you and kissed each cheek, then your lips, lovingly.

“Now, may I continue on? You are free to decline but don’t let nonsense cloud your answer.”

You contemplated, if it would relieve your cramps then… “You can continue, it really hurts though so be gentle.”

Sukuna peeled your clothes from your body and grew level with your hips “As if I’d be anything else, woman.”

Let me know if you guys want more sweet husband!Sukuna, I kinda really like this flavor of him.

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics and @thecutestgrotto

Thinking about making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open! 💗

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday!!! 🎂🎂🎂 Can I have a Merlin prompt? 🎂🎂🎂

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

Merlin manages to avoid the arrival of Nimueh and her kidnapped apprentice and it’s not even suspicious at all because everyone is avoiding them, and Tristan, because of the huge fight they had about the actual legitimate kidnapping of an unwed, barely of age lady from a neighboring kingdom.

“Does it count as kidnapping if they go along willingly?” Elyan asks, standing above Merlin while he polishes his armor and being no help at all despite being the son of a blacksmith.

He shrugs. “How would I know?”

That gets him a snort of laughter and a slap on the back that only has him stumbling a little bit. If nothing else, his time as Arthur’s servant running around doing chores, and usually running after Arthur and Elyan and their newest terrible idea, has made it so he sort of has muscles now. Access to the castle’s kitchens certainly hasn’t hurt either.

He feels sort of guilty about it. Sure, he’s barely earning any wages himself since it’s mostly going to Ealdor’s debt, but they’re out there working hard to irrigate the land and fix up the village and he’s eating well and sleeping in the nicest room he probably ever will, and sure, he’s working, but he also spends a lot of time just hanging out with Arther and Elyan.

“She’s pretty alright actually, for a noble,” he continues. He hasn’t been going to nearly the lengths Merlin has to avoid her. “Especially for one that grew up in Camelot.”

“You grew up in Camelot,” Merlin says.

For a moment Elyan looks a strange cross between forlorn and wistful. “Yeah, but me and my dad and my sister are just commoners. It wasn’t so bad for us, after the queen died and the prince went missing, but the nobles got it the worst. The king had never been the most comprising of men, but he really became something else after all that. I assume that’s why the de Bois left.”

Merlin startles. “The de Bois are from Camelot? They said that this was their grandfather’s castle!”

Elyan blinks at him. “What? Of course they are! And this was his castle, it’s just that familial relations broke down,” sometimes Elyan says things that make it so clear he spends too much time with Arthur, “and so their father’s was in Camelot. Is in Camelot, and still abandoned because no lord is willing to take up there and risk the king’s ire.”

“Why would the king care if someone else lived there?” he asks.

“Well, he took his brothers-in-law fleeing his kingdom a little personally, Merlin,” he says, rolling his eyes.

Wait. Wait – “Their sister was the queen of Camelot!?”

Elyan stares at him for a long moment then reaches out to rap his knuckles on the side of Merlin’s head. “What kind of schooling does that village have over there? I’ll tell Arthur to add it to the list.”

Better schooling wouldn’t be a bad thing, but, “I know her name was Ygraine! Ygraine Pendragon. No one told me her maiden name was du Bois!”

“Well,” Elyan says, looking uncertain, “maybe they just didn’t want it spread around. It’s not like they left under the best of circumstances. But I’m from the city proper, and everyone knows about the queen’s family there.”

“Right,” he says faintly.

How do things just keep getting worse?

He’s serving the king of Camelot’s nephew!

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [20] - Nightclub

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Business deals are open to negotiation.  

Word Count: 2600

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself, scratching at Alpine’s head with one hand while holding your phone with the other, your eyes skimming the lines. “Seriously…”

Bucky sipped his coffee. “Care to share with the class, Charm?”

You heaved a sigh and shot him a look, holding up the phone so that he could see the screen.

“Clint leaves the city for a couple of days and HYDRA immediately attacks his territory?” you asked and Bucky hummed.

“I mean he had his people covering it,” he said. “Just because he wasn’t here, doesn’t mean it was open to any attack.”

“Which makes it worse,” you told him with a sigh, then reached out for the jar of peanut butter to dip a spoon into it. “How many sources do these guys have?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bucky said, reaching out to run his fingers through Alpine’s soft fur as she meowed at him. “You’re coming to the club tonight, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Your phone buzzed in your hand and you took a look at the notification, then licked your lips.

“Buck.”

“Hm?”

“So you know how our therapist said open communication is very important?”

“I don’t trust the therapist.”

“Shocking,” you deadpanned. “Anyway, I’m meeting Ethan today for lunch.”

Bucky let out a groan before he threw his head back. “Charm…”

“This is me openly communicating.”

“This is you throwing a knife at me and calling it communication,” Bucky corrected you, making your jaw drop.

“It’s not!”

“I will ask this question once again; why are you meeting your ex who wants to fuck you?”

“That’s not—I know the idea isn’t familiar to you, but some people can be friends with their exes.”

“So it’d be fine if I met up with one of my exes for lunch?” he asked and you shrugged your shoulders, trying to ignore the unpleasant flip your stomach did.

“If you can find an ex who doesn’t want to kill you?” you said. “Go ahead.”

He scoffed. “Not all of them hate me.”

“Is the ex who doesn’t hate you in the room with us right now?” you asked back and he made a face.

“I don’t know who fed you those lies, I’m guessing Becca—”

“Becca is very objective when it comes to your exes,” you pointed out. “And how terrible you are in relationships.”

“I’m not terrible in relationships.”

“Did you stay friends with any of your exes?”

“Yeah!”

“Give me a name.”

He blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat. “…Dot.”

“Dot hates your guts, Buck.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know she dumped you,” you said and Bucky clicked his tongue.

“It was a mutual decision.”

“It really wasn’t,” you said. “You do realize that I’ve been best friends with your sister since I was in kindergarten? I know everything about your terrible relationships.”

“To repeat, they’re not—don’t change the subject,” he said as you sipped your coffee. “Your ex?”

“My ex does not want to kill me like your exes or fuck me like you seem to think.”

“Oh he wants to marry you then?” he asked and even though you knew he was being sarcastic, your stomach did a flip. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, I beat him to it.”

You clicked your tongue as you dipped your spoon in the peanut butter jar again.

“As much as I enjoy you referring to me like I’m the last piece of cake,” you deadpanned. “I will make sure both your dick and you regret it the next time you do that.”

He blinked a couple of times and you gave him a bright grin, then popped the spoon into your mouth, then pulled it out to point at him with it.

“See?” you asked him. “Open communication. Therapy works wonderfully for this relationship.”

                                                  *

“Tell me I didn’t make you wait for long,” Ethan said as he rushed into the café and you let out a laugh, then stood up to kiss his cheek.

“I just got here, no worries,” you said. “Ordered your coffee though.”

“You know my coffee order?”

“Yeah,” you said and made a face at him. “Terrible order but yeah. Burned into my mind.”

That made him smile as he sat down.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I was going to come sooner but—”

“Let me guess, your boss?”

“One of these days, that man will get in an accident that I’ve been hoping and praying for,” he told you, making you laugh.

“That’s doable,” you said. “I told you before.”

He heaved a sigh. “Stop. Right now, I feel like taking you up on that offer.”

“You can.”

He frowned, then shook his head.

“No no,” he said. “I’ve watched too many movies about this.”

“I’m not going to put a horse head in your bed, Ethan.”

“No, not that!” he said, letting out a chuckle. “Power corrupts.”

You shrugged again. “Nah it doesn’t.”

“It would corrupt me,” he told you as the waitress brought your coffees. “How about you? How’s uh…how’s marriage?”

Your eyes snapped to his and you cleared your throat, shifting in your seat.

“Ethan, if it’s going to lead to yet another—”

“It won’t,” he cut you off and offered you a small smile. “Don’t worry. I got the message.”

A silence fell upon you. You could feel your stomach doing a flip at the implication of what he had said and even though you actually wanted to talk about it, you knew you couldn’t.

Now to think of it…

You weren’t sure if you could even get together with him after your divorce. The idea was tempting yes, but you weren’t sure he could handle the life the job brought with it. While you and Bucky could torture an agent of HYDRA and then get takeout afterwards, doing the same wasn’t possible with Ethan and—

Strangely enough, you found yourself wondering whether you could still do it with Bucky after you two would get a divorce.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up and you cleared your throat, then smiled at him.

“Sorry,” you said. “Blanked out for a second. You were saying?”

                                                   *

Opening night of a club, especially if it was in Barnes, Wilson or Rogers territories, was always so much fun that even when you were teenagers, you and Becca would sneak into them, most of the time to get caught by Steve. Now that you were a grown up, you still enjoyed them but you also knew what was happening in the background.

It was the perfect time to make deals.

The crowd, the music, the alcohol, it all served its purpose to make better deals without getting the weapons or threats involved. Not to mention, getting invited to the opening night showed respect to whoever was a part of any negotiation.

You took a sip of your drink and leaned back on the sofa, keeping your eyes on Mr. Clifford. He was one of the new players in town, but powerful enough to be invited to your -well, Bucky’s- VIP booth tonight. If this deal worked, he could make the shipments to your territory much smoother but the problem was, neither you nor Bucky could decide whether you could trust him or not.

He had good references, but he was still sort of a mystery.

“I wasn’t aware you would be here as well, Mrs. Barnes,” Mr. Clifford said. “So the word on the street is true?”

“What word?” you asked and he smiled.

“That you’re…not just a guest?”

Bucky raised his brows and shot you a small grin while you shrugged your shoulders.

“No, I’m not.”

“She’s the only one I trust,” Bucky said and you smirked, reaching out to hold his hand. Mr. Clifford nodded.

“I see,” he said. “And um—if you don’t mind me ask, will it affect any deals I may make with your father?”

“You will have to ask my father that,” you said. “I hear he’s not open to any new deals but you can try your chances.”

He hummed. “And his heir, Ian?”

Your jaw clenched but you managed to keep your expression flat while Bucky squeezed your hand as if trying to assure you.

“Ian hasn’t been named yet,” he said. “And either way, if you’re making deals with heirs, I may have to rethink my decision to do business with you. Are you that much of an amateur?”

“Bucky.”

“No, I’m not going to do business with him if he’s making deals with people who can’t sit at the grown-ups table.” 

“I assure you, that’s not the case,” Mr. Clifford said. “I was just voicing my curiosity, that’s all.”

You downed your drink and leaned in to whisper into Bucky’s ear.

“I’ll be right back,” you said. “Don’t shoot him?”

“No promises,” he murmured and you tried to bite back your smile, then grabbed your purse and stood up to make your way through the dance floor to the bathroom. When you stepped out again, your eyes fell upon Ryan who was by the bar and you smiled to yourself, then approached the bar as well.

“I think you’re the only person who drinks water at a club opening,” you said, making him turn his head and he blinked a couple of times as if he was surprised to see you, then looked down at the glass in his hand.

“Ma’am,” he said, taking a sip of his water and you tilted your head.

“Let me guess,” you said. “Ian told you to be completely sober just in case?”

“It’s my idea, ma’am.”

“Where’s he?”

“In the VIP room there,” he motioned at the closest room and you pulled your brows together.

“And he sent you away?”

Ryan sipped his water in silence and you heaved a sigh.

“Does he know that keeping his right arm out of deals is a terrible idea?”

“I’m just his bodyguard ma’am, nothing more.”

You pursed your lips together and cleared your throat.

“You might as well dance with someone, you know,” you joked. “If he’s going to be there alone, no need for you to get bored.”

The look of complete terror on his face at the suggestion was almost funny. He was a huge guy, and you were pretty sure he could crush someone’s skull with his bare hands if he wanted to, but he looked absolutely terrified at the idea of dancing with someone at the club.

“I’m a great wing-woman,” you told him, making him blink a couple of times. “Anyone caught your attention?”

“Ma’am I—I wouldn’t—” he stammered and you waved a hand in the air.

“And how many times should I tell you to call me Y/N?” you asked and he licked his lips, staring at you.

“I don’t mean disrespect.”

“I don’t think it’s disrespect,” you told him and out of the corner of your eye, you saw the waiter leaving your VIP room mutter something at one of Clifford’s bodyguards by the door before walking away. You frowned.

“Excuse me,” you said as you made your way to the fire exit the waiter walked into. You looked over your shoulder and pulled the small pistol out of your purse, then pushed open the door quietly to step into the hallway.

The waiter was too busy to notice your presence as he pulled a gun out of the cleaning bucket in front of him, but he froze when he heard the sound of you cocking the gun.

“Hi,” you said and he gritted his teeth, raising his hands. “Put the gun down.”

He slowly put the gun down and you smiled.

“There you go,” you said. “Good boy.”

“What are you doing?” he asked as he turned to you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I mean I’m trying to enjoy my night to be honest but…”

“Just walk away.”

You scoffed.

“Right,” you said. “That’s gonna happen.”

“If you walk away now, you’ll benefit from it,” he said. “Mr. Clifford says if Barnes dies, you could take over his territory, his business. It’ll be your right.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Well yeah but also if Bucky dies, I’ll have to wear black and I can’t really pull off black dresses,” you said. “Becca says it has something to do with my undertone—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence when he lunged to throw a punch at you but you caught his hand and twisted it, making him cry out in pain. You headbutted him right in the nose, hearing the crack of the bone before you grabbed the bigger pistol on the floor to slam it against his head, causing him to drop to the floor unconscious.

“This night is getting more and more fun,” you murmured as you shook your head, then pushed your pistol back into your purse. You made your way to the door again to open it, then approached Ryan to tap him on the shoulder.

“Can I borrow you for a moment?” you asked and turned around without waiting for him to answer, but he followed you anyway until you got to the hallway and opened the door. Ryan grabbed his gun from his waistband the moment he saw the unconscious guy lying on the floor, then turned to you.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked, stepping into the hallway with his gun ready, checking for any threats. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not at all,” you said. “Keep an eye on him until I get back.”

His back straightened immediately like he was a soldier and you were his commander. “Yes ma’am.”

“And if Ian says anything,” you said. “This happened in Barnes territory, he’s our hostage. No one else’s.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You nodded your head and took a step to the door, then turned around.

“And thank you, Ryan,” you said, making him pull his brows together in confusion as if he wasn’t used to hearing it. “I appreciate it.”

He swallowed thickly, then nodded.

“Ma’am,” he said and you pushed open the door, then made your way to the VIP room Bucky was in.

“As I was saying, our price isn’t…” Clifford stopped talking when he saw you walk inside. “Ah Mrs. Barnes, welcome back.”

You shot him a fake smile, then leaned in closer to Bucky so that you could whisper into his ear.

“He’s trying to kill you.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to yours when you pulled back and he heaved a sigh as if he was exhausted, then ran a hand over his eyes.

“Great,” he muttered. “Do you want to stay and watch, sweetheart?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head.

“I got one of his men, I’ll be by the fire exit,” you murmured. “Come there when you’re done?”

“Sure thing.”

“What’s going on?” Clifford asked and you turned to shoot him a glare before pecking Bucky on the cheek.

“Have fun!”

“I will,” Bucky said and motioned at one of the bodyguards. “Paul, escort my wife to where she’s going.”

“Yes Mr. Barnes.”

“And Hannah,” Bucky’s voice was completely calm. “Lock the room down.”

“Mr. Barnes, please—” Clifford’s voice was cut off when the door shut behind you and Bucky’s bodyguards started dragging Clifford’s men away while you turned to Paul with a sigh.

“How fucking rude, right?”

“Ma’am?”

“I mean honestly…” you muttered while you walked to the fire exit with Paul following you. “Sending an amateur to kill him? People today have no manners.”

[microsofttothemax]

the resentment leo would have with splinter post-krang. i genuinely think they would take a bit for them to recover and be comfortable around each other

why do i think that? here’s some reasons. this is gonna be a HELLA long analysis so be prepared. sit down, grab some popcorn, and let’s dive in

in the movie, after raph was taken, leo goes on a whole rant about how he got the key, he gets the answers, and he will get raph back. yes this is irrational and brash, but not in leo’s eyes. in his eyes, this is a foolproof plan that will work

splinter attempts to intervene, and tell him like it is. “it’s not your plan, you need to work with your team.” however, it comes out as a sharp sting to leo’s previous attitude

“My son, listen to your team. This is not about you.”

it’s meant to be sensible and wise, but to leo, it’s a jab at him. it’s a stab at his cockiness and self-centered attitude, and it reminds leo of why they’re even in this position in the first place. which he hates

most of all, it’s splinter saying it. it’s his father telling him that it’s not about him. because to leo, he’s always been last place to splinter’s affection, and it’s like splinter’s confirming it here

don’t believe me? here:

splinter talks to leo, and it seems that for a minute, he listens to his father’s words. that maybe he should really stop and listen. maybe he should stop and think of a plan, listen to his brothers’ input.

but the second splinter says it’s not about him? leo shuts down. he pulls away from splinter, and refuses to listen to him. and while splinter may be right, it was something leo never wanted to hear

it’s obvious that he has a somewhat testy relationship with his father, and splinter is trying to make up for it by giving leadership advice. but to leo? this is the guy who made him leader to seemingly mess with him, never bothered to give him attention or praise on his accomplishments, and never truly knew leo beyond his “acting as the best to save face” charade

which brings me to another reason. no, i do not think splinter was ever abusive or purposely neglectful to leo, or any of the boys for that matter. but its clear theres a bit of a rift between him and leo. i think that he kind of resents leo a bit (without meaning to) because he sees himself in him. he sees the irrational movie star who never thought ahead, and made too many mistakes to count

an example would be when leo got punched by lou jitsu two times. none of his brothers got punched, why just him? and sure it could be a running gag, but i find it also to be intentional

maybe deep down, splinter still resents leo for being so much like his irrational, unreasonable younger self. that every time he sees leo, he sees his stupid past self, and without meaning to, he at times hates leo because of it. and if he doesn’t hate him, he seems to resent him to some extent

splinter also has plainly stated that donnie was the funniest one to him, (s1ep 1, mystic mayhem) and outright laughed when leo asked if he was the favorite son (rottmnt wake-up alarms on youtube, timestamp 1:59) leo also staight-up said that he was splinter’s least favorite (s1ep 4b, down with the sickness)

so yeah, i can see the resentment leo may have for his father deep down. it could be pretty apparent post-krang, hidden behind his jokes and teases

now don’t get me wrong, they have their moments of bonding, and i do love to read little drabbles and fics where they hug and heal. however… realistically speaking, it would take a while for them to get to that stage of father-son bonding post-krang. with splinter naming him leader out of the blue, to the missing lou jitsu posters on the walls of leo’s room in the movie — and we’re definitely talking about that in a later post, trust — i would bet their relationship as father-son pre and post-movie would be extremely rocky.

another reasoning for this could be that splinter often underestimates and undermines leo’s abilities and accomplishments. far as i’ve seen, the most reaction splinter’s given to leo’s accomplishments is an eyebrow raise

for example, when outsmarting big mama, leo was genuinely proud of spending time w his dad and showing him his abilities. he genuinely thought they were working together. however, splinter didn’t say he was proud or anything, just complained he wished he’d brought donnie (s2ep 2, many unhappy returns)

“I knew I should have brought Purple.”

ouch. that mustve hurt a bit

and yes, i will admit, leo was being a bit of a little shit in this scene, and yes, he could’ve told splinter of the plan before starting to yap and blab to big mama about the plan he cooked up. however, the response splinter gives is not much better. essentially, he’s saying, “i don’t like this kid or his plan, so therefore i think i should’ve brought one of my favored children to solve the problem better.”

and before you go and tell me donnie could’ve outsmarted big mama the way leo did, think for a moment. leo fully admitted to manipulating and lying in an episode before

“I don’t lie, I just… change the truth.”

whereas donnie cannot tell a lie to save his life. i love him, but the guy is a shit liar. he has failed multiple times at it

“We are just typical normal humans.. who got lost in the middle of our normal… everyday human lives— nailed it.”

“Uh… nothing. Just having a typical, normal, mystic-free day.” “What? I said mystic-free.”

“Why aren’t you guys more upset?”

“Oh. This… hurts me. Uh… I’m very sad…?”

raph & mikey aren’t much better. mikey straight-up started sweating when he had to lie to splinter about piebald, and raph has so many different stinks/scents to him that it’d be easy for others to tell he was lying

also, mikey has doctor delicate touch. who does not know what lying or “don’t be blunt” means

and donnie’s really only being extremely straightforward with what he thinks or about what’s going on around him. so it makes no sense as to why splinter would want to bring donnie along to outsmart big mama, unless he genuinely doesn’t enjoy leo’s presence, which seems to be the case

now all of this is evidence to point towards a very unsteady father-son relationship with these two. yes, splinter seems to be a very lenient father, and i genuinely think he wants to be a good dad. however, oftentimes that leads to miscommunication and misread moments, empty promises, and overall neglecting behavior on his part, all without meaning to

so while he does try harder to be there for his sons later in the show, it’s pretty obvious that one brother — who thrived off any attention possible — probably stopped caring about that validation after all that he went through. splinter gives, but leo doesn’t take. he doesn’t bother to, because he thinks it’s either a prank of some kind, or because he just genuinely doesn’t care for his father’s input anymore.

(this was based on that one post about splinter & leo by @midwesternvibes, i just figure i revisit that bc i’m thinkin about it again)

[arabellasleopardcoat]

To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.