#come to love him as if he were her own. and in the sense that you could draw parallels between jason entering bruce's life at a time

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

In the Wake of Silence

Aemond x unnamed wife | HOTD Big Bang

Summary: Aemond and his wife endure a loveless, arranged marriage. His wife, haunted by bearing witness to the events of Blood and Cheese, seeks respect and support from her indifferent husband. The Prince, troubled with his own demons that triggered the Dance, struggles to meet her basic needs. Political intrigue and personal grief threaten to tear them apart, but his wife demands recognition and partnership, a fraught path, hoping to find respect where love has failed. | Word Count: 8.8k~ | Warnings: angst, child death, spoilers for hotd s2 ep 1, dub-con, mentions of miscarriage, canon-typical violence/misogyny

A/N: my submission for this year's HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs for the artwork, and for organising the event alongisde @emilykaldwen. Please do show all the love for other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, you're all in for a treat!

The first light of dawn barely touched the horizon as Aemond Targaryen slipped back into the Red Keep. His movements were stealthy and deliberate, the echoes of his footfalls swallowed by the cold stone corridors. The scent of the brothel, flesh and sweat, still clung to him, a reminder of the night’s escape from the relentless pressures of court and marriage.

As he approached his chambers, the atmosphere within the Keep struck him as strange. It was too noisy, too chaotic for the early hour. The usual stillness of the dawn was replaced by the frantic rustling of armoured feet and the distant, muffled cries of distress.

Turning a corner, Aemond's sharp gaze took in a disturbing scene. Members of the Kingsguard were dragging servants and courtiers from their rooms, shouting orders and spreading panic. The confusion and terror were palpable, a stark contrast to the serene darkness he had left behind.

"What in the Seven Hells is happening?" he muttered to himself, quickening his pace.

Aemond's mind raced, trying to piece together the reason for such commotion. He rounded another corner and saw more guards, their expressions grim and unyielding as they secured the doors of the royal nursery. His heart skipped a beat, an inexplicable sense of dread washing over him.

His steps became more urgent, the clamour growing louder as he neared his chambers.

He pushed open the doors and immediately noticed something was amiss. A draught hit his face, a wall he had never known was in fact a doorway was standing ajar. His eye scanned the room, taking in the disorder. His belongings had been disturbed, gold coins taken haphazardly from the table. Papers were scattered, and the lingering scent of unfamiliar presence clung to the air. Something rancid.

His expression remained impassive as he made his way through the halls. Kingsguard rushed by him, towards Helaena’s chambers as well as maidservants with newly washed blankets. When he reached his mother’s chambers, Ser Criston gave him a grave look, but stepped aside. Inside, his mother was bent over her table, her long chestnut hair falling in waves either side of her face to hide her moist eyes and sheer exhaustion. His grandfather, Otto, was seated, his spine as straight as his face. 

At the sight of him, his mother paused, her eyes filling with a mix of relief and fear.

“Aemond,” Alicent began, her voice trembling.

His eye flickered about the room, a habit, taking in the darkness that lay within her chambers, in his blind spot the drapes still pulled tight to push out the sun, the rumpled bed sheets. 

“Mother,” he answered, “what has happened? My wife–”

Alicent’s face paled at the thought of having to revisit the hellish night she had only just left behind. “They came in the night. For Helaena’s boy…” she trailed off, “Jaehaerys is dead.”

Aemond’s blood ran cold, the weight of her words sinking in. His mind flashed back to his ransacked chambers and the passage he had found ajar. A passage even he had not known existed.

They had come looking for him.

And when they could not find him…

“And my wife?”

Alicent wiped her cheeks gently, inhaling as if to draw strength, “she was there, with Helaena and the children…”

The realisation hit Aemond like a blow. The assassins had been mere steps away from her. The thought of his wife in such proximity to danger, witnessing the horror of Jaehaerys’ murder, was almost too much to bear. The indifference he had maintained toward her now felt like a cruel and taunting weight.

“We must not be shaken by this,” Otto insisted, somewhat firmly, coldly. “We need to remain strong and act decisively."

“Not be shaken? They murdered my nephew, and my wife was there. This is no small matter.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed, his tone becoming sharper. “And that is exactly why we must remain composed, Aemond. Panic will only serve our enemies. We need to show them that we are not easily broken.”

“They came for me, Grandfather. When they could not find me, they killed an innocent child. My nephew. My wife could have been next.” His words were like arrows, laced with poison. “And how fares the King? Is he as composed as you wish?”

“The King’s composure is of no concern to you, Aemond. Your duty is to protect this family and this realm, not to question the King’s state of mind.”

“You speak of strategy while my family bleeds.”

There was a marked silence. Aemond was wound tight. His grandfather, while known for his clever strategy and had served many Kings as Hand at this very moment, was as detached emotionally as one could possibly be, and only saw how this tragedy might benefit their claim.

“And where was our Kingsguard while all this took place? Where was our vigilance when they slipped through our defences?”

He noted his mother’s still stance, her eyes unmoving from a single spot in the room, her hands, needing something to do, rose to her necklace, tight with worry and anxiety.

Otto said nothing for a moment. “We shall not be caught off guard again. Every measure will be taken to ensure our security.”

“I am sure your grandson will thank you for it now,” Aemond shot back.

“We will protect the ones who remain,” Otto retorted. “But we must do so with clear minds and steady hands. Emotions will not serve us in this fight.”

A tense silence hung between them, the air thick with unspoken words and clashing wills. Alicent stepped forward, her voice a fragile thread of calm amidst the storm. She took his hand, so large in her own it seemed near impossible that he could possibly be her son. Her large brown eyes were misty with tears. 

“The Hand is right. We must be united in this,” she uttered quietly, trembling. 

All Aemond could manage was a tired sigh. There was no use argumentation. For better or for worse, his grandfather was the King’s Hand, and if the King was indisposed, incapable of making rational choices, the members of his court had no choice but to obey.

“Where is my wife?”

Alicent hesitated, her expression pained. "She is with the maester," she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She is hurt?”

"No,” was her quick answer, “but do treat her gently," she said softly.

His frustrations at that moment were only tempered by the knowledge that she was not harmed. The relief briefly gave way to unease at the knowledge of what his wife had witnessed a night he himself was pressed to another woman’s flesh.

He moved, walked, existed, for some time without really realising.

"She witnessed the attack, my prince," the maester began, his voice steady despite the gravity of his words. "She was with Queen Helaena and her children when the assassins struck. It was a brutal and sudden assault. She managed to escape physical harm, save a small cut on her neck I have treated, but the emotional toll is severe."

"She is in shock," the maester continued, his gaze sympathetic. "Physically unharmed, thankfully, but emotionally... she has endured a great trauma."

Aemond nodded tightly. His mind raced at the thought that he had been out of harm’s way while his family and blood suffered horror beyond comprehension in their own home.

"Is there anything else?"

The maester hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "There was some... spotting," he finally said, his tone gentle yet hesitant. "Not indicative of her cycle. It may have been due to the stress and trauma she endured."

He couldn’t deny the slight sinking of his heart at the implication. Understanding the maester’s unspoken words, that his wife may have even been with child, added yet another devastation to the evening’s toll.

The maester nodded towards a door. "She requested to be alone. I advised her to rest, but she insisted on waiting for you."

Aemond swallowed hard, steeling himself for the sight of his wife, knowing that the rift between them had deepened with each passing moment of his absence. Of his continued absence, in their marriage.

He entered the chamber as if navigating a dragon's lair. It was dark with the curtains drawn, the only light coming from the dim glow of the hearth. Her figure was seated by the mantle, her back to him, still in the same dress she had worn the evening before.

He called out to her, but she did not face him.

“How kind of you to return from your nightly excursion.”

Aemond felt the hot frustration at the nape of his neck, his defences prompted. His jaw tightened at the accusation in her tone. “I had matters to attend to,” he said coldly, not bothering to disguise the edge in his voice.

“Matters,” she echoed in disdain.

“What I do in my leisure is my business. You know this.”

She finally turned to face him, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt. “While you tended to your 'business,' I was here, witnessing the murder of our nephew. Is the first thing you have to say to me a poor excuse for your absence? And not perhaps a soft word in grief and comfort?”

Aemond’s expression remained stony, though a flicker of unease passed through his eyes. “I know what happened, and it should never have come to that. But do not think to judge me for seeking solace elsewhere.”

Her face crumpled somewhat, the pain evident in her eyes deepening, “I do not judge that, Aemond. I simply ask for respect and loyalty–”

“I have given you my name and protection–”

“It is not enough!” She rose her voice, which seemed to suck all the energy from her lungs, “not when I am left to face these horrors alone. Your sister lost a child. As did I–”

Her mouth pulled shut, her eyes drifting as if she had said too much for her frail heart.

His eye narrowed, a mixture of shock and defensiveness flashing across his face. “I did not know.”

She looked away, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Of course you didn’t. You were too busy with your whores to notice.”

“Mind yourself–”

“Or what?” She snapped, “you will ignore me? As you always have done? Ignore your responsibility to your family? To me?”

It was rare she was ever able to best him with her words alone. But her next ones rendered the tall Prince completely silent.

“You have never been here, truly. I have been married to a ghost, a shadow that drifts in and out of our chambers but is never truly present.”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, the silence between them filled with the echoes of their shattered relationship. Aemond’s expression softened for a moment, a flicker of something almost like regret in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced by cold resolve.

“I am a Prince of this Realm. My duties extend far beyond you. This marriage. You will have to accept that.”

It was a neat trick Aemond did often, he would open his mouth and Otto Hightower’s words would slip out between his lips.

She closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “Then go. Do what you must. But do not expect me to wait for you, not anymore.”

Aemond hesitated, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out to her but didn't know how. The door closed with a resounding thud, leaving her alone in the darkness, the weight of their broken marriage heavy on her shoulders.

Why must it solely have been her burden to bear.

So she remained, the dim light from the hearth casting long shadows on each wall and tapestry. Her mind wandered aimlessly through her grief, reliving the horrors of that fateful night. The sounds and visions of her memories fueled the terror that gripped her even still. The pain of her own lost pregnancy, discovered too late, was a dull, constant ache in her heart. The exciting, blossoming swell of motherly intent had been snuffed out as quickly as it had been lit.

And the loneliness of her failed marriage only deepened her sorrow.

“The Mother knows.”

She blinked hard, but still heard the firm knock at the front of her mind. Two foreboding men who clearly did not belong in those parts of the Keep, one pulled harshly at Helaena’s arm, the other  grabbed her from behind, yanking her to her feet. A cold blade pressed against her throat, and she gasped, her eyes wide with terror. Helaena let out a muffled scream as Cheese, smaller but no less menacing, held a knife to her neck. Two pairs of frightened white eyes flickering terrified in the darkness.

“She’s the Queen,” the smaller figure, dark curls stuck to his forehead, sneered against Helaena. 

“A son for a son, he said. Well, does she look like a fucking son to you?”

She winced, his palpable violence felt through the pressure of the blade to her throat. Her breath felt like fire, her throat dry, the words spoken between the two men felt as if they were conversing in a language unknown to her.

“Prince Aemond ain’t here,” the other let out a cruel laugh, gesturing to the two cots with Helaena’s twins somehow sleeping deeply through the struggle. “We need to get our head and get out.”

Helaena could barely utter words, just winces and whimpers for mercy.

The man behind her was reluctant to release his grip. And through her body, an equally trembling voice broke loose.

"If you wish to hurt Aemond, take me," she said, her voice steady despite the terror coursing through her veins. "I am his wife. My death will wound him deeply."

She felt her breath still, two fierce blue eyes, shimmering with violent need, met hers from over Helaena’s shoulder. “So much loyalty for a man who is not even here to protect you. How touching.”

The man behind her peered at her face, his foul breath hot against her skin in a way that made her skin crawl. “So, you are the wife," he sneered, the cruel smile returning. "But we were promised a son. One who carries Hightower blood. You are useless to us.”

Helaena whimpered, her eyes darting to the cots where her children slept soundly, unaware of the nightmare unfolding around them. The smaller of the two pressed his blade a little harder against Helaena’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood. "Maybe we should kill them all," he suggested, his voice dripping with malice. "Just to make sure we don't miss the right one."

The larger laughed behind her, a low rumbling sound the deepest in the Seven Hells. “Imagine his pain when he finds her body cold in his bed." He loosened his grip slightly, letting her feel a false sense of relief before tightening it again. "Or maybe we should kill the boy first, let her watch the consequences of her husband’s crimes.”

She was only let go then, her neck aching as blood rippled to the surface, a superficial cut, but one that stung nonetheless. She watched with wide eyes, unease. The blade that was at her neck caught the light of the candles briefly.

“They both look the same. Which one’s a boy?” he asked with a trembling excitement. 

No.

Two hooded eyes, craving bloodshed and death, turned to Helaena, who stood similarly vulnerable. “The Mother knows.”

The room seemed to tilt and sway, the walls closing in around her, sounds muffled as if her ears were submerged underwater. She saw Helaena’s tear-streaked face, the anguish in her eyes as she was forced to point out which of her children was the boy. The assassins crowded the bed, dark shapes looming over the small, innocent form lying there.

Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of her helplessness. She wanted to shout out, to offer herself in place of the child, but the reality of her situation silenced her. Perhaps the smallfolk knew too well that Aemond cared little for his wife. That her sacrifice would mean nothing.

It felt like a nightmare, each moment stretching into eternity. She followed behind Helaena, Jaehaera hugged to her tiredly, limbs heavy with dread. The corridors blurred together, each step a struggle against the overwhelming sense of doom. As they neared her chambers, she broke away, her heart pounding with a desperate hope that Aemond had returned.

She burst into her chambers, the door slamming against the wall with a resounding crash. "Aemond!" she called out, her voice trembling with panic. The silence that greeted her was deafening, a void that swallowed her cries. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the weight of the night's horrors pressing down on her. "Aemond!" she screamed again, her voice breaking with desperation.

But the chambers stood empty. She stood there, the cold emptiness of the room closing in on her, offering no comfort, no solace. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of her solitude. She stumbled forward, calling out his name once more, her voice echoing off the walls. "Aemond, please!"

The darkness seemed to close in around her, her hopes extinguished like a dying flame. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself, trembling violently. The silence was unbearable, a stark contrast to the chaos that had engulfed her only moments before. "Aemond..." she whispered, her voice barely more than a choked sob.

The tapestry on the far wall was slightly askew, the ends flailing in the draught. A cold realisation washed over her. This was where they began. This is where the assassins had come in. A sick sense of vulnerability swept over her, making her stomach churn. They had been here. She was not safe anymore.

Her heart raced faster, and she felt a sudden, sharp pain shoot through her abdomen, doubling her over in agony. She gasped, clutching her stomach, the intense cramp sending waves of nausea through her body. The pain was unlike anything she had ever felt, a searing agony that stole her breath and left her gasping for air.

"No," she whispered, her voice breaking with a new kind of desperation. "Please, no."

But the loss was immediate.

She whispered Aemond's name one last time, her voice a fragile thread in the vast emptiness.

A gentle voice broke through her trance, pulling her back to the present. “My dear, can you hear me?”

She blinked, the room coming into focus. Alicent, her mother by marriage, was seated before her, concern etched deeply into her features with a drink cradled in her hand. Her dress was different, her hair braided in a manner that did not resemble that terrible evening.

How many days had passed? What had she eaten? Had she seen Aemond since that morning?

It was frightening, to exist without remembering.

Alicent repeated her name softly. “I’ve been calling your name.”

She turned to look at her, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I apologise, I... I was just thinking.”

Alicent sighed. “I know, dear. I cannot imagine the pain you’re in. But you mustn’t let it consume you.”

She nodded, but couldn't help but feel both frustrated and powerless. How could she not allow this to consume her, when she could still feel the twisting in her chest and the hollowness that had deepened since that night. “Of course.” Was all she said.

Alicent gave her a sympathetic smile, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. “You’ve endured so much. More than anyone should have to bear. And I know it feels impossible now, but time will help.”

It felt as if ‘time’ was merely Aemond's mother's way of shifting responsibility. As if the effort were not needed in this mortal realm, and decided entirely by the Gods.

It was unfair, she thought. To have been abandoned by them in her time of ultimate need.

Alicent retreated, shrinking as she felt her despair, “Helaena is deeply hurt. She is sensitive, and this tragedy has cut her deeply, naturally,” Alicent trails off. “Perhaps you might go and see her. It might help both of you.”

Would Helaena even want to see her? She had not tried, reasoning that she and the King had enough to deal with. The death of their child. One another. The dark omen that loomed over the Keep.

She had not wanted to intrude on her suffering, despite feeling it so profoundly herself.

“Aemond has his own way of dealing with grief,” Alicent added suddenly, “it may not be the way we wish, but he is still young and finding his path. His responsibilities weigh heavily on him.”

She could have laughed. The only decent smile she would have broken in an age. Responsibilities.

It seemed the Dowager Queen truly had no idea what any of her own children were thinking or doing at any given time. And for that, she could not help the simmering resentment.

She masked it simply with a polite nod, acknowledging but not believing. Alicent’s face tightened with the strain of balancing her loyalty to her son and her compassion for her.

“I understand your grief, my love. I truly do. But you must try to understand his burdens, as difficult as that is. He has a duty to the realm, and sometimes that means... sacrifices.”

Her eyes were dry from nights of endless crying, and she felt them strain as she turned her head to Alicent, as if she could not quite believe what she had said. As if Aemond's words were perfumed and spilling from his mother's mouth.

“And that is what I am?” 

“You are a part of this family, and we must all find a way to support each other. I cannot excuse his actions, but I can ask for your patience and understanding. For all our sakes.”

It was not an answer to her question. Merely a dismissal. She swallowed hard, the bitter taste of resignation settling in her throat.

For a moment, she stared down into her cup of warm tea, untouched. Watching the rich brown ripple, for she could not stand to look into the bitter shade of Alicent's any longer.

“It is all I ask,” Alicent uttered gently, as if she was aware of the tentative string she walked upon. 

She nodded slowly, the weight of expectation pressing heavily upon her. She forced herself to meet Alicent's gaze, searching for any sign of genuine compassion or understanding. There was some, but it was overshadowed by the stern duty that ruled the Dowager Queen.

Alicent gave a sympathetic smile, “you have shown great strength, my love.”

She nodded again, though she felt anything but strong. The days had blurred into nights, and each moment seemed to stretch endlessly before her, a relentless parade of sorrow and duty. She was exhausted, worn thin by grief and the constant strain of maintaining a facade of normalcy.

Where was strength, in witnessing a brutal crime?

Where was strength, when losing a child that had barely lived?

Where was strength, in the waning tide of a failing marriage.

She had said to Aemond that it felt as if she were married to a ghost. But the more time went by, Lords and Ladies tiptoeing around her, their glances quick and measured, she felt very much the ghost herself. As if they see her, feel her presence, but do not hear her speak or breathe as if she were alive.

As much as she did not value the Dowager Queen's opinion of Aemond and their marriage, she struggled to cope with the unending trauma of her presence for Prince Jaehaerys’ murder. The nightmarish memories haunted her days and nights, an ever-present shadow that refused to fade. Each scream, each drop of blood, each moment of terror replayed endlessly in her mind. The palace that had once been her home now felt like a prison, its walls closing in around her.

The loss of the pregnancy was distant, but she still felt the fresh kick of it as if it were recent. It was a silent, aching sorrow, compounded by the knowledge that Aemond, the father, remained indifferent. The possibility of what could have been gnawed at her, the child a symbol of hope now lost forever.

With the child, she could at least have been useful, she reasoned. Her duty would remain paramount. But as Aemond grew less and less present, slipping into the arms of those he would rather share the warmth of his flesh with, it seemed less and less likely he would wish to try for another child with her.

Yet another thing her husband could take away from her. Her purpose.

The absence of this feeling had made her desperate for reconnection. She visited Helaena's chambers every day, requesting the Kingsguard stood straight at the door if she might speak with the Queen. But every time, he said the same thing.

“The Queen requests to be alone at present.”

Each visit, each attempt, ended in heartbreak. The closed doors and silence were a painful reminder that while she was not alone in her suffering, but also not welcome in her attempts to bridge their mutual anguish.

She felt her heart lurch into her chest when she returned to her chambers, finding an unfamiliar presence rummaging around the ornate oak cupboards. The figure, however unseen in this part of the Keep, possessed the silver moonlit hair she knew so well, but short, unkempt and choppy.

Her shocked gasp seemed to draw the King’s attention, and he turned, his clothes askew, face swollen and sunken from tears and wine consumption.

“Y-your Grace–” she found her words, giving a polite curtsy, trying to calm the hammering of her heart.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he muttered, twirling a newly found decanter of wine in his hand. “The servants will no longer allow me to have my fill.”

She swallowed, her hand dropping from her chest, away from her thrumming pulse. “Of course, Your Grace. Help yourself at your leisure.”

Aegon’s gaze finally met hers, and for a brief moment, she saw the depth of his anguish. The loss of his son had shattered him in ways that wine alone could not mend. He took a long, unsteady sip from the decanter, the liquid sloshing slightly as his hand trembled.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Your Grace?” She asked softly, unsure if her presence was a comfort or a burden.

Aegon let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Unless you can bring back the dead, there is little anyone can do.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and poignant. Aegon’s words lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of the shared grief that bound them both. He realised, too late, that his careless remark had cut deeper than intended. He had lost a son, but she, his sister by marriage, had also felt a profound loss.

Aegon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I... I apologise. That was thoughtless of me.”

She shook her head, her expression softening. “We all speak from our pain, Your Grace. I understand.”

Aegon leaned against the table, his eyes bloodshot. “Where is Aemond?”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. And that seemed an answer enough. She felt her cheeks get hot, in his presence, the guilt seemed to grow and grow.

Why could it not have been her that night. She has mulled over the question several times.

“I am sorry…” she choked out, wiping her cheeks when moisture nipped at her sensitive skin. “I could— could have done more—”

Aegon’s expression softened, the bitterness in his eyes giving way to a rare moment of understanding. “It was not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

There was a beat of silence as he approached, the decanter hanging lazily in his grip at his side. He looked exhausted, as if all the fight had left him.

“I thank you…for being there for Helaena and Jaehaera,” he murmured, as if the Keep’s walls had ears, “my sister has a gentle temperament, and you are much like a natural born sibling to her.”

The silence that followed was heavy with shared pain and an unspoken understanding. For a moment, their grief became a silent bond between them, a fragile thread of connection in the midst of their suffering.

Her voice broke the silence softly. “I only wish I could do more, Your Grace.”

Aegon opened his mouth to reply, but the appearance of Otto Hightower in the doorway halted him. Aegon’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly hid the decanter behind his back, trying to conceal it. With a curt nod to her, he slipped out of the chamber, leaving her alone with Otto.

She surmised perhaps, Otto had given the King a sharp gesture, inviting him to leave. And she steeled herself for the man's oppressive and yet firm presence, and turned to face him.

Otto stepped into the room, his gaze sharp and calculating. He glanced at her, noting her flushed cheeks and the way she quickly composed herself.

“I hope I am not interrupting.”

She shook her head, the brief moment of awkwardness fading. “Not at all.”

Otto’s eyes swept over her, lingering momentarily before returning to her face. “I came to ensure you are managing well under the circumstances.”

Just what reaction might he expect from her? To be scaling the walls with madness?

“It is said that people often find unexpected strengths in times of hardship, though it seems some have less experience in harnessing them.”

Her fingers tightened where she held them in front of her and tried her hardest not to mirror the feeling in her expression. “The weight of grief is heavy.”

“Indeed. It is important to remember that appearances can be deceptive. And, it would be unfortunate if this…response were to become an impediment rather than a motivation.”

Her shaky exhale did little to ease the tension in her body.

“I appreciate the reminder, Lord Hightower.”

Eager to see the back of him, she made no attempt to offer wine or tea. She did not want this emotionless, self-serving attitude to further darken the doorway of her chambers.

And she thought as she listened to the Lord Hand’s footsteps echo softly down the hall, that she now realised where her dear husband inherited this trait.

Aemond lay in the dimly lit room of the brothel, the scent of incense mingling with the faint aroma of sex and wine. His eye drifted shut at Sylvi's fingers through his hair, running the silver strands through them as if it were silk illuminated by pale moonlight.

Sylvi, with her deep, knowing eyes, watched him closely. She had always been good at reading him, understanding the depths of his turmoil without needing words.

“You are troubled,” she said softly, her voice a soothing balm in the quiet room.

“None more than is usual.”

“Tell me,” Sylvi countered, not letting him evade the truth.

“Daemon sent them to kill me,” Aemond’s voice was low, but his attention seemingly elsewhere, “I was out.”

“You were with me,” Sylvi reminded him, her fingers still tracing soothing patterns on his scalp.

“In truth, I am proud that he considers me such a foe. That he seeks to murder me in my bed.” Aemond’s voice held a mix of pride and bitterness, the conflicting emotions evident in his eyes as he looked up at her. “He is afraid of me.”

“As well he should be,” Sylvi said with a sickly smile, her fingers pausing for a moment, her body leaning closer to brush her breath against his lips. “The boy has grown into a man.”

“No. Not here.” Aemond pulled away from her intimacy, creating a physical and emotional distance. Sylvi sensed there was another truth Aemond was not displaying, and there was a thin, tentative line she had to tread as the man before her curled his legs to his chest.

“And what else?” she inquired, making no attempt to touch him.

Aemond’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if trying to grasp an elusive thought. The room felt colder, the flickering candlelight casting long, unsteady shadows on the walls. His usually composed facade was cracking, and the turmoil within him was evident in the tension of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. He struggled to find the words, each breath he took seeming heavier than the last.

“They came for me. When they couldn’t find me, they killed my nephew. And my wife... she was there to witness it all.”

"That must be an unimaginable burden to carry."

Aemond continued, his voice growing harsher, as if he expected Sylvi to be more…insistent of his guilt. “I was supposed to be there, but I was not. I was here. And she... she suffered because of it. My sister also.”

But there was little the other woman could say to quell the storm within. It was a complicated one, as it was always with Aemond she had begun to find out. While it was clear there was no love in this tumultuous marriage, the thought that she had endured such trauma while he was away, seeking solace in the arms of another, gnawed at him relentlessly. His absence had cost his family dearly, and the weight of that realisation was almost unbearable.

“And how do you feel?” she asked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“How do you think I feel?” he snapped. He took a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. “I am angry. My wife slips further into grief, not that she was ever truly close to me. And I do not know how to reach her.”

“Anger is natural, given everything that has happened.”

He shakes his head, the words seem empty. “And what is to be done about it. She lost a child that night,” he recalled bitterly.

Sylvi regarded him with a knowing look, her eyes glimmering softly in the dim light. Her voice was gentle, almost melodic as she spoke. 

“Perhaps, if she were to fall with child again, it would lift her spirits.” There was no recognising the subtle manipulation in her voice, nor did he realise the depth of what he had just revealed. He simply nodded, lost in his thoughts.

Sylvi’s fingers traced patterns on his arm, her touch light and soothing. She was planting a seed, one that could lead to healing or further heartache, depending on how it grew. “You have the power to change things, Aemond. You can give her hope again.”

“I do not know if I have hope to offer her.”

Sylvi tilted her head slightly, her eyes studying him with a blend of sympathy and curiosity. “She is your wife. She is still your responsibility. Even if you don’t love her.”

Aemond’s face hardened, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “Love is for peasants who wish to fuck without sin.”

Sylvi's gaze softened, though there was a hint of steel beneath her calm exterior, and perhaps a catching of some offence. “And what of duty? Even in the absence of love. And perhaps, through fulfilling it, you might find something worth holding onto. New life can often pave a new path.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but the weight of her words hung heavily in the air, the hollow ache of his failure sitting like a stone in his chest. 

“I suppose duty is all that remains.”

The conversation with Sylvi weighed heavily on his mind, her words about duty and new life echoing in his thoughts. As he reached the door to his wife's chambers, he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the handle before he finally pushed it open.

She was sitting by the window, staring out at the darkened sky. She didn’t turn to look at him as he entered, her grief-stricken face illuminated by the moonlight. The room was silent, save for the soft rustling of the curtains in the night breeze. He watched her for a moment, noting the listlessness in her movements, and he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he had been avoiding.

“I need to speak with you.”

She looked up from where she sat by the window, her eyes dull and unresponsive. “What is it, Aemond?”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “We need to try again. For a child.”

Her reaction was immediate, her eyes flashing with a mix of disbelief and anger. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” he replied, his voice steady. “We have a duty to our house, to ensure its future.”

“Duty,” she spat the word like it was poison. “Is that all you ever think about? Our child, the one I lost, does it mean nothing to you?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “It is not about that. It is about moving forward. We cannot dwell on what we have lost forever.”

She stood, her hands trembling with the force of her emotions. “You think I have not tried to move forward? Every day I wake up and try to put the pieces of my shattered life back together. But you... you have not been here. You do not understand what it’s like.”

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “I have my own burdens. My own ways of dealing with them.”

“By disappearing to the brothels every night?” she shot back, her voice rising. 

He had never seen his wife like this, never. With her, there was an element of submission she had always offered, and she never complained, not once, before. Her eyes were so expressive he could read them like a tome. And in this moment, when she had said what was at the forefront of her mind, something she would dare not voice mere moons ago, he watched as her mouth slipped shut and she shrank back in on herself, sensing her words had widened their ever-expanding emotional chasm.

She looked upon him as if she were afraid of his response. But expectant.

Aemond took a step closer, his expression hardening. “This is not just about us. It is about our family, our legacy. We need to try again.”

Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. “I cannot snuff my pain out like a flame, Aemond. I cannot…pretend everything is well and start over like nothing happened.”

“I am not asking you to forget,” he said, his tone softening slightly.

But he was asking her to cast it aside. And for what?

“Why, Aemond…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Why do you care so much about an heir when you cannot even care about me?”

The silence that sat between them was an ugly one, borne of years of regret and guilt, like a festering wound that refused to heal. It stretched and twisted, warping the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths and broken promises. The weight of it was suffocating, pressing down on their chests and stealing the breath from their lungs.

He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him, leaving only the bitter taste of unspoken confessions. He could almost hear the whispers of the smallfolk, the cruel gossip that had spread like wildfire through the castle walls, rumours of her inability to bear a child, seeded by a careless word in a brothel. The knowledge of it gnawed like a disease, a constant reminder of her perceived failure, exacerbated by Aemond’s apparent indifference.

Aemond’s gaze was hard, his jaw set in a rigid line. The vulnerability he had shown moments before was gone, replaced by the cold mask he wore so well. “Because it is what is expected of me,” he replied, the edge in his voice returning. “We all have our roles to play. I must ensure our future, whether I like it or not.”

He began taking off his doublet, the heavy garment sliding off his shoulders with a practised ease. The action was mechanical, almost detached, and it sent a shiver down her spine as she realised his intention.

"So soon...?" she said quietly, blinking the moisture from her eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper, heavy with the weight of her sorrow.

Aemond paused for a moment, his hands stilling on the laces of his shirt. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and for a fleeting moment, something akin to regret flickered in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once more by the cold determination that had come to define him.

“We cannot afford to wait,” he said, his tone softer but no less resolute.

Her heart ached with a sorrow so profound it felt as if it might swallow her whole. She wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but she knew it would be futile. Instead, she simply nodded, the movement small and resigned. She moved to the bed, the weight of her grief pressing down on her with every step and when Aemond joined her, the distance between them became palpable even in their proximity. There were no tender words, no gestures of comfort; just the cold, stark reality of their duty. His touch, impersonal.

She tried to steel herself against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, knowing that this act was not born of love, but of necessity. And in that moment, the chasm between them seemed wider than ever, a silent testament to the love they had never truly known.

He did not look at her, did not seek her eyes. His mind was elsewhere, already thinking of the future he was so determined to secure. When it was over, Aemond pulled away, the silence between them more deafening than any words could have been. He dressed quickly, his movements efficient and unfeeling. She remained where she was, her body and spirit drained.

Her own form felt nothing like her own as she righted herself to sit up, pushing her skirts back down her legs, armouring her skin as if she needed protection over every inch of her. Aemond stood, his back to her, barely a silver hair out of place, fastening his breeches with a meticulousness that seemed almost cruel in its precision.

“Do you find comfort in their arms because you cannot stand to be close to me?”

Aemond's shoulders tensed, but he did not turn to face her. “I do not know what you want of me,” he replied, his voice distant and cold, like the draught seeping through the cracks in the ancient stone.

“I want to be respected as your wife. Your equal.” Her plea hung in the air, laden with the weight of unmet expectations and unfulfilled promises. 

“I cannot change what has happened. I did not know how to be there for you then, and I do not know now." He finally turned to face her, his gaze meeting hers with a mix of frustration and resignation. “I do not know how to be that man. I have failed you, and I may continue to fail you. But I will try to respect you as my wife, if nothing else.”

Her shoulders slumped under the weight of his words, the fight draining out of her. The acceptance in her voice was tinged with a profound sadness, the acknowledgment of a life destined to be lived in the shadow of duty rather than the light of love.

“Very well. If that is all I shall ever be.”

Some time passed, each day blending into the next in a haze of routine and muted sorrow. Servants and guards whispered as she passed, their sympathetic glances and hushed tones adding to the heavy silence that surrounded her.

The bloom of spring flowers went unnoticed, their colours a stark contrast to the grey fog that seemed to envelop her mind. She was supposed to track the days, to know when her moon blood should come, but time had lost its meaning. The markers of her cycle were swallowed by the same darkness that claimed her thoughts. 

“The summer of a woman's years is a short season. It passes by in the blink of an eye. Toyed with by this momentary value.”

Her mother had always been blunt about her words. But now, more than ever, with the taunting explosion of colour and vibrancy outside, she felt as if her season was closing in, like a prison she could not fight.

Some evenings, as she sat alone in her chamber, she felt a familiar ache low in her abdomen. It was a dull, persistent pain, one she knew all too well. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tried to steady herself. Was it her moon blood, or was it something else? The uncertainty gnawed at her, but she could not bring herself to seek answers, to go to the maester to confirm. The prospect of hope was too painful, the fear of disappointment too great.

Life or loss. There was an element of control she could grapple to, by simply not knowing.

As usual, her Lord Husband remained absent from her life. Perhaps it was just as well she did not know, and that he did not inquire.

It was a pleasant enough evening in any case, spent mostly by the fire, the light of the flames serving to assist her in the delicate art of her embroidery. A pastime she would otherwise spend with Helaena in days passed. Since calling to her chambers most days in the immediate aftermath, in truth, she had rarely tried to urge her to accept her presence. Reasoning that in time, perhaps the troubled Queen would make her way back to her, in body and soul.

She felt her whole jump in her seat in shock, the door to the chambers swinging open and then shut with a loud thud. For a short moment, it brought her back, the horror making her heart hammer against her ribs, fully expecting to see two figures darken her doorway once more. 

But her wide eyes only looked upon the lone figure of her husband, his face a mask of anger and humiliation. As usual, he had ignored her presence entirely and went straight to the decanter on the table, pouring himself a generous measure of wine. Unusual behaviour from her distant husband. He sat down heavily in the chair by the hearth, taking a long drink, his movements tense and jerky.

She knew better than to ask, given the state of their fragile bond. Fearing perhaps the reaction she would receive. Instead, for a moment, she watched him silently from the corner, her own heart heavy with grief and pain. Despite her suffering, she felt an irresistible pull to reach out to him, to try to soothe the anger radiating off him in waves, almost palpable in its intensity.

Her steps were soft and deliberate as she approached him cautiously, each footfall muted on the cold stone floor. The air between them felt charged, thick with tension. Aemond didn’t look up from the drink in his hand, his gaze fixed on the swirling crimson liquid. His fingers gripped the glass with a white-knuckled intensity, as if the drink was his only anchor in a sea of turmoil. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder. The contact was gentle, but he stiffened, his posture becoming rigid under her touch. Yet, he did not pull away, a silent sign that he was at least willing to tolerate her presence.

“You do not have to,” Aemond muttered, his voice low and strained, a mixture of resignation and weariness. “I have given you no reason to.”

“I know,” she replied softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of her empathy and unspoken concern.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the movement slight but significant. A flicker of something unidentifiable crossed his features, perhaps it was vulnerability, or perhaps a fleeting moment of regret. She met his gaze with unwavering softness, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding that transcended the barriers between them. The lines of her face were etched with sorrow, yet there was a tender resolve in her expression.

With a hesitant motion, Aemond took her hand, his grip warm against her chilled skin. He turned his face into her hand, not kissing it, but letting the skin rest against his lips in a gesture that was both intimate and detached. As if he was silently thanking her for her presence, for her effort to reach out despite the emotional chasm that lay between them.

She let her hand fall away slowly, stepping back to give him the space he seemed to need. The small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, a release of some of the tension, indicated that her gesture had made a difference, however slight.

Aemond took a deep breath, the sound escaping his lips like a weary sigh. The tension in his body eased slightly, and he became aware that while they might not be aligned in love, his wife understood him in a way few others did. She grasped his pain and anger, and she reached out to him despite everything that had transpired between them. He gave her a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of her attempt to bridge the gap between them, a gesture that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

She returned the nod with a gentle inclination of her head, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of hope and understanding. They didn’t need many words; the shared silence between them was enough to convey their fragile understanding, a tentative first step toward mending the rift between them. The quiet was a balm, a soft promise of potential reconciliation, though it remained unspoken.

Her heart seemed to lift, the rest she received later that evening somewhat fruitful. And though Aemond left in the early hours of the morning the next day, she recognised that he no longer visited the brothel, busying himself instead in the library most evenings. It was a small victory, but one she clung to, rightly or wrongly. 

The servants were even more palatable that morning, with sweet words and even sweeter smiles for her. Dressed in a gown she favoured the most, she felt her mood ripen.

She was gently roused from her reverie by the sound of quiet footsteps approaching her chamber door. A soft, hesitant knock followed, and the door creaked open. Standing in the doorway was Helaena, the Queen, accompanied by her only living child, Jaehaera. The sight of them was a poignant reminder of both the life and loss that threaded through their lives.

Helaena’s eyes were red-rimmed but held a glimmer of resolve and determination. Her composure was fragile, but there was a soft strength in her presence. Her heart ached at the sight of them. 

“Sister.”

She rose from her seat, her movements slow and deliberate, a sign of the emotional and physical exhaustion that still clung to her. Helaena stepped into the room, her gaze meeting hers with a quiet understanding.

“I thought we might spend the day together,” Helaena said, her voice steady. “As we used to.”

Her eyes softened as she looked at Helaena and Jaehaera. The gesture was more than kind, it was a lifeline extended in a sea of shared sorrow. 

“I would like that very much,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet imbued with genuine warmth.

For a while, the three women sat together in silence, the room filled with the soft murmur of their breathing, the occasional rustle of fabric and the icy dropping of a needle. It was a quiet that spoke of shared pain and tentative hope, a small balm for their wounded souls. Helaena rarely spoke, apart from the quiet mutterings she herself was used to in her dreamy presence.

They, Helaena and Jaehaera, were a reminder that there were still threads of connection and understanding that bound them together. The day held the promise of comfort and perhaps, slowly, the possibility of healing.

From the doorway, Aemond watched them, his face was an unreadable mask, but his expression betrayed a depth of emotion, regret, longing, and a faint glimmer of hope. His gaze lingered on his wife, who held Jaehaera with a tender protectiveness, and on Helaena, whose hazy mutterings were soothing musings to the silent exchange of grief and solace.

He took a step back. For the first time in a long while, he felt a stirring of something he could not quite name, a hint of what could be if he only allowed himself to reach out and grasp it.

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose@natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics @primonizzutto

@qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[sykoangels]

Taste

Pairing: fem!reader x spencer reid

warning: petty banter and toxic angry sex

author note: Hey everyone! I wanted to share that I'm starting a new fanfiction series inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's "Short N Sweet." This series will feature different fandoms, so there's something for everyone to enjoy! I got the idea from @thinkinonsense , so be sure to show her some love too! If you're not into Sabrina Carpenter, @thinkinonsense also created a fanfic based on Ariana Grande's "Positions" album, so feel free to check that out as well!

Working at the FBI can be quite challenging, especially when you have a history with one of the top profilers in the field. Dr. Spencer Reid is like a walking supercomputer, brilliant yet endearingly dorky, which happens to be your type. There's something undeniably attractive about Spencer – perhaps it's his unassuming appearance as if he's never been in the presence of a woman, or maybe it's his intellect, which could put a dictionary to shame.

Either way, that’s what attracted you to him at first, and over time you guys developed more of a romantic relationship. But through this romantic relationship came problems and slight differences. Spencer always pushed you away no matter what it was so confusing every time something was going well. You guys would go three steps back. Unfortunately, you guys weren’t deemed to be together so breaking up an inevitable. What surprised you was that Spencer moved on fairly quickly with someone who is a carbon copy of you or at least tries to be. His new girlfriend Maxine was you in a different font. Your mannerisms were the same. The way she walked was the same compared to you the way she laughed. It was freaky. It was almost like she wanted to live in your skin like she was some creepy stalker living your life like somebody's body double.

As you started to pay closer attention, you couldn't help but notice certain things. For instance, when Maxine started accompanying Spencer to FBI events as his plus one, you began to feel uneasy. At a recent retirement party for a coworker, You spotted Maxine wearing a red mini dress with her hair slicked back, and she was even wearing a pair of heels that you had left at Spencer's house and never got back. The heels were scuffed at the bottom, indicating that they weren't new. What's more, You noticed that Spencer started repeating jokes and phrases that you had previously shared with him. These incidents made you increasingly aware of what was happening.

Anytime you mentioned this to anybody else they just called you crazy especially your coworkers like Garcia and JJ. They didn’t realize it until today since we solve the case in California Rossi was taking everybody out for drinks at the local bar down the street from the office. It was a casual thing he always did, but spencer decided to invite his girlfriend as a plus one . Nobody really cared and happily let him bring his girlfriend. It wasn’t a big deal. But you knew this was the perfect opportunity to prove a point.

The dim, flickering light of the bar's coatroom cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, creating an ambiance that was equal parts intoxicating and intense. The air was thick with the rich scent of aged whiskey and supple leather, mingling with the faint aroma of stale cigarettes. You were seated at the table next to JJ, delicately sipping on your perfectly crafted peach mojito, while discreetly observing the movements of Maxine and Spencer throughout the room. Your keen eyes didn't miss a single detail, and your focus was unwavering, like a detective on a critical case. JJ, sensing your intense scrutiny, playfully rolled her eyes before speaking. "You know, taking a picture would last longer, Y/N," she admitted while sipping her own drink. "Knowing Maxine, she would probably try to extract my DNA from the photo, clone me, and create a skin suit out of it."

"I can see where you're coming from," JJ said, her touch gentle as she gripped your shoulder. "He did move on pretty quickly, but you have to let it go. I doubt that she's trying to be you." As JJ's words sank in, a heavy sigh escaped from the depths of your mind. Perhaps JJ was right. Maybe you had been letting your imagination run wild. But as the night wore on, the unsettling feeling of Maxine trying to imitate you resurfaced. You could sense her eyes fixed on you, and every time you glanced in her direction, she would meet your gaze with either a forced smile or a look filled with spite. Finally, the team gathered for a toast after a challenging case. Rossi expressed his love for the team, emphasizing that each member was a valuable part of the cohesive unit. As Rossi finished up the toast, Maxine stood up and proposed her toast, looking directly at you as she spoke. "I just want to thank you guys for letting me join you today. I can see why every one of you is a valuable part of the team. Well, at least some of you. I also want to thank my fabulous boyfriend Spencer for being my rock, especially when things are hard, and for loving me unconditionally even though there are a lot of bitter people in this world. Spencer will always love me unconditionally no matter what comes his way."

Maxine's words cut like a knife, a calculated and direct attack that made you glance over at JJ to see if she had also caught it. The look on JJ's face confirmed that she had. It was clear that Maxine's barb was aimed at you. JJ's expression silently pleaded with you not to react, but you couldn't help it. There was no way you were going to let someone who bore a resemblance to you but was less attractive talk about you like that, especially to your face. "Yeah, and knowing Reid and his eidetic memory, I know exactly who you're thinking about when he's with you, and it's definitely not you, Maxine. No matter how hard you try to wrap your head around it, you will never be the girl he thinks about. There will always be one degree of separation between all three of us, and you know why," you said bitterly before taking the last sip of your drink and getting up to retrieve your coat from the coat room.

Spencer sat there fuming but trying his hardest not to show it because he you were right unfortunately. The rest of the team awkwardly looked at each other then back at Maxine as she walked off to the bathroom to collect herself. Meanwhile, spencer was going to go look for you. He was annoyed with your behavior tonight and he needed to set some things straight with you well at least for right now.. You leaned against the cold metal of a locker ordering a uber when you heard footsteps coming from a converse sneaker scraping against the floor, making that weird squeak sound.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from the bar area. "Why do you keep pushing Maxine? What do you want from me?" You met his gaze head-on, your lips curling into a bitter smile. "What do I want? I want you to admit that she's just a poor imitation of what we had, Spencer. I want you to stop pretending that you're happy with her." Spencer let out an exasperated grunt you could see the vein in his forehead pulse he was fuming. "Stop playing games, Y/N. You left me. You walked away, and now you can't stand the thought of someone else being with me?"

You scoff in disbelief at his claims, feeling like he's trying to manipulate you. "I didn't walk away, Spencer. You pushed me out. You couldn't handle what we had, so you replaced it with a cheap knockoff." Spencer's eyes flashed with something dangerous. Before you could react, he locked the door to the storage room and placed a large step stool against it. Then, he turned back to you, staring into your eyes with a mix of yearning and regret. "Is that what you think? That I replaced you?" He said looking at you with that puppy-like gaze he always had.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Isn't it obvious? She's everything I was to you—everything we were together. But it's not real, Spencer. It'll never be real." For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you almost palpable. Then, without warning, Spencer's lips crashed down onto yours, rough and desperate. The kiss was a mixture of heat and fury, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless. You responded instinctively, your hands gripping his shoulders as you kissed him back with equal intensity.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to steady his breathing. "Is this what you wanted?" he gasped, his voice raw and slightly whiny. "To see if I still want you?" You pressed yourself closer, feeling the hardness of his arousal pressing against your thigh. "No," you murmured, your voice trembling. "I wanted you to show me." Spencer a breathy groan slipped out his throat, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrapped around his waist. The cold metal of the coat rack bit into your back as he pinned you against it, the sensation both startling and exhilarating

"God, you drive me insane," he muttered, his lips grazing your neck as he peppered kisses along your skin. "I can't think when you're around." You laughed softly, the sound shaky and breathless. "Good. Maybe then you'll finally understand how it felt when you shut me out." He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath the anger. "I'm sorry baby I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice reeked of forgiveness and arousal. "I never meant to hurt you."

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. All you could focus on was the way his lips felt against your skin, the way his hands roamed over your body with a familiarity that made your heartache. Spencer's hand slid under your skirt, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. You gasped, arching your hips into his touch, craving more. He groaned, his teeth nipping at your earlobe as he slipped a finger inside you, coaxing you open with practiced ease. "Fuck," you moaned, your head falling back against the locker as he began to move his finger in slow, deliberate strokes. "Spencer..."

"Tell me what you want, I will do it I want to make you feel good,” he demanded, his voice soft and whiny but commanding. "Tell me how much you need this." You bit your lip, resisting the urge to melt into his hands when he whines like that. "I want you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you, Spencer. Please”

He obeyed getting on his knees and slowly gliding your panties off slipping them off in one swift motion. He looked up at you with his big brown chocolate puppy dog eyes with that submissive twitch in his eyes before circling your clit and kissing it. It was so obvious he missed you, especially by the way he was eating you out. “Fuck~ you missed me badly huh?” You say gripping his greasy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy.

You can feel Spencer nodding agreeing to what you were saying he started sucking on your clit before placing two fingers inside of you stretching a lot slowly something he used to do quite often when you guys had a hard day at work to at least help put a smile on your face. Your eyes roll back as his slender fingers stretch you out. You felt yourself get close to an orgasm until Spencer stopped and looked up at you his face all wet with a pleading look on his face. He motioned you to face the wall so you obeyed his request. Spencer's hands skimmed over your thighs as he positioned himself behind you. You braced yourself against the cool metal, your breath hitching as you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance. "Ready?" he asked, his voice desperate and hoarse.

You nodded, biting your lip as you prepared for the inevitable intrusion. Spencer gripped your hips tightly, aligning himself perfectly before thrusting into you in one smooth motion. You cried out, the sensation both painful and exquisite as he filled you completely. "Fuck, you feel so good," he muttered, his voice laced with desperation. "Just how I remembered." He began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one hitting your spot with perfect precision. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the small space, adding to the intensity of the moment.

"Harder," you begged, your voice breaking. "Please, Spencer, harder." He obliged, picking up the pace as he slammed into you with renewed vigor. The friction between your bodies grew more intense, the heat pooling in your core as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of climax.

"Look at me baby," Spencer commanded, his voice whiny and desperate but with a hint of urgency. "Watch me fuck your brains out, baby” You turned your head, meeting his gaze over your shoulder. The sight of his face, twisted with exertion and desire, sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. He reached around to pinch your nipple, twisting it between his fingers as he continued to pound into you.

"That's it, baby" he whimpers. "Take it. Take every fucking inch. You can do it” You screamed, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your muscles clenched around him, driving him over the edge as well. Spencer shouted your name, his release flooding you as he buried himself deep inside. Panting, he pulled out slowly, leaving you trembling against the coat rack. He leaned against you, his forehead resting on the back of your neck as he caught his breath.

"This changes nothing," he whispered, his voice raw and unsure. "We still have to deal with Maxine."

You turned to face him, your heart aching at the conflicted look in his eyes. “I don’t have to deal with anything you have to come to terms that you will never find a girl like me again Boy genius. You need figure out who you wanna be with. A botched copy or the real deal. I will see you at work tomorrow spencer and I will be expecting an answer. Just remember I leave quite the impression on men like you.

You quickly find your panties slipping them back on grabbing your coat and plants a kiss on spencer’s lips leaving a red kiss stain on his lips before walking out to catch your Uber

[pedrilcvr]

i just LOVE ur pedri stories, can we get one where he loves slinging his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into him? just suuuuuuper fluffy!

Right side of my neck — Pedri Gonzalez.

Pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Fem!Reader

Summary: Pedri had a habit of pulling you closer every chance he gets, and a lot of the time, it just so happens to be your neck thats closest.

Disclaimer/s: none just fluff <3

A/N: i’m actually so in love w this man it’s baaad. I had to do 3 parts bc i couldn’t figure out what scenario to use..

Act one;

The city streets bustled with the last minute Christmas shopping crowd, leaving you and your boyfriend to constantly dodge strangers who were rushing to get the last of whatever present-worthy things were left.

It was unfortunate that your favorite cafe was right in the middle of a shopping market.

Since it was winter, you’d made sure to bundle up before going out. Your hands stuffed slightly comfortingly in your jacket pockets as you stayed close beside Pedri. He’d done the right thing and wore gloves, something you didn’t bring, insisting they would ruin your outfit.

Every time you brought out your hands to breathe hot air onto them, he couldn’t help but tease you. His eyes crinkling every time, “Cariño, I told you to just wear the gloves. Nobody would see them anyways, you have your hands shoved in your pockets.”

You huffed, shooting him a short glare. “Pedro, I swear—if you bring that up one more time.”

He would laugh, head flopping forward to hide his amusement. “Just saying!”

Pedri, eventually feeling enough pity, takes his hands from his own pockets, “come here.” He grumbles, a small upturn to his lips as he swings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side.

He added little actual warmth, but you smile up at him anyways. He keeps his head forward, only sparing you a smile back, his hand squeezing your arm slightly.

Just being that close with him, seeing his smile, it was enough to build your body warmnth, an effect only he could ever have on you. Leaning into him, you two continue your walk toward the cafe.

Act two;

Leaves littered the ground around you, crunching every time you stepped on them. Pedri had Nilo’s leash in one hand, his other intertwined with your hand, keeping the two most cherished things close to him.

Cars drove past but only in long intervals, so it was a quieter afternoon. Just the three of you, and the beautiful scenery.

The different colored leaves had your full attention. Fall was one of your favorite seasons, it’s beauty captivating every inch of you. Pedri would say the same, but only to bring a smile to your face. He didn’t care much about the seasons, but he did care about the way your eyes sparkled every time you smiled.

Mid walk, he wrestled his hand out of yours, quickly moving to wrap it around your shoulders, pulling you toward him.

Pedri’s arm tightens around you, grabbing your attention. “Huh?” You ask, eyebrows furrow slightly when you look up at him.

He shrugs, grinning boyishly, “you’re just quiet.”

“Oh, sorry.” You grin sheepishly, resting your head on his shoulder. “You ready to turn around?” There’s a slight amount of hope in your voice, a hope that says ‘please say no’. Pedri see’s it, that tiny downturn of your lips.

“I was thinking we could take the longer route today.” He says, pulling you closer to place a kiss to your temple.

Act three;

The house echoed with laughter. A sound you’d grown to love ever since you started dating Pedri. A few of his teammates had came over to play video games and eat dinner, which of course you’d cooked, and they were all having the time of their lives.

Walking into the living room, you stand with your hands on your hips, waiting for them to notice you. Pedri, sensing your presence, shushes the boys. “The food is done, feel free to come and eat!”

You hadn’t even finished your sentence yet when the group of guys shot up from their spots, hunger etched across their faces. Pedri among them, makes his way to your side, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he walks you both toward the kitchen.

Even while seated and eating, Pedri’s arm stayed near you. Whether his arm was wrapped around your shoulder or resting on the back of your chair, it was always keeping you close.

You noticed this about him after you started dating. He seemed to always keep you close that way. Most people held hands, or locked arms, but Pedri seemed to prefer this way. You didn’t know why, and you didn’t care to ask. It was sweet and something you’d simply grown to love.

Dts , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl !

[trulyumai]

unfit and disloyal

Pairing: Emperor Geta / Wife! Reader

Synopsis: Seeing your husband get so close with another woman, you confront him. But such an accusation of disloyalty makes anger swell up bubble beneath his skin. Until eventually it oozes out and onto you, his darling wife.

Warnings: Geta gets violent, angry.

A/N: This was highly requested, thank you all so much for the messages and comments!

A glass was thrown, shattered against the back wall of the chamber. Geta let out a surprised cry, still bent towards the ground in the quick action that fled his senses. He had expected a hug, maybe a kiss of welcome from his pretty wife.

“You idiot—you fool! You... you—!”

Another cup was already in your hands, and Geta barely made it behind a merciful beam that splayed out in the middle of the room.

“What are you doing, wife?!” Geta’s voice was hoarse with confusion as he peered from behind the pillar, his chest rising and falling from the sudden burst of chaos. He had prepared himself for an evening of peace after the long day—he had not been ready for war within his own walls. Where was his sweet wife to dote on him? To kiss and smother his face with little pecks, to hug his frame like it was the missing piece you were waiting for?

“What am I doing?" you snarled. "What am I doing?" Your hands shook with fury as dainty fingers fumbled for another object to throw. Your eyes, usually soft and full of warmth, were now blazing with a fire he had never seen before. “You dare to ask me that when I saw you with her? You let her touch you, let her throw herself on you like—like a dog in heat!”

Geta’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall how you could have come to such a conclusion. Woman? What woman? He was with you all night! The only time he wasn’t was when you had stepped away after the dessert had been devoured, kissing his cheek as you uttered a tired departure.

He meant to follow, but decided to finish his goblet first—and then it hit him. The realization sank in. The woman who had placed herself upon his knee, whispered generous actions and promises without batting an eye.

"Her? You mean the woman at the celebration?" He stepped out from behind the beam cautiously, raising his hands in surrender. A laugh already escaping him from such a deluded thought. “She meant nothing. Less than nothing. She was dealt with, pretty wife, without a second thought!”

You scoffed, laughter bitter and sharp. "Nothing? You looked like you were enjoying yourself, while I stood there, watching, like a fool. And in front of the citizens... Have you no shame, husband?" The words were spat with venom, the kind of harshness only Geta had spoken with before.

Geta’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “You left before you saw what happened next. I pushed her off the moment you turned away, threw her to the ground like the vermin she was for daring to disrespect you.” He took a step closer, trying to close the distance between you. “I grabbed her by the face and told her to remember her place—unless she wished to be charged with treason. Wife, trust me, I beg of you.”

Your grip faltered, and the third cup clattered to the floor. Your breathing was uneven, the anger mingling with something else now—uncertainty. “Then why didn’t you stop her sooner? Why did you let her touch you in the first place? Why bestow such a public betrayal onto me?”

Geta’s shoulders sagged. He was exhausted, emotionally worn from the day’s battles, and now here he was, fighting the one person he loved most. The shift in the air was palpable now, the sting of your words pressing further into his skin. The thought of you doubting him, even for a moment, sparked something darker within him. His eyes darkened, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“You accuse me of betrayal?” His voice, though low at first, began to rise, sharp and jagged as he stepped closer, each footfall deliberate. “You think I’d ever choose someone else over you?” The fury in his tone rattled the air between you, and his body towered over yours now, his shadow swallowing the small frame you stood in.

His breath came fast and heavy as he drew closer, his face inches from yours. “Do you know what kind of man you married? The kind who would crush anyone who dared stand between us!” His words came like thunder, reverberating against the stone walls, spit flying from his mouth in his rage. “I've killed men, burned them at the stake, slit their throats for weaker words. Yet you still sit there.. And look at me with such animosity, hm?”

Your body recoiled instinctively, shrinking away from his imposing presence. For the first time, there was fear in your eyes—fear of him. Geta’s breath hitched at the sight of you trembling beneath his gaze. He froze, his fury draining as quickly as it had flared. He blinked, his body suddenly stiff as realization set in.

He had never meant to frighten you.

“I didn’t...” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair, his jaw still clenched tight. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You stood frozen, still shaken, your breath shallow. Geta took a step back, releasing a slow breath as he fought to control himself, his fists relaxing at his sides. “Pretty wife, listen to me,” he rasped, voice now gentler, though it trembled. “I was angry. But not at you. Never at you.”

“But you said-” 

“I know.” He interrupted, already regret bit at the seams of his mind. He didn't need a reminder.

Ringed fingers reached for your cheek, gently wiping away the spit that had landed on your skin. “I would never hurt you. You know that, don’t you?” His voice was soft, desperate, as though each word were pulling him further from the edge of the abyss he had been teetering on.

You looked at him, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “I saw you with her,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “And for a moment, I believed it. All the rumors. The lies. I believed you had chosen someone else.”

Geta’s heart clenched. He could see it now—how fragile your faith had become. He stepped closer, cupping your face with his large, calloused hands. “Never,” he breathed. “There is no one else for me. There never will be.”

You looked up at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Then why does it feel like I’m always competing with the world for you?”

His chest tightened, the weight of your words sinking in. “You aren’t competing. There’s no contest. I may belong to Rome, to the battlefield, to the politics of the Empire... but my heart, my soul, they belong to you.”

You searched his face for a long moment, and the anger finally faded, giving way to vulnerability. Letting out a shaky breath, you leaned into his chest, your voice small and muffled against his tunic. “I'm sorry, husband.”

Geta wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. His chin rested on top of your head as he whispered, “It's okay.” 

He breathed in your scent, sweet and intoxicating to his overburdened mind. 

“It's okay.”

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Xavier: Galaxy Hands | SFW

Look at me. LOOK AT ME. I dun wanna hear nufin about bad typos in this one. I just got my nails done yesterday and they're so long in comparison to how they normally are. I am learning how to type all over again and ya...this was written in fifteen minutes.

Pairings Xavier x Reader Warnings None Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

```You had decided, for once, to treat yourself. To paint your nails despite knowing that while working tomorrow they would probably get ruined in some way. You knew your job wasn't exactly one where you could have fancy nails, so you felt it simple. Instead of going somewhere, you opted to just do it yourself.

Xavier hadn't questioned it when you showed up to his home with a small box in hand, nor did he ask why you were setting things up in his living room. Instead he just sat and watched as you got out the polishes and began working on your hands.

He was snacking, enjoying some pocky while watching you from the couch. The way you were sat on the floor, relaxed, and just focused on the task. It was relaxing for you, the small motions, waiting for it to dry between coats, and then finishing it. It had taken a good half hour, and the entire time the apartment was basked in silence.

When you finally looked at them, you smiled. It was simple, a black undercoat with a holographic purple and blue on top of it. The way the top coat made it shine had you staring at them for a little longer than you normally would.

Then you felt a hand taking your own and you looked to see Xavier. He was staring at the design on your hand with a gentle look in those beautiful blue eyes of his, "It looks like a starry sky." he finally said, breaking the silence that had been there since you had first come over.

"I know, I wasn't expecting it. This is the first time I tried this polish." You admitted. You had expected it to look nice, but you hadn't expected to have a literal galaxy on your nails when you had finished them.

You blushed when Xavier brought your hand up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss onto the knuckles of your hand. Your nails were, at this point, mainly dry, but he was still being so delicate with them that it surprised you.

"I like them." He finally said, "Why don't you paint your nails for often? You're pretty good at it." he noted as he looked them over. It was like he was transfixed on your hands at the moment and you let out a nervous chuckle.

"I mean, they'll just be ruined tomorrow while I'm at work. Doesn't make sense to do them every day." you pointed out and he nodded.

"Aren't there ways to make them last longer?" his finger were gently playing with your hand as he looked at you. "I know I've seen Tara with her nails done a few times." what he really meant was how he had seen Tara shoving her hands in your face before to gush about her nails, but that was neither here nor there.

"I mean I guess if I got them done professionally with a gel or something they'd last longer." You murmured.

"Then how about on your next day off you do that?" Xavier suggested, "It's clear you like your nails like this."

"I feel like you're enjoying them more." you pointed out, taking your hand away from his to gently bop his nose with one finger. He gave you an amused smile as he took your hand back and placed it on his cheek.

"I do. We can go together if you'd like." he said and you gave him a questioning glance.

"Oh, and are you going to get your nails done as well?" You pinched his cheek and he gave you a soft smile.

"Perhaps. Would it make you happy if I did?"

You took a moment to think about it. Xavier did have pretty hands, and his nail bed was long. Even if he kept his nails short, there was a lot you could do with them. "Ya, I think it would. I'll ask Tara where she goes tomorrow and make an appointment for us." you said as you leaned down. You pressede a quick kiss to his nose and he looked at you with a pout.

"You missed…" he muttered, and before you could ask what he meant, his lips were pressing against your own. You hummed into it, savoring the feeling of his mouth on yours as he pulled away, "There, that's better." he said, then quickly kissed your cheek. He went to grab your hand again, staring at the color for a moment more, "Now…how about we get some dinner."```

[simonbrain]

giving simon a blowjob for your own comfort because today was stressful and you were two seconds away from swerving off the road into a tree on your way home, and all you want is something in your mouth to distract you from your prick of a boss.

you're sitting between his legs, a large hand threaded through your hair and a pillow shoved beneath your knees. he's so thick, your lips stretched thin around his cock as it sits limp and heavy in your mouth. it always starts like this: you taking simon in soft and gradually feeling him fill out on your tongue. he tastes so simon, a little salty and sweaty, but he also smells faintly of body wash, and the musk of him completely overwhelms your senses and lulls you into a deep sense of security.

simon thinks you look so pretty like this. adores his girl on her knees, sucking him in so good, mouth warm and wet. your soft tongue rests beneath his cock, occasionally twitching and rubbing up against him before stilling again. your eyes have slipped shut now, and usually he would coo at you to open them because he loves seeing how teary they get when he's filling you up like this, but he's feeling a little nice. it won't last long, but he'll let you have this moment.

he chuckles fondly when you rest your head against his thigh, a content look on your face. you look so sweet, and he feels a little bad for thinking of all the things he wants to do to you right now.

but something in his eyes flickers, and whatever little amount of guilt he was feeling has been snuffed out because when he notices saliva escaping out the corners of your mouth and running down your chin, he bucks his hips up, a sick part of him buzzing in approval when he hears you choke a little and sees your eyes open, staring up at him in question. there's a furrow in your eyebrows and he pets your head, settling back down against the couch.

"sorry," simon rumbles quietly, huffing in amusement when you roll your eyes a little but ultimately accept his apology and flutter them closed again. he mumbles an affectionate brat but lets you get away with it.

he's fully hard now, and he's struggling to not just slip in a little further until the tip presses against the back of your throat. he knows that this is more for you than him; you're doing this for yourself because you like to decompress this way. it eases your mind and sends you away to a little place where the only thing you're thinking about is simon. it would be selfish of him to take that away from you.

yet he does anyway. he wouldn't be yours if he wasn't a dick sometimes. he'll earn your forgiveness later.

your eyes shoot open when you feel fingers pinch your nose shut; whatever sound was about to come out of your mouth is muffled by simon easing more of his meaty cock down your throat. suddenly it feels like too much, and your wet eyes dart up to simon, but he only strokes your cheek with his thumb, a warm look on his face.

"there are those bright eyes of yours," simon murmurs, his gaze so soft and loving as he slowly begins to work your head down on him, letting his fingers slip from your nose and instead rest on his knee. "good girl, doing so well f'me, pet. breathe—tha's it."

the change in pace has you whimpering, saliva spluttering out onto his lap and running down your neck. he's not going too rough, not as rough as you know he wants to be, but it still has you going limp as he uses your mouth.

"tight little throat," he groans quietly to himself, his cock pulsing on your tongue, so fucking fat that you almost can't breathe. you have no choice but to take it, whines getting stuck in your throat. the taste of pre-cum swirls around your mouth, mixing with your saliva, and it has you keening for more.

"gonna cum righ' here, baby," he croons, a hand going down to rest on your throat, rough fingers rubbing gently to feel himself filling you up, making you accommodate for his length. "so fuckin' good to me."

simon groans deeply when he cums, his hand keeping a firm grip on your head as you take it all in, unable to stop yourself from choking. he stays like that for a few seconds longer after his orgasm before finally relenting to give you a break, pulling himself out to examine your ruined state.

you're a right mess—a mixture of tears, saliva and cum all over your face. he shushes you when you cough and whimper a little and leans down, inspecting you closer. your mouth parts open slightly, and—fuck, there it is. his cum pooling in your sweet little mouth.

"sorry, sweet'art. overdid it a bit, didn't i?" he hums quietly, petting your hair apologetically when you whine in response. "it's alright, come here lovie. i'll make it up to ya."

you moan softly when he begins to lick into your mouth, mopping up the cum you couldn't swallow with his tongue until he's kissing you, wet and sloppy and much too disgusting, but you don't care. he's nasty with the eye contact too; eyes cracked open as he stares down at you, his still hard cock twitching in his grasp.

when he parts, a thick string of saliva drips between you, the sight stirring heat in your belly. it's a filthy mess of fluids covering the both of you, but simon only cares about returning the favour.

"on the sofa, love," he murmurs, patting your cheek gently and spreading his legs to allow you to get up. he rids himself of his shorts and tucks his cock back into his briefs before sliding between your legs, peeling off your pants and soaked underwear.

your cunt sits pretty on display for him to salivate over, his eyes focused on the wet mess between your thighs before he's leaning in and pressing a kiss on your clit, then on your hole. he's fucking kissing your pussy as if it were a person, and you think you're going to combust, and then he looks up, his dark brown eyes warm and dilated. yeah, you're definitely going to burn up and sizzle away if your heated face is any indication.

"let me apologise properly, sweet girl."

[cosmicjoke]

Levi is What Historia Pretended to Be

One of the things that the fairly prevalent claims I see about Levi "forcing" Historia to become Queen, or "forcing" her to accept eating Zeke, or just the general complaints I see about how Levi "treated" Historia, gets me to thinking is how Levi is everything Historia only pretended to be.

When we first meet Historia, she's going by the name Krista, and she presents a personality and image which, on its surface, appears to be exceptionally selfless and compassionate. She's constantly asking after others, going out of her way to inquire as to their well-being, standing up for them and seemingly sacrificing her own comfort and self-interest to their benefit. But, in the same way we eventually learn that Krista isn't her real name, we also come to find that Historia's personality is just as much a facade as her false name. We get our first exposure of the selfish and self-serving girl underneath during the scene between her and Ymir, during their training exercise through the mountains in winter, when Ymir calls Historia out for her secretly selfish behavior. Historia tells Ymir to go ahead by herself to base camp, while she carries Daz by herself, and Ymir points out that if Historia really wanted to save Daz, she would have asked Ymir for help, since Ymir was stronger, and thus had a greater chance of saving Daz than herself. But she doesn't ask for help, because she wants Ymir to tell people about about her selfless, final act, sacrificing her life to save another's. Here we see exposed for the first time Historia's willingness to sacrifice others for her own, selfish gain. She pretends to want to save Daz's life, but in reality, she sees him as an acceptable sacrifice for her own glorification.

Of course, this is all wrapped up in Historia's childhood trauma and the feelings of rejection she faced from her mother, tied in with what Frieda told her about how to ingratiate herself to others by being a "good person". But the fact remains, Historia is exceedingly selfish, and we get our first glimpse of that selfishness here. Something that she herself at last admits to in the scene with Eren, in the underground cavern beneath the Reiss family compound. She calls herself "the worst girl in the world" as she finally casts off all pretense in trying to win her family's approval and love, rejecting her father's offer and embracing her own, selfish desires. She tells Eren that she doesn't care if all of humanity perishes, something that we come to realize is foreshadowing, when Historia's selfishness culminates in her standing by and doing nothing to stop Eren's genocidal plans, simply because it allows her to continue living.

I think Historia and Levi are a perfect study in contrast precisely because there are some similarities between the two of them in terms of their childhood's and trauma.

Both experienced abandonment and rejection as children. Historia by her mother, Levi by Kenny. Both, I think, suffer from fear of abandonment and this pervasive sense within them that they were abandoned due to some lacking quality in themselves. We see this with Levi in him questioning Kenny about why he left him, and later, in his comment to Armin about how if he sleep's any longer than he already has, they'll all forget he even exists. We see how both Levi and Historia's sense of self-worth is wrapped up in this idea of being useful to others. How their lives will only be of worth if they're able to somehow be of benefit to others.

But while Historia's abandonment issues manifested in her pretending to be a good and selfless person who, in truth, only "helped" others so long as it benefited her somehow, and who's selfless acts served as cover for her self-serving desire to be accepted and loved, Levi's selflessness was never an act, and his desire to help others was never rooted in some secret scheme to get others to like or accept him. While Levi might feel he's of no worth to others unless he's useful to them in some way, that was never the actual motivation behind his selfless actions, never the motivating drive. I think Levi's low sense of self-worth, in fact, only serves to highlight the genuine quality of his selflessness, because he never uses his actions to win himself praise, even as, surely, he feels bereft of love or acceptance, the same as Historia.

I think this is most clearly demonstrated by the fact that Levi, in sharp contrast to Historia, never engaged in behavior that was designed to ingratiate him to others, and in fact, is markedly the opposite of that, often behaving in ways that serve only to win him people's ire and, at times, even repulses people from him. People see Levi as rude and cold-hearted and without feeling. They see him as uncharismatic and crude, and often display lowly opinions of him, or even disappointment upon meeting him. Zeke even comments on this, accusing Levi of being "unpopular" because of his blunt assertions about what sort of person Zeke is, accusing him of being a "know-it-all". We see other soldiers accuse Levi of being heartless, accuse him of getting other scouts killed, accuse him of being insane and a bad person, and Levi never fights these accusations, never defends himself. He accepts all of this criticism without complaint or personal offense, and without ever trying to convince anyone otherwise about his character. He's never tries to convince anyone he's a good person.

Where Historia had pretty much made an art of ingratiating herself to others, of wearing a mask of humility and generosity and kindness, fooling people into believing her to be all of those things, Levi has never been able to do the same, and further, he never tried, because, unlike Historia, whether he was well-liked or not was never something that mattered to him. It was never the underlying motivation of his selflessness or compassion. It doesn't matter to him what people think of him. What actually matters to him is helping them.

The fundamental difference between the two, then, is that Historia's selflessness was always an act, always a ruse to win her approval and acceptance, whereas Levi's selflessness always just was what it appeared to be. Actual selflessness, acts committed for no reason beyond the benefit they would have for others.

And we see that fundamental difference between the two demonstrated, also, by the fact that Historia is willing to let harm befall others, particularly, other people who never did her any harm or posed her any threat, so long as it benefits her in some way, (i.e. Daz, and the entire human population on earth) while Levi has never been willing to let harm befall anyone for any sort of self-gain, again, particularly, anyone who wasn't already threatening his life or the lives of others, and, in fact, often sacrifices his own well-being for the benefit of others.

It's just amusing to me how often people will criticize Levi for being "mean" to Historia, or how many people make the false claim that Levi forced Historia into any sort of position or burden that she hadn't already committed herself to previously, because Levi is everything Historia only ever pretended to be. He's selfless to an extreme fault, not only not seeking recognition or acknowledgment for his selfless acts, but outright rejecting it when he does receive it (i.e. Erwin trying to thank him for helping capture the Female Titan, Hitch trying to accuse Levi of thinking he's a hero, his disdain for his title as "Humanity's Strongest"). His compassion is such that he'll sacrifice his own comfort and peace of mind if it means easing the burden placed on the shoulders of others (letting Erwin die, giving Petra's patch to Dieter, torturing Sannes, killing for the sake of saving others lives...), his belief in the worth of other people's lives so powerful, that he actively seeks ways to ensure those lives are proven to have value by imbuing their loss with meaning, and is absolutely unable to abide the thought of anyone dying a meaningless death, his care for his comrades so immense, that he would destroy his own body to protect theirs. He has no dreams of his own, but instead dedicates himself fully to the dreams of others, fighting with all his strength toward that end, not to win acceptance or praise, but simply for the fact that he feels it's his obligation to help, a sense of obligation born out of a deep, inborn compassion.

Historia was always purely motivated by people liking her and seeing her as "good", her altruistic behavior and actions designed to garner her that image and acceptance, never out of any, genuine desire to help, and we see that core truth about her eventually manifest in her willingness to let so many innocent people die for her own life.

Levi, by contrast, was always okay with people hating him, with people thinking he's a lunatic or a monster, as long as it meant those same people would be okay, would be protected from having to experience the same horrors he had.

[veronicaphoenix]

IKIGAI — ADDITIONAL CHAPTER

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Lia Parker

Summary: Lia tells Noah she had sex for the first time, and the news doesn't sit right with him. She doesn't feel very thrilled about it either.

Word count: 2.7k | Reading time: 10mins aprox | Series masterpost ✨

Tags & trigger warnings: best friends to lovers trope, lia has a boyfriend, talks about sex, about lia's first time, disappointment, lia being infatuated with noah, mentions of noah having had sexual encounters before but still being a virgin, sexual innuendos, noah feeling jealous and confused.

This chapter takes place between chapter 13 and chapter 14 of Ikigai (part one of The Inevitability of Love at Second Sight Series). Lia and Noah are 21/22.

The moment his phone started ringing and the screen lit up with Lia’s name, Noah paused mid-typing, slipped off his headphones, and answered. Her hurried voice hit his ears before he could say anything.

“Noah, are you home? Is anyone else there?”

Noah frowned, taken aback by her urgency. 

“Hello to you, too, Gremlin. Yeah, I’m home. Why?”

“Are the boys around? Jolly, Jesse?”

“No, I’m alone. What’s up?”

“Good. I’m coming over.”

Noah’s eyebrows shot up. The way she spoke—it almost sounded like she was asking for permission to come back to her own home. 

“Lia, what’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Lia disconected the call. Noah remained frozen in place, still perched on his studio chair, staring at his iPhone as if expecting the screen to offer some explanation. 

It didn’t. 

This was Lia’s house, too. They’d been living together since she’d turned eighteen, so why was she acting like a stranger? She hadn’t been home last night, though. She’d gone out with friends, said she’d stay over at Emery’s. Now it was barely eleven in the morning, and this call felt... strange. Something was off, and the knot of unease tightening in Noah’s stomach told him whatever it was, he wouldn’t like it.

Twenty minutes later, the front door burst open. Lia stormed in, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her hair tied in a very messy bun, her face set in agitation—not fear, not hurt, just stress. As soon as her eyes landed on Noah, standing in sweats and a t-shirt in the middle of the living room, her expression shifted to disappointment.

He raised his arms, wordlessly asking what the hell is happening? She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she dropped her bag and rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his chest with a sigh, melting against him as though she’d been holding her breath for hours.

“Lia, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

It took her a moment before she spoke. 

“I slept with Leon last night.”

Noah’s blood ran cold. He pulled back, grabbing her shoulders, but she clung to his shirt, refusing to let go.

“Lia,” he said, his voice strained. “You...” His head shook. He blinked rapidly. “You had your first time with Leon?”

She nodded, avoiding his eyes now.

His mind reeled, thoguhts scrambling in every direction. 

“Lia—We said we’d do it together. That we’d have our first time at the same time.”

Lia sighed, already anticipating his reaction. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it, too—their weird, half-serious pact, made when they were younger, with all the naivety and awkwardness of two people trying to make sense of their feelings. But now, standing here, it felt like a relic of something neither of them could hold onto. How could that have ever worked, anyway?

She took one step back to look him in the eyes, trying to be practical.

“Noah, how did you think that would go? You in one room with some random chick and me on the other side of the wall?”

“No, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. He hadn’t been expecting his quiet Sunday morning to turn into this; whatever this was. “Fuck, Lia.”

It hurt. It hurt a lot. But why? Was it just because she’d had sex? Because she did it before him? Or because she’d done it with someone who wasn’t him?

Lia sighed again and walked to the open kitchen, reaching for the kettle. She hadn’t eaten breakfast and was starving. The subtle ache between her legs didn’t help her mood, either. She reached for the kettle, filling it with water. Behind her, she could hear Noah collapse onto the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, fingers drumming on the counter as she waited for the water to boil.

Noah stared blankly ahead, his thoughts a mess. The idea that Lia wasn’t a virgin anymore—it didn’t sit right. It felt like a puzzle piece has been shoved into the wrong place, forced, stuck forever. His jealousy, or whatever it was, mixed with confusion. But then, an uneasy thought surfaced, shifting everything inside him. 

He stood up abruplty, the sudden clarity jolting him.

“Shit. Lia, did he hurt you?”

She whipped around, startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, kettle in hand, steam rising.  

“No,” she said flatly. “He didn’t hurt me.”

Noah studied her face, unsure if he believed her. Whether or not she was telling the truth, one thing was certain—he would have never let that happen. He would’ve made sure she felt safe, cared for. Even if they were both inexperienced, they would’ve figured it out together. They always trusted each other like that, in ways that seemed to run deeper than words.

“Then what?” he asked, his voice softer now but still loaded with confusion. “Why do you look like this?”

She turned back to the kettle, her movements robotic, avoiding his gaze. 

“He just... finished, and that was it.” she said, pouring the water into a mug, her tone hollow. “I’m not hurt. I’m disappointed. I didn’t know it would be like that. I thought it’d be more... exciting. There was some thrill at first, but then it just... faded into nothing. And...” She bit her lips, her cheeks flushed a little. She was glad Noah couldn’t see. “I didn’t come,” she added quietly.

Noah stood frozen a few feet away, his mind scrambling to process what she was saying.

“He didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care.” Her voice cracked with frustration. “He just thought it was over.”

Before he could react, she crossed the room, collapsing against him again, her forehead resting against his chest. Her arms hung limp at her sides.

“Oh, God. Noah, it was so disappointing,” she said. “You wouldn’t let a girl feel like that, would you?”

Noah stiffened. He wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Lia murmured softly, her voice thick with a mix of frustration and resignation.

“Lia, I...” Noah began, but the words faltered. He had no idea what to say. He wasn’t much more experienced than she was. Sure, he’d gone down on a few girls, fumbled with his fingers and his mouth. Some cheeky girls had touched him, but that was it.

“You don’t have to be experienced for that,” she interrupted, looking up at him with a spark of hope in her big brown eyes. Noah felt a familiar weight press against his chest. Lia had always seen something in him, something pure, as if he were some kind of angel or hero, when in reality, he was full of flaws, just like anyone else. If she was so infatuated with him because of how he treated her, she should know by now—that kind of treatment was reserved for her.

“You just need to be considerate,” she continued. “You are considerate.”

“Lia,” he said, his voice firm as he gently grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back again, creating a bit of distance. She frowned at his authoritative tone.

“Promise me,” she blurted, before he could say more.

“Promise you what?”

“That you’ll be considerate. That you’ll make her come—whoever she is. Any girl. Every time. Always.”

“Jesus Christ, Lia,” Noah groaned, turning away and heading back to the couch, rubbing his forehead in frustration. 

Lia trailed after him, relentless as she picked up her cup of tea and sat next to him on the couch, close enough that their legs touched.

“You can’t just ask me that,” he muttered, snatching the cup from her without asking and taking a sip. The hot liquid burned his tongue, but he didn’t care.

“Why not?” she pressed. “It’s advice. It’ll be good for you.”

“Maybe I don’t need advice,” he snapped, a bit sharper than he intended.

Lia raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. 

“Your ego is showing, Sebastian.”

Noah rolled his eyes and handed back the cup. 

“It’s not about ego. I’m just saying maybe it’ll go fine without us having to talk about it like this.”

Lia sighed, slumping slightly against the cushions, conceding the point, though she wasn’t fully convinced.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, her voice quieter.

She hadn’t expected him to feel uncomfortable discussing this—especially with her. But his attitude suggested otherwise. She bit her lip, a twinge of regret flickering across her face.

“I just needed to talk to you,” she said a bit ashamed, and the tenderness in her voice caught him off guard.

Without thinking, he placed a hand on her knee, squeezing lightly through the fabric of her black leggings. His head lolled back against the sofa, eyes locking on hers. Once again, it hit him—how beautiful she had always been. As a kid, she’d been cute and full of energy. Now, as an adult, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “I know.”

“I just got worried. I don’t want other girls to go through that disappointment. I know, sometimes, it’s part of the experience, of growing up, learning, but...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t want it to happen when they’re with you. You can’t be a disappointment, Noah.”

“You’re setting the bar really high, Lia. I don’t know if I’ll ever reach it.”

“You’d never let me leave the room like that, would you?”

Noah let out a heavy huff, shaking his head.

“Lia, I’ve already warned you. Don’t make this weird, please.” 

“It’s only a question. You can just answer it. Or don’t. I know the answer. You wouldn’t leave me unfinished.”

He gave her an exasperated look, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“You’re so much trouble, Lia Parker.”

"I’m not, I promise. I’m just a girl asking for equality,” she replied, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “But if you have your doubts, I could give you more... detailed advice, if you want.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“All right, your loss,” she concluded, raising a hand in mock surrender.

Noah couldn’t help but laugh, rolling his eyes. He gave her knee a light pat. 

“You’re so dramatic. You know that?”

“I’m not. I’m just... unsatisfied,” she admitted, shaking her head at the memory of how disappointment last night had been. “I need release,” she uttered before she could stop herself. 

His eyes widened as he processed her words. She wasn’t playing around—this wasn’t some offhand joke or a ploy to shock him. She was genuinely frustrated, still reeling from the lack of fulfillment the night before. For a brief moment, a flood of inappropriate thoughts ran through his mind—ways he could help her, ways he could get involved. But he quickly pushed them aside.

“I’m breaking up with him,” she declared, her voice decisive as she lifted the cup of tea to her lips and taking a slow sip. “I don’t care if he thinks I just wanted him for sex. I definitely don’t want him for sex after that.”

Noah could have told her it was only her first time, that things could get better with practice. She could talk to Leon, communicate, learn together like couples were supposed to. They’d only been together for a few months, after all. But deep down, Noah felt a sense of relief. He didn’t want to give her advice on how to fix things with her boyfriend. He was content with her decision, and he wasn’t going to argue with it.

It might’ve been selfish, but single Lia meant more of her at home, more of her for him. Leon could learn how to get a woman to orgasm with someone else.

“Can we spend the day watching movies and eating junk food?” Lia asked, her big puppy-dog eyes making it impossible to say no. She was the queen of that look, and she knew exactly how to use it on him.

Of course they could. He would never deny her anything. But where was the fun in giving in so easily? He leaned back, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

“Didn’t you say you needed... release? Don’t you wanna go to your bedroom first?”

“Oh, Noah!” she gasped, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder, her laughter tangling with his. “You’ll never know when I’m doing it. I’m very quiet.”

She was, indeed. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t strained his ears a few times, hoping to catch something from her bedroom at night.

“Really? So, when you get wet, you don’t go full Gremlin mode?”

“I swear, Sebastian, if you don’t shut up, I’m spilling this tea all over you.”

“I’m already hot enough, thanks.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re pushing it.”

“Says the one who barged in talking about sex and orgasms.”

“Ugh, you might be right, but—”

“I am right.”

“All right, fine.” She paused, then leveled him with a serious look. “You have to promise me, though, that you’ll think about them—not just yourself—when it happens.”

“Ooookay.” He lifted his pinky finger toward her, the smirk still lingering. “I promise.”

She laced her pinky with his, sealing the deal. 

“Happy now?” He asked. 

“Not really. It’s still weird thinking about you with other girls, but yeah, better than I was thirty minutes ago.”

Noah narrowed his eyes, studying her face, trying to read her thoughts. There was something unspoken between them, an invisible thread that always seemed to pull tighter the closer they got. 

He let out a breath, feeling the subtle shift between them. It wasn’t the tension that was there earlier; it was something softer, more familiar. With Lia, things never stayed too heavy for long. It was one of the things he loved about her—things could be strange, awkward, but they never broke.

Lia settled next to him, nudging her shoulder against his as Noah turned on the TV. He suggested they play some video games instead of watching a movie, and she agreed, completely unaware of the storm brewing in his mind. Inappropriate images flashed through his thoughts—images of them together, naked, her soft commands in his ear as he obeyed, eager to make her feel as good as she deserved. He wondered what it would be like if she said the words, if she let him, if they crossed that line. How much would he give to her? Everything, if she asked.

Not long after that day, Noah lost his virginity. It was with a girl he’d met at a friend’s house—a black-haired girl who had sparked some fleeting interest in him. He hadn’t thought much of the girl at first, but when they started dancing together, he felt… attraction. 

The night they had sex, they had all been out at a club, Noah, Lia, Matt, Jolly, and their usual group of friends. 

Lia had seen them on the dancefloor—caught a glimpse of the girl kissing Noah’s neck, her lips lingering too long. Something twisted inside her, an unwelcome feeling she didn’t quite understand. She told herself to get a grip and finished her beer in one quick gulp. When Noah and his new girlfriend passed by her on their way out, Lia winked at him, already tipsy, her face flushed from the alcohol.

Noah hesitated. He wanted to stay, to make sure Lia got home safely like he always did, but the girl tugged on his arm, pulling him away. He found himself torn between the pull of his present and the weight of his responsibility to Lia. But for the first time, he didn’t stay.

Later that night, with the black-haired girl in his bed, all Noah could think of was Lia. He tried to focus, to be in the moment, but her presence was a ghost in the room. Every girl after that night would carry the same haunting thread—because every time he had sex, Lia was there. Her promise, her words, lingered in his mind.

He had sworn to her that he’d be considerate, that he’d make every girl feel special, and he did. But what Lia didn’t know was that every girl he touched, every one he pleased, was just a stand-in. No matter whose legs he was between, no matter who whispered his name, his thoughts always circled back to her. Lia was always in his head. The promise he’d made to her—it was her name, her face, her pleasure, that guided every move.

And that secret was one he’d carry with him, long after the girls were gone.

🔖 The Inevitability of Love at Second Sight taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[reaper-in-reverie]

—come, stay a while.

(though it's not nice to see a familiar face.)

preview.

Wrinkles settling in his forehead with his eyebrows knitted together, a deep, skeptical frown upon his lips as he scanned his reflection, a sense of dread filling him at the familiarity of it.

Oh god, he looked just like him.

synopsis. kaiser, and how his change doesn't seem to change much at all. angst. character interpretation.

warnings. derealization. typical kaiser backstory implications - abuse, neglect, etc. alcohol/alcoholism mentioned. blood but only very little. 1k words. not proofread.

notes. ooc definitely lol. i think it's a bit too melancholy but i don't plan on fixing it. I am projecting so hard. the hyperspecific details are actually references to me :3

He could physically feel himself get worse on more stressful days.

The dull bathroom light illuminated the mirror as Kaiser stared into it. He brushed his blond locks from his face, scanning his own features; the stress of the day etched into them, the natural gleam of attractiveness in his eyes.

He'd accepted a long time ago his life was but a reflection of people before him.

In the mirror, in puddles of rain, in the words of people around him — "you look just like your mother!" It used to sting, the reminder of a mother who looked exactly like him yet he never knew; never loved him as a mother should. First there was anger, spreading over his whole being like a wildfire — why compare him to such a coward, run from home and left her blood behind?

He hated it, disowned it like his mother did him; he hated his blue eyes, which seemed to naturally have a charming gleam in them; he hated his blond hair, which seemed so naturally beautiful he had to make an effort to keep it shaggy, to try to keep him as different from his mother.

The acceptance took years to settle. Eventually he'd come to live with the fact that his reflection was the only thing his mother had left for him to keep. He'd come to find comfort in this fact — somewhere in his blood he was both blessed and tainted with memories of his mom. Truly, engraved within his blood and soul, he still belonged to something. Almost comfortingly, he belonged to his mother. But he did not know his mother. She had no arms to hold him, no voice to guide him; just a face, haunting him in every reflective surface.

Kaiser would stare into the bathroom mirror and not see himself.

Now Kaiser would stare into the bathroom mirror and expect to his mother.

He brushed his blond hair falling into his blue eyes again, in search for something to belong to.

This time, there was something else.

Wrinkles settling in his forehead with his eyebrows knitted together, a deep, skeptical frown upon his lips as he scanned his reflection, a sense of dread filling him at the familiarity of it.

Oh god, he looked just like him.

For the first time, Kaiser felt the intense urge to cover his face. He winced at himself, looking into his own eyes with extreme disgust and judgment, his own expression reminding him of someone else. Why would his father make an appearance now? He'd just never thought he'd find himself looking like...

He tried looking himself in the mirror again, brushing some of his bangs out of his hair. Some pathetic part of him searched for his mother in the reflection, yearned for her care the same way he had when he was younger. And still, like before, there was no one who came to his side. He couldn't unsee it.

He took a sharp breath in, rubbing his eyes long enough until he had splotches of black in his vision. Kaiser looked himself in the mirror again—

And still, his father was there. Silently staring from the mirror in judgment.

Suddenly Kaiser was ten again. When he looked up to the low ceiling, there were splashes of milk stretching out from above his bed up to the corner of the room, painting the ceiling with stars. The pads of his tiny fingers were bleeding from trying to open a can of tuna. The familiar scent of alcohol filled his nostrils — his father was drunk in the living room — but he didn't move from his bed to ask his father for bandages. He did not move to ask his father to open the can himself.

His bedroom walls slowly rotted away, cracks in the corners, the paint peeling off. It didn't take much to notice how many things were in bad condition; entering the house itself had the doors creaking, hell, even the door to his own rotting bedroom creaked loudly when opened.

But Kaiser did not ask his father to get the walls fixed. He did not ask his father to oil his doors' hinges. He did not ask his father for anything. Excluding maybe all the times he'd beg not to be hit...

But he did not ask his father for anything.

And to think that but a child was soaking up such an environment. A polished and unassuming to-be-copy as it sat in the corner of the room. All he could do was reflect what he hungrily absorbed.

That's enough. Kaiser turned away from the mirror, hastily shutting off his bathroom lights. He didn't want to keep seeing his father in himself. He didn't want to see at all.

He walked into the connecting room, leaving the bathroom door open and grabbing a glass to fill with water. He swallowed with fervor, a dizzying feeling of misplaced yet familiar paranoia washing over him in waves.

He had to remind himself he wasn't ten anymore. There weren't any more rotting walls and no more drunk fathers in the living room.

So what was scaring him?

No, what was scaring him more: that it still felt as if his father was here, looming over his every move and judging his every mistake; or that he was the one bringing his father into his own life, in his own actions and in his very reflection.

That somewhere deep down, down to the very nature of his soul, he was bound by blood to a monster.

That somewhere deep down, he belonged to something.

Kaiser glanced towards the rest of his home now. A small apartment. He didn't even live in Germany anymore. Still, he felt he was carrying some part of himself with it. Eerily, it was like nothing had even changed.

Some of the paint on the walls were peeling. He placed the glass of water down to nervously rub the pads of his fingers together. He noticed the bathroom door was still open. Crossing the room to get his hand on the handle, he took one last glance at the mirror. It was dark in the bathroom. He couldn't see himself. He pulled the door closed.

The door creaked loudly shut.

║Ⓒ reapkusho on tumblr. 2024. all rights reserved. refrain from translating, copying, or stealing in any way, etc.

[woncon]

part three: sex on the beach

pairing: poly!stray kids x gn!reader

You only have one fan at home. It's a cruel thing. But the water is for everyone! The lake water is cooling, and you can relax with your boys. You can lay out on the mat, compete in swimming, or even make offers that wouldn't be appropriate for a grandmother swimming nearby to hear. There's a lot going on this day: injuries, bets and a kiss fest. The nine of you brushing the edge of indecency, like waves on the rocks off the shore. It's really wholesome.

genre: mini-series, fluff, suggestive, crack/humor, summer fic, established relationship, polyamory, a day on the beach

warnings: minho finally gets sex on the beach, making out as a problem-solving technique, more kisses, jeongin likes to ask questions today

word count: 5K

a/n: yay! it's done! thanks for @honeytwo for her committed work, and of course, thanks to all of you for reading this summer fic! <3

[part 1] / [part 2]

summer go loco / stray kids mlist

While you were sliding into the water, Hyunjin attacked Chan not far away.

"Ah! Hyunne, no!" spat the older man, gasping. "I'm drowning in your spaghetti hair!"

"Oh, no!" giggled Hyunjin as he swung away with his tines flapping like mops. "If you really want to drown, drown in my love for you!"

Chan made a suffering sound and hid his face in his palms.

"Chan is weak when it comes to compliments," Seungmin stated in a whisper, having been given the humble role of Jeongin's pusher. "He's weak at other times too. Like when I loaded his barbell. He couldn't lift it because he's old."

Jeongin couldn't take it anymore, he asked.

"Do you really have a granddaddy kink?"

"No, I just like to tease Chan. Who told you that?"

“Hyunjin.”

"I'm gonna fuck his gossipy ass."

"You'd have to get him to talk to you first, wouldn't you?"

As if sensing that the conversation was about him - and his butt - Hyunjin glanced towards them. He smiled affectionately at Jeongin, but looked gloomily at Seungmin, and then took his gaze away. 

Jeongin patted Seungmin on the shoulder.

"Shall I throw you in the water?"

Jeongin immediately withdrew his hand. "Why?"

"Maybe that would cheer me up." Seungmin made a thoughtful, questioning face.

"I'd rather climb off the mat willingly then." Jeongin did so. When he felt safe, he added, "Asshole."

"Now I'm an asshole?" asked Seungmin, looking shocked. "I wasn't an asshole this morning. Then you called me a-"

"You didn't want to throw me in the water this morning to make yourself feel better." Jeongin was pushing the Monster can again. "Did you learn nothing from what happened between you and Hyunjin hyung?"

"You're right, Innie-ah. It was a stupid idea." He pushed the mattress in the boy's direction. "You can climb back in."

Jeongin grimaced.

"I don't trust you."

"At least let me make it up to you... with a kiss?"

"Isn't the point of atonement to get me something I want?" Jeongin lazily tossed the Monster can into the air, then caught it.

"You don't want my kiss, huh?" The other didn't answer that. Seungmin crept closer to him. "Am I really such a bad kisser that you'd rather throw yourself on the pebbles?" He made a curious face, showing no other emotion.

"It's not about that. I hate it when you come at me in groups."

"And now?" Seungmin bit his lip and swam even closer to him with the mattress like a cargo merman. "We're on our own. Just you and me. Do you want it now?"

Jeongin looked up at the clear blue sky as if the answer was written there.

"Maybe."

"Maybe? What does it take to get the answer to be yes?"

"Answer a simple question."

Seungmin nodded in agreement.

"Are you quite sure you're not interested in grandfathers?"

Seungmin laughed incredulously. And swimming just a short distance away from them was a grandmother and grandfather duo with two grandchildren.

"I swear to you. I like my own age group... And Chan hyung... Okay, maybe I'm interested. But only in Chan hyung."

"Last night for some reason you didn't mention how old he is... When you bit his abs... Several times. And everything."

Seungmin narrowed his eyes. "You said not to talk about last night."

Jeongin shrugged, a small smile hiding at the corner of his mouth.

"Give me my kiss."

"Did I also say you'd get it now?"

"I should have pushed you into the w-"

Jeongin grabbed the back of Seungmin's head, kissed him hard, then let go.

"Here's your kiss."

Then he swam away. Seungmin watched his receding figure. Two canoeists passed him, and even Chan was asking if he was okay when he regained consciousness. "Fuck," he muttered.

Jeongin was not even within earshot, but you and Felix immediately approached him. For the time being, it looked like he would be safe here. Felix had never kissed his face or cooed at him, and you had never cooed at him as often as Hyunjin or Changbin. He obviously didn't know what interesting things were happening while he was chilling with the others. He probably had no idea that there would be a lot of kissing in the middle of the lake. Nor did it occur to him that you were largely planning how to make it the most super day for him.

Right after you met him halfway, Hyunjin arrived in a breaststroke. With a devilish half-smile on his face, by the way. When he spoke, Jeongin's potential security was shattered.

"Innie-ah? Can I ask you something?" Hyunjin leaned his head on the boy's shoulder. "Please don't take off your shirt. If you do, I'll cum right here."

"Oh, my God." Jeongin massaged the bridge of his nose. "Can we please not talk about sex all the time? Just a little?"

"We're sexually frustrated adults. Most of us are half naked and flirting. What did you expect?" asked Felix.

Jeongin mumbled something under his breath.

"Oh, Innie," you clung to him affectionately. "Your poor innocent soul... and your poor feet."

"Stop that. I'm not a little child."

"But you are a baby. Our baby." You kissed him all over his cheekbone. Maybe all of you took it a little too seriously when you had the opportunity to bathe Jeongin in love.

 "And you need to relax."

"I'm relaxed," he said, as he was like a log in your arms. Or a hot guy in the shape of a blown-up float.

"Come on!" Hyunjin poked his nose. That wasn't the switch on the slackness function, unfortunately. "Last time I saw you smile was when the fan was running."

"And when you groped me," you reported. "If that's what it takes to make you happy, I'm here."

Jeongin's Adam's apple did a wild dance.

"As I just alluded to, I don't want it to be all about sex."

"Sex? Who mentioned sex?" Hyunjin narrowed his eyes, then glanced over at your form. “Was it you?"

"I sure wasn't."

“Felix?”

"I don't even know what the word means."

"Get lost." Jeongin tried to shake you off, but you were like Chan in the morning. A real cuddly koala.

"Come on, Innie. You're living with Minho and you still think groping is exclusively sexual?" Felix ruffled the younger's hair. You were amazed at how eager Jeongin was to indulge in his touch, even while he was droning on and in the middle of a minor argument.

You recalled what you had said to Felix minutes earlier. Maybe there's someone who needs your kiss more than I do. Not exactly your kiss. More like something to cheer him up. When you're with him, he's usually happy.

He didn't need much convincing. He also wanted Jeongin to be happy on this sunny day with his wholesome partners.

"Whatever it is, I don't want to do it. And I don't want to hear about him or Chan's bite marks or Jisung's hip-"

"What was that?" interrupted Hyunjin.

"What was what?"

Your boyfriend grinned. "That's what you were doing with your hand," he pointed out the tiny, grabbing motion, "when you mentioned Sungie's hip."

"I'm sure I didn't," Jeongin denied.

"Three credible witnesses say so."

"Only two," you corrected Hyunjin, still clinging to Jeongin. "I haven't been sane since Lix's mouth touched me."

Felix caressed the back of your neck.

"Two witnesses then. The point is the same. You want all of this. Jisung, Chan, maybe everyone. You want it so bad you're about to explode. All this frustration is not good for you. Not for you, not for us. We're here to have fun, Innie. Why are you resisting?"

"What if he doesn't want to?"

"Who? Sungie? Pff." Hyunjin sneered. "He'd feel like heaven if you got close to him."

"Anyone would feel like that," you added.

"That's stupid."

"No. That's the truth," Felix assured him. He pressed a kiss to Jeongin's temple. "We're starving for you, baby."

"There's a difference between someone saying they want to kiss you and sitting on your lap and actually doing it. They're just words. And you're always messing with me and each other. When can I take it seriously?"

"Naive boy..." mumbled Felix. "We're not messing with you."

"Didn't you know? All offers are deathly serious," Hyunjin continued. "If you say yes, it's yours."

Jeongin really did stiffen in your arms this time. You were thinking of recalling in your mind all the offers he'd received in the last few days, maybe even specifically that day. It must have been quite a lot based on the fact that you had talked a lot about Jeongin, not only in person but virtually, and how much you adored him. You had your private fan club.

"Just think about it, okay?" Hyunjin pressed a soft kiss on the back of Jeongin's head.

You let go, so he could think about what was going on without any extra weight. You didn't expect him not to know the rules of the game. You all thought that he just liked to give you the unattainable, or that he just didn't desire your advances.

All of you swam back to the big mat like a couple of cooling fish, and got caught in the middle of a conversation.

"Your feet hurt, your back hurts," Minho listed to Jisung. "Doesn't your mouth get lonely, jagi? If so, I can help you with that, and I can take your mind off the other two. Just saying."

"Can we do it like they did?" He pointed in your and Felix’s direction.

"Oh, we can do better."

"Wanna bet?" Felix was really sexy as he challenged Minho. And Minho greeted him with a sexy smile. Jisung was sexy too, as he scratched his head and lay on the mattress like he was waiting for his dream make-out session. Everyone was sexy. You saw the world, or more accurately your boyfriends, through overly sexy lenses since Felix's mouth touched yours.

"Let’s bet."

After being flooded with mattress memories, you realized what was happening.

Oh my goodness, how many dishes you've washed and vacuumed dust bunnies for betting with Felix! If you were forced to bet, you'd bet with anyone else, even Hyunjin, who bets in vile values, just not Felix. The guy's a master, and you've learned that the hard way.

"Are you sure, hyung?" asked Hyunjin, putting the pink sunglasses back on, not just resting on the top of his head. "You already lost one today. You want to do two penalties in one day?"

"Don't worry about me, Hyunne. I'm unbeatable at kissing Sungie."

"You're not going to kiss Sungie this time," Felix indicated. "This time you're going to kiss like,” he said your name with an impish smile. “and me. Or so you want to. Can you do that?"

Minho licked his lips.

"What do you give when I do?"

"Okay, okay, stop it." Jeongin stepped between Minho, who was leaning against the mattress, and Felix. "What now? A summer mating battle? I don't know exactly what Felix and they did, but I'm sure it won't be repeated here."

"If you're playing Chan today, what will you give us to stop?" asked Jisung slyly, elbowing up. "Scrambled eggs for breakfast? A cuddle afternoon? Kisses?"

It was pretty clear that Chan was spoiling you.

"I can give kisses. To everyone," Jeongin said. He was tense, judging by the way he was playing with the squashed Monster box. 'First thing you'll do when you get out of here is throw away the metal and replace it with a hand. If you can't use your own, you can use someone else's. "Behind the willow tree on the beach."

Jeongin turned and headed for the stairs.

Silence. Even the seagull raiding the beach fell silent at Jeongin's offer. So did you. You restored Changbin's fallen chin, who then looked at you with sparkling eyes.

"Jeongin offered his mouth. All my dreams have come true."

"Wow," Jisung also acknowledged what had happened. "I need to get to shore as soon as possible. Can you push me out, jagi?"

"Sure," nodded Minho. He quickly forgot about the bet. "As fast as I can, no question."

"Let's go until he changes his mind," Felix nodded as well. "I'll go quickly and tell the others. Will you be alright?"

"Of course," you assured him. "I'll kiss Jeongin so hard that- Hey, Minho! Wait for me! I'm getting on!" The mattress was pushed that day, perhaps never before, with the vehemence that Minho and Changbin were pushing it.

It's a wonder they waited. Or maybe it was just a testament to how much they loved you that they were able to wait for you with the promise of an Innie kiss before them.

The willow tree Jeongin picked was huge. Chan could have fit twice its length behind it. It was shady and hidden from prying eyes. It was a feature that caught the eye of others, because in the grass was a suspicious resemblance to a used condom. Fortunately, when it was your turn to follow Minho and Changbin, you weren't concerned with what was down below.

Jeongin gently pushed you against the trunk of the tree. The rough surface peeked through your towel and pressed against your shoulder, but you didn't give a damn.

"Is that how you want it?" Jeongin hummed at your question. "With ants?"

The boy rested his hand next to your head. This gesture was cringe-worthy in many places. However, this time Jeongin did it. If he was going to do the same to Chan, you hoped the poor guy wouldn't get too dizzy.

"There are none. I just have questions."

"Questions? I thought you had kisses. For me."

"Just take a turn. Questions first, then kisses."

"Fine. What do you want to know?"

"How would you like it? Slow and gentle, like Binnie hyung? Or hard, like Minho hyung? Shall I bite your mouth?"

Oh, fuck.

"Whatever. Just keep your mouth on mine." You traced your fingers over the carotid artery, one of his sensitive spots, and with the same vigor he sucked in air sharply, he leaned in to take your mouth.

It's an established fact that he's got you on the edge. And he kissed you fantastically, just the way you like it. You wouldn't have minded ants dropping on you.

Jeongin gasped out your name in a breathy whimper, eyes clouded with haze. He leaned away from you, when you were in the middle of working to rip off his soaked T-shirt.

"Sorry. I just thought you might catch a cold. Besides, Hyunjin's not here to come in his pants if he sees you half naked."

"Don't bet on it. I think he's always watching." Jeongin grabbed your wrist and untucked it from his shirt. Then he surprised you by reaching back to pull it off himself.

Before you could fall like wow, Innie had just grabbed his shirt off you, his palm sliding down your side and settling on your waist. He gently pulled you to him.

"Happy now?"

You nodded enthusiastically.

You touched his bicep. "May I?"

"You may."

You touched every nook and cranny of his exposed skin. Jeongin watched softly, then nuzzled into your neck.

"You're just like us," you said.

"The most you've ever seen me pinching cheeks is in your dreams," he immediately countered.

"You hunger for intimacy as much as we do. You're just as completely in love. That's what I meant. Am I wrong?"

"You like it when you're right, yes?"

"Who doesn't?"

Jeongin, a confident, grown man, stuck his tongue out at you. You, also an adult, and often recorded as Felix's baby, stuck yours out too and smiled. Of course, when Jeongin wanted to kiss you again, you didn't resist. You pulled him close to you and enjoyed that he wanted you.

Finally, you stumbled out from behind the willow tree with a happy grin. Although it would be more accurate to use the term, dizzy out. You sat down on the blanket opposite the water. Everything about you, even your soul, tingled at Jeongin's nearness. You spread his wet shirt on the grass to dry. Sometimes you tilted your head as if you were looking at a trophy. When someone came close enough to you, you'd show it off.

The next eager volunteer behind the tree was Hyunjin, who spent a few seconds blinking exclusively as Jeongin remained half naked.

"What? Did you cum in your pants?" The younger one leaned against the tree.

"D’you want me to?"

"I want your kiss. Or would you rather have mine?"

"Then I'll kiss you all over." As Hyunjin eagerly stepped closer, Jeongin stepped back.

"That's not a fundamental right, hyung. Especially not today."

"You want me to beg for it?"

"Would you?" Jeongin smiled devilishly. "Would you beg for my kiss?"

"You little demon..." Hyunjin held out his hand in fascination, but the other didn't even let it touch his shoulder.

"Maybe you should beg to touch me first."

Hyunjin licked his lips.

"Please, muse. Let me touch you. That's all I want. Please let me. I promise I'll treat you well, and you'll enjoy it too."

"Close your eyes, hyung, and wait."

Hyunjin obeyed.

From the looks of it, Jeongin had indeed decided to become Chan for a while, taking some of the conflict management upon himself, because while Hyunjin closed his eyes and his full lips were ready to kiss the hell out of Jeongin, Jeongin led Seungmin in on the other side of the willow tree. Then he made him face Hyunjin. Seungmin made a puzzled face, but Jeongin persuaded him with nods and various hand gestures urging him to get closer. Seungmin finally stepped in front of Hyunjin and kissed him. Hyunjin threw himself into his neck and was determined to swallow the boy he thought was Jeongin.

He didn't realize the folly until Seungmin moaned into his mouth. Then he pulled away, blinking round-eyed at Seungmin and at Jeongin, who stood a few steps away, smiling contentedly.

"I'm sorry, Hyunne." Seungmin turned the older man's face towards himself. "I'd be Innie for you, if that's what you want."

"Don't be stupid." Hyunjin frowned.

"But I am your stupid."

"Don't embarrass yourself in public, Minnie." Hyunjin pressed one last kiss to Seungmin's lips and held his cheek in the palm of his hand. "I've already forgiven you. I'll wash my hair again tomorrow."

"I'd be happy to help you."

"Will you also help me get Jeongin's promised kiss?"

Seungmin grinned. "Of course."

As soon as the last of the satisfied men came out from behind the willow tree, Hyunjin and Jeongin went upstairs to buy cocktails. They argued that it was for Minho's betting punishment. They said no more. Jisung and Seungmin badgered Minho to tell them the secret, then gave up and took revenge by laying down on top of him. Chan and Felix played Uno. Changbin lounged beside you, and you watched the swans with their chicks as they swam among the stones. There were no bird feeders in the area, so you could only watch them.

"When you kissed Felix, it was very hot," Changbin noted.

"And you're just saying that out of the blue?"

"I can't think of anything else since."

"You're cute." You took the opportunity to pinch his chubby cheeks. It was a good thing he was so muscular. His body was a great pillow and his face was chubby, really chewy. "Who did you imagine yourself to be?"

"Is that a serious question?" he got embarrassed almost immediately.

"Both, then."

"Of course, both. There is no other answer that is correct."

"Actually... there may be. If you imagine yourself as a third party."

Changbin moaned and leaned back on the grass. "Don't do this to me! The way you torture me is unhealthy."

You smiled and followed his example, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I didn't say think about it."

"It's like the purple elephant. Once you say it, there's nothing to do but think about it."

"I'm sorry." You planned to gently pat his stomach as a sign of regret, then somehow your hand stayed. It stayed there, like the thought in your head of how nice it would be to kiss Changbin.

As usual, you promised yourself that you would change your kissing habits and become more resistant to the stimulus. Like Minho, or even Jeongin. Of course, that was easier said and promised than done. Especially under the circumstances: you have Seo Changbin lying half-naked next to you, and he's practically pouting as he tells you how sexy you were kissing Felix.

You looked around. As time went on, there were fewer and fewer people on the beach. A couple of fishermen farther away, young people were picking their beaching supplies, and you overheard snippets of conversations in which participants planned to stay and watch the sunset. Families with young children had already left, probably for dinner. The youths were lost in their own world, the others were preparing for the sunset, and the fisher uncles were hopefully waiting for the catch, not how long you have to feel Changbin's chest to elicit a groan. Brilliant.

You took the towel off your shoulders, then spread it over your head.

"What are you up to?"

"Well, you don't have to just think about it." You snuggled closer to him on the blanket, one leg draped over his hip. His warm palm immediately found your thigh.

"Uno!" shouted Felix.

"Lix, if you win this round, can you come here?" you asked.

"Sure. I'm not giving Chan a chance to fight back like last time... And I won!"

While Felix carried himself over to your blankets, Changbin showered you with kisses. Slow, sweet kisses. First on the tip of your nose, then on your forehead, temple and cheek.

"You really are sweet," you smiled.

"I'm not sweet, just weak. Weak for and from love."

You stroked his cheek. You didn't exaggerate with your words. He nuzzled into your palm and continued to watch you lovingly. He deserved that kiss.

"Are you holding a secret council?" joined Felix under your towel. Luckily, it was big enough to fit all three of you underneath. He nestled himself next to Changbin, resting his chin on the boy's shoulder. "What is there to talk about?"

"We don't want to talk, do we, Binnie?" you caressed his mouth, and his lips parted instantly.

"Oh. So that's why you've been hiding."

"Poor thing couldn’t get our kiss out of his head."

Changbin nodded. Felix ran his fingers through the other's hair, playing gently with it. "Is that what you want, Binnie? That kiss?"

"Y-yes. I liked it a lot."

"You know we can't say no when you're so desperate," Felix whispered. He kissed the sensitive skin behind the boy's ear, then glanced at you. You understood what he wanted. You didn't hesitate any longer. You cupped Changbin's chin to stop him moving and leaned into his mouth. You didn't kiss him yet, just took his bottom lip between your teeth, like Felix did with you. Then you licked his lips. Changbin moaned and trembled. He threw himself after your mouth, and that was a good thing, because when Felix grabbed his pecs, you were lucky that your mouth absorbed the passionate sound Changbin made.

He probably would have given himself to you right there and then if you'd wanted all he had. He always loved to give.

He grabbed your thigh and refused to let go. You didn't want to go either. Felix covered Changbin's neck with kisses. It was the last thing you noticed before you fell into the act of kissing with one of your boyfriends again that day.

By the time Jeongin and Hyunjin returned with four cocktails, the three of you were hugging and panting with numb mouths. As the ice cubes clinked softly in the glasses and straws danced along the lemon rims as the two boys prepared the ground for punishment, Jisung grinned and leaned over Felix.

"I'll be next, okay?"

"I never thought you'd like it so much when I kiss our lovers."

"There's something special about it." Jisung sat down next to you. "Ultimately, I'm glad Innie didn't let us bet. Don't tell jagi, but I think we would have lost."

"I think he knows," Changbin said, glancing toward Minho. You lifted your head from his chest to take a look for yourself at the aforementioned. He watched your little grouping with a penetrating glance. He was so hot-

No. Pull yourself together. Your lips can't take any more kisses.

Instead, you looked towards Hyunjin and Jeongin, who were fiddling with the glasses and for some reason pulled out Felix's sleeping mask. Whatever they were up to, Seungmin was smiling contentedly beside them like he was having a great time. Chan was unaware that the punishment was happening now because he had fallen asleep after the Uno party. He still had the cards under his head, but no one had the heart to wake him up and you just let him sleep. On the other hand, you couldn't be sure he wouldn't object to what the bet winners were planning to do.

The rest of you were slowly gathering around the events. Hyunjin handed Minho the sleeping mask.

"Are you going to poison me?"

"Just a little."

Minho grimaced in displeasure.

"Let me remind you that you invented this punishment. Take it." Hyunjin patted Minho's cheek, then retreated. As soon as Minho had the mask on properly, Jeongin and Hyunjin began to cavort. Soon the four different cocktails had turned into one glass of disgusting-coloured, mixed-up mess, and another glass of a clearer colour.

"Open your mouth, hyung!" Jeongin approached with the first glass. He did not hand it to him, but carefully poured a sip into his mouth. Minho spat.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Cocktail." The boy ran the juice around the side of the glass. "Bottoms up!"

"I hate my bets," he sighed irritably.

Finally he drank every disgusting drop. You wouldn't have wanted to be in his shoes. The first glass was empty, the second came. Hyunjin held it up to Minho's mouth. After the first sip, the boy grunted and moaned.

"It's-it's delicious. What did you mix?"

"It's just plain sex on the beach. Jeongin told me how much you wanted it. Don't tell us we tortured you the whole time."

Minho drank that in with more enthusiasm. The last sip rolled down to his Adam's apple.

"That's your punishment." Hyunjin lapped up the tiny drop, happily swallowing it. "You have fulfilled it."

You congratulated him. Jeongin collected the glasses, Seungmin put the sleeping mask away. You helped gather Jisung's dry clothes, because he was getting cold, and accompanied him to the dressing rooms. Finally, once you were there, you went in with him. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Anyway... Get ready."

You hung your towel on the rack and turned to the boy with a questioning look. Jisung grinned, and that only made you more curious.

"Huh? What for?"

"I'm going to kiss you so hard you won't want to do anything else for hours."

"Now?"

"I wish, but right now we barely have minutes. Sometime when you're not expecting it." When did Jisung's hand come to your side? "I want to hear the sound you made from Felix's mouth."

"That sounds good." You took the opportunity to touch his hip. "Maybe I can get you to make the sounds you make when you kiss Minho."

"Deal."

Then you quickly got dressed, knowing that Jeongin was in the next stall and would quickly put a stop to any inappropriate action as Chan's responsible deputy.

You yourself shed the slightly damp swimsuit and took a dry seat on a less damp corner of the blanket. Behind you on the air-scoughing mattresses, Changbin issuing instructions. In front of you, the water, bridged orange by the light of the setting sun and the lapping sound of the waves as they crashed against the stones.

Jeongin settled down beside you. He leaned his head on your shoulder.

 "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "It was pretty good after all." He smiled broadly. Cheerfully, sincerely, and before the sunset. Your heart beating feverishly, pride embraced you. "I had a good time today."

"I'm glad." You tilted your own on top of his head, and together you watched the sun go down. A tiny sliver was still visible on the horizon when Minho held out his hand.

"Come on. The day is over. Let's go home."

"Let's go home," you nodded, letting him pull you up off the ground, and then Jeongin. The others competently packed up your stuff so you could be rascally donkeys again on the way back. Chan would have fit right in as a sleeping rascal donkey. Hyunjin assured him that he would drive and Chan should sleep peacefully in the car. Chan smiled gratefully at him. Then he tried to kick Seungmin in the butt, who said something about the need for elderly people to sleep. Seungmin laughed and ran forward, only to suffer a slap on the back of the head from Felix.

You had two bags slung over your shoulders when Minho slapped you on the ass with a snap.

"Hurry up, we're being eaten by mosquitoes!" he smirked.

You laughed in disbelief, then followed him down the path. In revenge, you stuck your hand in his back pocket and didn't take it out until you reached the car.

It was a hot day. Really hot. A real heatwave day, when everyone turns into a walking ice cream cone. But a really exciting, good day to spend with your boyfriends, swimming in your own chaos, and in the water.

stay taglist :: 💕@lemonn015

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat, Chapter 7:Her Vulnerability

Summary: Wednesday blames you as the reason she let her guard down, for the vulnerability that came with you.

Warning: Light Angst. Wednesday is back. !Mentions of death of a parent! Slow Burn.

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

Worklist.

Your heart raced as you grabbed your phone, frantically dialing your dad’s number. This wasn’t a “handle it yourself” kind of situation. You had nine high people on your hands, one of them being Wednesday Addams, and you knew things could go downhill fast.

"Dad.." you began, your voice shaky..

He definitely sensed the panic in your voice. “What happened? Everything alright?”

“Uh, not exactly,” you said, glancing nervously at the group. “So... Dad, do you remember how you always said if I ever needed you, no matter how stupid the reason, you’d come?”

Your dad paused, immediately suspicious. “Yeah? What did you do?”

“Okay, first of all, this is not my fault.” You shot a look toward Rick, who was now trying to chase his own shadow in circles, laughing like a maniac. “But... everyone here might be, uh, high. And Wednesday, well, she’s... Let’s just say I need help. Fast.”

Your dad’s voice came back with a groan. “Hey! You told me you guys were camping, what kind of camps do they even run?"

“We were camping, Dad! It’s an accident!” you snapped, frustration bubbling over. “Stop asking questions and just get here!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there. What do I even bring to deal with this?” he asked,

You blinked, unsure how to answer. “Uh, a tranquilizer gun?”

Your dad chuckled. “I’ll figure it out. See you soon. Try to keep the casualties to a minimum.”

“Great,” you muttered. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll be here... herding drunk cats.”

As you hung up, you sighed in relief but immediately felt the weight of the situation crash back in.

“Y/n,”

You jumped, nearly dropping your phone. “What the—Wednesday! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“You need to lift the magic.”

“Magic? What magic?” You frowned, thrown off by the comment.

“The one that keeps making me think about you all the time. Like right now. Like when I sleep.” She leaned closer, "It makes me feel... weird. Like... like I should stab you. But I can’t. I try, but it doesn’t feel right. Anyone else, I’d stab them. Like... like Brooke.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral. “Okay, but let’s agree not to stab Brooke,” you said, gently taking her arm.

Just then you heard Alex shout from across the camp. “Oh, baby! You complete me!”

“Oh, for the love of—” you groaned, rushing over to see Alex, arms wrapped around a thick tree trunk, “Alex, what the hell are you doing?”

Alex, now fully invested in his "relationship" with the tree, was whispering sweet nothings into its bark. "You're so... strong. You never hurt me, even when I hit you. I think... I love you."

"Alex!" You groaned, "Stop groping the tree. It doesn’t love you back."

He glanced at you, wide-eyed and sincere. “She… she gets me. She understands me. I love her.”

You stared at him for a moment, wondering if you should laugh or cry. “Alex, it’s a tree.”

“Don’t insult her!” he cried dramatically, clutching the bark tighter. “She’s... she’s the love of my life.”

“Rick! Don’t get in the water!” you shouted as you caught sight of him staggering toward the lake.

Rick paused, looked back, and said, “But the water… it calls to me!”

“No! You’ll drown!” You sprinted over, grabbing his arm and yanking him back just in time. He stumbled but managed to stay upright, looking at you as if you’d just ruined his dreams.

“Aw, come on! I just wanted to see the dolphin.”

“It's a lake Rick! There are no dolphins! Stay away from the water!”

You sighed, glancing around the camp to see what fresh disaster awaited you. And then, your heart stopped.

"Wednesday, don’t stab Brooke!" you shouted, seeing Wednesday approaching Brooke with a knife in hand.

“Why not?” Wednesday replied, her voice dangerously calm. “She looks stab-worthy.”

For a second, you thought you were in the clear—until Wednesday moved behind Brooke and, with one swift motion, sliced off her ponytail.

Brooke just kept laughing. “Hey! Free haircut!”

“Wednesday, what the hell!" you cried.

She turned to you with an unsettling smirk, eyes still glazed but sharp. Without warning, she threw the knife at you. You yelped, dodging just in time as the blade embedded itself in the tree behind you. “Seriously?!”

She grinned, grabbing another knife from god knows where. “It’s a game, Y/n. You dodge, I throw.” You ducked again as the second knife sailed past your head. “How many knives do you even have?!” “Enough,” she said, her lips curling into a wicked smile. Before you could react, she pulled out another knife from her coat. “Okay, stop!” You ducked as the third knife soared past. “Are you done?” She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “No.” And out came knife number four. You barely dodged it as it flew past your head and stabbed Alex's newlywed wife... "My love! Noooo" Alex cried holding onto the tree.

“You’re really good at dodging,” Wednesday mumbled, her words slurring together. “I might like that about you.”

You weren’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified.

“Wednesday! Are you done?”

She frowned, swaying on her feet. “I’m out of knives."

"Thank god," you muttered but before you could catch your breath you saw Mike, who was trying to roast marshmallows... without the stick. He held the marshmallows directly over the fire with his bare hands, completely unaware of the flames licking at his skin.

“Mike!” you ran over and pulled him away. “Are you trying to set yourself on fire?!”

He blinked at you in confusion. “I was just... hungry.”

“Use a stick next time!” you cried, handing him one.

You sighed as you glanced at Wednesday, who had wandered off again, staring at the moon like it had personally offended her.

You jogged over to her, grabbing her by the arm before she could do anything else drastic. “Wednesday, stay with me, okay? Get a hold of yourself, stop acting weird.”

“I’m not weird,” she muttered, looking up at the sky with unfocused eyes. “The moon is weird. Look at it... all smug up there... thinking it’s so important. I could take it down if I wanted to.”

“Sure, Wednesday,” you said, humoring her. “But let’s not fight the moon right now, okay?”

She blinked, swaying slightly. “Why not? It deserves it. It’s always watching... judging... Like Weems, Can we kill Weems when we go back?”

Rick was running back toward the lake again, you rubbed your temples. “Wednesday, please just sit down, we can kill Weems later, okay?.” you said before going for Rick.

“Rick! No!” You sprinted after him, pulling him away just before he could dive in.

“Man, you’re no fun!” Rick slurred, pouting like a child.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to keep you all alive!”

Returning to Wednesday, you found her surprisingly obedient for once, sitting by the fire.

“You,” she muttered, pointing a finger at you again. “Why are you always fixing things? Its annoying.”

You sighed, catching your breath. “Trust me, I know.”

“But…” she paused, her brow furrowing in drunken confusion. “I also kind of like that you’re always… there.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, your heart doing a weird little flip despite the chaos. “Oh yeah? Well, I kind of like that you haven’t stabbed anyone yet.”

She smirked, getting up on her feet. “Give me some time.”

Just as you were about to respond, the distant ruffling from the woods.

Your dad had arrived, along with a few camp staff members who clearly had no idea what they were walking into.

“Okay,” your dad said, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell happened here?”

You crossed your arms, gesturing to the group. “This. This happened. Rick spiked the coffee. So… good luck. I’m getting Wednesday out of here. Give me your car keys.”

Your dad hesitated, his brows furrowing. "You don’t have a license yet, Y/n."

"I don’t care," you said firmly, glancing over at Wednesday, who was eyeing everyone with a dangerous gleam. "I need to get her out of here before she really does something."

He stared at you for a moment, then sighed, digging into his pocket and pulling out the car keys. "Here. And take this." He handed you a flashlight. "It’s dark out there."

"Thanks, Dad," you said, pocketing the keys and flashlight.

"Good luck," he called as you started to lead Wednesday away from the mess.

You led Wednesday through the dark jungle, her hand gripped tightly in yours, her steps unsteady but stubborn. Every twig that snapped had you jumping. “You’re scared,” Wednesday observed bluntly. You stiffened. “No, I’m not. I just don’t like… unexpected noises.” “You’re scared,” she repeated, her voice softer now, less mocking. “I can tell.” You sighed. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little. It’s dark and creepy" You walked in silence for a few moments, the jungle seeming to close in around you, the air thick and heavy, but what felt even more dense.. was Wednesday's proximity near you.

“I’m scared too.” her voice softer now, a hint of vulnerability creeping in.

You blinked, “What? You? Scared? Of what?” you asked, half expecting her to say something completely ridiculous, like hugs.

“I’m scared… of getting close to you.” Her words came out slowly, as if she were forcing herself to admit it.

That made you stop in your tracks. You turned to look at her, your heartbeat suddenly louder in your ears.

“I’m scared about that too,” you admitted, voice barely audible over the sounds of the jungle. “I’m scared for you. That you’ll get close to me, and it’ll be... selfish.”

“Selfish?” she echoed, her brow furrowing. “Why would it be selfish?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn't.. you didn't want to lose her... not yet.

Wednesday’s gaze bore into you, waiting for an answer, but you squeezed her hand lightly, leading her forward through the jungle.

"Let’s just get out of here," you murmured.

She didn’t press further, just followed your lead, her steps slow but steady, her grip firm in yours. After what felt like an eternity, you finally saw the road ahead, your dad’s car parked at the edge of the road. Relief washed over you as you reached it. You helped Wednesday into the passenger seat before climbing in behind the wheel. Your hands shook as you gripped the steering wheel.

There was no way you were driving two hours to Nevermore in this state. Your house was only half an hour away, and you were way too tired to push through for that long.

“I’m taking you to my place,” you said, glancing over at Wednesday. “It’s closer.” She blinked slowly, her head resting against the window. “I don’t care… as long as it’s quiet.” You started the car, pulling onto the road and heading toward home. The drive was mostly silent, save for the occasional comment from Wednesday. “You’re a terrible driver,” she mumbled at one point, her eyes half-closed. “Gee, thanks,” you muttered. “And why is your car so… bright?” “It’s a normal car, Wednesday.” “I prefer hearses.” You chuckled, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest despite the exhaustion. Even drunk, even high, she was still Wednesday Addams.

After what felt like both an eternity and a blink, you finally pulled into your driveway. You hadn’t been gone long, just a week, but somehow it felt like you’d been away for months. You missed it. You helped Wednesday out of the car, guiding her toward the front door. She blinked at the house, her lips curling into a half-frown. “It’s… too clean.” You raised an eyebrow. “What?” “Where are the cobwebs? The dust? It’s too… colorful. It offends me.” You laughed softly, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “Sorry to disappoint. Maybe I can add some cobwebs for you later.” Wednesday grunted, following you in. “You should.” You led her upstairs to the bathroom, handing her a towel and some spare clothes—luckily, you had some black ones. No way were you risking putting her in anything with colours. That might be the last mistake you ever made. "Just… take a shower. I’ll be right outside if you need anything," you said, standing awkwardly by the door. There was a pause, and then the sound of water running. You heard her muttering something under her breath, but you didn’t ask what.

After a few minutes, she emerged, dressed in the black shirt and pants you’d given her. She still looked disheveled, her hair damp and wild.. and... human? "Better?" you asked. She nodded once, her eyes flicking over you. "Tolerable." "Great." You led her to your room, where you helped her onto your bed. "You can sleep here. I’ll take the chair." Wednesday stared at the bed with disdain. “It’s too colorful.” “Would you prefer I get you a coffin?” Her eyes lit up "You can?" “No, I’m fresh out of coffins, so you’re stuck with this.” You said, watching as she reluctantly climbed onto the bed. She lay back, eyeing the bright blankets suspiciously. "Sweet dreams Wends." "Bitter nightmares Y/n." You sat down in the chair, resting your head on the table, exhausted from the day. As your eyelids grew heavier, you couldn’t help but feel… content. Despite everything that happened, the chaos, the stress—it was nice. It was nice… with Wednesday.

Wednesday woke up with a pounding headache, one that reminded her of the few times she'd experienced her visions—but this one was worse. Her skull felt like it was splitting in two. She blinked slowly, squinting against the unfamiliar light filtering through the room. Her mind began to sort through fragments of memories. The camp… those insufferable therapy sessions… the lake… She sat up abruptly, clutching her head as the pain intensified.

Her eyes flicked around the room, landing on your slumped figure, asleep at the desk. You were hunched over, your head resting on your arms, your breathing slow and steady. For some reason, her mind didn’t leap to the worst-case scenarios like it usually did. Normally, she would have assumed she’d been kidnapped or poisoned or worse, but this time, her immediate reaction was different. You were there. And for some strange, infuriating reason, that put her mind somewhat at ease. She quickly squashed that feeling, she needed answers.

“Y/N.” You jolted upright, startled and confused, your eyes wide as you tried to get your bearings. “Wednesday?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes, still half-asleep. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice sharper now. “And why do I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train?” You stood, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “You’re at my house,” you said, a bit sheepish. “Uh, sorry about that. After everything that happened last night, I figured it was easier to bring you here instead of taking you all the way back to Nevermore.” Wednesday’s gaze narrowed. “And what, exactly, happened last night?” You grimaced. “It was Rick. He spiked the coffee, and… well, everyone got pretty messed up. You were high.”

A flicker of memory hit her like a punch to the gut. The coffee. Rick. Her emotions spilling out. She had been...drunk. And not just any kind of drunk—emotionally vulnerable drunk. A wave of nausea hit her. "I was what?"

"Yeah, you were... not yourself. And I had to, you know, keep you from stabbing people or throwing knives. At me, mostly." You gave her a nervous chuckle, trying to ease the tension. "So I took you home before you killed anyone."

Wednesday’s face darkened, her expression unreadable. She could vaguely remember the feel of the knife in her hand, the sheer frustration bubbling inside her, and then...she let her guard down. She had felt things—for you. Her hands tightened into fists.

"This was your fault," she said, her voice low, dangerous. “You. You're the reason this happened.”

You blinked in surprise, then frowned. “What? How is this my fault?”

“You.” Her eyes burned with anger, her lips curling into a scowl. “Yesterday, I let you in. And look where that got me—drunk, vulnerable, and completely out of control.”

Her words stung. You had never seen her so agitated, so vulnerable, and yet so defensive at the same time. Your heart sank a little, but you stepped closer to her. “Wednesday, it’s okay. I was there, wasn’t I? I’ll always be there if you need me.”

“That's not the point!” Wednesday snapped. “The point is that I’m never like this. I never allow myself to be anything other than in control. But you... you make me lose that control. You distract me. You’re the reason I wasn’t on guard, the reason I didn’t see it coming.”

For a moment, you were speechless. It wasn’t often that you saw Wednesday like this—raw, emotional, admitting that she wasn’t as impenetrable as she wanted to be. But instead of backing down, you felt your own frustration rising.

“So, what? You’re mad because I’m not a threat to you? Because I make you feel something?”

Her eyes flashed. “Yes!”

You stared at her, genuinely taken aback by her admission. “You’re blaming me for something you’re not used to dealing with that I had no control of.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You had control, you entered my life. I never asked you to get close to me," she hissed.

You stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking in. You shook your head slowly. “You know what? Fine. Be mad. Blame me for all of it. Blame me because you’re scared to admit that you actually care about someone. Go ahead.”

Wednesday’s eyes flashed a bit of emotions, but you didn’t stop.

“Because I can’t do this,” you said, your voice laced with frustration. “I can't keep taking the fault just because you’re too stubborn to admit that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to be alone all the time.”

“I am not alone,” Wednesday said coldly. “I choose this.”

You looked at her, and for a second, something shifted in your expression. Hurt, maybe. Or disappointment. “Fine. Then go. Be strong and alone, just like you always do.”

The words stung more than she cared to admit. She felt her anger surge again, but this time, there was something else beneath it—an ache she couldn’t name. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her mind racing.

Back in your room, you groaned, burying your face in your hands. The frustration, the anger—it was all swirling inside you like a storm. You hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but damn it, Wednesday knew how to push every button.

Still, you couldn’t just leave things like this. Not after everything that had happened.

With a resigned sigh, you stood up, running a hand through your hair as you headed out to find her.

Wednesday stood outside, her arms crossed tightly against her chest as the morning air bit at her skin. She stood rigid, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. What part of Jericho is she even in?

She was stuck in this place—your place. A house that felt almost too normal for her liking, too...warm. It was unsettling. And yet, it wasn’t just the unfamiliarity of the setting that rattled her. It was you.

She wasn’t going back inside.

Her pride wouldn’t allow it. She could navigate the situation on her own—she didn’t need help. Wednesday Addams never needed help.

You were the one person she could blame for her current predicament. Yet, somehow, you were also the only person she found herself thinking about.

Her head was still pounding, the remnants of the drug-fueled haze clinging to her like a persistent shadow. It was disorienting and left her feeling unusually out of control.

And that—more than anything—infuriated her.

She wasn’t used to this. Losing control, feeling vulnerable, feeling anything.

It was your fault. You had wormed your way into her life, into her mind, and now, into her emotions. And for what? You were unpredictable, infuriatingly cheerful, and entirely too comfortable in her presence. No one had ever made her feel this conflicted before. And she hated it.

No, she hated you. Right?

What had she said last night? What had you seen? She remembered the rush of emotions flooding her mind, the dizzying sensation of being drunk—something she never allowed herself to be.

And somehow, you had been there, in the middle of it all. And you are still here now...

“Is it really that bad to let someone in, Wednesday?” She stiffened at the sound of your voice, not bothering to turn to face you.

“Yes,” she replied coldly, the answer immediate and sharp. “It would make me weak. Vulnerable.”

You sighed softly, taking a few slow steps toward her, careful not to intrude on her space but just close enough that she couldn’t ignore your presence.

“Vulnerability,” you mused, glancing down at your feet before looking back at her with a sad smile. “I wish I felt vulnerable sometimes. The vulnerability of a mother’s love."

Wednesday’s sharp gaze turned to you, a question forming in her eyes but remaining unspoken.

“My mother died giving birth to me,” you continued, "Talk about being born only to murder your mother,” you chuckled, though it wasn’t filled with your usual warmth. It was tinged with something deeper—pain.

That hit harder than she anticipated. Wednesday wasn’t one for empathy, but something about the way you said it, the way you tried to laugh off the tragedy, made something in her chest tighten. She wasn’t sure why, but the pain in your voice resonated with her.

“I watched as the others played with their mothers,” you continued, your eyes distant now, as if you were seeing something far away. “Dad tried, he really did. But he had work. The cars in his garage weren’t going to fix themselves.”

Wednesday stayed silent, her eyes locked on your profile. She could see the sadness in your eyes now, the weight of it pressing down on you like a dark cloud. You were trying to make a joke of it, trying to downplay the loss, but she could tell how much it still hurt you.

“Why am I telling you all this?” you asked, your voice softer now, more vulnerable than she had ever heard it. “Because, Wednesday... sometimes, the thing we think will make us weak or vulnerable... is actually the thing that’s missing. The thing that could make us whole.”

She remained silent, the words hanging in the air between you both. For the first time in a long time, Wednesday didn’t have a sharp retort, didn’t have some sarcastic comment to throw back at you. She just...stood there. Listening.

What the hell am I even doing?

Her mind raced, and she felt an uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach. You clearly had nothing to hide, no ulterior motives that she could detect. Maybe...maybe she could trust you. But trust was dangerous. She had built her life around never needing to trust anyone. Why should you be any different?

Still, something about your words lingered in her mind, gnawing at her resolve. Vulnerability wasn’t a weakness, you had said. It was the missing piece.

For a moment, she considered the possibility. Maybe, just maybe, letting you in didn’t mean losing control. Maybe it was something else entirely.

She clenched her jaw, finally turning to face you. “Where does this leave us?”

You met her gaze, your expression unreadable for a moment. Then, you gave a soft, almost tired smile.

“What even is this?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. It was a rare admission of uncertainty from her, and it made her feel exposed in a way she hated.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, shrugging slightly. “But does it really need to have a name? This...whatever this is...it can just be ‘this’ till we enjoy each other’s company.” You smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I clearly enjoy yours. I don’t know about you.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes, but there was no real malice in the gesture. “You aren’t entirely intolerable,” she muttered under her breath, her voice softer than usual.

You laughed at that, a genuine laugh that seemed to lift some of the tension between you. “High praise coming from you,” you teased.

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. The fact that she hadn’t immediately insulted you or walked away was enough of a response.

Then, after a moment, you stretched and yawned, clearly still recovering from the night’s chaos. “Anyway,” you said, “I clearly need coffee. Preferably not spiked" You took a few steps forward, then paused, looking back over your shoulder at her. “You coming?”

She sighed, her expression impassive as she finally moved to follow you.

Whatever this was, it went deeper than that. The things she did for you, the things you made her feel...they weren’t just born from friendship. But no, this wasn’t something romantic either, at least not yet. She wasn’t sure what it was.

And maybe, just for now, that was okay.

This didn’t need a name.

[stephsageek]

New One-shot Alert

My Five X Lila Strip poker one-shot is finally done!

A Preview:

Five expelled his drink, coughing into his fist afterward.

Lila’s eyes widened as she leaned over, patting him on the back a few times as he gasped and sputtered. “I-I’m sorry—” he wheezed. “I-I thought you said ‘strip’—”

“Oh, no. You heard right,” she reassured calmly.

“What the fu-How can-Are you—?!” Five rapidly protested, suddenly squeezing his eyes shut, his expression annoyed and aggrieved in equal turns. “What am I saying? Of course, you’re insane—”

“Oi! You said I get to pick—!”

“Yes, Lila. I did,” Five admitted, his voice strained as he tried to be patient. “But why would you—?!”

“What? Afraid of losing your precious Puritanical sense of propriety because you’re shite at cards—”

“Two things, senior psychopath. One, I am most certainly not ‘shite’ at cards. You must not have read my file too closely while you were at the Commission, because if you had you would know the identity of the only known person to have bested James Hickok in a game of cards—”

“Wild Bill?!” Lila gasped as Five kept talking.

“—Two, you are my brother’s wife—not to mention my best friend!” Five hissed as if worried someone might hear him.

“Aw, old man, I’m touched—!” Lila fawned, only to be cut off.

“Don’t change the subject! Playing strip poker is practically cheating!” he snapped.

Lila rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease! One, there is no way you are telling me you beat Wild Bill and even think for a second, that we’re not going to play! Two, playing strip poker is most certainly not cheating—”

“How the hell do you figure—?!”

“It’s not like we’d even be touching—”

“We’d be naked—!”

“You might be, loser—”

“Regardless of who might be naked in this scenario, Lila, the point still stands that it is obviously —”

“Have you forgotten that you’ve already seen me starkers as it is?” Lila smirked, folding her arms. “Or am I the only one that remembers?”

Lila watched as a vein began to throb at Five’s temple as he gritted out, “You were trying to kill me; forgive me for being a little preoccupied.”

“Not at all! You honestly ought to thank me for even giving you another chance at eyeing the goods!”

Lila watched in amusement as Five gnashed his teeth in frustration, his face growing red. She was unsure if it was from anger or embarrassment.

“We’re both adults, old man; playing a friendly game! Nothing untoward. You Americans are always so touchy about nudity. There are plenty of cultures where family members see each other naked all the time—!”

“Lila, it’s not because we’re—"

“Besides, the human form is natural; not necessarily only sexual,” Lila reasoned, knowing Five well enough to know that an appeal to his sense of logic would be difficult for him to argue against. Although she could think of one other appeal he’d struggle to overcome: an appeal to his sense of pride.

“You’re just afraid I’ll show you up,” Lila grinned.

She liked the way his eyes blazed when he was truly beginning to lose his patience. The way he clenched his jaw, making a muscle jump in his cheek.

“Or worse, that you might like what you see~” Lila whispered, teasing.

Five’s face went scarlet.

Lila felt her heartbeat quicken.

Lila loved ruffling his feathers, flirting and teasing; taunting and baiting; and disturbing his carefully constructed world.

She loved it from the moment they met, and it had only grown over the years.

She remembered when they'd first been enemies, the way his anger and pain had felt like a balm to her soul.

When his bitterness had tasted so very sweet.

Even now, with his brother—her husband—no one else had ever given her this feeling. That spike of adrenaline and dopamine that rushed through her veins like a drug. That thrill that made her heart race.

Her life felt drab, stifling, and joyless sometimes; like she was dragging her feet through a gray, lackluster existence.

And then Five would come along, brightening her life and splashing her universe in technicolor. If she was Dorthy, he was her Oz and she never wanted to go back to Kansas.

[theshippirate22]

hi welcome to my essay

is this based solely in my insane brainrot? yeah probably. i’m doing it anyway

THE TIME TAYLOR SWIFT CONFIRMED ANDERPERRY LORE

This is Josh Charles

If you don’t know who he is, that’s cool. No one does. If you do know who he is, you’re probably gay, depressed, or both. Probably both.

And this is Josh Charles in 1989, in the critically acclaimed, cult classic film Dead Poets Society

Does he look familiar? Well, if you’re big on pop culture and/or a Swiftie, he should

Because THIS is Josh Charles in 2024

in Taylor Swift’s Fortnight music video

But who’s that standing next to him?

It’s Ethan Hawke

Who ALSO starred in Dead Poets Society (1989)

Kind of weird right? But whatever

UNTIL you remember that Fortnight is the first track off the latest Taylor Swift album

called The Tortured Poets Department

Now, the premise of the music video is that Taylor was in love with Post Malone’s character but only for a fortnight and losing him after loving him is what drove her into madness basically, so she’s been imprisoned in this asylum called The Tortured Poets Department where Josh Charles and Ethan Hawke are doctors that are experimenting on her to help her get over her love for Post Malone. Note that Post Malone is also there and is another one of the doctors.

Canonically in Dead Poets Soceity Josh Charles’ character Knox Overstreet is in sort of this awkward situationship with a girl named Chris Noel, who’s “practically engaged” to this idiot called Chet and it's assumed that after everything goes down at the end of the film, Knox stops pursuing her and Chris marries Chet to live out her horrific 1950's housewife prophecy.

Similarly, Ethan Hawke’s character, Todd Anderson, is in this tragic queer-coded homoerotic friendship with main protagonist Neil Perry (played by the lovely Robert Sean “Bobby” Leonard) that never manages to come to fruition because of Neil’s untimely death via suicide.

So back to Taylor. Obviously she's a patient in The Tortured Poets Department being treated for her hopeless love for Post Malone. She says she even took the "magical move-on drug" but "the effects were temporary," which implies that what Josh and Ethan are testing on her is this drug, this cure-all for lost romance, and they haven't quite figured it out.

Which makes perfect sense, when you think about what happened to Knox and Todd. They had these short-lived perfect loves with Chris and Neil respectively that ended before anything could ever happen. Love cut too short, just like Taylor and Post Malone. Which is wild when you realize that means TS basically just confirmed anderperry.

Not only this, but in the movie, the boys are encouraged to write and enjoy poetry thoroughly, and while all the boys take it to heart, Knox and Todd are the ones that are frequently seen actually writing poetry. Knox uses it to try and win Chris over, as well as working through his feelings for her, while Todd uses it as a guilty pleasure sort of thing that he's seemingly embarrassed by (which I could talk about for 25 pages but I'll spare you.)

So basically, just like Taylor, Knox and Todd are also tortured poets. Which means not only are they the doctors trying to come up for a cure for their own maladies, they're also patients in the Tortured Poets Department

THEY'RE JUST AS CRAZY AS TAYLOR.

If that seems too big a stretch, remember that Post Malone is there. From his bridge we see that he's going through the same thing as Taylor except on the opposite side, and he's also seen in the poetry room with Taylor, confirming that he himself is a poet as well, and in the lab he's also a doctor. So Josh and Ethan are patients just as much as Post Malone is, who's just as much as Taylor.

All four of them are locked in together, trying to get over these lost loves they are mourning.

By deliberately choosing not just Ethan Hawke to cameo, but also Josh Charles, and not say Dylan Kussman or Gale Hansen, or even MAIN STAR Bobby Leonard, it draws a direct parallel between Knox and Todd's characters, and therefore between Chris and Neil, and therefore, Taylor Swift has basically confirmed the ongoing implication that anderperry was the metaphor all along.

[vindicated-truth]

On the morning after Minjeong's murder, three things are apparent:

1) Dongsik's antagonism for Joowon by this time is gone, mostly because Dongsik now knows for sure that Joowon isn't the serial killer he first suspected him of in Episode 1, when Joowon was acting strangely when he seemingly recognized Lee Geumhwa's body. Whatever antagonism is left is borne out of Dongsik's desire to know a) what Joowon's culpability is in letting Lee Geumhwa be killed, and b) why Joowon isn't owning up to it.

I realize now too why Dongsik himself is holding back from making haphazard accusations about Joowon—because Dongsik knows exactly what it's like to be wrongfully accused based on too little evidence. He's not going to turn around and do it to Joowon.

But he is doing his best to needle at Joowon because what he wants to know now is—what is Joowon's stake in all this? Is the body, Lee Geumhwa, related to him, and that's why he's seeking justice for her, just like Dongsik is seeking justice for Yuyeon? Does that mean Joowon is someone whose help he can manipulate into enlisting because Joowon knows exactly what it's like to lose a loved one?

Or is Joowon just like his father, out to protect his own privilege and image, and nothing more? Is he just more of an example of the corrupt and power-hungry cops that has continued to fail him and so many other victims, over and over?

2) That shot of Dongsik's sneakers as he was walking to place Minjeong's fingers in front of the grocery store comes right after Jeongje mentioned the night before that Dongsik had been "jogging" in leather shoes.

Again, what's so brilliant about the writing of Beyond Evil is that when you know how to look for it and you know how to listen, every single scene and seemingly casual dialogue has a reason why it's there.

It means that Dongsik had only thought of relocating Minjeong's fingers after Jeongje revealed to him that Joowon was poking around at the General Administration files and had discovered that Lee Yuyeon's and Bang Juseon's files were missing.

Before this point, Dongsik had been lost, not knowing exactly what to do with Minjeong's fingers. In later scenes in later episodes, it was shown that he had kept Minjeong's fingers in his basement while he went to dinner at Jaeyi's, hence why Minjeong's blood was found there.

But as soon as he realized, through Jeongje's revelation, that here is this stubborn Lieutenant that seems strangely determined to solve this case of his sister's, that's somehow related to the mysterious dead body they found together at the reed field, that Dongsik finally, finally felt, after 20 years, a twisted sense of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, this fresh young Lieutenant can do what no one else in the police force would do, not even the Lieutenant’s own father:

Pursue Yuyeon's case.

Because here, now, are two new clues from two new bodies: the mysterious woman from the reed field, and his own beloved Kang Minjeong.

And Joowon seems to be determined to pursue what Dongsik has just then also realized is a serial killer.

If this was a gambling table, this was Dongsik going all in with his bet on Han Joowon.

It's why he decided to place Minjeong's fingers in front of the grocery store, why he deliberately led Joowon to it, why he even deliberately let himself be caught on the dashboard camera on his way to Mount Simju when he was about to plant Lee Geumhwa's phone there.

Because this is the third point:

3) Dongsik had also been deliberately dropping hints to Joowon, as they were walking down from his house towards the grocery store, because he showed Joowon the way to Mount Simju. He quite literally told Joowon: turn right, take the road behind the county office all the way up to the mountain.

He told Joowon all this, because he was counting on the fact that Joowon would follow through with his own investigation.

It makes all the more sense now why Dongsik was smiling when Jung Cheolmun sent Jihwa and Dosoo to arrest him. This was what he wanted Joowon to do: to pursue the case with the stubbornness of the xiezhi Joowon had been so determined to represent.

Because that is exactly what Dongsik wants him to be:

His last remaining hope to ever find Yuyeon—and Yuyeon's murderer.

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

THIRTY-FIVE EXCERPT:

“Well, if she’s not your type, Harry, I’m sure I could help you find—”

Roland’s spoon snapped in half; he flinched with a sharp gasp, dropping the broken end of his spoon; it clinked onto the table. The flare of familiar magic crackled and prickled against Harry’s skin, his neck and arm hair standing on end. A faint shiver slid through Harry at the feel of it. The other Slytherin boys froze, their collective gazes swiveling onto Tom.

Tom’s knuckles were white; his tight grip on his fork shook. Tom’s lips thinned, their color stark against his pale skin.

Alphard blinked awake. “Did I just… feel accidental magic from Tom?” he asked in a sleepy voice. He scrunched his eyes. “That’s unusual.”

The blood drained further from Tom’s cheeks.

Roland grinned. “Oho,” he drawled in delight. He grabbed another fork. He leaned an elbow onto the table, glee in his eyes. “Did you wanna shag her, Tom? I’m sure she’d get over herself if you asked with your usual charm—”

Roland’s second fork flung upwards, snapping in half midair. A couple of Slytherin girls cried out, while everyone in the vicinity ducked; the broken fork clanged onto the table, one part landing in a pitcher of pumpkin juice and sending a spray of liquid everywhere. The other piece landed on Simon’s plate, splattering his breakfast all over his front.

Bloody hell.

“Damn,” murmured Alphard.

Quintus’ lips trembled with the visible effort of holding back a smirk.

Cheeks a bright pink with his features pinched in suppressed emotion, Tom bolted to his feet and threw his bag over his shoulder; he fled the Great Hall.

Quintus smacked Roland on the shoulder; Roland squawked in protest. “You have no tact whatsoever,” he muttered.

“Me?” cried Roland. “After what you said a few weeks ago? Have you heard the shit the two of you go on about? I wasn’t saying anything weird. I was just asking if—”

“You were crass,” said Simon. His brow twitched low; his nostrils flared. He vanished the mess from his robes with a roll of his eyes. “And you know this already.”

Roland grinned. He shrugged and didn’t say anything.

Marcus shook his head. “Still… that was a bit strange, wasn’t it?”

“What was?” asked Sebastian.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen uncontrolled magic from Tom.”

---

What in Salazar’s name was that?

Tom was trembling; his magic rippled beneath his skin, wild and restless. He could feel the disquiet and the agitation in his very magic.

He hid in an alcove next to a suit of armor and covered his face with his hands. He never lost control like that. Never. What was happening to him? This was utter madness. I’m losing myself. Control was his strength. He could not lose that. Control over himself was what set him apart from everyone else. Total control over his emotions, his body, his magic. With these, he could control everyone else.

But if he lost that… He lost everything that made Tom who he was.

This didn’t make any sense.

He was getting enough sleep. His wand wasn’t disobeying him or causing any trouble at all. Since when did he have problems with his accidental magic? He never had issues like that. He hadn’t even had issues with it when he was a child, at least not for long. He’d quickly learned how to have total control over his magic as a child.

What is this? What is happening to me?

Tom leaned against the wall, his head knocking lightly against the brick. He took a deep calming breath. Calm down. If he analyzed what was said and what had triggered the lose of control, he’d be able to mitigate losing it the next time.

Olive.

That awful girl had been the problem.

Right?

Having the audacity to break traditions, asking Harry out as her date—they weren’t a couple, so where had she come off with the gall to ask Harry to the Yule Ball? If she’d waited, she might’ve gotten a dance out of Harry.

The suit of armor creaked beside him. The fire in the nearby lamps flickered. Tom’s heart rate spiked. The control over his magic began slipping again and he had to place a hand over his heart in the effort to calm it down.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t the only problem.

It was the idea of Harry dancing with her that irritated him and Tom wasn’t sure what to make of this strange feeling that bubbled and coiled deep within his gut.

And Roland’s disgusting language about sleeping with her irritated Tom even further.

The idea of finding Harry in a forbidden tryst with the girl in the confines of a broom cupboard filled Tom with apocalyptic levels of rage.

Right, that was a very normal reaction. Right. He certainly didn’t feel the same way when Alphard and Quintus got up to their mischief. Why should he feel any differently about Harry?

Oh, but he did.

And Tom didn’t understand why.

[grapenamjams]

Trust In The Dark

Characters: Sylus x Fem. Reader

Genre: NSFW SMUT

Synopsis: After spending three days in a palace with invisible servents. You begin to forget why the Zephyr west wind brought you here. As you blow out the last candle pitching your room into full darkness one night. You are reminded of the reason as you hear your husbands deep voice emerges from the night.

Contains: porn with plot, Forced marriage, probably out of character sylus, sylus is the god Eros, Virgin reader, first time sex, nipple sucking (f. Receiving), oral (f. Receiving), mentions of fem. Overstim, P in V Intercourse, mutual orgasm, pet names (my sweet, I think there is one sweetie in there, my lady, my love, little bird)

A/N: first time writing sylus please be nice to meee T-T

I’ve wanted to write an Eros and psyche myth inspired fic for awhile now and I thought sylus fit perfectly! So here we are

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The myth: Eros and psyche, a Greek myth told throughout time. Psyche was a humble maiden who was said to be as or even more beautiful than Aphrodite herself. When the goddess of love heard the mortals were worshiping psyche instead; in a jealous rage Aphrodite sent her son Eros to shoot psyche with one of his arrows, demanding that the maiden fall in love with the most terrible monster. When Eros saw psyche he fell in love with her beauty but also her humble kind heart. He struck himself with his own arrow. Completing his mother’s wishes. Just as it was told by the oracle psyche went to visit, she was destined to marry a monster the gods even fear. Carried by the wind to a magical palace in the sky. Psyche had everything she could ask for but there was one thing that was asked of her in return. she could only meet her husband in the darkness of night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Was the palace to your liking?”

He hears your quick intake of breath and the rustle of fabric indicating you had turned around to where you heard his deep voice emerge from the open balcony doors. Sylus didn’t mean to frighten you. But when you were both covered in darkness, there wasn’t much room for subtlety for when he made his presence known.

“Who-“ you pause “Youre him…” your sweet voice comes from a couple of steps ahead of him. His heart flutters at the sound, being able to hear it up close for the first time. but at the same time his heart pangs at the sound of the slight quiver in it. Sylus manages a light chuckle at your statement. “Your husband? Yes, that would be me.” Sylus smiles although you wouldn’t be able to see it. He liked how it sounded, husband. Yours.

The chuckle that he let out seemed to wrap around you in dark tendrils. Inciting you to seek out the source of the sound although it had sent a shiver down your back. But you quickly realized it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. “Have you come to kill me?” The question leaves your mouth without thought .

Sylus is not surprised you would ask that. The whole predicament that you found yourself in, made him understand your nervous thoughts and he sought to provide you comfort. “Now my sweet lady, what type of husband would I be if I did so?” He tries for a joke in his gravely voice that’s seems to take your breath away. but when he didn’t hear a reaction, he sighed.

“No. Im not here to kill you. You are my wife, I’ll never bring harm to you, I swear it” his chest aches at just the thought of you being harmed in some way, the pain increasing at the thought of him being the cause.

His deep voice seems to have more affect in the dark. Like it was the only thing wrapping around you,Causing your skin to rise and your heart to stutter at the sound of sincerity and determination in his words.

He takes a cautious step towards where you are. “I simply came here tonight to introduce myself and to see how you were…settling in” he sees your outline shift, thankfully not away from him. But he sensed you knew he had gotten closer. From where his words left his mouth, you imagined he was quite taller than you.

“After three days since I’ve arrived you’ve come to see me?” Your voice steady. Sylus is amused at your bravery in questioning him. he was a stranger in the middle of your bedchamber in the dark.

“I had things I needed to… settle. before being able to see you. I also wanted to give you a chance to settle in. Leaving your home to be married off to a complete stranger… I knew you must have been frightened.”

The care in his tone makes you recognize his consideration for you. further easing your pounding heart. But still you proceeded with caution. “Usually, introductions are not done in the dark” squinting as if that would help reveal the tall stranger.

Again the tendrils of a chuckle wrap around you. “Yes, usually they arnt” but his light words dip with a sigh. “however all of our future meetings will be like this. I’ll only come to visit you at night…that is if you want me to visit” sylus chest constricts at the last part.

You were already in this unwanted marriage with him. Even if you didn’t know it was the only way he could protect you from marrying a Fowler creature. He didn’t want to push you further into something you didn’t want. Although, he desperately let himself hope you would allow him to be in your presence. But if not he could be content with you being safe in the palace he created for you. watching you from afar.

“I don’t understand, Why only at night?” Unease rushes through your body. Remembering the crumbly ancient voice uttering your fate. Sylus senses your emotional shift, clenching a hand against his side, restraining himself to provide a soothing touch.

After a pause, his low voice reaches you in the dark. “to keep you safe. You can’t look at me, you’ll- If you were to see me…, our marriage, us. It will all be gone” he dosnt want to think about that outcome. The thought sears a wound so great into it chest making him hold his breath.

‘If he wants to meet in the dark then does that mean what the oracle said is true?’ The thought races through your mind. But his words have left you feeling wrapped in assurances that he means you no harm. In fact he wants to protect you.“But that -“

“My love, please youll have to trust me” his voice is raised slightly but in a manner that sounds concerned and desperate. Not angry or malicious. He knows this is a big ask, you have no reason too trust him after all.

You hear him step closer. “a monster. A being the gods even fear. That’s who the oracle told me I’d marry”the words leave your mouth. Stopping his advance. Something twists in his chest, he couldn’t deny it. the oracle spoke truth. He lets out a breath. “She is quite dramatic. But I won’t deny them.” Sylus reaches a hand out, his finger tips brushing against yours. Making you jump slightly at the sudden action. “If you let me?” He says softly, Electricity jolting through him at the slightest touch.

You hold your breath as his fingers go over your hand, intertwining with your fingers. Fingers, palm, a hand. A human hand. Your heart picks up once more. No paws, claws or talons. His hands were large and surprisingly soft, except for the callouses on his fingertips, his grip firm.

“The gods may fear me, yes” you don’t realize how much closer he’s gotten until his whispered voice could be heard between the two of you. “But I am not the type of monster, you think I am” he turns your hand, placing the back of it against his cheek. You can’t help but let out a gasp at the sensation of soft skin. He brings your other hand to cup his face.

Releasing your hands in order for them to touch freely. Sylus shivers at your tentative caresses. Fingers moving along his face. His set narrow nose, eyelids, sharp angled jaw and nicely formed lips. He certainly felt human. Not at all a fury, sharp toothed, horned monster you had conjured in your mind, while pacing the floor of your room when you got back home from seeing the oracle.

Your hands trail down his neck. Your eyes widening in the dark at the feel of his firm exposed chest. The fabric himation wrap he wore, allowing parts of his chest and torso to be bare. You swear you hear him let out a shaky breath. He felt human…very human.

hands go over his broad shoulders. When they dip over to his back, that is when he sucks in a breath, his body stiffening. His hands hold your wrists bringing them back to his face.

Unknown to you, if you had gone further down his back you’d feel the softness of woven feathers making up beautiful white wings. His lips brush against your knuckles gently. “It seems this is all i have to offer you. Vauge words and a body shouded in darkness. But know i have already given you my heart and unending love and devotion. If you accept it of course”.

The stranger before you had provided you a home.a palace with everything you could ever ask for. Your favorite dish brought to you by invisible servents before you finished uttering the words ‘I’m hungry’. But most of all even in darkness you belived his words. Felt his scincerty and promises. The stranger before you was your husband giving you his heart.

Your hands pressed against his chest as you drew closer. Tilting your head up whispering a question “What should I call you?” Sylus takes this as your first steps to accepting him and it almost makes him smile. If not for the guilt he felt at keeping another part of himself from you. “that’s another thing I can not give to you, little bird.” he sighs, his knuckles caressing your cheek. He couldn’t have you knowing his identity, for your protection and the protection of his heart. “But You may call me husband and maybe with time, beloved”. His thumb rubs your chin.

Disappointed once again at the fact that he has to keep himself hidden from you. You are still willing to accept it, for you felt safe and a sense of unexplainable belonging. “I can’t call you husband” you whispered as a response.

Sylus pauses his caressing, that searing ache returning. Did you decide you couldn’t accept him? Would he even be able to let you go, if you did? Preparing himself for You’re answer he asks “Why not?” His hand now cupping your face rubs his thumb against your cheek wanting to touch you a bit longer before you stepped away from him. But you didn’t, you stepped impossibly closer.

Your heart begins to quicken but not by fear this time. “We haven’t kissed to seal our marriage” you hear him let out a chuckle, the same one that wrapped around you and went through your body in a shiver. Your sweet innocent words pulling at his heart. “In that, you are right, my love” the hand that cups your cheek guides you to his mouth. the ghost of his lips against yours.

In the dark you still close your eyes, waiting for him to close the distance. His fingers go to your chin tilting it up. The wait felt like an eternity. Breath touching skin until he finally presses his lips to yours in the most gentle manner. still giving you a chance to pull away. Instead your hands clutched at the fabric going over one shoulder, pressing your mouth more firmly to his.

Sylus lets out a shaky sigh of relief, capturing your mouth properly against his own. Everything inside him melts at the feel of your lips. They tasted sweeter than ambrosia. He swears you are the source from which is made,the fountain of immortality he would gladly come to drink from time and time again. Another shiver goes through him when he feels your hands move against his chest once more. Making him kiss you more. Your hands continue lowering down his body causing him to break the kiss with a groan. “Are you still not convinced?” He says, breathless.

“I may still need another inspection” and he can’t decide to groan or chuckle at your words. He grabs your hands in his. Pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Trust me my love. If you continued, I would have reacted like any man would with his wife” He interlaces your hands together. Straightening up. Although his mind races of the thought of being able to provide you pleasure all through the night. He knows tonight had been a lot for you.

“So why don’t you?” You ask. He does chuckle as this, desire shoots through his body once more briefly. “Eager, little bird?” In one swift movement he picks you up, placing you on his hip.

You let out a slight yelp at the sudden position. Arms clinging around his neck to steady yourself as he walks. you begin to stammer. Your brain rushing with thoughts unfit for a lady. “Relax,” there is a smile in his voice so close to your ear. “Tonight I simply wanted to ease your mind about our marriage…about me.”

He bends down and gently places you on the bed. “We will do things at your pace. There is no rush.” hands caress your jaw once more before his hand drops away.

without hesitation you reach out in the dark. Relief finds you when your hand catches on his finger tips. “I want you to…atleast stay”

He lets out a breath trying to expel the affection rising in his chest at your words. He bends down towards you, “gladly”

~ ~ ~

Night after night he comes to you followed by a gentle breeze that feels like it’s made by angel wings. The first couple of nights, you two spoke about everything. The night making each word more sacred. Locking them away inside your hearts.

When both of you found yourselves in bed. Slight Touches felt heightened leaving both with shaky breathing between the two. His fingers would glide against your warm skin. Your sides, arms and back with such gentle strokes. As if you were the most fragile sculpture in the world and he was afraid he would harm you. Your own hands, followed the curve of his firm muscles. Memorizing him in the dark. For No matter how much you tried, he never stayed long enough to see him in the light.

As the nights continued even sylus hoped that Apollo would not wake to move the sun. Feeling like each time he left, a piece of him stayed under the covers with you.

Gradually. The night came where words turned into uneven breathes and touches turned more assertive. You had told him you wanted more and he was not one to deny his wife. For where he was lacking he wanted to make up for it in any area he could. So he kisses you with passion. His mouth going to your jaw, moving down your neck. Placing a mark on you, he wishes he could see. But knowing you would see it on yourself in the morning made him bite you again. His thoughts becoming hazy with your sounds and scent. Kissing you further down with teasing sweet words against your skin.

He removes your nightgown, large palms roaming your body like the back of of his hand. He lets out a groan, at how responsive your body is to him. A hand takes your breast before placing his mouth on it, warm tongue swirling the right nipple before sucking.

your hands go through his hair, back arching at the sensation, pressing your chest further into his mouth. Inciting him. His other hand works on your other breast, rubbing and tugging at the nipple between his fingers. Before palming the soft flesh. Sylus drinks up every single reaction you give him. Every breath, shiver, and moan. He feels like he is going drunk on your pleasure. Switching over to give the other the same attention.

When he is satisfied with his efforts. His mouth continues his journey of reverence to you. Leaving opened mouthed kisses on your stomach and sides. Hoping his Affectionate Words sear into your skin just as the love bites he leaves on you.

When he reaches your center. Sylus is hot with desire, it’s almost primal the way he needs to taste you. He nips at your thighs, opening you up for him. And he almost loses it at not being able to see you presented to him, but smelling your intoxicating scent. He curses at his predicament but he finds solace in the fact that he is the first and only one to taste you.

“W-what are you doing near that place?” You ask hesitantly. Never being intimate with a man before you are confused as to why his face is between your most private parts.

He chuckles against your skin. “Trust me, I’m exactly where I am supposed to be, sweetie” he puts your legs over his shoulders, pulling you towards his face. hearing you gasp. “Relax, just focus on making those sweet noises for me, little bird” his rubs down your thigh “if you want me to stop just tell me, okay? But I’m sure you’ll be enjoying. Every second. Of it” with each pause sylus plants a kiss down your thigh until his mouth is right at your center.

He waits a moment to hear any objects. But when there isn’t any. his tongue licks up your heat fully, making him moan into you. “You taste sweeter than nectar, my love” he goes in again but his hands tighten their hold. “Better than any banquet the gods can hold on Olympus” his words muffled.

He curses, he had known that once he had a taste of you. How could he have anything else ever again? How could he possibly leave you when all he wants to do is be between your thighs for nights on end. His tongue lapping at you, creating patterns that has your hands grabbing and pulling at his hair, moaning into the darkness making them even sweeter and precious to him.

He wishes he could see you, how your beautiful face is when your body is filled with pleasure. Pleasure he is providing you. Sylus swirls and sucks on your clit. Pressing his face further into you. He moans against you. In this room, in this palace he had made for you in the sky. He lets himself say praises against you, Wanting to become your most loyal worshiper. Yes, within these walls hidden from those who would want nothing more than to take him away from

You. He worships you like the goddess you are.

He leaves you shuddering and spasming as you hit your climax. His mouth not stopping, in turn he grips harder. Eating you out, until the tingle of overstimulation pluses through you. You tell him wait, and with reluctance sylus leaves his meal but not without a last kiss to your clit. Making you shiver. Sylus would’ve kept going, making you come over and over. tasting you all night. But he could hold off for now. He would take his time with you, build you up, pushing back against your limit each time.

His Lips and a hand trail up your body. His palm resting on your chest feeling it move with uneven breathes making him smile at being able to leave you in such a blissed out state. From your chest his large hand moves to cup the back of your neck, rubbing the tender spot gently before pressing a soft kiss to you.

“From how you sounded just now. Id say you enjoyed” the teasing tilt in his voice makes you let out a breathy laugh as you nod. “You can say that, yes”

you bring his lips back to you, cutting off his gravely chuckle turning it into a throaty moan. His tongue licking your bottom lip asking for permission to enter. His hand at the nape of your neck leaves to squeeze your waist. Pulling your body flushed against him. His obvious display of need pressing against you, covered solely by a fabric wrap.

In time with his kisses your hips unconsciously move. His hand grips your waist with a broken groan. His body tightening with Desire. “Careful now,”a warning wrapped in a dark midnight voice. Only enticing you further. Your hands go across his chest learning these past nights, it is a sensitive spot for him.

He lets out an unsteady breath. “You’re making it difficult for me to take my time with you, my lady”

Your Fingers Going over the ridges of his sculpted torso. “Please, husband” the begging whisper has him desperately taking ahold of his restraint. The ropes threads ripping one by one along with you each inch your hand goes down his front. pushing away the fabric hiding him from you.

If sylus could see your eyes he would’ve seen how they widened at the feel of him in your hand. You go down the length of him. hard and throbbing. He sucks in a breath not helping but to move his hips to get more friction from your hand. wanting you to feel the desire and need he has for you.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you fill with nervousness at what’s to come. You can’t see him but you can most definitely feel his size-“Will it fit?” Falls from your lips before you realize what you said. A amused light laugh rumbles in his chest. “Trust me it will” his hand goes through your hair “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry”.

He presses a kiss to your jaw and neck as he lifts himself up in order to hover above you. His body is tense with need, pulling on that rope inside of him, holding on to his control.

he positions himself at your entrance. Telling you gently that you may feel pain but to focus on him. His voice is filled with such care when he Makes you promise you’ll tell him to stop if it hurts to much. When he is satisfied with your reassurance he places his mouth on yours, hoping to distract you when he pushes himself into you ever so slowly into your awaiting warmth.

Sylus lets out a groan against your mouth, eyebrows furrowing in effort to keep ahold of that taught rope of restraint. The feel of your walls around him, taking him in inch by inch, was testing his limits. You felt like everything he ever wanted and more. He doesn’t understand how he has lived centuries without you. Consuming his every thought and cell. Like you had given him life but you were also his undoing.

You tell him to stop to give you a moment to get used to him. he was only halfway in. His mouth didnt leave yours as his hand finds yours in the dark, fingers gilding down your forearm until he tightens his hand on yours. Putting it beside your head, he encourages and praises you. You squeeze his large hand, asking him to continue.

The delicate way he is moving into you is so intimate and powerful. When you both finally join together. It’s like there was burst of light, placing a new star in the sky.

He lets go of your lips his breathing ragged above you. He asks if you’re alright, and with a breathless confirmation from you. he places your arm around his neck so your bodies are as close as they can be. Every inch left untouched.

Sylus begins to slowly move his hips. His thrusts slow and mindful. Holding on tight to his restraint. Wanting to take care of you, taking higher priority than his own needs.

What would he give to see you in the light in this moment. maybe the wrath of the gods would be worth it to be able to get a glimpse at your beautiful pleasured face under him When he picks up the pace at your request. Attentive to any sounds of discomfort but all he hears is your moans in the darkness.

Maybe, just maybe if he whispers his name against your ear To hear it on your sweet lips when you cry out in ecstasy. You would still want him despite knowing what he was. He was tempted. Oh so tempted, but as the last thread of the rope to his restraint snapped he focused solely on you.

He couldn’t believe he was actually here in this moment with you. Being the one to feel you, to hear you, have you all to himself. Having you Mind, body and soul fuels his desire and love for you. Making him thrust faster.

He takes you. Claims you. But he still feels like he isn’t close enough to you. Slightly lifting your body as you cling onto him. He thrusts into you, Making sure his pelvis is hitting your clit with each thrust. Your nails digging in to his skin, leaving behind golden marks. He growls at the painful pleasure, wanting you to leave him marked. Because who is powerful enough to draw golden blood from a god, but you?

Body rocking with his thrusts, you feel a tight coil in your stomach, your walls clench around him. Sylus curses, hips stuttering. His breathing growing more uneven against your neck. “Give in-“ he moans at his own body tightening. “Yell into the night the pleasures I’m making you feel” his hips don’t stop their pace. Hitting every deep spot inside you. He turns his lips to your ear his voice the embodiment of seduction and undiscovered pleasures. “Together, my love. I know you can do that for me”

trying to capture your lips in his, but failing with the movement of your bodies. He fills the space between them with your name. he feels you at the edge and follows you over it. Hitting that ecstasy he never had felt before.

He moans, needing to clench his hand on the pillow beside your head. to not crush when his climax hits him. Keeping himself all the way inside you to the hilt, his release going deep inside you. Body, mind and soul. Repeats in his head as he starts to thrust again riding each other’s highs. He praises you and displays his reverence to you with each slowing thrust. grounding you both back to the darkened room. setting you down on the bed.

He dosnt pull away from you keeping himself where he belongs. Trying to drag out this moment by each second. Breathless sounds are heard. Whispers of assurances and loyalty filter out the opened balcony doors settling themselves on the glittering waves of dawn. Forever etched into the sky. promises made with the evidence of love that blossomed in the dark remaining for all eternity even when the sun wakes.