#for those who bothered to decipher that thank you for your time

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VIII

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.3k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and depression. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, here's the next part!! happy reading <3

masterlist!

Pedro hadn’t expected his career to take another sharp turn so soon after The Mandalorian. The call he received that night in January, while lying in a dimly lit hotel room in London, still felt unreal. Hazy, thanks to the Ambien coursing through him, but real enough to make him sit up in bed after the line went dead.

Something big was coming, and he could feel it in his bones. It would change everything—if things weren’t already good enough as they were.

A few weeks later, he was back in London to film The Bubble. Everything seemed to blur by—filming, meetings, and the quiet rhythm of his life with Julia. He hadn't expected to fall into a relationship so effortlessly, but here he was.

She was a producer he’d met during a project in Budapest, though nothing had happened between them until months later.

Late November, to be exact. By then, things had shifted.

Pedro was never good at deciphering if someone liked him or not, and maybe that was why, when she suggested coffee, he didn’t think twice. She was lovely—kind in a way that didn't feel overwhelming, and he liked the way it felt safe, uncomplicated. When she reached for his hand, the world didn’t spin beneath his feet, and that was comforting. It was normal, and maybe that’s exactly what he needed.

After that first coffee, there were more—turning into casual dinners, casual sex, easy conversations, and eventually, a steady progression toward something more.

By December, things had gotten serious, though Pedro still sometimes woke up disoriented, feeling as if he was living in someone else’s life. Julia kept him grounded. And though it wasn’t the kind of love that made him lose his breath, it was steady.

One morning, in early December, he woke to find a message from you. You’d mentioned him in an upcoming Vogue interview, a brief nod to his help in keeping you sane during those first chaotic months of the pandemic. Your publicist thought it might make a fuss for a while, and you didn’t want him to wake up and think someone had died or something.

Nothing too big, P, just the usual storm. Call when you’re back in the States. Miss you.

Pedro stared at the message for a long time, debating. You’d always known everything about him. Every high, every low. But now? There was Julia to consider. He sat on the edge of the bed, Julia still asleep next to him, the London sky a dull gray through the curtains. He’d thought about telling you about her for weeks—maybe he should’ve before New Year’s—but it was easier to let the conversation slip away.

Until it didn’t.

That night, at Oscar’s New Year’s party, when you found out about Julia, he could see it in your eyes—the hurt, the shock, the confusion. You didn’t say much after that. Just told him you hoped he was happy, and if he was, that would be enough.

But it didn’t feel enough.

Not then, not now.

•••

Back in London, the routine of it all began to suffocate him. He spent his mornings reading lines, drinking bitter coffee, and answering the inevitable buzz of questions about his relationship status. He didn’t care to comment. He didn’t want to make it official in a way that felt like another announcement to the world. His job was to act, not live his life on a stage. Still, the headlines rolled out, and his relationship with Julia became another topic of conversation.

The days passed in a blur, but something bothered him. You had gone silent. Completely. Not only from his life but from social media, from the public eye, from everywhere. He called on your birthday. Oscar had mentioned you hadn't planned anything for the day, not that he knew off, and Pedro found himself standing on the cold balcony of his hotel room, dialing your number with a strange urgency.

You picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

Your voice sounded far away, thin and almost unfamiliar, like a melody he had forgotten.

“Hey.”

There was a beat of silence, a pause where recognition should have clicked into place. Instead, you sounded distant, hesitant.

“Oh. It’s you.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. Did you delete my number?”

A soft shuffle on the other end, like you were shifting in place, caught off guard. “No, uh, I just picked it up without looking who it was.”

He leaned against the railing, gripping the phone tighter as if it could bridge the distance between you. The cold metal beneath his fingers bit into his skin, grounding him, though your absence felt like it was growing by the second. "Happy birthday, mi amor."

“Thank you, Pedro.”

The way you said his name, the clipped tone, made something stir in his gut, but he shook it off.

“You doing anything? I heard you didn’t have plans.”

“Nothing really, maybe over the weekend,” you replied, but there was a softness in your voice that didn't match the words, like you were choosing them carefully, holding something back. “I know you’re in London; that’s why I didn’t—”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t call,” he interrupted, leaning against the cold railing. His free hand found his hair, fingers tugging at the strands, trying to steady the unease creeping in. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been... You know how it is.”

Another long pause. For a moment, all he heard was the faint rustling on the other end, like you were curled up somewhere small, the space between you both stretching impossibly wide. He didn’t notice the silence for what it was—didn’t notice the way it wrapped around your words, cloaking the pain underneath.

“I do,” you whispered. It wasn’t an agreement; it was resignation. "Listen, I have to go. Say hi to Julia for me."

You hung up quickly, the words leaving him cold. The last part stung in a way he wasn’t expecting.

Days turned into weeks, and though you stayed in touch here and there, your conversations felt different. Lighter. Less personal. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did. The less he tried to think about you, the more you occupied his thoughts, living in the corners of his mind where you had always been. It felt like torture, the way your presence always lingered even in your absence.

When Pedro finally posted about landing the role of Joel Miller, the flood of congratulations came pouring in, but only one comment left him reeling.

So happy for you!!! You’re gonna kill it.

It was from you. Simple, encouraging, and yet it twisted something inside him.

His birthday arrived not long after, and he found himself back in LA, where his friends greeted him with a backyard party under the stars. Sarah held a cake with a single candle, and as everyone cheered, Pedro smiled, but there was an immovable weight in his chest.

Later that night, after the crowd had dispersed, he and Julia escaped upstairs to his room. They ended up half-dressed, tangled on his unmade bed. She smiled at him afterward, her gaze hazy with affection. “Happy birthday,” she murmured, running a hand down his chest.

Pedro wanted to stay in that moment, to let it be enough, but his mind wandered. He had that feeling of wanting to be trapped in one place, wanting to dig his heels in. It didn’t need to matter that that reality was waiting for him outside the door. It didn’t need to matter that you hadn’t called.

April 11, 2021

London, England

Pedro’s mood had been darkening for weeks now, but if Julia had noticed, she didn’t say a word.

She’d taken on a slew of new projects, coming home late most nights, leaving him to his thoughts and the silence that clung to their flat like fog. Pedro found himself pacing the empty rooms when she was gone, unsure where to place himself in her absence. He felt the weight of insomnia closing in again, the recognizable ache behind his eyes making the hours stretch painfully long.

That day, however, his focus had shifted. He was set to present Best Foreign Film at the BAFTAs, and his stylist had dressed him in a Prada tuxedo coat, a crisp white shirt, and skinny-fitting suit trousers. He looked sharp, elegant even, and for the first time in days, Pedro felt something close to confidence.

He and Julia arrived at the event together, but they didn’t pose for pictures side by side. Still, photographers captured fleeting moments—Julia holding his hand as they stepped out of the car, a quiet laugh between them under the canopy of flashing cameras. By the next morning, their images were all over social media, sparking the inevitable buzz about their relationship.

Pedro ignored most of it.

Two days later, while sharing a quiet breakfast in a cafe with Julia, he opened Instagram out of habit, and your face appeared.

There you were, standing in the middle of some forest, your expression serene. The caption read: Surprise. A new album drops at midnight. In isolation, my imagination ran wild, and this is the result—stories and songs that flowed like rivers. I hope you love it.

The post had already gathered thousands of likes and comments, and Pedro’s chest tightened as he stared at the screen. The timing of it all was almost cruel, but it was the impact of your sudden reappearance that left him reeling. You had vanished from the public eye for so long, and now, with no warning, you were back.

That night, Pedro lay awake next to Julia, the persistent itch of insomnia dragging him out of bed. He moved quietly so as not to disturb her, slipping his earbuds in as he stepped onto the hotel balcony. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled up your new album. He hesitated for a moment, but he pressed play anyway.

For ten songs, Pedro was transfixed. Your voice wrapped around him, haunting and familiar, weaving tales of heartache and isolation. There was a rawness to your words, an unflinching honesty that pierced through the midnight air. He listened intently, picking apart the lyrics, wondering if they were about him, if the pain you sang about was shared between you. It felt like an open wound, and yet he couldn’t stop listening.

Each song was a confession. Each melody a letter never sent.

When it ended, Pedro sat in the dark, overwhelmed. The emptiness gnawed at him, and all he wanted was to call you, to talk, to hear your voice. But he didn’t.

A couple of weeks later, he found himself shamelessly googling you again, hoping for something—an interview, a post, anything—but there was nothing. You had gone silent after the album drop.

No promo, no press. Just the music and then nothing. He congratulated you once, a brief message saying how beautiful the album was. You replied with a simple, “Thank you. It means a lot.”

That was it.

July 10, 2021

Alberta, Canada

Pedro arrived in Alberta at dawn, the skies painted in soft hues of pink and orange. The cab ride to the hotel was quiet, his agent and hairstylist riding with him as they prepared for the long months ahead. Filming for The Last of Us was finally starting, and though Pedro was eager to begin, a deep nervousness tugged at him.

Julia hadn’t come with him this time, staying back in London for her own work. She promised to visit, but Pedro wasn’t sure how often. In her absence, he felt that familiar loneliness creeping in, the kind that terrified him, mostly because it left him alone with thoughts of you.

He checked into his room and sat heavily on the sofa, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes until his vision blurred. He needed to eat, to call his family, to ground himself in something, but instead, he grabbed a beer from the mini fridge and settled back into the couch. His fingers hovered over his phone again, the compulsion to check your Instagram pulling at him like a bad habit.

But, like always, there was nothing.

Your only other post had been a month ago, thanking your fans for the love on the album. He had messaged you a couple of times—small, inconsequential exchanges that left him unsatisfied. He didn’t know what he was searching for in those brief interactions, but whatever it was, it felt futile.

Then, ten minutes later, like a sign from the universe, you shared an interview. A video with you talking about your creative process. Pedro couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed his laptop, another beer, and settled in.

As he watched, he couldn’t help but stare at you. You looked radiant, sitting across from the interviewer in the backyard of your California home. The conversation was easy at first, touching on the album’s success, but then it turned more personal.

"The pandemic was really rough, and also life in general, I guess," you said, your voice quiet. "I found myself post-breakup, isolated in a cabin in Calgary, and writing was all I had. But the inspiration wasn’t just from that breakup. It came from years of… things."

The interviewer asked gently, "You mean the breakup with your most recent ex specifically?"

"Yeah," you replied, your eyes dropping for a second. "It wasn’t entirely about that. I pulled a lot from my imagination, I guess. The lines between fantasy and reality blurred, and I found myself writing from perspectives that weren’t always mine."

Pedro’s heart clenched.

"There’s a song on the album," he continued, "the final track. It’s haunting. You sing about being hurt by someone you love but being unable to let them go. Can you talk about that?"

You paused, taking a breath before you spoke. "It’s a quiet resignation," you said. "That person and I, we hurt each other, but I love them. So, I guess that’s it. It felt like the right way to end the album."

Pedro’s world stilled. He realized, in that moment, what he had been searching for all this time. He had wanted confirmation, a sign that you still loved him. And with every word you spoke, you gave it to him.

Filming for The Last of Us began a couple of days later, and though Pedro threw himself into the work, your voice lingered, ghost-like, at the back of his mind. Days turned to weeks, and as production moved into September, the physical toll started to wear on him. He spent long hours on set; the Canadian cold started biting into his bones. Bella, his co-star, became a bright spot, their energy infectious, and though they bonded quickly, Pedro felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.

In the early mornings, when the world was still asleep, he would take walks to clear his head, the cold sunlight grounding him. Julia came to visit now and then, joining him on these walks, but they often ran out of things to say. He could feel the quiet disintegration of their relationship, like watching ice slowly melt into water. He didn’t know what they were holding onto anymore.

•••

When October rolled around, Pedro’s schedule clashed with the start of The Mandalorian’s third season, and it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to join the production on time. His agents scrambled to find a solution, but when Pedro’s stunt double was suggested as a replacement for the early scenes, he was left with an odd sense of detachment. And when his agent told him it had been your suggestion, something in him cracked.

The anger simmered for weeks. He felt foolish and abandoned, wondering if you had pushed him away to keep your distance. But then, just as the resentment began to harden, you showed up on set with two coffees in hand, flashing him a smile. "One iced caramel macchiato for me and one large quad over ice for you," you teased.

Pedro blinked, startled. He hadn’t expected your warmth. "Thanks," he managed, taking the coffee.

"You’re welcome," you replied brightly. "We missed you here."

"Did you?" he said, a hint of sarcasm slipping into his tone. "Because I heard it was your idea to keep me away."

Your expression twisted into confusion before you laughed. "I was just trying to make things easier. You were still filming, and I figured rushing back here would be a nightmare for you. I wasn’t plotting anything."

Pedro felt a wave of relief wash over him, mixed with the faintest trace of regret. "Well, in that case, I missed you too."

•••

For two seasons, your character hadn't seen his without the helmet. Today you were shooting the scene where, out of necessity, he reveals his face to you. It was written as a pivotal moment in your characters' relationship.

The moment the director called action, the air on set felt different. It wasn’t the usual hum of crew members shuffling in the background or the low murmur of cameras whirring. Instead, a heavy, almost sacred quiet descended, blanketing everyone as the scene unfolded. Pedro’s mind mirrored that stillness, a sudden and unnerving hush. It felt like everything outside of this moment ceased to exist, like time itself had bent inward.

And then—nothing. No words. No script. Just you, standing so close to him, your face inches from his, hands cradling his jaw.

You widened your eyes, a silent prompt, urging him to speak, to remember his lines. But all he could do was stare. He hadn’t been this close to you in months, hadn’t felt the warmth of your touch or the soft presence of your breath in what felt like a lifetime. His throat tightened, his words trapped somewhere deep inside. He knew the scene needed to move forward, but for one fragile moment, all he wanted was to keep you there, locked in this pocket of stillness, as if holding onto you would stop everything else from slipping away.

You read him, like you always did. You settled in, your hands still on his face, fingers pressing gently into his skin as if anchoring him. Then, softly, you filled the silence with a line—one that Pedro was sure wasn’t in the script, but it was perfect. You carried the scene, leading him back into it, your voice becoming the tether that pulled him out of the stillness and into motion. Pedro blinked, refocusing, forcing his body and mind to follow your lead as he finally delivered his line.

The scene moved on, but something lingered, thick and unsaid.

When filming wrapped for the day, the tension still simmered. You caught him at the edge of the lot, your expression unreadable as you approached him. Maybe you'll ask him why he froze like an idiot during that scene, or maybe you'll just walk past him without a word.

Instead, you simply asked, "Dinner?"

Pedro couldn’t say no. He never could when it came to you.

You ended up at a small sushi restaurant tucked away from the chaos of the city. The space was warm, softly lit, a sanctuary from the noise of the outside world. Pedro sat across from you, picking at a piece of sashimi, trying to focus on the conversation but finding it hard. You talked about the year you’d spent away from the spotlight and how you’d pulled back from everything.

"I mean, I’m doing this because I signed a contract," you said, lightly joking, but your eyes flickered with something that gave you away. "Disney has snipers; you know how it is."

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Pedro chuckled, though he could hear the sadness in your voice, the weight behind your words.

"If I could’ve gotten out of it too, I would have," you added, your tone quieter, more reflective. "I guess I just needed to slow down. I’m tired of it all."

"You even skipped the Oscars," Pedro replied, taking a sip of his drink. "That's how you know it's serious."

"Yeah, I love the Oscars. Excellent champagne."

Pedro watched you closely, wanting to dig into your words to pull apart the layers of exhaustion and sadness you were burying beneath the surface. He wanted to offer you some kind of comfort, to tell you that he understood—that he, too, had been feeling the weight of it all. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, the two of you ate in silence, the kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but spoke volumes.

There was something about being with you, even without words, that felt…right.

Later, as he lay in bed, his mind kept returning to you, to your confession. He wondered what you weren’t telling him, what you were holding back. But as much as he wanted to reach out to ask, he couldn't.

The next morning, Pedro was on a flight back to Canada. The weeks that followed blurred into a rhythm of cold, grueling days on set and long, sleepless nights. He threw himself into The Last of Us, trying to lose himself in the work, but no matter how hard he tried, thoughts of you crept back in. You were there, always, lingering in the corners of his mind, and Julia could sense it.

She didn’t say anything at first, but Pedro could feel it—the slow unraveling of their relationship. It wasn’t sudden, like a crash or an explosion; it was quiet, a gradual dissolution. Every day, a little more slipped away. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from this relationship, from this life they had built together. Did he think they would buy a house, start a family? Had he ever really seen himself in this life with her, or was it just easier to disappear into hers?

Finally, Julia said it. Brightly, almost too casually. "I think maybe we’re done."

Pedro didn’t fight it. He didn’t have the energy. "Yeah," he murmured. "I think that was my fault."

•••

Christmas and New Year’s came and went in a blur. Pedro went to Chile for a few weeks, seeking the comfort of home, of family. There, surrounded by his siblings and nephews, he found a brief pause, a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a while. But even in the warmth of his childhood home, memories of you still haunted him. He saw you in every corner, heard your laughter in the echo of the hallways.

One night, after too many glasses of wine, he called you on a whim. It wasn’t about anything important—just small talk, catching up. You sounded good, better than the last time you spoke, but there was a distance in your voice, a kind of finality that made Pedro’s heart sink. For some reason, he didn’t tell you about his breakup. He kept that part of his life hidden, not out of secrecy but because it felt irrelevant at that moment.

What would it change? What did it matter?

You didn’t talk much after that. Your silence felt deliberate, not like a missed connection but a closed door. It was as if you were telling him, without saying it outright, that this was where it ended.

In the days that followed, Pedro did his best to push you out of his mind, but it didn’t take long for the thoughts to creep back in. They always did. Anger. Sadness. Regret. They whispered in his ear, insidious and unrelenting, reminding him of what he had lost, of what he could never quite hold on to.

February 7, 2022

Los Angeles, California

The suitcase lay open on the bed, half-packed, with clothes spilling over the edges like an unspoken reflection of your mind. Each item you folded and placed inside felt heavy, as if carrying pieces of the last year with you. Taylor sat cross-legged in the chair by the window, scrolling through her phone while talking, but her words barely reached you over the noise in your head.

“I’m surprised you said yes, that’s all,” she said, her voice light with curiosity. “You’ve basically been a hermit for a year now.”

You laughed softly, your hands smoothing over the fabric of a sweater. “I needed the break, you know that. ”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push yet. You were grateful for the acceptance, even if you knew she was waiting to bring it up again, the same way she always did.

“One day, you’ll tell me what really happened,” Taylor continued, her voice taking on a familiar teasing edge. “You'll tell me what had you sulking at home like a sad Victorian poet for a whole year.”

You folded another shirt and placed it in the suitcase before responding, “I’ve told you countless times. Nothing happened other than…he got a girlfriend, and I stayed out of the way. That’s it.”

Taylor squinted at you as if she didn’t quite believe it, her eyes narrowing with the kind of suspicion only a close friend could afford to show. “Aha,” she said slowly, drawing out the sound.

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

“I wasn't sulking,” you admitted, trying to keep your tone light. “I was…relaxing. It was my year of rest and relaxation.”

She chuckled at that. “Good one, smarty pants."

Outside, a breeze rustled through the palm trees, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of LA traffic. You imagined the street below, the shuffling of photographers leaning against their cars, lighting cigarettes, and murmuring to each other. They had become a permanent fixture, appearing gradually over the months, staking out your house like ghosts waiting for you to return to life.

It never ceased to surprise you how much people cared about what you did off-screen. You couldn’t just let your work stand for itself. No, you had to prove yourself over and over again, reminding the world that you were still an asset, still someone worth admiring.

You shrugged, half-smiling, but there was something sad in it. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m only doing this because I've been dying to work with this director, and it’s a closed set. Once those eight weeks are up, it’s back to my hermit status.”

Taylor shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “So we’re missing the Oscars again this year?”

You threw a pair of socks at her, chuckling. “Seems like it.”

But inside, everything wasn’t as lighthearted as your words. Last year, you’d taken a step back from the spotlight, and while you didn’t want to attribute it to the hurt you were feeling over Pedro, the truth was, it had everything to do with him. Well, at least a huge chunk of it. It hurt not to have him. It hurt to see someone else kiss him, hold his hand so freely, so easily. The pain wrapped itself around you like a second skin.

The world expected you to bounce back, to emerge from this self-imposed exile with a smile and a perfect soundbite. But the truth was messier. You had spent a year nursing a heart that hadn’t fully healed. You loved Pedro in a way that still hurt, in a way that sometimes made you feel like a child who didn’t understand why they couldn’t have the one thing they wanted most. You wanted to be the bigger person, the one who could let him go gracefully, but instead, you had hidden.

You were blue all the time. Some days were okay; some days you barely got out of bed.

There were moments it felt paralyzing. The weight of the world outside your window, the expectations, the love you still felt for him—all of it crushed you. Some days, you simply couldn’t move. You stayed curled up in the safety of your blankets, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It wasn’t long before someone intervened. Your PA was that someone.

She didn’t push you at first. She’d just knock on your door, leave food outside, and ask if you needed anything. You’d spent three weeks in your room, moving only to get water or occasionally sit by the window.

One afternoon, Renata came in and found you in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. She placed a sandwich she brought on the counter and looked at you, her voice careful, but firm. “You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you,” you replied simply, taking a sip of water.

“No, you know what I mean. A professional. It’s okay if you don’t feel…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

“I’m fine,” you said, starting to walk toward the stairs.

“You’re not going to eat?” she called after you.

“Not hungry, but thanks,” you mumbled, disappearing into your room again.

But Renata didn’t let it go. She pushed gently, week after week, until finally, you let her schedule an appointment. She promised not to say anything to anyone, especially Taylor. You didn’t want to worry her.

The word depression had seemed too big to say aloud, too heavy, but that’s exactly the word your psychiatrist had used.

“You’ll need to take these every morning,” he said, handing you a small prescription bottle. “And it would be good to write how you feel. Keep track of things.”

You sat there, legs crossed in an oversized chair, staring at the prescription bottle in your hand.

•••

You watched from the sidelines as Pedro continued to rise, landing roles in The Last of Us, becoming the face everyone adored. You were thrilled for him, of course, but the distance between you felt insurmountable.

The only interaction you had was through a comment on his Instagram post, and even then, you weren’t sure if it meant anything. You didn't dare to call him on his birthday; you didn't want to stain his day with sadness. Every time you looked at your phone, tears threatened to spill. You felt as if the moment he spoke into the phone, you might collapse.

He's better off; he might not even notice.

The album you dropped in the spring had been a release of every emotion you hadn’t been able to speak aloud. Each song was laced with love and loss, heartbreak and longing; every note was a confession you’d never let yourself voice. You wondered if he listened to it—if the lyrics registered with him, if he knew they were about him.

That same week, you saw photos of him in London, holding her hand. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

The months passed in a blur of avoidance. You busied yourself at home with anything you could find that didn’t involve thinking about him. You did the one interview your publicist insisted on. It was with Zane Lowe; you liked him, so it was mostly okay. You found yourself talking about the songs you wrote during that time. As you listened to your own words, you realized that the music had given you a voice when you felt silenced by heartache.

It was a bittersweet realization.

By October, filming for The Mandalorian had loomed on the horizon, and when you found out Pedro was still tied up in Canada, you suggested beginning production without him. It felt easier that way, like a reprieve. But when he finally arrived on set, the connection between you two still crackled beneath the surface. There was an unspoken understanding in the way he looked at you during that intense scene—the one where your character saw his face for the first time. He froze, and you wondered what was running through his mind—what thoughts had stopped him from continuing.

You hesitated, but after the scene wrapped, you found yourself asking him to dinner. It was a slippery slope. You could pretend you were okay all you wanted in the brief moments between takes, offering coffee and smiles, but no one saw right through you like him.

Still, you asked. It was a small gesture, just a way to extend the fragile thread of connection between you, to hold onto him for a little longer before he left again.

But you’d learned how to stay in your lane. You’d learned how to love him from a distance, how to let him be happy with someone else. It was an act of love, really—letting him go, stepping aside to give him the space to live a life that didn’t include you. At least that’s what you told yourself.

Taylor’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “Do you think you could be a hermit in Greece next? I could use a vacation.”

May 29, 2022

Los Angeles, California

Between promoting The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent and wrapping up the final scenes of The Last of Us in Canada, he had little time to do, well, anything else really.

It was late May, just after the Star Wars Celebration. He’d worn a blue two-piece set that felt more like pajamas than anything formal, which was fine by him. Comfort was the priority these days.

But something was missing. You. You hadn’t been there. Out of everyone from the cast, you were the only one absent, and that absence settled like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

"She’s just taking time off," he’d tell himself, repeating the words like a mantra. “She’s probably busy; she's okay.” But the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave him alone.

Pedro had even caved one evening, calling Taylor. It had been late, after a full day of press, his voice rough from interviews and late-night whiskey. He had only meant for it to be one drink. But then he thinks back to the fact that you've plagued his dreams every night this week and that there was a song he kept hearing repeatedly that reminded him of you, and one drink had turned to three, and now here he is.

“Taylor?” He had sounded more vulnerable than he intended. “Is she... I mean, everything’s okay, right?”

Taylor had reassured him, of course, her voice patient, telling him you were fine, that you just were busy. Pedro wanted to believe her, but it gnawed at him. Something felt off.

He still woke up some mornings with the urge to tell you something, a joke he heard or a weird dream he had.

•••

By August he found himself in Spain, the arid heat of the desert sinking into his skin as filming for Strange Way of Life began. The project felt like a strange departure—something raw and gritty, something that required his full attention—but even then, in quiet moments between takes, his mind wandered. He’d sit in his trailer, his phone in hand, thumb hovering over your contact name, but the messages stayed unsent.

The days passed in a blur of rehearsals, early morning call times, and late-night script revisions. He spent his downtime with Ethan, exchanging stories over beers. But there was a quietness to Pedro that hadn’t been there before—a missing piece of him he couldn’t quite place.

•••

November 22, 2022

Miami, Florida

The night was sweltering; even by late fall standards, the air was thick and humid. Pedro was grinning, wearing a loose-fitting animal print shirt that made him feel playful, like he was stepping into some exaggerated version of himself for the evening. Lux was by his side, vibrant as always, their laughter mingling with the clink of glasses as they arrived at a wine event.

But it didn’t take long for Lux to notice the shadow that hung over him.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, side-eyeing him as they sipped their drinks by the bar.

“I’ve been busy,” Pedro answered vaguely, swirling his glass and watching the amber liquid catch the light.

“Sure,” Lux replied, smirking. “And when are you both going to stop being idiots? It’s getting tiresome, hermanito.”

Pedro nearly choked on his drink, laughing in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Lux’s voice was matter-of-fact, cutting through his defenses with that typical bluntness only siblings could pull off. “You and her. It’s obvious. To everyone.”

Pedro sighed, leaning back against the bar, the Miami night buzzing around them. “It’s not that simple.”

Lux raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re both so afraid of what might happen that you’re stuck in this limbo. It’s ridiculous. Why let it get this bad?”

Pedro stared into his glass, her words echoing in his head.

"Because I love her," Pedro finally admitted, his voice quieter, weighed down by the truth. He stared down at his drink, swirling the ice around the glass. "I love her so much I’m willing to let her go."

Lux didn’t say anything.

Pedro shook his head, a bitter smile playing at his lips. "I would only hold her back. I know her so well. She’d sacrifice things just to be with me, and I can’t let her do that. I would only hold her back. She deserves so much better."

Lux tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “And what if what she wants is you? What if she’s out there feeling the same way, thinking she’s the one who isn’t good enough for you? Do you ever think about that?”

Pedro let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "Of course I’ve thought about it. Every day. But what if I’m wrong? What if she gives up things she shouldn’t for me? I can’t let her do that, Lux."

Lux leaned in closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Maybe it’s not your decision to make. Maybe she deserves the choice. Don’t you think it’s a bit arrogant to assume what’s best for her without even asking?"

Pedro met her gaze, feeling exposed. “I just... I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to ruin her life.”

Lux smiled, but it wasn’t pitying. It was knowing, soft around the edges. "You’re not ruining anything by loving her. But keeping it to yourself? That’s where the damage is, hermanito. You think you’re protecting her, but all you’re doing is pushing her away. And trust me, that hurts more than anything else."

He had always been so afraid of losing you, so terrified of not being enough, that he hadn’t even realized how much distance he had created.

Lux’s voice softened again, the words cutting through the noise in his mind. "She deserves better, Pedro? Maybe. But who says you don’t deserve her, too?"

a/n: please like, reblog and comment! i love reading your thoughts!! next part will be posted in a bit ;) aaaand something might be happening ;)

[spamgyu]

Disconnected Calls // Seungcheol Oneshot

DESCRIPTION: All his choices to put his career and his team first never led to any regrets; all except his choice to cut his ties with you. PARING: Seungcheol x Reader GENRE: Angst

There was no one else to blame for his heartache but himself.

He was the one that ended the relationship.

He was the one that chose to do it over the phone – too much of a coward to tell you in person.

He was the one that chose to block your phone number and social media accounts.

He was the one that shut you out, not even bothering to take a second glance back at the relationship he once held so near and dear to his heart.

At the time, Seungcheol felt that he was doing what was right – putting his duties as a leader of his group first, prioritizing the band of brothers that he swore he would never turn his back on.

It wasn't that you were asking him to choose, no you would never do that. You loved those twelve boys just as much as he did.

Hell, you didn't ask for anything.

You were completely fine with being at the bottom of his list when it came to his priorities. You loved him, and you knew before entering a relationship with a member of one of the biggest boygroups in the industry that this came with a whole lot of baggage – you were willing to overlook it all.

As their success and schedules began to pick up, you were getting pushed lower and lower on that list – in fact, by the last few months of the relationships you weren't even on the list.

He had given in to the pressure of his role and decided to cut you loose – unable to balance his work life and love life. You wanted to put up a fight that night, he could hear it in your voice, but you didn't.

In moments of stillness, when he was alone with nothing but his thoughts, his mind would wander back to that night; his brain replaying the sound of his cold voice back to him.

"Let's end this. I'm tired, and I know you are too." His voice was monotonous, as if he was delivering the news to a business partner or a staff member – as if he didn't ever call you the love of his life.

"Oh." Seungcheol could hear your heart breaking from the other line, but he had his mind set and he was going to proceed with it.

"It was fun, y/n. Thank you."

"I– Yeah, you too." He knew you were holding back a sob.

It had been nearly two and half years since that day, and instead of healing, Seungcheol felt as though the gaping wound in his heart had grown larger as each day passed.

It was as if the pain grew stronger with each season.

He was the one that shut you out and yet, he continued to search for your face in the midst of a crowd – in hopes that maybe one day, he would see you again. Through all the mix of voices, he always tried to listen closely; just in case he could hear that melodic voice that was once his favorite song to hear.

Seungcheol knew he fucked up, there was no denying that; but he also knew that trying to reach out was of no use – not when he knew how badly he had broken you.

Feeling the couch cushion next to him sink in, Seungcheol turned to face the body that had occupied the space – pulling a tight lipped smile to greet his member.

"I– Look, I told Jeonghan that it might not be the best idea," Mingyu nervously toyed with the plastic case protecting his phone, glancing over to the older boy who had sent him over standing across the practice room – keeping a close eye on them two. "But he said you deserved to know, for– uh... for closure."

Seungcheol sat quietly, waiting for Mingyu to go on.

"She's engaged." Mingyu mumbled. He could have been speaking in jibberish and Seungcheol would have been able to decipher it.

Mingyu didn't have to say who; he knew exactly who he was talking about. You had been the one and only girl that had this effect on Seungcheol; everyone was well aware of that.

They knew the battle he faced every day in his head; the twelve taking turns giving him their own words of advice to help him possibly move on.

But there was no moving on. Not from you.

A ringing sound began in his ears, drowning out the indistinct conversations that was taking place all around him. Seungcheol knew this day was bound to happen, he just didn't think it would happen so soon.

Was this the reason why you never put up a fight?

Did you already have someone waiting in-line, waiting for him to fuck up?

"I– I tell them I don't feel good." Seungcheol shot up out of his seat, bounding for the door – ignoring all the confused stares from his group and staff members.

He was in no state to practice today... or tomorrow.

Or maybe the next few weeks.

Seungcheol didn't know where he was heading, all he knew was that the room that could easily fit a hundred people suddenly felt small – as if the walls and ceiling was closing in on him. The air in his lungs felt thick by the time he reached the threshold of the door, clutching the fabric of his shirt – his poor attempts to free his neck from the constricting feeling of the collar.

His vision was just about to go dark when he felt someone tug his arm, spinning him around.

"Hey," It was Jeongan. "Don't– where are you going?"

"I don't know."

Jeonghan scanned his best friends face, trying to read him. There was nothing but pain, painted across his face. He knew not a single one of his attempts to try to make Seungcheol stay would work. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Already did." He let out a bitter chuckle.

"This isn't the end of the world, you know that right." Jeonghan spoke slowly.

When he and Mingyu had found out about your engagement through a mutual friend, they stood in shock. There was never a timeline when it came to love, if someone decided they wanted to marry the person they were with after three months of dating, so be it.

Though, that didn't stop the two from being taken aback by the news – despite encouraging their best friend to move on from you. It wasn't that they didn't like you, in fact they loved you. They had only ever envisioned their eldest member with one girl, and it was you.

But what were they to do? This was the last and final sign that the universe had given for Seungcheol to move on.

"I know." Seungcheol managed to croak out. "I– I'm sorry I really need to get out of here."

Jeonghan nodded. "Keep your location on."

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

He had spent the last four hours driving aimlessly. Home wasn't a choice, not when every corner of his apartment still held memories of you – he may have taken images of you down but your presence remained. There was no getting rid of you. Not when his apartment had become your second home throughout your time together.

He couldn't bring himself to go to his favorite places either, knowing that those were once places he took you to.

Every part of this damned city reminded him of you.

Your ghost constantly haunting him.

Finally growing tired of the constant turns and u-turns, Seungcheol pulled into a random parking space – pulling out his phone to dial the phone number he had known by heart.

He knew there was no use in calling it; it had been disconnected months after the break up. He didn't care.

In all his moments, through the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, Seungcheol gave the number a call – sending a voicemail out into the void. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, and if anyone were to find out that he had done this on a regular basis, they would have put a stop to it – just as they had done when they had found out he had still held onto the items you had left behind.

Seungcheol knew this wasn't healthy, but this was the only thing that kept him together – because maybe, just maybe, in an alternate universe, you heard all the messages he left you.

"H-hey, Y/n. I– today isn't a good day." His voice was shaky. "I found out you're engaged. Mingyu told me. I– I bet the ring is beautiful, if he had listened to you. I know how much you wanted that emerald cut ring– I hope he got it right. I– fuck."

Seungcheol coulnd't hold it in any longer, the tears had began rushing down his face – as if the dam walls had been broken. "I want to be happy for you, Y/n– but fuck that should have been me. That was supposed to be me. I was supposed to buy you that ring and– Y/n please I– I'm still here. You're the one, you've always been the one and–"

Just as he hadn't been able to hold back the tears, neither could he for his sobs. The pain that once was just limited to the area around his heart had now radiated throughout his body.

He had thought that when this moment had come, he would have been in a better state – but somehow, he felt as though he had been kicked down lower. He felt as though he had been stomped on, beaten.

Seungcheol had reached a whole new low.

It took him a few minutes to regain composure, using the sleeves of his black hoodie to wipe away the moisture left on his face. "This is it, huh?" He cleared his throat. "I need to finally walk away, huh? I– I need to move on like you did, huh?"

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Unbeknownst to Seungcheol, you had been doing the same.

Somewhere across the city, you were sat in your room; suppressing the tears and sob that threatened to escape your lips.

This was supposed to be the happiest moment of your life, the man of your dreams (or so you thought) had asked for your hand in marriage.

It may have only been a year since you two had made it official but for the first time in a long while he showed you that it was possible to love someone agian; and at the time it felt right. You stopped leaving voicemails on a number that had been long disconnected – the one that you had memorized by heart.

But old habits die hard, and as you stared at the oval cut ring on your finger – the other hand had subconsciously dialed his number.

It had been a long time since you had done this.

"Seungcheol, if you're out there– if you somehow get this– I– I made a mistake." You said in almost a whisper, lips quivering as you began to speak your thoughts aloud. "He– I thought I loved him. I really did. He made me feel happy again, he– he treats me so well. But the moment I saw that ring, I thought of you– I– he got it wrong."

You eyed the ring as you sucked in a breath of air. "It's silver. The band is silver. I don't own silver jewelry– It's oval, not the emerald cut we talked about– I can't help but think that you would have gotten it right. I don't even know why I said yes– fuck, am I stupid for saying yes?"

As a tear escaped your eye, you let out a laugh. This was ridiculous; pathetic even.

All while everyone congratulated you for this new milestone, you were calling the man that had left you hanging – the reason for your tears.

"It's not like you would be here to catch me if I said no, right?"

PERMANENT TAGLIST

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(for some reason it's not allowing me to tag some who wanted to be added to the perm tag list ... cries... pls check ur settings so i can for future posts)

[nakedcows]

dark! King Aemond x Sister Reader Part 2

Thank you all so much for the love you gave on part 1 I'm very glad you enjoyed it. For those who don't know I did post a part 2 last week (while i was drunk ;;) but I didn't like so I reworked it and made it a tad longer. Thank you for your patients I hope you enjoy it.

Please reblog and comment

word count: 7.1k

Warnings: Exobition, dubcon, purity culture, Fingering, a touch of infatilism, grooming, dead dove don't eat

Y/n sat in the secluded part of the godswood under a flower arch. While Aemond was the only who new of this secret paradise shielded from the prying eyes and scathing whispers of the court, he was not who Y/n dreamed about when she came to sit under the delicate flowers. It was Cregan Stark. She dreamed of how they first met and how he quickly warmed her frightful heart soon after he had arrived in Kingslanding.

Y/n born a princess meant to stay chaste, until her father found a useful man to force upon her, she didn't interact with older boys often. The only one Y/n was familiar with was her eldest brother Aegon. Aegon was the first to teach Y/n how boys nearly grown behaved. Her first insight to how men see women. To her dismay Aegon taught Y/n men were vile things more inclined to use surreptitious means to exploit a woman's body, whether she be a young girl or a woman grown. When Aegon would lift her maids skirts then jest about their teary eyes, or red faces she learned men found a woman's shame entertaining. When Aegon called for a serving girl to fill his cup only to grope her breast holding her close when she tried to pull away, Y/n learned men don't concern themselves with a woman's dignity. When Y/n overheard a maid begging for him to stop. Begging him to release his hold on her Y/n learned permission meant nothing to men.

Y/n was afraid. Afraid of the day her body would betray her. Afraid of when her flat chest would become full enough for boys to grab onto and her hips wide enough for people to feign ignorance to her cries for help. With her new found fear Y/n was distressed when her king father informed her that Rickon Stark would be visiting the capital with his son Cregan, who she was expected to strike up a friendship with; for both diplomacy and to access compatibility were a match between Y/n and Cregan made in the future. Y/n sat at a table in the gardens. The table set with an array of tea and cakes as she mindlessly fiddled with the pendant of her necklace as she awaited Cregan's arrival. What would he do to her she wondered. Cregan was to arrive with an escort, but they would be left to to their own devices once he was present. The guards were stationed too far away to notice were Cregan to attempt something unseemly. Y/n wonders if the guards would bother to care were they able to see Cregan's hands wander. Aegon told her once there are men grown who have an appetite for girls as young as her. Perhaps the guards were the type of men who would sooner encourage Cregan to defile her the way they themselves fantasized rather then assist her in her time of peril. Cregan arrived with a Kingsguard before Y/n could decipher what kind of men her father had left to protect her.

Cregen looked different than Y/n had expected. Her father Viserys had told her Cregan was a boy nearly four and ten, but he carried himself with the confidence of a man grown. Y/n was used to awkward lanky boys with short hair Cregan however, was incomparable. Were the boys of the south had narrow shoulders with the beginnings of muscles filling out their body, Cregan had large shoulders squared confidently as he strolled into the gardens. Y/n was used to brown and green eyes accompanied by light brown, blond, and red hair. While Cregan's was hair was darker than night in comparison. A murky sea of black flowing slightly bellow his chin coming to a slight curl at the ends, and deep set grey eyes that appeared older that his years.

"Hello princess Y/n, it is an honor to meet you," Cregan said with a bow. Y/n sat stiff in her chair staring at Cregan, put off by his different appearance and fearful of being alone with him. Lifting his head Cregan moved to take his seat across from Y/n, but paused when he noticed Y/n's discomfort. Cregan had expected a spoiled princess covered in grandiose jewels making condescending conversation and back handed compliments about him being a Northern dog. However, now that he was here with her Cregan thought Y/n resembled a bashful common girl too nervous to speak her mind in front of a noble rather than a pompous royal. Cregan could relate to Y/n's unease. This was his first time traveling outside of the North and was exasperated at being forced visit the cesspit of Kingslanding to befriend a stranger with unfamiliar customs.

"Forgive me my lady, but I find this set up a tad too formal. I'd prefer a stroll in the gardens rather than stiff conversation over tea and cake would that be agreeable?" Cregan asked. Y/n's shoulders slacked at the suggestion a small smile etched on her face as she gave a nod.

"Please lead the way. It would please me greatly to have you show me around," Cregan said with a kind smile. Y/n slid off her chair feeling a more confident now that she had a bit more control over their encounter. Y/n lead Cregan down a path in the gardens to her favorite spot. The walkway had rows of white and pale pink flower bushes that got larger and more unkempt the further down the path they went. The path itself was scattered with petals, leaves, and small twigs. The occasional thicket jutting out of the bushes surrounding them nearly snagging their clothes as if to greet them to this secluded area they are left free to roam in.

"You may call me Y/n if you would like," Y/n said finally gaining the courage to speak. "We are meant to begin a friendship as of today. It would feel more sincere were we to call each other by our names" she said. Cregan huffed out a laugh grinning widely at the princess' forwardness.

"I would like that Y/n," Cregan said turning his head to face Y/n. Y/n lead Cregan down the path to a bench with an over grown flower arch of light pink roses with flecks of purple and catmints dangling over head.

"This is the best part of the gardens. Not many people come here so it's always pleasantly quiet. One can be alone long enough to think here without others to interrupt or add their advice," Y/n said sitting down to close her eyes and lean her head back.

"Do you often find it difficult," Cregan began gathering Y/n's attention once more. "To be alone long enough to think for yourself?" Cregan's eyes held concern face contorted with unease. Y/n had opened her mouth to respond, but quickly fell silent. The thought hadn't crossed her mind. She had always thought herself freer than other young girls. She wasn't required to run errands, or scrub floors and wait on the whims of a lady all day in case she wanted her assistance. But was she truly free. Was her life really her own. She had enjoyed her needle point, but she was not permitted to learn the politics of the world or train with the sword as her brothers did. When asked why she was told it was improper for a lady to learn such things. Her lessons always seemed to be mind numbingly condescending as if she was too womenly to understand. Were her lessons even anything of value. Lessons in etiquette, poise, and dancing they were all designed around pleasing her father or highborn men. Y/n was told she was destined to marry a man of noble standing to improve her fathers reach within the realm. It's what others said she was to be contented about in the future. Her future. A future she did not choose and had no say in. A future that ended the day she was wed. All of her diligent work in poise the personal connections she would make would be severed when her father found her a husband. When she would be cast aside and forgotten no longer of any use. Y/n's lessons in proper court behavior in Kingslanding would be useless when she was carted away to a far off land. Doomed to remain tethered to her marital bed and produce heirs for her lord husband, until she passed from old age or was ripped open from the inside by her own babe.

"Yes.... it is not often others want me to think as I please or want to hear what it is I think. The word of a princess is of little value," Y/n said monotone. Cregan felt his heart clench at the new look on Y/n's face. Her once relaxed shoulders with a care free smile was replaced by a hunched stooper and a blank stare, as if the world was far off beyond her reach. Cregan knelt before Y/n gingerly cupping her hand giving them a light squeeze. He gazed at her intently as if she were a flower he was afraid would not bloom without him there to see it.

"It is the atrocity of men to squander the thoughts of a lady. Roses bloom with thorns however, many would seek to cut them. Attempting to make the rose appear less threatening to pluck. Do not forget your thorns Y/n," he said. Y/n's eyes flooded with tears a soft smile returning to her.

"I won't Cregan," she said squeezing his hands back.

Cregan.

Her sweet Cregan Stark. He always carried gentle words of endearment to steady her fearful heart. It didn't feel wrong when he spoke to her of marriage. It didn't make her hands quake and her breath stop short the way it did when her mother spoke to her about it. When he spoke of taking Y/n to the North it didn't sound as if he meant to carry her away so that he could boast about having a princess on his arm. Cregan talked about the North as if it was the most breathtaking beauty he had the honor to live in and he wanted the privilege of sharing it with her. She wanted him. She missed him.

And she cried out his name while ridding on Aemond's thigh.

Cregan!" She cried out as her peak inched closer and closer. Y/n's suddenly felt hands forcefully grab her hips stopping her mid thrust. She whined and tried desperately to move her hips again, but was halted by Aemond's strong grip.

"What," he said. Aemond's eye's were burning through Y/n his face filling with rage.

"I-I," Y/n stuttered still slightly dizzy from her impending climax.

"What did you say?" Aemond snarled tightening his grip.

"Cregan," she whispered lowering her head. Aemond shoved Y/n off of his toned thigh and held her under him by her waist. Y/n began to tremble staring into her brother's cold eye as he lowered his face to hers.

"I am allowing you to quell your wanton needs to keep you safe and away from lustful temptation. Not to for you to dream of Northern dogs!" he says loosing his temper.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so-" Aemond brought his hand over Y/n's mouth silencing her.

"No no you're not sorry. Not yet. It seems that mutt has yet to leave the recesses of your mind sweet girl, but do not worry. Your brother will fix it dear heart," he said. Aemond brought his other hand up and began stroking Y/n's face wiping a stray tear. "It seems I'll have to train you dear sister. You must be confused silly girl. I allowed you to peak just after that letter and now your poor head has become muddled. We cannot have that can we?" Aemond looked at Y/n expectantly giving her waist a squeeze. Y/n vigorously shook her head. "No we can't. Do not worry sweet sister I will rectify this matter. I will be all you think of. I will be all you crave," Aemond said with a small crooked smile.

Aemond's solution proved to be more laborious than Y/n had initially thought it would be. Aemond decided to begin Y/n's training during her lesson with maester Tirius Cartwell. Y/n had always been curious about the world of Old Valyria. Wanting to appease Y/n's taste for Old Valyria, Aemond sent for Tirius. Tirius Cartwell was well versed in Old Valrian culture and artifacts. Travelling from Essos, Tirius brought with his findings from the ruins of Valyria and the answers to Y/n's questions. As long as Aemond was present for the lessons of course. While Tirius prattled on about the change in economy in old Valyria Aemond had slipped his hand under the desk and inserted two of his fingers into Y/n's entrance, still coated in slick from this morning. Y/n let out a small shriek turning her head curtly Aemond, who kept his head forward with a smirk.

"Are you alright my lady?" Tirius asked his brows cinching with concern.

"Y-yes please continue," Y/n said giving a reassuring smile.

"Very well then where was I?"

"The change in currency," Aemond said refusing to spare Y/n a glance.

"Ah yes the currency. Due to the sudden influx of goods-" Without giving Y/n room to immerse herself back into maester Tirius' lesson Aemond added a third finger and began to slowly glide his fingers in and out of Y/n's entrance. Y/n bit her lip the sensation of Aemond's slick fingers inside her core gingerly stroking every inch he could reach, caressing up and back to the spongy part of her cunny nearly forced an involuntary moan from her lips. Y/n took deep breaths to ground herself and was nearly able to give Tirius her full attention once more. Until, Aemond thrusted his thumb roughly into her pearl applying preassure to her sensitive bud without giving it any reprieve. Y/n shrieked louder this time placing her hands on the desk above her lap to prevent laying on top of it for support.

"Are you sure you are alright princess, perhaps we should postpone our lesson for today?" Tirius asked. Y/n looked to Aemond who still did not turn to face her resting his head in his palm with a promiscuous glint in his eye.

"I-i am fine please just hurry," Y/n strained out scratching the desk with her nails to keep from crying out as Aemond applied more pressure to her love bud. Concerned for the princess' health Tirius quickly summarized the rest of his lesson before gathering his map and replica of an old Valarian coin.

"Farewell princess, due rest you seem to be flushed," Tirius said turning to leave. Aemond leaned into Y/n's ear.

"Thank him for his lesson," Aemond whispered.

"A-aemond please-" Y/n was cut off by Aemond's fingers pushing deeper into her spongy spot at the very back of her entrance. Y/n curled her toes and gripped the table.

"Be a good girl," Aemond said his voice taking on a stern tone.

"T-thank you for the lesson maester Tirius," Y/n gasped out.

"Your welcome my lady," maester Tirius said bowing and taking his leave. When the door finally shut Aemond thrusted his fingers faster inside of Y/n. His palm meeting with Y/n's bud until her eyes rolled back and her legs trembled as her peak consumed her. Aemond removed his hand from Y/n's womanhood bringing his fingers still soaked in her juices to his mouth to lap at her slick. Y/n let out a puff of air that was sitting in her chest folding over the desk breathing heavily to catch her breath.

"You did beautifully sweet sister. I nearly thought you'd snap, but you were such a good girl for me," Aemond said with a fond smile. Y/n still dazed from the ordeal gave Aemond a lopsided smile. Aemond gave Y/n a kiss on her temple and while stroking the line of her jaw he couldn't help, but idolize his sister. Marveling at her flushed face and far-off stare so consumed by the pleasure he contrived upon her. He loved when Y/n looked like this, sputtering and gasping from his touch knowing he was the only one to make her lascivious. It made Aemond feel needed as if he were an essential treasure never to be abandoned or forgotten. Though he now laid claim to the seven kingdoms Aemond was still looked down upon. The title of One-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer haunted him even while his boundless prestige had Westeros by the throat. A pest the people were desperate to die out so they could erase his likeness from their memory. But here with his sweet Y/n he was no king. He was no cripple. He was no kinslayer. With Y/n he was everything. Her moon and stars, her drive for living. He wanted to be the song in her heart, the air she breathes, the blood in her veins. Aemond survived on being her everything. He needed to be her everything and he would guarantee he was before the the sun was pushed over the horizon by the moon.

"We have a special guest joining us for supper dear heart. Wear something green," he said. Aemond gave Y/n on last stroke to her head before leaving to attend a council meeting. Y/n panting and gasping draped over the desk slowly sat up to gather herself and head to the sept for her daily prayer.

Later that day Y/n arrived at dinner in a sleeveless emerald green dress. The dress was short sleeved with lace flowers decorating the bodice and along the edges of the cape trailing behind it. Y/n had thought that a lord and lady from a prominent house were in attendance for dinner and she was to wear green as a reminder that though it is a Tagaryen who rules, the greens were the ones who had final claim of the iron throne. However, she was not prepared for who would be waiting at dinner. After the guards opened the door Y/n froze mouth gaping in disbelief as her mother Alicent sat at the head of the table.

"Y/n it's lovely to see you my sweet girl!" Alicent said rushing over to embrace Y/n. Y/n hesitantly returned her mother's hug in her surprise. Wrapping her arms around her mother while glowering at Aemond, who sat at the table with a broad smirk. Alicent had returned to old town after Y/n and Aemond's grandsire Otto Hightower had passed soon after Aemond took the throne. Aemond had told them both it was to give their dear mother a reprieve from the constant stress and politicking accentuated by the Dance of The Dragons. In reality Aemond began to grow jealous of his mother's closeness with Y/n. During the war Alicent was faced with the reality that losing said war would mean the death of not only her, but her children. The sudden reality of her children's mortality caused Alicent to cling to her sons and daughters. Her love once passive became lively taking every opportunity to dote on her four children. It's what Aemond had always desired. What Y/n survived on in the chaos of the war. What gave Aegon the courage to take up arms before he disappeared.

Alicent's burgundy hair now had small specks of gray in it and new creases along her eyes, but she was still the caring mother Y/n had remembered. Alicent pulled back from Y/n and led her to her seat across from Aemond. "I have missed the both of you dearly. I know that we share letters with each other, but it fills me with endless joy to see you in person," Alicent said reaching over and grabbing Y/n and Aemond's hands.

"I as well mother," Y/n said staring affectionately at her mother.

"While I am elated to see you after so many moons mother, pray tell what prompted you to visit?" Y/n asked.

"Oh Aemond sent a raven saying there was news he wished me to be present for," Alicent said turning to look at Aemond. Y/n lifted her head to Aemond quizzically while Aemond smiled brightly at her.

"I wanted mother to be here when I asked. I thought it better for her to witness it in person rather then read it in a letter," Aemond said. Aemond rose from his seat and walked over to Y/n's side of the table taking both of her hands in his.

"Y/n I wish to take you as my wife," Aemond said gazing fondly at Y/n.

Y/n felt her breathe hitch she didn't know what to think or what to feel. When the thought of marriage plagued her mind it was still the thought living in the icy North with Cregan that would extinguish the fear it awoken within her. She turned to look at her mother. Alicent's eye's were brimming with tears and a delighted smile on her face staring expectantly at Y/n. Y/n's mind drifted to Cregan in that moment. What would he think when he heard the news. What would he think of her. She had yet to even respond to his letter coated in his devotion to her what would he say if he received a letter announcing her betrothal to another as a reply. Y/n held her breathe along with her tears as she returned to look at Aemond with the sweetest smile she could muster.

"I would love that dearly," she said.

[thequietkid-moonie]

Best Friend w/ a mischievous and powerful child god

[ PLATONIC HEADCANONS ] [ Jack, Zerofuku, Beelzebub ]

[ Records of Ragnarok / Shuumatsu no Valkyrie ]

× This is inspired in Tsukasa (from Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun)

All those hours I've invested on hearing Kikuo's music and reading JSHK manga have to pay off (im not complaining thought, it has been one of the best investments of my life)

I apologize because i just can't stop thinking in the little 4 years old Tsukasa that we met in the Red Mansion, he was so fucking cuteeee!!!!

Jack the Ripper

Living in the Valhalla was really peaceful and Jack were just enjoying his surroundings all by himself, he is used to be alone so it doesn't bother him just going by with what he is used to

Although, one of those days while he was just about to get some tea he end up meeting a little god who was really curious about whatever he was doing, Jack take a moment to appreciate the childish curiosity of the little one, who was practically ignoring him and just looking at everything that was on the table, just before smile and offer him a cup tea too

The young god doesn't hesitant nor even doubt in accepting his offer imediatly taking a seat across him, Jack where amused, the little one was truly just a kid, giving you the cup of tea and some cookies the time goes by just like that, you didn't say much but you answer whatever he asked you with a big smile on your face. Jack were really curious about you, it isn't too common to gods to approach humans and still the thought of you being all alone get stuck on his mind, he ask simple things trying to not pry so as not to arouse suspicion and just trying to decipher the little mistery you are, but at the end he really enjoyed your company

He doesn't force you nor expect for you to continue by his side, he just thank you after the tea but you seem more curious about the man, even start to take a liking for him, so you quickly started a friendship with him, either because you decided to follow him the rest of the day or you appeared the next day to take more tea with him, and Jack won't decline the opportunity, although he find it pretty funny at first

You were so carefree and cute that he can't help but take a liking to you too pretty quickly, and soon you two become inseparable, mainly because you are super clingy, but he doesn't mind it at all. Even when you are a god you are young one and Jack can't help but care for you just like if you were his little sibling and since you seem to never wanting to go away from his side he just feels like he has to take care of you, unconsciously taking your hand whenever you two go for a walk, fixing your clothes after you are done from playing around and even cleaning you for how messy you tend to eat your desserts

Jack end up getting used to how clingy you are, from time to time you tent to cling onto him like a koala so he most of the time is just carrying you, although there are times where he ask you to be more calm, like when he wants to relax or when is time for tea, however he doesn't complain for it, how he will complain when he see that whenever you two are together you always bring with the beautiful color of happines and love, you had never been in other colors whenever he is with you

However, since the two of you pass almost all the time together at some point he will notice how the other gods seem to respect you a lot and even fear you, he find it interesting and hilarious since he knows the cute little you that love spending time with him, but he had never see you use your power before, and he will try to learn about that part too

Soon or later he will discover the other side of you, that cruel and sadistic god that you can be, that god that like to mess with his victims, that god that is so curious about everything even in the more bizarre ways, that god that has not problem to kill or use whoever in order to get what they wants or fulfill the work you were asked for, and even after meeting the other side of you Jack will never fear you because he knows that whenever you see him you explode in excitment, besides he used to be an assassin so he has no room to judge you

Although Jack doesn't like to hurt innocent people so he will try to teach you to don't harm inocent people, and since he is so important to you is for sure that you will follow what he say, you could go as far to ask him if you can do something before going against someone, then again he doesn't mind it too much

As well, his way of seeing you doesn't change much, you still being the cute little god he had met some time ago that cling onto him like if he were the most precious person in the world, and he still take care of you

Zerofuku

When Zerofuku was consumed by hatred his full body trasformed too, becoming someone completely different. His transformation wasn't painless and it was with so much power that he end up draging the attention of however were close

You could met him either when he transformed because you were passing by and end up getting curious about what were happening, or one day you just find him walking around, it doesn't matter how you find him the important is that he had catch your interest and now you want to know more him

Without fearing anything you approach to him with all your childish ilusion and excitment, asking everything about his power and appearance, startling Zerofuku in the process, is been so long since someone look up at him with such excitment, and even so it only happened when he did things for others, besides right now he has nothing but hate and frustration, he didn't want to deal with anyone thinking that others will try to take advantage of him again

Getting desperate for how much attention you were putting to him or how you even tried to cling onto him he harshly push you demanding to leave him alone, he hoped that after that you will finally leave him alone but you are stubborn so you just stand up, shake your clothes and start following like nothing had happened

At the end Zerofuku has no other option than let you be by his side since you weren't going to leave him alone, still he tried to ignore you whenever you try to talk to him, but it doesn't work either because you practically force him to pay attention to you by clinging onto him

Once he got tired of you he asked you if you doesn't have nowhere else to be or someone else to bother and you, with all your innocence, answer that you actually don't have anyone else, people tend to avoid you and the only ones who approach to you is because the need to make a deal with you, Zerofuku sympathize with you from that part and thanks to that he just give up and let you stay with him, but still doesn't fully convinced of it

He doesn't really pry on your powers or anything, he knows you are a god but he doesn't care to much, but little by little he start to warm up with you, specially for how childish you are it amused him but at the same time annoy him from time to time, specially since you have no problem with disgusting things, and since he had grow up alone his only contact with humans were with all the misery he doesn't find too strange your like and curious for bizarre things, as well as not being too surprised for your sadistic side since he, right now, just hold hate

Zerofuku is used to be always all by himself, not really having anyone with him, and he had grow up slowly learning to take care of himself so when you came in his life it take him a while to learn to live with someone else, as well as look after your well-being, he isn't the best at doing it but he can't help but worry about you. Also, at the end he gets used to have you by his side all the time and even wait for you whenever you stop because something catched your attention or getting a little nervous whenever you go too far away, however he still has problem with you being so physically affectionate with him, he can endure hugs or holding hands from time to time but he doesn't like you clinging to him like a koala it makes him nervous

You can be pretty violent and sadistic when they provoke you, as well as if someone try to mess with him you have no problem with throw your hands for him, and even when he already know that or may even saw you fighting with someone he is still pretty protective over you, he can't help but care for you and since right now you are the only one by his side he gets protective over you and he doesn't really fear you neither, he knows that you are powerful and cruel when you want to but you had show nothing but love and care for him for a long time now so he doesn't has reasons to distrust you

Even if he end up separating he wont stop caring for you, the new seven gods will still keep you by their side, and that just mean that you have more of your favorite person (Saraswati and Ebisu being the ones who are more clingy and playful with you as well as Bishamonten being the more protective)

Beelzebub

Is been a while since Beelzebub had been trying to find someone stronge enough to kill him, traveling and fighting against anyone who he know that is stronge, so there is two ways of how you two could meet, that he heards the rumor of you being a god that is able to fulfill your wishes by all means or because you were wandering nearby where he was fighting someone once of those occasions. If he has went to you in hopes to make a deal with you being so young and childish make him lose his hope and give up on that option, in the other hand if you were wandering around he noticed you until the end of the fight, he was getting frustrated for winning once again when you interrupted him with your excitment for such wonderful and exciting fight!

It doesn't matter much how you two end up meeting in either case Beelzebub thought that you were a waste of time while you, in the contrary, were really interested on him to the point that you end up following him and even clinging to him trying to become his friend

Beelzebub isn't really good dealing with other people, he has been so much time alone and he doesn't think that he deserve to have friends after what he had done neither, but anytime he tries to get away from you you always manage to appear in his life again, and no matter if he is harsh with his words or his action you always show up again, at some point he may end up telling you what he had done to the people he had cares out of desesperation but you just inmocently asked if that was all. After that he had just given up and started to accept you in his life, and, honestly, he doesn't know if you are really kind or really stupid

It took him a long time to get used to have you around and for a while he just let you be and just give you short answers to whatever ask your childish mind have. Although he notice your special interest for the the creatures and fights he had before and even for Satan, always with a not so innocent look on your face, he doesn't know if he should feel concern or not, but he feels like it is something that does not concern him either

Also he tried to keep you away from all his plans and experiments, fearing that you will end up hurt for how irresponsable you are most of the time (or your tendency to get into dangerous situations) but at the end you find it out and from then he doesn't manage to get you away from his study or convice you to stop asking about what he is working on, so thanks for your insistence he start telling you more about the creatures he is trying to create, and with that is when your bizarre curiosity show up since you are more and more interested on the details or even suggest a few things to add, then again he doesn't know if he should be concern or not

However it took him even more time to get used to how touchy and affectionate you are, you can be really clingy and he tries to bear but when you start getting physical it makes him really nervous, it doesn't matter if you try to just hold his hand or completely cling onto him it always startle him, he is touch starved but he fears that he end up hurting you so for a long time he just prefer to keep physical contact to the minimun, but knowing how affectionate you are he will end up getting used to soon or later

He grows to care a lot for you and apreciate your company, he still from time to time thinks that he doesn't deserve it or get nervous about you getting hurt (by his own hand or not) but at the end you childish and yet weird behavior bring happiness to his life, so, as always, it reached the point were Satan tried to kill you, everything went black and when he regained consciousness you weren't there, he was already panicing when he hear your voice call him from behind, with surprise and the same excitment you always have for seeing him, quickly turning back to see you completly fine standing up there like nothing happened, but he still fear the worst so he hesitatly and yet desperately reach your side and look all over you searching for a posible injury

Still without being able to calm down he ask you what happened and you answer like nothing that he tried to attack you (but you thought that he was playing something) so you answered the same way and it seems that you won since you end up knocking him out, despite your way to explain it Beelzebub doesn't know what to do or how to feel outside of the guilt and shame, hesitantly clinging to your shoulders and looking down in shame he admitted that he tried to kill you, he fears your reaction but he can't bare not telling you the truth either, but you just ask him with all your innocence that if he really wanted to kill you and if he want to try to do it again, he was shocked for the lack of fear in your voice, and even more for the smile you give to him when he finally look at you in the eyes, Beelzebub start to cry while holding you so thighly and desperately, like if his life depend on it, still feeling ashame but now more worried about you, promising to himself that even when he doesn't deserve you he will protect you for everything and anything, even if it cost him his life, while you were just really excited because this was the first time Beelzebub hugs you

[mimiplaysgames]

The Bed Story, ch. 2 (Reflection)

Terraqua Week 2024, Day 2

Terra/Aqua | Terra/Anti-Aqua Rating: M Word count: 4,443 @terraquaweek

Summary: Terra meets Anti-Aqua, and he's sorry for the things they did and didn't do.

Read on AO3

A/N: I was talking to a friend and we counted - counting the separate fics that are in my anthologies, this is my 40th fic about Terraqua and the Wayfinder Trio. 40!!! To those who were cheering me on from the beginning, thanks for being there. And to those who found me other times, I appreciate you so much! <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The library was a place to temper—the best place to spend uninterrupted hours with Aqua, and the best place to keep up appearances. Books and homework were effective eliminators of fervor.   

Terra sat on the teal carpet, leaning against a bookshelf of Keyblade history’s oldest tomes, and stretched his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. He kept reading the same sentence over and over, the words shrouding together. 

Aqua sat across from him, mimicking his posture. On her lap was a heavy hand-written book where the pages were woven by a ribbon inside a worn leather cover. Affairs of the Heart, the Master of Masters’s stupid magnum opus. 

One month left until their Mark of Mastery. Standards for their essays were now entirely reliant on ancient texts, which discussed: the philosophy of connecting your Light to your Keyblade, ethics about fighting the Darkness, and nothing interesting Terra didn’t already know. They were tests to see if they could decipher and regurgitate common knowledge (sometimes nonsense).

Aqua sighed, bringing Affairs closer to her face, as if she needed a magnifying glass to read the text. She nibbled the edge of her lip. Aqua had just cut her hair short, and the desire Terra had for years to tuck it behind her ear intensified. Whenever she tried, it sprung back forward. Terra could do it over and over and it would never stay. It’s cute.

Terra shouldn’t gawk. He cleared his throat. The words in his book ceased to have meaning. “What’s bothering you?”

Aqua’s jaw locked. “For th’re art powers with nay mast’r,” she read. 

“In what context?”

“Some Keyblades don’t have Masters.” 

Ah. Immediately what came to mind was the Master’s Defender, something ancient and passed along to keepers of the Land of Departure. “Inherited Keyblades.”

“If…” She stopped. The Master of Masters was archaic, and her brows furrowed. She chose her interpretation carefully. She read, “Take thy heart and lodge it yonder chain, and thee shalt findeth a way.”  

“A way to what?” 

She shrugged. “Using the Keyblades of your comrades.”

“Isn’t chain too strong a word?” 

“I think he means link. He must be describing a bond that strong.” Aqua. Always the one to defend the forebears. “Listen to this: Nay fooleth, taketh thy heart and maketh thy star seeth.”

Terra dropped his book to the floor. “I don’t get where this is going.”

“Well, I think he’s using the term star to describe…” She flipped a page. “A Light. Someone equal to you.”

“Or, he’s a clown. I don’t think that book is serious. He wrote vaguely in riddles to confuse everyone.”

“We could try it. Trade our Keyblades.”

Terra strangled a cough. He was really strangling a hopeful laugh. This wasn’t the first time Aqua considered him an equal, but his heart hammered at the thought all the same. Her equal. His and hers.

And this was a very bad idea. 

“We tried that when we first conjured our Keyblades,” Terra said. Explosions happened. Earthshaker was desperate and too demanding. Rainfell was sensitive to emotion and needed control. 

Aqua straightened the pages with reverence. “We were kids.”

“It was a disaster, or did you forget? We nearly burned down the garden. Rabbits were threatened, Aqua. Innocent rabbits.”

“And we didn’t know each other as well.” 

“What difference does that make?”

Aqua licked her lips. Terra smiled. She was about to lecture. “Our Keyblades are an extension of our hearts, yes? And our Light is stronger through the bonds we make, therefore not only do our Keyblades become stronger, they shine more around the people we are connected to the most.”

“You’re saying we’re good friends. How sweet.”

She rolled her eyes and flipped to a previous page and pointed to a sentence. “It says here, To knoweth thy Key is to knoweth who is’t thee lodging thy trust.”

“So you trust me?”

She kicked his hip with the side of her foot—and Terra captured it, pulling her until her ass dragged on the floor. 

“No, I don’t,” she said, laughing. “Obviously.”

He let her go. Then Terra felt the void. It haunted him more frequently at every ghost of her touch—a pat on his shoulder, a punch to the bicep, when she straightened his bangs, an accidental brush against her shoulder. Always through clothes—Terra never had a good excuse to casually run his fingers on bare skin. 

Aqua rolled forward to her knees and leaned on him thigh-to-thigh. No void now, but a pressing worry over the possibility that one day, she would meet someone else that she would want to be touched by. She flipped the book over to show him. 

Terra didn’t take it. He couldn’t even read. Her thigh, her thigh, her thigh.

“Why is this that important to you?”

Aqua took the book back, surprised. “Well… do you know what this means for old Keyblades that are passed around?”

Terra bit his cheek. “It means we have a lot to prove to a Keyblade like Defender.”

Aqua nodded. “The Master’s guest has a similar Keyblade.”

Terra leaned forward and nearly took her chin in his hand. He kept it balled to his stomach. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about him.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I am, actually. We have this stranger judging us without knowing everything we went through. Think about it. If we could wield each other’s Keyblades, it will impress the Master and his guest. Prove to them that our bond is strong and we deserve to pass together. Prove to them that we can wield our inheritances when the time comes.”

This late into their study?  “Does the great Master mention how it’s supposed to feel?” he asked. “When we correctly do it?”

When they touched each other’s Keyblades as children, Aqua ran back to her room crying. She had said Earthshaker was “nervous,” in her words. But Terra knew better. His heart exposed like that, it became easy to read, and Terra couldn’t talk to her for days after. Truthfully, he was ashamed that she sensed his insecurity, feeling how he compared himself to her, how he was frustrated with being two years older but at the same level as her, how he was obsessed with falling behind and keeping up and excelling—all within the open aorta that was his immature Keyblade. Probably felt sorry for him, too.

And the other truth? Terra cried by himself in his own room when she didn’t know. Rainfell was confident, radiant, expansive despite Earthshaker being bigger, and Terra couldn’t mimic that. 

Aqua didn’t look at him when she said, “He mentioned the word ascendance. It’s supposed to feel like we’re leaning on a friend.” She smiled at him. Did she feel the same about his own thigh or did it not register in her head at all? “I know we can trust each other’s Keyblades. It shouldn’t be hard this time.”

Terra didn’t want to do it, but they built a metric relationship by testing the waters, by challenging each other, correcting technique, pushing and pushing and pushing to be better. If he backed out, Aqua would take it as though something was wrong.

Nothing was wrong. Terra was in love. 

What he must do was commit the same calm control Aqua had with Rainfell. 

Besides, he needed a win. Side by side for the Mark of Mastery, he needed proof he could stand next to her. 

“Let’s do it.”

She beamed.

~*~

The library is destroyed. It has (had) multiple floors, but the upper levels are now barrages of torn shelves and mounds of books that make it impossible to climb the stairs. There’s no way to reach the shelf that houses Affairs of the Heart, but Terra tries looking anyway. Maybe the Master or Ven left it on a table before… everything. But it’s not anywhere. For the time being, Terra gets no answers to any of the lingering questions he has about how to help Aqua. Only a wish to cure her.

The rest of the castle is just as damaged. The east wing is entirely gone, and the west crumbles in most hallways, leaving gaping holes that invite broken bones. Rain pours through the open wounds on the roof, and seeps through the cracks on the walls, spreading mold. Terra’s bedroom is gone, half-collapsed over the cliff below, but Ven’s and Aqua’s are intact. 

The kitchen is submerged underneath its ceiling. A cauldron remains. Ven helps by pushing it while Terra pulls. When they drag it into the Master’s study, which is untouched, Terra knocks over a lamp with the bump of his hip.

“I don’t understand,” Terra says, catching the lamp before it shatters on the floor. “Explain to me what happened like I’m five.”

Ven scowls when he inspects how dusty his hands got because of the cauldron. He claps them. 

“Well,” Ven starts like he’s talking to a child. “Once upon a time, the Master was mad at me. Terra came and saved me. Terra threw me in a voooortex—I know that’s a difficult word to pronounce—so I didn’t see what happened. Aqua said—”

“Ven.”

“Aqua said she locked me away in an alternate universe of the castle to keep me safe.”

“With the Master’s Defender. Some secret only Masters know.”

“Yeah, and she woke me up again. Well, no. I mean, Sora was the one to officially wake me up. Aqua transformed the castle back with” —Ven waves his hands like he doesn’t know how to describe it— “her incredible new powers. It’s like time went backwards or something.”

It’s impressive how Darkness can bypass a Keyblade’s spell. Then again, the Land of Departure is in the same condition Xehanort left it, from his own Dark curses. 

“Why not use the Defender?”

“We need a duster in here.”

“Ven.”

“I don’t know. She said Defender doesn’t respond to her anymore.” Ven shrugs. 

Terra taps his fingers on the cauldron. Everything he’s been learning about what happened while he slept—stars, why would anyone want him alive right now?

“How is she?”

Ven scratches his shoulder. “She’s still outside.”

Staring at the Master’s memorial, in the rain, exactly where they left her. That's most of what she does now. Stare blankly.

“At least she’s nice to me,” Ven says. “She hates everyone else.”

Terra inhales, gritting his teeth. Does Aqua have a shorter fuse? Yes. Does she judge people? Only when they truly deserve it. But hate? No. That is not Aqua.

"You're exaggerating."

"Pssh. Just wait until she wants to kill you."

Terra almost says, I don't blame her, but he keeps it to himself.

In the study is an ashen fireplace full of debris. The Master’s personal journals are scattered on his desk, and his favorite books—tomes, novels, children’s books he used to read to Terra—lay on a private shelf opposite. With how little it’s been disturbed, it’s almost as if the Master could open the door, ask them both why the cauldron has been moved here, to please move it back to the kitchen, and not to worry about the state of the castle. It can and will be fixed.

Except there’s so much to be worried about. Thunder strikes the ground, and it sounds close. Rain pummels down the window, leaving a blurred view of storm clouds hiding the mountains.

“There’s no mirror here,” Ven says.

Terra would chuckle, but nothing is funny anymore. “Why are you worried about mirrors?”

“Aqua’s making them all weird. I see things like… nevermind, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you help me take mine out of my room?”

Terra wants to collapse. Everything is weird. “Sure.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

There’s a loveseat in the study, but Terra’s too tall, so he’ll need to find some clean blankets and nest on the burgundy rug. “Here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What’s the cauldron for?”

Earthshaker still won’t answer when Terra commands it to. “I just need something to occupy my mind.”

“Okay.” Ven doesn’t believe him. That’s because Terra is a terrible liar. 

To shut out the silence, Terra pats Ven’s shoulder and says, “Come on. Let’s get your mirror out.”

They leave the mirror in the resident hallway, at Ven’s request that it’s left facing the wall. 

That night, it’s still storming, the wind howling like it’s crying. Which is a problem. The Land of Departure is supposed to be the balance of Light and Darkness. These storms aren’t normal. Lightning flashes purple, then green, then red. The rain leaves smears of muck. Aqua isn’t normal. Nothing is normal. 

Terra needs to busy his mind.

The way back into the kitchen isn’t safe. Terra jumps over a hole that spawns beneath his feet, and crawls under columns that have fallen over to get to the pantry. Carefully, so he doesn’t trigger a complete cave in. He grabs every herb he can safely reach.

Terra then spends hours removing stone slab after stone slab from the fireplace, some rotten with mold. He pushes the cauldron over the wood, ignites it with a Fire spell, and waits for the water to boil. As thunder rumbles outside, Terra rips dried leaves from stems and mixes them with magic-induced powders that the Master concocted years ago. 

It’s quiet. In normal times, he would be knocking on Aqua’s door, and they would sit on her bed and talk about what happened until morning. Normally, the castle lanterns would be lit, offering safe passage at night. 

“What are you doing?”

Terra jumps at Aqua’s steady voice and nearly drops the ladle. She’s standing at the doorway. The light from the fire slices half her face in shadow. Her golden eyes glow. 

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

Aqua walks up to the Master’s desk, and it’s no wonder why. Her steps don’t make a sound. She places a silver hand mirror on the desk, face down. He recognizes it: she keeps it in her vanity drawer.

Terra turns his attention back to his potions. He feels terrible thinking this, but it’s nauseating to look at her. Her body oozes black smoke when she moves, and when he crosses her path in the halls, he finds her staring randomly at the walls, at statues, at shredded stained glass. When she notices his presence, he turns the opposite direction. 

It’s not that she’s hideous. It’s that he wants to pretend her condition is not his crime. 

He can feel her staring at his back. 

“Do you remember these storms?” he asks. They pass through the Land of Departure every twenty years, and lucky Terra and Aqua were around to see the last one. The Master had locked them up in this very study, while he braved the outside and fought this dark energy. The fact that another one is at their doorstep a year early is an omen.

A pause. “Yes.”

Terra inhales to stop himself from crying. She sounds like she will never smile again. More than that, there’s a buried edge to her voice and it crawls over Terra’s skin. Like he’s around a predator, his hairs stand and he’s careful not to trigger an attack. 

“Look at me.”

Terra pretends to lean over the cauldron to mix, and lets the onslaught of steam threaten his fear away. Feel pain here, assaulting his face, and it overrides the pain of looking at her face.

But he can’t pretend forever. He finishes his “work,” and he turns. This frown is so unnatural for her—still and unmoving, like she’s dead. In better times, her frown made him laugh. 

“Don’t like what you see?” She leans on the desk. 

Her face, her jawline that he wants to stroke with his knuckle, sad and torn up. She’s beautiful, and she’s a reminder of every mistake Terra has made.  

“It’s not like that,” Terra whispers, and he stares at his shoes.

“Look at me.” Stronger, with vice. 

He does, reading her angry eyes, her bleached hair, the claws like needles into the wood. Her lips, pursed and tense. The length of her neck. The color of Darkness spreading over her arms. Her bare shoulders, the straps he’s taken off before.

“I’m sorry,” he says, her face blurring. Hot tears leave burn marks on his cheeks.

Her claws scrape the desk as she stands back up. “I don’t care about your apology.”

“I know what you’re thinking—”

“No, you don’t.”

“Aqua…” He licks his lips, and they taste like salt. Thunder roars. “We have to fix the castle. To protect us. These storms are dangerous.”

“Oh.” She crosses her arms. “How bad.”

Stars, he sounds so stupid, considering what she survived. “We have to think of Ven.”

Again, that predatory feeling that she’s smothers into control. Terra braces for an attack, but none come. “You think I don’t?”

“Stars,” he curses. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I have already taken care of his room. He’ll be fine.”

Terra swallows what feels like thick goo down his throat. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I’m here to take care of this room.”

Terra gapes. He’s expecting her to summon Rainfell, and bless the walls to keep him safe from the storm. But she doesn’t. She’s standing there, glaring at him. 

But of course—the shadows that dance with the light from the hearth dance on their own. They shift and warp. She’s creating a barrier for him with her Darkness. 

“I get it, you know,” he says. 

She doesn’t respond.

He continues, “You feel more in control like this.”

Her jaw locks. He studies her, really studies her. Her Light is still there but it’s faint. Rainfell is muted. Before, her power was like the sun— too bright to look straight on, but one you can gaze at it in the reflection of water. Now it’s like… the wick of a flame in the fog.

Terra has a faint memory of being in the dark and a star dissolving in front of him. Well, star isn’t a strong enough word for Aqua’s Light before the Guardian overpowered it and infected her with whatever this is. The Guardian wanted a sun, and the Guardian sucked all its hydrogen.

“We can help you,” he says, standing taller.

“How are you suggesting?”

“Maybe… we can remove the shroud—”

“Exorcism.” 

“No—”

“I’m not broken.”

“No.” A nervous laugh escapes his mouth. “Of course not. You’re strong.”

“Don’t,” she snaps, snarling. She lowers her voice. “Call me strong. It isn’t fair.”

Terra nods, and blinks away from her, wishing his tears would stop. She’s right. Nothing, including his tears, is fair to her.

“Look at me,” she says, gentler. She walks forward, her body warping through the desk like she’s made of mist and there’s nothing solid in her way. “Everyone averts their eyes. But I hate it when you do.”

Terra runs reasons in his mind to be brave. For her. For her pain. For his punishment. His tears now dribble off his chin.

“Do you have any idea how much I wanted to hear your voice all that time?” she says, stepping up to his face. She compresses one claw against his throat, right under his jaw. “How quiet it was when I couldn’t?”

This isn’t what Terra had expected his future to be, if a miracle were to happen and they would be this close again. For hours that seemed like years and years that were millennia, Terra asked the stars if he could touch her one more time. Hand in hand, that was all he asked for.  

“Yes. I do.” He sniffs. She presses harder and Terra grits his teeth from the pressure. “I couldn’t hear or see anything. All I did was dream memories. It was torture—”

“Torture,” she mumbles. She presses even harder that her claw stings. How is she this close to him when he perceives her so far? So close, their hips inches apart. 

“Yes.” Terra swallows but can’t. “Aqua, all I had were daydreams of when I could see you and Ven again.”

Silence. She tucks her white hair behind her ear with her free hand, and it falls forward. The claw under his jaw shifts, and the artery at his throat throbs. She leans near, almost to kiss him, when she stops just before her lips grace his. 

“You’re breathing,” she whispers.

His blood pumps. That’s what this is. She’s measuring his pulse, that he’s real under her touch. 

She’s still Aqua. Just weird. Weird like a jewel unrefined, still in its geode. For years, Terra hasn’t felt, hasn’t touched, only yearned. The restraint he has with her this close dissolves from tears of what-ifs. 

Brave, be brave. He removes her hand, clutches it to his heart, and leans toward her. Leans until their foreheads almost touch, until he takes her cheek and strokes it with his thumb. Testing their distance, looking into gold while gold looks into blue. Gold glances down to his lips.

He kisses her. Her lips are cold like she’s been in the snow, and it reminds him of bright mornings in white. Of dark, cozy nights by the fire. Of the wonder of seasons when he was young. Her lips are cold like steel when they’re soft against his, and he savors them when he hasn’t savored anything for twelve years. Her lips are no longer the way he remembers them, but they’re Aqua. And the tongue he needs is Aqua, and the sigh she gives him is her. When he lets go, she’s dazed, with his shirt balled in her fist and staring at the wall behind his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says, letting go of the arm wrapped around her waist. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You know,” she says, “I can’t feel much.”

He peels off the claw that’s nearly tearing a hole in his shirt, and rubs it between his hands, over her scales, trying to thaw her. “Do you feel this?”

Aqua watches him work. “Faintly.��

“I can make you tea.” Cinnamon would be best considering its strong flavor, but it’s in the pantry, mixed with plaster. “Just give me a day so I can buy some.” 

She says nothing.

Terra exhales his anxiety, and brings her knuckles to his lips. The rubbing hasn’t helped. She’s still icy, and he wants to wrap her with his body, throw fleece over her face. “I can make you something now if you want. You’ll feel better.”

“Better,” she mutters, as if this offends her. She pulls her hand away. Her ice ghosts from his palms in waves, where his blood pumps warmth back with a tingling feeling. He can’t deal with the emptiness between them. When she turns away from him, he clasps her wrist. “Aqua—”

“I’m done with the room.” She dodges his hold. She makes him feel like his touch is accidental. 

“Please…” He doesn’t say, Don’t slip from me again. What should he say? Stay? Can we go to your room?

He doesn't mention they were supposed to find a hiding place for themselves the night they were supposed to be Masters together. Do they even have the same dream anymore?

“There’s… a lot we need to talk about," he continues. "Between us. What happened in the Realm of Darkness. What happened the night before the Mark of Mastery?” 

She doesn’t say anything. Not at first. “I thought about that night all the time.”

“I did, too.” 

Again Aqua has no response. 

“There’s no going back, is there?” he asks, afraid of the answer. “For us?”

She doesn’t confirm.

“The mirror should help you see.” She slips away. The void screams when she silently leaves the room, past the firelight’s barrier. 

The hand mirror is as cold as her hands, unbending metal in his tight grip. He flips it over. In his reflection is himself—white hair, golden eyes, smirking in a way unnatural to him. Faded horns hover behind the crown of his head. The Guardian tucked away, a most loyal dog.

So Terra and this anti version of Aqua understand each other better than he realizes. Even with clothes on, they’re naked. She finds herself more powerful now than she was before, and can rely on her new strength. A comforting thought for her, not having to wait for others anymore.

The truth that matches hers? Terra was stronger when Darkness overtook him, too. And he hates himself for it. Hates himself for wishing Xehanort was alive and lingering in the back of his mind, trapped like Terra was, so Terra could ask what he should do about Aqua, and Xehanort the wise would have an answer.

He hates himself for being a dog in the first place. Isn’t the Guardian a literal manifestation of what Terra’s heart truly is? A Keybearer is supposed to be a source of Light—they need Light within their heart in order to summon a Keyblade. Maybe the Guardian is proof Terra shouldn’t wield one anymore. Maybe Earthshaker has been swallowed. 

He throws the mirror into the cauldron and listens to the glass shatter. Maybe this little shred of her Darkness would make his potion more powerful.

Terra gathers blankets from wardrobes that are still intact, and layers them together to make a bed between the loveseat and the coffee table. When he’s done filling vials with potions, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. There’s a crack too close to the chandelier. It could fall and crush him.

Terra exhales and suppresses the need to cry. He closes his eyes and rolls to his side, but the floor is too rock solid and his bones ache. He uses his arm as a pillow, and sighs. Given enough time, with the rain tapping on the windows and the fireplace alive with groans and cracks, Terra actually catches some sleep.

Until his eyes snap open in the middle of the night. The firelight is dead, and it’s black-dark. Rain still knocks on the windows. On his side, he’s looking at a shadow hiding under the table. The hair on his neck rises—whoever is there is staring back, and he expects a claw to smite and scratch him.

Lightning strikes—it illuminates no one looking back. 

Behind him though is a predator, sitting on the loveseat, watching his back. Terra pretends he’s still asleep. 

Ven apparently didn’t sleep much either. The next morning, Terra asks about Aqua. Ven says he woke up every hour and he noticed she spent the entire night not in her bed, but wandering the castle.

[ankhmutes]

A Charming Journey Home (SoA)

This is probably my first attempt at an actual fic for Sons of Anarchy. This is not for minors. So I will post the actual story after the cut.

You ran away from Charming at 18, chasing Connor McGregor, a wannabe of the Sons of Anarchy all the way to Belfast, Ireland. You come back nine years later, older and wiser, and you find just what you need when you come back home....thanks to a surprising source, your crow-eater partying best friend Amanda.

(NOT FOR MINORS, PLEASE, under the cut)

You had recently left Connie, finally- fucking finally, and you were able to go back home to your parent’s in Charming. Mom and Dad loved having the kids back, and You had finally gotten that job at the bar. It was good enough for now, until you could find something better. You had been a nurse, but the hours weren’t what you wanted and you wanted to be there for the kids for now. Especially after what Connie had done to your daughter Shane. The kids needed you more, and your parents were enjoying the opportunity to be grandparents, even if it was a little late. Bartending seemed to work, and your parents didn’t really seem to care as long as everyone was okay, after what everyone had gone through with Connie. Shane’s face was finally starting to heal and the boys were finally sleeping all night.

“Come on, you’ll love it. You got to live a little. Your mom and dad have the kids so You can just chill.” Amanda bosses You around, just like old times as she tugged you over to her side. Amanda had been begging You to go to a SAMCRO party, and You Weren't sure. You had seen the Sons around, but never really bothered with them. You were too busy doing your job, serving drinks and making sure tabs were paid. Biker boys were the last thing You wanted. 

“Mandy, really? You’re still a crow-eater wannabe?” You Asked with a slight laugh, mildly surprised that Amanda was still chasing that dream of being an old lady in the Sons of Anarchy. It was one thing to be twelve and dream and watch the Sons on their gleaming motorcycles, whispering about how gorgeous Gemma Teller was, and how cool all the women on the motorcycles were, and how cute the bikers were to piss off your parents. 

You watched Amanda mingle with the crowd, sliding up to the prospects in their vests. You just trailed behind her, finding a quiet spot just inside, right near the bar. You sipped on a bottle of Guinness and watched the crowd, noticing quite a few handsome men in their cuts, noting which ones You thought were the most handsome and those You wouldn’t give the time of the day to. You listened to the voices of the crowd, blending in the music and soon You couldn't really decipher any specific conversation, just simply enjoying the random cacophony of lively noise. 

Soon, You found your eyes frequently going back to two men, A gray-streaked man who was the  and a wild-haired mischievous sergeant at arms. You couldn’t catch their names, it was too loud, and wild, as You watched the sergeant at arms yell about pussy, and taking swigs out of not the first bottle of beer of the night. The gray-streaked man was much more calm, his energy radiating quiet confidence as he sipped at a bottle of hard liquor and watched the entertainment with amusement. You just couldn’t decide- solid and dependent, or wild and mischievous. They seemed like a perfect yin and yang. 

“Hey! Ya a friend of Mandy’s?” a prospect asked, slinking up to you. You shrugged and sipped at your beer, smiling slightly up at him. He was cute and handsome, but too puppy-dog for you. “How about a dance?”

“Nah, maybe later. I’ve gotta keep an eye on Mandy, make sure she gets home in one piece.” You used your beer bottle to point out Mandy, who was dancing on a stripper pole someone had set up, a small semi-circle of prospects lurking around her. Mandy was eating up the attention. 

“Nah, she’s always here. You’re new.  You’re interesting. Got a name?” You half-shrugged and gave the prospect your name, sipping your beer and making sure you didn’t overdo it. You had a feeling you’d become Mandy’s designated driver before long but you did want to have a drink or two. Mandy ended up half-naked on a pool table, spread-eagle, and only the prospects were all over her. None of the actual members seemed interested in Mandy.

“Let’s go, Mandie– “ you said as you tried to coax Mandy off the pool table, promising her Taco Bell on the way home. You and a couple prospects finally poured her in the backseat of your Jeep, and you were finally able to go home. You went back to your parent’s house, and dragged Mandy in with you, dumping her on the couch with a bucket and blanket. Your parents were asleep, your parents in the large love seat with Shane in their laps, her wild curls spread all over his arm. The two had a large comforter draped around them, Shane’s face with the pink scars criss crossing over her cheek was peeking out from under the blanket. She didn’t stir, your father’s grip on her keeping her secure and calm. You tiptoed down the corridor to the boys’ room, the twins in their bunk bed, soft snores coming from the dog sprawled on the lower bunk.

You loved the peace and calm, and you could finally relax, sliding in your room and shedding off your clothes. You relished the cool feel of the sheets against the exposed skin of your body, just too tired to change. Your mind went to the two men you saw at the party. You weren’t into biker boys anymore but… there was something about them. Perhaps it was the fact they were actual members, you vaguely remembered them from a decade ago. You remembered the smell of the leather, alcohol, and smoke from the clubhouse, and you lost yourself in one of your old fantasies. You laid back naked in bed, your hand sliding down to your belly. You remembered how your jeep was broken down right near T & M and you had to flag down one of the Sons to take it in the shop. You remembered the gray haired one, but he had brown hair back then, his scars giving him a scary and sexy air. You couldn’t remember if he had always had the beard or not, but you didn’t care. You remembered hearing his voice and getting wet from his voice. You remembered you used to call the shop, hoping to get him to answer the phone. Whenever you did, you would ask for your jeep to be taken in, sabotaging it every time he answered the phone.

You were not sure if he remembered you, but you knew if he saw your jeep, he sure as hell would recognize it. You were surprised your parents had kept it, right down to the Sons of Anarchy MC logo you had drawn on it with a sharpie. It had looked badass to you at sixteen, but now you were a mother of three and definitely over twenty five, you just cringed at that girl and wondered why your dad had not sand-blasted the shit out of it already. 

Your brain switched to the fantasy of the man in the cut giving you a tow yet again. He would see your jeep, exclaim at how hot you were, and demand a blow job for service rendered. You’d of course protest, but then give in at the sight of the bulge in his trousers and get on your knees for him, his hands sliding through your hair and guiding you until he would come hard down your throat, telling you what a good dirty girl you were for him. 

Your fingers slid through the slick, deftly and quickly bringing you a sense of relief with a decent orgasm in the silence of the night, but you did miss the thrill a real cock could bring you. Especially if it was attached to one of the men you fantasized about. Your heart beat heavily in your chest, as you righted yourself and curled up in your comforter and pillows. You let yourself sink into the dark abyss of sleep and comfort, finally realizing you were home. The Sons were here. You were safe.

Part 2 to come soon!!

@kdogreads thank you for everything you do!

[star-girl69]

We Do Not Wilt - Chapter Three - We Do Not Dim

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!FemOC

a/n: i decided to be nice and post the next chapter early bc i felt bad the last one had no daemon in it. rest assured, this one is quite daemon-centric i hope you all enjoy!

warnings: some cursing, usual westeros stuff, some fighting- but it’s not very graphic- mentions of a sword, mentions of death

—-

Alicent’s heel’s clicked in time with May’s as they walked down the hallway. Hands clasped together, chins held high. Powerful. A lord straying from the party bowed as they passed, eyes wide. The exact reaction they were hoping for.

Their dresses were matching, the same brilliant shade of green with gold stitching. The dresses was quite tight at the waist, with the aid of corsets.The sleeve’s were long, traditional Westerosi style. Their hair was done the same way, intricate braids in a half-up half-down style.

They looked like Queens. Goddesses. They looked worthy of everything their father had given them.

May and Alicent stopped at the open doors. Arm’s looping together, they stood in the doorway for just a moment. May didn’t bother to listen to the speech they had just interrupted.

Viserys stopped mid-sentence as he took notice. The hall filled with deadly whispers, everyone turning to follow the king’s eye-line.

His face was shock. Something else May couldn’t decipher.

The two stood tall in front of all those judging faces, poisonous whispers. Queen Alicent and Lady May were beautiful and powerful. They would not wilt. They were Hightowers.

Keeping their arms looped together, they each grabbed one end of their skirts, lifting it to glide effortlessly down the stairs in perfect tandem.

Everyone stood as they walked toward the end of the hall, they commanded respect. The Hightowers invited to the feast smiled approvingly as both women nodded when they passed.

The beacon on the Hightower. Do you know what color it glows when Oldtown calls it’s banners to war?

Green.

They both circled around the table, stopping next to Alicent’s chair. Daemon had smirked when they passed. He loved his wife more with each passing day. The fire of a dragon burned inside her, and he was proud to have tamed her.

“Congratulations, stepdaughter.” Alicent’s lips were tight.

“Congratulations, Princess Rhaenyra.” May’s smile was genuine, but slightly forced.

“What a blessing this is.”

“We look forward to the grand festivities.” May let go of Alicent’s arm, stepping around Viserys to press a kiss to his cheek at the same time Alicent did.

“Husband,”

“Good-brother,”

May returned to her place beside Daemon. His arm curled around the back of her thighs, tugging her a bit closer.

Viserys was at a loss.

“Please be seated.” He turned to his new hand, Ser Lyonel Harwin. “Where was I?” He whispered.

“The joining of the two houses, Your Grace,” He provided and Viserys nodded. He continued.

“What have you done, my lady wife?” Daemon leaned over to whisper in May’s ear. She kept her gaze forward.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, lord husband.” The titles were fake. The couple never used them properly. Being called that reminded Daemon too much of his “Bronze Bitch”. But May was on a power trip. To command a room like that- exhilarating. Daemon bit back a groan.

“You wish to insult me? At the table? You have no manners, Lady May.”

“Oh, I do, Daemon. I just only use them when I see fit.” She could practically hear his smile. He was entranced with her, of course, and May loved the feeling of being wanted. Of being loved.

Drums started, and May watched the happy couple with a pleasant smile on her face. It ended without much to say, and Alicent stood up, walking around the table. She let a hand drift along the back of May’s chair, who stood up quickly to join her sister.

Their lord uncle stood as the two approached.

“Your Grace, My Lady,” He greeted with a slight bow.

“We thank you for coming, Uncle,” Alicent greeted, looping her arm through May’s as they always did.

“Know that Oldtown stands with you,” His eyes flicked to his wife, who came to stand beside him.“I had worried you two might wither, given leave of your father’s shadow.”

The two women shot each other a look.

“We are Hightower’s, Uncle.” Alicent smiled, almost rolling her eyes playfully.

“And Hightower’s do not wilt.” May finished. She smiled as well, something like a promise hidden behind it. Something like a threat.

—-

After greeting the Hightowers and a few other prominent families, the two women took to their seats and their dinner. The hall thundered with the sound of drums, and the dance floor filled quickly. May sat beside Daemon, simply enjoying her dinner.

“In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes.” May looked up, seeing a man she did not recognize stare at her and Daemon. He shot a look to May, looking just as confused. “Even Targaryens.” The man hissed. May set her fork down, and Daemon turned back to him.

“Who are you?”

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone.”

“And?” Daemon asked again. May could feel Alicent and Viserys’ stare. May could feel Ser Gerold’s stare. Threatening.

Ser Gerold weighed his options. He made for the steps, walking closer to the two of them.

“I am cousin to your late lady wife.” He hissed, and it clicked. May knew what was happening.

Daemon fought the urge to laugh.

“Ser Gerold, the Lady Rhea died a year ago. I already paid my respects, it was a tragic accident.”

“You know better than anyone, it was no accident.” May could see the disgust in his eyes.

“Are you confessing some guilt, Ser Gerold?” Dameon was having fun with this, May could tell.

“I am making an accusation.” Daemon nodded, stare hard and glaring.

“You know, in King’s Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you.” Ser Gerold scoffed. His eyes flicked to May.

“Then, you wish to disgrace her farther, by marrying that-“ He stopped. “So soon after?” Alicent stood, not making a sound. She circled over to stand behind May, who’s chair was slightly titled to see her husband better, and therefore Ser Gerold. Alicent placed a hand on May’s shoulder, and May reached up to cover it with her own.

Alicent behind her was a threat in-and-of itself. She was queen, she was powerful. She could send him to the prison cells, take away his title. She was cunning. Convince enough people, convince the king, she could do almost anything.

Daemon would kill him proudly, then display his head on a spike for all to see.

“Please, Ser Gerold. That what? Whore, maybe?Hightower Bitch, perhaps? I assure you, my lovely wife is none of those things.” Ser Gerolds eyes flicked to May.

“I meant nothing by it, my lady. A stumble in words, simply.” May nodded, keeping a tight smile on her face. It was a lie, of course. But sometimes lies are easier to keep than the truth.

“Ser Gerold,” Daemon started. “If you even think about my wife again, I will kill you.” Finally, a spark of fear in his eyes. He turned and walked away swiftly, with a quick bow beforehand. May and Alicent watched his back as he disappeared into the crowd.

“Are you all right, sister?”

“Perfectly fine, thank you, Alicent.” Alicent squeezed May’s shoulder, and May squeezed her hand with May’s own. Her arm retreated, and she headed back to her seat.

Daemon grabbed May’s chair, roughly tugging her closer. He put an arm round her waist, scowling.

“He dares to insult you?” Daemon is staring forward, eyes cloudy with anger.

“It’s alright, Daemon. I am unharmed. Body and mind. His intended words do not hurt me. He did not hit me. No harm has come to me, I promise.” He turned towards May, his anger dissipating. His eyes scan over her.

“Say the word, and I will feed him to Caraxes.” May smiled.

Some part of May wanted to whisper it. Wanted to tell him. Just to feel the power she had. Someone upset her, Daemon would kill them for her instantly. And come back to their warm bed each night. He loved her, and she loved him. Daemon’s love ran deep. He was possessive, she knew this in marrying him, but she enjoyed the protection and attention it gave her. Daemon could not stand to be out of her presence for long, and Lady May loved to feel wanted. Loved to be loved. And Daemon was more than happy to give it to her, to love her, die for her, kill for her.

“No, husband. Let’s enjoy the festivities.” He smiled at her.

“Of course, my love.”

—-

May was dancing when she heard the screams. They were close, right beside her even. The crowd thickened, everyone pushing and shoving. A riot.

“May! May!” She could hear Alicent’s shrill screams even from across the hall. Fear froze in her veins like ice, like the legends of ice dragons beyond.

Her grip around Daemon tightened, arms winding around his neck. She knew her husband would protect her. She put her face into the crook of his neck, not eager to see the bloodshed. She knew that sometimes it was necessary, but she didn’t fancy to see it now. Especially when she hadn’t finished her dinner.

“Daemon,” She said, voice almost a whimper. Otto had not taught his daughters any self defense, not put it into their lessons. If her and Daemon were separated, May was helpless.

Daemon pulled her closer, shushed her, assessed the room. Suddenly, Lady May’s legs were pulled out from under her, and she wrapped them around her husbands waist. She faintly registered the sound of flesh hitting flesh, bones cracking as Daemon’s fist collided with noses, cheekbones, jaws. One arm circled under her shoulder, pressing against the back of her head, protecting her.

She heard the commotion getting farther away, the sound of feet tapping on stone stairs. Daemon had made it through the crowd. He set her down, where Alicent waited to tuck May into her arms. Her face was heavy with tears.

“I thought- thought you were-“ Alicent breathed.

“I know, Alicent, I know,” May tried to comfort her sister. She felt a few of her own tears leave her eyes. She heard the shouts for Rhaenyra from the king and the fighting from the crowd. She heard the sound of metal, steel, exiting it’s holding. Daemon’s sword. May lifted her head from Alicent’s neck, looking towards her husband. He faces the crowd with no fear, sword out, ready to protect his wife and the queen. Viserys came up behind you, a hand on both yours and Alicent’s shoulders.

The fighting stopped, Rhaenyra was returned by Ser Harwin, having picked her up and taken her away as Daemon had done with May.

“Rhaenyra,” Her father whispered, pressing her into a tight hug. The hall started clearing out. But was then filled by the sound of Laenor’s cries. It was no secret that he had loved Ser Joffrey. May did not care, she thought that everyone should love who they love. She knew others did not think that way, and she wondered if Ser Joffrey had perished as a sign to Laenor and people like him. A message. She shivered at the thought. What evil.

—-

The night was cold, and May found herself tugging her shawl tighter around her. Her and Alicent came upon the gardens by the Weirwood tree. See Criston was there, on his knees.

May and Alicent didn’t exactly agree with what he had done, but they both agreed he was a good ally to have.

So, the sword pointed at his heart was an inconvenience.

“Ser Criston,” Alicent started. He looked up.

—-

[moonleeai]

❄️ pairing: Park Jimin x Reader named Taylynn ⛄️ genre/au: Fluff, Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers, romcom, Christmas au 🦌 rating: PG ❄️ wc: 6,346 ⛄️ summary:  A cute story about two friends that decide to "fake date" for the Christmas Holiday while visiting family, but with each household they fall for each other. 🦌 an: Thank you @downbad4yoongi and @cherrysoulth for beta reading

Story written for @mrsparkjimin18 as part of the @bangtanwritershq holiday event “Christmas Love”

❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️

Jimin sits across from you in your dining room at the two person table in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. It’s a ritual that no matter how busy life was, you would see each other every Sunday. It just so happens to always start with coffee, whether it be at a new cafe or at your place to have your beloved hand-drip coffee in front of his favorite window. When he walked in today you could see something was bothering him, he wasn’t his normal bubbly self. Usually you could decipher if it was due to a late night of gaming or girl trouble, but today was something different. Lucky for him, you were already baking his favorite homemade pastry to have with the coffee. This would absolutely do the trick to cheer up your best friend. 

“Are those your famous cinnamon rolls I smell?” Jimin breaks his gaze from the city view, tilts his head back and sniffs the air with his eyes closed.

“Yep! Apparently, my ‘best friend intuition’ knew you would need them today.”

“You’re seriously the best.”

“What’s up though? What happened?”

He groans, “My parents. You know…it’s that time of year for them to start worrying– or more so pestering– that I’m not married or even in any sort of relationship–” He’s interrupted by the buzzing of your phone vibrating on the kitchen counter. You jump up thinking it was the timer for the rolls, but it’s your mom calling. 

“Hold that thought, it’s my mom,” you say to Jimin.

You answer and then put the phone on speaker so you can check the oven. Not to your surprise, she has a similar tune. Your mother has also been on your case about getting married because you’re almost thirty and it would seem the world is ending due to your lack of interest in the subject. You look over to Jimin and you both roll your eyes before you cut in on her concern. 

“Mom, while I would love to keep this conversation going, Jimin is over and we’re–”

“Ooohhh, Jimin-ah! I miss you, my son! You know you two would make such a beautiful family!” 

“Oh my god! Mom! How many times are you going to keep saying this?”

“I miss you too, Eomeoni!” Jimin shouts from the table. You shake your head ‘no’ so he would stop encouraging her behavior.

“Okay, Mom. Love you. Bye!” You quickly hang up before she says anything else.

You and Jimin have been friends since high school and your mom has always had the biggest crush on him for you. Of course he laid the charm on thick whenever he was around so it made it hard to escape the constant ‘why aren’t you dating’ questions. Jimin was attractive but you never liked him in that way. You two were always great friends who enjoyed each other’s company and neither of you were generally interested in anything more than friendship with each other.

The timer goes off and you pull the cinnamon rolls out of the oven, placing the tray on the stove top. As you carefully move them from the tray to the cooling rack, you see Jimin out of your peripheral opening the refrigerator to get the icing. 

“These need to cool off first,” you say as he brings the bowl to the counter closest to you.

“I know. I’ve watched you make them a hundred times. Which is how I know you usually pull the icing out to get it closer to room temperature.” He leans back onto the counter, watching you place the last roll on the rack.

“Ya know, Park Jimin, you just may be husband material for some lucky lady someday soon. You got the beauty and the brains,” you tease as he rolls his eyes. You lay the spatula and tray in the sink and turn to lean back on the opposing counter. 

“Taylynn, you of all people know I am just not interested in all that work. I like my job but I’m still a rookie and being stressed about worrying someone else every day is just not what I want. I just want to have fun.” Jimin was somewhat right. While being a police officer was a dangerous job, there were times that you would secretly worry about his well-being. “Also, almost every girlfriend has hated you and that’s a deal breaker.”

“Not true! Me and Sajin got along great! I saw her more than you sometimes.” 

Jimin scoffs, “Have you never heard of ‘keep your enemies closer’?” 

You gasp at his remark, “What! I thought she legit liked me. No wonder she stopped talking to me when you broke up,” you frown at the new revelation. 

“Are they cool enough yet?” Jimin pokes one of the rolls testing the temperature, he’s always been impatient when it comes to eating his favorite pastry. Usually opting to dip the dough into icing instead of making it aesthetically pleasing, he claims it’s less messy this way. 

“Yes, impatient one. You can start eating them now.” You grab some plates and hand him utensils to start dishing and frosting the rolls. He dances in tiny back to the table and you follow behind him giggling. 

You both chat, catching up from the past week, filling each other in on work drama. You notice he is extra fidgety so you ask more questions to try and pry whatever it is out of him. As you take the last bite, he finally lets it out. 

“Maybe we could pretend we’re dating…just for the Christmas weekend when we have to go to our parent’s houses? I feel bad having my mother worry about me all the time. At least this way, maybe she will be comforted a little.”

You slightly choke on your food and tap your chest as if that will help. You quickly grab your coffee to swallow the liquid to clear your throat, but that causes you to wince because it’s still pretty hot in temperature, which then makes your eyes fill with water. This entire debacle, Jimin just sits staring at you with wide eyes. Finally, after a few coughs, you catch your breath.

“Aren’t you like a trained professional to help people in emergency situations?! You didn’t even budge! What if I was choking to death!”

“I know the signs of choking and you weren’t–”

“You could’ve at least pretended to be concerned! And you want to pretend to date? No way.”

“You didn’t even think about it!”

“Right because I almost DIED!”

“Well, it’s not a terrible idea.”

“Jimin! You want us to lie to everyone?”

“More like…role-playing. Don’t you like that kinky shit?” You drop your jaw and raise your eyebrows to the ceiling. “Plus…it’s just a weekend! It’s not like we don’t know everything about each other anyway, it’ll be so easy and then we can have some peace from them.”

“First off, that guy was the one into it. I was just playing along. Second, we would still get a billion questions after the weekend. Do you plan on ignoring your mom for months? Besides, they will totally know! Your eyes tell everything almost immediately.”

“They do not! I’m good at keeping secrets. And we already talk to each other every single day so we would be able to answer those questions.”

“Yes, you keep secrets from escaping as words, but as soon as one is spoken by anyone else, you move your eyes around or start giggling! Immediately signaling that something is going on.”

“I can do a weekend. C’mon, Taylynn, please! I want my mom off my back for a little while. Please, for me?” He pushes his plump bottom lip out into a pout and blinks his eyes. He knows you have never been able to resist his adorable charm.

“Ugh! Fine! One weekend, Jimin! Don’t make me regret it.”

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You follow through with your agreement but instead of two days, the trip gets extended to four days by request of the mothers, two at his family’s house and two at your family’s house.  After filling the car with gifts and luggage, you both begin your journey to the countryside together. It’s a two hour drive but road trips are always fun with Jimin. He makes the best playlists to have a car karaoke session which makes the time fly by.

As you pull into Jimin’s parent’s driveway, you see them waiting at the glass door. 

“Here we go, babe!” Jimin cheerfully sings, making you cringe but laugh at the same time.  “Let’s go in first and then get the stuff out later,” he says while putting the car in park. He comes around and opens your door, which is nothing new, he’s always been a gentleman, but as you step out he grabs your hand and places it in the nook of his arm where your fingers instinctively curve to his bicep, catching you by surprise. You knew he was fit, you just didn’t realize how brawny his arm was.

As you get closer you can hear Jimin’s mom gushing in sweet accolades.

“Aigo,” she says long and drawn out, as you step across the threshold, “I knew you two would end up like this one day! What a sweet surprise just in time for the holidays!” You and Jimin look at each other smiling and then back to his mom as you toe your shoes off and change into house slippers.

“I guess we just had to figure it out, Eomma,” Jimin says. His mom’s eyes are shaped like crescent moons from her smiling so hard. You kind of feel bad for lying to her.

“I hope you two are hungry for lunch, Appa made way too much food.”

“It wouldn’t be Christmas if he didn’t.” Jimin smiles and then guides you into the dining room. He purposely made sure he didn’t make any pit stops for food because he knew his dad was cooking enough to feed an army. 

His mother goes on to talk about how she set up the ensuite for you both to stay in for the next two nights. You weren’t exactly expecting his parent’s to be okay with you both staying in the same bed, let alone the same room.

When lunch is ready, Jimin makes your plate with extra sweet potatoes, just the way you like it. He comes back to the table with his plate and sits beside you, then pulls your hand to his lips, taking his time, sending you a wink. You can’t help but notice how warm and soft his lips feel on your skin. You narrow your eyes and then smile in the presence of his parents. After some small talk and stuffing your faces with delicious food, you sat there finishing the meal with a small coffee.

Jimin’s dad talks you into making some of your special cookies while you praise him for the spread. Little does he know, your special cookies are a result of following the directions on the chocolate chip bag and adding a little extra butter. Once the coffee cups are empty, you and Jimin make your way outside to unpack some of the gifts and luggage. At the trunk of the car you quietly talk to Jimin.

“Why are you being so touchy? Stop that shit!”

“It has to look real, Taylynn.” You roll your eyes at his smirk and throw one of the bags over your shoulder. 

“Don’t you feel a little bad? Seeing how happy your mom is with this preposterous lie.”

“A little, Miss Dictionary, but I also like seeing her happy. Even if it’s a little white lie.” 

Jimin sets the gifts in the living room and calls for his parents so they can open them. You and Jimin had agreed prior to this arrangement that you would only buy each other one gift and open it at your parent’s house. His mother opens hers first and immediately starts crying at the jewel studded bracelet with all of their birthstones from her adoring son. His father opens his gift and gushes at how thoughtful his son is, holding up a book. Jimin had all of the family recipes from both sides of the family made into a cookbook, original handwriting and all. 

The rest of the evening is peaceful. You pull out all the ingredients to make cookies once dinner is finished, and like the good fake boyfriend Jimin is, he helps you every step of the way. He reads the measurements off the bag and you put it all together in the mixing bowl. When he’s not looking, you take some of the dough mix and wipe it on his nose. He angrily puffs air out and glares his eyes at you while you snicker. 

“Taylynn, you know I hate stuff on my face!”

“Yep! And there’s nothing you can do about it…can you imagine my fake boyfriend getting mad at me in front of his parents? Tsk, tsk. They would surely have a stern talking to their son.”

“You’re enjoying this too much for someone who was so against it.”

“Gotta make the best of it!” You spoon perfect little balls onto the cookie sheet and place them in the oven. 

“Just remember, payback is a bitch.” Jimin winks and walks out of the kitchen. You’re not the least bit worried about a payback, he is in no position to piss you off in front of either family.

The night ends in front of the gas fireplace. His parent’s have long gone to bed, but you and Jimin decided to start another movie to get into the Christmas spirit. Earlier you watched The Grinch with his parents and now you’re watching Home Alone. He’s nestled between your legs on the floor with your back resting against a beanbag chair and your hand is softly stroking his head, running your fingers through his fluffy hair. soon realizing this position no longer needs to be held without an audience. 

“Dude, get up. We don’t need to sit like this anymore,” you nudge him to move but he doesn’t budge. You call his name and tap on his shoulder, still no movement. You lean over to get a look at his face and just as you’re next to his ear, he turns his head and opens his eyes, locking them with yours. Although his eyes are chocolate brown, the fire highlights caramel swirls trapped within a thick black ring. Suddenly, your temperature rises and you swallow hard before pulling away. 

“Sorry, I was just seeing if you were asleep,” you quietly say. 

“You sure you weren’t about to kiss me?” he chuckles at his own joke, stands and reaches out for you to grab his hands, which you do, and he pulls you off the ground. He turns the fireplace and television off while you fold the blankets and put them neatly on the couch. He illuminates the dark hallway with the flashlight on his phone and walks toward the bedroom with you behind him.

“Rock, paper, scissors for who gets to shower first?” Jimin asks from the bedside.

“What? No, ladies first.”

“Ladies take too long, come on I’ll be quicker.” 

“You’re a terrible fake boyfriend.” You cross your arms and pout.

“You know I can’t say no to that face…” he grumbles and waves his hand for you to go first. 

You snicker, blowing him a kiss, then gather your pajamas,  skin-care products, and things for your hair. In the ensuite bathroom, Jimin’s mother has laid out resort-like amenities. Small bottles of body wash and lotions. Two beautiful plush robes that look comfy enough to sleep in. She even put fresh flowers in a vase which are very fragrant in the small space. You look over at the freestanding bathtub and notice a bamboo bath tray with scented oils, bath bombs, and candles.

Not wanting any of it to go to waste, you start drawing a bath. You set up your products and select a lo-fi playlist on your phone and set it on the bath tray, then throw in a lavender bath bomb with some rose oil and soothing bubble bath into the quickly filling tub. You pull your hair up into a messy bun and sink into the water. The bubbles sit just below your clavicles as you lean your head back on the pillow, closing your eyes and breathing in the aroma. 

The door flies open and you startle sitting up. Jimin’s eyes lock on yours and there is nothing but silence for what feels like an eternity.

You exhale, not realizing you were holding your breath, “What the fuck, Jimin!” You panic and quickly glance down at your body, thankful the bubbles are doing an excellent job covering you up.

“I gotta piss and you’re taking forever.” He looks around noticing all the spa supplies and takes a long, deep breath in through his nose. “What is all this shit? You brought stuff to pamper yourself?”

“No! Your mom set it up. It would be rude not to use it at least once.”

Jimin raises his eyes and head acknowledging your statement then walks into the toilet room and closes the door behind him. Resting your head back onto the bath pillow, you cannot believe he is using the toilet while you’re sitting there naked in the tub. He comes back out and washes his hand. Then sits on the edge of the tub.

“You’re getting a little too comfortable there buddy. Get out!”

“I’ve literally seen you in a bathing suit, not much left to the imagination there.” He touches all the bath oils, smelling each one slowly. 

“Jimin, can you please go. This is weird. I know we’re besties but there are some boundaries, no?” 

“Hurry up. I want to shower.” he huffs and walks out.

Unable to relax anymore you scrub your body clean and get out. After applying your nightly face products and body oil, you put your pajamas on and throw the robe overtop. When you walk out of the bathroom, Jimin is sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone. 

“All yours, creeper.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, walking past you.

The door shuts and you hear him click the lock. As the shower runs you set out clothes for tomorrow and make a mental checklist of everything they have to do tomorrow; the morning will start with coffee, of course, make more cookies, volunteer to deliver meals to the elderly, and then relax with another home cooked meal by Jimin’s dad. You take the robe off and hang it on the desk chair then climb in the bed and get under the covers. Jimin has already laid out extra blankets for him to use over the covers. You scroll through your phone a little but at the first yawn, you place it on the charger and close your eyes.

You hear Jimin come out and he starts ruffling through his suitcase loudly. Turning to tell him to be quiet, you see he also put on the fluffy robe. His wet hair is pushed back exposing his undercut and forehead. For a second, you admire his beauty, but then turn back over choosing not to say anything.

He turns off the light and climbs in bed, scooting close to you under the covers. 

“Now what are you doing?”

“I’m cold and you’re already warm.”

“Jimin, just use the blankets you pulled out.”

“Body heat is better.”

“Is it your goal to piss me off in this fake relationship? Because you’re doing a damn good job.” You don’t mind the extra warmth, you just don’t want to blur the lines of your friendship. You do a lot together and share everything together, but something about being this close makes you a little hot and bothered. 

“Please bestie, there’s no body pillow and I need something to help me get warm to fall asleep.” Jimin’s soft whine rides a wave into your ear, rousing a slight shiver down your spine.

“Fine,” you submit to his request. 

“One more thing?” 

“I think you’re out of requests,” you smile and shake your head.

“Will you…play with my hair?” 

You turn to look at him and then immediately regret it because just like earlier, your eyes are locked on each other and his glint from the moonlight coming in through the window. Your noses are only a hairline apart, but neither of you move back. His features are sharp but soft, enchanting. His eyes roam down to your mouth as his lips part and his tongue flirts between them. You nibble your lower lip, close your eyes, and nod your head, ignoring the sparks in your chest. Jimin lowers his head to your chest so you can reach his hair.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Your heart sounds like it’s beating really fast.”

“Oh, uh, probably just the extra weight on me. I’m fine though.” Jimin hums in response and falls asleep without any hesitation. 

With the weight of his limbs over you, it’s not long before your breath and muscles relax and you can feel sleep crawling over your body. Jimin stirs and buries his nose in your neck, the faint streams of warm air tickling your sensitive skin. 

“Jimin?” you whisper, but there’s no response. You can tell by his breathing that he’s still asleep and you have become his body pillow. The extra warmth actually feels good, too good. You try to relax your body again, twisting your upper body slightly away from him, but he grips tighter and moans, mumbling something. “Are you awake?” you whisper again.

“Mmm, you smell so good Tay.” Now you’re sure he’s messing with you. You turn your face toward his, waiting for him to open his eyes and giggle. Slowly and slightly, his hips gently rock into your leg and you feel a lump pressed into you. You bite your lower lip, as excitement races through your veins. You feel his bulge twitch and swell against you, and while your brain is telling you to push him away, you take a deep, shaky breath and gently shake him.

“Jimin. Jimin please, move over.” He grunts and subconsciously does as you request. You let out a sigh of relief but now you’re electrified and wide awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell just went on through your body. 

The next morning you wake up as the big spoon with your head pressed into Jimin’s back and arms wrapped around his waist. You quickly pull away and sit up, the movement jostling him awake. You turn to look out the french doors leading to the patio out back and gasp. 

“What?!” Jimin sits up abruptly.

“Look! There’s deer at the wood’s edge.” You quickly get out of bed and open the door, walking toward the patio screen to get a closer look. Jimin runs after you with the blanket.

“You’re gonna freeze out here!” He has the blanket behind him like a cape then wraps it along with his arms around you, his body pressed firmly against your back. You feel warm and comfortable, trying to ignore the little butterflies in your stomach. 

“How’d you sleep?” you ask him, ready to talk about last night.

“Man, I slept so good,” he says, extending his limbs in a stretch. 

“I bet you did with your dick pressed against my leg while you had me pinned under your arms and legs!”

“WHAT! I’m so sorry! I– I didn’t know I was that close.” His eyes open wide and his cheeks have a pale pink tint to them. 

“You were talking too,” you say, fishing for any inkling that he may have been awake. 

“Wha–what did I say?” 

Before you can say anything else, his mother calls your names and announces breakfast is ready.

Luckily the rest of the day was busy, filled with holiday activities that kept you both active and not too close for too long. You laughed a lot when Jimin and his dad got hit on by every grandma in town to whom you delivered meals. By the time dinner came around, things felt a little more normal. Since you have to be at your parent’s house for breakfast, you both spend the evening packing your luggage, leaving the room when each other showered, and sleeping with a wall of pillows between each other.  

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On the short ride to your parent’s there is casual small talk mostly reminiscing about high school days. You have fun singing and grooving along to the road trip playlist so it never felt awkward. 

When you pull into the driveway, Jimin shuts the engine off but stops you from getting out.

“Hey, Taylynn? I’m really, really sorry about the other night. We haven’t really talked about it, but I can tell it made you uncomfortable and I didn’t mean to cross any lines.”

You feel bad that he’s apologizing. Of course he wasn’t doing it on purpose and you feel terrible that he’s been beating himself up about it for who knows how long, knowing him, probably since the minute you told him.

“It’s okay, Jimin. I guess we can just say we’re closer than ever now,” you joke, “just keep your thing away from me for the rest of the weekend.” You give him a serious look then burst out laughing, rubbing your knuckles in his hair, fraying it in every direction.

“Why would you do that before we go in to see your parents?” Jimin puffs out, checking himself in the rearview mirror, pushing his hair back in its rightful position.

“Because, as your fake girlfriend, I love annoying the shit out of you.”

“I’m telling you…karma.”

You spend the next few hours eating, catching up with your parents, and also filling them in on how you and Jimin started dating. One thing you happened to notice, both sets of parents seem to be completely unphased, but genuinely happy. Like they were just waiting for this to happen one day. 

Again you’re making cookies with Jimin in the kitchen. As you’re mixing, you get some of the dough on your finger, but as you sneak up behind Jimin and try to rub the mess on his face, he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand toward his mouth, licking your finger clean. You open your eyes wide and shriek, dropping the mixing bowl. Jimin catches the bowl but not without getting some of the dough on his fingers. He looks at his fingers and then to you. 

“Jimin. No! Don’t do whatever you’re thinking!” you backpedal and try to get your socks to grip the kitchen floor so you can run.

He giggles and grabs the strings on the back of your apron before you’re able to get too far. You squeal from being pulled backwards and at the sight of his dirty hand coming for your face. You close your eyes tight as his fingers connect to your cheek and he pulls you closer. You open your eyes just in time to see his face next to yours and his tongue dart out, connecting with the dough on your cheek.

“GROSS!!” you cry, trying to escape.

“I told you…karma.” He lets you go still giggling and crosses his arms over his chest with the biggest smile, he’s so very proud of himself for getting revenge.

“Okay, okay! Even!” you call out while washing your face in the kitchen sink. 

“That’s what I thought. Don’t mess with the best jokester there is, Taylynn.”

It’s finally time to open presents; a family tradition to do it on the evening of Christmas because your entire childhood, your parents worked Christmas day to make the extra money. You understood at a very young age that this holiday was about the time spent with each other, it didn’t matter what time of day.

You give your parents a joint gift that they could use together. A complimentary golf day at their favorite place where they won’t have to spend a dime. Everything is paid for, meals, the course, and a spa treatment. When it’s time to exchange gifts with Jimin he wants to open his first. You hand him a small box. As he opens it, his jaw drops. 

“What? How did you know I wanted this watch? I’ve been saving up for it,” he runs his finger along the ridges in the brown leather. 

“I saw it on your computer one day when I came over to watch a movie. There’s something else in there, too.” You know how much he loves charities so what better than to donate in his honor to his favorite charity, and let him wear the silver locket bracelet to remember. 

“You donated to UNICEF? Tha–that’s so thoughtful. Thank you, so much.” Jimin is taken aback at how meaningful your gift is and almost forgets that he needs to get yours from the garage. He sets his gifts to the side and jumps up, skipping toward the door. You're talking to your parents when he comes back in and you see their faces light up. When you look at Jimin you see a huge bouquet of blush pink peonies with sage green stems, wrapped in a brown paper bag, as well as a large gift bag. He hands them both to you.

“Jimin… these are beautiful… and my favorite!”

“I know,” he replies shyly with a small smile.

You’re not sure why you are getting emotional over flowers. Something you often buy for yourself, but coming from Jimin– that makes you feel giddy, overly happy, and shocked. You peek into the bag, sans any tissue paper– true boyfriend style, and glance back at Jimin who looks a little anxious. As you’re pulling the purse out of the bag, you can see the signature Louis Vuitton pattern all over the canvas. 

“Jimin…” you know this may have cost a fortune and there is no way you can accept it.

“Please don’t worry about the price, you know I’m a bargain shopper. But when I saw it, it screamed ‘Taylynn’. It matches those sunglasses you always wear and kind of matches the colors of the interior of your car.”

“I–”

“You never buy yourself expensive things so I thought I would do it for you.”

“I love it so much!” You hug the bag and then sniff the flowers. He laughs at how ridiculously cute you look hugging a purse, the smile on his face shining brighter than the sun. You set your gifts down and throw yourself in his arms, giving him the biggest hug. You feel his body relax as he holds on for just a little longer than usual. 

A little later, there’s not much going on so you ask Jimin if he wants to make hot cocoa and go sit on the balcony to watch the sunset over the lake. As you're sitting there in the quiet, enjoying the view, it begins to flurry.

“The first snow,” Jimin coos into his mug of cocoa, “make a wish!” You both close your eyes and make a wish, keeping it to yourselves.

“Too bad it’s getting dark and we won’t be able to watch it cover everything.”

“I hope it snows a lot so we can build a snowman and have a snowball fight.”

“You’re such a child sometimes.” You love that about your best friend, even if his jokes can go too far and annoy you.

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The next morning you wake up alone. You hear everyone talking in the living room so you peak your head out. Jimin looks like he’s about to go visit an igloo.

“Finally! You’re awake! There is so much snow, I already shoveled for your dad so let’s go play! Get dressed!” Jimin declares.

“I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

“I have a thermos filled up for you! Brush your teeth and let’s go!”

You didn’t pack snow gear so you throw on layers of clothes hoping it’s enough to keep you warm. As much as you want to complain, this is Jimin’s favorite time of the year, and he joyfully agrees to do things you like to do all the time. 

Outside you watch Jimin frolic around like a deer. The cold air quickly wakes you up and you slowly sip on the coffee he made for you. He makes snowballs and lines them up perfectly, one set for you and one set for him. Then he moves on to bigger snowballs to make a snowman. You run back inside to get rid of your coffee and grab a scarf for the snowman and as soon as you step foot outside, a snowball hits your leg. You look up at Jimin who has fallen on the ground from laughing. You walk the scarf to the snowman and wrap it around its neck, bend down to pick up a snowball, and walk toward Jimin who is now making a snow angel. When you get over him, you drop the snowball on his face. 

“I don’t think you wanted to do that!” Jimin jumps up, startling you into a run, he catches you quickly and throws his arms around you in a back hug but pulling you to the ground too. You both land on your sides and he lets go, then straddles you and pins you in the freezing snow. He gathers snow in both hands and holds it over your head, “Say you’re sorry!”

“Never!” You yell and put your ice cold hands on his bare skin under his shirt. His arms instinctively pull into his body while he yelps, the snow dispersing on your sides. He doubles forward, his nose now touching yours. You both open your eyes wide and he pushes himself up to stand, then grabs your hands to pull you up. “Let’s go get warmed up,” he says, noticing your clothes are a little wet.

In the bedroom you’re both drying your hair after changing into dry attire. 

“I can’t believe we got to see and play in the first snowfall together.”

“I know. I don’t even remember the last time I witnessed the first snowfall. I usually wake up to the middle or end of it.”

“Do you believe in the superstition?” Your heart speeds up with his question. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know… if you witness the first snowfall with the person you like, true love will bloom.”

“Uh, I guess so–”

“Do you think… that could apply to us?” Jimin walks toward you and latches onto your hands. 

“What?” 

“We should date for real.” Jimin blurts out. You stand there frozen, heart racing, staring into his eyes. “These last few days I have seriously been wondering how I’ve let you be just my friend for all these years. You’re more than everything I could ever ask for in a partner. You made my heart race and gave me butterflies all weekend.” Now it’s your turn to blush in front of him.

“Jimin, I–”

“Before you reject me I need to get it all off my chest. I fall for you a little more each day. It’s actually driving me crazy. When we go back to the city, I don’t want to only see you on Sundays. I want to see you, everyday. I want to spend time with you, every single day.

“I–” you look down and take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves before looking back at him, “I feel the same way.” 

“You do?” Jimin says surprised and excited.

“Yeah, I really do,” you simper.

“I love you, Tay.” There’s that nickname again. Your heart flutters and you can feel your face flushing deeper with color. “I think I’ve loved you for a while, but this weekend really put it into perspective for me. I think we could be, should be, more than just friends. We already know everything about each other, no one has ever been so attentive at giving me a gift like you, and no one has ever felt like home more than you do.” Jimin stands there nervous, having just spilled his guts to you. 

You look past him and see the flowers and purse he thoughtfully picked out for you. You think about the coffee he made you that tasted exactly as if you made it. The playfulness between you two in the snow and in the kitchen. How you were a team making cookies and cinnamon rolls. The butterflies you felt on a few different occasions. You do love your best friend so what’s the harm in letting him know. 

“I love you too, Jimin. This weekend has been fun and I haven’t been this happy in, well, ever.”

“So you wanna, like, be official?”

“You mean, drop the fake title?”

“Yeah…what do you say?”

“I say… let’s do it, Boyfriend.” Jimin smiles so big, his beautiful brown eyes disappear. He suddenly lets go of your hands.

“Hold that thought,” he runs out of the room and comes back with what looks like a plant and some tape, he tip toes in the doorway and hangs the plant. “Come here, please.” 

You walk toward him where he stands, “Is this mistletoe?” Your head is tilted back looking up, studying the smooth, oval leaves with white berries. You look back at him and his full lips.

Jimin leans in and softly places his lips on yours, lightly pulling your bottom lip between his. He sluggishly removes his lips from yours and rests his forehead on yours for a brief moment before speaking. “I loved my gifts, but honestly, the most perfect gift is you.”

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Lucius heaved a heavy sigh, silently cursing Izzy (and himself. But Izzy moreso). He'd been sat in the Captain's cabin, minding his own business and trying to decipher his own shaky shorthand (the joys of trying to write from the back of an ill tempered mule) from the previous day to write an 'official' account when Izzy had stormed in and held a hand out expectantly. Lucius dropped the small tin of polish into his palm without comment whilst Izzy grumbled at him to stop taking his shit for fun now he had actual work to occupy his time (the First Mate didn't even stick around to make any comments as Stede started to grace Lucius with a lecture on stealing from fellow crew).

Jim had come in with an update on a merchant vessel Buttons had spotted on the horizon earlier about half way through and after Lucius had explained his side of things: Namely how when Izzy was helping to hide him from a certain somebody , he'd made a game out of lifting something off the First Mate and then seeing how long it would take Izzy to realise what was missing (old man was getting sloppy. He'd lifted that polish yesterday morning).

They dropped a casual "Depends what you use it for. He got me my knife back." With a shrug before sauntering back out the door and leaving him with expectant looks from both Captains (and ok, Jim was now on the list too).

"I'm sorry, I simply refuse to believe it, Lucius. You're nothing like the thieves and rogues at the Republic, or even those back in Barbados. You're educated and well spoken and-"

"Cheers, Mate." Ed interrupted, his tone of voice suggesting it was said in jest.

"Says the Gentleman Pirate." Lucius sighed, not bothering to look up from the work he'd resumed whilst reagailing the other two men with a very, very brief explanation in an attempt to feign nonchalance. "Besides, that's a bit of a generalisation isn't it? Who's to say I wasn't taken in off the streets by a kindly old bachelor and a lovely young woman who, coincidentally, turned out to be my maternal aunt?"

"I say," Stede gasped, looking at Lucius with wide eyes, "Is that what happened!?"

"No."

"Shame. That would be a fantastic story." Stede leaned towards Lucius slightly, now literally on the edge of his seat, "So what did happen."

At that Lucius did look up, looking thoroughly unimpressed, "No offence Captain. But my life isn't one of your novels and that's a part of it I really don't like to talk about if you don't mind."

Stede had the good grace to look slightly awkward, "Ah yes. Of course, didn't mean to pry. I'm still having trouble believing it though."

"Believe what you want. It's not going to change- shit! " Lucius cursed as the two journals he'd been working with and one of his sketch portfolios tumbled out of his arms and onto the floor as he got up to leave, scattering loose sheets of paper.

"Oh, let me help you with that"

Stede scurried over and knelt next to Lucius, helping him gather the papers whilst the younger man mumbled about how clumsy he was and that Stede didn't have to trouble himself.

"Thanks Captain." Lucius said with a grateful smile as he took the papers Stede held out to him.

"My pleasure Lucius, here let me get the door for you." Stede replied, doing just that, "Wouldn't do for you to drop them again."

"Indeed not."

Stede cocked his head at the smile Ed was giving him after he closed the door behind his scribe, "What?"

"Nothing."

"Isn't that one of Captain Bonnets?" Oluwande asked, momentarily distracting Lucius from the shiny bauble he was playing with.

"Yes. Yes it is." He held the gold and turquoise ring up for a second for everyone to see before it quickly disappeared into his pocket, "Just wanted to prove a point. I'll give it back. Meantime, any wagers on when he'll realise?"

"Never." Izzy immediately answered, "Poncy pack rat's probably got about five more that look exactly the same."

"You don't get to play." Lucius stated, waving a finger between Izzy and Jim, "I'm still mad at you two for dropping me in it." The two in question merely exchanged a look and a shrug.

Wagers and coins made their way to Lucius at a steady pace until someone clearing their throat from the doorway made everyone fall silent.

Ed sauntered in like he owned the place (which technically he did, being Captain), expression blank as he made a beeline towards Lucius.

"Everything alright, Captain?" He asked hoping to God he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

Ed continued to stare him down and Lucius was starting to wonder if he was going to use the galley sink for attempted drowning number two as punishment for stealing from his boyfriend before Ed placed a gold piece on the table in front of him. "Put me down for three days." He said with a grin and a wink.

Lucius couldn't help but smile back, "Aye Captain.

[the-wanderer16]

Hello! I thank you very much for your answer to my question (I'm the anonymous person who just asked you a question about translation, and since I don't know how I should reply anonymously, I'm sending another one here, so I hope you don't mind). The link to this story is here https://x.com/esport3/status/1803299168812732905

It's a story from ESPORT3, and since I'm neither a native Spanish nor English speaker, I read the article through a translator, and I don't know if the emoticon used in the tweet, and the reference to the "irony" of the article is a translation error due to the language difference, or a joke on the part of the person who wrote the story (I'm sorry this is supposed to be a minor thing, and maybe not many people will see this, but for those of us mapi&ingrid fans from overseas who don't speak the language, it can be confusing, and I hope my question doesn't bother you), because from the version of the article that I've seen after the translator translated it into my language, it clearly seems to imply that Mapi was angry at Engen for taking over her position on the field. was upset about crowding out her spot on the field.

But I never doubted that Mapi really thinks that way, I was just questioning whether the wording of the report was appropriate hahaha, they are such a good couple, they help each other, they appreciate each other, and I even shed tears of emotion when I read this ins post from Mapi last night ~ I hope to see the day they get engaged in the near future!

Finally I would like to thank you again for all those details you put together in your reply about mapi and ingrid taking care of each other, it's very helpful, wish you have a nice life!

Hey no worries! I think it was time well spent on my end really.

Well firstly this interview seems to be written in Catalan and you're right about the translation being off. Unfortunately, I am unable to decipher the real meaning of the interview (since we can't figure out if there is a separate undertone to the text and speech of the interview.)

Hence, hoping our fellow Spanish or Catalan speaking woso friends can help with the translation of this 🙏🏻

[itsthatpearl]

layout idea from @secret-smut-sideblog 🩸

Hannibal x F!OC

His Amuse-Bouche

Chapter 1: "Run, Rabbit, Run"

AO3 LINK

Beth is a young woman struggling with her past. When her mysterious psychiatrist offers to help her, she finds herself in a situation no-one wishes to be in.

Word count: 2k

Thank you Ziggy and my partner Kris for beta reading <3

TW: THIS IS A HORROR FANFIC. MAJOR DEAD DOVE. SPECIFIC TRIGGERS ARE LISTED, BUT THEY CAN SPOIL THE STORY, SO IF YOU WANT TO ENJOY THE HORROR AS BEST AS YOU CAN, GO STRAIGHT TO THE STORY.

SPECIFIC TRIGGERS: Mental health issues (depression, ptsd, anxiety, social anxiety, panic attacks and dissociating), distressing impulsive thoughts, sexual tension, sexual themes, horror, gore, cannibalism, bad parenting, rough language, violence, drugs, spiked drinks, alcohol, light emetophobia.

----

“Are you still with me?” he asked.

I came back from my own world and looked at him. He looked at me with the same face he always does. You couldn't decipher his thoughts. Maybe he was just a good psychiatrist. Maybe he was dangerous for it. His tone was calm but questioning, almost demanding me back to the present. “Yes, forgive me” I chuckled nervously. “Dr. Lecter, I think I need a moment” I muttered with tears starting to gather beneath my eyes. “What happened to you was truly traumatic. It is merely understandable for you to get lost in those memories when we talk about them. Like Ernest Hemingway said; “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places”. You just need to find what makes you stay strong” he said while staring deep into my eyes. I was too afraid to look back at him. It made me uneasy. There was this weird tension I felt every time our eyes met. I had told myself it was just something my mind created with almost every man I met. Anxiety from being alone with them. Fear of being used. Fear of actually feeling anything especially with men I couldn’t have. Fear of wanting them. Him going down and removing my clothes.

I nodded quickly, took a tissue from the side table and dried my eyes softly while shaking my head. I could still feel my body and mind being on a vacation, but I didn't want him to know I had started dissociating.

“Our time is up, Beth. How do you feel now?” he asked as he always did when our session was done. “I feel good” I said maybe too quickly as I looked at him unable to meet his eyes. “Very well. I’ll see you next week then” he nodded.

I grabbed my jacket and left home as fast as I could. As soon as I got inside my house, I collapsed on the floor. I stared at the wall trying to ground myself.

“THAT’S IT! I AM SICK OF YOU WHINING EVERY FUCKING TIME YOU COME HERE. I AM YOUR FUCKING FATHER, NOT HIM. A PUSSY CAN’T TAKE TWO COCKS AND I AM DAMN SURE IT MINE THAT CREATED YOU SO STOP CALLING HIM YOUR FATHER FROM NOW OR I SWEAR YOU WILL BE SORRY FOR IT.”

I looked at my hand and rubbed each finger slowly looking at the clock. Five hours. It took me five full hours to get through what had felt like a few minutes. I stood up and looked at the door which was still open. I closed it and walked into the kitchen. Fuck. I was actually starting to do it again. I drank a huge glass of water and leaned my back against the counter. My phone buzzed but I didn’t bother to check who had texted me. I opened the fridge to see it full of nothing. I sighed and decided to once again order pizza.

“Stop being a fucking coward. Just jump. It is not so fucking hard. Why do you always have to be such a fucking pussy. You are just like your mother.”

Another nightmare. The sofa was wet from sweat. I groaned and sat up grabbing my phone. I had slept for 20 minutes and it was three in the morning. Sighing I opened the text messages:

*I think I need help*

I turned on the TV and started binge watching The Real Housewives. After four episodes my phone finally buzzed:

*18.00, come to my house, we can have an emergency meeting there*

I stared at the message in silence. His house. Today. I had been Dr. Lecter’s patient for 3 months, and never had he told me he took patients at his house too. I didn’t give it much thought and placed my phone back down. I looked at the time. It was a little over six in the morning. I sighed and continued watching The Real Housewives.

I looked at the ground. The fall was definitely more than three meters. I was shivering. Images of my back and legs breaking flashed through my eyes. I looked back at him. “I don’t know…I don’t think I want to do it” I laughed nervously

I took my jacket and breathed deep. One last look at myself from the mirror. I looked like I hadn’t slept, which made sense. Now I thanked myself for showering yesterday morning, at least I looked like I hadn’t completely lost it. I tried to flash a smile at myself but it made me feel just more insane. I took my phone and keys and left my house.

His house was magnificent. It looked tidy and simple from the outside, just like Dr. Lecter himself too. I knocked at the door sharply at six. I knew he was a punctual person, so I felt it was only polite to be perfectly on time. The door opened revealing Dr. Lecter wearing a dark gray suit. He always looked like he was about to go to a business meeting or a fancy dinner, which made him appear professional. “Good evening, Beth. Please, come in” he smiled and invited me inside. I nodded walking inside as the door closed behind me. I took a coat hanger and hung my jacket politely on the rack. I could already feel the nervousness rising in my body. “Let us talk in the living room, would you like to have something to drink? Perhaps a cup of tea?” he asked. I once again nodded adding “a cup of tea sounds good, thank you”. I walked into the living room as the doctor vanished to the kitchen.

The living room was full of art, a few beautiful chairs and a grand fireplace in the middle of the back wall. It was gray and on the top of it there were photographs in beautiful little frames. Children. One boy and a girl. One had writing on the corner: “Hannibal ir Mischa, Motinos Diena”. There is also a date, but the picture has gone wet at some point from that corner, so I was unable to decipher what it said. “Your tea is ready” I heard behind me. I turned around quickly, blushing. “I am so sorry, I was being nosy” I shake my head and walk to sit down on a chair that is facing him. “It is alright, it is a normal human reaction to start wandering around a new place” he said nonchalantly and handed me a cup. I took it nodding slowly and raised the cup on my lips. It smelled like chamomile. I blew carefully into the cup and took a sip. It was a perfect temperature, which took me by surprise. I was used to burning my tongue with tea, then placing it down and forgetting it until it was cold. But not this time, it was simply ready to be consumed.

“Have you started to see the nightmares again?” he asked, leaning slightly back in his chair. I took a sip out of my cup and placed it down. Fucking hell. How did he know I was here because of that? “Yes. It is the same one. I wake up from the floor and see the door is wide open. Then I walk to the living room and…I see the blood” I stop and look at the fireplace. The fire is dancing gracefully on top of the three logs licking them up and down. I started to actually be consumed by the sight. The fire ate out the wood destroying everything and burning it down. What if he wants to lick me out just like that fire licks the wood- no no NO. Now was not the time for thoughts like this. I shaked my head and tried to get rid of the image I had painted. It was not easy, as my body had already responded with a need for something more than just talking. “And your parents are there, in the bedroom, as always?” I heard him ask. I looked at him and blinked a few times. “Yes. As always. As they were” I nodded. For a moment he looked at me almost like he was entertained, but it disappeared as quick as he opened his mouth. “I see. I think you should see me twice per week now if your condition is taking a worse turn. And I can give you a prescription for a good sleep medication. The same one you had last time” he says and looked at my hand holding the tea cup. I could see he noticed the small indurations my palms had started to form from squeezing my nails into them. I quickly drank down the cup and placed it down covering my palms with my sleeves. “Can I use the bathroom, please?” I asked while looking at the floor ashamed. “Yes, down the hall” he nodded as I stood up and quickly walked out of the living room.

I squeezed my nails into my palms once again and opened the first door I could see. It was dark inside, and I reached out for a light switch. As the light turned on, I could see that this room was not, in fact, a toilet. It was a cleaning closet. The shelves were stacked with bleach, hydrogen peroxide, stacks of single use gloves, and other cleaning supplies. If I knew better, I would’ve said this was a cleaning closet of a serial killer. I closed the door quietly and looked at the other doors. Then I noticed one of them was slightly ajar. I opened it fully to see the bathroom. I went inside and closed the door, locking it. I sat down on the toilet, buried my head into my hands and sighed. When did my head start to feel this heavy?

“If you don’t jump now, I will leave you here. I am sick and tired of you acting this way” he spitted out. I looked at him and shaked my head in silence. “Fine. You know what, I think you can get down by yourself then” he said before jumping down. He walked inside slamming the door behind him. It has started to become dark and there I was. Alone on the roof of the house. And it had just started to snow again.

After I was done I left the bathroom quietly. I walked back to the living room to see it was empty. Maybe Dr. Lecter had gone to the kitchen. I walked to the direction he had vanished earlier to make my tea. The kitchen was tidy, but it was still full. Everything was neatly placed, but I could see he had been in the middle of cooking when I came. Vegetables were cut, everything was ready to be cooked. There was a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Other one was half full, the other empty and untouched. Was he waiting for someone? And why did my head feel so heavy but light at the same time? Was the lack of sleep finally starting to affect me? I almost lost my balance and placed my hand on the counter to steady myself. I needed something with sugar, I hadn’t actually eaten anything the whole day. Maybe Dr. Lecter had juice or anything consumable in his fridge. I couldn’t even think straight anymore. I had to get something into my system. Fighting to keep my eyes closed I staggered closer to the fridge and opened it. I opened my eyes wide in horror. There was a hand wrapped in plastic foil next to the juice. “Viande découpée, I am curing it for tomorrow” a familiar voice purred behind me. “A-are you…do you…..?” I tried to say something but nothing came out of my mouth. The room started spinning and he placed his hand on my cheek and tutted “Shh. Calm down, zuiki. You will be alright”. I collapsed on the floor and fought to keep my eyes open. Last thing I could see was him hovering over me and closing my eyes with a pleased smile on his face. Then everything went black.

----

Next chapter

[ohthemistery]

Prompt

(Credits to @apollowritesstuff on Tumblr)

We live in adjacent apartments, our bedrooms are on the opposite sides of a very thin wall and one night I heard you cry. Couldn’t stand it anymore and talked to you through the wall

_______

My neighbor is pretty noisy. Our apartments are next to each other, and the walls aren’t the thickest, to be honest. There’s one that’s noticeably thin in my bedroom, through which I can hear almost everything that happens on the other side of the wall. I’ve discovered quite a few things about my neighbor thanks to that. For example, I've learned that he’s an exchange student (guessing by his fluent Portuguese), and he's studying medicine just like me. He listens to music daily, most of it being EDM, and judging by the volume at which he plays it, he doesn't know about the thickness problem in our walls. It bothers me most of the time, but I just let him be.

A few days ago, I was studying for an exam, confused as to why I didn’t hear music coming from the other side of the wall when then I heard a loud thud come from the opposite bedroom, similar to a door closing abruptly. Soon enough, a certain sound was heard, something I'd never heard coming from the other side.

Whimpering.

Knowing something was wrong, I walked towards the wall, sat with my back leaned in it, and just listened like I always did. Some words could be heard from inside, but they were incomprehensible to me. I recognized the language, it was Portuguese, but I didn't know enough to decipher what he was saying. Despite this, I didn't have to be an expert in Portuguese to know, thanks to his voice tone, that he wasn't having a good time.

"Eu sou um idiota!... Como eu pensei que poderia continuar com essa carreira como se nada tivesse acontecido?". He must've been next to the wall because even though he was whispering, I could still hear him. After those words I didn't hear him speak anymore, he just muttered as he tried to talk, but only got to stutter halfway through his words. A few minutes passed, and he didn't seem to get any better from what I could hear. I thought about it for a bit, until I finally decided what to do.

"Hey, are you okay there?"

I spoke to him through the wall.

His stuttering stopped for a few seconds, probably confused as to who was speaking to him.

"Quem… Quem é?!" He exclaimed, still stuttering.

"I'm your neighbor, I live on the other side of the wall you're next to right now" I said, trying not to sound harsh or rude. "Do you need help?"

I heard a silent thud, and then he sighed.

"...Yes, I guess… I guess I need help" He finally answered, to then inhale and exhale, trying to calm down.

"Okay. Tell me what happened"

A few moments of silence passed through before he could tell me his problem, and judging by how he spoke, it was the first time he told somebody about it.

"I don't like the career I'm following right now… Like, I'm supposed to help people, but medicine isn't for me! Besides that, I'm just an estrangeiro for everyone here, a kid who doesn't belong"

Estrangeiro… That meant "foreigner", and he surely wasn't saying it positively.

"And can't you change your career? You shouldn't continue if it makes you unhappy" I asked, trying to be of help.

"Hah, I would've done it already if I had the chance, but I can't! I have this… Great pressure coming from my parents to become a "honor-deserving person" by having a good job and being an excellent student. But that's not the path I want to follow, and that's been torturing me for weeks now… It's not that I wanna be a horrible person but, but… I just can't!"

I listened to every word he said, understanding his situation as I had been in his shoes before. After he told me everything, I leaned my head against the wall, trying to organize my thoughts before speaking to him again.

"I understand what you're going through. It's… tough, to say the least, to contradict your parents' expectations, but you can't hide your truth forever and live a life that isn't yours. You have to tell them sooner or later" A sigh was heard from the other side of the wall, it seemed like my answer wasn't the one he was looking for, but it was the truth.

"It's just… They've always believed in me, and I can't let them down"

"Listen to me: You don't owe them your life, and you don't owe them your dreams. Parents are supposed to be supportive, and even though it's true that being kind to them and making the most of every opportunity they make for you is a way to say thanks for everything they've done, you don't have to renounce your ambitions to do it"

"But… You're right, but I can't tell them, just… not now" He sounded calmer than before, without any stuttering at all.

"Don't worry, take your time..."

Some minutes of silence passed by, as I sat next to the wall. I don't know why I stayed, I guess it just didn't feel okay to leave as if nothing had happened.

"...By the way, who are you?" His voice cut the silence.

"I already told you, I'm your neighbor"

"I mean, your nome, your name"

"Oh, I'm Baptiste, Jean-Baptiste… You?"

"... Lúcio, the name's Lúcio"

"Lúcio…" I said, repeating what he had just said. "...That's a nice name"

"Thanks, I guess… Also, thank you for, you know, helping me with this"

"No problem! If you ever need help, just knock" A slight smile appeared on my face, since it felt nice to help someone for once.

After an hour (more or less) of chatting, we finally said goodbye. I stood up and looked around the room, noticing the open notebook on my desk along with some books.

"Right, the exam..." I thought to myself as I walked up to the desk, sitting down on the chair in front of it.

Soon enough, I heard music coming from Lúcio's apartment, just like every other night. Surprisingly, it didn't bother me to listen to his music from that day onward.

— Fin —

[doexoeyes]

Venomed

Summary: What once was a beautiful relationship with Peter, turns quite venomous…

Warnings: swearing & short accusation of unaliving one’s self.

Notes: ughhh this part took me forever & I’m still not satisfied with it but it’s been long enough & i dont want to keep you waiting. Seriously you all have been so kind, I can’t thank you enough. & to all of u who let me know your thoughts on it or say that you’re excited for what’s next, u make my day & I’m beyond grateful 🤧 I hope you guys enjoy ♡

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Part 3

He felt it.

His ‘spidey senses’ are a little tingle that alerts him when something’s off. It’s like a sixth sense for knowing when something bad was going to happen.

He’s been feeling it going off all day but he’s been unable to decipher what was bringing it on. Except this time he felt it and he knows who’s in danger.

It’s you.

He doesn’t take a second to think it through, just bursts into your apartment, eyes scanning the living room for you.

He calls out your name but there’s no response, simply an eerie silence that makes his stomach turn.

He enters your room cautiously but you’re not there either, and that’s when he feels it again; The tingle.

He runs to the bathroom and, although he was one to always respect your privacy, he felt like he didn’t have a second to lose, so he burst right in.

Turns out that he was right, because when he slams the door open, he’s met with the sight of you submerged under water, drowning.

He doesn’t think twice, just immediately jumps into action and pulls you out. You’re coughing up water and you look absolutely lost and helpless and terrified and he feels all those things at once too.

“What happened?! Are you okay?! How the hell did this happen?!” he's speaking faster than he can think, a mess of fear and nerves.

Out of all the things to fear you getting hurt from, a bath was the last thing he would have worried about.

“Did you fall asleep?! Did you hit your head?! I need to know how this happened, why were you…”

Before he can finish his sentence, you let out a sob that completely shatters him.

His eyes widen and he drops the rest of the questions and immediately wraps his arms around you because fuck the answers, you’re all that mattered right now.

You cry into his chest and he stays there, hands in your hair, whispering sweet words in your ear.

“I got you, you’re ok. You’re ok baby, I promise. I’m sorry that happened. I got you now, you’re safe.”

You both remain like that for a while till he feels you shivering from the now cold water. He gets a towel and wraps it around you, helping you up while averting his eyes, not wanting to make you feel unwillingly exposed.

He leads you into your bedroom, finding one of his shirts in a drawer and helping you into it, wet strands of your hair dripping into the fabric before he takes your towel and helps dry it up. You’ve been silent since you stopped crying, face unrevealing of your emotions. He has to bite his lip to keep himself from asking more questions, understanding that now wasn’t the time to bother you with them.

But his mind is still racing, thinking about how he saw you drowning in the tub. He was horrified, very much still, because he can’t understand how that could have happened.

Did you fall asleep & accidentally slipped in? Did you hit your head and fell unconscious?

No, he doesn’t think that one could be it. He saw what looked like you trying to get up for a second before he pulled you out. It was weird, and he knows that it doesn’t make sense, but it almost looked like something was forcing you down into the water….

“Why are you here?”

Your voice breaks his train of thought. He swallows, nervous about the impending conversation.

“I felt like something was off. I’ve been feeling it since last night, but this time it just felt…urgent. And thank god for that because if I didn’t make it in time, you probably would have…” and he stops because he doesn’t ever want to finish that sentence.

You look completely exhausted, eyes empty, body shaking from the cold. He takes in a small breath.

“You weren't..trying to…because of me…” he’s struggling to get the words out, but you get what he’s trying to say and you’re immediately disturbed by the accusation.

“Are you serious right now? Do you actually think that I would….god Peter no! I wasn’t attempting to kill myself just because you broke up with me, god,” you say, getting up from the bed and stepping away from him.

He swallows, thankful that that wasn’t the case, but also put off by your reaction.

You’re so easily angered lately. Did he hurt you that much? Did the love you have for him just fade away?

‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ he’s asking himself because the whole point of breaking up with you was so you wouldn’t be forced to care about him anymore. So you wouldn’t be put in harm's way for it.

But now, as you look at him with that fire in your eyes, so intense he can almost feel it burning him, he’s regretting his decision.

He misses the way you used to look at him. It’s almost killing him.

He clears his throat, continuing.

“Then tell me what happened. Explain to me how I walked into you like that. Ever since this morning, you’ve been…”

“What? How have I been, Peter?” you ask, daring him to respond.

He frowns, not backing down.

“You’ve been off. You’re not yourself, and it’s clear that something’s up. I understand your upset because of what happened last night, but I didn’t expect you to spiral off like this.”

That’s when you feel it again; The unexplainable anger you get when you just as much as think about him lately.

“Spiral? Spiral?! For the record, I’m not upset. I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry because you decided to break up with me, not because you don’t love me, but because you want to save me? What kind of bullshit is that?! And the cherry on top is that you truly think it was so noble of you to do this to us. That you’re making such a selfless sacrifice. Well fuck you.”

The words stun him. It makes him avert his gaze from you because it’s all too much. It’s a mixture of guilt and hurt, and he really wishes you could look at him one more time like you used to, and not like you do now; like you despise him. Like he ruined you.

He wants to say he’s sorry, but he knows that if it came down to it, he wouldn’t take back what he did. He couldn’t. Your life matters more to him than you hating him for the rest of your life.

So he sits there and lets you speak, no matter how much your words tore him up inside.

“Fuck you for not even including me in this decision, for not even letting me have a choice. Now do me the favor and keep your promise of staying away from me and get the fuck out!”

You reach for the knob and push the door open but just as you do so, the door comes completely off its hinges. You’re frozen in place, completely silent from the shock as you process what you just did.

It was honestly a comical scene, seeing you holding a door in mid air with one hand as if it weighed nothing, but you were too freaked out to find the humor in it.

After gathering your composure, you lean the door against the wall but once you let go of the knob, you notice that you’ve completely crushed it.

You shut your eyes, mentally praying that Peter somehow didn’t notice, but when you turn around, you find him with wide eyes, jaw dropped.

Oh yeah, he noticed.

“Did you just…rip the door off?” he asks, voice wavering.

Look at what we can do. Isn’t it exhilarating?

You jump, the voice unexpectedly booming loud in your head.

Oh no.

“I need you to leave,” you tell Peter, voice urgent.

No, let him stay. I’m hungry.

“No!” you shout fearfully, and Peter looks at you with furrowed brows.

“No?”

You shake your head, forgetting he can’t hear it.

“Nothing, just…nothing’s going on Peter, I’m just not myself today and I need you to go.”

I can’t withhold my hunger much longer. I need to be fed.

“Please…” you say, intended more for the voice than Peter.

“Not yourself? Do you understand the strength you need to have to crush a metal knob like that?! To rip a door out of its hinges?! Something’s going on that you’re not telling me!”

“Peter stay out of this, you don’t understand.”

“So help me understand!”

He’s irritating me. Let's eat him.

“No! For the last time, you cannot eat him!” you shriek out and Peter jumps, caught off guard.

You both remain silent, wide eyes locked on each other. You don’t dare make a move, terrified of the voice speaking once more, of you doing something else that’s abnormal, of you possibly hurting him. But Peter stands up from his place on the bed and cautiously walks towards you.

You take several steps back, waving your hand.

“Peter, don’t…”

“Who are you talking to?” he asks, eyes darting around the room, body tense.

“Please…” your eyes are watering, the fear taking over your body.

You can tell that something bad is going to happen. There’s an odd feeling within you, the feeling of something trapped inside that’s fighting to come out. You’re doing your absolute best to keep it at bay.

“Tell me what’s going on, I just want to help you. I promise.”

“Don’t,” your eyes shut, tears rolling down your cheeks freely. “Please Pete, I can’t hold it back anymore, I can’t…”

“Can’t hold what back? Something’s very wrong and I’m scared it’s going to get worse, just let me...”

But before he can even finish, you feel it. The snap of something finally breaking free.

So you bolt out of the bedroom and run back to the bathroom, making sure to lock the door. You hear Peter running after you, trying to twist the knob and then banging on the door when he realizes it’s locked.

He’s pleading with you to let him in but everything around you starts to feel hazy. You look into the mirror and realize that the eyes looking back at you aren’t yours…

“Look, you have me officially terrified for you. Please let me in. If you don’t, I have no choice but to knock the door down okay? Please…”

He hears an odd sound coming from inside and his brows furrowed, sweat beginning to form on his forehead from the tension.

“I’m serious, I’m going to count to three. One…”

He hears you shuffling inside.

“Two…”

The sound of something scraping the wall.

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, but before he goes to kick the door, it’s suddenly pushed wide open and he’s face to face with the scariest creature he’s ever seen; A massively large black monster with big white eyes, staring him down like a predator getting ready to take down its prey.

“Three,” the monster finishes for him and in an instant it opens its mouth and exposes its many rows of large sharp teeth, letting out a terrifying shrill right in front of him.

Peter jumps, taken aback, but he has no time to process his emotions because the monster lunges at him and he’s pushed back into the living room, landing on your glass coffee table, completely shattering it in the process.

He groans, a sharp pain shooting down his back, but he notices the pieces of glass around him shaking, and when he looks up, he sees the creature running towards him. Peter immediately jumps up and attaches himself to the ceiling looking down as the monster roars in frustration.

“Come down now! I’m hungry and I don’t like to play with my food!” it growls.

From his place on the ceiling, Peter can see inside your room and spots his backpack peking out from under your bed. He remembers how he left it last night before you both went to the italian restaurant for your anniversary.

Before he broke up with you.

He ignores the lump in his throat, his mind racing with the thought of where you even were currently, because he needs to focus on getting this thing out of your apartment while also keeping it from eating him.

“Why? You get a tummy ache or something?” he jokes, though his mind is focused on getting to the backpack.

He needs to distract him long enough to get his web shooters.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” it says dryly and it jumps up and tries to grab at him but Peter’s quick enough to dodge it.

He decides he has no choice but to crawl quickly through the ceiling to your room. When he lands on the ground, he grabs the lamp on the night stand and tosses it at the creature but it barely even reacts to it, letting out a dark chuckle.

“Pathetic,” it spits out, and it grabs Peter by the arm, lifting him up.

Peter lands a kick on it’s face that makes it hiss, head reeling back for a second as he lets go.

He lands on the ground and grabs the backpack from under the bed, but just as he unzips it, the creature drags him out of the room by his leg.

It sends him flying to a wall, pieces of it crumbling down on him as a cloud of plaster surrounds him. He’s thankful that at least he didn’t break right through it or else your neighbor would be pretty upset.

The creature waits for him in the small fog of white dust, smiling with pointed teeth.

“Looks like you’re perfectly seasoned now,” it jokes, laughing, and if it wasn’t for him being in immense pain, Peter would have laughed with him.

What can he say? The monster’s got good quips.

It grabs Peter by the throat, bringing him up to its face.

“This is what you deserve Peter Parker. For breaking our heart,” it says, and Peter is confused by its words.

When the creature opens its mouth, Peter choking as he tries to fight for breath from its tight grip around his neck, there’s a small click and the creature begins to choke as well.

Another click, and the creature is grabbing at its throat, letting Peter go.

Peter takes a big desperate breath for air, trying to steady himself. He looks up at the creature, arms out as he once again shoots out another web, trapping the monster's mouth shut.

He gets up, hissing from the pain, but he knows he needs to finish the job while it’s distracted.

The creature is trying to rip the webs from its mouth but Peter continues to shoot one after another. It’s walking backwards as it does so, towards the glass door leading out into the balcony and Peter shoots a web at it, sliding the door open so it falls out onto it.

What he didn’t expect was for it to completely stumble over the railing & fall off the balcony.

Another thing he didn’t expect?

The creature’s black tendrils slide away to reveal your unconscious face, you being the one who’s now falling off the balcony.

Peter’s eyes widen and the entire moment feels like it’s in slow motion as he screams your name and races to the balcony.

He doesn’t think twice before he jumps off the railing, plumutting down after you.

His heart is racing, stomach in knots as he tries with all his might to fall fast enough to reach you. He shoots a web when he thinks it’s the closest he can get to you and uses all his strength to launch you to him, wrapping his entire body around you.

He lands perfectly on his feet but his eyes are clenched tight, too scared to see whether he really truly made it with you safely in his arms.

He opens his eyes slowly and lets out a small sob when he sees the slow rise of your chest and that you’re indeed in his arms, still alive, still intact.

There’s tears in his eyes because it all feels too familiar; A really fucked up case of deja vu.

He nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath as hot tears spill into your skin.

His mind is racing a mile a minute, the confusion at what just transpired messing with his head, along with the fear still living in the pit of his stomach at how he almost lost you.

He tries to focus on how grateful he is to hold you as you're still breathing, to know that he was able to catch you in time.

He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s going to fix it.

He’s going to save you.

Even if it’s the last thing he does.

Tag list: @someblessedmonster

[adoringhaikyuu]

they find out you hooked up with their friend/teammate before you started dating | 3

characters: akaashi + iwaizumi + osamu + suna + (gn!reader)

requests: can you do a part 2 to the 'he finds out you hooked up with his best friend' with iwaizumi, suna and bokuto ? thank you and i LOVE your page 💞• by anonymous + s skfhsk s please do a they find out you hooked up with their friend/teammate before you started dating for suna osamu (even better if yn hooked up with his twin omfg) and akaashi 🥺 i love your writing please i will pass away • by anonymous

warnings: the second one is a lil angsty and the last two have suggestive tings 

notes: y’all are too sweet, everyone is 18+ in this! (i’d already gotten another request for bokuto by the time i got the first request so he’s in pt two) + they’re all different lengths btw sorry abt that <3

part one | part two | part three

akaashi:

so you and bokuto hooked up like way before you and akaashi started dating

it was in high school but it wasn’t like there were any feelings involved

...okay maybe he ended up getting a lil crush on you but he got over it

your friends had dared you to hook up with someone to loosen up and you were too nervous to ask your real crush, akaashi (plus you’re not even sure if he was at that party)

and bokuto was kinda chatting u up so u thought why not

(this was before akaashi let him know that he liked you)

it wasn’t until one day that the three of you were hanging out that akaashi found out about it

bokuto had been talking to you and his best friend about this girl he met at a café, he wanted to ask her out but he wasn’t sure how to go about it, so he was asking you two for advice. 

“i’m thinking i take her to watch the stars and then i can swoop in and do my special move. that’ll have her swooning for sure, right?” he smiled to himself and looked at you both as if for reassurance that he was going about this the right way.

akaashi was about to respond when you spoke up first. 

“that thing you do with your tongue?” bokuto nodded, his brows raised up and down, showcasing his confidence. you shook your head immediately, “that’s a little too bold to do right away don’t you think?”

he deflated a bit,  “well... i’m not––” he backpedaled, looking to the side to cover his tracks, “not gonna do it right away...after... a couple dates maybe?” 

before you could say anything else, akaashi spoke up, placing a hand on your thigh to get your attention. you turned to see him looking at you intently, brows slightly furrowed, a small frown on his face. 

“how do you know about his special move?” 

“oh, um...” you blinked a few times and then looked back to bokuto. “we kind of hooked up?” you turned back to your boyfriend and you could see the thoughts processing in his mind. “it was only once though–”

“and what a time it was!–” 

you turned back to look at the loud boy incredulously and he shrugged. “what? i’m just saying you know what you’re doing–”

you rolled your eyes, “you’re not helping here.” you turned to face akaashi fully, taking his hand in yours. you noticed he was a little tense, clearly uncomfortable. “if it makes you feel any better, it’s not like i liked him or anything...to be honest i would’ve hooked up with you that day if i was brave enough to ask you...” 

he looked up at you, eyes wide and quickly glanced down, his cheeks turning pink. 

bokuto spoke up, “wait a minute, so i was second choice?” he crossed his arms and sunk down in his seat, mumbling to himself like a kid. 

you were about to make a comment when you felt akaashi raise your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. he gave you a soft smile, “i would’ve liked that...i was too scared to ask you out for a while, bokuto-san is actually the one who convinced me to in the end, so i guess he’s off the hook for using his move on you...” 

bokuto perked up again, “oh great!–”

he pulled you closer to his side, his face serious. “but don’t ask y/n for any more kissing advice or i’m kicking you out.” 

iwaizumi:

when iwa found out that you and oikawa hooked up before you started dating, admittedly he felt a little jealous

but it was mostly just his insecurities, he was used to everyone fawning over his best friend 

and the thought that you were potentially one of those people wasn’t surprising but it kinda upset him

what if you wanted to leave him for oikawa?

you and oikawa were actually the ones who told him that you’d hooked up, while the three of you were hanging out at your place, not thinking much of it since it was a one and done kind of thing for both of you

but you’d noticed the way he’d gotten a bit quieter afterwards, the way he seemed a bit more tense

you waited until oikawa went home to say something

he came back to sit on the couch after locking the door behind his friend and you turned to him. “baby?”

he grunted, eyes focused on his lap. 

“look at me please?” your voice was soft and he couldn’t help but listen, looking up into your eyes sheepishly. you put a hand on his arm, “what’s wrong? i can tell something’s bothering you.”

he looked away and shook his head once, “it’s nothing i just...”

you squeezed his arm reassuringly and he sighed. “just started thinking about you and... shittykawa.”

you moved to sit in his lap and his arms immediately came around to hold you. you placed a hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes fondly and sternly to get the message across. “haji listen to me, i love you and only you. i would never leave you, okay?” 

he nodded but you could tell he was still in his thoughts, so you went on. “i love how thoughtful you are, how sweet you are to me and to your family.” you kissed a spot on his face between every sentence. “i love your voice in the morning when you wake up and the way you tell me you love me every day. i love the way you hold me,” you trailed your hands down to his arms. “and i love your strong arms––” you let your fingers trace his veins and he shifted under you, flustered from your touch and your words. “i love everything about you, haji. i hope you know that...”

he brought his hands up to your cheeks and pulled you in for a kiss, “i know, doll. thank you for that. i love you too, so much. it drives me insane how much i’m in love with you.” his cheeks were dusted pink as he spoke to you and it couldn’t have been more endearing that he was still nervous around you, despite having been together for a good while now. 

“any time.” you smiled, pulling away after giving him another sweet kiss. “plus, you’re a way better kisser than him.” 

he threw his head back and laughed, his hands squeezing your sides as he looked back into your eyes, before kissing you. “oh i’m so telling him that.” 

osamu:

you and atsumu had hooked up once in high school 

...technically

see you were both kinda wasted at a party when it ‘happened’ 

the most you did was kiss and feel each other up, but after you accidentally moaned osamu’s name–––

things ended pretty quickly after that

you don’t know if it’s because you were drunk and mistook atsumu for his brother or if you were secretly wishing it was him, or both

all you know is the two of you agreed to never speak of that ever again

it was embarrassing enough for the both of you

but unfortunately it was one of those memories that came back to haunt you every now and then...even years later, now that you were dating osamu, and living with him

you visibly winced as you thought back to the awkward silence and the way the two of you paused when you said osamu’s name. you shouldn’t have been thinking about this, especially not now, when osamu was literally cooking dinner for you in your home. 

you spaced out for a bit and hadn’t noticed your boyfriend calling for your attention until you saw his hand wave in front of your face. you blinked quickly and looked up at him, “hi! yes i’m here–”

he raised a brow and laughed, amused, coming around the kitchen island to wrap his arms around you and put his head over your shoulder. you sunk into his embrace and he hummed, “what were you thinking about? i asked you what side dish you wanted and you were completely spaced out.” 

you shook your head, “oh um, nothing. i think what we had yesterday would be fine.” 

you tried to move on but he wasn’t having that. he narrowed his eyes as he turned his head to look at you. “well if it’s nothing then you won’t mind telling me, hm?”

his tone was calm but you could tell that he was suspicious and starting to get a little worried. you took a deep breath and buried your face in your hands––it’s not that you wanted to hide it from him, you were just embarrassed is all. 

your shoulders sunk down and you meekly admitted to what you were thinking about, your voice muffled by your palms, the only word osamu able to decipher being his brother’s name. 

he took a sharp intake of breath and stood up, rolling his eyes. “’tsumu? what did that idiot do now––”

you shook your head and took your hands away from your face. “no...it’s not something he did...it was me.” 

osamu crossed his arms and looked down at you, more curious now. “what happened?” 

“it’s not...it wasn’t recent––” he only looked at you blankly, silently telling you to continue. 

you sighed, “well we...hooked up in high school.” you could see his jaw clench. “it was only once, though. and he didn’t––we only kissed and we were fully clothed. honestly it only lasted a few minutes.” 

that seemed to put him at ease a bit more. “well that’s––fine...”

you looked down, “that’s not the bad part.” 

osamu’s hand came under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him, the look in his eyes warm. “come on, you can tell me.” 

you bit your lip, knowing he’d never let you live this down. “it was at suna’s party our third year and we were pretty wasted...we went to a random room and we were kissing and i...” you trailed off, your pride not wanting you to finish your sentence. 

you took a deep breath. “i moaned your name.” 

he blinked at you, once, then twice before he poked his tongue to the side of his mouth, clearly fighting off a laugh. “are you serious?”

you rolled your eyes, “like i would joke about that.” 

“i don’t know if that’s really funny or really sad, i feel like it’s both-”

“hey!-”

he laughed, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” he pulled you in for a hug and you reluctantly held him back. “oh man that must’ve been such a blow to his ego,” he cackled.

you frowned, “stop samu, i felt really bad, i still do–”

he rolled his eyes, “he’s fine.” he looked down at you with a smirk, “so you’ve had a crush on me since we were juniors, huh?”

you raised a brow, “do i have to moan his name now to fix your ego?” 

he narrowed his eyes, “not unless you wanna be punished, no.”

that honestly didn’t sound too bad. 

suna:

you and osamu hooked up on and off for a few months 

you were kinda friends with benefits tbh but no one knew about it 

well atsumu found out but that was an accident he just came home earlier than expected one day and caught you two

but other than him, and your best friend, no one knew

not even suna

i mean why would you tell him, it’s been years and it didn’t matter

you’d pushed it to the back of your mind and hadn’t expected it to come up ever again

however––

one day suna went to hang out with his old teammates and atsumu for some reason decided to blurt out that you and his brother used to hook up, not thinking much of it––honestly it’s a shocker he kept it a secret for as long as he did

when suna came home, you were lying down in bed, scrolling on your phone and you perked up when you heard him get in, looking back to your screen. 

“hi baby, how was it?” 

he didn’t answer and you were about to sit up when you felt to hands pull you down by your legs. you looked up, eyes wide to see your boyfriend standing above you, a spark hiding behind his seemingly bored eyes. 

you tilted your head questioningly and he took your phone from your hands, throwing it aside. “atsumu told me something real interesting today.” 

you raised a brow, thinking it was something ridiculous. “oh yeah?” 

he nodded, his hands reaching for the hem of your sweatpants, making your breath hitch. “mhm. and you know, it’s not that i care.” he pulled them down after making sure you were okay with it. “but it did bother me, i won’t lie.” 

he reached for your underwear as well, licking his lips when they were out of the way. “he told me that you and osamu used to be fuck buddies.” you looked up at him, speechless for a few seconds but he kept going. “m’not mad, that would be stupid.” he lied down between your legs and looked up at you, a glint in his eyes. “but i feel like reminding you you’re mine, so i’m gonna play with you for a while, okay?” 

how could you say no to that––

[latenightdecaf]

Nervous Cold Hands

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: established relationship, fluff, angst,

*sighs in defeat* boyfriend!namjoon

Summary: Kim Namjoon’s your boyfriend—he breaks things, he changes his mind easily, forgets where his phone is but also loves you dearly.

Word Count: 1,891

a/n: I actually don’t know what this is and how it just dawned to me after repeating the video of Joon on his last live about having a tattoo and marriage and kids. I’m personally close his age and I have the exact same sentiments about having kids 😂 although the story is not at all related to that. I’m sorry for leading you on 😅

Thank you though for being here. Please do let me know what you think or feel or anything really 💭

“Hey, baby. I changed my mind.” Coming in from behind you, you got caught off guard on his random declaration in the middle of nowhere. Immediately, turning your back to look at him and putting the knife down as a precaution.

“About what?” Giving him a confused look.

Joon still looking intensely at his phone in one hand, other tucked in on his sweatpants. Not even bothering to look up, “About dinner.” You sighed; shoulder softened. “Again??” If only you didn’t know him enough, for being the most indecisive person on earth but after months of dating him, this is something you’ve already gotten used to.

But the tone of your voice is enough for him to look up from his phone, flipping it shut and placing it on top of the counter. Making his way towards you, showing you his infamous apologetic smile and dimples. Arms out wide, already gesturing to give you his bear hug when you dodge and walked past him. You picked his phone up, raising it and looking at him with a serious expression on your face. “I’m already a hundred percent sure, you’ll be looking for these again in the next 10 mins.” Putting it right inside the pocket of his sweats and went back immediately to chopping the garlic you were already doing before. Namjoon just stood there watching your every move, scratching the back of his neck. He moved an inch closer to you and you immediately noticed, “Joon—I’m holding a knife here.” you warned him without even looking up and it made him laugh.

He loves you for your strong personality. Loves it even more when you call him, ‘love’ or even ‘baby’ sometimes. It makes him feel warm and privileged to be called by you that way. You rarely call him, ‘Joon’ or ‘Namjoon’ only when there are other people around or when you’re serious which makes him nervous sometimes. You have this cold exterior on the outside to people who doesn’t know you but immediately Namjoon thought different, to him you looked warm the very first time he met you. Loves your smile and loves knowing he’s the reason behind it too. But when your expression changes and with the tone that sounds more serious. He knows it too well that you’re not one to mess up with.

“I’m sorry—why don’t we just order in?” You keep blinking your eyes, staring down at the garlic you’ve been holding onto for minutes now. “Jajjangmyeon and tangsuyuk?” coming in closer and peeking at you slightly, he’s very much aware that those are your comfort food. Some of the things you just can’t say no to. And indeed, you nodded softly and put down the knife.

Cleaning the rejected garlic quietly that’s supposed to be for yet another kimchi-jjiggae and still not facing your boyfriend at all. Today is just one of those days. Where you don’t know what you’re feeling or what specific thing or event is weighing you down, but something is weighing you down. And Namjoon can tell, he knows it wasn’t his fault, he knows it wasn’t the dinner’s fault—he’ll admit he had been busy with work, but he knows when you’re trying to keep something to yourself which you often do so before.

At the start of your relationship, you both know that communication is an important factor in maintaining one. And that’s not even a problem for him at all, always ready to talk, always ready to decipher every tiny little thing—but you on the other hand, it intimidates you. His display of openness and vulnerability scares you and even makes you doubt yourself sometimes. Just when you thought you’ve already matured enough to make an actual relationship work, Joon awes you each time, makes you feel like you’re still a beginner.

You admire him a lot, not just because he’s RM of BTS but simply because of how he is. He’s a book nerd; you’re a book nerd but you’ve never seen anyone quite like him before—he asks you what you think of a book you both read together, and it chokes you sometimes to say the words in your head. Overthinking and wishing that he’d find you smart too or at least good enough. It weighs in your mind a lot how he thinks of you, more than you could ever admit.

But you know who you are, you know what you like and don’t like, you know what to say and not say—you know what your opinions are and can very well form them on your own. But at the same time, you have also been told that you were too much for pondering a lot about the relationship. Been told that ‘your personality was too strong’ for leading and asking questions those people don’t have the answer to, you never let it show but it wounded you. Made you feel like you should temper your fire and maybe just conform instead. Even after months of being with Joon, you never completely opened this up to him. You’re not sure—not entirely confident yet of what you both have and if it’s already strong enough.

Joon immediately dialed your favorite Chinese restaurant. Washing your hands and drying it off, with Joon just standing and calling the restaurant beside you. He held your left wrist, warm and comforting—looking at you as he waits for his order to be completed. And as soon as he’s done, he hunched his back to meet your eye, examining you “Everything—“ while you continue to avoid it, “Not okay…”

He grabbed your hand, intertwining with his as you both make your way to his dining room—pulling out the chair for you to sit as he sits beside you. Not letting go of your hand, while you continue to feel weird, almost in the verge of crying but not knowing entirely what you’re upset about. “Talk to me please.” Tugging your hand that’s entangled with his and you just nodded. But still unsure of what to say.

You both waited in silence for a few more minutes, “You know what, I sometimes look at you and I really can’t figure you out. You make me nervous like that.” You smiled and looked at the hand that just won’t let you go. You stare at it for a good while, “Joon-ah, my love." trying not to choke on the words, “What if—you got me all figure out, and found that there’s nothing here that you like?” You slowly turned to look at him, he sighed and showed you his tight-lipped smile. “No, I have not figured you out—and it drives me crazy sometimes. But one thing’s for sure it would not change my mind at all. Do you have any idea how nervous I am when called me ‘Joon’ earlier, I mean that’s my name but I’m ‘love’ right?” You chuckled at his statement, you have noticed it before and sometimes do it on purpose just to mess with him, but he makes the same reaction every time, eyes all wide and suddenly attentive. “But—there won’t be anything I wouldn’t like, I’m pretty sure of that by now.” You frowned and he noticed it immediately. “You don’t know that yet, Joon.” He tugged your hand again, “Please stop calling me, Joon—I have no idea where this conversation is going but can’t you tell my hand’s growing cold already.” You laughed and dragged your chair closer to his, grabbing his other free hand and gently rubbing his knuckles. You’ve always loved the way his big hands cover yours and you feel bad for dragging your insecurities and even making him nervous about it. Almost like a whisper, “I’m sorry, my love.”

“I make you nervous, you make me nervous. I’m not sure what’s wrong with us.” You smiled at him, still brushing your fingers onto his knuckles—feeling it getting warmer in your grip. “Nothing’s wrong with us, okay? What are you so worried about?” looking genuinely concerned, “Do you think it’s because our love is new that’s why it feels that way?” Gently nodding along, “Maybe and maybe not, they say when you’re nervous to try something it means you’re onto something important. Maybe, we’re both nervous of each other sometimes because we know how important this is—I’m nervous because of how important you are to me. Every eyebrow raises, every micro expression you make, every weird intonation of a question, I try not to contemplate but yes that makes me nervous—sometimes even more so than my work you know?” He has his way with words, no one can ever deny it.

It warms your heart knowing so well that you’re being understood even with less direct words. You have it in your hand, a man that doesn’t just love you but understands you too. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m too much for you?” Squinting his eyes in this question, acting like he’s seriously pondering over it. “Too much of what? Coffee? Yes, you drink too much coffee, love.” Making face and eyes rolling because you know so well that that joke is half meant. “I don’t really understand the questions luv, why would you be too much?” Smiling and genuinely wondering about that question.

Frowning and trying so hard to hold back your tears because it finally hit you—you’re finally being loved for the things those people said you were too much for.

Joon noticed the tears that’s forming your eyes, he rushed to have you in your arms. Gently stroking the back of your head as you let it all out while he hugs you tight and rocks you back in forth which made you smile. Covering you with his warmth, drowning all your worries with his love. He really makes everything better you thought.

The doorbell rang and finally your comfort food arrived. Joon greeted the delivery man politely and went back to set the food at the table while you get your drinks and plates. You and Joon work perfectly together, almost as if you both fill in each other’s gaps. Or for at least for you, just his tiny quirks. His clumsiness just makes you even more attentive than you realize. Making sure he’s nowhere near stuff that could potentially break and end up hurting him, nowhere near the kitchen where sharp knives are present but like always, he still hovers trying to see if he could be of any help. So, you end up taking his offer and gave him stuff to do. These days he can basically make your favorite cold brew, without dismantling your manual grinder. He didn’t have to do it, but he loves doing things for you.

“So what do you think does cold hands mean? Well for you, I already said mine. I want to hear yours.” he asked as he slurps in on his Jajjangmyeon. “It’s not even about cold hands. It was about how we were nervous…” You rolled eyes over his question, and he just smiled in return. This part is what intimidate you sometimes. Always asking a penny for your thoughts. “But anyway, I’ll take it—I’d say mine is cold because I’m not holding yours.”

[charles-rxwlands]

the aftermath of 'i love you.'

this is the sequel to my fic how kaz would react to 'i love you.' which was basically all angst. spoiler alert: this is all angst, too.

pairing: kaz brekker/reader but not exactly (??) cause they've broken up so uh

rating: teen

word count: 1.5k (rounded up)

summary: what happened after you said 'i love you,' to kaz

tags: gender neutral!reader, angst, unhappy ending

warnings: swearing, self-deprecating thoughts, and i think that's it? but pls lmk if anything else is needed

read on ao3

a/n: the writing quality of this really went 📉📈📉 but in my defense i wrote most of this while my brother watched tommy innit videos at full volume so ofc i was distracted.

and fyi muzzen is not an oc, he's one of the minor minor characters in soc!

once again, feedback and reblogs are appreciated! hope you enjoy reading <3

Kaz's pov

He watched you from the other side of the room as you blatantly flirted with Muzzen. He had his glass of kvas (Jesper had begged for the club to order the ravkan mead for weeks) in a death grip. You ran your fingers through your hair, and smiled at something Muzzen had said. He tugged lightly on the collar of your jacket, making you laugh softly. Kaz's heart tightened, jealousy settling in his chest.

You looked happy, even as you conversed with the brainless bodyguard who probably couldn't count up to ten. Kaz hadn't been able to make you happy like that. But you had loved him anyway, and he had 'fucked you over', as you'd put it.

I love you.

You're a coward, Brekker.

Kaz let out something in between a sigh and a frustrated grunt. He drained the rest of his drink in one go, and set the glass down more violently than he'd intended. His scowl deepened, if that were even possible, when he sensex Inej slide into the seat next to him. He waited for her to speak, because he sure as hell wasn't going to initiate the conversation. What was there to say? You and him were over. And it was all his fault. 

"Kaz," Inej said. Her tone of voice was gentle - too gentle. He didn't want to be pitied, for fuck's sake. 

"What is it, Inej?" he snapped. 

"Tell me what happened between you and Y/n."

"Nothing to tell." He shrugged. 

Annoyance flickered over her face. "I care about you both, you know," she said. "I don't like seeing you two like this."

He gave her a withering look, if only to disguise the ugly feeling that flared up within him at her words. 

Don't care about me.

Don't love me.

You can't.

Kaz bit the inside of his cheek and hung his head. He studiously ignored Inej for a solid minute. At some point, he noticed that you and Muzzen had abandoned your corner table, most likely to go suck each other's faces off. The thought sent jolts of jealousy through his heart. 

"For Saint's sake- did she break your heart? Is that it?" she demanded, apparently having had enough of his silence.

He 'tsked' in annoyance, standing up abruptly. He snatched up his cane. "Maybe I broke hers," he muttered before walking off. He didn't want to answer questions today. Or ever.

Inej didn't follow him, and he was thankful for that. He trudged up the stairway, the rickety steps creaking under his weight. Emotions swirled within him, brewing up a storm. It was just a matter of time before he exploded, because as much as he hated to admit it, he was still human. Especially when it came to you. 

You had been one of the first people to see his humanity, and the last thing he wanted was to become another monster in your life.

But then again, maybe it was too late.

Suddenly, he bumped into someone. He hissed, flinching backwards. "Watch it-," his next words died on his tongue when he looked up, and came face to face with you. For a few, painfully awkward moments, the two of you held eye contact. Your face was stony, but your e/c eyes betrayed some kind of emotion that Kaz couldn't be bothered to decipher right now.

"Sorry, Brekker," you apologised. Your tone was flat. "C'mon, Muzzen," you gestured for him to follow you back down with a jerk of your head.

His hand twitched at his side as you left, almost as if his body yearned for your presence. Your shoulders nearly touched - missing each other by less than a centimetre. He couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. 

Letting out another sharp breath, Kaz resumed the walk back to his room. His footsteps grew quicker and more urgent. Your name echoed in his mind, as well as the three words that had haunted him for days now. 

Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He slammed the door behind him when he finally reached his quarters. His cane fell to the floor, although his gloves stayed on. He stumbled into the cramped bathroom, bracing two hands against the rusty sink. He twisted the tap open, ignoring the squeak of the old mechanism that would have otherwise annoyed him. A gentle stream of water flowed from the tap head, and he splashed some on his face. 

No, he thought stubbornly, I am not going to break down because of Y/n.

The despair that rattled inside of him said otherwise.

f only he had reacted better when you'd told him you loved him. If only he hadn't yelled at you and called you all those horrible things that weren't true about you in the slightest. You weren't selfish at all. You were the exact opposite. You were kind, and thoughtful, and understanding - so, so understanding of him and his endless baggage. And he had- he had ruined it all, because of his own cowardice.

You're a coward, Brekker.

I know, he thought, not for the first time. I'm sorry. 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Your pov

"I- I'm sorry, Muzzen, but I think I'm gonna turn in for the night," you said to the bodyguard, smiling sheepishly. "I've got a bit of a headache."

"It's alright," he said, giving a half-hearted smile back. It was clear he didn't believe you. You didn't know if that was because your acting skills weren't as up to par as you thought, or because the bodyguard was smarter than you made him out to be.

You all but ran up the stairs, nearly sagging in relief as the door closed behind you. You suddenly couldn't stand the feeling of the fabric of your coat on your skin and shrugged it off; Kaz had bought it for you, because of course the reminder of him lingered everywhere you went.

Your room wasn't anywhere near big, but it was a good way away from Kaz's, and for the first time, you were grateful for that. You couldn't deal with him at the moment.

Wait, no, that came out wrong. It wasn't him specifically that you couldn't deal with, it was the bad memories (or, rather, memory, as there was one key shitshow that had ruimed everything) that came with him.

Oh, Saints, why, why, why had you told him you loved him? Things had been going so well! And then you- you fucked it up. Yes, you had blatantly blamed this on Kaz the day of the argument, but deep down, you knew you were the one at fault. 

Your heart ached every time you thought of him. You missed Kaz. So, so much. It hadn't escaped you how he had been eyeing you and Muzzen earlier in the evening. You could only hope that he was staring out of jealousy, and not devising some foolproof plan to get rid of you.

What would it take for Kaz to forgive you? Or had you fucked things up beyond repair? 

"Shit," you whispered, leaning your head against the wall. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. "Shit." You didn't know what exactly was 'shit'. Maybe the decision you came to moments later.

I'm going to apologise to him," you said to your empty room. "I will."

With a sniffle, you cracked open your door and slipped back outside. You had left your coat in a pile on the floor, making you vulnerable to the cold that pierced the empty areas of the Crow Club. Your feet carried you to Kaz's room naturally. You barely had to think about where you were going. Instead, you thought of Kaz himself. 

Kaz. Your fallen angel, you used to call him in your mind. You couldn't express how sorry you were. You didn't even know what you were sorry for. Loving him? Loving him, and saying it aloud? Loving him, and saying it aloud, because you were so sure he felt the same way? 

You had been being selfish. Kaz said so himself. Selfish and stupid. Of course Kaz didn't love you.

At last, you were in front of his door. You raised a fist to knock. Opened your mouth to call out. Except you did none of those. You just stood there, tears welling up in your eyes once again, a familiar pang of sadness in your chest. 

He wouldn't want to see you. How could he? This was your fault, wasn't it? It was your selfishness, and your wishful thinking that had gotten you two into this position. You missed him, but you wouldn't go as far as to think he missed you, too. If you attempted to apologise… would it really be for him? 

You wouldn't be selfish. Not again.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. 

You turned around, and walked away.