#at the end of the day i just think we should be wary of any media that is presenting us with a moral guideline and telling us to swallow it

[rollercoasterwords]

Hello there. This is me asking you to talk about the glass onion thing, I wanna know 😌

ok i just spent. an hour. writing a whole essay. and then accidentally deleted it. so!!!! i don't think i have the energy to rewrite the whole thing but the condensed version of the glass onion thoughts:

the movie itself was fun and i don't think there's anything wrong with enjoying it, but what bothers me is seeing so many responses praising the movie as though it was this groundbreaking anticapitalist critique when in reality the actual message of the movie was neither groundbreaking nor particularly anticapitalist and the movie itself is very much invested in capitalism; it's a film made by a multi-billion corporation whose primary purpose is to make rich people richer.

and i think a lot of this uncritically positive praise that treats the movie as though it's making some important political statement is falling into the trap of asking "does this media say something good or bad" rather than asking "is this media a lecture or a conversation." because sure, glass onion seems to be saying "eat the rich!", but that message is very carefully outlined in bite-sized chunks that are then spoonfed to the audience. like, it's very clear who's good and who's bad, and it's very clear why those people are good and bad, to the point that the viewer isn't really encouraged to question those assumptions and is supposed to just sit back and agree with the points the movie is making. and if more people were approaching media critique with the starting point of "is this a lecture or a conversation," i think fewer people would fall into this trap of just going "oh, this movie is saying something i agree with!" and instead pause and ask "why isn't this movie encouraging me to draw my own conclusions?" because in the case of glass onion, i think the answer to that question is that the movie is not really making any groundbreaking critique and is rather a perfect example of "anti-capitalist" capitalist media that works to keep people complacent by making them feel as though there's some important challenge being made when there's not.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Forgetting

Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: Jake forgets to pick you up at the airport because of his ex, and for the first time, you think maybe you and Jake aren't mean to be.

Notes/Warnings: Angst, but ends fluffy. Fighting. Cursing. This was a request that I said I'd have done in a couple days and it took me a week and a half. Sorry about that. Also, please be gentle. I haven't written for Jake in what feels like a millennium.

Words: 2700

Jake Seresin Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

As much as it would kill you to know that he could be hurt, you hope he’s hurt. You hope he’s on his way to the hospital to receive life-saving treatment because if he’s not hurt, if he’s not receiving life-saving treatment, then he simply forgot about you. And that makes your heart want to claw its way out of your chest and scamper across the floor until it’s well out of your range to catch it. 

Your call goes to voicemail for the fourth time. You send your twelfth text: I hope you’re ok. I landed an hour ago. Please call me. Nothing different than the eleven other messages that have gone unanswered. Forty-five more minutes pass of you sitting on a bench by the airport exit before you finally surrender your last shred of hope and call Bradley to come save you. 

Within the hour, you’re sighing in relief, the sight of a friendly face almost bringing you to tears. He approaches you with open arms and you fall right into the embrace, comforted by the hug that should be in your boyfriend’s arms, and the warmth that should be from your boyfriend’s body, and the forehead kiss that should be from your boyfriend’s lips. 

“Please tell me he’s ok,” you say against your friend’s chest. 

A heavy palm rubs up and down your back. “No one could get ahold of him.”

Your head jerks back so you can meet his eyes. “Oh my god!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.”

“How can you say that? He was supposed to be here and he’s not and–” You pause when Bradley looks away from you, and a hefty stone settles in your gut. You know your friend well. He’s a good man, honest but sensitive, and when that honestly meets that sensitivity, it results in his inability to look someone in the eye if he thinks the truth might hurt them. You’ve seen it a hundred times, but never with you. 

Your posture wavers with your lengthy exhale. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Another great thing about Bradley: he doesn’t make you play any games. You don’t have to jump through hoops. You don’t have to ask the right questions in the right way in order to get what you need out of him, unlike many men, your boyfriend included, who recently has found ways to skitter around telling the full truth. 

“Javy said he saw him a couple of hours ago,” Bradley says.

Your back teeth clench. Your mind shoots to one conclusion. “With her?” you ask. Bradley’s eyes drift from yours again and you nod, a tear at the ready to leak down your cheek. “He forgot about me because he’s with her.”

“We don’t know that for sure, and–”

Your hand scrubbing down your face cuts him off. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose before you suck in your whimper and say, “Rooster, why did he even ask me to come here?”

“Because he…I mean, we thought he–”

“You thought he gave a fuck about me.”

“He does,” Bradley says, stressing his words in an attempt to reassure you. “He never shuts up about you.”

“Sure,” you say. “He gives so much of a fuck that he forgot about me to be with his ex. How can you explain that?”

Rooster sighs. His hands slip into his jeans pockets just to have something to do with them. “I can’t.”

“Exactly.” 

No one can explain it. Not you, not Bradley, not Jake. Everyone you know back home would be telling you to run for the hills right now. They were already wary of this ‘Navy guy’ that they’d only met twice around the holidays, who lives a decent distance away from your entire life and who constantly requests that you be the one to hop on a plane rather than the other way around. 

For the duration of your time together, you’ve been understanding of that sacrifice. You know his schedule doesn’t allow impromptu trips out of state, but that hasn’t made it any less exhausting for you. And maybe that’s a sign. Another sign. A nail in the coffin. Maybe you and Jake aren’t meant to be. And why would you be? You met him on a brief vacation to visit a friend who doesn’t even live in the same town anymore, and somehow, during those few days, he convinced you to take a chance on him. So you took the leap. But being that bold doesn’t guarantee you won’t fall flat on your face, and you think that’s exactly what’s happening. You’ve tripped over a guy only to realize he doesn’t care about you to the same degree that you care about him. 

However, you’re not the type to avoid confrontation. If Jake Seresin is going to mistreat you because of his ex, then he is going to do it to your face. He’s going to look you in the eye when he shows himself to be the liar he is. It may hurt more to go to him rather than get on the next plane home without so much as taking in a breath of fresh Californian air, but you’re too upset to let that thought fully develop, and a moment later, Rooster is following your stomps out the door. 

—

You find him at the Hard Deck, standing at a hightop with a beer glass in his hand that clinks against the one in his ex’s before he takes a sip. Bradley’s comforting hand lands on your back in solidarity. You only met him because of Jake, but the two of you bonded despite their differences, and having him by your side now makes him nothing short of a life-saver. 

He helps guide you through the crowd to the table, and when Jake spots you, he chokes around the liquid going down his throat. His blown-out emerald eyes rival saucers and his mouth gapes like a fish, but then his stare flicks to Bradley, and those eyes shrink into narrow slits. His face heats to a boiling red. 

“What the fuck!” Jake snaps, shocking the composure right out of his ex’s poised stance. Bar patrons close by turn their heads but quickly return to their own conversations. Jake steps away from the table, coming to a halt in front of you and his squadmate. “What the hell is this?”

You figured he’d be bothered if you showed up with Bradley in tow. And good, that’s what you feel he deserves. Jake’s been wary of the other Dagger’s closeness to you for a while, and even though you know—as does Bradley—that it’s an asinine concern, you have no problem using it against him now. But still, the intensity of his reaction manages to surprise you. You didn’t think he would be this angered by the sight of you with another man that it would have him overlooking his mistake of forgetting you.

Your arms cross. “This is your girlfriend and the guy who saved her when her damn boyfriend left her stranded at the airport.”

“Excuse me?”

Jake’s ex’s prying gaze tugs at your attention, but when you glance over his shoulder to catch her in the act, she quickly looks away—just more proof that whatever the fuck she’s doing with your boyfriend is something to be ashamed of. 

Bradley’s saying something. You can’t quite hear him over the anger-induced fuzzing in your ears, but you’re pretty sure it’s a scolding based on the twisting of Jake’s features as he shoots back his own words of aggression. And then your hand is in his and you’re being pulled through the bar, out the back door, and onto the deck where the only intrusive sound is the lapping of waves on the shore. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. 

You scoff to mask the heartbreak that comes with that question. “Because you asked me to be here.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he says. 

“It’s Thursday, Jake.”

“No, it’s—” he freezes, and you don’t know if he’s tipsy or stupid, but it takes him a minute to come to the same conclusion: it is indeed Thursday. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Your lower back meets the edge of the railing, and you sigh, thankfully keeping in the tears. “What are you doing with her?”

“What the fuck are you doing with Rooster?” he returns much more forcefully. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called, I texted, I left voicemails,” you tell him, “But clearly, she was more important.”

Jake’s hands pat down his pockets, mouth setting in a frown when he can’t find his phone.

“Don’t bother. Phone or no phone, you forgot about me because of her. Last time I was here, you were late for one of our dates because of her. You spent fifty percent of our time together stepping away to take her phone calls,” you say, trying and failing to avoid the bitter taste on your tongue. “Just fuck her, Jake, if you haven’t already. I only came here to tell you that she can have you.”

You’ve never seen him fall apart the way he does. You’ve never seen the blood drain from his cocky face. You’ve never seen his features break and crack and contort into the vision of pure devastation as they do. His parted mouth must’ve gone dry because his next words come out slightly hoarse.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “Why…Why would you–” He swallows. A wrinkle forms between his brows and he shakes his head. “You love me. You didn’t mean to say that.”

You do love him—terribly so—but you’re willing to be one of those people who won’t view love as enough if it also means laying you out as a fool. “Jake–”

“Take it back,” he says. His steps are quick, and then you’re trapped where you stand, his hands on either side of your body, gripping the rail. Eyes drill into yours, and for a second, you feel a pang of guilt. “Please, baby, take it back. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And I mean less.”

“No!” he says. “That’s not true. You’re everything, ok? You mean everything to me. She was just helping me, that’s all.”

“Helping you,” you mimic with a roll of your eyes. “Helping you what? Get off?”

With a little whine, Jake’s head drops between his shoulders, his blond hair brushing your collarbone. “Please. Please quit saying things like that.” His hands slide closer to your body and land on your hips. You don’t push him away—you can't—and his touch softens you ever so slightly.

“Then tell me the truth,” you say. “Right now. I’m giving you one shot.”

His head snaps up. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, ironically searching for your honesty, as if you’re the liar on trial here. 

“It was a surprise,” he tells you. “She’s a realtor now, and for the last few months she’s been helping me find a new place, one that’s bigger than what I’ve got because I was going to ask you to move in with me.” Your heartbeat stutters. A layer of goosebumps coats your arms. When you don’t respond, he continues, “I hate missing you. I hate how unfair it is that you’re always the one to come here because I can’t fly out at the drop of a hat. I know it’s a big step, but I figured if I had a place, I could show you how great things could be. That’s why she and I came here. We were celebrating because I’m signing on a house first thing tomorrow,” he says. “Well, that’s why I’m celebrating, anyway. She’s probably celebrating because she just made a decent commission.”

It’s almost unfair how that new information doesn’t make you feel any less of a fool. Had he told you that under any other circumstances, you’d be leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve been deprived of him for years, repeating ‘yes’ over and over between those kisses, but you can’t. You can’t because his explanation doesn’t fix everything. 

“That still doesn’t change that it’s Thursday, not Wednesday,” you say.

“I know, baby. That’s my fault. I was so excited, and I was thinking how perfect the timing was that I would be able to pick you up tomorrow and drive you by the house now that it’s officially mine, but I fucked it up.”

Jake’s thumbs press into your hips, and you’re instantly reminded of each moment in your relationship when you’ve felt that same light pressure on your skin. A gentle claiming. The same pressure you felt when you agreed to be his girlfriend. The same pressure you feel whenever you’re in bed together. 

You sense eyes on you other than your boyfriend’s, and when you turn your head, you find his ex staring right at you, an expression on her face that you wish you could say wasn’t one of distress, but it is. And worse, it’s obviously not distress for herself, but for Jake, as if she’s hoping she wasn’t just a contributor to a bomb dropping on his life. 

Jake’s busy staring at you despite your averted gaze, and in a monotone voice, you say, “She feels bad.”

He doesn’t follow your eyes. “Because she knows I’ve been doing this all for you.”

You blink. Your hand runs down your face before sifting through the strands of your hair. “You really want me to live with you?”

“Of course I do,” he tells you. He’s shaking his head, but you know it’s because he thinks any idea that he wouldn’t want you to be blasphemous. His hand cups your chin. “I love you.”

With a sigh, you push aside the rollercoaster of emotions, the misunderstandings that lead to frustration and hurt, and look him directly in the eye. And where moments ago you thought you saw lies, you see honestly. Where you thought you saw betrayal, you see love. 

“Can I see it?”

—

It’s small—a two-bedroom with a little driveway, the shingle siding painted a blue-gray shade that is more blue than gray; bundles of flowers bloom in the boxes under the windows; a bay window protrudes from the side of the structure facing the beach. And it’s perfect.

You can imagine building a life here. You can picture a dog that you’ll have to build a fence for and children years later that will have you reinforcing the fence because they’ll probably be like their father, and Jake didn’t choose to be a pilot because of his lack of adventurous nature. You look at this house and you can see the core of a family. A house that, no matter how far you go for Jake’s job, will always be home base.

Jake is leaning around you so you can both watch the house from the passenger seat window. “I’d offer to show you around, but I don’t get the keys until morning.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him. “I don’t need to see inside.”

When you say that, he falls back into his seat. The back of his head presses against the headrest. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel with his sigh of defeat. “You don’t like it.”

Shifting your body to face him, you say, “Jake, I love it.”

Just like that, his eyes brighten like a pouting child who was just offered a lollipop, and you can’t help but chuckle. You can’t help but forget everything that happened earlier in the night, all of it seeming so insignificant now, even though you know it’s not, and you both know that if he ever makes the same mistake again, he’ll have hell to pay. But something tells you that won’t be a problem. 

“Enough to live with me?” he asks.

You nod. “Enough to live with you.”

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments make my entire world, so if you liked it, let me know? Thanks :)

[rosesareredrosa]

When Laughter Fades

Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary: Mattheo takes things too far with his "banter" and didn't notice y/n's feelings of hurt and anger until one day she decides to speak up and Mattheo has to change to keep the relationship steady

Authors note: Sorry anon for the wait this was randomly so hard

Word Count: 1070

Mattheo Riddle loved pulling pranks. They brought him joy and amusement, especially when his favorite target, Y/N, was involved. She usually laughed along with him, but he didn't realize how close he was to crossing the line until today.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and the Slytherin common room was buzzing with students enjoying their free time. Y/N was seated at a table, diligently working on an essay for Potions class. Mattheo, ever the prankster, watched her from across the room, a devious idea forming in his mind.

He slipped out of the common room and returned moments later with a small enchanted box. Inside it was a jinxed snake that would leap out and hiss at whoever opened it. He approached Y/N's table with a casual grin.

"Hey, Y/N, I found this weird box in the Room of Requirement. Want to see what's inside?" he asked, holding out the box to her.

Y/N glanced up, raising an eyebrow but smiling. "Sure, Mattheo. Let's see it."

As soon as she opened the box, the snake leaped out, hissing loudly. Y/N screamed, knocking over her ink bottle in the process. Ink splattered all over her essay and her robes. Her face paled, and then flushed with a mix of fear and anger.

"Mattheo, what the hell!" she shouted, her voice trembling.

Mattheo's grin faltered. "It's just a prank, Y/N. It's a fake snake, see?"

He picked up the snake, which had now returned to its inanimate state, and showed it to her. But Y/N wasn't laughing.

"Just a prank? Look at my essay, my robes! This isn't funny, Mattheo. You always do this, and I'm sick of it!" Tears welled up in her eyes as she glared at him.

"Y/N, I didn't mean to—" Mattheo started, but she cut him off.

"That's the problem, Mattheo. You never mean to, but you always end up hurting me. Maybe you should think before you act."

With that, she turned on her heel and left the common room, leaving Mattheo standing there, guilt and regret washing over him. He watched her go, the weight of his actions sinking in.

Days passed, and Y/N avoided Mattheo. The usual spark in her eyes was gone, replaced by a guarded, wary look. Mattheo's heart ached every time he saw her, knowing he had put that look there. He had to make things right, but he didn't know how. Apologies had never been his strong suit.

One evening, after searching for Y/N around the castle, Mattheo finally found her in the library, sitting in a secluded corner. Her face was buried in her arms, and she looked up as he approached, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"Y/N," he said softly, approaching her table. "Please, can we talk?"

She looked up, her expression weary. "What do you want, Mattheo?"

"I want to apologize. I was an idiot, and I took things way too far. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did. I'm so sorry, Y/N."

"You always say you're sorry, but then you do it again. How can I believe you this time?"

"I know I've messed up," he continued, "but I promise I'll change. No more pranks, no more teasing. I care about you, and I don't want to lose your friendship."

Y/N stood up, her frustration boiling over. "You care about me? You have a funny way of showing it. Every time I start to trust you, you pull another stupid prank. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"

"Y/N, please, I never meant to hurt you. I just thought it was all in good fun."

"Good fun? Fun for who, Mattheo? Because it's not fun for me. It's humiliating and cruel."

Mattheo felt his heart sink. He hadn't realized just how much pain he had caused her. "I... I didn't see it that way. I thought we were just playing around."

"Playing around? This isn't a game, Mattheo. These are my feelings. And every time you pull one of your 'pranks,' it feels like you're saying my feelings don't matter."

"I'm sorry," Mattheo said, his voice breaking. "I really am. I don't want to lose you, Y/N."

She sighed, her anger giving way to exhaustion. "I don't know if I can trust you again, Mattheo. You've hurt me too many times."

"I'll prove it to you," he said desperately. "I'll show you that I can change. No more pranks, I swear. Just give me a chance."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and doubt. "Alright, Mattheo. But this is your last chance. If you hurt me again, we're done."

He nodded fervently. "I won't let you down. I promise."

In the days that followed, Mattheo made good on his promise. He was attentive, considerate, and kind. He helped Y/N with her studies, brought her favorite snacks, and most importantly, he listened. But he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that things weren't the same. Y/N was more reserved, her laughter less frequent, and Mattheo feared that he had caused irreparable damage.

One night, as they sat by the lake, watching the sunset, Y/N broke the silence. "Mattheo, do you ever think about the future?"

He glanced at her, surprised by the question. "Sometimes. Why?"

"I've been thinking a lot lately. About us, about everything that's happened. I want to trust you, but it's hard. Every time I see you, I remember the hurt."

Mattheo's heart clenched. "Y/N, I promise I'll never hurt you again. I care about you so much."

She turned to him, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and sorrow. "I want to believe you, Mattheo. But it's going to take time."

"I know. And I'm willing to wait, to do whatever it takes to make things right."

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, a small gesture of trust. "Thank you, Mattheo."

As they sat there, wrapped in each other's presence, Mattheo knew that this was his chance to prove himself. The road to healing would be long and difficult, but he was determined to show Y/N that he valued her far more than any prank or joke. He would cherish her, protect her, and make sure that her laughter returned, brighter and more genuine than ever before.

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

I’ve been dissecting Ragatha’s character with surgical tools because I am not the least bit normal about this damn doll, and something that I’ve gathered upon rewatch is how much responsibility Ragatha has been taking for Pomni’s first day. Prepare for another character analysis about everyone’s favorite confirmed girl failure

Useless Lesbian jokes aside, it’s so interesting to me how much Ragatha cares about Pomni liking her. To the point where she believes Pomni’s terrible awful no good very bad first day has some relevance to how she thinks Pomni thinks of her.

At first I thought this was just the result of her people pleasing tendencies that needs everyone to like her for her to have any degree of self worth (no I’m not projecting, shut up), but she doesn’t seem to be this pushy about getting along with anyone else.

Another possible reason for this behavior was that she just wants to make the newcomer feel as comfortable and welcomed as possible to lessen the blow of being trapped, and she’s doing such a bad job of it that it’s making her think less of herself for failing. But here she’s specifically talking about the “horrible experience” of having to deal with Kaufmo’s abstraction.

Here Ragatha is literally writhing in pain from glitching after getting her ass handed to her by Kaufmo and she briefly stops Pomni from leaving to get the help she needs to apologize to her about having a bad first day.

Honestly, Pomni’s awkward response to this was hella fitting.

Like, Jesus Christ, Ragatha. Priorities girl.

When I first watched this, I thought her little apology fell under the same category as someone apologizing for hearing bad news, (y’know like a “I’m sorry your dog died” kinda thing) said in a way to express sympathy over a bad situation. But in episode 2, it really feels like she actually blames herself for what happened.

and I think I know why.

It was Ragatha’s idea to go see Kaufmo in the first place and introduce Pomni to him. We know that she honestly believes that participating in the adventures are essential to persevering a person’s sanity. And yet she didn’t suggest to play along with the game Caine left for them. Instead, she thought it would be nice to check up on a friend who was suspiciously absent. And was, according to what Kinger told them before they left, slipping off the deep end.

I know hindsight is 20/20, but these should have been major red flags for her that Kaufmo may not have been alright and they should’ve all probably stayed away. And I think she realized that too late, which is what might’ve led to that awkward apology to Pomni in the hallway.

Kinger is right to reassure Ragatha that Pomni doesn’t blame her for what happened (which is why she thought Ragatha was being weird for apologizing in the first place), but I imagine Ragatha is the type of person who can’t help but dwell on the “should’ve, would’ve, could’ve”s of life. So it makes sense that she would continue to take things personally. And I bet it got even worse after

…yeah. That.

Of course, I don’t think Ragatha could’ve known that was gonna be the outcome. But she was very wary when Pomni suggested it, loudly wondering if that was even “allowed”. But she went along with it cuz it made Pomni happy.

Whelp.

Yeah this woman’s self esteem so about to go into the negatives. Which is why I’m really hoping for a good heart-to-heart between these two. Cuz they both really need it. Ragatha especially.

I think it would really help her to know Pomni wouldn’t want her to feel like less than nothing.

[suuuupernovaaa]

kame

kame [ˈk·a.m·ɛ] vtr. see, see into, understand, know (spiritual sense)

Anonymous Request: Could we have something where Metkayina Reader is the chief's daughter, becomes good friends with Neteyam, and is in love with him but doesn't think he finds Metkayina women attractive because he doesn't seem interested in any of the girls, so she asks Lo'ak if he thinks she's pretty because he's also her friend but Neteyam overhears and gets upsets cause he misunderstands why she's asking? Pretty pretty please with a sweet sappy ending.

Feeling insecure about your crush on Neteyam, you ask his younger brother if he thinks Metkayina woman are attractive. Neteyam overhears and misunderstands.

1,978 words

Lo'ak and I had been sitting quietly on the beach for quite a while, watching the children play nearby as the clouds rolled in, promising rain.

As if reading my mind, Lo'ak pointed up. "Looks like rain."

I nodded. Talk of weather was nice, but what I really wanted to talk about was Lo'ak's older brother.

In the months since they'd arrived, I was unable to get Neteyam off of my mind - but I couldn't read him for the life of me. He was reserved, the oldest Sully brother, not like Lo'ak. Lo'ak wore his heart on his sleeve, lucky for my sister, who was equally enamored with the younger Sully brother.

Neteyam did not seem interested in any of the Metkayina women, and I wondered if our physical differences were unappealing to him. Was my hair too coarse, my tail too wide, my eyes too large?

It wasn't that Neteyam wasn't nice to me, I would even have considered us friends, but the possibility of more than that just didn't seem to be there.

"Lo'ak, do you find me attractive?" I asked finally.

Lo'ak turned to me sharply. "What?"

"I mean, Metkayina women. Do you think they're as pretty as your forest women? Your mother is breathtaking."

He wrinkled his nose at the statement, and then smiled.

"Yes. I think you're attractive," he replied. His reassurance should have comforted me, but it only made me more confused. If Lo'ak could find me attractive, why couldn't his brother?

"Not as attractive as my sister, though, yes?" I leaned over, a teasing smile on my face, bumping my shoulder into his.

Lo'ak sighed, the sound of a man in love. "No one is as beautiful as her."

What I wouldn't give to have Neteyam feel that way about me.

--

"Yes, I think you're attractive," Neteyam's brother said to Y/N, the woman he had been pining after for months.

Neteyam was approaching the two, planning to join them on the beach, but the snippet of their conversation he'd caught was enough to make him turn on his heels and stalk back to his mauri pod.

He felt betrayed by Lo'ak, even though he hadn't said so much as a whisper of his feelings for Y/N - mostly he felt mad for Y/N's younger sister, whom he'd thought his brother was growing close to.

Was Lo'ak to betray her? Was her own sister to betray her? Maybe Y/N was not the woman he thought she was, after all.

--

It began raining soon, and Lo'ak and I stood to leave the beach.

"I gotta ask," Lo'ak said as we walked back towards our respective homes. "Why the question - uh, about you being pretty?"

A blush heated my cheeks.

"It's Neteyam, isn't it?" he said, trying not to smile too wide. "You like Neteyam?"

I shrugged. "He doesn't seem interested, in any of the women here. I thought maybe he found us unappealing."

Lo'ak shook his head. "He's just shy. Give him time."

I wasn't so sure. We parted ways with a friendly goodbye, and I returned to my family for the evening with much to think about.

--

The next morning, the clouds had cleared and the day was beautiful. I set out early with Tsireya at my mother's request - she was wary of Lo'ak, and wanted Tsireya supervised at all times.

"I think Lo'ak is a nice young man," I told her as we waded into the water. "We had a nice talk last night."

She smiled, ear to ear, her beautiful smile. I had always wished I had Tsireya's sunny disposition and kind heart - she was a joy to everyone who knew her.

"What did you talk about?"

I looked away, blushing a little. "Neteyam."

She gasped, reaching out to grab my arm. "You like Lo'ak's brother?" She giggled with excitement.

"I asked Lo'ak if the women here were appealing to him. Of course, I know you are beautiful to Lo'ak, but I wondered if Neteyam maybe... thought I was ugly."

Tsireya gasped. "Y/N, you must never speak like that again. You are exceedingly beautiful, as well as smart, skilled, our fastest swimmer-"

I cut her off before she could continue on. "Sister, please."

"Well, it's true!" she replied forcefully. "If Neteyam does not like you, he's a moron."

We giggled together. Talking with my sister always made me feel better, no matter the issue.

--

Later that day, I happened upon Neteyam alone - as I had been looking for him nearly all day. Tsireya had given me the confidence I needed to try and really talk to him.

"Neteyam!" I called when I found him, swimming just off shore as I stood on the beach.

He raised one hand and waved to me, and began his approach. I stood waiting, fidgeting nervously with my hands as he came towards me at what felt like a snail's pace.

He shook his hair when he exited the water, and as usual, I was overcome with his beauty.

"Hello," Neteyam nodded, somewhat formally.

"I need to talk to you," I said quickly.

He cocked his head to the side. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just... need to tell you something, and I have the courage to tell you now, but I probably won't later."

Neteyam shook his head. "I already know."

I took a step back in surprise. "You do?"

Did Lo'ak tell him? He wouldn't do that to me - he was my friend.

"I do. I have to say, Y/N, I thought better of you."

That was... not the response I was expecting. In fact, it didn't make sense at all. Me having feelings for him made him think less of me?

"Neteyam, I... what?"

"I thought you cared for your sister, and you know how she feels about Lo'ak." He was angry, his teeth gritted, his eyes narrowed. He was angry at me.

"Neteyam, what are you talking about?"

He scoffed. "I heard you at Lo'ak last night, him telling you how beautiful you are. How could the two of you do that to Tsireya?"

I had never seen Neteyam so angry, certainly not at me. He had heard a part of our conversation last night and assumed the absolutely worst - that I would betray my most beloved sister.

Tears filled my eyes. "I can't believe you would think this of me." Before I could embarrass myself any further, I turned and ran back home to cry in my father's arms.

--

He had expected to feel better after confronting Y/N, but she hadn't reacted the way Neteyam expected. Instead of feeling self-righteous, Neteyam felt confused and guilty as he returned home.

He sat silently at dinner, and though his family asked what was wrong, he shrugged them off.

He couldn't quite explain it.

"I can't believe you would think this of me."

What did she mean by that? He had heard her and Lo'ak's conversation with his own ears.

Speaking of, just as the sun was setting less than an hour later, Lo'ak entered the tent - and he was angry.

"Neteyam, you fucking idiot!" he yelled, in front of the entire family.

"Whoa, whoa!" Jake stood up in an instant, followed by Neteyam, and placed himself between the boys to avoid escalation.

"You... you fucking idiot!" Lo'ak yelled again.

"Mad that I caught you?" Neteyam asked, spitting out the words like daggers.

"You know nothing! You broke her heart, do you know that?" Lo'ak yelled.

"Stop this, now!" their mother demanded. "Explain." She turned to Neteyam first.

"Everyone knows that Tsireya is in love with Lo'ak, but last night on the beach, he was telling her sister how beautiful she is. I heard it with my own years!"

Neteyri's eyes widened in shock, and she turned to her younger son.

"Lo'ak, is this true?"

"No!" Lo'ak shouted. "Well, yes, but that's not what happened."

"Lower your voice, and explain," Neytiri said calmly.

"She asked because she thought this idiot," he gestured to Neteyam, "didn't think Metkayina women were beautiful. She wasn't asking if I thought she was attractive - she was asking if we could find her, all the women here, as beautiful as the women from back home. Because she likes you, you idiot!"

"Stop calling your brother names," Jake demanded, stepping from in-between his sons, but that was where his advice ended - this seemed like a conversation for their mother.

"He went and accused her of betraying her sister, and she's been crying all night. Tsireya came to tell me, because you need to fix it."

Lo'ak's words were like a knife in Neteyam's chest. He could picture Y/N's face on the beach, how crushed she had been, and he had never felt more guilty or regretful in his life.

He couldn't believe the things he'd believed about her, and said directly to her. He put his face in his hands and sighed.

"Shit," he whispered.

"You must go apologize, now. She is the chief's daughter. You go make peace," his mother insisted, grabbing his arm. "Come. We go now."

"Mom!" Neteyam said, but there was no getting around it - his mother was going to march him over to apologize to the woman he loved.

--

After my embarrassing display of emotion early - which was very out of character for me - my father would not let me further than a foot away from him. We sat, eating together, with his arm around my shoulders.

Every so often he would mutter something like, "Idiot boy," or "hideous moron" and I had to admit, it helped.

He finally let me go to clean up after dinner, and Tsireya gave my arm a squeeze as she joined to help.

"I am sorry for the intrusion," someone said at the entrance to our mauri, and we all turned to look. Standing there was Neteyam, his mother holding his arm. "My son owes your daughter an apology."

"Oh no," I whispered under my breath, meeting eyes with Tsireya.

My parents locked eyes with each other. I could tell they both wanted to rip poor Neteyam's throat out, but after a moment, they nodded with each other.

"Hear the boy out," my mother said, bending down to grab my arm. "You will return soon."

"Yes, mother," I nodded, and followed Neteyam and his mother out of the tent.

Neytiri followed us down to the beach, but then broke away, leaving us completely alone in the moonlight.

We stood, staring out at the water for a long, awkward moment.

Finally, Neteyam spoke.

"Never in my life have I been such a fool, or hurt someone I care about so deeply. I was overtaken by jealousy when I heard you and my brother talking, and I assumed the worst. I know you may not be able to forgive me, but I will never stop being sorry."

Tears filled my eyes again, but I couldn't form a reply.

"You should know that I think you are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. I have been mesmerized by you since the moment we arrived. You are all I think about, day and night. My biggest regret is that I did not tell you that, every single day. If I had, we would have avoided all this. I see you, Y/N. I see you."

Neteyam reached up, brushing a tear from my cheek, and I leaned my face into his palm.

He took a sharp breath in.

"I see you, and I forgive you, Neteyam," I said finally. Continuing to be angry at Neteyam, now that I knew how he felt, seemed like an impossible task. "And I would kiss you now, but I think both our mothers are watching."

A smile spread across his lips, and he bent down to hover his lips just above mine. "I do not care."

[pancake-breakfast]

I think chapter 2 of TriMax Volume 6 might just be my favorite thus far. Everything in it hinges on this one iconic scene.

This isn't the first time Wolfwood has pointed a gun at Vash's head. Maybe it won't even be the last. But it holds a bit more weight here because just a few pages ago, we saw a flashback where Wolfwood pointed his gun at someone else's head.

His hand shakes as he aims at Knives. His breath is heavy, and the memory of the Fifth Moon incident is fresh in his mind. He knows if he can just pull the trigger, he can end it here. This being of destruction will be gone, and maybe this time his fancy scientists won't be able to bring him back.

But then Knives does Plant things, and under the weight of it Wolfwood finds he just can't follow through. He fears his own death too much, and Knives will surely kill him.

When he points his gun at Vash, it's different. His hand is steady, his breath calm. The memory of everything that happened at the Dragon's Nest is fresh in his mind; just this morning he warned Meryl that she and Milly should remember that, despite his ideals, Vash is still a loose cannon that they'd do well to avoid. He thinks to himself that if he can just pull the trigger, if he can just take out the less intimidating of the brothers, then one of these monstrous twins and half of the problem will be gone.

This time, there's no crushing sensation of oppression. There's no air of fear and malice. There are no threats or memories of twisted promises. There's only a look, wary and concerned...

...but even by the time this happens, Wolfwood has already lowered his gun. He's decided not to pull the trigger, not because of an immediate threat on his life, but because... well, it's Vash.

Wolfwood surely knows that if he pulls that trigger, he catastrophically fails his mission, and whatever consequences might await him on the far side of such a failure aren't going to be anywhere near pleasant. But it doesn't seem like it's fear of Knives that makes him lower his gun. At the very, very least, Wolfwood knows no one stands a better chance at taking down Knives, but he also knows Vash. He's seen Vash's fake smiles and knows his real ones. He understands Vash's ideals despite very much not wanting to and not knowing how he could possibly accept them for himself. He's fought side by side with Vash, and been standing at his back since day 1.

And before this night is out, only a few minutes after pulling a gun on Vash, Wolfwood's right back there again, moving in tandem with Vash, being a human shield so they can accomplish Vash's goals together.

It's only when the fight comes to a close that Wolfwood realizes that's what he's been doing. He didn't put any thought into falling in step behind Vash, didn't dwell on the fact that Vash trusted and moved with him during the fight. It's only afterwards, when they stop to catch their breath, that he realizes Vash hasn't looked his way through the whole battle. That Vash didn't need to look his way through the whole battle.

Not only did Vash trust Wolfwood at his back, but he knows Wolfwood well enough to move intuitively around him, not hesitating and always understanding what Wolfwood's about to do. And at that moment, Wolfwood realizes two things:

First, that there's no way Vash didn't notice when Wolfwood pointed a gun at him. If Knives could figure it out while half dead and barely knowing Wolfwood, then Vash, who's awake, alert, and has spent plenty of time with Wolfwood, can surely figure it out.

And second, that when he's fighting back to back with Vash, nothing else really matters. All his (quite legitimate) fears about what Vash is and how dangerous he can be, about Knives, about finishing his job, about what he himself has become... they all melt away. He's where he needs to be, where he should be, and that's all there is to it.

[666writingcafe]

Feeling a Bit Tense?

A (Mildly NSFW) Text Conversation Between Barbatos and MC

Barbatos: *waving emoji*

MC: *gif of someone waving tiredly*

Barbatos: Rough day?

MC: *gif of someone shrugging*

Barbatos: Do you need or want to talk about it?

MC: Should I?

Barbatos: If it will make you feel better, yes.

MC: *keeps typing and erasing messages*

Barbatos: Does this have anything to do with Solomon? If he's been messing with you, I'll be more than happy to talk to him for you.

MC: No need.

Barbatos: Do you genuinely feel that way, or are you just trying to get me to back off?

MC: Regarding this particular issue, he hasn't done anything wrong.

Barbatos: Okay.

Barbatos: So, what sort of "issue" are you dealing with?

MC: I'm not sure how to put it delicately.

Barbatos: Don't worry about sounding prim and proper. Just tell me what's on your mind.

MC: Here goes nothing...

MC: I'd like to get laid.

Barbatos: I see.

Barbatos: And you're worried about doing it with someone from this timeline, aren't you?

MC: I mean...wouldn't that cause a paradox?

Barbatos: Isn't it a bit late for you to start worrying about paradoxes, considering that three of us know your true identity?

MC: You, Diavolo, and/or Thirteen would have figured it out one way or another. We just figured it would be easier to be open about it with you guys than risk ending up dead or in prison.

Barbatos: Fair point.

Barbatos: Anyway, as long as you don't produce something that's not there in your timeline, you should be good to proceed.

MC: Except I don't trust many people here.

Barbatos: Understandable. I feel the same way.

MC: This is probably a pointless question, but have any advice?

Barbatos: I would say take care of it yourself, but that's not going to help much, is it?

MC: I mean, it's taken the edge off, but nothing I use is going to be quite the same as having another living, breathing person with me.

Barbatos: So you're looking for a physical connection.

MC: Kind of?

Barbatos: My next piece of advice would be to arrange a meeting with an escort, but as you've already stated, you're rather wary of most people here, and personally I don't like dealing with them. They ask for WAY too much when they realize that they're servicing the Young Master, and that doesn't just apply to money.

MC: *whistling crow sticker*

Barbatos: Maybe ask one of the brothers?

MC: *no sticker*

MC: We're not NEARLY that close for me to successfully get away with that.

Barbatos: Is there anyone else who lives here that you had some sort of a relationship with in your timeline?

MC: Yes, but they're out of the question.

Barbatos: Not necessarily.

MC: Trust me.

Barbatos: They're members of royalty, aren't they?

MC: *eyes emoji*

Barbatos: Interesting.

MC: Good or bad?

Barbatos: Not bad. Actually mildly impressed.

MC: Thanks?

Barbatos: So...

MC: *questioning sticker*

Barbatos: If you will allow me to be blunt for a moment, how would you like me to fuck you?

MC: *gif of someone spitting out water*

Barbatos: Simply being practical.

Barbatos: I'm not sending you back to Solomon.

Barbatos: The prince is too busy to help with this, sadly.

Barbatos: And I don't trust any of the other royals to not harm you. I want you to be able to return to your timeline in one piece.

Barbatos: Unless you don't trust me?

MC: It's not that.

Barbatos: Then what is it?

MC: In my timeline, I was your first.

Barbatos: Then that's perfect. We'll still keep that part of it accurate. It'd just happen sooner, which isn't a super big deal.

MC: If I didn't know better, I'd think this was your intention all along.

Barbatos: What, to get in bed with you?

MC: *nodding sticker*

Barbatos: I'd be lying if I told you that hasn't crossed my mind once or twice during your stay here so far.

MC: *gif of someone saying 'i knew it'*

Barbatos: What can I say? Like it or not, I'm a creature of desire.

Barbatos: Also...

Barbatos: Your scent has given you away a couple of times, so I figured that I'd had a fair shot if I ever DID want to indulge.

MC: *blushing emoji*

Barbatos: We'll talk more when you return to the castle.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch

[donutz]

Yandere Catnap x female Smiling Critter cat reader

Request from Wattpad-! Here you go Buttmens(💀)☆

Being locked up in these cells is insufferable.

Catnap and I can’t do anything.

We both operate on sleeping. So we both have the red gas. We both used it, it was built into our system. Yet we end up into these cells for it. Apparently, it causes violent nightmares. From Catnap’s gas. Neither the workers nor I know if my gas causes nightmares.

They still put me in containment. Plus, I was similar to Catnap, not approaching the kids. So they were all wary about me and that gas product.

Even when Catnap and I are locked up, we still communicate. Not verbally. Telepathically, you could say. We intertwine our tails to communicate. Our tails are very long so it’s not hard.

Catnap’s planning to kill the people in this place. To work with Experiment 1006, seeing him as a god, and he’ll save us. Considering Catnap is just a kid(Hmm… I wonder why I bolded, underlined, and italicized the word kid… Hmm…)

You’d think he’d be joking because he’s a kid. But, considering who Catnap is, he’s not. At random times of the day he’d whisper, “THE PROTOTYPE WILL SAVE US.” Or something like that.

I’m not sure if I’ll follow Prototype—

“Hey guys…”

The sound of your bright friend’s voice interrupted both of your thoughts.

“Uhm. A kid drew both of you, they were wondering if you were going to come back…” He gave you two the kid’s drawings, it was sloppy, but you appreciated it.

“Do you… Know, when you two are coming back…?” You said no, while Catnap didn’t answer.

“Oh…”

You reach your paw out the cell, and put your finger on Dogday’s head. You then move it to his ears, petting him.

“We’ll come back, Dogday. Eventually.”

Moving to the underside of his chin, you give him scratches.

“Mm.. Okay!” His tail was wagging pretty fast, as he is a dog.

Then you gave him a small poke on his nose, “Now you go on and make the kids happy, okay?” You said.

“Mhm! Bye you two!” He waved his paw, signaling his goodbyes.

Normally, from you doing that to someone. Catnap would get pretty jealous. But it’s Dogday. So it’s okay. Catnap trusts Dogday, he knows he wouldn’t do that. Not to Catnap.

Though you could still see the jealousy on his face. He gave you that spooooky scare, silently communicating on why you did it.

“It was because I knew he needed some comfort Catnap. We’ll stay together until the end.” (Not in the romantic adult way, like the way when kids got little crushes on each other or somethin. The type you’d see in little kids shows, it’s rare, but it’s there. I will NOT make the reader feel that way about Catnap).

Then he stopped looking so jealous.

Now it’s the day. The day Catnap will act out, he’s already out of his cell, because he snuck the worker’s keys. Then he let you out.

“Do you… Want to kill with me…?” He asked.

You weren’t too sure. Not the critters, not the toys. Not any of the toys. Just the bad adults and stuff.

“Only the bad adults..” You answered, you weren’t sure if he’d accept the answer, but thankfully he did. He then left.

You were alone now.

‘I should alert the critters.’ You thought.

They were all in a room, then you rushed into it.

“YOU ALL NEED TO RUN. GET THE KIDS TO A SAFE PLACE. SOMETHING BAD WILL HAPPEN ANY SECOND—”

Screams. Men and women, kids. They were all yelling and screaming. Out of fear, not of joy. The critters were confused? What were you talking about? Why did they hear someone scream? And why wasn’t it from joy?

“GET THE KIDS. NOW.” They were all asking questions, but followed along. Well, Dogday mainly did, as the leader he multitasked. Getting the critters and kids safe. Though it wasn’t very successful. 

You had to run. Run over to kill the ‘bad adults’. Like you said you would.

A few minutes later, you were managing to get the kids to a safe place while looking for your targets. You found it. The man who tortured and teased you and Catnap.

You can’t go back on this now.

You scruffed him with your paw and hesitantly ate him. Your pupils dilated. The taste was wonderful. You didn’t care about the kids anymore, you killed them. Threw them roughly to a wall, stomped on them, y’know, to put them out of their misery before you ate them?

You still had somewhat of a heart. Even killing all of these innocent children.

Ugh. That sounds gross, the adrenaline wore off for a second, and you could see the murder you caused.

All the blood, dead bodies. That was because of you! Catnap's so proud of you for doing such a good job!

He's quite surprised that you even got the courage to kill people. You were on the nicer side, trying to not have Catnap escalate things in his cold head(Even at his young age).

So to see you murdering people?! It was very entertaining.

You were looking at the bodies. Just staring. Then you saw Catnap. He walked up to you.

“Good… Job.” He praised.

Your pupils dilated from that. He rubbed his head against yours, cuddling with you slightly.

You could hear his purrs!

You cuddled back, purring. Just you two being cats. Extracting all of the— blood. That's spread around the place.

You're just a cat ^_^.

After the hour of joy, Catnap and you were just searching over the place, making sure there were no survivors. Though, Catnap sped away, possibly looking for someone.

You hoped Dogday was safe.

10 years later, you now ‘worshiped’ Catnap.

The way you thought about Catnap is the way Catnap thought about the Prototype.

Sadly, Dogday didn't believe in the Prototype. So he's… Chained up. You comfort him at times, Catnap doesn't really let you be around him. But you know he won't do anything, as long as he's watching.

Other than that you two were the cuddliest kittens ever!!!

Such a cute cat duo!!

You two would be a star if you didn't murder people.

[acewritesfics]

Sweetheart | Tommy Shelby 

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x wife!reader

Request: No

Warnings: The word whore being used a few times. A threat made.

Word Count: 640

Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Tommy enters his office and is taken aback to see his wife seated behind his desk, wearing a displeased look on her face. He lights his 6th cigarette for the day and moves to stand near the windows, knowing that whatever is about to unfold cannot be good. Her eyes follow his every move as she remains quiet waiting for him to speak first.

"I suppose I should ask if everything is well, but I have a feeling it would only anger you further," he says, observing her as she stares at him. "So why don't you tell me what I've done wrong so we can sort it out?" 

She continues to scowl at him, saying, "I know you are willing to do anything to get what you want, I just never thought I would have to witness it." 

His expression remains stoic, revealing nothing about what he's thinking or feeling. 

"Imagine now my amazement when I saw every man's favorite whore with her hands all over my husband only to see him do nothing about it. He seemed to be encouraging it." 

Tommy could see the sadness and the hurt in her eyes. He didn't miss the way her voice became strained at the end. It hurt his heart to know that it was his own foolish impulsive acts that caused her feel this way. But he could see she wasn't done talking. He remains silent, knowing that trying to apologise before she finishs would only make matters worse. 

"But instead of simply confronting you, I went and confronted her," she confesses. 

Tommy struggles to conceal his smirk. Y/N's headstrong personality causes her to protect what belongs to her and causes her to make sure people knew where she stands and where they stood. If he could be possessive over her, than so can she when it comes to him. Tommy was hers - him being the father to her three children, her husband and the love of her life - and she wasn't about to let anyone forget it. It's one of the many things Tommy loves about her. 

"Don't worry, she said you merely used her for information. That you flirted a little, got her hopes up, and that was the end of it," Her eyes never leave his while a smirk appears on her lips. She trusted him not to go any farther than flirting. It was the whores she was wary about. Her lover before Tommy was always persuaded by them . When they first started their relationship, she made it clear to Tommy that adultery would not be tolerated. 

"And what did you tell her?" Tommy enquired, slightly amused by her possessiveness. Y/N didn't typically take such action, but he admires that she was willing to confront anyone who threatened their family and marriage, even if it was against a lady of the night. 

"I told her, if she touches you with her filthy little hands again, I'll cut 'em off," she confidently tells him. 

"Sweetheart," he said not bothering to hide the small smirk that's forming, his head shaking side to side. "After all these years, you still surprise me with your words." 

"How else are those whores meant to know I won't tolerate them trying to seduce you?" She wonders aloud as he rounds the desk, standing in front of her. 

He pulls her up from the chair, lifting her to sit on his desk as he stands between her legs. "What if I need information from them? I can't have them scared of me." 

"Then you get someone else to do your dirty work," she tells him. "Preferably someone who isn't married." 

He smiles and kisses her, knowing she's no longer angry at him. "I love you." 

"I love you too," she replies pulling him closer to kiss him again. 

[jedimaesteryoda]

One trend I've noticed a lot lately in the speculation of Tyrion meeting Daenerys is how he'll influence her. The argument often is that Tyrion will encourage her more "fire and blood" destructive tendencies when they get to Westeros. However, this view is often one-sided as it's always about how Tyrion will influence Daenerys but never about how Daenerys will influence Tyrion.

"Daenerys, I am thrice your age," Ser Jorah said. "I have seen how false men are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Even his beard wears false colors." That angered her. "Whilst you have an honest beard, is that what you are telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust?" He stiffened. "I did not say that." "You say it every day. Pyat Pree's a liar, Xaro's a schemer, Belwas a braggart, Arstan an assassin . . . do you think I'm still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words?" "Your Grace—" She bulled over him. "You have been a better friend to me than any I have known, a better brother than Viserys ever was. You are the first of my Queensguard, the commander of my army, my most valued counselor, my good right hand. I honor and respect and cherish you—but I do not desire you, Jorah Mormont, and I am weary of your trying to push every other man in the world away from me, so I must needs rely on you and you alone. It will not serve, and it will not make me love you any better." -ASOS, Daenerys IV

Daenerys is not the sheltered child Aegon was who Tyrion could easily manipulate as shown when she called out Jorah for trying to isolate her from other men. Even Tyrion admitted to Aegon, having never met Daenerys that "she is strong" and "fierce." Daenerys was more worldly at 14 than Aegon is at 16. Even as a small, frightened girl at age 13 in the beginning of the series, she had more street smarts than her adult brother Viserys and has shown to be a prodigy in the series. Tyrion would not be able to manipulate her easily, especially since would initially be wary of him for being a Lannister.

Tyrion at the end of the day would be serving as her subordinate, him being largely dependent on her. Tyrion largely is the way he is because of the toxic family he grew up in. The Lannister vision has no idea of a Good Society, it's just pure self-aggrandizement by any means necessary. As the adage goes, rot always starts at the head. The monarchs Tyrion served as Hand, Joffrey and Cersei, were both cruel, incompetent tyrants with senses of entitlement that outweighed their actual abilities. They also had no concept of the duties of a monarch to their subjects, and instead just abused their power over others, including sexually. The one who actually ran the show for the Lannister regime, Tywin, was a cold, abusive Machiavellian who brutalized the smallfolk and his children, seeing them as pawns in his schemes. Tyrion could be cunning and brutal, because it was both encouraged and necessary for the winner-take-all, dog-eat-dog world of the Lannister court. It was an environment designed to bring out the darker side of his nature.

However, since the beginning we saw hints of the lighter side of his nature such as when he gave emotional support to Jon and designed a special saddle for Bran. He even helped Catelyn when they were attacked by the mountain clans even though she kidnapped him. In A Clash of Kings, we see hints of Tyrion wanting to be something other than the cold Machiavellian like his father when he stands up for Sansa when Joffrey beats her, and he has Morec killed and Slynt sent to the Wall for killing Barra, wanting to "do justice." In A Dance with Dragons, he risks his life to protect Aegon and even in his lowest he looks out for Penny even though she is a complete stranger to him.

Daenerys is a foil to Cersei, whose ruling philosophy is expressed in the statement "Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?" Daenerys tries to live up to the image of an ideal monarch who protects the weak. She liberates the oppressed from slavery and tries to protect them, even performing acts like tending to those afflicted with the bloody flux herself, marrying someone she doesn't want and putting her plan of going to Westeros on hold to achieve peace. Working as Hand to Queen Daenerys, Tyrion may find himself in a change of pace in a different environment where for once his more positive tendencies are encouraged with his fondness for "cripples, bastards and broken things."

In short, in cutting himself off from his toxic family, Tyrion may actually find a new beginning in service to Daenerys. He's the Machiavellian polymath and court politician she needs, and she's the competent, idealistic monarch he needs.

[saintlucretia]

Devil Wears A Suit

part Ⅰ

Pairings: Outpost!Michael Langdon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mention of murder. Hot devil's son. Sexual harassment? Michael Langdon.

Summary: Y/N is a purple at Outpost 3 and gets interviewed by Mr. Langdon.

A/N: I will go to hell for this and I am not opposing if he will be there too.

After 18 months at the underground Outpost life was as dreadful as being killed by a bomb explosion. Or worse. A bunch of snobs and shallow cowards. It was clear as day, that it was just a matter of time before everyone was at each other's throats. 

It wasn’t the Outpost itself or the fact that we are the last human beings on this planet that made everything so depressing. It was boredom. A hole in my head. The only bearable person here was Mr. Gallant. Without his company at the dining table, I could have stuck a fork into my neck.

That evening Ms. Venable announced to us about a visitor. The agent of the Cooperative. Even though she remained calm as usual I sensed a note of fear in her voice. So it means this new man has great authority. I was grateful for any kind of entertainment, even if it meant a bloody revolution. After 18 months with the same people, fresh meat is always dainty.

Ms. Venable ended her speech when a tall man with long blond hair entered the room. He had a dark aura. The aura of power.

“My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative,” he said, circling our table. “Humanity is on the brink of failure.”

I glanced at the other residents of the Outpost. They all looked tense and nervous, especially Ms. Venable. She seemed almost afraid of him. Only Mr. Gallant seemed as amused as me. We glanced at each other and I immediately understood what was on his mind. After all, he had a good taste in men.

“My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.” His speech was persuasive, words sharp and his blue eyes pierced into all of us. Such an ability to capture everyone's attention was making me delighted.

He stopped at the head of the table and continued. “The three other compounds have been overrun and destroyed.”

“What happened to the people inside?” asked Timothy worried. 

“Massacred,” answered Langdon and I think I caught the shadow of a grin on his face.

I bit my lip to stop myself from chuckling. I had to admit, this Langdon was a very attractive man. And Mr. Gallant was obviously admiring his appearance too. But there was something about The Cooperative representative that made me feel uneasy. It was as if he was hiding something. Something very bad. 

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe… The Sanctuary,” he said, placing his hands behind his back. “I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us. The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call ‘Cooperating’. Simply, I will determine if you belong.”

I remained silent, analyzing the situation. Everyone seemed wary and looked at others with distrust. Only Coco didn’t have enough brains to remain silent and tried to openly express her dissatisfaction. Fortunately, her tirade was abruptly suppressed.

“I volunteer to go first.” Mr. Gallant raised his hand. 

“And so you shall,” Langdon said threateningly, looking us over. He had a cold, calculating look in his eyes. I had a feeling that he already knew who he was going to select.

“The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won’t be kept in suspense forever. I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.” I felt his gaze on me and barely restrained myself from looking away. 

Langdon left the room and everyone immediately started to argue. A bunch of morons, all of them. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair, observing the conversation. Everyone began to share their suspicions and guesses, but of course, they were all too wrapped up in their own fear to notice the whole thing. The Cooperative looked at us as laboratory rats and no one seemed to see that. Pathetic. 

I let out a sigh of annoyance and left the room.

                                                      ✦✦✦

I ran into Malcolm in the hallway an hour later and looked at him questioningly. 

“Oh, darling, I almost had a heart attack." He came closer and started whispering "I'm a bit scared of him. He is definitely hot as hell, but twice as evil."

I chuckled. "Well, that's quite a review. Did he tell you anything new?"  

Mr. Gallant leaned even closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "He asked me a lot of personal questions...I mean really personal."  

I raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

“Like my sexuality for example. And my nana. And other… things. Pretty intimate. I felt so uncomfortable, but I tried to keep it cool.” 

My eyebrows furrowed in interest. So these "Cooperating" sessions were, indeed, quite unique. It seemed like Langdon wanted to know every minuscule detail about each person. I began to wonder what kind of "personal" questions he would ask me. I also began to wonder why I was so looking forward to the moment. 

“I felt like he was trying to rip out my soul.” Added Malcolm in a whisper.

I smirked. "Well, that's quite a dramatic way to describe it." Malcolm chuckled nervously but I had a feeling that he wasn't exaggerating. Langdon was certainly not the type of man that you could fool easily. He could see right through people.

But something was intriguing. I felt a strange thrill at the idea of uncovering the depth of Langdon's scrutiny. 

 "I guess I'll have to brace myself for my turn then," I said nonchalantly.

“Good luck sweetheart.” We kissed each other on the cheek and went in different directions.

I slowly walked to my quarters, lost in thought. I was feeling an inexplicable mixture of excitement and curiosity. The thought of being examined by Langdon, being exposed under the watchful gaze of his sharp eyes, was somehow appealing. God, I have to stop.

I shook my head firmly, trying to dismiss these thoughts. "This is ridiculous," I mumbled to myself softly.

Suddenly I heard something. Something like a scream perhaps. I stopped and looked around. There was no one except me in this dimly lit hall. And then this sound again. More like a whisper now. Millions of whispers. My head began to spin slightly. I closed my eyes and tried to focus. Silence. Everything went quiet. I turned around and flinched as I saw Langdon behind me.

“Mrs. Y/S, I’d like to talk with you next.” 

I looked up at Langdon with a surprised expression, silently cursing myself for being so lost in my thoughts to the point of not noticing him coming closer. His presence was so powerful that it still made my heart flutter even now.

"Lead the way," I replied, trying to maintain my composure. 

Langdon didn't bother answering, simply gesturing for me to follow him. I walked behind him through the maze of halls and rooms. 

We finally reached the entrance to what appeared to be his cabinet. Langdon stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. Entering the room, I noticed how dark and ominous it felt. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with old leather-bound volumes. The main source of light was a fireplace.

Langdon gestured for me to sit down on the armchair across from him. I lowered myself gently, straightening my purple dress. 

He studied me, wanted me to be nervous, wanted me to crack. I knew this game. I have played this game with many different powerful men, who think they are Gods because they have dicks. I never lose in a game like this.

His eyes searched my face, trying to find any sign of weakness. But I held his gaze firmly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated.

I leaned back in my seat, a small smirk on my lips. "I see you're expecting me to be quivering in my boots," I said with a hint of sarcasm.

Langdon chuckled darkly. "Is that so?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. 

A silence fell between us, and I held his gaze without flinching. Something about his demeanor made my heart beat a little faster, but I was determined not to show it.

“I prefer conversations to be effective, Mr. Langdon.”

Langdon raised an eyebrow at my remark, a smirk forming his lips. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Straight to the point, are we?" 

He studied me for a moment, his eyes still locked onto mine.

"Well, I can appreciate a straightforward woman," he said, his voice surprisingly smooth. "It makes the process much more efficient."

He paused for a moment, his gaze never faltering. "Ms. Y/S," he began, my name rolling off his tongue like a sinful whisper. "Allow me to ask you a personal question."

“Ask,” I replied.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His eyes were laser-focused on me, and I could practically feel his gaze trying to pierce through my soul. 

"What do you fear the most?" he asked, his tone almost gentle.

I was caught off guard by the question and made a mistake. Langdon noticed the slight flicker of surprise in my eyes. He chuckled softly. "That's what I thought," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "You may have mastered the art of bravado, but everyone has a weakness," he continued. "And I'm here to find yours." 

I watched him back and after crossing my legs answered "I fear being surrounded by idiots for the rest of my life." I needled.

Langdon raised an eyebrow, visibly amused. "Well, you certainly have a way with words, don't you?", he said, his lips curling into a smirk.

He leaned back in his seat, studying me closely. "Being trapped in a group of lesser minds for eternity may be torturous, especially for a woman of your... intelligence."

“For a man of your power, it’s a pity that you use flattery as a term of manipulation,” I said, tilting my head in a mocking manner. 

Langdon chuckled, clearly enjoying the challenge. "Ah, so observant," he said, still maintaining his smirk. 

He leaned slightly forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "I'm not just using flattery, Ms. Y/S. I do recognize your intellect. But don't mistake my compliments for manipulation. I simply use the tools at my disposal."

“Huh.”

Langdon chuckled again, clearly appreciating my dry response. "You have a sharp tongue," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “It may be your unique feature or a pathetic attempt to hide your fear.”

I could feel a flicker of irritation at his words, but I forced myself to remain impassive. Langdon was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I was determined not to give him the satisfaction.

"Perhaps it's a little bit of both," I replied, my voice cool and steady. "Or perhaps you're simply not used to people who don't cower easily in front of someone higher in rank."

He stood up from his seat and started circling me slowly, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the room. “Be careful, Ms. Y/S. Your bold attitude is admirable, but at some point, this can play a cruel joke on you.”  His gaze burned into me as he studied me from every possible angle.

“I appreciate the warning,” I said coldly. “I don't fear intimidation tactics.”

“You are a brave woman.” Langdon's voice was suddenly close behind me, his breath lingering on the nape of my neck. A small shiver ran down my spine, and I had to suppress the urge to turn around and look at him.

“A little too brave, some would say.” he continued, his words almost a whisper. “Tell me, Ms. Y/S, is it hard to be the smartest in the room? To be forced to communicate with idiots?”

There was a hint of mockery in his tone that made me nauseous. But I still refused to let him see any sign of weakness. I sat up straighter in my chair, lifting my chin.

“It can be... annoying at times,” I admitted.

“It is irritating how arrogant the upper class is, isn’t it? Especially toward women.” I felt the touch of his fingers on my arm and I barely restrained myself from snatching my hand away. “The world before the bombs wasn’t that much brighter than this one, was it? They all mistreated you, and never took you seriously… Does the idea of them having everything infuriate you?”

His words hit a nerve, the subtle truth in them cutting through my defenses. Yes, the world before the bombings was far from perfect, and I had my fair share of disappointments.

But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing that he had managed to hit a weak spot. I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. “And what makes you think you're any different from them?”

He chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing along my skin, tracing patterns against the fabric of my dress. His nonchalant arrogance was both infuriating and strangely enthralling. 

“Oh, I never claimed to be any different," he responded, his voice low and husky. “But I will say this - I appreciate intelligence, especially in women. I can see your potential.”

“Potential,” I repeated, struggling to keep my tone even. “For what, exactly?”

Langdon ignored my question. His hands, now both on my arms, crawled up to my shoulders. “Have you ever thought about punishing them? About finally showing what you are capable of, so they would never think you are only ‘pretty face’ again?” His breath tickled my ear. “Have you ever thought about making them scared of you?”

His hands on my shoulders were deceptively gentle, yet they seemed to burn against my skin through the fabric of my dress. His breath was warm against my ear as he whispered his words, making my breath hitch in my throat. 

I felt a strange mixture of anger and... excitement at his words. The thought had crossed my mind more than once if I was being honest with myself. To show them ALL how strong and brilliant I truly was. To shuffle a knife into someone’s throat. I remained silent. 

“I sense this force in you, Y/N.”

His voice seemed to fill the space between us, wrapping around me like a dark, intimate spell. He leaned closer, his chest almost pressed against my back. His hands remained on my shoulders, his fingers gently massaging my tense muscles. 

There was something about his voice, the way he said my name, that sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if he could see right through me, past the cool exterior I had been trying to maintain. He knew about the anger, the desire, the fire burning within me.

“I can tell you have a dark side,” he murmured, his voice deep and low. 

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about.” 

“Yes, you do.” His hands continue to stroke my shoulders gently. He was amused by my denial.

“You don't have to play coy with me, Ms. Y/N," he said, his voice velvety smooth. “I can feel it radiating off of you. That simmering anger, that burning desire."

Langdon leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against my ear. “You want... power. And I can promise you that.”

His words were a seductive murmur, weaving their way into my mind and planting thoughts of power and revenge. It was as if he knew exactly what buttons to push, what desires to awaken within me. 

"Power," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. My mind was swimming, both alarmed and intrigued by his proposal. I felt like I was hypnotized. "Why… What’s the point?"

Langdon chuckled softly, noticing the effect his words were having on me. He stepped away from me, his hands finally leaving my shoulders. He walked around the chair, standing in front of me again.

"Because, my dear," he began, "I've observed your potential. Your intelligence, your resourcefulness, your strength. You're not like the other people in this house. You have ambition. And ambition can lead to power."

He tilted up my chin gently, so I could meet his gaze. "And I can help you achieve it." His thumb traced my jawline, sending a shiver down my spine.

When his finger brushed against my bottom lip I grabbed his hand, stopping him. He smirked and leaned closer, his face only a few inches away from mine.

“Something wrong, Ms. Y/S?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. “Did my touch... unsettle you?”

With a swift, almost graceful movement, Langdon sank to his knees in front of me. His hand found its way to my knee, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of my dress.

“I think the interview is over,” I said, trying to stand up, but he pressed on my knee, not letting me get up.

“I will decide if it’s over or not, Ms. Y/S,” Langdon smirked at my silence, slowly running his hand higher up my thigh. He could clearly see the effect he was having on me, the slight tremble in my body.

“What?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “No witty comeback? No clever quip? Seems like you're losing your grip.”

"Losing my grip?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice steady. "Hardly. I am just amused by your behavior." Even a blind person would see my bluff and feign confidence.

“Oh? Really?” He stood up a bit, leaning closer to my face, almost whispering in my mouth. His proximity was intoxicating, his breath hot against my lips. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, the desire coursing through my veins like a current. He slowly brushed his lips against mine and I felt a touch of his tongue on my bottom lip. 

It felt like drugs. It felt better than drugs. His tongue teasingly tracing along my bottom lip sent a shiver down my spine, making my legs tremble beneath me. It was overwhelming. I have never felt like this before. In that very second I could do anything for this man.

Suddenly he stopped and looked me right into my eyes, smirking satisfiedly almost like he read a thought that just got in my mind.

He stood up, turning away from me and I bit my tongue not to moan in disappointment. 

“We’re done for today, Ms. Y/S. It was a pleasure talking to you,” He said, opening the door for me. Smirk remained on his face, but Langdon seemed very calm. As if he didn’t just kneel and almost kiss me two minutes ago. 

I needed a few seconds to understand what had happened, so I blinked and then quickly stood up walking toward the door.

“Hope you have a good night, Ms. Y/S,” he said watching me and I can swear, as he was saying that, his hand slid to cover his groin and he definitely wanted me to notice that. 

“Good night, Mr. Langdon,” I mumbled and left the room. 

What the fuck has just happened?

part two

[moonselune]

if this is too far out there i totally understand you turning down the request but o_o could you maybe do the ladies post-game with a bhaal rejecting durge who found a way to spare and now took in orin to help her rehabilitate (so now they and durge live together as a couple and orin is kind of a roommate). Would there be tensions? Do some just outright make an ultimatum?

Okay okay so gonna do this as more headcanony and see where it goes

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

She would be so wary

Probably thinks you are just got hit a bit too hard in the head during battle

"How many Mama K's do you see babe?"

You manage to convince her that if you are going to Avernus to kill Zariel, we might as well bring the incest murder baby with us

Orin's just stood there like "please I'm so good at it."

Karlach groans and relents, kicking the dirt and murmuring something about cannon fodder

Orin is elated and swears on her favourite dagger that she will not kill anyone she is not allowed to

I can see your relationship with her getting better through this because she can prove herself doing the one thing she does best

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

no

just no

this would be an ultimatum

at the end of the day you are choosing Minthara and offering up Orin to her as an apology for even thinking it

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Also cannot imagine Lae'zel allowing Orin near you

maybe if you join her to lead the coup against Vlaakith, for similar reasons as Karlach

But if she is staying in Baldurs Gate with lil Gith egg baby Xan

absolutely no way

would also ask if you got hit too hard in the head during battle

Lae'zel would not be able to trust Orin and would just have to kill her whether you liked it or not

she could not live knowing Orin is lurking somewhere, good intentions or not.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Surprisingly I feel like shadowheart would be the most accommodating

like orin can stay on your farm

maybe in an old barn or something

but she can stay

any animals get hurt though and Orin is out

Unless they are predators to Shadowheart's animals

then Orin is like a guard dog

"Yeah you can get those ones"

Orin would probably rehabilitate the best out here and would have the best chance of fixing herself and your relationship with her

we've made her touch some grass <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

She's way too old for this shit

She would be so torn up because she has had so much experience with Bhaalspawns

A part of her thinks she should help, because if she hadn't helped you then you two would never have fallen in love

but I think Orin's eccentricity would put her off and she can't risk losing the people she has fought so dear to protect

and a part of her doesn't want to have to fight anymore

she wants to join being with her family, being with you

not having to look over her shoulder just in case her sister-in law got in a mood and now there's one less place at the dinner table

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

These are a bit short, but I like these requests because it really makes me think how they would react and what they would want not only for yourself but for you

Anyways hope y'all enjoyed it even if this was a bit more rambley - Seluney xox

[alovesreading]

Nice Kind Of Messy

Summary: Your friends set you up on a blind date, one that you aren't really looking forward to at all but when you find George Daniel there waiting outside the restaurant, there is no doubt it'll be a date to remember.

Word Count: 16.7k 

Warnings: smut.

A/N: So I wrote this as part of my Alex series but I figured I should turn it into a one shot so my George girlies could read it without having to commit to a long Alex Turner fic lol It took me a while to get it ready on one shot form but I hope you enjoy now that it's here hehehe xx

Masterlist

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You wake up that morning quite nervous. Your excitement makes you shiver in anticipation but the feeling brushes the line of anxiety and it’s rather overwhelming.

You’ve not been really looking to date lately, there hasn’t been any type of enthusiasm when hinted about putting yourself out there again since you got cheated on by your ex boyfriend. You couldn’t be arsed about it—the whole process of actively trying to look for a person that you felt was right and suited what you at least felt was the bare minimum was exhausting just to think about.

Going out with your friends was almost always a failed mission. They tried to get you out on the pull with them but you ended up straying back to the table and waving them goodbye when they came back with someone hanging from their arm, winking at them as if to wish them a good night.

They had only been lucky to send you off with someone a handful of times, but despite their best efforts to push you to pursue those who you had spent a night with, you had left them as that: a one night stand.

So they had used a new method this time, which entailed the fact that they had apparently been scheming about behind your back for a few weeks. You had only found out when you were having a wine night with them over at your flat, your jaw dropping and brows furrowing when they let you know they had made a reservation at a certain restaurant in Covent Garden so that you could meet up with someone they swore was the perfect match for you.

“It’s a blind date, we can’t tell you,” said one of your friends with a wicked grin on her face, sipping on her wine as you took the time to glare at your other two friends sitting on your settee.

They only offered you gallic shrugs and giggles, bubbly and high pitched which unfortunately managed to tug at the corners of your lips until they formed a smile.

A happy, “You’re excited then?” made you realize what you were doing, so you took a gulp of your wine and shook your head in disagreement as you swallowed.

“No, I’m just confused.” You really were, it was worse you didn’t have a clue who it could be because there wasn’t really anyone you think had shown interest towards you that you all knew. “Am I allowed to back out?”

You hoped you could, even if a meal at a restaurant you had been dying to go to for ages paid by one of them was on the cards here, but you were truly wary about throwing yourself into a situation where you actually had to put yourself in the dating mindset.

As you cursed your stupid cheating scum of an ex for ruining the prospect of dating for you, your friends shook their heads and said, “No.” in unison.

And they unfortunately went on to explain how your date knew about it already and had cleared their schedule for it to happen, and since you were an awful people pleaser, you sighed in defeat and agreed to go.

So there you are, slowly making your way to your kitchen to make yourself breakfast, despite the nerves making your stomach flip constantly and making you nauseous. Slowly you eat, slowly you wash your dishes and put them away.

You do everything slowly that day, taking a long shower and lounging in bed, still in your robe and letting your hair air dry. The date wasn’t until four so you still had time, and you figured if you went about it at a steady pace, then by the time you were fully ready you would have to leave and there wouldn’t really be a long space of time for you to bail out at the last minute.

By the time it hits noon, you’re doing your hair. Straightening it and curling the ends leisurely, humming along the music you’re playing on your speakers which is interrupted by a call.

“Good afternoon Miss Y/L/N, are you ready for today?” One of your friends greets you with a chipper tone in her voice, you could practically see the beaming smile on her face just from her voice.

Biting on your bottom lip, you let the phone rest on your lap as you continue with the next section of hair and shyly admit, “I’m actually nervous…”

The way she coos at you makes you roll your eyes but there’s a wave of consolation that comes over you when she says, “Good but also don’t be. He’s an absolute dream.”

The tiny piece of information actually makes you more curious about who he is, so you try your chances again as you ask, “Are you finally gonna tell me who it is?”

You had been trying all week to get anything out of your friends but they had been surprisingly good at keeping this one secret under a lock. And this time wouldn’t be different since you only get a vague, “All you have to know is that he’s fit and I know you’ll get on with him perfectly well.”

At least the reassurance that you and him would get on well eases your nerves a little. Not as much as you would like though, but that’s because you know yourself and when you first meet anyone, you get shy and a bit awkward, so you’re praying that you'll be able to get a bit of courage not to make a fool out of yourself.

Thankfully your friend stays on the phone with you as you finish doing your hair and you actually facetime her when you’re doing your makeup. She keeps making you laugh throughout it all and somehow makes you forget about how tense you had been for a bit.

Her boyfriend, Matty, comes back to her flat from a meeting right as you’re showing your friend the dress you’re wearing for the date and, to her dismay, he almost slips and tells you who it is that you’re seeing in merely an hour from now.

“Matthew!” She exclaims loudly before the name can fall from his lips and he quickly throws his hand over his mouth with wide eyes.

His honest, “I’m so sorry.” sounds muffled behind his hand and it only gets an eye roll from your friend which makes you laugh.

But you are gutted that your only chance to find out is gone that way. You whine as you complain, “Why do you react so quickly?”

Your friend takes her boyfriend’s close mishap as a sign to let you go though, completely ignoring your complaint to remind you, “You’re gonna have to get faster Miss, it’s quarter past three and it’s a twenty five minute walk over there.”

“Shit, right.” You curse under your breath, realizing you need to get dressed already and leave as soon as you can so you aren't late.

“You look fucking stunning, babe.” She states with confidence, reassuring you since you seem to start growing panicky, “I’m gonna leave you now so you can change but you have the best time Y/N/N, alright?”

You purse your lips at the camera and clutch your chest, “Thanks hun, love you.”

She grins sweetly at you and reciprocates, “Love you too. And let me know how it goes, alright?”

“Will do, but I don’t promise anything too interesting.” You make sure to make that point clear, you don’t have much expectations for the date just so you don’t end up feeling defeated for it not meeting whatever you could imagine it to be if you allowed yourself to.

But your friend is in heavy doubt of it not being interesting considering she knows who you are meeting with. So she shrugs as she smirks, “Yeah, well… We shall see about that.”

It’s the way that she looks like she’s trying not to laugh that has you narrowing your eyes at her, “What?”

Question that isn’t answered because she plays dumb and simply says, “Okay byeee! Love you!” loudly, blowing you a kiss before hanging up the phone.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You walk the best you can in your high heeled boots which were not a great pick when mixed with how nervous you are and how far you had to walk. You had debated getting a taxi when you were locking up your flat but decided against it when you realized that if you did, you’d get there quicker and you wanted to stall as much as you could.

You aren’t even late yet, ten minutes left for the clocks to strike four in the afternoon and you are merely five minutes away. The whole walk, you had been practicing in your head whatever you could say to the guy you were meeting with, just to prevent embarrassing yourself. If anything went wrong though, you had brought your camera with you and a few rolls were stuffed in your pocket so that you could at least take the opportunity to take pictures.

In your head, you had gone from any topics you could come up with about yourself, deciding against being the one to mention your tragic love life and picking a few questions that could be interesting to ask your date.

But all the inquiries and words you had been rehearsing die in your throat when you round the corner at the end of the restaurant’s street and you see the tall dirty blonde smoking a cigarette, leaning on a lamppost right by the entrance of the establishment.

You think of making a run back to your building, hesitating which way would be easiest to go and how it would work with your long dress but his eyes fall on you before you can make up your mind and when he smiles sweetly at you, cigarette perched between his lips, you know it’s too late.

On your face a shy smile breaks and you give him a little wave before approaching him, faking confidence as you get closer until he’s only a few feet away so you say, “Oh hi, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Your face is burning up and you know he can see your flustered demeanor because he smirks down at you, and cheekily asks, “Were you hoping for someone else?”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you smile harder at his playfulness and in a rush of bravery you choose to play along, “Do you really want to know the answer?”

He takes a drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke out steadily as he shakes his head, “I’m just hoping you remember my name.”

And how could you forget, “Of course I remember you, George.”

George hums, taking one last drag of his smoke as he takes in your appearance and he’s grinning mischievously when seeing the dark satin and lace of your dress contrasting on your skin, your leather jacket making you look even more stunning and coincidentally matching the one he’s wearing.

“Glad you haven’t, Y/N.” The drummer replies with a wink, dropping the bud on the ground and stepping on it before taking something out of the pocket of his dark jeans, “Y/F/N sent this for you.”

An involuntary “Oh.” falls from your lips, entirely intrigued by what it can be that your friend had wanted to tell you that couldn’t be said on the phone because George hands you a folded piece of paper that only says Y/N/N x on the front.

You carefully open it, trying your best to avoid George seeing it—which is a bit of an issue since he’s so tall he can easily read if he looks down—and you instantly blush harder when you read Get the nice kind of messy ;) x

A flashback of the moment at Glastonbury when you had been gawking at George and you had let slip how fit you found him comes to the forefront of your mind and you can’t help yourself getting a little flustered at the mere thought of it.

“He’s fit as fuck.” Your eyes are unable to move from his figure, the way his muscles contract and define with every hit of the drums and the facial expressions he makes as he plays.

Your friend snorts in laughter and leans in to ask further, “Oh, so you fancy George then?”

You stutter as you try to come up with a response, “I mean… Look at him!” You’re entirely entranced by it all and it doesn’t help that he’s covered in a thin coat of sweat already, only three songs into their set, so his white top is slowly becoming translucent and sticking to his body.

It’s like your brain is shutting down and all that it can register is the look of the drummer because it takes you a few long seconds to realize your friend has teasingly said, “I’ll make sure to relay that message.”

“Oh, no, don’t.” The panic of that happening is the one thing that helps you snap out of your trance.

You watch as your friend’s face contorts in confusion and she fights your answer, “Why?! You need to get back out there and who better than George?”

But you shake your head, “No, that’d be so messy!” You can’t think of anything worse than trying to get with your friend’s boyfriend’s best friend—you cringe just imagining how that going wrong would cause a horrendous change in the group’s dynamic.

All of your worries come to a halt and you choke on your own spit when your friend smirks as her eyes fall on George, “That’d be messy, alright. The nice kind of messy.”

In an attempt to try and play it cool, you fold the note and shove it in one of the pockets of your leather jacket, clearing your throat, adjusting the strap of your camera on your shoulder and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like it’s all fine and normal.

But George can see the way you’re pursing your lips and how you hid the note so hastily so your behavior completely betrays your attempts to be secretive about it. “What did you say?” He kept his promise that he wouldn’t open the note when Matty gave it to him earlier that day, even though he’s been really tempted too, especially when he realized Matty knew what it said because he was giggling when his girlfriend handed it to him.

You don’t give him an answer though, only a little cough that acts as a coverup of you avoiding his gaze and a subtle shrug, “Just a little joke.”

“Can you share?” He tries further, his hand coming to nudge you softly in the arm.

Not even that helps your answer change. You shake your head and say a shy, “Not really.”

“I see how it is.” George narrows his eyes at you and adds, “S’alright, I’ll remember that.” which is a promise that has you biting your tongue.

“Shall we go inside?” The drummer says then, watching you struggling to come up with a response to his previous statement.

The new question is much easier to reply to, a soft “Yes.” falling from your lips, breathlessly.

And he takes your breath even more when he lets you walk ahead, only to rest his hand on your lower back delicately and casually comment, “You look beautiful by the way. Really like that we’re matching with the leather jackets.”

The opportunity to not acknowledge the compliment is perfect because you feel like you’re going to explode under George’s attention. You giggle and nod, “What a great coincidence huh?”

His answer being, “Hot coincidence.” accompanied by a wink doesn’t make it easy for you though and you find out then that being on a date with George Daniel means blushing every five minutes even if the chat is about mundane topics.

You talk about your hometowns and the differences between your upbringings, how different it was that you’d stayed in the same city for your entire life while he lived moving around for a good part of his childhood until his family settled in Manchester. You tell each other how you had ended up doing what you were doing currently and you end up cooing constantly when George tells you how the guys became friends and how the band had come together. You exchange stories about your jobs, finally having the opportunity to ask all that came to your mind about producing music which you had always found fascinating ever since you’d gotten closer to the band. George being fascinated about your knowledge on films and everything to do with photography and cinematography, which really comes with your job as a photographer and videographer.

Then he asks about your hand tattoo—the ‘Pure Desire’ written on the back of your hand is rather enticing—smirking when he rubs his thumb over it and asks if you have any more which ends up in you both sharing the amount of ink you have on your bodies which George beat you to by an incredible amount. You end up taking your jackets off and showing each other each piece you have on your skin.

Eventually, the chat comes back to the band and you ask him whereabouts The 1975 has toured so far. Your jaw drops the more his list continues and you genuinely have a hard time wrapping your head around them being relatively new to the mainstream scene when they are already going to all those places.

“I don’t even remember the last time I went on holiday, fucking hell.” You chuckle out in awe at the information he’s just given you.

And George turns your innocent amusement into a mess of heated cheeks, pressed lips and eye rolls when he suggests how that could be easily fixed, “We just have to take you on tour with us next time, don’t we?”

“Think it’ll be crowded enough now that Matty is taking Y/F/N with him.” Your eyebrows are raised to accentuate how serious you are trying to be about it, it’s so hard to conceal how flustered you are at his insinuation.

But he makes it difficult for you to play it cool when he shrugs, “We can share a bunk then.”

“You’re such a flirt. Bet you say that to all the girls.” It almost sounds like you’re scolding him and he likes seeing the reactions he can get out of you, but there’s one thing that has been constant in the back of his mind and he decides to bring it up.

Taking his glass up to his lips, he takes a sip and gulps softly to start saying, “Surprised me when Y/F/N called me and asked if I wanted to go on a date with you.”

“God, that’s embarrassing.” You wince at the information, hating the way it looks for your friends to be asking people around if they want to go out with you. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin and die in a ditch.

George smirks playfully, “Going on a date with me?”

You laugh in response to that, shaking your head before clearing up, “Y/F/N asking if you wanted to go out with me. You know you could’ve said no.”

He frowns at you, like you’ve just said the most outrageous thing and he wholeheartedly asks, “But why would I?”

“Oh George, stop it.” You warn him, pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes at him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” George reaches his hand out to touch yours and you almost shiver under it.

You let your fork down beside your plate and fan yourself with your hand as you admit, “You’re making me blush.”

But that’s not something that will keep him quiet, because he confesses, “Yeah and I quite enjoy doing it.”

The rest of the date is spent between good food, good wine, laughter, a picture you take of George when he asks about your camera, and chatter that has been really entertaining and entirely not awkward like you’d been expecting. Getting to know George in a deeper way is like a breath of fresh air and that’s why, when you leave the restaurant and the drummer offers to walk you back home, you don’t even hesitate to accept.

He takes a few detours on the way, taking you around places where he had hilarious and very wholesome stories of his childhood and teenage years when he would come around to London with the lads and other friends just to mess about. You’re so grateful for the anecdotes because you’re making sure to capture each place in its unique beauty and you know now that behind each shot you’d have the memory of what George had shared with you.

George watches you closely every time you take a picture, taking in every little thing you do before and after you press the shutter. You’re so adorable to him, the way your face lights up when you press the shutter and look at him excitedly when you roll the film.

You guide the both of you back to the way to your flat and as you walk, you’re smoking cigarettes and chatting. It’s so easy to carry a conversation with George, he exudes such an energy that just makes you feel free talking about whatever comes to your mind without having to think for a split second about what you should say or shouldn’t.

And just as easy comes laughter, because not only is his laugh hilariously contagious, he is funny himself and he has you struggling to catch your breath multiple times at his quips and comments.

There is something about this evening that you just feel the need to remember as best as you can so he catches you sneakily trying to take candids of him, every time he’s called you out on it and you shamelessly lie about the frame being focused on just what was behind him—every time something mundane and boring—but by the fifth time, instead of calling you out and have you grumpily change the focus of your lenses, he allows you to take a picture of him and even smiles for you; he doesn’t miss how your eyes twinkle after you’ve pressed the shutter.

The way you smile to yourself and proudly state, “I’m really gonna like that one.” makes George’s chest swell and in a lack of any more self control, he stops dead in his tracks and turns to you, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you into him, your chest hitting his chest eliciting a gasp to fall from your lips.

“Oh hi.” You giggle at the sudden action, your hands subconsciously resting on his chest after that, but any other words die in your throat when he dips his head and traps your lips with his.

You hum into the kiss, which is a dizzying combination between sweet and determined. His left arm stays wrapped around your waist, pulling your flush into his chest but the other one comes up to cup your jaw and he keeps you at the perfect angle for him to kiss you just how he wants.

Your arms slowly move up until they are wrapped around the back of his neck and you let your fingers tangle in his hair. It’s soft and long on the top of his head which you really like. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, his fingers clutching your tighter and you let your mouth open so you can taste each other.

You completely forget where you are until someone walks past you and whistles at the two of you, startling you out of the kiss. You really enjoyed that kiss, and it shows in the way you look up at George with burning cheeks and something written on your face.

“I liked that.” George cheekily states, getting ahold of your hand and resuming your walk.

You hum, trying not to giggle when he intertwines your fingers and a feeling you can easily recognize starts bubbling inside you. “Yeah, I liked that too.”

You felt like a teenager. Blushing to yourself while you walked hand in hand with the person you had a crush on, and it’s so ridiculous but so relieving at the same time to feel this kind of pathetic elation instead of despair and heartache for once.

Your conversation resumed from whichever point you last remember it being left at but after that kiss it only gets more and more flirty, and you like where it is going but soon enough you reach your building and you have to slowly come to a stop with a pout.

“This is me.” You mumble, squeezing his hand in yours but he doesn’t let go.

He hums as if hesitant of believing what you’ve just said and instead he suggests, “Don’t you wanna take another walk around the block?”

“George, my feet hurt.” They had been hurting for a while but you hadn’t said anything just to not ruin things, and because you were enjoying his company so much that you were willing to endure the pain for a while longer.

The drummer comes to a quick solution, “I’ll carry you.”

Which makes you chuckle, “Sure you would.” You genuinely don’t want the date to end so in a bit of a rushed decision, you bargain, “Don’t you… Do you wanna come upstairs?”

He gets a kick of excitement inside him but he wants to play it cool, so he jokes, “What, are you gonna take my picture?”

You hold back a snort of laughter, and shrug as if it was fine by you that he only wanted that. “If that’s what you want.” There’s a little voice in your head that tells you not to but there is another one that purely encourages you to have fun.

“Yeah, that works.” George casually says, like he isn’t praying that he gets lucky to even get another kiss out of you.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“Where’d you want me?” George turns to look at you as you drop your camera on your bedside tables and take your jacket off to perch on the back of a loveseat you have in the corner of your room.

You take one of the new rolls out of your pocket and change it for the one you’d almost fully used earlier that day. “Wherever you’re comfortable.” you tell him, focusing on perfectly lining the roll before you can turn to him.

“Bed’s quite comfy.'' You hear George say from behind you and when you look up to see him, you find him lying on his side, head perched on his hand and a smirk on his face. “Paint me like one of your french girls.” He teases, resting his other hand dramatically on his forehead.

All you do is giggle at his antics, “You’re such an idiot.” Shaking your head, you come up to the bed and try looking at the scene through your lenses but you aren't quite convinced by the shot.

George watches you struggle, stepping backwards and forwards, to the sides before sighing. He reminds you with a soft smile, “I’m not used to being the one to pose for the camera. You’re gonna have to guide me.”

“Okay.” Silently, you think about it as you bite on your thumb and once a vision comes to your mind, you start instructing him, “Lean into your forearms, sideways so you fit in the bed.” But you find what’s bothering you and it’s that his legs are half hanging off the bed.

“Why are you so tall? Oh my god.” You go over to the drummer and prompt him to go further into the bed, perching one of his sock-clad feet up on the bed and the other leg staying stretched on the bed. “There, now look at me.”

George looks at you with a blank face first to which you complain about but when he actually shows you a smile he starts giggling, and if there had been something you had learned about George quite early into your date was that his laugh was incredibly contagious, so you find yourself shaking with laughter as you try to take his pictures and you end up having to call him out for it.

“Don’t laugh! You’re making me laugh!” You scorn him, struggling to sound serious between your giggles.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes halfheartedly, swallowing his laughter until he goes back to a stoic face and he gives you the perfect soft smolder.

You hum in satisfaction at the result of that frame and then you move onto instructing him to do the next pose, “Throw your head back a bit and close your eyes.” He silently listens and does as you say which earns him a sweet, “Just like that.” from you.

Of course, your words make George give you a look, one that had you lightly blushing and since you know he can recognize the way you get flustered, you hide behind your camera.

“What?” You say behind the device, inquiry thrown out into the air, and warn him, “Don’t look at me like that.”

George chuckles to himself, wondering if you are this naive or if you are playing dumb. So when you take another picture of him, he purposely complains, “My leg’s cramping.” to then throw himself back on the bed, ending up completely splayed over the duvet and breaking the pose.

“George!” You scold him yet again, a bit of amusement sneaking through your words.

He groans in response and without moving, tells you to “Just take a picture like this.”

You kiss your teeth to exaggerate your disapproval and shake your head, “I can’t even see your face.”

“Come here so you can see it.” He resolves easily for you, waving you over to come close to the side of the bed instead of taking pictures by the end of it. You roll your eyes at him in amusement, not moving at first but since he actually doesn’t plan on moving, you have to do as he says.

But attempting to get a picture from above while standing beside the bed is an actual failure, “That’s an awkward angle, look at me.” You try to get him to turn to his side again but he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Need you on your side.” You say explicitly this time but he doesn’t let up either.

Instead he suggests, “Why don’t you just get up here?” He pats the bed, right next to his hip and you blush just thinking about it. At your silence, he opens his eyes and turns his head to the side to encourage you with a “C’mon.”

He offers his hand so you can use it as leverage to kneel on the bed on each side of his hips and hover above him. You struggle as you do so because you’re growing nervous and therefore clumsy.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse under your breath, seeing him from above is an angle that you don’t really know if you can handle.

“What?” George bites his bottom lip to not let a smirk break on his face.

Yet, not even that keeps you from knowing that he knows just what he was doing but you won’t say anything, because you’re enjoying this a lot more than you are supposed to. So you stick to just replying, “Nothing.” as you take yet another picture of him.

Remembering his tattoos, you bit your bottom lip for a few seconds before hesitatingly asking, “Why don’t you take your jacket off?”

George lets his hands rest right above your knees and squeezes your legs as he teases, “Is that code for something?”

You hoped your flustered state wasn’t obvious so you can play off your nonchalant, “For ‘I want to see your tattoos’, yes.”

It goes right over his head though, because he keeps smirking as he sarcastically replies, “Right, right.”

You move so he can take the piece of clothing off without you hovering over him but when he’s done and laying on the bed again, he pats his right side so you can move your left leg there and have you hover over him properly again.

“How’s that look?” He asks cheekily as his hands go to touch your legs again, the skin up to your mid thighs showing because your dress slit allows it to open and rise up in the position you’re in.

“Amazing.” You breathlessly compliment, making him raise an eyebrow at you.

The shutter goes off again and, as you roll the film, he tests the waters, “Do you want to see them all?”

“Sure.” The word comes out so soft it could’ve gone with the wind, his hands leave your thighs for a second to grab the bottom of his shirt.

“Top’s coming off next then, is that alright?” He asks for confirmation first and you nod eagerly, your pupils dilating in anticipation.

He sheds himself off his shirt in the constricted space he had, you’re so spaced out that you don’t move but it isn’t a problem for George. If anything, his smirk grows at your inability to act and it gets bigger when he throws his shirt somewhere across the room and you’re left shamelessly gawking at his naked top half.

After a minute of your eyes wandering everywhere, George brings your back to reality by letting his hands come over your thighs again. You tremble at the same time as the drummer says, “Y/N/N?”

“Yeah?” You ask, slowly coming back to reality. Your brain has been completely taken over by the view of the taut muscles of his arms littered by colorful ink, a pair of symmetric ‘broken’ tattoos on both sides of his collarbones and his torso beautifully chiseled with a defined six pack.

“When are you taking the picture?” He reminds you, trying not to smirk too hard as to not put you off.

“Shit, sorry.” You say under your breath and, after quickly focusing the shot, finally take a picture of him like that.

There was a heavy silence that hung over you two, the trail of his fingers making your skin grow hot and your throat going dry at the growing need for anything at all. So you find yourself surprised when he breaks the silence to ask you, “Can I take your picture?”

“Mine?” You repeated like you’d heard wrong.

George nods and lets you know, “You look really pretty from here.”

In a feeble attempt not to have him do that, you remind him, “You don’t know how to.”

“Matty had a film camera a few years ago, I know how to.” George surprises you even further when he explains and just to try a bit harder, he pouts at you and says, almost begging, “Please?”

“Okay.” You let yourself accept, your mind too distracted by the view beneath you to even fight.

Once you hand him the camera, he lifts it up to his eyes and lets out a chipper, “Smile.” as an instruction, which you follow only just a bit shyly.

You’re about to get the device back from him when he pulls it away from your grasp and pleads, “Another one please?”

You sigh at the drummer’s exaggerated pout until it turns into a giggle and that’s when the shutter goes off. Your cheeks burn again when he compliments as he rolls the film, “Stunning.”

Letting the camera rest beside him, George tries his luck and lets his hands rub on the skin of your thighs a bit further up. You don’t refuse it, he can clearly see the growing hunger in your eyes as you look down at him so he continues, letting his gaze trail down your body to drink in all of your but when he reaches down to your legs is when he catches a slight glimpse of red ink on your left thigh that makes him ask, “Do you have more tattoos?”

He doesn’t remember your mentioning any other tattoos than the ones you’d shown him at the restaurant. So when you nod, he can’t help but ask, “Where?”

“One, right here.” You grab his right hand so he can touch over the fabric of your dress where the one on your rib is. Your eyes looking right into his and his lips opening further when you continue, “And this one here.” lifting the fabric up to show the ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

George lets his right hand fall until it reaches the one on your thigh, you’re still clutching the satin in your first so he can fully see it. He rubs on the red ink on your skin as he stares at it, eliciting goosebumps to break on your entire body.

He looks up and asks with a low voice about the only one he hasn’t seen yet but you had just let him touch over your dress, “What’s the other one?”

“A word.” You vaguely say, as if encouraging him to continue asking about it.

“Which word?” His fingers trail further up, making your knees go completely weak. They had been hurting from hovering over him for so long but his touch is the thing to finally have you finally sit on his lap.

And that’s when you feel him growing hard in his jeans.

His fingers had already been making your every thought go straight down to your core so you’re entirely driven by lust when you fully lift the satin up and shed the dress off your body, leaving you only in your underwear and in full show for George.

It’s involuntary, his hips jerking forward and pressing on your center, his mouth agape at the sight and he grows even more breathless when you roll your center against his hardening cock.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, taking one quick look at the strange word on your rib before perching himself up on his left forearm to wrap his right hand around your neck and pull you in for a hungry kiss.

You lean further into him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and digging into his hair to pull on it as your lips move with each other. Your fingers tugging on his hair made him groan into your mouth and, as payback, he tightens his fingers around your neck, earning a loud moan out of you.

George pushes himself up with his left hand until he’s sitting on the bed, his right arm wrapping around your waist to keep you flush against him. Your tongues taste each other and your breaths grow heavy when you start rolling your hips in sync, meeting in the middle and creating a delicious friction that soon enough forces you to break the kiss only to gasp in pleasure into each other's mouths.

His fingers come to graze the ink on your left rib, your desperate side having you sink your hips down to roll against him and turn his, “What does it mean?” into a gorgeous moan.

Your lips brush as he moans and you respond to his sound with a mewl of your own and when that reaches his ears, George forgets ever asking anything for he can’t wait any longer to feel your lips on his again.

The kiss grows needy then. His hand goes from your ribs down to knead the flesh of your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and encouraging you to move against him. Your clit was getting so stimulated from only being covered by the thin material of your lace thong against his jeans which means you can’t kiss him any longer.

A string of moans falls from you as you quicken your pace, getting louder as you go but your actions are interrupted when George clutches you tightly by your middle and swiftly flips the two of you around so it you’re resting on your back on the bed with him hovering right over you.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden change of positions, your hand flying to cup his face and bring his lips back on yours and wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his hips into your core in a desperate attempt to have the friction back.

The feeling of his hard on coming down to rub harshly against you every time he bucks his hips forward makes your head spin. He starts off by teasing you with the friction and leaving you hanging for a few seconds before going back in but when you start gasping into his mouth, he keeps himself close to you and relentlessly rolls his hips on yours, hard cock pressing deliciously against your throbbing clit.

The pace grows faster, making it impossible for you to continue moving your lips with his so he takes it as a sign to continue on with what he wants to do first. Unfortunately, that means his hips stop moving and leave you throbbing and clenching around nothing but he makes it up to you with his lips all over your skin.

Wet kisses trail down your neck, his lips taking their time to give every bit of your skin attention on the way down. Kissing, sucking, licking. His fingers run down your sides until they clutch tightly on your hips, fingers pressing hard on the skin there and making your cry out in pleasure even louder.

Your breath is heavy by the time he stops sucking bruises all over your chest and abdomen, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging on it so he can come back up but instead his tongue runs flat from just above your belly button agonizingly slowly up until his nose bumps against the hem of your bra.

George looks up at you through his lashes, teeth coming to bite on the fabric and tugging them the slightest bit down so you know what he wants to do and you desperately nod.

Without much of a proper attempt to take the piece of clothing off, he just tugs down the lace cups on it and lets your tits spill out freely for him. He groans from the pits of his chest at the sight, hips bucking forwards into the mattress harshly in search of some relief for himself.

But not letting any more seconds go by, George dives to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. Groaning around it, the vibrations of the noise causing white heat to run straight down to your throbbing wet cunt.

He switches the sucking for flicking it with his tongue, blowing cold air and smirking as your nipple hardens at his actions, ending with a soft bite and tug that have you loudly saying his name in call for mercy.

You needed something, anything. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing and it’s almost torturous. But your cries fall on deaf ears for he moves onto your other nipple and repeats his process. You’re only ruining your underwear further, so wet you feel uncomfortably sticky with your thong still on.

“George, baby, please–” You plead in anguish when he starts sucking bruises on your tits, biting them until you whimper loudly under him.

“What do you need Y/N/N?” He asks sweetly, a stark contrast to his vicious attack on your chest.

“Anything. Just–” You try to say, your words catching up in your throat as your desperation for release clouds your logic and makes you sound stupid.

So you rely on grabbing one of his hands from your hips and guiding it down to where you’re aching. The simple graze of one of his fingertips on your swollen clit eliciting a pathetic mewl out of you.

“Oh sweetheart,” George tuts “Made quite a mess, haven’t you?” His pointer finger runs up and down your clothed core slowly and so faintly you don’t even know if you are imagining it.

Applying a bit more pressure assures him to hear every one of your needy sounds and feeling like you had waited enough, he leaves a light feather kiss over your center.

“Need help cleaning up this mess, yeah?” His words are sweet, like he’s finally taking pity on you. The thought of him doing absolutely anything at that moment sounds so fucking good your hum in agreement sounds more like a whine, barely able to make eye contact with him in your hazy mind.

His long tongue runs flat over your underwear, wetting even more than it already is and he moans at the taste of your slick soaking through it. His fingers tug the fabric down your legs and throw it somewhere behind him in record time. He finds himself almost drooling at the sight of you completely exposed to him.

If you had any hint of inhibitions left in you, you would’ve tried to close your legs under his attentive gaze but he’s entranced and you’d had it with waiting any longer so you prop your legs wide open and squirm in your place.

“George, please.”

Your pleading is so sweet, so desperate, he can’t deny you any longer. So he dips his head in between your legs and starts lapping at you like a starved man. At the first proper taste he has of you, he moans loudly, tongue running up and down your slit to gather as much of you as he can and enjoying every drop of your arousal on his tongue.

“Are you not gonna continue taking my picture?” George interrupts his task to tauntingly ask, going back to using his tongue on you, this time flicking it up and down quickly on your clit and making you shiver.

Your words are caught in your throat when he doesn’t relent his actions but still looks at you expectantly through his lashes, “Right– F-fuck! Right now?”

He only allows himself to stop for the amount of seconds it takes him to nod and say, “Yes baby, be a good girl and take my picture.”

That ‘good girl’ makes you roll your eyes in utter pleasure, and all you can think of is doing as he’s telling you to earn his praise; because you want more, you need more.

Your head turns quickly to see where he’s left the camera, and you bring it to your eyes to take a picture as fast as you can. Your thoughts are already becoming clouded by the tightening coil in your lower belly.

His disheveled dirty blonde hair in between your legs, his arms underneath your legs and hands clutching your thighs in place is all that you captured in that frame. The shutter goes off letting George know you have done as he’d said and he congratulates you by praising you with a proud, “Such a good fucking girl.” and a few kisses to your clit which make you jolt.

He goes back down, trying to clean up the mess of slick and saliva that’s dripping down your inner thighs and onto the duvet, but you’re so desperate so you start rocking your hips against his face, trying to steer him back to where you wanted him to be and, to your satisfaction, he follows the silent instruction by going back to your center and this time pointing his tongue and dipping it inside your sopping hole.

Your legs instinctively close around his head, eliciting a breathy laugh from him that hits your core as he continues tongue fucking you. His hands come to spread your legs open again, holding your limbs down on the bed strongly, not allowing you to move any longer.

The feeling of his wet tongue dipping in and out of you has you growing increasingly louder, begging and pleading with him not to stop, your orgasm so close you can feel it.

But despite your words, he stops.

At that very moment, you swear you can cry, knowing you had just been about to come undone on his tongue. But just before you can pathetically let your frustrated tears roll down your cheeks, his lips wrap around your throbbing clit and he sucks on it. The perfect amount of pressure for you to thrash around beneath him as your pleasure resumes and hits you with an incredible force, making you let out a string of moans of his name and then a bunch of “Yes! Fuck yes!”, hands flying down to tangle your fingers in his hair and keep him in his place.

“I’m gonna cum!” You yell out loud, eyes shutting tightly since the pleasure impedes you from keeping them open, and when George starts humming as he sucks your clit, you are done for.

Your legs tremble under his hold, toes curling and your fingers tugging his hair tighter than you had been before. You black out as your orgasm hits you hard, the oxygen in your lungs leaving you entirely as your back arches off the bed and you only come back from your high when his incessant sucking becomes too much for your oversensitive self so you pull him away from you.

He giggles, completely entranced by your fucked out state. Watching you cum had been an experience but god don’t you look beautiful with your chest heaving, bruises looming on your skin, a flush to your face and chest, a thin coat of sweat making your body and face shine.

But before he can give you any more attention, his gaze falls back to your cunt and it’s glistening with arousal. You taste so fucking good to him that he wastes no more time to lick you clean. Your legs tremble at the resumed contact of his tongue on your sensitive core, whimpers stubbornly leaving you as he goes.

Your fingers leave his hair alone but your left hand cradles his head as he laps up at everything you have given him, and after a whole minute of him meticulously licking clean every inch of skin that had been wet with your arousal, he starts a trail of kisses from your mound until he reaches your belly button.

Flashing a smile up at you, George rests his chin on your lower stomach and you can’t hold yourself back from brushing his messy hair back almost adoringly, post orgasm haze making you extra appreciative of him and his skilled tongue work.

His fingers rub circles on the top of your thighs, “Feel good?” He asks before leaving more soft kisses on your lower stomach.

“Very.” You answered with a smile, fingers brushing through his hair.

He hums at the feeling of your touch, “Good to know, gorgeous.”

Turning to see where you’d left it, you reach out to grab your discarded camera. Melting into the duvet under George’s gentle touch and his lips pressing on your skin leisurely, you really make an effort as you lean on your forearms so that you can get a better look at him to take a picture. He looks up at you with a dizzying smirk that you manage to capture, and you know that you’ll adore that picture no matter the outcome of this day.

His lips tickle the skin of your lower stomach when he points out, “Didn’t even have to tell you this time.”

Putting the device back down on the bed, you shrug with a grin sneaking onto your lips, “You look good.”

“Do I, now?” He teases, dropping his hands from your thighs and pressing them on the mattress so he can slowly push himself up and crawl his way up to hover over you again.

“You always do.” Your words come laced with lust, his eyes darkening as he gets closer and you just can’t wait any longer to have him in more ways. “Come here.” You instruct by wrapping a hand around his neck, fingers pressing on the sides of it until he groans loudly in pleasure and when he lets the sound leave his lips, you smirk and warn, “My turn.”

Pulling him in by his neck means that your tongues meet instantly when you start the kiss, and when you taste yourself on his tongue, you moan so loudly George growls just as loud in response.

The kiss is all teeth clashing, spit dribbling down to your chins, noses bumping, deep exhales sounding loudly and trying to overpower the sounds of your swollen lips moving together.

It’s George the one to grow louder when your hand drops from his neck, down his naked torso to the button of his jeans, which you undo with quick fingers and pull the zip down before you can palm him over the fabric of his boxers.

“F-fuck…” He lets out when your nimble fingers squeeze him and stroke him up and down. He’s so hard that your touch makes him shiver.

You can feel him so swollen and heavy under your hand, your mind already spinning about how big he is but you want to have him unravel under you so badly, you push any worries about his size to the back of your head.

His hips move slowly, helping with your movements, clearly wanting to reach his high but you want to taste him and you want it now. So you leave his cock alone to instruct him, “Lay down, baby.”

You switch positions, George laying on his back and you’re kneeling between his legs. He pants as he watches you shamelessly gawk at him, your mouth going dry at the clear outline of his cock.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse as you tug on the top of his jeans so he can lift his hips up for you to take them off him.

He does as instructed and you’re just too impatient to wait any more, you want to feel him heavy on your tongue already. His boxers come off quickly after his jeans, his hard cock springing up to touch right by his navel.

You gulp. He’s thick, angry red tip already leaking from how aroused he is. Intimidating but so inviting.

Dipping your head down, you start kissing his hips. Leaving kisses that go from sweet to wet and messy the more he squirmed under you.

“You…” George pleads, hand coming down to cradle your head. Not to push it towards where he wanted you but to have you look up at him and see just how fucking desperate he is for you.

You feel that look go down straight to your core, clenching your legs together at the feeling. “I know baby, I know.” You say in a coo.

Your fingers wrap around him, the pressure of them making George huff in pleasure with his lips pressed together. He feels so heavy in your hand, veins popping for you to see how pained he is.

“You’re so big.” You trail off, a bit of wander in your voice. You have no idea how he’s going to fit in your mouth, he’s by far the biggest cock you have ever come across but you like a challenge.

Your tongue licks a bold strip from base to tip, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you taste the salty arousal that has already been leaking from him. He curses under his breath at the feeling of your wet tongue on his cock, but the breathy words turn into a loud moan when you wrap your lips around him and sink your mouth down onto him.

Barely able to fit half of him in your mouth until he hits the back of your throat, you pull back to catch a breath, your hand taking over for a few seconds as you inhale deeply and go back in. You gag around him when you manage to get him deeper, George moans loudly as you do so, trying his hardest not to buck his hips upwards into your tight throat.

His hand goes back to hold your head but this time, his fingers tangle in your hair, only to pull you up so you can breathe. But you don’t want to have it easy, you want to see how much of him you can take and hear every one of his pretty moans.

So you go against his hold, sinking your mouth further down and gagging around him again. Your hand stays at the base of his cock, stroking the rest you can’t get to, as you continue bobbing your head up and down on him.

George is a mess of groans and moans, whimpering whenever you gag and moan around him, your throat tightening around him driving him insane.

He lifts his head up slightly to look down at you, pulling on your hair so you come off him and meet his eyes. George is met with you panting, pink wet swollen lips, saliva dripping down your chin and neck, tears falling out of the corner of your eyes, hair disheveled but pupils dilated and a satisfied smirk at it all.

Your hand keep stroking him up and down, fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure and he moans at the combination of your touch and the glorious view of you like this, “Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.”

The praise only encourages you more, so you lean back down and lick a strip up his cock again, this time looking up at him through your lashes. An innocent look in your eyes as you lap at the tip of his cock eagerly.

He exhales in awe, “Look at you– Shit!” He curses loudly when you sink slowly back down until again he reaches your throat, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily and making you gag loudly.

You gasp out for air for a mere second before you do it again, until you manage to control your gagging a bit better and encourage George to fuck your mouth with a simple squeeze to his hip.

“Oh fuck– Such a pretty filthy girl.” He praises as he obeys the silent instructions and rocks his hips forwards slowly and ever so slightly. “You like it when I fuck your throat?” His question is thrown out into the air in between groans.

You answer with a hum that vibrates around him and that’s when George starts feeling like he’s losing control. His hips grow erratic and you notice so you hum and moan around him even more, causing him to get closer to his high.

“Y/N/N m’gonna cum!” He warns you loudly, the wet squelching sounds of him going in and out of your mouth and your moans bouncing off the walls in a pornographic symphony that makes the scene even better.

And when your hand drops from around the base of his cock to play with his balls, he’s sent over the edge. He pushes his hips forwards and stills then as he comes, cock twitching in your mouth and his cum coating the walls of your throat with a warmth you appreciated with another low moan.

His hips fall back on the bed but you don’t relent just yet, sucking him off for a little longer to take everything you can. But he has to pull you off him by your hair when he can't take it anymore, cursing and calling out your name like he was scolding you.

“Fucking hell.” He mumbles, still dizzy from his orgasm but completely entranced by the way you come off him with a whimper and a satisfied smirk.

You wipe the drool off your chin with the back of your hand and slowly crawl up until you are laying on your side right beside him, staring right into his eyes with hunger still darkening yours.

“Feel good?” You ask, just what he’d asked you after he made you cum but in a mocking manner.

It gets you a chuckle in response before one of his big hands comes to cup your jaw and crashes your lips together.

Kissing George has you dazed. His lips are soft but firm when moving along with yours, they’re wet and swollen, warm exhales leaving his parted lips for your to swallow, tongue peeking through them to meet yours. He whimpers so loud when he tastes himself on your tongue, fingers digging into your cheek and making you mewl in response.

Your skin grows hot the more you kiss. He doesn’t even let you get a proper breath whenever he pulls back for a brief second, because he’s back on your mouth with desperation—lips smacking and tongues licking at each other.

Your hands go on a path from his face to his head, the back of his neck, his shoulders, and eventually to his back, nails digging into it when he starts nipping at your bottom lip, at the same time as his right hand drops from your jaw down to pinch your nipples, eliciting gasps out of you.

“George…” You let out in a gasp when he has your nipple pinched and twisted between his thumb and index finger.

He’s smirking right over your parted lips, amused at the way you shiver every time he goes from one nipple to the other. Your nails claw at his back when you feel the electric shocks that his touch gives you travel all the way down to your center, feeling yourself growing wetter and that familiar knot in your lower stomach forming.

His lips slot between yours again, distracting you from his touch going from your tits down to tease your cunt.

With his thumb, George starts rubbing circles on your clit, making you pull back from the kiss with a loud gasp that turns into a cry of pleasure. You could feel yourself throbbing already, and it gets worse when he picks up his pace.

He isn’t going too fast but not slow either, the speed in which his thumb rubs at your clit has you writhing your hips in response, subconsciously trying your best to get closer and closer to your high.

“George! Fuck!” You yell when he slides a finger inside you. It’s thick and long, curling inside you and making you see stars already, half lidded eyes catching him smirking at you and his breaths growing shallow when taking in your reactions.

“You like that?” He asks you teasingly, pecking your lips as your face scrunches up in pleasure.

You manage to hum in response, but he finds that not good enough, so he adds another finger, stretching you out easily and making your back arch as you moan loudly. “Yes! Yes!” You encourage, and when he curls his fingers again, knuckle deep inside your cunt, you felt yourself be completely overcome by pleasure and your words slip past your lips without even thinking of them first, “Oh my– Fuck! George, your fingers feel so fucking good.”

His fingers are slipping in and out of you with ease from how wet you are, your hips erratically moving as he thrusts them inside you to meet him in the middle. “That’s it, cum on them baby.”

The dirty talk has you completely fucked over, “George, I’m so– Fuckkkk!” You can’t help but scream out when he pushes a third finger inside you, feeling completely stuffed with him.

It feels so good how much he’s opening you up, and he’s loving the way whenever he pulls his fingers back your walls push him off so he has to slowly sink his fingers deep inside your cunt again. “I know, I can feel you clenching hard around them.” You’re squeezing his fingers so tight, his throat goes dry just thinking about how good you’re gonna feel milking his cock, “Can’t wait to fill you up and feel how tight you’re around my cock baby.”

You agree, so drunk in pleasure you just want to feel even more of him, “I need you. George, I need–”

But he tuts before you can complete your mumbled sentence, “You’re cumming on my fingers first.” You’re about to cry out like a brat, about to beg for him to stuff you up with his big cock but his words beat yours, “Come on baby, give it to me like the good girl you are.”

His voice is low in your ear, so sultry and inviting you feel it deep in your core and you just can’t say no. Not when you’re gonna earn his praise, those words he says that have you wrapped around his little finger.

So you let go. Your toes curl as his fingers keep pumping in and out of you, hitting that spot perfectly for your to see stars as you come, white heat enveloping you and taking ahold of your entire body as you cum, “Fuck, fuck! Oh– George!”

“That’s it, baby. So fucking stunning.” He encourages, watching his fingers continue to disappear inside your tightening cunt, your legs shaking and your hips moving clumsily to meet his hand. He gets impossibly hard at the sight of it all, biting his bottom lip as he moans.

You gush all over him, slick drenching his hand and dripping down your cunt onto the duvet. He can’t let it go to waste, so he pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean, moaning around them when he tastes you again.

So fucking sweet. He needed more.

You feel his fingers gathering your mess and you manage to peel your eyes open to watch as he sucks it all off his fingers again.

Shamelessly, you just watch as he dips down time and time again until he deems his work of cleaning you up done, the last one being offered out to you and you obey enthusiastically, wrapping your lips around his fingers and sinking your mouth on them to suck them clean the best you can. Your eyes stay on his as you do so, moaning loudly around them while you batted your lashes at him, just fully putting a show on for him.

The view makes George’s cock twitch, a bead of precum leaking from his head. He reaches out behind you for the forgotten camera and when you’re trying to catch your breath, eyes closed in bliss, he takes a picture of you.

Your eyes snap open at the sound of the shutter going off and you look at him all startled like you need an explanation.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” He quickly justifies, lifting the device back up to his eyes and adjusting the focus to take another one as he adds, “All fucked out. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Stop.” You whine when the shutter goes off again, hand coming up to grab at the lenses and forcing him to put it down, “I must look a mess.”

His head shakes in disagreement, tongue swiping at his bottom lip with his eyes drinking you in all over again, “You don’t. You look hot.” Skin glowing due to the thin layer of sweat your activities have caused, lips swollen and wet, your chest heaving and flushed, the gorgeous pattern of every bruise he’s sucked on your skin which are darkening more and more, hair disheveled and splayed over the pillows.

“I’m confiscating this.” It’s the brief ultimatum you give him, grabbing the camera and turning the action on him instead.

You take just one picture of him and he allows it, only to then complain by saying, “You have enough of me.” and taking the camera back.

Rolling your eyes, you fake being annoyed and kiss him quickly before pushing yourself up and off the bed, telling him, “Gonna go to the bathroom.” making a beeline for your wardrobe and getting yourself a new pair of underwear first, adjusting the cups of your bra so they hold your breasts again.

It isn’t longer than five minutes that you take, coming back to him wearing his boxers again and laying over the bedsheets—he’s discarded the duvet and left it a big crumpled knot on the floor by the foot of the bed—, a hand behind his head whilst the other is scrolling on his phone.

His position looks inviting, so you crawl on the bed and sit on his lap with a mischievous smile on your face. You reach out to get the camera he has placed on the bedside table at the same time as he drops his phone there and his hands go up to hold your hips.

“Put your hands behind your head again.” You instruct him softly, almost a mutter that sounds so shy, the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

You take a picture of him like that and another when he runs a hand through his hair but you stop when his hands come back to grab at your skin, going from your waist until they softly come down to rest at your hips.

With a soft squeeze on your sides, he tilts his head to ask, “Am I allowed to smoke?” to which you nod and get off him to open the windows and get him a cigarette and a lighter.

Getting back on top of him, you place the cigarette between his lips but before you can give him the lighter, you grab the camera again just so you can capture the moment he ignites it alive.

George looks so fucking hot lighting it up: cheeks hollowing ever so slightly, brows furrowing, long fingers that make the lighter look minuscule in his hand, lips pursed around the stick.

You snap away and capture the moment he blows out the smoke upwards, before taking another drag and then blowing it in your direction.

The familiar scent of the tobacco and just how arousing you’re finding it all, impulses you to start moving your hips slowly on him. The sudden movement makes his breath hitch in his throat, causing him to erupt in coughs when the smoke goes up the wrong hole. He had been half hard beneath you when you sat on his lap, so you can’t really hold back from wanting to have him in a new way now.

That’s when you guide his hand to your mouth so he can place the cigarette in between your lips for you to take a drag. His mouth opens agape as you do so, the rolling of your hips only growing more intent and he starts twitching and getting harder in his boxers.

He can feel your heat, the way you’re wetting your underwear and starting to wet his own, the pulsing of your swollen clit. He can see how your nipples grow hard through the lace of your bra, and the way goosebumps rise in your skin as you go. Soft gasps that turn into hush whimpers that he wants so badly to turn into those loud moans of yours that he’s quite enjoying getting drunk on.

“Have you brought a condom?” You ask breathlessly, camera being once again forgotten somewhere on the bed for you to be able to rest your hands on his chest as leverage.

A flip switches inside George, the simple hint of him finally being able to sink himself deep inside you making his blood rush down to his cock.

“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and it’s a relief when you quickly get off him so he can rush to get it, not without going up to your dresser so he can put out the cigarette on the ashtray that’s laid there by your jewelry.

He had thought it was foolish of him to pocket a couple condoms before he left his flat earlier today, fully scorning himself for being so ridiculous as to assume you would want to shag after your date but oh was he glad he had still done it right then.

Condom in hand, George goes back to the bed but not without shedding himself off his boxers first. You bite your bottom lip as you get your bra off to throw it on the floor behind you, seeing him wrap his hand around his length and pump it slowly as he watches you almost naked figure. Your hands go down to your hips so you can quickly tug down your underwear, eagerly taking it off and throwing it on the same spot on the floor you had dropped your bra.

Crawling up to the edge of the bed, you hum as you watch him stroke himself up and down, your mouth watering for another taste of him. So when you get right in front of him, you dip your head down until your mouth is right before his hardening cock and sticking your tongue out, you lick at his head slowly.

He grows heavier on your tongue as you go, twitching in your mouth when you wrap your lips around him again, his head thrown back at the feeling of your wet mouth enclosed around him and sucking him off patiently.

But he has to use an incredible amount of self restraint to pull you off him, a hand delicately coming around your neck to have you let go off his cock with a pop and pull you up to face him.

“I’m fucking you now.”

George isn’t asking, he’s simply informing you and that makes you squirm under his gaze in anticipation. Thighs pressing together and eyes drinking in the way lust makes his behavior change. But you want a bit of control, even if it’s just for him to ruin you.

“Can I ride you?” You ask innocently, puppy eyes that you pray will get your a yes.

You take the way he pulls you in for a messy kiss as one.

In no time he’s laying on his back with his head resting on the pillows, teeth ripping the condom wrapper open while your hand wraps around him, waiting for him to put the latex on. The anticipation grows and hangs in the air like a heavy cloud as George rolls it down his length, sighing at the feeling of it around him.

You catch a glimpse of your camera through the corner of your eye and you can’t help but think there won’t be a better thing than capturing his pure ecstasy in a picture so you grab it before you straddle him again.

You lift the camera up to your eyes with one hand while the other gets ahold of his cock to line him up, rubbing his head on your clit and making yourself gasp at the feeling. You clench around nothing as you do so, and you can already feel yourself drenched.

Even after he’s stretched you out with his fingers, it’s slightly challenging for you to take him when you start sinking onto him.

Your jaw drops in a silent gasp when every inch of him starts stretching you out, eyes watering at the initial sting. Your eyes want to flutter closed at the feeling but you do your best to not let them close entirely so you can capture the way he groans loudly with his head thrown back as you let your cunt swallow him whole.

Breath hitching in your throat, you sink down completely until you can feel him so deep a pathetic cry of pleasure slips past your lips.

You draw your hips up and back down on him slowly, testing the waters on his size and what angle is good for you to feel the best. You’re both a mess of loud moans at the feeling. He’s so big, he’s filling you up in a way you’ve never felt before so your walls are clenching hard around him which has his head spinning.

“You–” George breathes out, hands flying to your hips and clutching them so tightly just to show how bad he’s holding himself back from just thrusting up into you, or better yet just flipping you around and fucking you into the mattress.

“Fuck–, I know. I know.” You say in a high pitch tone. One of your hands falls to rest flat on his chest and use as support, “I– oh, fuck…” You curse as you roll your hips forwards and then backwards this time, making you completely still at the insane sensory overdrive you’re getting from it.

George knows you need a second or two but you stay frozen for longer than he can hold so he pleads, “Baby– Fuck, baby, I need you to move, you’re so tight.”

“Just–” You try to say, rolling your hips again and mewling loudly. George moans back in response, his hands sliding down to your thighs as your head hangs in pleasure.

You establish a slow place, George’s fingers digging into the flesh of your upper thighs grounding you into the moment and allowing you to take another picture. A picture that captures your legs on each sides of his toned chest, his fingers digging into your skin, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps back a moan, the box tattoo on his thumb right next to the red ink of your ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

But after you press the shutter on that one, barely being able to clumsily roll the film, you just toss the camera to the side mindlessly and use your new free hand to rest on his chest as well, and the second hand of support helps you start moving your hips faster.

It’s fucking delicious the way he keeps hitting your g-spot from that angle, and when he starts bucking his hips upwards, meeting your in the middle, you can’t hold back the noises you let out. “George, fuck baby! Oh fuckkkk.” You cry out, clit feeling a bit of pressure every time you roll down and hit your pelvis, so you’re fully drunk on pleasure.

His hands run up from your thighs to mercilessly grab your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and stinging just in the best way. “Just like that baby. You feel so fucking good.” He praises you with a groan, helping you actually lift your hips up and down on him.

“You’re so– Oh fuck–” You’re so cock drunk, your thoughts are all stupid and leaving you without even being able to finish a sentence.

“Tight little cunt, can barely fit inside you.” George can feel himself meeting the hilt inside you every time, your cries growing in volume the faster the pace gets. “You love it huh, being filled to the brim?”

“Yes, fuck! Yes, I love it, love your cock!” You’re dripping all over him, the noise of the wetness and your skin slapping every time you meet bouncing off the walls and, combined with your moans, makes for a pornographic scene you wish you were recording.

“I know you can go faster. Can you do that for me, baby?” George genuinely can feel himself not lasting any longer with how tight you’re squeezing him.

“I can, I can.” You promise desperately, wanting to be good for him. So you pick up your pace, your hands moving ever so slightly so you can straighten up a bit and when you do so you curse out loud at the new angle, “Ah fuck!”

Your hips grow erratic, your knees helping now when you bounce up and down his cock ever so more intently, enough for you to incessantly gasp in a high pitch every time he hits that spot.

“Such a good girl for me.” His hands stop groping your ass to spank you, making you jolt forward with a loud gasp that turns into a mewl and a whine that tries to pass as a ‘yes’. His cock twitches inside you at that reaction so he does it again and again, feeling your walls flutter around him with every hit, “You're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby. Gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Yeah, yes…” You gasp, and if you hadn’t been so adamant on chasing your high, you would’ve noticed George quickly getting the camera and snapping a picture of you riding him. Hair a mess covering up your face but your mouth wide open in a moan, tits bouncing as you ride him, hands on his chest as support.

He’s just about managed to put the camera back down when he feels you squeezing him the tightest and that’s when you finally cum. “George! George! Ge–” You cry out his name like a prayer until it breaks down into a loud moan that tips him over the edge along with your cunt milking him dry into the condom as you sloppily continue to ride him.

“Fuck! Y/N!” George moans loudly, his hands going to your ass again to help you continue as he cums, his cock twitching the more he spurts into the condom, sweet relief making him see stars.

Unable to uphold yourself any longer, you collapse over him, chests heaving in sync as you both come down from your highs. It’s hard catching your breaths when your skin burns from the heat and sticks from the sweat. And George knows you’re rather uncomfortable from the way you groan into him, your fingers lazily trying to brush the hair out of your face but huffing as it sticks to your sweaty forehead.

He brushes your hair back, fingers delicately grazing your face and earning a soft smile and a sigh from you. But then his hold goes down to your hips so he can lift you up and off himself to set you beside him. You whine and pout at the loss of him, feeling so empty after he’s stuffed you to the brim.

You don’t even try to open your eyes, completely spent from your activities and snuggling into the pillows to find some comfort in your post orgasm haze.

George sits up on the edge of your bed and sheds himself off the condom, tying it so he can throw it away, and groaning as he pushes himself off the bed to make his way to the bathroom.

He takes about five minutes there and when he comes back into the room, he smiles, finding a sleepy you struggling to keep your eyes open and smirking at him. He giggles as he walks up to bed and after taking your camera and placing it on one of the bedside tables, he carries your bridal style to take you to the bathroom.

Yes you’re still on cloud nine after that orgasm but you still have a bit of sense in you then so, after thanking him with a kiss, you tell George you’re alright from there and he can wait for you in bed.

You only realize what you’d said as you wash your hands after peeing and you’re cringing just thinking about him being gone once you go back into the room. But you find that he hasn’t left and instead, he’s gone under the bedsheets and is waiting for you to cuddle up to him so you can get some rest.

You giggle like a fool when you get under the sheets and he hooks his arm around your waist to push you flush against him, your back pressed to his chest and he nuzzles into your neck from behind. Your legs tangle together and your breaths sync and slow down as the minutes go by until you succumb to their slumber.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It’s bright outside when you wake up with the horrendous need to go to the bathroom, one that you’d been sleepily ignoring for a while but that had become too unbearable to endure anymore.

George has his hand around your waist and his leg thrown over yours, effectively keeping you trapped in his hold in bed, so you try to very slowly peel yourself away from him to escape to the toilet.

You’re careful so that you don’t wake him up just yet, but when you manage to get your legs untangled from his, he stirs and grumbles, “Where are you trying to go?” throwing his leg over yours again, his arm wrapping tighter around your waist making you chuckle.

“Bathroom.” You mumble as you try to get away again but he’s stubbornly holding you even tighter to him.

You feel him shake his head as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, a soft “No.” falling in your ears that makes you sigh.

“George.” You say softly to not disrupt the silence in the room, but he doesn’t reply so you try again a little louder this time, “George.” Once again, no response, so you end up whining, “Babyyyy.”

To the nickname he does listen, but his response is just a muttered, “Mhm?”

You turn around in his arms with a bit of struggle, cupping his face and pecking his lips a handful of times so he takes it as enough bribery to listen to you, “Please let me go. I’ll just be a minute.”

George steals one last long peck from you before smiling loopily and nodding, “Okay.”

He lazily retracts his limbs to let you get up freely from the bed, and though he’s fighting his sleep, he manages to peel his eyes open for long enough to watch your naked figure walk away from the bed and into your ensuite.

Keeping track of time is impossible to him when his eyes close again after you leave his line of sight, and he only opens his eyes again when he hears you giggle softly at the sight of him in your bed as you walk back to bed.

“You took longer than a minute.” He points out with his eyes still closed.

You snort and half heartedly apologize, “Sorry, I’m sore.”

His hand comes up to rub at his eyes, and when he does so, he sees the state in which you’ve come back so he frowns and tells you to, “Stop right there.” He sounds so serious, an amused smirk shows on your face because you have no idea what he’s about to say. An accusing finger waves in the air in your direction and he calls you out, “Why are you wearing a robe?”

“Shut up.” You say instantly when hearing that’s what is making him frown, your eyes rolling playfully at him.

“Get that off now.” He instructs but you take another step towards the bed with no intention of taking it off and he grumbles, “Y/N/N…” with a more stern tone that makes you too flustered for this time of day.

“You’re annoying.” You complain with a roll of your eyes, still listening to him and slowly undoing the knot that kept your robe closed, making it a little show as you open it up and let it fall off your body and pool at your feet on the floor.

Of course, George smirks at the sight and he has no shame in looking you up and down with hunger now shining on his sleepy eyes, his cock twitches just by seeing you naked in front of him again. Fuck, you’re stunning.

“Come here gorgeous.” The drummer invites you back into his arms and you don't have to be told twice for you to go back to bed and be the little spoon for him. You’d had such good sleep being completely enveloped in him, heavy limbs acting like a weighted blanket on you and it was utter bliss.

But after seeing you naked again, skin littered with love bites he had left all over your, hair messy and tits perky and bouncing as you walked, George feels the need to show you a bit more of the appreciation he had shown you the day before.

His hand brushes your hair to the side so he can have access to the skin on the back of your neck. Goosebumps breaking on the skin there when he starts pressing open mouthed kisses on it, fingers ghostly running down your back and stopping right on your lower back that had your back arching into him. Your ass grazed his cock every time, making it twitch and start to harden.

In search of friction, he pushes his hips forward and you reciprocate by pressing your ass against him. He keeps his actions going and sets a pace that the two of you keep up, mewling out loud when his hardening cock comes in contact with your cunt, “Hmm, George.”

“Yes, baby?” His lips brush against your skin, a shiver running down your spine and making you shudder, “You’re so fucking beautiful, please let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah…” You nod quickly, it’s a no-brainer. Your breath gets caught in your throat when he pushes his hips forwards again at the same time as you do and the tip of his cock presses on your clit.

“Yes?” He moans in your ear, hand coming around your front to play with your tits, “Can I make you cum again, sweetheart?”

You eagerly nod, swallowing a moan as he pinches your nipple and when he cup your whole tit with one hand, kneading it harshly, your “Please.” came out in the form of a whine.

“Good girl. M’gonna make you feel so good baby, I promise.” His hand continues playing with your tits as you keep grinding on each other. When his cock is hard enough, you feel it come up to rest heavily between his lower stomach and your lower back, and it’s then that he lets his fingers trail down until they hover over your mound and he breathlessly asks, “D’you trust me?”

“Yeah, George…” You’re basically pleading with him to continue, hand coming to clutch his and guide his fingers down to your soaked cunt and when he feels just how wet you are, he groans and pulls away.

“Wait.” George instructs you, leaving you alone on the bed to get a condom. You hear the wrapper rip and him moaning as he puts the condom on, stroking himself up and down a few times before he tugs the sheets off you and turns you from your side to your front so you’re face down and he can hover over you from behind.

His knees are on either side of your hips, forearms pressed on the mattress next to your shoulders and he kisses and sucks all over your back as he praises you for how gorgeous you are over and over.

He keeps bruising you up until you push your ass up and beg him to do something, the ache in your cunt too unbearable.

So George lets go of the patch of skin he’s bruising and does as you ask for, spreading your legs open as he kneels in between them and rubs his tip up and down your slit.

“Don’t tease, please.” You cry into the mattress, your cunt fluttering around nothing and it’s painful knowing just how good he felt inside you but he isn’t allowing you to feel it yet.

But then he just let himself slowly slip inside you and his jaw falls at your tightness in that angle, “Oh Y/N/N… Fuck me.” He feels like he can barely fit in, but you’re dripping with slick so it makes it a bit easier for him to slowly bottom out.

“George–” You choke out, head turning to the side to catch a glimpse of him. Your fingers clawing at the sheets beside your head for dear life.

“I know. You’re so tight.” He whimpers in pleasure, barely able to move an inch out of you because you’re so snug it feels like you’re pushing him out.

“Move baby, please.” You beg again and he starts going then, a slow pace at first that grows in speed rather quickly and has your cursing out loud, “Fuckkkkk!”

He gasps into your ear with every thrust, and it’s soon that the sound of your skin slapping drowns the room along with your moans. “Gonna miss this tight little cunt so much.” He says into your neck, sucking a bruise on the back of it before asking, “Gonna miss me too?”

“Ye– Yes! Oh shit baby!” You gasp when he hooks his left arm under your leg, pulling it upwards slowly and allowing you to stretch a bit more so you feel him even deeper, “Gonna miss you so much!”

He chuckles smugly, “I know you will.”

“Oh fuck!” You curse as he hits your g-spot perfectly from that angle, his hips hitting your ass and reminding you of how sore the skin there is from the spanking he gave you the night before. “Yes, yes! Don’t stop, please!”

“If you could only see yourself right now!” He curses under his breath when he looks down to see himself disappear into your cunt, over and over. If he keeps looking at how he keeps sliding in and out of you so easily, he will burst right then so he looks back up to your face and praises you once more, “Taking me so well, baby. You’re such a good girl.”

“Harder, please.” You ask in a whine, and he stills for just a second to get a better standing on his knees before giving it to you like you were begging to, making you instantly get even louder when he hits that sweet spot with more intensity, “Oh my– Fuck! Right there, yes!”

“Just like that, yeah?” His smirk grows on his face, feeling how it keeps getting easier to slide inside you which means you’re fucking drenched and dripping all over him, your walls fluttering around him already making him see stars.

“Yes! Yes!” You chant like a broken record, the coil in your lower stomach tightening by the second and threatening to snap at any moment, “I’m so close!”

His left arm lifts your leg even higher and then leaves it there to be able to bring his fingers down to rub at your clit and send you over the edge, “C’mon baby, cum for me sweetheart!” He encourages you as he rubs fast circles on your throbbing clit, which earns him choked out moans that turn into a throat ripping moan of, “F-fuckkkk! George!”

George feels you squeeze him so tightly as you cum, making it so much harder for him to continue thrusting in and out without losing the rhythm he’s set, he can’t hold it any longer, his hips stuttering as he cums and stilling as he spills his seed in the condom, “Ah shit! Y/N!”

His thrusts become sloppy and messy as he tries to ride out your highs while you spasm around him, whimpering as the aftershocks of your orgasm have your legs trembling under him and your white knuckle grip on the sheets falters.

Letting his weight fall over you almost entirely, George sighs in complete bliss and he kisses the back of your head and your cheek multiple times to say, “Did so good for me, sweetheart.” He drops a kiss on your lips and praises you once more, “My good pretty girl.”

The way he speaks to you makes your stomach flutter, and he feels it when you clench around him. “You like that huh?” He teases with a smirk, his nose brushing up your neck until he comes up to your ear and bites your earlobe to which you mewl in response.

He pulls out, hearing you whine when you feel upsettingly empty again but he rubs circles on your hips soothingly and asks, “Shall we go take a shower? Do you want me to help you up?”

You barely manage to reply with a quiet, “Mhm…” when a loud ringing snaps the two of you out of your wonderful post orgasm bubble.

You don’t really recognize the ringing so you figure it’s George’s phone. Yet, the drummer doesn’t make an attempt to go and get it, as he flops beside you in bed for a second before pushing himself off the bed and sheds himself off the condom you just used.

He gets up to discard it in the bathroom and just as he crosses the threshold of the ensuite, he hears his phone start ringing again. He fully ignores it again, taking his time in the bathroom until he hears you call out for him to pick up the unrelenting calls.

A grunt leaves his lips when he comes back to the room and picks up the phone only to read his sister’s name on the screen so he answers with a meek, “Y’alright?” to let her know he isn’t in the mood for the constant ringing.

You hear pure silence surrounding you for a good half minute before George sighs out an annoyed, “Fucks sake.” Opening your eyes to see him, you move onto your side to watch him as he speaks. “Right now? Really?” He asks, entirely unamused. “Yeah, really busy actually.” He says sternly, looking at you naked in front of him with wide eyes. That makes you purse your lips not to laugh but what gets the giggles out of you is when he sighs loudly and mutters, “I hate you.” to whoever it is on the phone.

It’s barely another half minute that he listens to whoever is on the other side, before he ends the call with an impatient, “Yeah, yeah. Sure. See ya’.”

“What’s wrong?” You ask curiously, your fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

George rolls his eyes at the situation, “My sister needs me for something. She says it’s urgent but I doubt it.” He shrugs then, ignoring the importance of whatever it was his sister needed him for, he had only been half listening really. “I can stay though, it wouldn’t be the first time I ignore her.”

That has you snorting in laughter, “Go, you idiot.”

“But–” He tries to argue as he comes to hover over you, head dipping to steal a kiss out of you which you break after a few seconds by pushing his shoulders softly so you can reassure him it’s fine. After all, you had really enjoyed yourself so you’re genuinely considering another date with him.

“It’s okay. I had the best time with you, and that’s all I wanted.” Your hands come to the back of his head, fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck and scratching his scalp softly.

George clicks his tongue and he pouts to joke, “Knew you only wanted me for my body.”

You cackle at his antics and tell him to “Shut up.” only to do it yourself by pulling him into you so you can share one last kiss. It’s sweet but it isn’t soft, your lips moving together with intent as if to prove you need to do it again because it’s just too good.

But you have to stop it before it can turn into something more. You pull on his hair so your lips separate with a smack and, with the sweetest smile and looking at him with doe eyes, you say, “Thank you, George.”

“I had the best time Y/N/N.” He replies wholeheartedly then, agreeing with your previous point.

“Me too.” You nod softly to reiterate, your hands coming back down to cup his jaw, thumbs rubbing circles on his skin.

One last short kiss is all you get in that bed before you both stand up and get dressed. Well, George does, in the same getup as the day before, while you put your robe back on and tie it around yourself slowly as he finishes getting his shoes on.

“I’ll see you soon for a second date, yeah?” He says when you walk him to the door, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You definitely will.” You assure, knowing you’d be texting him very soon about a second date if he doesn’t text you first about it.

He winks right as he opens the door, stealing one last peck from your lips before walking away. Leaving you with a stupid smile on your face that only gets bigger when you close the door behind you and go back to your room, seeing the mess you had left the bed looking like.

Yes, you were definitely going on a second date with him.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

A/N: What did you think? Hope you lot enjoyed it! Thank you for reading, I'm so excited to see your reactions! xx

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @kennedy-brooke @drinkurkombucha @vinylandcoffeecollection @butyou-callmewhenyourebored

[perpetuallyconfused10]

could you maybe write something where hotch and the reader are the only two awake on the jet after a long case, neither of them plan on sleeping so they sit at the back away from everyone and reader is listening to music whilst hotch does paperwork but after a little while he asks what she’s listening to and they end up listening to music together? i really love your writing, the way you write for the reader is incredibly good.

I'm so sorry it's been so long! Full disclosure, this is very different than what you sent in (aka I wasn't feeling cool and mysterious enough to figure out the right music to use) so this is what we have - thank you so much for your request! I hope this did it some form of justice &lt;3 Content Warnings: Mild discussion of injury/Canon-typical violence (non-graphic), Reader is self-blaming, Written quickly and not proofread, Chess References, Aaron Hotchner quotes Kung Fu Panda WC: 1.2k

A Game of Trust

Footsteps sound from down the aisle. You don’t look up until they’ve stopped, right next to you, and Hotch slides into the seat next to yours. Offering him a weak smile, you bow your head and return your attention to the newspaper in your hands. 

He doesn’t accept your ignorance as a valid form of dismissal. 

“Are you alright?” he says. His voice is low, likely so he won’t wake the team. Even so, there’s a wariness to his expression. He’s approaching you like he would a caged animal, poised to strike at any intrusion of its engineered peace. 

Maybe he isn’t wrong. You don’t feel quite as far away from snapping as you usually do. 

You nod. “I’m fine, Hotch. Just tired.”

When you bow your head again, the black-and-white symbols on the page blurring just a little, he gently takes the paper from your hands and sets it on the table in front of you both. Even if you were fine before, you aren’t now. 

“Hey–” you say, shifting in your seat to glare at him. He’s as composed as usual, his head tilted to one side as he stares you down. As much as you want to stay angry with him, the concern you think you spot in his eyes foils that plan for you. 

“I think everyone on this team, and probably off of it, knows that ‘I’m fine’ never means ‘I’m fine’,” he pauses. You watch his eyes flicker towards the newspaper on the table and the frown that tugs at his mouth when he spots the unfinished chess problem you’ve been pretending to work on. “Reid’s okay, you know. He is.” 

You follow his line of sight, stubborn enough to try to work on it from a distance. Three pawns, two kings, a rook and a bishop. That’s all there is to it. It’s simple enough, but without Reid’s murmured commentary in your ear, you can’t think your way through it. But Spencer isn’t here. He’s one week into a mandatory leave of six, so you’ll have to solve the problem yourself. 

And you try. If you move the rook to the seventh rank…but that doesn’t work, black’s bishop takes.

Hotch isn’t pleased. He flips the paper over so you’re forced to look up at him. You bought it from the small town the team just closed a case in, as your tradition demands, and you’ve forgotten to rip off the headline. It’s a blaring reminder of the violence you’ve seen over the past five days. 

You scoff. “He’s not alright. He took a bullet to the shoulder, Hotch–”

“–Instead of you,” he says, and doesn’t back down when your eyes narrow at him. “That’s the issue, isn’t it? That he went in first? That he got hurt, and not you?”

Your breath hitches, and the frown you’ve levelled at him softens ever so slightly. Patient as ever, Hotch watches you, scans your face whilst he waits for your answer. 

It pours out of you in a hapless string of words you’re surprised he can understand. “He shouldn’t have. We should never have split up. I should’ve called for backup–”

Hotch’s voice is soft, but firm. “There was no time for backup. You know that.”

You hate to admit it, but he’s right. It’s been nine days since Reid’s been stuck at home recovering. In those nine days, you’ve visited his apartment with home-cooked meals, watched God knows how many episodes of Doctor Who, and called him every evening you’ve been away on this case. In those nine days, you’ve reconstructed – down to the millisecond – the crack of the gunshot, then Reid’s collapse; the unsub’s, then the warmth of Spencer’s blood staining your hands as you pressed down on his wound.

Hotch is right. There’d been no time to wait for help once the two of you had realised the man you were set to interview was the unsub you’d been searching for, no time when you knew a young girl’s life was at risk. But that knowledge doesn’t make the whole affair sting any less.

“This job is all about calculation,” says Hotch. His eyes trace your face, refusing to let you sink into self-blaming territory. “It’s about decision-making when there’s no time for it. It’s about guessing at the odds and acting on that instinct. Reid knows that better than anyone. That’s why he’s still alive. It’s why you’re here, too, with this team.”

You make no response. Sighing, he takes the newspaper and sets it down between the two of you, then reaches for the pen you left on it. The unfinished puzzle stares at you from the back page. 

Though far from your usual self, you can’t resist teasing him just a little. “Thanks, Master Oogway.”

His returning expression is one reserved for the worst of the police chiefs you encounter as a unit, but you swear you see his shoulders sag as much as his rigid posture allows, and his eyes are soft. 

“You are too concerned with what was and what will be,” he quotes, deadpan. From the moment the words pass his lips, you know he regrets it. Then, raising an eyebrow, he hands you the pen and stares down at the page in your laps. 

Minutes pass without a word spoken by either of you. With a tentative smile threatening to form on your face, you look up at Hotch. “Do you even play chess?”

“Sometimes, with Jack,” he tells you. “Reid wasn’t Gideon’s only student. Someone had to be the guinea pig.”

“Guinea pig?”

Hotch hums. “He got bored, in the end.”

You laugh, and within another half hour, the two of you manage it. It’s far from the five or ten minutes Reid waits before explaining the solution to you, hands flailing as he does, but you’re almost glad for the change. That’s a tradition reserved for the two of you; one on hold, but not finished with. 

Rook to the sixth rank, black’s pawn takes. White’s pawn to b7, checkmate.

It’s really that simple. Embarrassingly so. When you finally figure it out, Hotch drags a hand down his face, huffs out a laugh. Something warm builds in your chest that you decide not to question.

You’re not exactly happy, not without your closest friend next to you and rattling off every aviation statistic he knows. But you are somewhat reassured, and you’ve a completed chess puzzle to take to his apartment and gloat over when you next see him.

There’s movement in the seat next to you, and you have to suppress a frown when Hotch gets up and walks back towards the front of the plane. It’s the most he’s moved in an hour. You see him grab a few files from the briefcase on the couch, and then he’s back in his prior position with a pen in hand and a concentrated frown set in place. 

You aren’t sure how much time passes, but it’s wordless and comfortable, spent on your end with your head resting against the jet’s window.

The periodic scribble of Hotch’s pen eventually pulls you towards sleep. Before you’re all the way there, you register the distant rustle of fabric. When you wake a few hours later, it’s with a jacket tucked around your shoulders, and your head nestled in the crook of your boss’ neck. 

sorry for disappearing for two months! if you sent something to my inbox and I haven't written it, I'm very sorry! It's definitely not a lack of interest on my part, but more time constraints and a limit on how often I end up writing - please feel free to send a request/thoughts my way - even if I can't get around to them, I love reading them :) if you want them written especially soon though, I might not be your best bet!!

[idontplaytrack]

Heels and shove

Janis ‘Imi’ike x fem! reader

Warnings: fluff, coarse language, violence, injury

Janis’ girlfriend of a year transfers to North Shore, catching the attention of many.

I tried my best anon, hahah. Enjoy:) I also couldn't think of a title lol.

“What are you looking at?” Damian asks.

“Today’s y/n’s first day at the school and I’m hoping she isn’t running late.”

“Why didn’t you guys come here together?”

“She woke up late and told me to come to school first.”

“Oh, no. Did she get enough sleep last night?”

“Why do you think she woke up late, Damian?” Janis asked him in return.

“Sorry.” Damian bit back a laugh.

Before Janis could respond to that, she spots you walking into the school. The sound of your boots hitting the floor with every step you took had the students look up and around to see where it was coming from. And when they realised it was an unfamiliar face, the buzzing began instantly, all of them wondering who on earth you were. Dressed a black lace long sleeve top underneath your tank top, you had on a matching mini skirt to along with your thigh high boots.

You head straight to Janis and Damian. “Hey, you made it.” Janis smirked an arm finding its way around your waist.

“Hey.” You gave her a small smile, then said hi to Damian.

“You’re attracting quite a bit of attention.” He says quietly.

“So?” You and Janis answered in sync before she presses a kiss to your lips.

“Oh, who do we have here?”

Regina. Of course. Of course she’d show up at this very second.

“None of your business, Regina.” You snarked, going along with her tone.

“Oh, my God!” Regina gasps, “Is this your girlfriend, Janis?”

“And that concerns you, how?” Janis shot her a look of annoyance. That feigned niceness. She was being hella sarcastic. Or maybe just bitchy, as usual. Whatever it was, you weren’t having it.

“Maybe you should get on your way.” You said, hoping she’d somehow get the hint.

Janis’ grip around you tightens. “Now we know who’s the top and who’s the bottom.” Regina smirked. Oh you wanted to punch that right off her face.

“Oh, you don’t know shit, you Plastic.” You scoff.

“Baby, just ignore her. She’s not worth any of your time.”

“Please, you were obsessed with me.”

“That’s not the compliment you think it is.” Janis laughs in disbelief, ready to lead you away, to your homeroom. The first bell rings.

“Saved by the bell. Let’s go.” Damian shoves the two of you past Regina and her little posse that’d just caught up.

Well, you ended up being in the same homeroom as Janis, Damian and Cady— Cady was nice, but you knew she infiltrated The Plastics for awhile and what that caused. So you were a little wary of her. Later that day in third period, you sat at your desk in trig when you saw that blonde walk in. Well, fuck.

She smirked at you. You were paying no attention to her, but she still managed to irritate you. She kept interrupting the class, talking to her friend. And seated right behind you too, so you could hear everything that they were saying very clearly. “I’m not afraid of you. If you continue to say anything about me or Janis, you’ll be so sorry.“

“I’ll be waiting, baby.”

“Do not call me that.” You replied harshly, focusing back on the lesson before the teacher could fault you for it.

And when that class was over, she still kept following you. “Regina, what are you even doing?” Gretchen— that’s who that was. “Why are you so interested in bothering them? Just to get a reaction? For what? G, that is so immature. We’ve just been through that whole Burn Book thing and you want to do that again?”

“Relax, guys. I was just joking,”

“Not funny. Piss off.” You stated, then quickly escaped, making your way to American Literature class.

————

“You’re in the same trig class as Regina and Gretchen? Damn.” Damian’s eyes widen in shock for a moment.

“She’s really just doing so much for nothing. I don’t know what the fuck kind of ‘reaction’ she’s expecting but I’m just so pissed off at this point.” You huffed, getting out your notebook.

Okay, of course, this was your favourite class so far since you were with Damian and Janis. But then after that, you and Janis were separated again so you could go to AP History. But lunch, lunch was after that which was great because you were getting a little bit hungry. “Okay, class, I will see you all on Thursday. Class dism—” The bell interrupted Mr. Daniels, “Class dismissed.”

Gleefully, you exited the classroom while talking to the friend you’d just made, Elise. “No, I got transferred here because people at my old school decided it wasn’t right for me to retaliate after I got bullied.”

“That’s so rude of them.” Elise said back.

“I left voluntarily.” You added on.

“Go you.” Elise laughs, “What’s your next class?”

“I have lunch. I’m just about to go meet up with my girlfriend and our best friend. You?”

“Oh, I have gym.” She tells you, “I’ll see you again on Thursday though. Bye, y/n.”

“See you.” You waved then she departs, going in the direction opposite of yours.

And then the distinct sound of heels clacking against the school’s floors made you curse— almost aloud, she was coming up behind you. What did you do? Pretend you didn’t hear it, hear her. But you picked up your pace though.

“You.” She somehow caught up anyway. Those Louboutin heels appeared before your eyes.

“What?” You looked at her clearly displeased, feeling the anger within you bubbling up quickly thanks to the hunger.

“No wonder.” She chuckles, the sickening smirk forms again, “No wonder Janis rejected me.”

You scoffed.

“She likes the freaks.” She leaned in to whisper in your ear. You inhaled sharply, your fists balling up. You feel your phone buzzing in your pocket— that was definitely Damian or Janis trying to contact you. “And you’re one.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You snarled, “God forbid little rich girl, Regina George can’t get what she wants one time.”

The blonde stared daggers into your soul. She had the power to intimidate, she had the power over most of the student population to destroy them for life. Janis got a terrible reputation because of the girl before you, that only very recently died off. Not you though, the only thing you felt when you saw her face was anger. Anger for what she did to so many, but mainly anger for what she did to Janis. “Get the fuck out of my way or else I’d just—”

“Just what? Push me? Tell on me?”

The urge to punch her in the face was so incredibly strong, but you took a deep breath and sidestepped her and went on your way quickly.

“God, there you are.” Janis heaves a sigh of relief as you plopped your lunch tray down. “What happened? Is your stomach—”

“I’m fine. It’s not that.” You answered her fast.

“Then-”

Damian tilted his head towards some laughter, from Regina and her little posse. Janis’ brows were raised for a beat and she scoffs, “Lucky for her she didn’t get her jaw broken.”

“I don’t get why Gretchen keeps hanging out with her.” You said, “She was stopping Regina.”

“Gretchen is nice, so is Karen. But you know, they’re still scared of her because well, she’s who she is.” Damian shrugged.

“I mean they could just— stop hanging out with Regina?”

“No, honey, they think they need her. It’s too late. They’re too dependent.” Janis states, holding the Oatly bottle in her hand as she swirled it before taking a sip.

“Hi, freaks.” The blonde intentionally walked by.

“I have had it with you! Why is the school so afraid of you? So what if you’re rich? That doesn’t give you the right to control people for your own enjoyment.” You yelled, “Call me a freak. Whatever. I do not care about what you think. But keep their names out of your mouth or I'll make you regret everything you have ever uttered."

"You don't know her like we do." Damian agrees, "You'll be so damn sorry."

Regina smiled sarcastically, sitting down at her usual table. Karen immediately told her to apologise to you, but did she listen? Of course not. You stood up for yourself and those you care about when it was needed, she tormented everyone because she likes it. That was the difference, and a big one at that. "Okay, what the hell did she actually say to you?" Janis leaned closer to ask quietly.

"She started off by telling me how you rejected her. Like I didn't know that- we were already dating then." Janis snorted a laugh, "What, and then she called you a freak?"

"She's jealous, my loves." Damian laughs, "She's not used to this...not being able to get what she wants. And I am loving every second of it."

"Of course you are." Janis rolled her eyes.

"Okay, anyway— what's the deal with Cady?"

"That, is Regina's girl."

Your eyes nearly flew out of your head and thank God you weren't eating because you would've choked. "What? That sweet, nice girl is that bitch's girlfriend?"

"Eh, yeah. They're in love and she's the only one Regina even treats like a normal human. But y'know, even better. Because they're dating. So maybe this stupid shit she's saying is all for show, for the thrill. But still, girl I know you wanna kill her but please don't."

"I know, Damian. She's not worth it. I— am so angry right now." Someone threw something at your head. You reached behind the pulled a cheese fry out of your hair, immediately tossing it back before she could dodge. You hit her directly in the mouth. The students surrounding your tables laughed. Satisfied, you returned to eating then cleaned out your hair afterwards.

Regina didn't retaliate again. Until the last bell let out for the day. While you were waiting for Janis to be done with her gym class, someone just came up to you and slammed you against a locker. "Regina! What the hell?" Aaron yelled, "Are you okay?"

"I-"

"How dare you? No one messes with me." Regina continues, pushing Aaron away and lunging at you. She easily shoves you to the floor. You were caught by surprise, completely unable to defend yourself.

"Regina, it's you." Gretchen spoke up, "You have been messing with her all day and now you've really hurt her. I don't know why I'm so scared of you- she's right. You're the same age as me, as so many of us, why are we living like we need to bow down to you no matter what? What's the point?"

God, the pain. The pain in your wrist, it wasn't going away. Tears pricked at your eyes as you tried to help yourself back on your feet. "Regina George, you better stay where you are!" Janis came running, ready to tackle her to the ground. Again, Aaron stops it from happening. "Get off me! She hurt my girlfriend."

"And it's no use getting yourself in trouble over her." Aaron says. Karen and Gretchen helped you up, and you crying out in pain freaked them the hell out.

"Janis, let's go. Now." Damian glared at her, "She needs to go to the hospital."

Janis froze, stopping whatever she was planning on doing. "Fine."

[afewproblems]

98 for Robin?

98. "Hold me back!"

Ahhh thank you very much for this! I'm sorry it was so late nonny!

This is taking place in the same universe as this piece which you can also read on AO3

***

"I swear to God" Robin moans as she smacks her head onto the counter, "I will walk into traffic if I have to explain the plot of Labyrinth one more time". 

Steve puts the money from the recent rental into the till and shrugs, "I dunno Birdy, I liked your take on it this time". 

She snorts, finally cracking a grin, "you just liked the look on her face when I talked about how half the movie is Bowie's package and the other half is Muppets". 

"Potato, Tomato," Steve hums, closing the till with a soft snick.

For a Saturday opening shift it had been strangely slow. 

They had their usual guests during the day, screaming children with parents who were clearly at the end of their tether. Irritating teens who stole as many snacks as their thieving little backpacks could handle. Movie nerds who asked for as many titles as they could think of before settling on something so obscure there was no way they carried it -or on the off chance Family Video did have it in their inventory, it was already checked out. 

However, with half an hour until Keith was set to arrive for the closing shift, the front door bell jingled harshly to announce a new presence in the store and in an instant Robin’s stomach falls into her shoes. 

Because Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins have just walked in. 

Robin has dealt with assholes from highschool before, she had to wear a sailor outfit with shorts for her last job for fucks sake, but she’s also never gotten into a physical fight with any schmucks from her forth period algebra class. 

Steve on the other hand…

He’s on the other side of the counter all of a sudden, standing in between her and Tommy.

His expression seems neutral, but Robin can read the line of tension in his shoulders as Carol whispers something into Tommy’s ear.

"Welcome to Family Video," Robin says, her voice clipped and stony, "it's two for one Saturday and all the sections are labeled so you should be able to get in and get out". 

"Come on, we just got here," Tommy scoffs, he's glaring openly at Steve while Carol seems to be scanning Robin, watching her carefully.

"Boy, you really do have a type huh Stevie," Carol sneers from Tommy's side, "at least this one plays an instrument, she's just as stuck up as Wheeler though from what I remember".

"If you guys don't want to rent anything, then leave," Steve says slowly, deliberately with wary hostility.

"You're suddenly so fucking tough huh?" Tommy scoffs, stepping closer towards Steve.

Carol moves with him but her eyes widen slightly in surprise, she grabs at his arm and pulls just slightly, "Tommy--"

"I'm not going to fight you man," Steve sighs, running a hand over his face and into his hair, Robin watches as his shoulders droop ever so slightly.

She knows Steve has complicated feelings about his former friends, they'd known one another for such a long time and those old feelings don't just disappear.

He'd been hurt to see Tommy and Carol gravitate towards Billy so easily. To egg him on as he bullied Steve their senior year, the tables turned so suddenly it was like whiplash.

Well, Steve may feel conflicted about his old shithead friends, but Robin has no such compunction.

"He won't but I will," Robin blurts out, the words run away from her faster than she can even catch up to them.

Steve closes his eyes, his expression pained while Tommy and Carol both turn to her with equal looks of surprise. 

Huh, it's the first time in her life she's ever seen Carol Perkins speechless and it's glorious. 

Robin lets the thrill of it carry her forward until she's stepped around the counter to stand beside Steve.

“Yeah, Steve's gonna have to hold me back,” Robin snarls as she grabs Steve’s hand and places it on her own shoulder. 

Steve gives her a withering look as he mimes pulling a zipper over his own mouth.

"You let your bitch off her leash huh Harrington?" Tommy says with a lecherous grin as he stares at them both.

He lets out two barks and laughs again as he swings an arm around Carol's shoulder, her tinkling laugh joins his own and Robin can't believe this is even happening. Did she hit her head getting out of Steve's car this morning?

Fuck this.

"Funny stuff Hagan," Robin bites out, "your ass must be pretty jealous of your mouth for all the nasty shit it gets to spew in public".

"What did you just say to me?" Tommy snarls as he stomps closer, his ears have turned a ruddy pink that matches the flush crawling up his neck.

Carol tries to reach for his arm, whispering, "just drop it Tommy, let's go," but he wrenches away from her and continues forward, only stopping as a flat palm catches him in the chest.

Steve stands his ground in front of Tommy, looking down his nose with cold eyes. 

Steve told her about the last time he and Tommy had squared off. It was just before Robin spotted Steve outside the corner store while she waited for her mother to pay for their things, the aftermath that she hadn't thought much of at the time, but now…

Steve walks forward, using his height to his advantage to tower imposingly over Tommy, his face twisted into a vicious snarl that Robin has only seen one other time, underneath Starcourt.

"Get out, I don't want to tell you again Tommy," Steve says lowly under his breath, just loud enough that Robin has to strain to hear him. 

Tommy's eyes narrow as his mouth pulls into a sneer, "and what are you gonna do about it, you're not scary Harrington," he grins despite taking a step back as Steve continues forward, pushing them towards the front door. 

"I don't have to be scary, but I do have an in with your drug dealer and I can make it impossible for you to score for as long as you live in this godforsaken shithole". 

"You're bluffing".

"Try me," Steve whispers just as the bell dings again at the front of the store. Tommy doesn't look away from Steve even as Carol exclaims a small, 'oh', beside him.

Robin smirks and leans back against the counter, raising her hand in an enthusiastic wave towards the entrance, "hey Eddie!"

Tommy curses under his breath and wrenches himself away from Steve, just in time to see the murderous expression on Eddie's face. 

Carol takes the opportunity to grab at the sleeve of Tommy's shirt and drag him the last few steps away towards the door, they give Eddie a wide berth as they pass. 

Tommy glares at Steve and Robin the entire way, muttering curses under his breath as Robin blows them a kiss with her middle finger.

The bell jingles again as the door swings open and falls gently closed, leaving them in an uneasy silence. 

"You guys okay?" Eddie says quietly after a beat, he steps towards Steve, his brow pinched with concern.

Steve nods silently before turning towards Robin. She expects a lecture from the frown on his face but blinks in surprise as Steve pulls her into a tight hug.

"Don't do that again," he mumbles into her hair, she opens her mouth to speak, to insist that she doesn't need a babysitter like his gaggle of children.

"I know it's just Tommy," Steve breathes out as though reading her mind, "but I don't think I could handle it if something happened to you Robin, I mean it". 

And all at once the fight drains out of her as Robin wonders just how she wound up with someone like Steve Harrington in her corner. 

"I wasn't going to let them talk shit," she huffs, despite pressing even closer, she feels his head shake against her own.

"I can take a hit and I'm not going to let some asshole have a chance to go after you too," he says sharply. 

Robin rolls her eyes and steps back just enough to look him in the eyes, "remember what your annoying child friend said, if you die, I die".

She shrugs at the incredulous expression on his face, "what? Smartest thing that kid has ever said". 

"You're ridiculous," Steve whispers and there's so much warm affection in his voice as he squeezes her once more, that Robin has to bury her face in his shoulder to hide the sudden shine in her eyes.

Eddie seems to take this as his cue to move forward and let his hand rest on Steve's lower back, the pinched look fading slightly as he smiles at Robin. 

"Well, my original plan was to take Stevie here, out after his shift, buuut I'm thinking the three of us are in need of a night on the town, what do you say Buckaroo?" Eddie asks with a waggles of his eyebrows and a wide grin. 

"I'll come if you never call me that again," Robin says with as much of a straight face as she can muster.

Steve barks out a laugh as he leans into Eddie's side, "oh you've done it now Buckaroo". 

Robin squawks and flaps her hands at Steve until he ducks away behind Eddie who immediately shields his face with his hands. 

"You think way too highly of me if you think that's where I'm aiming," Robin says dryly, snorting as Eddie gasps and lifts a leg for further protection, prompting them both to collapse into a fit of giggles while Steve watches fondly.

They all eventually relax, falling into an easy conversation as Steve and Robin finish up the last of the morning duties. The tension from earlier fading away as Eddie sits on the counter top, with his eyes on the door, watching out, just in case.