#event: involuntary mind reading

[murillo-enthusiast]

Lannes: HEY HAVE YOU SEEN MARBOT ANYWHERE <Really concerned! subervie made it back unscathed but missing marcellin>

Soult: No, I have not.

Lannes: KEEP ME UPDATED IF YOU DO OR IF YOU HEAR ANYTHGIN <Why is soult looking at me in that funny way??? do i have somethign on my face?>

Soult: There is nothing on your face.

Lannes: ...

Soult: ...

Lannes: What the fuck <WHAT THE FUCK>

[armagnac-army]

Soult seems... off somehow. Do you have any idea what's up with him?

YOU THINK???

Soult: I am not pleased with this turn of events either. Please stop thinking so loudly about where I can place certain items.

WHEN YOU GET OUT OF MY HEAD ILL STOP

[pseudowho]

The Wrong Tie

18+, MDNI, voyeurism, semi-public sex, hints of a foursome

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It was a rainy spring day, when the rumour started that Nanami Kento and Higuruma Hiromi were having an affair. It was categorically untrue-- all a misunderstanding; but their wives wouldn't confirm that.

The faculty meeting, an all-day "team building event" was dull, a monotonous slew of games and personality tests, to drive those of a more practical mind to madness. The steady shhhhhh of rain against the windows only made it worse. Higuruma Hiromi was on the verge of sleep. Nanami Kento was lost in his own mind, reading on a tropical beach somewhere.

Kento felt the smooth slide of one small hand across his upper thigh, under the desk, and let out a quiet, involuntary grunt. His wife sat beside him, apparently interested in the presentation, and her hand slid higher, and higher, and higher. Kento felt his pulse quicken, leaning forwards on steepled fingertips, trying not to groan when clever fingers undid his zipper, and slipped through to squeeze his rapidly hardening cock through his boxers. Kento twitched his cock inside her grasp, and was rewarded with her biting her lip, her breath hitching.

Hiromi was already fantasising about his wife, sat opposite him, as sleep began to claim him. He jumped out of his seat, and excused it as a sudden, violent cough, when his wife trailed her bare stockinged toes over his lap. Hiromi grasped her foot under the table, giving a warning tickle to the arch. It did not dissuade her at all, and she rolled the ball of her foot insistently over the thickening bulge beneath Hiromi's zipper. His legs went lax, spreading, as his hooded eyes sat half-open, slack-jawed and humping involuntarily against her foot beneath the desk.

"Alright everyone...a ten minute break, and then we'll meet back in here. There are snacks in the staffroom."

Neither couple could last. Everyone flurried from the room, with all but four hurrying for the best choice of snack.

Kento dragged his wife into the nearest store cupboard, deep, dark and narrow. She giggled at the manhandling, and felt herself lifted into a shelf near the end. "You dirty little minx," he rumbled against her throat, rucking her blouse aside to drag one breast out, pawing at it, kneading and licking. She laughed, happy to be used, and threw his jacket and tie to the ground as he tucked her skirt around her waist, and began to hook out his heavy, pre cum wettened cock.

The door open and closed with a brief snippet of sunlight, and a slam, and Kento heard Hiromi's voice, and his wife's giggling; "Trying to get me to cum on your foot, in the middle of a meeting? You fucking menace. Only one place I'll be cumming, and it's a little bit more discre--"

"Higuruma."

"Oh, Nanami-- shit."

"Shit."

"Shit."

A moment of silence. A quiet shuffle as Hiromi pressed his wife face down, bent over, to the shelf that Kento's wife sat on. Kento scowled, unable to see in the dark. His cock throbbed, stroking between his wife's plush, wet folds; he was desperate. Hearing how Hiromi moaned, cursing as he rolled his wife's skirt up, and slapped her on the arse, he was just as pent-up.

"...we share the cupboard."

"Fuck yes we share the cupboard, Nanami. These two need to be taught a lesson."

Kento couldn't hold back any longer. Listening to Hiromi shred his wife's stockings at the crotch, and shove her panties aside, sent a shiver through him. Kento leaned over his wife, who was still suckling at his throat, and planted both hands on her hips before slamming into her to the hilt, with a husky, ragged moan. She squealed at the sudden, sharp fullness, and Kento clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Want to fuck with me in work hours? Fine. You're the one with my cum dripping down your thighs all day."

Hiromi laughed, landing one more sharp slap to his wife's arse, before dipping his cockhead to her entrance, and sinking inside with agonising tenderness. She whimpered, gasping, clutching at the shelf in front of her. Hiromi doubled over her, his belly to her back, mocking her gently.

"Aren't you two going to be a lovely matching pair? All full of cum with nowhere to go."

While it wasn't definitely a Wife-Fucking-Competition, it hardly seemed coincidental, how each man found his wife's throbbing little bud with devastating accuracy. How, when Kento slammed his wife so hard onto his cock that she sobbed and begged for mercy, Hiromi reached forwards and grabbed his wife by the roots of her hair, growling against the back of her neck like a man possessed. How, when Hiromi made his wife squeal, Kento tried to make his wife squeak louder.

At one point, the wives held onto each others' hands for dear life as their husbands dragged them through their orgasms, over hot coals.

"--that's it-- fffuuuuck, sound so pretty," Hiromi cooed to his wife, two fingers underneath her and rolling over her clit as she tried to scoot away, mewling and overstimulated, "-- ah ah ah, we're done when I-- haaaah, shit-- say we're done, sweetheart-- gonna fuck you-- fuck you stupid-- hold onto something--"

Kento held his wife gently by the throat, squeezing just hard enough, as his thumb and forefinger rolled around her clit, that her peak spread, electric, through every single nerve; "--that's right...beautiful. Can feel you milking me, shit-- gonna cum right in your belly...just where you like it. Won't need-- f-fuck-- so good-- won't need lube later...just fuck this seed right back into you, hmm?"

Kento didn't want to admit that hearing two women become whining messes around him was something of a buzz. When he came, it was with violently competitive satisfaction, as Higuruma had spilled his seed just moments before. Hiromi didn't give a fuck; he was lost in the sound of Kento's cock squelching into his wife's aching pussy. Kento never took Higuruma for such a whimperer. Hiromi never knew Nanami could fall apart like that.

Both men spilled more seed than they ever had, the testosterone thick in the air. Their wives almost regretted their misbehaviour-- almost. Each wife stood on shaky legs, trying to stop drips of cum running past the hems of their skirts, while Hiromi and Kento dressed in a hurry, breathless and trying not to laugh.

They made it back to the meeting room in time, the wives entering first, trying not to stagger into their seats. Kento and Hiromi entered after, mostly straightened out. They were busy trying to look normal. Neither of them noticed how eyes flickered to their flushed faces, Kento still quietly panting, Hiromi with a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. Eyes flicked to their chests, and back up to their faces. The next stage of the meeting was awkward, at best.

Gojo approached Hiromi at the lunch break, and Hiromi almost spat out his coffee when Gojo leaned into him, and whispered; "...why are you wearing Nanami's tie, huh? Anything you two need to tell us?'

Hiromi's horrified, pale face shot down to another man's leopard print tie on his chest, then shot up, searching for Kento. Kento looked across the room, his face impassive, but his eyes screaming...in an unusually muted black tie.

The wives had noticed, earlier. They enjoyed their lunch, chatting and blushing, with cum still cooling between their legs, pretending they knew nothing.

[moonstruckme]

hiii!! i love your writing so much i think i’ve read every single thing you’ve ever posted. i’m genuinely obsessed 🫶🫶 i was wondering if you could write something where the reader and remus have been dating/talking for a little while and she hasn’t had her first kiss yet and she starts to get nervous everytime she thinks he’s abt to kiss her and she runs away?? i’m ngl this is based off of very real events in my life 😭😭

i love you so much!! hope your doing amazing

Hi gorgeous, thanks so much! This is soooo relatable of you haha, I have a library of hilarious stories about my very hyper friend who kept literally springing away from guys she liked who were trying to kiss her, but it does make for some very interesting (and often very sweet) conversations!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

On your first official date with Remus, the two of you went to a drive-in movie. You kept your seatbelt on the entire time. 

You only realized halfway through, mentally kicking yourself for being so jittery you’d lost all sense of normalcy, but by then it felt too late. It’d be awkward to take it off halfway through the movie, try to play that off as casual. You’d made your bed. You didn’t unbuckle until Remus dropped you off at your house at the end of the night. 

On your second date, you’re determined to be less uptight. You want him to know that you really do like him, even if your nerves make you jump and flinch whenever he gets close. At the Italian restaurant, it’s difficult to find a pasta dish without garlic, but you manage it. You’re a girl with an agenda. The two of you split a chocolate cake for dessert. It’s delicious, probably, though you can’t focus on much besides Remus’ story and the way his mouth moves as he tells it. How he tucks one corner of his bottom lip between his teeth when he’s trying to hide a smile. 

You have to hope belatedly that you haven’t somehow smeared chocolate all over your face while eating. You’re not at all confident you would’ve noticed. 

It’s a short walk back to your place, and you manage to jabber the whole way, a masterclass in self-sabotage. Remus doesn’t seem to mind, his hand light and cordial on your back as he guides you up the steps to your door. You savor the touch. It takes every ounce of willpower you have not to spring away. 

“It sounds really interesting,” he says graciously as you finish your tangent about the book you’ve just read. “I’ll have to pick up a copy.” 

“I can lend you mine,” you offer. “Maybe I can bring it the next time we hang out?” Your voice tips up hopefully at the end of the question, and warmth touches your cheeks. 

A similar pinkening spreads across Remus’ freckles. He smiles at you, the scar across his lip stretching. You’re spellbound. 

“Yeah, that sounds great.” You might be imagining it, but you could swear his eyes flit to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says. “I really like talking to you.” 

Your voice is soft. “I like talking to you, too.” 

He takes a step towards you, and it’s like your muscles stage a coup. You take an involuntary step backward, a smile plastering itself uncomfortably on your face. 

“Thanks for everything,” you say brightly. “Goodnight!”

You spin and go for the door handle, and you’re nearly inside before you hear Remus’ quiet “Wait.” 

You turn. Lead in your bones. 

Remus is holding his palms up as if to show you he’s got no weapon. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I just wanted to…you know I’d never do anything you didn’t want me to, right?” 

You’re frozen stiff. 

“Like, even if I thought there was a chance you didn’t want to, I would never…” He shakes his head, looking lost. Guilt settles like a stone in your gut. “I guess I’m a bit confused. If you don’t want to do anything, that’s completely fine, but sometimes it seems like you want me to kiss you, and then you don’t…” 

“Rem,” you say. You feel like you’re breathing through a straw. “Remus, I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, it’s not your fault—” 

“No, it is. It’s not—I don’t want you to think I’m scared of you or anything. I’m not, it’s just, I get skittish.” You can’t make yourself look at his eyes, your gaze stuck just shy of his chin. Your face feels aflame. “It’s not you. I’m just nervous.” 

“Oh.” It’s a soft thing, more exhale than anything. Then his fingers curl under your chin, tipping your face up. “Well, you can relax, love. I was never going to make a move unless I got a clear signal from you first. But we can just take that off the table completely, if you’d like.” He gives you a small, gentle smile. “I only want you to feel comfortable.�� 

Your heart zings right up into your throat. “I do feel comfortable,” you blurt. “I don’t want it off the table.” 

Remus’ eyebrows flick upwards. “You don’t?” 

“No,” you murmur, bashful. 

His eyebrows come slowly back down, puckering slightly as he tries to figure you out. His eyes narrow until his lashes kiss. His tongue pokes into his cheek, just a little. You miss nothing. You find yourself taking in a quiet breath, steeling yourself. 

You move across that tiny bit of air between you and find him there waiting.

It’s everything you could’ve hoped for and yet startlingly simple. Remus’ lips are warm and soft, pressing into yours with an intensity that you suspect is nonetheless restrained for your benefit. He tastes like chocolate cake. 

His mouth meanders over to the corner of your lips, granting one quick peck to your cheek before making its way back to the center of your mouth, reverent. He backs away slowly, easing you out of it. 

“Wasn’t really expecting that,” he admits.

“Me neither. Was it alright?” Your voice is a bit breathy. “I’ve never done that before.” 

For a moment, he’s quiet. 

“That was your first kiss?” 

You swallow, rubbing your lips together as you nod. 

“Sweetheart,” he grins, “you’re a natural.” 

A giggle spurts out of you, dizzy with the taste of him and the novelty of it all. “You mean it?” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He mimes drawing a cross over his heart. It occurs to you that you both seem infinitely more at ease than you have since dinner. The corner of Remus’ bottom lip goes between his teeth, his cheek dimpling. “I mean, there is something to be said for practice, though.” 

You don’t fight your own grin; it comes out in full force. “Mm, I think I’ve heard something about that. Practice makes…defective, right? Something like that.” 

“C’mere.” Remus rolls his eyes at you, but as his arms wrap around you his smile mirrors yours. 

[acey-wacey]

Good morning!!! Congrats for hitting 2000 followers, I think you really deserve it! Also, I'm really glad that you've returned! I've been following your blog ever since last year, when I found your "Love Rivals" and "Meeting your future children", I really like how you portray the twst characters in your writings! There are times where I smiled For the 2000 milestone event, could I please request Idia with Lavender (Mind Reading)? You know how Idia usually think lowly himself, right? What if Idia has feelings for reader, yet he doesn't take action because of his low self-esteem/fear of rejection, but when Idia got in a potion accident where he can temporarily read minds, all he can hear from reader's mind are praises and thoughts of infatuation/admiration about him.

So that's the general idea of it, the rest is up to you. Also, I don't mind if you'll make a few changes here and there. That's all, thank you and have a nice day!

This is so cute! Thank you for hanging around so long!

I may have niche-video-game-referenced my way a little too close to the sun with this one. Hopefully, it makes sense to somebody.

...

Pairing - Idia Shroud x Reader

Prompt - Mind Reader

...

"Tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna..."

It has been 40 minutes since Idia had gained his powers of telepathy and already he wanted them gone. Grim hadn't had a single thought the entire class except a dumb song he made up about tuna.

The whole thing had been Grim's fault really. The mischievous cat had run away from you and invaded the 3rd year alchemy room. And of course he ran right into Idia just as the upperclassman was adding ground eye of newt to his animal comprehension potion, causing the vial to smash all over him.

You had apologized profusely and tried to wrangle Grim back to your classroom, but Crewel made you miss your class and clean all the dirty cauldrons as punishment, thus why Idia couldn't stop hearing Grim's

Everyone else went on with making their potion, but unfortunately for Idia and his tendency to get overstimulated, he could hear the immediate thoughts of every person in the classroom. He had been trying and failing to pay attention to the lesson due to the crazy noise. Serves him right for daring to venture outside his room.

"I think I put too much nightshade."

"When's lunch again?"

"Sevens, he's pretty."

Idia perked up in his seat. That last one was your voice. He looked over to where you were scrubbing grime off the rim of a black cauldron. Much to his surprise, he made eye contact with you. You looked away so fast, he almost thought he imagined it in the first place.

"Shoot, I hope he didn't catch me staring," you thought. Idia could see the embarrassment in your face now that he knew what he was looking for. He didn't know who was standing behind him, but whoever the guy was was maxed out in luck to get the prefect to like him.

Idia turned back to his cauldron and began to stir lethargically. He tried to block out the noise coming from everyone's thoughts but it was getting very loud. He just wanted to be back in his room playing video games!

"His little pout is so cute! Poor thing, he probably wishes he was back in his room," you thought. Idia's brows furrowed as he subtly looked around the classroom trying to find the person you were thinking about. "I wonder what he's looking for."

Idia snapped back to look at you, only to find you glancing at him again. This time, you were startled but you held his gaze and offered a hesitant wave.

Idia turned his face away as fast as he could so you wouldn't see the growing blush on his face.

"Hm, his hair is turning pink on the ends. I hope he's not mad at me for staring at him," you thought, turning back to the cauldron you were working on. "Though if he doesn't want me to look at him, maybe he should try being less nice to look at."

Idia let out an involuntary squeak. He felt his head start to swim and quickly sat down on a nearby stool. He was sure he looked absolutely crazy to the other students but he was so preoccupied by your thoughts that were apparently about him.

"Is that shallow of me to think that? I don't know. I mean, I don't like him just because he's cute. I also love listening to him talk about games he likes and his inventions are crazy awesome!"

Idia pulled himself deeper into his jacket. Your gaze had been fixed firmly on your work for fear of being caught staring again, so you didn't notice Idia's rapidly increasing fluster meter.

"I like how sweet he is to Ortho, even though he kind of hates everyone else." You sounded kind of defeated when you thought that, or at least you would if your thoughts sounded like anything. "He probably hates me too. I am just another normie. Though I don't know if he co-ops Untitled Goose Game with just anyone."

"No! I don't!" he wanted to scream, but he couldn't get a single sound out of his mouth. He thought he was the self-deprecating one, but you seemed to have convinced yourself that the boy who had a big fat, very obvious crush on you hated you. He even let you play the blue switch controller even though it was his favorite.

"I do wish he would stop being so mean to himself though," you thought, more sincere than Idia expected. "He's so amazing, but refuses to believe anything nice I or Ortho say to him. Maybe if he read my mind, he'd know I'm being sincere."

Idia froze. Did you know about the potion? Had you been messing with him the whole time?

"Well, that little brat better believe me when I tell him I love him even if I have to beat it into him with a Wii remote tennis racket attachment," you thought with a playful vengeance. "Do you hear that, Idia Shroud? I'm gonna make you believe nice things about yourself no matter how many niche video games references it takes!"

That was the moment you decided to glance at Idia, downright shocked when you found him curled up inside his hoodie on a stool with bright pink hair poking out the top.

"Idia, are you okay?" you asked. When he didn't respond, you went up to him and brought your face down to where his would be if you could see it. "Hey, are you alright?"

He jumped, almost falling off the chair.

"You actually said that?" he looked stunned which confused you.

"Yes?" you offered, unsure what he was talking about. "I did just say it."

"Uh, um, I'm, uh, fine," Idia tried to smile at you but it came off more pained than reassuring.

"I don't believe you. What's the matter? Is it too loud in here?" you asked.

"Shame he's always hiding his face. His blush is so adorable!"

"Yes!" Idia shrieked frantically, catching the attention of a few nearby students. "It's too loud. I can't think."

You nodded empathetically.

"You wanna step out for a minute?" you offered, gesturing to the door with a nod of your head. Idia nodded, desperate to get away. It really was very loud, especially with everyone's thoughts flooding his brain. Your seemingly-harmless sweet nothings were only the final nail in his coffin.

You followed Idia out of the room and shut the door behind you.

"Won't Professor Crewel get mad?"

You scoffed.

"Not a single teacher at this school gets to get mad at me after everything I've done," you leaned against the wall with a calming smile. "And if they do, they'll answer to the ghosts that live in my house."

That made Idia chuckle. You lit up seeing a smile on his face, no matter how minute.

"I love seeing you smile. If only I could be the reason more often."

"You're pretty much the only reason," Idia mumbled. Your easy smile dropped.

"What did you say?"

"What?" Idia averted his eyes, his mind filling with panic. "I didn't say anything."

"No, no, you said 'you're pretty much the only reason'," you questioned, your eyes full of confusion and shock. "That sounded like... I don't know, I was thinking something and then you said that and it sounded like..."

You squinted in confusion before scoffing at yourself and relaxing.

"That's stupid, Y/N. He can't read your mind."

"Actually, I can?" Idia squeaked, his voice getting higher with every word. Your eyes widened.

"Idia," you said solemnly, standing dead still.

"Mm-hm?"

"You can read my mind."

"Well, not usually, but there was a thing with a potion and it was with Grim and it messed with my head and now I can read minds and it's actually really loud but mostly I'm just nervous because of the stuff you've been thinking and I'm just really..."

You held up a hand to silence Idia's rapid rambling. He looked away sheepishly. You sighed and blinked a few times to process before laughing. Idia looked up in confusion.

"Aren't you mad?" he asked hesitantly. "I violated your privacy."

"I mean, you saved me the time of confessing to you myself," you chuckled, a giddy smile on your face.

Idia stared at you, trying to find traces of joking but you seemed to be serious.

"You aren't mad?"

"I'm in love with you is what I am."

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (22)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He cursed himself in his head for giving in to her, for letting her fly on Larax, soaring towards the skies on Vhagar, looking out for her from afar with a clenched throat. Despite the fact that she hadn't run away with Daemon, he couldn't get over his fear that she would flee, that she would abandon him again.

That she would rip his heart out.

A sigh of relief left his lips as he caught sight of the shining, shimmering blue and silver slender figure of her dragoness in the distance, finding with satisfaction that they were heading in the right direction. He turned over his shoulder, terrified as he flew over them and heard a squeal below, Larax terrified by Vhagar's sudden presence panicked.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh when he heard his niece's commands, and after a moment her dragon calmed down and joined him, flying a little lower at his side.

He could not contain an involuntary smile of satisfaction as he felt the heat that filled his heart at the thought that here was his dream come true, and he was at last roaming the skies with his wife.

Although Aegon sometimes allowed him to accompany him on his visits to the Dragon's Pit, when he could get a close look at Sunfyre, it brought him neither joy nor comfort. He knew it was their mother who had forced him to take his little brother with him, thinking it would help him, meanwhile it only deepened his grief and sadness.

It wasn't his dragon, but his brother's, so what was he to be happy about?

His attitude, however, was quite different about his niece's dragoness when their betrothal was announced.

She was to become his wife, and as a wedded pair they were to share everything with each other, so he felt that he could also partly acknowledge Larax as his own.

When he saw her for the first time he thought that only Sunfyre matched her beauty.

Larax had blue-silver scales shimmering in the light of day, her nature gentle and docile, at the sight of his betrothed she acted and squealed in excitement like a small, happy child.

At first she hissed at him when he tried to approach her, however, when his niece took his hand in hers and placed it on her back, Larax allowed him to stroke her and from then on she accepted his presence with calmness.

Her scales were rough and sharp, yet smooth and pleasant to the touch, sparkling with various shades of blue like a gems, making him gasp in delight.

Looking at her now, he could not get out of his mind how she had grown, how wide and slender her wings were, with what lightness she swirled in the air.

Compared to her, his beloved old Vhagar was like a great flying stone fortress.

When they arrived, his wife landed by the fortress itself, but he had to find a lair for Vhagar in which she would pose no threat to anyone; he finally spotted a small grassy hill from below and ordered her to lower her flight, finally landing with a sigh of relief.

For some reason he was both joyful and terrified of what awaited them, hundreds of thoughts running through his head.

What if Rheanyra wants to kidnap her? What if she orders her to stay in the Eyrie? What if they reject their terms?

What if he has to kill them?

Despite the beautiful sunny weather and the wonderful journey at his wife's side, these gloomy thoughts consumed his mind completely. When he finally reached the gates of Harrenhal and spotted the figure of Larys Strong in the distance, he only prayed that he would be allowed to rest at least for a moment.

He glanced at his wife, who smiled at him uncertainly, tense, something about the person of Larys Strong or the woman standing next to him had obviously made her uncomfortable.

He decided it did not matter, tired and sore from sitting in one position, and directed his words to the heir of Harrenhal.

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters."

Larys Strong did indeed direct them straight to his rooms, much more modest and cramped than those in King's Landing. He pulled off his leather gloves, frustrated that the Lord kept speaking and speaking and speaking, glancing up at him only when he mentioned that he had prepared other quarters for his wife.

No, he thought.

Her place was with him.

They were staying in a nest of vipers and he had no intention of letting any of them bite her.

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." He said impatiently; Lord Strong raised his eyebrows as if genuinely surprised by his words.

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you." He said lightly, and he pressed his lips together, casting a tired, enraged look at his wife, who stared at him with her big, warm eyes full of understanding.

They were both exhausted, but nothing could be done.

He sighed and nodded, ordering her to leave them alone, leading her and the woman who had followed her away with anxious gaze.

Was this the famous Witch of Harrenhal?

What if she does indeed cast a spell on her?

What if she pours poison into her honey or wine?

Larys Strong snapped him out of his reverie by sitting down at a table standing just beside the window, leaning his staff against the back of his chair, sighing softly.

"Your grandfather has conveyed to me what matter has brought you here, my Prince, and has asked me to personally take care of everything if the matter gets out of hand." He said meekly, as if he had just been telling him about the weather or what meals would be served to them at supper.

He felt an unpleasant shiver run along his spine, a cold sweat on the back of his neck as he threw him a quick, shocked look, his heart pounding like mad.

Lord Strong seemed amused by his reaction, a smile appeared on his face from which he felt an unpleasant squeeze in his guts.

"I have my little birds in the Eyrie who chirp to me about everything that happens there. Daemon and Rhaenyra arrived there this morning − they will also spend the night there after your negotiations. If their answer is not to our satisfaction, the matter will be resolved in a slightly different way."

He swallowed loudly, trying to calm his breathing, feeling like if he moved even a little he would vomit immediately, disbelief, shock and horror vibrating through his entire body.

They wanted to take advantage of the fact that they felt safe in their kin's fortress.

They wanted to kill them.

They wanted him to betray his wife.

He answered nothing, unable to even find the words for what he was feeling as he stared blankly out the window, noticing the silhouette of Larax shining in the sunlight, his hands clenched into fists.

"It is for the good of the kingdom, my Prince. War is no one's desire." He said lightly, rising on his staff, walking with difficulty out of his chamber, leaving him alone with the cold, terrifying chill he felt in his chest.

He pressed his lips together, trying not to cry like a child.

What if Rheanyra did not accept their terms?

What option would be left for them?

He felt devastated at the thought that none.

There would be nothing that could be done.

They had to do anything to make them agree.

They had to lie.

His mind was filled with dark, gloomy thoughts as his wife stepped into the chamber where he and Larys were already seated, waiting for her to begin supper. He squinted as he saw that her hair was entwined around her head in braids, for some reason he felt frustrated thinking that this was surely the witch's idea.

What were they discussing?

What had she said to her?

"Beautiful hairstyle, Your Grace." Said Lord Strong; he pressed his lips together, impatient, thinking he was a fucking snake plotting how to kill her mother while throwing her sweet, empty compliments.

He wondered, horrified, if, as far as she was concerned, he and his grandfather had their own plans too.

His wife expressed her gratitude to him with a happy smile and turned her eyes on him, her gaze bright and warm, completely unaware of what was happening around her.

"And you, my husband? What do you think?" She asked lightly, and he licked his lips, furious, horrified, devastated.

"I prefer it when your hair is loose." He replied drily, feeling however instantly remorseful at the look of sadness, pain of rejection that flashed across her face. She blinked and lowered her head, swallowing quietly as she grabbed for her cup, his heart beating harder at the thought that the wine might have been poisoned.

Nothing happened to her, however, and she did not look at him again for the rest of the supper, smiling despite her distress, exchanging courteous remarks with Lord Strong. When she rose, saying that she was exhausted and wished already to prepare for sleep, his heart pounded harder.

"As soon as you have finished, come to my chamber." He commanded. She nodded and left, leaving them alone.

There was an awkward silence between them.

"Your wife is indeed a sweet and innocent creature, my Prince." Lord Strong said, and he cast him a stern, furious look, sensing the subtext in that sentence, some kind of malicious threat from which he felt unpleasant chills running through his veins.

"If anything happens to her, I will rip out your tongue, I will gouge out your eyes, I will cut off your hands; I will cut off parts of your body piece by piece until only your torso and your head remain. Do you understand?" He asked in a low, calm, cold voice − Larys Strong looked at him piercingly, a smile on his lips from which he felt that terrible squeeze in his stomach again.

"Yes, my Prince."

When he returned to his chamber he was just a bundle of nerves, pacing around as if in a trance, terrified, confused, horrified, thinking only of the fact that he needed her, that he had to look at her face, speak to her in private, come up with some plan, anything from which he would be able to sleep a wink that night.

Should he tell her or not?

What if she decides that his family has betrayed her, that she can't trust them?

What if she panicked, if she changed her mind at the last minute, changed sides?

FUCK!

He waited and waited and waited, and she did not appear. He growled loudly, burying his face in his hands, desperate and impatient − the tension in his lower abdomen caused by the lack of their closeness for the last few days was unbearable for him.

He didn't want to make her suffer discomfort when she was already in such pain, thinking that if he waited and let her rest, he would thereby prove that he didn't just care about their physical intimacy, that he respected her and was willing to wait.

He broke from his seat, deciding that enough was enough, and walked out, heading aggressively with a quick step towards her chamber, opening the door with a loud slam. He froze in place, looking in disbelief at the scene before him.

The Witch of Harrenhal held his niece's hand close to her face, kneeling by her tub, his wife submerged in the water with only her nightgown clinging to her bare body, which was clearly visible through the thin material.

For one brief moment it seemed to him that the woman removed her free hand from under her skirt at the sight of him.

What the fuck was she doing?

Both of them looked at him in shock − the witch stood up and bowed to him, bending her head humbly.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" He growled enraged, feeling his whole body quiver in fury, his hands clenched into fists.

The woman left the chamber without a word, and he rushed towards his niece like a lion about to pounce on its prey − her large eyes widened in shock, her lips parted in a hastened breath, her cheeks all flushed in a way she looked when he took her in his bed.

The thought enraged him even more.

"− what is the meaning of this? − hm? −" He hissed, looking at her expectantly, but she merely raised her shoulders in a defensive gesture, her hand clenched on the edge of her tub.

Gods, give me patience, he thought in fury.

"− can't I leave you alone even for a fucking moment? −" He asked with rage as if he had just reprimanded a small, disobedient child. She blinked, clearly trying to get something out of herself after all.

"− I-I asked her for help −"

What?

"− help with what, that she had to kneel beside you and hold your hand? − you are fucking bare −" He burst out, not believing a word she said, her cheeks turning scarlet at his words, the innocent hot look in her eyes killing him.

"− I − I can't tell you, it's embarrassing −"

"− gods, I swear I'm about to rip you to shreds −"

"− we were discussing embarrassing feminine matters − she showed me something…important − for you too −" She finally mumbled out, and he furrowed his brow, understanding absolutely nothing of her explanation, increasingly frustrated that she wasn't telling him the truth.

"− I want to know what this brazen whore was doing to my wife −" He growled in a cold, enraged voice, and she swallowed hard, knowing he was about to explode.

"− very well − I − I will try to show it to you − just − just don't get upset and sit on the bed −"

He was distrustful at first, but did as she asked.

And then his concerns, his fear and terror vanished, replaced by a complete dullness of his mind due to the surprising delight that the touch of her soft, warm lips on his fat, throbbing erection gave him.

When she added her fleshy, moist tongue to her caresses, licking the pink, swollen head of his cock with its tip he thought it was over for him.

He fucked her throat like there was no tomorrow, panting loudly with clenched eyelids, holding her hair in the firm grip of his hands, thrusting his hard cock deep between her sweet lips with the deep stabs of his hips, moaning helplessly as her tongue teased him with the sticky click of her saliva.

She squirmed loudly as he quickened his pace, again and again hitting the back of her throat, tears of exertion running down her cheeks as she tried to breathe loudly through her nose to keep from suffocating.

"− I know − please, please, let me − oh, fuck, yes, swallow it, swallow, swallow, swallow −" He mumbled out panting heavily, tilting his head back as his seed spilled down her throat at last. He heard her cough quietly, shocked, and swallow loudly, some of his spend trickled from the corner of her mouth down her chin.

It was the most indecent sight he had seen in his entire life.

Indecent and wonderfully beautiful at the same time.

"− come − come here − your husband need to take care of you −" He breathed out, grabbing her around the waist, lifting her lightly, sitting her on his lap. His niece sat down on top of him, cupping his cheeks in her hands, joining their lips in a hot, sticky kiss, her tongue slightly salty from his seed.

His cock pulsed hard at that thought.

He turned and threw her onto her back on the soft bedsheet, pulling her wet nightgown off of her, his swollen lips running over her sternum down her stomach leaving a wet, warm, sticky trail behind. Her body quivered all over as he took her thighs in his hands and spread them in front of him, her hands trying to stop him from doing what he wanted to do when his face leaned over her heat.

"− n-no − I'm still dirty −" She mumbled helplessly, embarrassed; he gasped at her words, looking at her swollen folds, from between which her moisture leaked, running the tip of his tongue over her sensitive, fleshy womanhood. She tilted her head back with a moan of delight and desire, her body arching like a string, her hips involuntarily pushing forward to meet his lips.

He couldn't deny himself this, he was too desperate, too terrified, he needed her too badly to stop, to stop himself from sinking his mouth into her weeping cunt, begging him for fulfilment, the tip of his nose running over her bud while his tongue teased her opening with lazy, slow licks.

"− who made you so wet? − her? − hm? −" He hummed, feeling her quickly shake her head, her hands tightening in his hair, pressing him closer, wanting more, her breathing quick and raspy.

"− n-no − I was thinking about you − about you deep inside my mouth −" She muttered, a low, throaty groan escaping his lips that flowed in vibration through her body at her words, his cock swelling all over in his breeches at the memory of what her sweet mouth had done to him as he peaked deep into her throat.

"− did you enjoy it? − the taste of your husband deep in your belly? −" He cooed, sliding his tongue deeper and deeper into her tight, puffy slit; she cried out loudly at his question, her moist walls clenching greedily around nothing.

"− y-yes − oh, gods, please − put it inside me −" She begged, repeating it again and again, his fingers digging deep into the soft skin of her thighs.

How could he deny her?

He lifted himself up on his arm, panting hard, directing his once again swollen erection at her entrance – she was so wet that he thrust into her with one deep push of his hips. They both threw their heads back, delighted at their closeness, at how shockingly pleasurable and intimate the experience was.

"− I've waited so long for this − fuck, this warm cunt is my doom −" He exhaled, despite her cries and the shudders that shook her body imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, pounding into her with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips, her insides slick with her moisture, making their bare skin slap against each other with a sticky smack again and again.

"− u-uncle − ah − mghmm −" She mumbled, clenching her hands on the material of his tunic, responding devotedly to each of his stabs with the rocking of her hips, her eyes closed, her puffy lips parted sweetly in pleasure.

He leaned over her and kissed her greedily with her sigh of delight, his tongue full of her flavour bursting deep into her throat as he pressed her to the bed, thrusting into her so deeply and quickly that he was hardly slipping out of her.

They both moaned loudly and tightened their fingers on each other's bodies as she threw back her head in wonderful fulfilment, through which her fleshy walls began to squeeze and suck him inside. He cursed under his breath and sighed in relief as the heat in his lower abdomen became unbearable and his seed filled her again, this time taking root in her womb.

They both rocked their hips for a while longer, whimpering and panting into each other's mouths, their lips brushing and teasing each other, their hands stroking each other's faces and hair as they tried to calm down and come down from their peak. He fell on top of her at last without strength, closing his eyes, nuzzling his nose into her hot cheek; he murmured contentedly as her tiny fingers combed through his hair.

"− good gods − I needed this so much −" He muttered, allowing himself to feel like a small, helpless child again in her arms, with his eyes closed, focusing only on the tender, warm touch of her hand.

"− me too, my beloved −" She whispered, and he felt the heat in his heart, the love for her that filled his members like a living fire.

And then he felt a cold sweat on his back, his heart thumping hard at the memory of Larys Strong's words.

It is for the good of the kingdom, my Prince.

War is no one's desire.

He opened his eyes, looking at her soft face, at her closed eyelids, at her lips parted in a calm breath. She murmured with a gentle smile as his fingers ran over her cheek − he felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought that perhaps he should tell her.

But what if it was necessary?

What if Rheanyra and Daemon didn't agree, what if they threatened his grandfather, his mother and his siblings?

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, not making a sound when a single, solitary tear of pain and grief ran down the side of his face onto the pillow beneath their heads.

A peaceful, deep sleep did not come to him that night.

Instead he fell into restless slumbers, during which he dreamt that for some reason his niece had stayed with her mother in the Eyrie, that a servant boy had walked into her chamber in the night and cut her throat.

That she had tried to scream his name, her husband's name, terrified and distraught, but only a grunt had escaped her lips.

He awoke with an aggressive tug, feeling his heart pounding like mad, looking down quickly at her body snuggled into his chest, entwined with his legs. His arms closed her in a tighter embrace with her silent sigh, his face sinking into her soft, fragrant hair, inhaling her addictive scent.

The next day, just before they set off to the Eyrie, he left her bed reluctantly, telling her, while she was still sunk in half-sleep, that he would only go and change into his riding attire, that she would not eat or drink anything but wait for him outside the fortress gates.

He was afraid that someone would try to poison her.

He stepped into his chamber feeling that he was shaking all over, repeating in his head the elaborate plan he had devised.

He would lie that she was expecting his child.

That they were in fact supported by the gods themselves, that his father was right when he said that the kingdom could not be divided.

That if he becomes king-regent until his child is born, his queen-wife, her mother and Daemon will be given a seat in the Small Council.

That their family will have a say in all things concerning the kingdom.

In the meantime, they might actually be able to beget an heir, he thought, trying to calm himself down, and then all their worries would resolve themselves.

He tried not to think about what would happen if a daughter was born to them, or if they did not beget a heir at all, if his grandfather began plotting again fearing that it would be Daemon and Rheanyra's children who would sit on the Iron Throne.

They had to agree.

He shuddered, turning away impatiently when he heard the door to his chamber open, wanting to ask the servant how much longer he had to wait but froze, spotting the silhouette of the woman who had driven him to such fury only the day before.

"− get out, woman −" He growled, grabbing the tunic lying on his bed, deciding that he would rather dress himself than let this woman touch him.

She was manipulating his wife's mind, perceiving her innocence, her desires, and trying to inspire her confidence, to approach her in a way that was indecent and unacceptable.

"You will betray her."

He felt his heart stop for a moment when he heard her words and he froze, swallowing hard. He looked at her over his shoulder with his eye wide open, feeling his nostrils quiver with each of his terrified breaths.

Her eyes, the colour of an intense, bright green, seemed to pierce him to the core, something in her gaze that made him both uncomfortable and embarrassed at the same time.

"You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most. You will break her. You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again. You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your despair and longing. You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death."

Tears of horror, shame and disbelief gathered at the corners of his eyes as he saw her smile full of mockery and superiority, a shudder of disgust shook his body as she bowed before him and simply walked away, leaving him alone with her words ringing in his ears like a bell.

He felt that awful, overwhelming constriction in his stomach again, from which his head spun, barely managing to grab the bowl that lay on the table before his insides twisted in convulsions.

He vomited.

[vidavalor]

Remembrance of Things Past

Aziraphale's scent-oriented, mindful moments in Good Omens also might be something else as well-- an attempt to circumvent the potential taking of his memories by Heaven. He might be trying to create for the future what are known as madeleine memories or involuntary memories-- the sudden rush of a memory prompted by a certain taste or, especially, by a particular scent.

On Aziraphale trying to get around Heaven by setting up triggers for The Proust Effect under the cut.

I wrote a post awhile back about how I think one of the reasons why Aziraphale keeps a journal is as a way of having something that Crowley can show to him in the event that Heaven takes his memories. While reading something doesn't necessarily trigger a memory itself-- it can but it's not guaranteed-- I think there might be other things they are doing as well that they think might be effective in different ways when it comes to helping Aziraphale retain his memory. The biggest might be actively trying to create for the future what are known as madeleine memories or involuntary memories.

Understanding of involuntary memory? It comes from the extremely Aziraphale intersection of food, the French, literature and psychology...

For anyone who does not already know about involuntary memory:

In 1913, French writer Marcel Proust published the first volume in his 'In Search of Lost Time' series and it contained a passage about the power of memory so descriptive and that resonated with so many that it got scientists to actually study and prove the validity of the connection between scent and memory about which he wrote. Proust had his narrator in the novel describe how, after dipping a lime madeleine into a pot of tea, the scent and taste of eating the madeleine brought him instantly back to a specific time in his youth when his aunt would serve them to him while he was recovering from illness as a boy. He remembered details about her house and their time together, sounds and scenes that had dimmed or been forgotten entirely... all triggered by his mind upon smelling and tasting the specific combination of flavors of the tea-dipped lime madeleine.

Most of us have probably experienced something like this and scientists have since confirmed that it's a very real phenomenon, probably rooted in our need to be able to recognize danger by scent. They have also found that, in some cases and to a slightly lesser degree, hearing specific pieces of music can also bring about a similar sense of memory. Scent, though, remains the best possible trigger for memory.

I can't imagine that after seeing Crowley struggle with his own memory for so long and knowing that it could happen to him, too, that Aziraphale wouldn't be trying everything he could think of to be prepared for the possibility that it might.

In a story that has so much focus on memory-- and in a way that seems to potentially foreshadow that Aziraphale might (temporarily) lose his before the story is over-- there also are scenes that might suggest that Aziraphale's mindful moments might also be an attempt at trying to associate moments with scent in an effort to get around Heaven and retain as much of his memory as he can in the future.

But that's only one part of it... The other part is how he and Crowley are shown to consistently tie times in the present to times in their past.

There are many reasons for doing so and we looked at some of them in other metas but another one might be as a way of trying to connect memories together in a way that, should Aziraphale lose his memories in the future, if one could be triggered with a madeleine memory, then other memories connected to it might follow.

In the first episode, Aziraphale's mindful, sensual eating experience involves breathing in the scent of the sushi with his eyes closed, as if committing it to memory. The evening, as we looked at in the Fish meta, was supposed to be a dinner with Crowley tied to their time in ancient Rome. Breathing in brine and alcohol and salt like Aziraphale is here might also be a way of trying to literally tie these scents to his memories of the scents of oysters and wine in Rome so as to not forget either.

In the parallel to the sushi scene in 1.01, Aziraphale is shown in S2 to breathe in Goldstone's when he and Crowley go there in the present. It's part of the mindful experience for him in the moment but it could also serve as a way of trying to remember the events of both the present and 1941 in the future.

Crowley also breathes in Goldstone's in the present in S2. It's something they both do without even looking at one another in the scene and just kind of know the other is, indicating that this is just a thing they do. Both of them do it instinctively, like the rampant sensualists using elements of mindfulness to work through trauma that they are lol. Aziraphale's eyes are again closed and I would bet that he's as much willing himself to never fully forget his human magic love and 1941 in the future as he is reliving memories of the past.

This scene is a really interesting inclusion because while it's set in our present of S2, it's really about the past and the future. No one has any trouble believing that they're both thinking of 1941 here, even as they're here in the present, and both of them are utilizing techniques both related to the present (mindfulness) to connect with memories of the past (Proust Effect/involuntary memory.) What else might be true as well is that they don't just do this for the past and the present moments but for potential future ones as well.

Then there's this...

There are two scenes-- one in each season-- that focus on Crowley's unsurprisingly amazing scent. While memory wouldn't be the only reason why Crowley would smell great lol, both scenes suggest that Crowley's scent is unique and distinguishable. Sandalphon can smell it as being different from Aziraphale's cologne in S1 and Shax... a paralleling character to Aziraphale, played by the actress who played the character with whom Aziraphale shared a brain in S1... well, Shax is into it. Girl's in a dead faint to a point of straight up huffing him.

While there are others, one reason for this scene, though, could be that it parallels the fact that Aziraphale actually does this sometimes, if in a decidedly less ick way than Shax did lol. Part of why Crowley's been wearing the same, apparently quite appealing, scent for awhile now could be out of an effort to help Aziraphale's mind create enough associations between Crowley's scent and Aziraphale's memories that Crowley himself might be able to trigger some of Aziraphale's memories just by his presence alone.

It's also then interesting-- and potentially a little eerie-- that the only time Aziraphale eats or drinks anything in the present in S2 is when he drinks a few sips of a cup of tea to introduce Muriel to the drink and the custom. This is just after Muriel showed up at the door and failed to recognize Aziraphale, even though he recognized them, in one of several scenes that suggest that Muriel had their memories taken from them at some point. The two characters parallel one another pretty strongly. The difference could well wind up becoming that Aziraphale is able to retain more of his memories because he and Crowley have been working for years to find ways to get around Heaven... and they're using knowledge uncovered by humans to save what they can of Aziraphale's memories.

Or, as Nina would put it:

[alexiabae]

SAME; leah williamson x fem!reader

Summary: in which y/n wants to hide her relationship so as not to put much pressure on leah.

Warnings: fluff, confusion, reader is twin sister of florence pugh.

Note: English is not my first language.

N/A: Hello! I know that I don't talk so much here, but I want to thank everyone who takes the time to read what I write. It's been a while since I updated something, but I don't have time. So, I will update when I can. I'll let you all with this one shot, I'm not satisfied with it, but something is something, I guess. Enjoy the WWC.😊

not my gif.

"Then, I'll see you tonight?" Asked her sister from the other line. A hopeful tone accompanied her question.

Y/N gulp, feeling already bad. She can't. She promised someone else that this time she can go to this event.

"I can't... I'm so sorry, Flo. I know I haven't seen you for two months but, I promise someone that I will go to this thing. I'm always postponing it and tonight I have the free night. I'm really sorry." Y/N said fast and sad. She really misses her twin sister.

A silence was the answer for Y/N, or that it was she thought.

"I understand, silly. Of course I want to see you, but I'm here for two weeks, sooooo... I hope that we can see each other." Flo said. Her tone of voice sounds reassuring, but she knows her sister and knows that she is sad, maybe disappointed.

"Of course, Flossie! I missed you. See you very soon." Y/N promised, already planning in her mind that this time, she will be the one to surprise.

"Alright then! Have fun tonight and be careful. Love you a lot." Flo wished.

Y/N let out an involuntary smile; "Thanks, bug. If you go home, give our parents a lot of love. Love more, chef." She heard how her sister chuckled for the nickname that Y/N put her.

Then, they said a few more words and hung up.

Y/N sighed and walked towards her wardrobe, choosing something comfortable and informal for that night.

While she tried to distract herself until that night, someone had another plan.

My gunner♥️

Hi baby! I'm just talking to you now to confirm that you will come tonight.

If you can't, it's alright. I understand.

I miss you🥲

She chuckled to herself for Leah's antics. And soon come to her mind how assertive this text is right now. It's like if her girlfriend is intuitive that something could change the plan.

My distraction🤍

Hello beautiful captain.

Stop worrying, okay?

I can go and apart I promise you that I will come to this game and plus if it special for you because it's a final.

I miss you too, dramatic😘

My gunner♥️

I can't avoid it💁🏼‍♀️

I just wanted to know, that's all. I can't wait to see you, even if I saw you last week, it's too long for me🥹

Talk with my mother or brother when you're there, they have the reservation for you.

Love you, baby girl.

(also, I love when you call me captain, pls never stop)

Y/N loves Leah's personality. From the first moment that the blonde approached her in a club two years ago, Leah can be a dork during the major part, but she can be serious if the situation requires.

She typed reassuring words and promised that she will be there and supporting her whatever the results would be.

•••

The Oxford girl gets out of her car, feeling nervous. She supposed that it's a normal thing at this point, but no. Maybe there are a few reasons behind her nervousness, and she needs to put it aside and enjoy this night for her, because it's been a long time since Y/N has free time, and for Leah.

When she unblocked her phone, she saw Leah's mother, Amanda, text her. The woman told her that they are already there and she will wait for her. Y/N typed that she is there now and accelerates her steps towards the starting full crow.

She tried to pass unnoticed, so her clothes weren't too flashy. She didn't put on the new England shirt that Leah gave her, it hurts, but they both agree from the start that they will try to maintain their relationship in secret, only the near people would know it. Or almost.

"Hey, sweetie! Over here." Amanda's voice interrupted her train of thought. The woman, who has an arm raised to call her attention, wave her hand in the process too. "Nice to see you again, darling. It's been a long time since the last time we saw you. How are you?" Amanda asked her once she approached her and immediately engulfed her in a bug hug.

"Hello, Amanda. Nice to see you too! I'm good, what about you? I can't wait to have another family party like the other time." Y/N answered, receiving the hug with open arms, not knowing how much she needed that.

Amanda chuckled, separating a little from her, putting both hands on her shoulders.

"I'm fine too. Excited to see what happens tonight. About the family party we will have one soon, if you want to come you know that you will be welcome." Y/N smiled gratefully and soon Amanda led the way towards the VIP area, where most of the player's family is sitting there.

"Ohhh, my favourite sister is here!" Jacob's words made Y/N laugh, accepting the hug that the tall man wanted to give her.

"I still don't know what that means. But I like it." Y/N said honestly, giving Leah's dad another hug.

"Some day I will explain it to you, young lady." Jacob said in a wise tone.

"I'm two years older than you, Jake." Y/N pointed out laughing at his antics.

The Williamson boy shrugged and gave her an innocent smile. "They warmed up a few minutes ago." He informed her, looking briefly at the pitch. "She can't stop looking over here. It was a little annoying, actually. Or desperate, depending on how you look at it." He looked at her again and moved his eyebrows.

"Shut up, Jacob. Let your sisters alone." Amanda intervened, giving her son a warning look.

Y/N blushed a little for Amanda's reference towards her. It warmed her inside knowing that they truly cared about her.

Jacob and Y/N started to talk about trivial things in the meantime. Soon, the public started to clap, earning their attention. Both national teams started to approach in the pitch, England Vs. Brazil.

Y/N painted immediately a big smile when she saw Leah lead the way for her teammates. She saw Leah's concentrated face, showing her jaw clenched, something that Y/N secretively liked.

Once both teams put themselves in horizontal, the blonde eyes focus on the public, searching between the people until she finds her person. Leah bites a smile, preventing it from biting her lower lip.

"She saw you..." Jacob sang by her side, making Y/N roll her eyes with a smile.

"Jacob." Another warning from Amanda made the boy look away, sighing.

Y/N imitates Leah's action, biting her lower lip too.

She wanted to throw a kiss, but she stayed immobile on her spot and sang the anthem when it sounded.

•••

It's 30 minutes from the start and Y/N couldn't be more nervous. She and Jacob commented on the plays and mistakes from both teams, even if Y/N doesn't know too much about the sport.

She saw how Leah was giving everything from the start, showing to the world that she is in the same form as last summer and that a bad day could have everybody. Y/N loves how Leah shut up mouths in the pitch, how her answer is more powerful that some bitten words.

During the half time, Amanda offered to go grab some snacks for them, dragging with her Jacob even when Y/N offered herself help her, Y/N chose to grab her phone and see some messages. To her surprise, her brother texted her a few times.

TOby

Soooo...

It's my little sister enjoying football when she spends her whole life hating it?

Don't worry, you secret it safe with me ;)

Buuuuut... Meet me after it finishes okay?

Y/N blinked a few times, pressing the photo that her brother sent her.

It was him smiling like an idiot and behind him was the players, clearly he took the photo in the first half. But there was another photo, it was her looking distracted the match, with a lot of zoom.

The Oxford girl blushed for the second time that night. She looked immediately to where her brother was supposed to be, but she saw a lot of people blocking where he is.

"We're here! Take your coke and popcorn." Jacob offered her.

"Thanks." Y/N thanked him and came back to look where she was looking. When she didn't find him, decided to type him to let know that will wait him.

The rest of them match, Y/N get more relaxed but still was alert. And it didn't help that it went to the penalties, for her luck England won the first Finalissima. She saw proudly how Leah raised the trophy in the air, earning the ovation from the public. Her family was over the moon, Amanda even got emotional.

Leah after celebrating with her teammates a little, before the big party, she, like others, went to the family section. Her eyes inevitably are focusing on Y/N, where she was sitting next to her brother, chatting animatedly.

"Sweetie, I think Leah wants to see you." Amanda put her hand in Y/N knee to call her attention.

Y/N looks to where Leah is standing, in effect she is waiting for her or them to approach her.

She raised from her seat and frowned when notice that the other three stayed behind.

"Don't come with me?" She asked confused.

"We will give some alone time." Jacob explained, wriggling his eyebrows.

"Thank you, young gentleman." Y/N teased him a little, walking to where Leah is waiting with other players.

"Hey you." Leah said greet her in a deep and raspy voice. Her hands in the barrier, balancing herself softly.

"Hi captain." Y/N whispered once she was in front of her. She saw how Leah's eyes darkened and her jaw clenched, her cheeks colouring red. She chuckled lowly.

They maintain the distance, knowing very well where they are. For Leah it's hard not to jump the barrier and hug while kissing her.

"Hello, Y/N. Nice to see you." Keira interrupted the battle's eyes that Leah and her were maintaining.

"Hi, Keira. Nice to see you too. And congratulations by the way." Both leaned into each other to hug.

"I can't believe you hugged her first." Leah said with her eyes into them both.

Keira and Y/N snorted, knowing very well her behaviour.

"It's not my fault that I'm better than you." Keira teased her friend and ran away before Leah chased her, knowing too that if her girlfriend is involved, she can go easily.

Leah watched how her friend ran giggling like a child where Georgia is standing.

"Do you want a hug?" Y/N called her attention. Leah turned to look at her and nodded smiling shyly, making her girlfriend laugh. "You are a baby sometimes."

Leah grunted on her neck, passing her arms around Y/N's waist and relaxed when the other involved her arms around her neck.

"Congrats my love. You played amazingly." Y/N whispered on her hair, knowing that the blonde listened to her.

The gunner blushed, for her luck, her face was hiding on her neck and no one could see it.

"Thank you, baby." Leah gives her a sutil kiss on her neck and separates from her, leaving her arms on the barrier but looking at her with appreciation.

"Okay. I'll let you talk with your family. I'm going to see someone that I know is here." Y/N explained, Leah gives her a questioning look. "Later I will explain to you." She clarified.

Leah nods slowly and watches how step up towards she was before.

•••

"Where are you?" Y/N called his brother when she walked where he was supposed to be and didn't find him.

"Wait over there. I'm not too far away." Toby said, hanging up.

Y/N sighed while watching her phone seriously. It does not pass too much time when she feels someone lift her up.

"How is my little sister?" Toby's voice relaxed her.

"Put me down, you idiot." Y/N command.

His brother does what she told him and once she is on the floor, she turns to look at him, seeing a silly smirk painted on her lips.

"What are you doing here?" Y/N asks curious, hugging him by his shoulders.

"I can ask the same. But answering yours... I'm here with a friend, Dave. What about you." He hugged her too, separating later to look at her.

Y/N bites her lower lip. "I'm here because... A friend invited me." Y/N said, not lying after all.

Toby raised an eyebrow.

"And for casualty your friend it's not a player?" He inquired.

"Maybe..." Y/N said, trailing off.

"Okay." He simply says, smiling and hugging her sister.

Y/N knew him and right now felt very grateful for having an understanding brother, so she hugged him back.

"I thought you were with Flo." Y/N states.

"Yeah... But I have plans too. I feel bad, just like you. But I promise her that I will see her tomorrow. We will go to Oxford. Are you coming with us?" Toby explained, separating once again from the hug.

"Yeah. But I want to give her a surprise, so I will go on my own." She explained what she wanted to do.

Toby smiled. "Alright. I'll keep your secret." Tobey kisses her cheek a few times and promises him that she will be okay, they part ways, Y/N coming back where she was.

•••

"You look serious... Are you okay?" Leah whispered on Y/N's lips, hugging her by her waist.

Y/N nods, intertwined her hands on Leah's neck.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I'm fine." She kissed her lips repeatedly, enjoying how Leah left a whimper when she stopped.

They both are outside of the changing room, hiding in a secluded area. Y/N was learning her back on the wall while Leah was in front of her. The party inside of the changing room can be heard while the girls are chatting, screaming or chanting.

The blonde, who is a little taller than her girlfriend, directed her lips to her forehead and remained there for a few long seconds. She knew that Y/N was lying but stayed quiet, not wanting to press.

"Okay, something happened." Y/N said lowly. She hugged her more, hiding her head between her chest and neck, quitting off her arms around her neck to replace them on her waist.

Leah hummed, indicating she is paying attention.

"The person that I saw before was Toby." She started. Leah knew who Toby was, never met him but knew who he was. "He was here with a friend. But it's for another reason that I feel bad..."

"What is it?" Leah asks kindly, passing her right hand on Y/N's back, up and down while she occasionally lets a kiss on her head.

"It's my sister. She is in town, she called before. I told her that I can't meet her tonight and neither Toby, I hope she is with some friends right now..." Y/N explained still in the same tone of voice.

Leah smiles sadly. "I told you before that it was okay if you can't come tonight." She said, imitating her tone.

"I know. And just for that I didn't tell you. It's been a long time since you've been begging me to come to a game and when I can come, my sister that I barely see calls to meet me..." Y/N trailed off, letting out a big sigh. She started how her eyes were watering, the stress showing up.

"Shhh... I could understand the reason, baby. And I'm sure your sister isn't mad at you. She understands too that you have a life apart from her." Leah tried her best to cheer her up, feeling a little bad herself that the two couldn't meet but she covered it quickly, not wanting that Y/N notice it and felt worse.

The first tears started to fall, and quickly Y/N brought her hand to wipe it fast, feeling a fool. Leah noticed it and separating a little, she brought both hands in Y/N face and wiped her tears with her thumbs.

"You still can see her. How many is she staying this time?" The defender asks, trying to find a solution.

Y/N thought for a moment, focusing her eyes on Leah's. "She told me that she will be staying for two weeks."

"See. You can call her and tell her that you will meet her tomorrow." Leah proposed, leaning her head aside.

"I thought that I could surprise her by going to Oxford. It's been a while since I've seen my parents, Bella and Raffie too, and she travels over there tomorrow with my brother." Y/N looks closely at Leah's reaction at her idea.

For her relief, the blonde let out a toothy smile; "I think it is a fantastic idea." She reassured her to add quickly. "Wait, I love the idea of you spending time with your family... But I'm going to miss you a lot, what am I supposed to do?" Soon her toothy smile was replaced by a pout.

Y/N bites her lower lip, not hiding the smile creeping on her lips. "You can meet Alex, your family, your Arsenal teammates..." She countered, raising her hand up and showing a new finger every time she said a name.

Leah rolled her eyes, bringing down her hand and intertwining it with hers.

"I'll give you two days." Leah shut Y/N's protest with a kiss.

•••

"Do you have everything?" The blonde asked in the entry of Y/N's room, leaning on the doorframe with her arms crossing about her chest, looking carefully at how the other girl put on her shoes.

Y/N raised her head to look at her and smiling she nodded, standing up once she put on her shoes and going to where Leah is. She wrapped her arms in Leah's midsection and gave her an eskimo kiss making the other chuckle but still in the same position.

"Finally I put out that long face." Y/N teased.

The defender rolled her eyes. "Shut up." She muttered, now hugging her by her waist, locking her hands there.

Leah stayed that night after celebrating with her teammates, opting to go a little before and pass time with her girlfriend before she goes to Oxford.

"Are you staying in your apartment or with your mum?" Y/N asked, raising her right hand to Leah's neck and playing with her baby hairs.

Leah's muscles relaxed immediately. "With my mum. Maybe tonight I will pass the night with Alex. I'll let you know." She answered groggily, her voice raspy and a little broken from the previous night.

Y/N knew that Leah doesn't like to be alone if she feels sad, so hearing that she will be accompanied these days, made her happy.

Looking at the clock briefly, she said; "I need to go..." Y/N whispered, biting her lip.

The blonde let her head on her left shoulder, letting out a defeated sigh. "A little more, please." She said, closing her eyes.

"I hate to say it but if I stay, I will lose the train." Y/N said, sighing softly.

Leah grunted.

"Alright, you're free to go." Leah huffed, coming back to the last position, looking at her.

Y/N rolls her eyes.

"Baby... Don't be mad please." She begged, kissing Leah's cheek repeatedly.

"Sorry..." The blonde muttered, feeling bad already.

"I'll let you know when I arrive at the station and Oxford." Y/N downplayed it and let her know, going to grab her suitcase.

"Okay. Be careful and enjoy your time with them. Anything you need, call me. No matter the time. I love you." Leah said honestly, grabbing her face and giving her a long kiss.

"Same here. Love you too." Y/N reciprocated the kiss and with another trail of kisses, she left her apartment.

•••

The way to Oxford consisted of talking with her father to go for her and saying that he can't say anything to anyone, less to Flo.

Send text messages to her boss to thank them for giving her some free days.

And promising Leah that when she comes back, she would do anything that the blonde wants to do.

For her luck, the trip wasn't too long and soon was there, receiving a call from her father telling her that he was already there, waiting for her.

"There you are!" Y/N's father greeted her when he saw his daughter, smiling from ear to ear when saw her.

"Hey, dad! I missed you." The girl said, letting her father engulf her in a big hug.

"Me too. It's not the same now the house without you all." He said, separating from the hug, grabbing her suitcase and passing an arm around her shoulder, side hugging her while they started to walk towards his car.

"Well, Raffie still lives with you two." Y/N point out.

"Yeah, yeah. But still, the scream for little things is something that we miss. Never thought I said that." He admitted, laughing briefly.

Y/N smiled nostalgic.

"I guess you have some days with that thing. Enjoy it." Y/N said, chuckling when her father made a grimace.

Once they were in the car, Y/N sent a text at Leah, letting her know that she is in Oxford and with her dad.

"How's the bar going?" Y/N asked him, putting down her phone.

"The same. I'm doing some research to find new waiters or waitresses. Are you interested?" He asked hopefully.

Y/N laugh. "Nice try, dad. But I'm good in London."

They chatted a little more and soon they arrived. He parked the car in front of the garage, the snowy pavement gave her a welcome. She missed her days here, the snowy days where she and her siblings would be outside all day until some of parents called them to get inside.

She noticed the ambiance from outside. Like the old days, the house looked the same as the familiar presence.

"Let's go, kiddo. It's freezing outside." Her father urged her.

"I guess the old habits never change." Y/N teased her father, who never liked the cold.

Before her father opened the door, he stopped and turned to look at her.

"Do you want to enter first?" He questioned, his hand on the knob.

"I prefer to go behind you. Give them the full surprise." She informed, hugging herself from the cold.

"Alright." He said and by opening the front door, he walked inside. When she entered inside was met by loud chatting and laughing. It warmed Y/N's heart to hear them this happy.

"I'm here!" Her father said loudly, letting them know. He quit his jacket and put it on the coat stand.

"Finally! Where are you?" Her mother said from the dining room, where probably all of them was there.

"Doing some errands." He informed quickly, walking once that Y/N quit off her jacket.

"What errands?" She asked again.

They approached the dining room and Y/N put herself on her father's back, trying no one to see her.

"Something that you will like." He said confidently.

Her mother snorted.

"What is it dad?" Raffie asked curious, sitting on the floor.

"I think I know what it is." Toby sang, smirking triumphant. All of them look at him, curious and confused. His father wink at him.

"Of course. Little Toby knows what it is." Florence teases him.

Y/N put herself nervous when she heard her twin sister's voice. It's been a long time since she didn't see her.

And then, she decided it was time for her.

"It can't be a reunion familiar if there was missing one person." Y/N said coming out from her spot. She saw how all of them let out exclamative expressions.

The first person to go towards her was Flo, who ran and threw herself in Y/N's arms, squealing. Raffie threw herself towards them too, hugging both of them.

"Oh my god! Are you kidding me?" Flo separates from her a moment to look at her face and once again hug her sister.

"I can't breathe." Y/N said in a muffled voice. She was soon released from Flo's grip, Raffie remaining an arm around her sister.

Y/N felt relieved when the air hit her lungs again. She saw how Bella and her mom walked towards her with big smiles.

"My baby." Her mom said affectionately, bringing her face between her hands and kissing her cheek repeatedly.

"Hey! What about us?" Raffie said indignant, quitting off her arm while crossing her arms.

"Yeah, mum. I'm your baby too!" Florence whined, throwing herself between the hugs.

"Where is my niece?" Y/N asked Arabella, wanting to change the subject quickly because she knew what would happen.

Bella pointed with a finger at a spot where a buggy is. She walked slowly there and saw a little form sleeping peacefully. In the midway over there, she embraced her older sister.

"She would meet the whole family this time." Bella whispered while looking at her baby.

Someone hugged Y/N from behind and lifted her up.

"I swear to god if you don't stop doing that, I will kick your ass." Y/N threatens her brother, knowing that Toby is doing that.

Toby chuckled like a child but put her down.

"I can't resist it. You're easy to piss." He said, copying Raffie's gesture and leaving his arm around her shoulders.

The rest of the day was passing while they were all caught about their lives. At some point, Y/N was feeling sad. They all seemed to be happy while sharing their happy memories and Y/N has happy memories that not involved her girlfriend, but less because she is in the major part of it.

So, she excused herself and went to the kitchen, sitting in the chair that accompanied the small table there. She puts her elbows on the table, playing with the long sleeves fluffy beige jersey that she is wearing and lets her rest her head, closing her eyes.

"Your siblings are going to go outside, they asked me to tell you. They're waiting for you." Her mother interrupted in the kitchen. Her voice was kind, maybe she noticed that Y/N wasn't feeling good. "You're here for about ten minutes, honey. Everything okay?" She approached her slowly, taking the seat next to her.

"No." Y/N was tired of lying about how she emotionally is feeling. Her voice sounded weak, almost indicating that soon she would cry.

"What happened?" Her mother asked, concerned. She brought a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

"I'm tired, mum." Y/N said, bringing her red eyes to look at her mother, biting her lower lip with force to prevent the first sobs.

"About what?" She asked a little scared, after all, is not always when you saw one of your children in this state.

"About everything." Y/N started, letting the first tears come out, this time she doesn't wipe them. Then, she threw herself between her mother's arms, who caught her and hugged her protectively, caressing with a hand her head, brushing with her fingers Y/N's hair. "I want to be normal. I don't want the attention. I want to h-hold my girlfriend's hand without s-someone pointing at it. That you all s-spend time with her." She ranted, letting out how she is feeling, without realising that she admitted being with someone.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't know that you were feeling pressured." She said, feeling sad about finding it while her daughter can't hold it anymore. She also wanted to ask about this girl, feeling that it is a delicate subject right now. "Since when are you feeling this way?"

"Since Flo started to get more attention. It's not always, but there are days where I can't with it and I hate being her sister. I guess I'm lucky that I don't look a lot physically like her, so it would be worse." Y/N let her angrier thoughts out, blaming her sister for something that she can't control, even if Y/N knew that.

Her mother let sink it, processing what she said and searching for the right words. "You should talk about this with us sooner, sweetie. We can't help if you don't say anything. And just to clarify and I know you knew it but I need to tell it. Your sister doesn't have the same fault that people wanted to know all about her in every moment. This is the consequence for doing what she most loves. So, please, go to therapy, talk with us, more importantly, talk with your sister... Talk with someone, you don't need to carry it on while you feel and shut up about it." Her mother tried to say it with the most caring and love she felt for her daughter, holding her own tears.

"Y/N, let's go! We want to go to gr-... What happens?" Raffie's cheerful voice comes to a change when saw the situation. She freezes on the entry, looking static how her sister tries to hide her sobs, failing.

"It's nothing, Raffie. Go with your siblings, your sister will accompany you all later." Their mother said firm, not letting her ask more questions.

"But mom..." Raffie started to say but shut up when saw her teary but firm eyes from her mother. She walked towards them and kissed Y/N's head, just like she did on a few occasions in the past with her, she walked outside again.

To Raffie's gesture, Y/N gets more emotional.

They are like that for a good amount of time, until Y/N stops crying and gets more relaxed. Her mother decided to make hot chocolate, knowing that it could bring some happiness into Y/N's body, since it is her favourite.

"Can I ask you something?" Her mother said, searching for the milk.

Y/N bites her lower lip, sensing what it is.

"Yes, of course." She said in a raspy voice, clearing her throat later.

"How many are you with this girlfriend?" She asked in a protective tone, earning a snort from Y/N.

"Mum, please. I'm 27 years old." She said, smirking when her mother gave her an offended look.

"I don't care. You are my baby. Wait until your father finds out." Her mother said, turning on to prepare the hot chocolate.

Y/N chuckles. She can feel her eyes heavy, but right now she doesn't care.

"About seven months." She admitted, counting it on her head while looking at the ceiling, confirming it nodding with her head to herself

"Excuse me?!" Her mother turned on to look at her scandalised. Y/N blushed. "That's a lot."

"I know... Sorry." She apologized.

"I want to know everything about this girl." Her mother said while putting the hot cup with chocolate in front of her, taking the same seat next to her.

•••

"Where are you all?" Y/N asked Raffie once she answered her call.

"We are in Nana house. Later we will go to the supermarket. Are you coming?" Raffie informed, changing her tone when she asked, choosing for one of worry and hope.

"I'm on my way. Dad gave me his car keys, so in about ten minutes I'm over there." Y/N explained, getting in the car.

"Okay. Nana said be careful and can't wait to see you." Y/N at this, hearing how their nana was speaking from behind.

They hung up and Y/N started the car, putting direction towards Nana's house. The sun was hiding fastly while she drove, making the snow place more cold without it.

After spending an hour in her Nana's house, where she can't stop smiling about her grandmother's behaviour, they all decided to go to the supermarket before it closed.

"Mum, we are here!" Toby shouted out, earning a bad look from their older sister, who stayed there to take care of her newborn. "Sorry, I forget." He gave her an apologetic smile while walking fast to the kitchen to let her bags there.

"Hey, Flo. Do you want to cook with me?" Y/N asked her sister, who walked behind her. She looked at her and saw how Flo's smile was on display.

"Of course. We need to feed these children." She said excitedly, running to prepare the things.

Y/N chuckled to her antics.

"I'm not a child." Raffie complained, entering the kitchen. Florence and Y/N look at each other, smiling knowingly.

"It would only say someone who is a child." Toby said, running outside when Raffie tried to chase him, the mentioned running behind.

"These two..." Flo giggled.

They decided to make a light and not complicated dinner. They put on some low music and cooked to the tune, the silence between them making Y/N think about her problems. Choosing to share it with her, she cleared her throat.

"Flo?" She called her. Her sister hummed, letting her know that she is listening.

"I need to tell you something." Y/N said nervously, mixing the right ingredients together, removing it with a spoon.

"I'm listening." She said kindly. Y/N can feel her eyes on her back, but she decided to stay in that position, knowing if she turned, she could say anything.

"Yesterday, when you called, I told you that I had plans. Well, it's true. But this plan wasn't any plans. I can't meet you because I told my girlfriend that I would go to her game. You know? I didn't tell you before because I didn't want anyone to find out. Even my family. I wanted to be selfish and keep it to myself. I hated you because for your fault, or that was a thought, I needed to blame someone and it was you, because I'm Florence Pugh's sister. And then, I fell in love with a professional footballer that day by day, she is earning more attention. I know it's not your fault, or Leah's. But I guess for me, you were the villain and not the noisy people who wanted to know everything about the famous person's relatives." Y/N finished said. To her surprise, the nervousness got away during her explanation.

She felt how Flo wrapped her arms around her waist from behind. "Now I have a reason for why you can't do anything with me in the past. When I called you and you told me that you can't, that you have a lot of work to do. Or when we meet but you hold yourself. I know in some part of me, that I made something to you, something bad. I'm thankful that you share it with me now." Florence said, her voice full of emotion. This time Y/N turned on her arms and hugged her.

"I'm sorry, Flossie. You don't do anything bad. It's me. You know I'm special in the emotional department." The last comment made her sister laugh.

"Talk to me about Leah." Florence said kindly, seeing Y/N's face illuminated at the mention of Leah.

"Well. I met Leah about a year ago. We got together to the end from last summer. She approached me in a club, at first I didn't pay her much attention, thinking maybe recognized me and wanted to meet you instead. But she is stubborn, you know? About the third month of knowing each other, I told her who you are. And to my surprise she told who she is. I didn't know who she actually was. From the start of our relationship we agreed to keep it private, not passing much time together on full streets or if I'm going to a match not hugging her too much time... To the point where I don't let her meet you all." Y/N said, looking with a dreamy look on her eyes the almost ready dinner. Florence finished her part and was standing beside her, looking at her closely. "I met her family. And I'll go to some of their barbecues or parties. At some point I zoned out and I imagine how it could be with Leah with you all..." Y/N trailed off, grabbing the plates.

"Is the dinner ready?" Toby entered the kitchen touching his tummy. "I'm hungry."

Flo stayed silent looking at her sister, processing everything she told her. Toby noticed it and looked at them confused.

"Take the cutlery, teletubbie." Y/N said calmly, turning around to see him. She saw how he rolled his eyes but didn't say anything.

Before he exits from the kitchen, turns around again and looks at Y/N; "Your phone didn't stop to sound." Then, he got out.

Y/N frowns, walking behind him taking other things that they will need for dinner. She took off the charger and unblocked it, finding a lot of messages from Leah.

The blonde sent her a photo of her and Alex, making Y/N smiled like a fool reading the texts Leah sent her.

Florence came out from the kitchen to the dining room and noticed how the smile was bigger each second. She took a note mentally to do a thing and hoped that her sister doesn't get mad at her.

•••

Leah turned on her bed once again, letting out a tired sigh. She hates that she is tired but can't sleep.

And it didn't help that incoming notification sound at this time. Leah turned in the darkness and looked for her phone. It's weird. She saw it was from an unknown number.

It was 02:07 a.m. making it more weird. Who was texting her at this hour?

She unblocked her phone and pressed on the chat, starting to read the long text.

Unknown

Hello! I'm Florence, Y/N's twin sister. Sorry for the hour but I was thinking about it since I spoke with my sister. She told me about you and I can't wait to meet you. I know you are a professional footballer and I understand if you can't come anytime soon, but if you can come to Oxford tomorrow and give Y/N a surprise, I will always be grateful to you. Let me know if you can come :)

Goodnight xx.

Leah can't avoid smiling at this. She re-read it, and typing something quickly, she let herself sleep immediately.

•••

When Y/N woke up the next day, she was surprised to not find her sister sleeping there. Usually when Flo has free time for herself, she oversleeps, but this time, she was up.

She gets ready quickly and after going to the bathroom, -she hears quiet voices directed from the kitchen, but she doesn't pay much attention- Y/N walked slowly towards there while reading some texts from some friends and Leah.

"Good morning." Y/N greeted without looking up, going to the fridge still with her phone in her hand.

The silence after Y/N enter was epic. Flo bites her lower lip to hold a laugh while her parents, who were sitting with their coffee cups, look at each other.

"Good morning." Said her sister, looking at the guest person, who was looking at Y/N funnily.

"Good morning, honey." Their parents said at the unison. Y/N still doesn't look up. She was in her little world preparing her breakfast.

"Don't worry about making your coffee, I brought your favourite." At the new voice Y/N freezes on the spot, not believing.

Y/N turned on the spot slowly, meeting the blue eyes that she loves.

"What are you doing here?" She said really surprised, seeing how Leah was waving at her with a latte cup, a shy smile playing on her lips.

Leah shrugged. "I came to meet your family. I heard that your mom wanted to know me."

Y/N looked at her mom; "Don't look at me! I didn't contact her. But yeah, I want to meet the person who makes you happy." Her mother said sincerely, looking with enthusiasm at Leah.

"It was me." Florence said, covering her face with a hand, like a child.

"How?" Y/N asked, going to where Leah is and giving her a kiss on her cheek. She wanted to give her a proper kiss, but she was in front of her parents.

"Your phone." Florence simply said, shrugging smiling while she saw the little gesture.

"Okay..." Y/N frowns, confused. "But how is she coming so fast?" She asked rhetorically.

"Well... I can't sleep. So I decided to drive towards here." Leah explained.

"Why so enthusiastic this morning?" Raffie came inside, looking at everyone there until her eyes fell in Leah. Her reaction was funny, she first frowned until her eyes started to open so much. "YOU'RE LEAH WILLIAMSON! WHY ARE YOU ON MY HOUSE?" She yells, pointing with her index finger at Leah.

"Shh. Raffie be more careful. Your niece and siblings are still sleeping." Her mother scolds her daughter with a funny look.

"Do you know Leah?" Florence and Y/N asked at the same time, making the twins smile at each other.

"Yeah! She is a fashion icon. Well, I know you're a professional footballer, but I follow you because I really love your style." Raffie explained, sitting in front of Leah and Y/N.

Leah smiles embarrassed, her cheeks turning red. "Thank you." She said lowly.

"You're welcome." Raffie said smirking. "But why are you here?"

The blonde looked at Y/N. "Well... I'm Y/N's girlfriend." She said timidly, seeing how the mention looks briefly down biting a smile.

"No way! Leah Williamson is my sister-in-law? Awesome." Raffie immediately approves of their relationship.

For Y/N it means a lot.

She is grateful that Florence paid attention when she told her about her scenario dream. Y/N and Flo shared a look, and they communicated with a simple look. Florence just nodded lightly, knowing what her sister was saying with that look.

"I hope it is okay that I came." Leah whispered in a moment where everyone there was distracted.

Y/N look at her with a love sick smile. "You don't know how it makes me happy that you're here."

Leah copied her smile and leaned to kiss her cheek.

[sudokuplayer]

MY LOVE IS A WEAPON THROWN ONTO THE OBLIVION OF YOUR BODY (taken from booklet of original art and essays by Sufjan Stevens, written to accompany his new album Javelin)

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1.MY LOVE My first love was an involuntary sound – the music of the spheres – a subdued, white-noise shuddering of my heart, a fluster of hummingbird vibrations that I could taste in the prenatal hemispheres of my mouth, body against body and brain against brain, two conjoined selves conjuring an off-shore thunderstorm in the horizontal distance, dazzling with flashes of metallic music and elemental chaos in the safe harbor of my mother’s womb. There was no light and no dark, no semblance of simile or semaphore. There was only the blurred and audible presence of a distant and divine voice hovering above the waters where I balanced between the prism of absence and presence on an inflatable dirigible of sea foam, wandering into the oleaginous abyss with a half-smile of hazardry and wizardry – my maiden voyage into the “unbeknownst” of oblivion. For what did I really know at this point in my primordial mindlessness? Nothing at all. I was struck dumb, created from ignorance and ether, first without function or features, then without order or form. I was sensation and consciousness postponed, a wet and placid portion of monotonous fruit cut in quarters awaiting heaven’s blessing. My only occupation at this point was to occupy, be occupied, preoccupy, and prevail nature in a womb-world of benevolence and buoyancy. The music of the heartbeat of the universe danced me to sleep. Within this realm, I was love and life supreme, undivided by thought, word and deed, a small promise kept until the act of doing would undo me for good. My birth was my undoing. And then I was born into oblivion.

2.IS I remember in college, falling in love for the first time, two spring months of rapture, residing on the tail end of a helium balloon. I was so giddy about everything: washing the dishes, tying my shoes, scrambling eggs, binding books, pulling berries off juniper trees. My infatuation had such an arrogant persuasion on the world around me. Everything as metaphor ascribed with romance. I remember, while mowing lawns on the college campus, finding an injured fledgling crow by the dining hall. I carried it to the biology lab, where we called a woman who ran an animal sanctuary from her home. She met us on a bike with a wicker basket. “You are doing the universe a great favor,” she said, holding the bird to her breast, like Mother Goose. The event provided endless fodder: for prose poems and folk songs and long conversations on the roof of the aspirin factory, where we got drunk on Boone’s Farm sangria, speculating on cosmic intentions and the order of the universe. So much meaning, so little time. I was young and dumb and in love. Guided by a perverse curiosity and a voracious sensation-of-the-imagination pivoting at the tip of my tongue, I marveled at the mysteries of life laid out before me, awaiting in the calm commotion between innocence and experience.

3.A WEAPON And then experience pummeled me. Many years later, after the long-suffering exhaustion of life had driven me into the bleak underbelly of realism, my most profound thought was sad and static: that nothing really matters, nobody loves me, and loneliness would always be my most devoted companion. In my new sobering worldview, absent of love, I began to encounter everything as an object without meaning, without modifier. The homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway was just a homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway. There was no metaphor, no rapture, no cosmic intentions. I had to ask myself: does this make the man, the newspaper, the subway, or myself any less meaningful? No. Quite the opposite. For what resided in that substantial vacancy where I was always prone to symbolize the world to death is exactly what I needed right then: Opportunity. Presence of Mind. Peace On Earth. Stable Stoicism. Absence of Metaphor. Responsibility. And Hard Facts. That was my prayer: to shake off the doting artistry of an over-eager poet with a proclivity to create dreams from doldrums; to approach the world as a concrete object, a thing to be held, not a thing to behold, or allegorized; to remain at peace and in careful jurisprudence in spite of the resentful intonation of my overarching loneliness that devastated innocent bystanders with all the magic castles of the imagination. I told myself: I must snuff out the candle of candy-corn dreams. I must soldier on like a dead-end daydream undeterred. I must be steadfast in the stolid presence and essence of common sense and survival. I must be true to life internal and reside in resignation at last.

4.THROWN My second love was less ecstatic, but more tragic: the “gift” of sight – an elemental flash of lightning, which struck me like a bag of metal shavings thrown out onto ice reflecting back at the centerpiece of my sternum. A sucker punch to the chest. My cold consciousness came into sharp focus, rattled by illuminating waves invading everything around me. The light was loud and extraordinary. And even with my eyes closed, my pupils began pontificating at the pornography of sight, and I was momentarily carved into madness. Seeing is believing is birth. I shuddered and shirked at the tangible evidence of something else – the others – the imposition of a sensation outside myself, in which everything was separated into opposable armies: the land from the waters, the air from the earth, the seasons from the doldrums, the seen from the unseen, sin from sainthood, light from dark, good from evil. Everything was put in its place by the curse of namesake. The world was now before me, beneath me, above me, and ultimately against me, a pressure foot pressed down on all sides. I felt a cold claustrophobia, empty and alone, trans-natal and tragic, baffled by the violence of this new environmental context. And to think I was just a silly beansprout of a thing shivering under the medical lights, squirming like an open earthworm, now tasked with this terrible act of naming. God gave me a pen and a pad of parchment paper. “Transcribe your feelings and your findings,” she said. “Do your thing. First thought, best thought.” I did as I was commanded, a dutiful sea urchin inching its way to the possibility of words and wisdom.

5.ONTO A world without language was once the indication of certain death. Soundless, voiceless, nameless vapor. A typography of empty vessels. The void! But now, what of the tragedy of names, spoken into existence with the demystification of words? I was culprit and complicit, identifying all the divergences, differentiations, variations, permutations, diversities, dichotomies and double entendres. Categorizing the animals, cutting them down to size, organizing the parts of the body with the parts of speech, a fanatical grammar-game of possession, domination and death. I had to ask myself: Is this manner of identification in the name of higher knowledge even if it disregards purpose, analysis, and compassion (observation absent of intention)? And how could it be undertaken without idolatry and ulterior motive? I desired the objectivity of the photography of the baby-brain, whose fuzzy visionary reception was a delightful nebula of perfumed consciousness and joy. I wanted to see the world coherently and without discretion, discernment, reduction, and deduction – unintelligible intelligence. Instead I began to perceive how intimate knowledge generates prosperity (fullness) and progeny (fruitfulness) – of ideas and offspring. To be “made known” was to be consummated: “Adam knew Eve” – intercourse as discourse (knowledge as physical/sexual engagement). To know someone was to take possession (to gain access, in confidence and with confidentiality). The exchange would potentially unveil the secret knowledge between lovers (the nominative ordinances of arousal) – wherein posterity would become the observable antecedents of this sacred wisdom, and pleasure would be its misfortune (of infatuation and love, of chaos and order). My sexual discourse began to die a slow death of observation and objectification, a nonsense category of substances seen and deemed believable, predicating a cosmic break from the universe: a psychic rebirth, from which invisible things transformed into figures of speech, wherein figures of speech were left dead in the wake of rivulets and rivers, drowning in a molten waterfall of dread, where they would meet their maker in linguistic whimsy. My death was now new life. My reincarnation, a reverse sublimation. I was made known; therefore, I knew nothing.

6.THE For a short time, my pet peeves were my shortcomings: dry skin in the morning – brushing off the bed sheets with bits of outer insulation from my body. Was I molting? I needed to drink more bitter herbs, I thought. I had chronic stomach pain, below the clavicle, a small fist of air. Sweet antacid, mint leaves, fennel seed tea. Invisible Anxiety. The pain in my leg: a hypochondriac’s dream. Soothing myself with palm oil and camphor. Small applications on the surface. At dinner with guests, supplementing aspirin with ice-water, saying very little otherwise, a friend agreed with everyone’s assessment: “Yes, sometimes you are cold and unfeeling. You could warm it up a little.” My apparent coolness – was it a matter of objective safety? That remote vacancy which I brought to every engagement, keeping the world at arm’s length, the anthropologist’s vantage point, sustaining the presumptive: was that my vocation – the judicious spectator, an odd outlier outlining all this activity while staying behind the line of sight? As the youngest sibling, I was always evaluating my older sisters with fierce judgment from the corner of the room, just out of reach: eavesdropping on phone conversations, catching glimpses of padded bras, curling irons, and maxi pads passed between casual doorways. Taking stock of the panoply of premature adulthood (teenage pregnancy), unruly rebellion (sneaking out at night), clumsy and combative excursions with our wicked step-mother (cat fights with elegantly finger-nailed fisticuffs). I watched from a dutiful distance, careful not to engage, harboring a catalog of tragicomic events and all their moral assessments in order to avoid the worst-case scenario for myself. I was in the world, but not of it. I learned from the mistakes of others: that I was nothing more than a mistake waiting to happen, potential energy. I learned from the mistletoe to keep watch overhead so as to avoid the dangling modifier of accidental affection. I learned from the stone in my shoe to keep walking through the pain with a staggering refrain in my step, a constant reminder of the brokenness of my body and the indefatigable self-loathing of my own self-consciousness.

7.OBLIVION My third love was a surprise affection – ticklish touching and tender swaddles of terry towels and cotton cloth wrapped in armfuls of goose down feathers transfixed in the careful undertaking of childcare. A sensual delight! I was an object to be objectified, a thing to squeeze and prickle, caress and carry about in a breadbasket. I grew from a pinecone to a pine tree, from a newt to a dinosaur, from a poppy-seed to a poppy flower bursting with fireworks. This love then transferred its fornications onto something wet, wild and ornithological – a flying, feathery python ascending to its countenance as a bastion of bridegrooms in a flaming aviary chariot of leathery kisses all aimed at my elbows. Hope is a thing with bird feeders. So I watched the feathered fowl crowd around the seeds and suet, grubs and grains with dinosaur intensity, beaks and claws doing their vast prehistoric business with messy execution. My lovers cawed at their community of plumy mishaps like transcendental mother hens: nuthatch and creeper, tanager and titmouse, blue jay and junco gallivanting together like an armful of woolen throw blankets clapping the dust from their ornamental features. Our fairy dance of foreplay lasted for days. Cat calls as birdsong with balloons, iambic pentameter poems, chimes that rhymed with clanging crystals hung on fishing line, and all the fanciful costumes with sequins and fringe, flowered bell bottoms, metallic body suits, reggae music, ballroom dancing, charm bracelets, diamond rings, glimmering little earrings with fly-fishing ornaments, and, on the last day, a very long and serious monologue about global warming. Our lovemaking was quick and witty, a little slutty and clumsy – nothing more than a jaunt, a quick choreography of slaps and body slams, two pigeons in a mosh pit, working things out in juvenilia. Nature had done its work. Afterward we lounged together in the afterglow with soft pillow talk and dreams of nest eggs and parenting, protecting, foraging, feeding, and changing diapers, all the domestic labors of love. But for now, in a warm bird bath, sunning ourselves with a glistening glow, I could only think of the sweet bliss of here and now, the wetness of loving kisses on my nape, my neck, my back, my rump, my foreshortened wings and a sweet nectar nightcap. Hope is a thing deferred, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

8.OF My fourth love was peripatetic: a suitcase stored in an overhead bin on an airplane. Things beget things beget responsibilities. I procrastinated my life by traveling far from it. A day before the voyage, I stayed up late in the polar forces of the night, diligently packing the baggage on the couch, opened up like can of tuna fish, a glass of lemon juice on the nightstand (master cleanse), the Siamese cat washing itself, the dollar store dishes in the sink, my dirty clothes in a paper bag. The last time I had left for this kind of trip, my things were in boxes in one room on the second floor of a gated town house in God-knows-where, New York. Now everything had been transferred as in a swap meet, boxes upon boxes, things upon things, other voices, other rooms. The living room was a labyrinth of speculative journeys, a crossword puzzle of travel prompts. Outside, gale force winds rose to the occasion, knocking on the windows like unwanted guests. I imagined the weather overtaking everything in an apocalyptic frenzy: cups and saucers trembling in tongues, plastic wrap coming undone in a transparent wedding train, pillowcases falling over our heads like hard hats, ceiling fans circumnavigating the neighborhood like helicopter rides, the colored crayons on the kitchen shelf thrown asunder to make slapdash hieroglyphs all over the window panes, the mysterious penmanship of the gods! My mind was preoccupied by disaster, a force majeure, an act of God, a ball of yarn, and the four horses of the Apocalypse. I wanted nothing of it: this origami suitcase lifestyle of travel and transition. I wanted to be here and now. I wanted silence, solace, and stillness. I wanted the simplest of things: a bowl of vanilla ice cream, a warm bath, and a quiet place to sit and stitch my hand-crafted cross-stitch of rainbows and sailboats framing a sexy cartoon portrait of Dionne Warwick diligently working the lines for the Psychic Friends Network from way back in the 1990s, when every solution to every problem was just a phone call away.

9.YOUR History repeats itself, defeats itself, cheats itself, berates and beats itself. I am not historic. I am histrionics. I must hate my mother and my father. I must hate myself and take up the cross and be born again. In this way, my fifth love was an immutable shadow following me with sticky tricks and schemes, a cancerous contamination of the mind that could only be cured with the deadly venom of a cone snail. I couldn’t quite shake it, the cobalt-blue memory of a ghost haunting my sophistry, a prescient reminder that the knowledge of faith and the substance of hope were right behind me this entire time (and not something to pursue, or follow, like an ornamental object on the horizon, dazzling, elusive and alive in the distant future). The Divine Inside was a “previously known encounter.” I could never see it face to face, but only feel it in my shadow, the former patterns of an aura left behind, pushing forward, pursuing, persuading, steering and navigating my memory through the valley of the shadow of death. I wanted so desperately to “have and to hold” the real substance of things (evidence!), the physical, intimate engagement with the body and the blood, which I actively sought out in transcendental activity, prayer and supplication, the sacraments, the feasts of the saints, a metaphysical substance to salivate and sublimate within the natural order of things. But this was a false pretense. God is not natural, but supernatural. The real material of divinity is ineffable, unassailable, unknowable, unutterable, and unreal. The evidence of providence is not within our line of sight, nor within our grasp, but instead beyond and behind our physical kinesphere. It is unapproachable, unspeakable, unobservable, and ultimately “erstwhile”. And yet still we continue to feel it “under our skin” and “within the universe” of our own personal history: The Past/The Passed/The Repossessed. God is our delayed consciousness – the nameless, faceless dichotomy of our secret truth. And we are made in its indistinguishable appearance. Therefore our own true “image” is without a name or a face – a baseless, shapeless cloud hovering above the waters, a countenance of empty atmosphere (signifying nothing) – a gothic apparition, a vision of love, a dance of the eternal travesty of life, a burrowing beetle of impenetrating curiosity. Digging for the true grit of life in the eternal dirt of the universe. 

10.BODY  My last love was a kind of science fiction. I was out running errands at the mall when I saw a fleet of lampshades falling like flying saucers from the sky. The alien robots came to me in an escalating beam of light and said: “We come in peace! The obverse seeks to make its face shine upon you, while the inverse hides in shame.” They did their thing with my body, prodding and poking around for some good news, but at first I would have none of it. I struggled and squirmed under nylon restraints strapped onto a stainless steel operating table. I was a basket case of curmudgeonly vitriol, pointing out everything that was wrong with the world around me: Fossil fuels. Cancer. Money. Greed. Sales Tax. Frozen Yoghurt. Religion. Varicose Veins. Junk Mail. But the alien robots were unflappable. They said, “We just need a little DNA, not a diatribe,” while swabbing the insides of my mouth with a cottony Q-tip. Then, after careful intubation and a slow drip of aesthesia, I eased into the abyss. They removed my clothes and covered my body with a marshmallowy spray foam. They swaddled me into a warm cocoon of maroon goo, where I remained in stasis to the end of the ages, slowly resuming into the soft, pillowy features of my former self – pre-natal, premature, pre-conceived – a slippery and succulent primordial membrane of soupy warmth and illuminating agency awaiting, once again, the cosmic journey laid out before me like a yellow-brick road of possibilities – the secret oblivion of love, the “unbeknownst!” Within this pinprick vision, I saw a tapestry of afterbirth in afterglow as an addendum to an immaculate after-thought of rapturous joy. I was born-again in fullness and truth. I was a peanut. I was a pretzel. I was a pan-fried shrimp. I was pandemonium personified. I was once again myself waiting to happen again and again and again and again and again … until the end.

— Sufjan Stevens

[dollyyun]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍'𝒔 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔' 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒚 | part two teaser (jake sim)

RELEASE DATE: Wednesday, 1st May 2024

PAIRING: non!idols enha hyung line x fem!reader, jake x fem!reader

GENRE: 18+ (mdni), semi-college au, adulthood, reverse harem, dark themes.

WARNINGS: fem!reader is a saint(good girl), mentions of christianity, mentions of smoking, virgin shaming, humiliation, profanities, stalker & pervert jake, obsession, violence, blood, masturbation, smut, unprotected sex (no!), softdom!jake, ghostface!jake (he's deranged), knife play, grinding, fingering, pussy eating, manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mental illness, yandere, corruption, toxicity, jake becomes an asshole somewhere in the end, crying, heartbreak.

TEASER WORD COUNT: 2.1k

OVERALL WORD COUNT: 22K+

PART ONE (READ HERE)

RUBY'S NOTE: current word count is 11k+! also, this teaser is not even half of the part.

🖤 SERIES MASTERLIST 🖤

One thing is certain: you regret agreeing to watch Scream with him.

Your eyes are trained on the large screen, and your face contorts into a grimace when the victim’s blood is oozing from the terrible wound.

A wince leaves your lips while you find yourself instinctively burying your head into his shoulder with your fingers clutching at the hems of his top. You attempt to drown out the noise of the victim’s cries and pleas as well as the eerie sound effect that reverberates throughout the private cinema that is equivalent to the width of that of a public cinema. 

Jake turns his head to glance down at you. A chuckle emits from him as he finds you adorably endearing with how often you have attempted to use him as your shield whenever the gory parts of the movie play on the screen.

“I recall a certain someone telling me in confidence that she wasn’t afraid of watching the movie.” Jake drawls his words out, his lips remaining a smirk as you slowly raise your head to meet his eyes that hold such mischief.

In return, you can only afford to chuckle nervously. You can’t let him know that the reason you’re afraid is because your mind would always drift to the terrible events on Devil’s Night whenever the gory part of the movie came up. Moreover, your skin is crawling with disquietude the longer you’re in this very palace.

Yes, the palace looks magnificent, but you can discern the foreboding atmosphere that sends you involuntary chills every now and then. A part of you is telling you that the moment Jake brought you inside, you ought to be wary and apprehensive of your safety.

“Can we watch something else?” You murmur to him, still clinging to his arm, though not as awkwardly as you did earlier. You remain facing him, but your eyes are crestfallen with your head lowered, allowing the strands of your hair at the side to fall.

“Why? I’m quite enjoying this.” Jake continues to tease you while enjoying the fact that you are clinging to his arm dependently, with your breasts occasionally brushing against his arm.

You surprise yourself when a whine elicits from you and your pink lips form into a small pout as you meet his eyes that seem to be darkening. “Please, Jaeyun?”

His chest rumbles in pleasure at the sound of his name coming out of your mouth. “Fine.” He eventually concedes before reaching out for the controller at the side to put the movie on pause. “It turns out you are afraid of horror and thrillers after all.”

You narrow your eyes at his teasing grin, but you cave in as a sigh leaves your lips. “Yes. Now you can have another laugh at it.”

“Nah, I was just messing with you, lovely.” Jake leans forward to ruffle your hair while you are taken aback by the nonexistent space between the two of you. “Everyone has their own fears.”

“So what are your fears?” You inquire to him, feeling rather keen to know him better.

“I don’t have any.” Jake lies through his cheeky grin. “Tell me yours.”

A niggling of prudence tickles the back of your mind as if to warn you about telling him any parts of your vulnerability that he might potentially use against you. 

But as you get lost in the depths of his devastatingly beautiful brown eyes, you feel a certain compulsion to reveal everything about you, including your worries, to him.

“Genres of thriller and gore, insects,” You begin to list down, murmuring as you do so with your head lowered and your cheeks tinted pink at the fact that he has his full attention on you. “losing my loved ones, being a disappointment and failure to anyone I hold dear close to my heart.”

“You? A failure?” Jake grips your chin gently but firmly enough to force your eyes to meet his. “Lovely, you are the epitome of perfection.”

Your cheeks flare with diffidence, and even if you want to look away from him, you can’t. “I’m not perfect, Jake.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jake leans his face close to yours, causing your breath to hitch, but he stops just close enough until the tips of your noses graze ghostly against each other’s. Your heart flutters at the warmth of his touch from his palm on the side of your thigh, rubbing it tantalisingly slowly. “and wrong name, baby.”

In an instant, he has you hoisted and settles you on top of his lap with your legs straddling his muscular denim-clad thighs. Instinctively, your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling how toned and broadened his muscles are beneath your touch — a result of his consistency in working out at the gym.

The cold air in the private cinema shifts drastically. The tension is palpable, and you fear it might snap at any moment in time, especially the way he is gazing at you dangerously with lidded eyes.

You are rendered speechless by the escalation, unable to form any coherent sentences. The heat of his touch on your thighs sends you involuntary shivers down your spine while his dark eyes are penetrating into yours, which are swimming with sentiments you recognise. Danger, desire, and lust.

“You’re so fucking adorable, do you know that?” The low husk in his voice stirs something within you. Your lips go slightly parted at the sensation of his palm rubbing your thigh once more. “Can you do me a favour, lovely?” Although he is asking you, you know that it is a demand.

Your mind is screaming at you to push him away and flee from him, but it is as though his touch and gaze cast a spell on you that renders you compliant.

With the inexplicable haze clouding your better judgement, you nod your head, and his lips curl into a smirk.

“I want to see you in fishnet tights. You’ll look good in them.” His eyes rake all over your body until they fall to your plush thighs. He desires to dig his nails into the suppleness of your flesh, but your thigh-high socks are a hindrance.

His demand leaves you flabbergasted, and you continue to remain silent, to which Jake doesn’t seem satisfied.

He raises his hand to cup your cheek, bringing your full attention to his dark gaze. “Can you do that for me?” He asks firmly, applying pressure to the hesitancy you bear in your mind.

“Yes.” You utter your answer while your mind vehemently disagrees with you. A newfound desire kindles in you, and that is to please Jake.

“Good.”

You feel his hand creeping from your thigh to your buttcheek, eliciting an inaudible gasp from you, before he pulls your body closer to his until you feel something hard touching your core. Your heart lurches in your chest while the tension between the two of you feels suffocating. 

“Jaeyun,” You whisper his name as you feel paralysed by the sensation of his hardened dick beneath you, and you fear that one movement from you will unleash the inner devil that lurks beneath his charming facade. 

His strong cologne infiltrates your senses, enticing you to bury your head into his chest and bask in his scent, but with his face leaning closer to yours, you hold yourself back from doing so.

His nose touches yours while his hot breath fans above your lips. By now, his eyes are darkened and shrouded with lustful desire for you, wanting nothing more than to devour you, fucking you into oblivion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly, contradictory to how he is holding you possessively with his hand holding and palming your buttcheek while the other is wrapped around your waist.

No, you should definitely say no. Your first kiss is reserved solely for the one who will be marrying you.

“Yes.” Your heart pounds harder in anticipation of your answer.

With your consent, he closes the gap between your lips while you flutter your eyes closed, awaiting the kiss.

Just as you envisioned, his warm lips feel soft and plump as he kisses you sweetly, which has your toes almost curling. He kisses like you are made out of glass, and he takes his time as though he is memorising the shape of your lips in the back of his mind.

But you remain unmoving, uncertain of how to kiss him, and embarrassment floods across your cheeks. When he pulls away, your chest tingles with disappointment.

“I’m sorry.” You find yourself apologising to him, your eyes crestfallen. Disheartened, you slouch your shoulders and avoid his gaze. “I don’t know how to kiss.” You mutter weakly while your fingers curl into fists as they rest on his chest.

“Lovely, look at me.” His soft command compels you to heed, and when you raise your head, your heart nearly lurches in your chest when he pulls you by the nape and slams his lips on yours, and this time, there is a sense of urgency and desperation as he kisses you.

Compared to the previous kiss, this kiss is messy, sloppy even, as you are unable to coordinate with how he is kissing you, but what genuinely confuses you is the fact that he doesn’t seem the slightest bothered by how bad you are at kissing. It is as though what matters to him most is the taste of your lips.

Your stomach churns with guilt, yet your core is pooling with newfound desire. Your fingers make their ascent to the back of his hair, playing with the strands. Your lips part as you gasp at the sensation of his hardness grinding against yours, and you can almost feel his tip hitting your clothed clit that is aching with forbidden need.

Jake grasps the opportunity to force his tongue into your mouth, exploring every inch of your hot cavern while his nails dig into the flesh of your ass. You try your best to keep up with him, your tongue tangling with his wet muscle in a mess, yet it is a mess that elicits a moan from the back of your throat.

You move your hips tentatively, testing waters, but soon you are grinding your hips against his while you attempt to feel the delirious friction of your clit rubbing against his pointed tip. A low groan emits from him at how painful his cock is, wanting nothing more than to bury himself inside of you. But he knows that he must wait patiently.

You gasp in pain when he has your bottom lip between his teeth, and you whimper as he tugs and pulls it teasingly, prompting you to flutter your eyes open and meet his dark, hypnotising ones. The corner of his lip tips up in a smirk before he devours you once more, and this time, he is assisting you with the other hand gripping your waist.

“You’re doing so fucking well for me, lovely.” He rasps against your wet, parted lips with soft moans, leaving them. “So, so perfect just for me.” He purrs seductively before kissing you, while his praises send your heart fluttering.

“Jake.” You whimper against his lips in need, and goosebumps arise on your skin when he growls into the kiss. It all happens too fast, because the next thing you know, he has you pinned on the couch while your legs remain wrapped around his waist.

Butterflies flutter in your tummy as he leans down to press a gentle kiss on your neck, eliciting a pleasurable sigh from you, but a pained whimper follows when he bites down your skin in a threatening manner.

“Wrong name again, baby.” He murmurs against your skin, his hand squeezing the plush of your thigh almost painfully. “What is my name?”

“Jae─” Your eyes roll to the back of your head while a breathless moan leaves your lips at the sensation of his hardened dick grinding against your pussy. “Jaeyun!”

“That’s fucking right.” He pulls away from you, hovering on top of you with his chain necklace dangling above you. You catch a glimpse of his inked tattoo on his collarbone area. “Do you want more?” He grinds his dick against your needy cunt again, deliberately.

“N-No.” You deny, shaking your head, but the moan that rips out from your lips betrays you, as does the way you buck up your hips in an attempt to feel for the delirious friction between your clit and his pointed tip.

Jake tuts as he halts his movement, his hand moving to brush the messy strands covering your cheeks. “It’s a sin to lie, my pretty girl.”

“Jaeyun, please!” You plead, throwing away your dignity.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” He chuckles breathily, finding pure delight in the way your eyes are glistening with need. He leans down to place a chaste kiss on your moist lips and remains there before murmuring, “But if you really want more, meet me by the entrance of the palace tomorrow night, and don’t forget to wear your fishnet tights, yeah?”

No, for God’s sake, you should be saying no.

“Okay.” You breathe out your answer, earning you a grin from him.

[hamsterclaw]

switch pt 2

Seokjin and you get into trouble, and Yoongi gets mad.

A Vows story - read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader, Seokjin x f!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing, smoking, Seokjin or… sex with a swearing, smoking Seokjin?

Your husband is not the type of man to raise his voice, and he would never raise his hand against you.

You know this, but somehow Seokjin doesn’t, despite the fact that he’s known Yoongi longer than you have.

Seokjin pushes you behind his back as Yoongi stares at you with fury in his eyes.

You protest, try to push in front of him, but he grasps your arm to keep you behind him.

Yoongi stops dead, blinks. His lips curl back from his perfectly straight teeth in a snarl that makes you both terrified and awed.

Your husband is beautiful when he’s angry.

Yoongi reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Tips one out, hand cupping over the tip as he lights it.

The amber gleam of the ignited end flashes bright, fades out as he inhales.

You know Yoongi smokes occasionally, of course, and in all honesty you don’t mind the taste of him when he does.

After a moment, he offers a cigarette to Seokjin.

Seokjin accepts, touches his cigarette to Yoongi’s to light it.

Both men smoke in silence, and you realise, with a flash of clarity, that this is a well-practiced sequence of events for them.

You’d known that Seokjin and Yoongi had grown-up together, had gone to the same schools, graduated from the same college.

Had dated the same girls, sometimes.

‘Fucking idiot,’ Yoongi says.

Seokjin takes another drag, taps the ash onto the ground of the balcony you’re all on.

‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. If I’d thought there was any chance of her getting hurt there’s no way I’d have risked it.’

Are these assholes talking about you like you’re not even there?

Fuck them.

Hurt, you start walking away.

‘Get back here.’

Again, your husband hasn’t raised his voice, but the command in it makes you stop just the same.

You refuse to turn around.

There’s footsteps, a catlike tread on the plush carpet of the hotel suite.

An arm loops around your waist from behind, a face presses into your hair, breathing in deep.

You’d know Yoongi anywhere, and this isn’t him.

Which means —- it’s Seokjin who’s touching you like this.

You turn your head only to be met by Seokjin’s chest.

‘Yoongi,’ you call, uncertain.

‘It’s ok with me, jagiya,’ comes your husband’s voice from behind Seokjin. ‘If you want this.’

Seokjin cups your chin gently, tilting your face to his.

Your eyes meet, and the hunger in his eyes makes your heart pound.

He smiles at you.

‘Do you just like teasing me, brat? It’s ok if you just want to tease. We don’t have to do anything.’

You’re hesitant.

Seokjin strokes the underside of your jaw with his thumb, slow.

You press the flat of your hand against his chest, go up on tiptoe, and kiss him.

Seokjin breathes in, deep, and his hand lands over yours.

He kisses you back, and it’s thrilling.

He’s built differently from your husband. Taller. Cooler compared to Yoongi’s warmth.

You whimper as he bites your lower lip, sinks his teeth in, hard.

His hand, confident, assured, sinks onto the curve of your ass. He cups you, fingers tightening on your flesh, pulling your hips up against him.

You whimper is completely involuntary, slipping from your parted lips.

Seokjin grunts with satisfaction.

‘Don’t mark her, Seokjin,’ Yoongi says. There’s a warning in his voice.

You go up on tiptoe to look over Seokjin’s shoulder at Yoongi.

He’s still smoking, leaning against the balcony doors, outlined by the city nightscape.

He tilts his chin at you in that familiar way.

‘He’s not allowed to mark you, that’s only for me, isn’t it jagiya?’

The gravel in his voice makes your thighs squeeze together.

Seokjin’s got his mouth on the curve of your neck.

You and Yoongi lock eyes as Seokjin kisses along the line of your neck.

You turn your face into his, and he stops, leaning down so his forehead is against yours.

His whole body tenses as your hand slides over his side.

‘You can touch me,’ Seokjin tells you. His voice has dropped low, a rasp in it you haven’t heard before.

His lips brush the line of your jaw. ‘You can mark me.’

You reach up, place a hand on his chest, fingers poised over the top button of his shirt.

You look up at him inquiringly, and Seokjin looks amused.

‘Are you asking permission, brat?’

You scowl at him and his hand tightens on your jaw, fingers digging into your cheek.

He’s strong, using force to keep you from jerking your face away despite Yoongi’s warning not to mark you.

Your eyes meet.

Seokjin says, voice silken, ‘Say please.’

You grit your teeth and stare at him, stubborn.

Seokjin’s grip tightens on your face.

‘Say please,’ he says.

He’s hurting you, but you’re getting wet anyway, cunt tightening at the look in his eyes.

You clamp your lips shut.

Seokjin sighs. ‘I knew you’d be like this.’

He lets go of your face, and you hiss in pain.

He leans down and kisses along the marks he’s made on your skin.

‘Seokjin,’ you murmur.

‘Yes, brat?’

His hand’s smoothing along the creases of your dress, drifting close to the curve of the underside of your breasts.

You can’t stifle the whimper you make when he brushes the tips of his fingers along your nipples.

Your thighs tremble as he cups your breast with one hand and your ass with the other.

‘You’re so soft,’ Seokjin murmurs into your ear.

He takes his time touching you, letting the strap of your dress fall down one arm so most of your right breast is exposed.

He says, ‘Take this off.’

You lift your arms and he slides the dress up over your head, drops it carelessly on the floor.

He studies your bare breasts and black panties for so long you can feel heat spreading from your cheeks to your chest.

‘Exquisite,’ he says, finally, and behind him, your husband speaks.

‘Jagiya,’ Yoongi says, low, slow, dangerous. ‘What did I say to you about lying to me?’

‘I wasn’t lying, Yoongi,’ you tell him, earnestly. ‘I just wanted to do something for you.’

Yoongi’s still angry, you can tell, but he sighs.

‘I didn’t know you and Lee Sangcheol were —‘ you grimace, and tread carefully, ‘unfriendly.’

Yoongi’s eyes go to Seokjin.

Seokjin says, exasperated, ‘you told me it was all water under the bridge, Yoongi.’

‘I didn’t say to bring my wife into it,’ Yoongi replies, terse. ‘You know better, hyung.’

He takes another drag of his cigarette.

Seokjin’s unbuttoning his shirt, untucking it from his trousers, draping the white cotton over your bare shoulders.

His scent surrounds you, fresh and crisp.

The sleeves fall past your hands.

‘You look so pretty in my shirt,’ Seokjin says, gentle. ‘Come sit in my lap.’

He pulls you onto the long sofa.

Your husband takes a seat in the armchair across the coffee table. In the dim light his face is shadowed, all you can really make out is the silhouette of his profile as he lights another cigarette.

Seokjin’s kissing you again, drugging and sweet, so distracting it takes you a moment to realise he’s got his fingers tucked into the band of your panties.

‘Lay down,’ he utters.

Seokjin helps you lay back, slips your panties over the curve of your ass, down your thighs, off your feet. He leans down, face between your legs, nose to your cunt, and inhales.

You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so horny.

Seokjin spreads you apart, laps at your slit, pressing his plush lips to your folds like he can’t get enough of you.

You can hear him swallowing, licking you deep for more, and you gasp his name. Your clit throbs, and when he seals his lips around it you nearly come off the couch.

‘Fuck,’ moans Seokjin. He lifts his head, his chin and lips gleaming with your arousal.

You’re arched back so far that your husband’s large hand fits around your neck perfectly.

‘Jagiya,’ he says. ‘Can you come for Seokjin hyung? I’m sure he wants to taste you.’

Yoongi’s lips meet yours as Seokjin goes back to fucking you with his tongue. There’s pressure on your clit, firm strokes with Seokjin’s thumb, and when Yoongi flicks your nipples you come with a cry into his mouth.

Seokjin groans as he licks you clean. His tongue laps at your clit gently, sending aftershocks of pleasure through you.

Yoongi presses a kiss to your forehead, strokes your hair back from your face as you catch your breath.

‘You are so fucking precious to me,’ he tells you. ‘Don’t put yourself in a situation like that again, my love.’

Seokjin’s hand, resting on your thigh, tightens briefly.

You glance down at him, and find you can’t tear your eyes away. He’s beautiful, face flushed, lips gleaming with your arousal.

His tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip.

‘Give me that cigarette.’

Yoongi scoffs, hands him his half-smoked cigarette.

Seokjin leans back on the couch, inhales deep.

‘Fuck. I never wanted to be you so badly, Yoongi.’

Yoongi takes a break from kissing up your neck.

‘You want to reciprocate, jagi?’ he asks, eyes on you. ‘You want to show Seokjin how good you look choking on his cock?’

You search Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi presses another kiss to you, warm, sweet. ‘Go on,’ he says. ‘Show me, too.’

Yoongi’s hand clasps yours, tugs it behind your back as you scoot on your knees over to Seokjin.

He sighs out a breath, watches you intently, eyes hooded.

You tilt your chin at him.

‘You expect me to undress you too?’ you ask.

Seokjin laughs, takes another drag. ‘A brat always. At least you’re consistent.’

He unzips his trousers, shows you the length of his cock through his boxer briefs, tugs them down to show you his cock.

His hand curls around himself, and he angles his cock towards your parted lips.

‘Like what you see, brat? This is what I’m like when I’m hard. Like when I watched you and Yoongi fucking in the elevator of my building the other day.’

He tilts his head at you.

‘I came —-’ he pauses to stroke the head of his cock over your bottom lip.

‘So —’ he taps against your bottom lip, once.

‘Fucking —’

Your lips part further to let him in, and he groans. ‘--- hard.’

He’s thick, hard like velvet over stone, and the smirk on his lips makes you determined to take all of him.

You press your tongue firmly against him as you let him slide further into your mouth.

His head nudges the back of your throat, and tears fill your eyes as you will yourself not to gag.

You look up, and the smirk’s off his face now, his cigarette burnt to ash on the coffee table, forgotten.

He’s watching you, his own lips parted with anticipation as you lower yourself further onto his cock.

Your nose nudges the skin of his lower abs, and you swallow.

Seokjin utters a ‘fuck’, low, impassioned.

‘Fuck.’

Behind you, Yoongi’s got both your wrists pinned in his hand, another hand trailing idly along the backs of your thighs, under the curve of your ass.

‘Jagiya,’ Yoongi says, his voice a low rumble that makes wetness pool in your core. ‘Can I?’

You don’t know what he’s asking, lightheaded and hazy as you are trying to breathe around Seokjin’s cock.

You mumble a ‘mmph’, and Seokjin nudges your chin.

‘Your husband asked you a question, brat.’

You wriggle your wrist so you can grasp Yoongi’s hand, and pull slowly off Seokjin’s cock.

‘Anything, always, Yoongi,’ you say, turning to face him.

Yoongi grasps your face, his big hand gentle in contrast to Seokjin’s steeliness.

‘I’m yours,’ you tell him.

Yoongi kisses you, long and sweet.

He sighs. ‘What am I going to do with you, jagi?’

He turns you back to Seokjin, nudges his bare cock against your cunt.

He enters you, and you lose yourself in the pleasure of it.

Unbelievably, Yoongi’s still speaking, voice low and intense, punctuating every word with a thrust.

‘You can’t. Stop. Misbehaving.’

You would clamp your teeth into your bottom lip if you could, but you can’t, with the head of Seokjin’s cock nudging the back of your throat.

Yoongi’s large palm lands on your ass in a spank, and Seokjin groans as he’s nudged further down your throat.

Yoongi reaches around you to lazily circle your untouched clit with the pads of his fingers.

‘When are you going to learn, jagiya?’ he asks.

Seokjin reaches down, cups your breasts, thumbs flicking your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

You press your tongue firmly, fully against Seokjin’s cock, and he swears. A moment later he’s spurting hot cum down your throat. He says your name once, then he’s quiet.

He’s still hard when you pull off, but he leans down to take your mouth, lips sealing against yours in a kiss.

‘Thank you, my love,’ he tells you.

You catch the way Yoongi and Seokjin exchange a look, then Seokjin’s walking away, off to the balcony.

Yoongi pulls out of you.

‘Let’s get into bed, jagi.’

Yoongi leans back on the bed, braced with his arms behind him.

His cock’s so hard you want it inside you.

Yoongi makes no move to touch you, even when you’re positioning yourself on his lap, lining him up.

He pockets his tongue in his cheek, dark eyes watching you intently as you sink onto his cock.

‘I’m sorry, Yoongi,’ you tell him, as you start to move.

Yoongi throws his head back. His hair, longer lately, almost touches the sheets.

‘I can’t be there to protect you all the time, jagiya.’

‘I don’t need you to protect me all the time.’

‘I know that,’ he says. His hand grips your hip, helping you move. ‘I want to.’

You lean close, and Yoongi’s teeth sink into your bottom lip.

‘You look pretty with cock in your mouth,’ Yoongi tells you. ‘Even when it’s not mine.’

‘I only want yours, Yoongi.’

Yoongi groans. ‘You have it.’

You’re grinding into his lap, clit to pelvis, pleasure unravelling you with every rock of your hips.

Yoongi’s fucking up into you now, hands on your hips to give himself leverage.

You cry out with every movement he makes, you’re so close, so close.

You come with a gasp, an intake of breath like you’re drowning.

Yoongi grunts, and you realise he’s coming.

Like Seokjin, he says your name, drawing out the syllables as he rides the wave of his pleasure.

Yoongi pulls you down against his chest, and, exhausted by the events of the night, you doze.

You wake to the rumble of Seokjin and your husband talking. You pull on a robe and go to look for them.

As you approach the balcony doors, you can hear Seokjin say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi-ah.’

Yoongi’s answer stops you in your tracks. ‘She is everything to me, Seokjin.’

You take another step, and Seokjin spots you.

He gets up. ‘I’m sorry about what happened, Y/N.’

You say, quietly, ‘I am as responsible for what happened as you are.’

Seokjin steps forward. ‘I’d still rather have been there than not.’

He stops in front of you. ‘Especially considering how this turned out.’

You can’t help returning his lazy grin.

Seokjin leans down to kiss you on the cheek.

‘Good night, brat.’

‘Good night, Seokjin.’

You wait until the suite door closes behind him, then you walk over to where your husband is sitting.

Like you, he’s in a robe.

Yoongi puts his hand on yours. ‘Are you feeling ok, jagiya?’

‘I miss you, Yoongi.’

Yoongi scoffs. ‘I’ll always be here.’

You search his face, but he’s not looking at you.

After a moment, he lifts his arm, and you snuggle into his side, resting your face against his shoulder and chest.

You watch the sunrise together.

©hamsterclaw 2023

[murillo-enthusiast]

🪄✨🪄 telepathy be upon you🪄✨🪄

((this doesn't work exactly like Soult's previous dragon telepathy. Rather, he has a chance of "overhearing" people's thoughts, which increases with decreasing distance and with his own and the other party's attempts - when within conversation distance with someone, he will tend to frequently glimpse flickers of what they're talking about without even trying - or even despite trying not to, while rarely sensing anything past .75 kilometres (approx. half a mile) without actively trying to. Needless to say, his ADC's partying may provide... interesting material.

I leave the extent of the active part entirely up to you, I feel like I was way too specific with this already 😂))

There's no rest for the wicked, ain't there? After celebrating his birthday with his family, Soult returns to work. His ADCs are still chattering loudly, but there seems to be a strange echo to some - not all - of their speech. And the flickering echo is not exactly an echo.

Petiet: Levavasseur's got it really bad for the Duke of Elchingen... <Do they think that I'm like that with our boss? Am I like that with our boss???????? What do I do if I'm like that with the boss????????????>

Lameth: Ah, are we discussing our colleagues' love lives now? What at time honoured tradition~

Brun: Apparently. <I could bring up you and Saint-Chamans. I really could. I just might. Don't tempt me.>

Bory: It is fascinating that a lot of our contemporaries do feel more free to explore themselves in this afterlife of ours, no? The rules that governed society are scarcely reflective of the natural world, and why, I was watching a delightful moving picture detailing the homosexual couplings of penguins, so it is perfectly natural! <*flickering mental pictures of gay penguins*>

Saint-Chamans: Are you calling our coworkers penguins!?

Brun: Yes.

Coco: zzzzZZzzzzzzzzzzz <*having a vivid nightmare about his dad being sad*>

... Ah. This is... not ideal. Potentially useful, but Soult can already feel the headache coming on.

((OOC: This will probably last for 1 to 3 days, and won't take effect on people that Soult interacts with unless given permission and descriptions of what he might see! ))

[wheels-of-despair]

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) Masterlist

Welcome to my Eddieverse, which I'm affectionately referring to as Evil Woman, Don't You Play Your Games With Me. These are snippets of a playful, prank-filled relationship that begins in 1984, starring Eddie Munson and a female reader I call Evil Woman.

These stories were originally designed to be standalones that could be read in any order, but as this world grows, a little organization might help. The original list below, with descriptions, is the order in which they were posted. There's also a list in chronological order. You can still pick and choose and read in any order you want. Both lists will be updated as I post new stuff.

If you are a blank or ageless blog who interacts with a fic that contains as Do Not Interact (DNI) warning, you will be blocked.

🧡 - Regularly scheduled light-hearted fun. 🖤 - Shit just got real. 💛 - IDK man, this one just kind of wrote itself. 💖 - Wait, there's romance now?

Wrapping Paper 🎅🧡 Eddie thinks he's here to hang out while you wrap presents, but you have something else in mind.

Fucking Fireworks 🎇🖤 Eddie doesn't like fireworks anymore. (New Year's Eve angst, AU where the events of S4 weren't prevented by the fic below)

The Fastest Fix-It (Or: How a Jealous Girlfriend Shut That Shit Down and Saved Eddie Before the Bell Rang) 🧡 In which a jealous girlfriend completely de-rails season 4, but Eddie's fine, so it's all good. (Fix-It, via the path of least resistance)

Draw Me Like One of Your Dwarf Girls, Eddie 🧡 Inspired by Titanic, Eddie decides to work on his drawing skills, and accidentally awakens a monster.

Eddie Munson and the Worst Valentine's Day Ever 💝🖤 An 8-year-old Eddie Munson has an experience that changes his feelings on Valentine's Day forever. (will make you cry)

Eddie Munson and the Best Anti-Valentine's Day Ever 💝🧡 In a sequel to the story above, Eddie discovers that Valentine's Day isn't so bad when you have someone to hate it with. (2.8k of me trying to make amends for what I did to him in the prequel)

Involuntary Secretary and the Dream Escape 💛 People won't leave you the hell alone, so Eddie comes to the rescue like the hero he is.

Classy Girl and the Scruffy Boy 🧡 Eddie's girl invites him over for a romantic dinner and a movie. It's... not exactly what he expected.

Wake-Up Call 🧡 Eddie doesn't want to get up. Sucks to be him.

The Case of the Missing Eddie 🖤🧡 Eddie disappears, and you freak the hell out.

Pinch Proof 🍀🧡 Eddie forgot to wear green on St. Patrick's Day, but you have an easy solution.

The Nerd King Cops a Feel 🧡 Eddie learns something about bras: He hates them.

Revenge of the Freaks 🧡 The Hellfire Club does April Fool's Day a little differently than you might expect.

It's the Easter Dragon, Eddie Munson 🐣🧡 Just a big scary metalhead doing cute Easter-y things with Evil Woman and her family for the first time, nothing to see here.

Evil Woman, Don't You Play Your Games With Me 🧡 The story of how Evil Woman got her name.

The Ups and Downs of Dating a Trash Panda 🧡 Eddie and Evil Woman's first date doesn't go exactly as planned… but everything works out in the end. Obviously.

It's Okay If You Are 🧡 Evil Woman and Eddie have a talk about The Dreaded V-Word.

Smoke Break 💖 Hellfire is holed up in your basement on prom night, but you can't sleep. Might as well drag Eddie outside for a smoke break.

I Touched Banana Bubblicious For You 🖤🧡 Some dickhead stuck a wad of gum in Eddie's hair, and you get the honor of removing it.

The Fuck Did You Just Say to Me? 💛💖 Eddie tests the degradation waters. Evil Woman boils him in it.

Who's Your Fucking Daddy? 💛💖 Eddie tries out the "daddy" thing. EW has an unexpected reaction.

You're the Fucking Worst 💛💖 Eddie tries talking dirty. Evil Woman is not a fan.

The First and Last Breakup of Eddie Munson and Evil Woman 🖤 Once upon a time, two stupid teenagers fell in love. And then they broke up for a stupid reason and spent a whole week doing stupid things because they're stupid teenagers. (angst with a happy ending)

Werewolf Children 🧡 The first time Eddie spent the night with Evil Woman, it was kind of an accident…

Sweet New Tatty 🧡 Eddie has a new tattoo, and it's driving Evil Woman crazy.

A Very Important Date 🎂🧡 Evil Woman doesn't want to make a big deal out of her birthday. However, she's dating Eddie Munson, sooo…

Clown Around and Find Out 🤡💛 Eddie decides to play a prank on Evil Woman, and quickly finds out just how dangerous that is.

The Little Air Conditioner That Could 🔥🧡 Eddie's girl is having a love affair with his air conditioner.

Secret Weapons 🧡 Eddie's mad at Evil Woman (over something dumb, don't worry, doesn't matter), but she knows how to win him back.

This Is Better 🧡 Eddie's lady love is down with The Curse, but his cuddly nature and massive paws come to the rescue.

Fangs for the Mammaries 🧡💖 Eddie wants to try a sexy new toy into the bedroom. Evil Woman wants a divorce. (unhinged Halloween-adjacent fluff)

Don't Move 💖 Eddie looks really good waiting for your snacks to come out of the microwave. So good that you'd rather eat him instead.

Eddie Munson Is My Babydaddy 🧡 Eddie and Evil Woman are responsible for a Flour Sack Baby for a week. Shenanigans ensue.

Flying Monkeys Couldn't Drag Me Away 🍂🧡 Evil Woman invites Eddie over for a fun fall night of makin' treats and watchin' a movie with the family.

What If Real Life Is the Nightmare? 🖤 Evil Woman has a dream about finding Eddie's broken body in a dark and awful place full of slimy monsters and red lightning… but it's just a dream, right? RIGHT? (dark but has a happy ending, I promise)

Bonus Blurb: What If Real Life Is Good? 🧡 Evil Woman comes home after What If Real Life Is the Nightmare and has A Heartfelt Moment with Baby Bro. (brotherly fluff, not much Eddie)

The Last First Day 🧡 Eddie and Evil Woman have a dramatic reunion on his last first day at Hawkins High. Class of '86, baby!

The First Lazy Thanksgiving 🧡🦃 Eddie comes to stay with Evil Woman during Thanksgiving Break '85 for a lazy and turkey-filled few days… but do holiday plans ever actually turn out the way they're supposed to?

I Hate Mondays 🧡 Like his beloved Garfield, Eddie hates Mondays. Evil Woman decides to give him a reason to look forward to them.

The Family Holiday 🖤🎅 It's December of 1985, and Evil Woman is ready to spend her first real Christmas with Eddie… why is he being weird about it?

I Promise 🧡🎅 Eddie gives Evil Woman something special during a quiet moment together on Christmas Morning '85.

A Slightly Late Munson Christmas 🧡🎅 Eddie spent Christmas '85 with Evil Woman, but it's time to go home and celebrate with Wayne… what if he brings her along?

The First Countdown 🧡🎇 Eddie and Evil Woman go to Reefer Rick's on New Year's Eve to say goodbye to 1985… and hello to a new favorite tradition.

The Best $7 Eddie Munson Ever Spent 🧡 In the fall of 1983, Eddie bought something he thought was cool… but he didn't realize how important it was until a year later.

The Devil's Trip 🧡 Eddie and Evil Woman embark on an epic spring break road trip… in which everything goes wrong.

Evil Woman's Tit-Warming Service 🧡 Eddie's cold, and there's only one acceptable solution to this very perky problem.

The Freak and His Evil Woman Do Valentine's Day 🧡💘 Last year's anti-Valentine's Day date was a success… but what if Eddie and Evil Woman tried normal romantic stuff in 1986?

Three Days 🖤🧡 Three days after Eddie and Evil Woman met for the very first time… there was a jock encounter they'll never forget.

Have You Ever Choked a Chicken? 🧡 Evil Woman decides to pop in and surprise Eddie with some morning cuddles… but, uh, he's a little busy.

A Situation 🧡🍍 There's only one thing in the world that could make Eddie turn Evil Woman Action down… and it's down there.

Taking Matters Into Your Own Hands 🧡 Eddie's on the phone talking to a nerd, and not in bed pleasuring his beloved like he should be. Evil Woman finds a way to make him focus on the important things.

Boys Are Idiots 🖤 (Alternate Version starring Billy Hargrove) Evil Woman gets partnered up with Steve Harrington for a science project. Which means she has to TALK to him? And be NEAR him? Eddie Munson is NOT a fan.

The Breakfast Club 🧡 It's 1985, and it seems like the entirety of Hawkins High is obsessed with The Breakfast Club. Evil Woman drags Eddie to the theater to see what all the fuss is about.

Evil Woman Sees (Big) Red 🖤👊 Remember in I Touched Banana Bubblicious For You, when Evil Woman had to get gum out of Eddie's hair? Again? Well… what if she found the person responsible?

The Long Con 🧡 Evil Woman brings Eddie a thoughtful gift… but there are some springs attached.

Can't Take You Anywhere 🧡 Eddie is super bored in the BMV and Evil Woman needs to find something for him to do, stat!

Heaven and Hell (Or: Eddie and Evil Woman Do… Prom?!) 🧡 Eddie and Evil Woman are checks notes going to prom? Like normies?!

The Letter 🖤🧡 Evil Woman gets a letter in the mail and says it's not a big deal… but to Eddie Munson, it's a very big deal.

Go Get 'Em, Tiger 🧡 Evil Woman sees Eddie in his gym shorts. 😏

Munson v. O'Donnell 🖤🧡 It's 1986, and Eddie Munson's long and storied high school career has come down to O'Donnell's final… and EW believing in him.

Did I Forget to Mention That? 🖤🧡 Eddie overhears a phone call between EW and the father she hates, which leads to a discussion they probably should've had ages ago.

Look At Him Now 🧡 Evil Woman sits with Wayne and watches Eddie be a dork.

Corroded Coffin v. Slip 'n Slide 🧡 Eddie and Evil Woman find an old Slip 'n Slide at a yard sale, and Corroded Coffin is super excited to try it out.

Best Seat in the House 🧡 Eddie needs a place to sit. Is Evil Woman's lap available?

Evil Woman and Baby Bro vs. The Worst Summer Vacation Ever 💛 Evil Woman and Baby Bro are off to see their old man in sunny Florida! Against their will. Armed only with well-concealed snacks and metal mix tapes and unacceptable attitudes. Send help.

The Legend of Lobster-Dick 🧡 It's Gareth's birthday! Evil Woman and Eddie present him with a cake he'll never forget. In front of all his friends. Oh no.

Ghost-Fuckers 🧡👻 Evil Woman dresses up to give Eddie a spooky, sexy surprise. But since when do things ever go as planned for those two?

How to Get a Hot Date 🖤🧡 Eddie and Evil Woman run into a little jock trouble… but she'll snark their way out of it. And into something else.

Brawl in Hallway B 👊 You mess with the Dungeon Master, you get the Hellfire Horns… or something. Or: Eddie, Evil Woman & Co. have had enough.

Gonna Need A Bigger Bathtub 🧡 Evil Woman, Eddie, and the rest of the Hellfire nerds have been sentenced to helping out at the school carnival.

Want to read the Eddie x Evil Woman stories in chronological order instead? Click here!

Blurbs Based on Emojis 🔪 - Worst Baby-Sitter in the World 🥺 - Ugh, Fine! 🧝‍♀️ - Yes, My Queen 🐈 - Eddie's Familiar 🎢 - Traveling Death Trap

...and sometimes I write for Other People's Eddies. funsonmunson-again's birthday game oneforthemunny's summer game oneforthemunny's one-derful year

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Night By The Fireplace

Summary/Prompt - SPN Pond Secret Santa: Stuck home because of a snowstorm

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader

Christmas Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N: This one goes out to @little-diable you said you like to read angst and smut so I tried to give you a bit of both along with some fluff to balance it out. I hope it’s ok. Merry Christmas!

Also, Thank you so much to @spnfanficpond for organising this fun, festive event. I had a lot of fun writing this!

Warnings: angst and SMUT

The notification you have been dreading all day pops up on your phone: All Flights Departing Austin, Texas Cancelled - Pending Weather Conditions

You sigh as you look out your shared bedroom window at the blizzard blowing past outside. Having watched the local weather last night you knew it was coming, not that your native-Texan husband believed you at the time. You dump your packed suitcase on the ground beside the bed and stomp out of the room in search of your husband to pass along the news. 

Hearing your footsteps, he interjects quickly holding his phone up with the same alert. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Let me have it, you told me so.”

“I did tell you so! We should have moved the flights up! I told you!”

“I know. But in my defence, when have we ever had a white Christmas in Austin?”

“The other year, when this exact same thing happened! When we first got married!”

“Apart from that?”

“Jensen!”

“I know, Honey. I’m so sorry.” He walks closer to you to pull you into a hug but you push his hands away.

“No, I’m too busy now. I’ve gotta call everyone and let them know we’re not gonna make Christmas because my husband is a colossal dick and wouldn’t listen to his wife!”

“You think I wanted to get stranded here in Austin? I just didn’t expect it to actually blizzard!”

You roll your eyes at him and dump your phone down on the bench. “No, you know what? You call everyone and let them down!”

With that, you storm out of the room and back upstairs to try and destress. You decide to run a bath to warm up from the unusual cold and relax your body and mind. 

After a while, you hear a soft knock on the door. Before your husband steps inside with an apologetic look. He kneels beside the tub dipping his fingertips in the warm water. 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you and changed the flights. I called everyone and let them know what happened and took full blame.”

“I’m sorry too, the snowstorm isn’t your fault.”

“This feels like it’s getting cold. How about you come downstairs?” He leans down and kisses you before standing up and holding your towel out for you. Once you stand up he wraps you up in it and then pulls you into his arms. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get dressed and meet you in the lounge.”

You quickly slip on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and then hurry downstairs to catch up with Jensen. Downstairs you’re met with a beautiful picnic mat spread out on the floor in front of the crackling electric fireplace with two hot chocolates, popcorn, chocolate-coated strawberries and some pasta carbonara from your favourite Italian restaurant. He pats the spot on the floor next to him and you take a seat. He wraps one arm around your shoulders, grabs a strawberry with his free hand and holds it up to your lips. You take a big bite and let out a small involuntary moan at the sweet mix of the juice and rich dark chocolate. 

“A quiet Christmas with just the two of us wouldn’t be so bad,” you admit when you finish chewing. 

“I know I’m away for work so often. So I always want to make the most of the time when I’m with you.”

“You definitely know how to do that.”

“Well, there’s one more treat for you. You get to pick the movie, no complaints from me, I promise.”

“Really? Even a chick flick?”

“Whatever you want.” He hands you the remote.

You flick through Netflix before settling on a sappy Christmas movie. As the movie fills the background you tuck into the array of delicious food Jensen collected for you. You take turns feeding each other the strawberries until they’re all gone. Then you lay back on the cushions he scattered around and cuddle as you enjoy the movie.

After a few minutes, you can tell he’s getting bored as he starts to leave kisses all down the side of your neck as his hands drift south, massaging your sides until they slip under the hem of your (his) hoodie. You tip your head back exposing more skin to him which he promptly takes advantage of as he climbs on top of you. He works his way back up with his lips and nibbles on your earlobe before whispering, “I thought you were watching the movie?”

“You’re blocking it,” you reply with a moan as he nips you again. 

“Want me to stop?”

You wrap your legs around his waist, “don’t you dare.”

He chuckles lowly before grinding his lower half against yours causing you both to moan. He slides the hoodie off your body and throws it off to the side. “Really, baby? Are you just as bare under these sweats?”

“Maybe…” you say teasingly before being cut off by a moan as he slides a hand up to squeeze your boobs, lightly running his thumb over your erect nipples. 

“So sexy…right here with you is so much better than being stuck in a plane or with family where I have to control myself around you. This right here is all I want and need for Christmas.” He kisses your lips quickly, not letting you deeper it, as he pulls away and works his way back across your cheek, down the centre of your neck, onto your chest, circling your breasts before finally kissing over each of your nipples. You moan out loudly and buck your hips into his at the stimulation, but he pins your hips down with a strong hand on your waist as he takes his time licking, nipping and sucking each nipple and breast until he’s left satisfactory marks all over them. 

“Baby! Jensen, please! I need more!” You groan out, not completely sure what you even want apart from just more of him. You claw at his shirt-covered back trying to pull it up. After a moment he gets the message and sits up a little to yank it off and throw it over with yours. 

When he leans back down he kisses you again before asking, “How are you? Want me to take you up to bed?”

You shake your head as you glance over at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree you’re now glad you insisted on setting up and decorating early despite your holiday plans. You look back into his forest-green eyes and smile. “I’m perfect right here.”

That’s all the reassurance he needs to continue his pleasurable assault on your body. Working his way down to your belly button and waistband, leaving a trail of wet kisses all the way. When he finally dips his fingers under the elastic he pulls it up and then lets it snap back against your hips causing them to jolt up. With little exploring needed, he can already tell you’re commando underneath which has him straining against his jeans even more than before, if that were even possible. 

“Stop teasing!” You beg desperately, which he finds so sexy. It spurs him on to finally slip your sweats down your legs gently and onto the floor with the rest of your discarded clothing. But much to your dismay he continues to tease; kissing along your hips and down to your thighs, skipping over where you want him most, he kisses all the way down to your ankles and even leaves a featherlight kiss on each instep before working his way back up the other leg until he’s face-to-face with your core. 

“Open your eyes, baby,” he softly orders. Only when your eyes flutter open and meet his, does he finally kiss your clit. You try to fight against your eyelids, but as his tongue darts out to draw patterns you lose the battle and squeeze them shut, throwing your head back again moaning his name and a collection of profanities. As his tongue and mouth continue to work their magic on you he brings one hand up spreading your labia open before sliding one finger inside you easily. Thanks to his attentive foreplay you’re already so wet and ready for him. He easily slides in two more and curls his three fingers up and forward to reach the spongy spot inside that has you crying out even louder and trying to buck your hips against him for more. He continues to work his fingers and mouth against your sex until he finally feels the familiar clenching on his fingers. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well! Come all over my fingers.”

Without much extra effort necessary he pushes you over the edge, causing you to follow his instructions. He works you through it, not stopping his movements until you’re completely limp and exhausted beneath him. You shutter as he pulls his fingers out of you and sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. 

Once you catch your breath a little you slide your hands down his chest and stomach to his waistband, but he captures your hands, stopping you. “Tonight’s not about me. That was my apology for not listening to you. You just lay back and relax. I’ll tidy up here and then we can go to bed.” He kisses you tenderly before standing up, stretching and gathering all the empty food containers and mugs and taking them to the kitchen. Leaving you alone, exhausted and blissed out on the rug in front of the fireplace.

[flowerandblood]

The Knight & The Judge Epilogue

[ modern Frollo • Aemond x Esmeralda • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, handjob, smut, angst, description of physical and mental disabilities, swearing, mention of sexual assault, an accident with fatalities and trauma ]

[ description: A few months pass since the events that changed his life, and his Esmeralda, despite her earlier decisions, chooses to continue taking care of Daeron. Aemond attends therapy, his condition improves and their bond gives him strength, still, however, he does not know, despite how much he loves her, what their relationship is. Obsession, self-destructive behavior, sexual tension, pathetic, devastated Aemond. ]

Author’s note: This story is a request, but I decided to freely use what I liked in the book and Disney film to create a new, disturbing story taking place in modern times. It is intended to be uncomfortable and will contain scenes that are at least morally questionable, in my version “Esmeralda” is not Romanian. This story will also include motifs from Jane Eyre, which was a separate request. My story will also touch on the problems of people with disabilities, so if these are sensitive topics for you, I advise against reading further. You have been warned.

Part 1 − The Knight & The Judge Part 2 − The Sin & The Penance Part 3 − The Doubt & The Delight

Main Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

He had to clench his lips to keep anything more than grunts from coming out of them as he watched how, with quick, sure thrusts of his hips, he spread her slick folds wide open on his fat cock with loud slaps of skin against skin, his palms digging into the wonderfully soft structure of her hot buttocks, feeling her throbbing around him faster and faster.

He sighed when she cried out loudly as he added his hand between her thighs, his fingers finding her puffy clit, sore from previous caresses of his tongue − although they both tried not to make any noise knowing that Daeron was watching a movie downstairs, the treatments of his fingertips caused an involuntary whimper of delight to come from her lips.

"− no, baby − quiet − shhh, I know, we're almost there −" He murmured tenderly, leaning down, his hand sinking into her soft dark hair, pressing her face against the pillow, careful not to make it hard for her to breathe, wanting to muffle her moans.

"− grab my hand if you want me to stop −" He breathed out, quickening his pace, pounding into her so fast that he tilted his head back in pleasure, but her hand did not grab his wrist, her fingers tightened on the pillow on either side of her head instead, her fleshy walls began to clench around his cock in orgasm, sucking him inside, he felt her moisture begin to run down his thighs with her helpless whine of relief.

"− thaat's it − thaat's it, babygirl − fuck −" He mumbled as he let go at last, panting hard, feeling his warm seed spill deep inside her − for a moment his mind was stunned with pleasure, his body trembled from the hot sensation that flowed in waves through his body, his hand let go of her hair and she turned her head to the side, breathing loudly.

"− are you all right? − I'm sorry, he really could hear us −" He whispered, leaning lower, laying on top of her gently, placing a tender, warm, wet kiss on her neck, stroking her bare shoulder with his broad hand.

"− I know − it's me who's sorry −" She muttered. He let his breath out loudly with a smirk, shaking his head, sinking his face into her fragrant hair.

"− do you need anything? − can we stay like this for a while? −" He asked, not wanting to slip out of her yet, just dreaming of taking a nap cuddled up against her naked body, missing her so much for the two days she hadn't been home with them.

"− yes − but we shouldn't leave him alone for too long −" She whispered, and he hummed under his breath, agreeing with her.

"− will you stay overnight? −" He asked quietly, running his fingers up and down her naked body, feeling goosebumps appear in the places he touched.

"− yes −"

They returned to Dareon after several minutes, his younger brother accustomed to them disappearing occasionally to talk, watching quietly with contentment his favourite part of Star Wars.

"Have you discussed everything yet?" He asked lightly, putting his hand to the rustling popcorn, trying to get a full handful of it into his mouth, glancing at them out of the corner of his eye. He chuckled, sitting down next to him on the couch, watching his Esmeralda went to pour herself some water dressed in his black T-shirt and shorts.

He loved this view.

He scratched his cheek with his thumb trying not to think about the fact that at the mere memory of what he was doing to her just now he felt like taking her upstairs again.

"Yeah, buddy. All set." He grumbled, spreading himself out comfortably and sighing quietly, exhausted − their gazes met as she raised a glass of water to her lips and lowered her gaze, embarrassed and insecure. He swallowed loudly at the sight, feeling a squeeze in his heart.

It seemed to him that something was going on with her lately − she was sadder than usual and drifted away with her thoughts. On top of that, recently she was the one who had been grabbing his hand and guiding it between her thighs, demanding his caresses. There was something desperate about it and although he had asked her many times if everything was okay, she always answered him that it was.

He knew he had no right to ask her anything.

They were not together and he would never have dared to suggest it, fearing rejection.

He kept telling her how much he loved her and he could see in her gaze, feel in her embrace and in the touch of her hand that she also had feelings for him, albeit complicated and painful ones.

His prosecutorial nature insisted in his mind that he should start investigating, that he should start following her, that perhaps someone was nagging her, her professor or a colleague, but fearing his intervention she did not want to tell him anything.

He knew, however, that if she found out he was doing something behind her back she would not forgive him.

He couldn't help himself however − one day, while she and Daeron were sitting on the patio talking to each other by the sliding glass door, he went out to prepare the meat they were going to grill for lunch, according to their plan spending the afternoon in the garden. He came back because he had forgotten the tray, but stopped at the wall when he heard the question Daeron had asked her.

"Have you forgiven my brother? For what he did to you back then." He asked uncertainly. He heard her shift restlessly in her wicker chair, probably looking away to see if he was anywhere near them. She sighed quietly.

"I've done him wrong too. He's trying really hard. I know he's not like that every day. That I'm important to him and that he really cares about me." She said softly, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke the words.

He closed his eyes, feeling a tightness in his throat, swallowing with difficulty at the thought that he felt pain and relief at the same time, that she recognised his efforts, that she knew he wasn't lying when he spoke about how much he cared for her.

"I've been thinking about it a lot. About why he hurt you. And I think he did because he never shouted at me. He never got angry with me even when I cried for hours. I think if he shouted at you then or hit you it was because he missed our mum and dad too. Because he couldn't cope with it and our eldest brother didn't take care of him like he did me.

Before you showed up on the first day he was very afraid that you would be late or not come. That he would leave me with you and you would hurt me. I remember his hands were shaking when he had his coffee in the morning. He told me not to trust you and that if you just did something I didn't like, I should call him. I think it was all because I wanted to dance."

His brother muttered, and he just stood there stunned with his mouth wide open, breathing hard, feeling tears burning under his eyelids at the thought that he thought he was hiding everything that was going on inside him well, and Daeron had seen it all anyway, but as a child he couldn't comprehend what was really happening to him.

I think if he shouted at you then or hit you it was because he missed our mum and dad too.

He covered his face with his hand, stifling a sob at the thought that he thought he had just shouted at her or hit her, that he hadn't even assumed what had really happened between them.

He was horrified at how long she had not responded, and once he heard her voice he felt a piercing pain in his lower abdomen at the thought that she was crying too, unable to catch her breath.

"I...Daeron, this had and has nothing, nothing to do with you. This is our adult business, okay? It's very complicated." She muttered wearily, and he swallowed heavily, trying to calm his ragged breathing, clenching his eyelids tightly.

Whatever he would do, it would always come back to them.

"I heard him tell you he loved you. I know he said it to you because when I knocked on his room he said he was talking to you on the phone." Said his younger brother, clearly trying to get to the point of starting this whole conversation and topic at all.

"Are you two going to be together?"

Silence.

Never before in his life had he been so afraid, never had he suffered so much, never had he felt so alone and desperate as when he waited for her answer.

"Don't you love him?" Daeron asked quietly after a moment, as if he was afraid his brother would accidentally hear them. "You can tell me, it's not a bad thing. I'll keep a secret."

He heard her sobbing, heard her uneven, loud breathing, the fact that she was falling apart, that he was the cause of her eternal heartbreak and suffering.

"I'm afraid to be with him. I'm afraid to name it. As long as I don't agree, he can't hit me again and yell at me. The distance makes me feel like I'm in control of the situation, that I can disappear at any time and not explain myself. That it won't hurt me when I bore him. Do you understand?" She asked him quietly, his brother swallowed loudly.

"Are you afraid of my brother?" He whispered frightened, heard her draw in the air loudly, sniffling.

"I'm scared of what he's doing to me. I think I'm getting addicted to him, like people get addicted to alcohol or drugs." She muttered, and he took a few steps back, feeling tear after tear run down his face.

He didn't run when he heard her rise from her seat as she entered the house, clearly wanting to go quickly to the bathroom − she jumped when she spotted him standing against the wall, her eyes and mouth wide open in disbelief and horror.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled, and he swallowed loudly and grunted, walking over to the countertop, getting back to work.

"The meat will be ready soon."

He heard her stand still, her breathing loud, unsure of what to do, understanding perfectly well that he'd heard everything they'd said.

She didn't love him.

She was just addicted to him.

He thought dispassionately that he was like a stimulant that was destroying her life, not allowing her to live in another healthy relationship.

He heard her moving ahead after a while, locking herself in the toilet, heard her loud sobbing, his palms shaking all over as he cut the meat, tears one by one dripping onto the wooden board beneath his hands.

They spent the evening as they had planned, pretending nothing had happened, Daeron telling them about a new game he really wanted to play and a new cartoon he was watching.

In the night he locked himself sooner in his bedroom, feeling that he couldn't be around her, remorse and self-pity prevented him from breathing or functioning.

He shuddered, feeling the quick pounding of his heart as he heard the quiet creak of his door as usual an hour later − he heard her footsteps, felt her body lay behind him on his bed, sliding up over his duvet, felt her hand on his stomach.

He clenched his eyelids as his cock immediately twitched aggressively in this trousers, all swollen.

They lay like that for a while − he could feel her warm breath on his neck, her breasts hidden behind his Tshirt snuggled into his back, her fingers trailing from his sternum to his lower abdomen making shivers run through him.

He found with despair that he had become achingly hard from just her closeness.

"− I'm sorry −" She whispered finally; he shuddered all over and swallowed quietly as her soft, warm lips placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder. "− I didn't mean it −"

He did not reply.

He heard her trembling sigh, her body nestled into his from behind, the way he always used to do.

He felt a single, lonely tear run down the side of his face onto the pillow.

All he was able to manage was to breathe, his heart pounding like mad.

"− you have taken deep root in my heart − you grow in it like an oak tree in my garden full of flowers − and even though I did not want it, I have found cooling in its shade, shelter from the rain under its leaves, from its wood things are made that last −" She whispered and he felt his whole body tremble.

He imagined her, her flower garden and himself.

A great, spreading tree.

"− this is not what my garden was supposed to be − I only wanted flowers in it − but now, when I look at this tree from the window of my house, at its thick trunk, its green, beautiful leaves in summer, yellow and red in autumn, I am glad that I let it grow −" She said softly, her lips again placed a kiss on his neck as her hand slid lower. A broken, helpless moan broke from his throat as he felt her fingers tighten on his swollen, aching manhood, squeezing him with sure up and down strokes.

"− I − mghmm −" He mumbled out, horrified by how pleasurable this was, by the fact that this might be the last time he would see her, by the fact that he no longer knew himself what she felt for him, what would be better for them, what he should want for himself, when all he desired was for her to simply be by his side.

He wanted her to take care of him.

Not out of revenge, not out of lust.

He needed her.

"− I know − easy − I want to take care of you −" She whispered tenderly, in the way he'd dreamed of since he'd met her. He felt heat in his lower abdomen and heart, his hips involuntarily beginning to respond to her movements with rocking, his tip all swollen and sticky with his precum, pulsing in her embrace.

"− please − inside you −" He gasped out and she let go of him, letting him turn to face her − he grabbed her in his arms and pressed his face against her soft, plump breasts hidden beneath his t-shirt. He lifted the material quickly above her thighs, sighing in relief, feeling that she wasn't wearing underwear − she threw her leg over his waist, the fat, pink head of his cock easily forced its way between her slick, hot, plushy folds.

"− f-fuck −" He cried out, tightening his fingers on her back, snuggling into her like a small, frightened child, pounding into her with quick, sure thrusts of his hips, seeking refuge deep inside her, in the only place where he felt safe.

"− I love you − I love you − I love you − please, don't leave me −" He mumbled into her chest, choking on his own tears − her fleshy muscles clenched against him at his words, sucking him inside, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud click of her moisture. He felt her fingers comb through his hair, cuddling him tighter into her, her lips placing a warm kiss on the top of his head.

"− it's too late for me anyway − I'll never be free of how much I want you −" She exhaled with a kind of relief, as if she'd been wanting to get it out of her for a long time, as if she'd finally come to terms with the fact that they were doomed to each other not because they'd decided to, but because, for some reason, they fit together like two parts of a whole.

Her hips responded to his pushes, his hand clamping down hard on her hot, soft buttocks, forcing her to let him in deeper, slamming into her so fast that he was no longer sliding out with a loud slaps of naked skin.

"− oh, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck −" He gasped out loud, for the first time being so vocal and helpless in bed, more so than when she was riding him, more so ever in his life, feeling that he no longer had the strength to pretend that he wasn't tired, that he wasn't disappointed, that he wasn't crying during the night when she wasn't next to him, that he was coping with the fact that he'd hurt the woman he'd loved so much the first day he'd really met her.

He felt her orgasm, her body arching back in shock at how intense the sensation was, soaking him wet, her palms clenching on his back, responding to his thrusts with the rocking of her hips for a moment longer, sweet, helpless moans of pleasure coming from her lips.

"− I want to have a family with you − to have children with you −" He muttered with relief as he felt the heat spill over his lower abdomen when he finally came inside her, delighted that she was letting him feel herself again, that he was deep inside her, inside his safe place, inside his home. He heard her sigh softly.

"− one day −"

[gynandromorph]

I find your comics about Legend really really fascinating and really wanna understand how her thesis works, but not knowing very much about Nofna's worldbuilding, I feel lost? I've really enjoyed your Nofna style emulations and you put a lot of care into exploring the intricacies of her powers

not sure i can explain well, zachary has explained the powers as "advanced pretend." imagine if you could imagine something hard enough to project it into reality. there is a step in between, where you can only project what you're imagining into another person's perception of reality. here's how nofna explains it:

Legend's thesis particularly rubs up against the instant transmission of language. Art in the comic is language without language -- in order to communicate with depth, you have to be speaking to someone who has already agreed upon a specific set of parameters to communicate: words. animals did not have words to communicate with each other, so they used this to settle "disagreements."

Legend's thesis, at first, focuses specifically on the agreed-upon transmission of language via writing, not Art as a whole. she finds it interesting that words can communicate ideas involuntarily, even when there is no one communicating that idea. words are a language with which even dead people can speak. the first inception of her thesis functions by projecting letters and words at a target to force them to read it. she investigates why it is that one can project ideas onto someone else that they might disagree with, even though the medium of communication (writing) is agreed-upon. she comes to understand that reading relies on involuntary recall of information -- memorizing phonics (the sounds letters "make"). she knows that this method of communication still only works if all parties have agreed to LEARN HOW TO READ in the first place, and pursues empathic transmission (other-oriented reception of communication) as the source. her thesis moves on to function by manipulating mirror neurons by projecting writing at her opponent. she runs into a dead end with mirror neurons, which activate while acting, observing acts, or reading about acts. she pursues the viability of memory as a source of transmission for reading to manipulate. her thesis begins to function by projecting pretend onto memory networks in the opponent's brain and obfuscating what information in their head is real or fantasy. the style thematically adopts her experiences of psychosis and the ambiguity of reality in one's sense perception; there's really no way of telling if what you're perceiving is real or not, though the use of evidence may assist in coming to a judgment. because the style manipulates memories, it does not rely on being impressive or novel to be accepted by an opponent's mind, so it becomes "undeniable" (able to be rejected as false). the fourth and final form of Legend's style comes after a critique from Pegging during which she is told that reality and fantasy are not the same thing. if they were the same thing, they would not have separate words to differentiate them. there is a fundamental difference between them, separated by some sort of wall. though outraged by having the core of her thesis pulled out from under her again, Legend investigates the fourth wall, and why her thesis was able to manipulate reality itself with no reader to receive it. she comes to the conclusion that the common thread between reality and fantasy which has allowed her thesis to function is narrative -- the chronological ordering of events to produce a logical argument. in the case of reality, it's simply forced to bend to the rules of logic. nothing that happens in reality is illogical. no effect happens without a cause. writing and memories preserve aspects of reality from the past to the future as information, but things that happened in the past don't stop existing if they aren't written down; the placement and force of every atom in this universe is entirely built upon its historical context. her thesis comes to function by turning the world into words representing said historical context, onto which she can project retroactive continuity, instead of turning herself into words to project outwards at others. it comes to fail because the only reason for fantasy to exist is an imperfect world from which it can deviate.

i hope this explained how all that works; it's sort of pretentious (no pun intended), like all philosophy.