#i feel so young again after watching :< the nostalgia of it all

[ghostsofharrenhal]

excuse my kuroo tetsurou brainrot

[yzzart]

౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of Emiko, Emi and Mina, Ultraman form, Kenji being a little needy (once again), fluff, a little something to warm our hearts and minds so dreamy.

── word count: 683!

⭑.ᐟ Underneath, and sometimes over, tight-fitting t-shirts and extremely expensive fabrics, wear a necklace; however, there is something special there. — His promise ring hangs on the gold chain; like a talisman, something that surrounds he with luck and passion. — Staying attached and close to you, even with a small object.

⤷ If he needs to think or try to decide something dramatically important and you're not around, Sato will take his fingers to the necklace and hold the ring; looking for guidance. — Oh, and waking up, before him, and contemplating that shiny and significant piece, which rests on his broad chest, is angelic.

⭑.ᐟ It's not uncommon to feel, in the middle of the night, Kenji's face trying, persistently, on your neck; readily, wanting to harness the huge and strong body between your. — He doesn't care about the grotesque difference in size, just at that moment, and he doesn't give up.

“Kenji, be careful…!” — Your voice, fully, drunk with sleep and maintaining stillness, murmured between the boy's black and shiny locks; who only responded with a snore, more like a purr and clinging even tighter to you.

⭑.ᐟ Sato can't keep his hands off you, no matter what's going on, what you're doing or what simple task you're performing; hands on your waist, kisses on every exposed and revealed part of your body, thin and wide fingers catching on some part of your clothes. — Don't be upset with him, this poor man is in love with you.

⤷ One day, Mina compared him to a sloth and obviously got a frown of disapproval and the adorable Emi observes how her “father” remains so attached to her “mother”. — Even laughing and grunting when he saw a completely sleepy and desperate Ken crawling towards you.

⭑.ᐟ Please, we have, we need to talk about all the times Kenji and Emi train together, most of the time, being just leisure moments, you sit in the stands, virtually, scheduled and cheer for them; accompanied by Mina. — The feeling of nostalgia, remembering an incredible part of his life, is exposed in Ken's chest; remembering his mother.

⭑.ᐟ I can easily imagine Ken pressing his nose against your cheek or neck wanting your attention; also, when he wants to show you the way Emi is sleeping, enjoying the baby's sweetness. — And, together, pressing his forehead against yours during countless moments of the day and night, when you get home after confronting some creature and every time he want to say "i love you" to you.

⭑.ᐟ This man knows you like the back of his hand; no one can disagree or dispute this fact. — Kenji pays attention to your gestures, noticing your body language and, for a matter of seconds, he knows that something is bothering you; and, there he is, dedicating himself, with all his attention, to doing his girl well.

⭑.ᐟ Funny situations, for Ken, between you and his Ultraman form are included in your lives. — Once, while chasing Aboras, he ended up finding you on the street, wanting to go home, and clearly he was distracted by wanting to cause a provocation. — Mina gave the boy a long, and rightly so, scolding.

“Go back to the house, young lady.” — The robotic voice filled a part of the city's environment, wanting to convey an authoritarian image. — “You know…” — He pointed one of his gigantic fingers in your direction, then towards the place he was. — “The streets have been very dangerous lately.” — Oh, you stopped yourself from answering him like you really wanted to.

“Thank you, so much, for the advice, Ultraman.”

⭑.ᐟ There are nights — many, many nights — that Ken spends watching, contemplating you sleeping, peacefully; your face remained full, without signs of tiredness, exquisite and messy locks spread out, this was adored by the player's eyes. — Between seconds of fascination, Kenji longed, dreamed, deeply and painfully, of his mother meeting you; this way, she would have the chance to know the light that raised her dear son.

⤷ Kenji prospers, sometimes praying, that one day his mother will return, safe and sound, and be able to achieve what he wants so much in his life.

[bloodstained-ballgowns]

i just rewatched ‘the woman who fell to earth’ a couple of days ago for the first time since it aired back in 2018 and the more i think about it, the more i like it.

thirteen is the only doctor for whom i feel a tangible, rose-tinted nostalgia. she wasn’t my first doctor, but she was the first doctor i watched live, the first doctor that i spent an actual extended period of time with over the episode rollout. her intro episode has middling parts (as can be expected with most episodes of Who) but there’s also so much good that i really want to highlight.

first of all, there are some really great character dynamics set up here. much more interesting than i remember, tbh. ryan is a guy who loves mechanics but is stuck in a warehouse job he hates, a guy who obviously wants to connect to people, a guy who by the end of the episode has lost both his mother and grandmother in the space of a couple of years and the step-grandfather he didn’t really want is all he has left (minus his absent father). that’s interesting.

yaz has a keen sense of justice and this raw, intense yearning to help people, to do something worthwhile, something more - the way she has chosen to express that is through law enforcement, but it’s not quite giving her the satisfaction she wants. that’s interesting.

graham’s experience with cancer means that he constantly feels like he’s living on borrowed time. meeting grace gave him purpose, gave him family, gave him the will to fight when he fought it was all but over, but now grace is gone. he and ryan aren’t related, but they’re family, and now they’ve got to figure out how to care for each other without the very lynchpin that brought them together. once again with feeling: interesting!

“i’m just a traveller. sometimes i see things that need fixing. i do what i can.” i like that they circle back to the ‘just some guy’ portrayal of the doctor here, both because it’s the one i’m partial to and because it feeds particularly well into the whole ‘the doctor is an unreliable narrator’ aspect, especially in the wake of the increased deification in the moffat era. it's a nice set up, even if it gets completely overhauled circa series 12/13. in fact, having thirteen keep this as a persistent attitude throughout the Timeless Child of it all could have been really effective re: her reticence with her companions and refusal to address or deal with her past.

the scene where thirteen builds her sonic screwdriver might be one of my favourite sequences in nuwho. i love that it’s a hybrid of alien tech and sheffield steel. i also love that they highlight the ‘mad inventor’ side of the doctor here (her teleportation circuit is based around a microwave?) and wish that they had carried it forward more. it would have been the perfect basis for her to bond with ryan over. jodie also pulls off the humour of the episode well, considering the significant shift from moffat dialogue.

i enjoy thirteen's outfit: the vibrancy of it as mirroring her childish excitability, but also as another part of the mask - if i dress all colourful then maybe i can ignore/outrun/masquerade my great capacity for darkness! etc etc. the shopping trip with yaz and ryan is a bit shoe-horned in at the end but it's cute that she finds it in a charity shop. (back in 2018 i bought a t-shirt with a couple of stripes across the chest solely because it remotely resembled the one she wore lol. nerd from a young age, me.) jodie also looks soo hot in capaldi's outfit though so a spin on the traditional suit would also have been appreciated.

some miscellaneous points: i like that she tells Karl off (“you had no right to do that”) right after saving him. i like that she gets it wrong at first and makes it clear that she’s working on the fly. she’s following her instinct, and that instinct is to help people. doctor who has been beautiful before but the cinematography takes such a huge step this era. “it’s been a long time since i bought women’s clothes” i am choosing to believe this is about river thank you and good night.

[keravnous]

desperado! ; tangerine/fem!reader (smut 18+)

read pt. 1 here | read pt. 3 here | read pt. 4 here

The Twins are laying low in Amsterdam. Growing bored of being stuck in the hideout all day, Tangerine decides to explore what the shifty parts of the city have to offer at night.

word count: 12,9k

warnings: i mean if atj can dance then tangerine can too, tango dancing bc it's very sexy and steamy ok; car sex, head while driving, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female), fingering, rough and passionate sex, undernegotiated kinks: (light) spanking, daddy kink (once or twice), unprotected sex, choking, pet names, dirty talk, name calling, hotel sex; they steal a car bc why not, short intro from tangerine's pov, small glimpses into his dysfunctionality, rather slow story development at the beginning, i still have very strong feelings about this angry man so please, have this

title is from the song of the same name, desperado by rihanna

the songs they're dancing to are esta noche en vivo by carlos libedinsky and otra luna by narcotango

mel said: kinda sad we didnt get to suck his dick in bathroom b!tch and I said: same

The air is still warm and a little humid despite the late hour, filled with laughter and the sweet, sweet smell of alcohol and marihuana, sweat and summer. Tangerine takes another drag from his cigarette, watches how the smoke curls into the dark sky, illuminated by the colourful lights of the city. He takes a deep breath.

He sighs, relishes in the way his shoulders relax. He feels alive -- again; finally. It's a real relief, has his limbs going a little slack. He had felt anger clawing at his chest for the past week now, the beast inside ripping his skin to shreds and lashing out with its razor-sharp claws - mostly at his brother. But since he had left the flat about an hour ago it has been curled up rather peacefully in his chest, with a satisfied purr in sync with his heartbeat.

Next to him, the water in the canals lays calmly, reflecting the city's lights and echoing the clinking of glasses and music that wafts through the streets. Tangerine passes by a restaurant, people sitting outside under string lights, drinking, chatting, eating and he watches them as he strolls by. They radiate happiness and it catches onto him like a wave, has him smiling at the sight. He takes another drag of his cigarette, enjoys the way the smoke burns in his throat. Jesus Christ, how he had missed this.

There just aren't enough books, good books, that can keep him holed up in a small flat for a whole fucking month. And thus, he had decided to break - well, bend - the rules a little tonight.

Their contact, Henk, had told him about that one spot where one could get anything: from alcohol to various drugs and weapons, maybe even a hitman. If one's lucky. And Tangerine does feel a whole lot of fucking luck pumping through his veins tonight, making him feel a little light-headed, stardust at the heels of his shoes.

His chest feels light and his feet are practically flying over the cobblestones, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth as he lays his head back, watches the illuminated sky above - exhales smoke, inhales the night.

A group of students staggers by, laughing and cheering, passing a bottle of liquor around. His gaze follows them, nostalgia tearing at his heartstrings as he remembers the times when Lemon and him were just that - young and without a care in the world.

Now, their hands are sticky with blood - metaphorically, he had washed his well and thoroughly after last month's job went wrong - and they are both in hiding. Again.

Lemon insisted it would be careless to go out at night, at any time of the day really - "That's bollocks, mate. You can't just go out, can ya? What if they sent someone after us?" -, but especially if it was just to have some fun. Because fuck fun, right?

But, there is nothing else to do anyways, with the way his brain always, always finds a way back to his own recent failure and how it was linked to Bolivia.

Bolivia -- it still leaves him sleepless and shaking sometimes, just like tonight.

Tangerine had been pacing the living room craving a drink until Lemon fell asleep, and then decided that he needed a change of scenery, something to take his mind of the carnage and its debris.

"Yeah, let's just all go fuckin' insane in that flat, huh", Tangerine huffs to himself, looking at his phone. It beeps, signalling him that he is getting closer to his destination. His feet carry him through the streets of Amsterdam, a warm summer breeze rustles his silk shirt and cools his warm skin as he passes by restaurants, bars and closed book and flower shops.

Eventually, he comes to a halt in front of a launderette: Wassen bij Muriel.

The neon lights inside are on, illuminating the sidewalk in a cold white. He blinks. There is no one inside but an old lady behind the counter and a grimly looking man sitting on a plastic stool in the back corner. He can hear faint music coming from behind the glass door.

To an unsuspecting tourist it would look like a rancid shop but to him, it doesn't. Tangerine knows better, has been to a lot of places like this.

"Alright", he says - lets his neck crack once, twice and throws his cigarette away - before pushing the door open, the bell above ringing.

***

You watch your friend leaning down towards the young woman, sitting in a darkened corner. Your father never wanted you to befriend any of his third or fourth row dealers but you never were one to follow rules, always going for the next thrill, the next rush of adrenaline. But tonight, there's been no rush so far, no tingling of your veins - just pure and blank boredom.

You had picked out your favourite dress in the prospect of being offered to dance with a handsome stranger, even ditched on the underwear to make sure the thin fabric hugged your curves nicely, but the men in here are mostly uninteresting, ordinary - simple dealers or lowlife thugs, street criminals that steal money from unwary tourists.

You watch how your friend, with a quick sleight of hand, exchanges cocaine for money, laughing at the woman like she is an old friend and then makes his way back to the bar. He winks at you and squeezes past a young couple, orders himself a drink.

You swirl your glass between your fingers, watching the remaining puddle of wine running up and down its walls - dripping down like blood - and then bring it up to your lips, emptying it in one sip. The taste is warm and full, rich and you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the strumming of the band's contrabass and the red wine on your tongue. It reminds you of that one time in Bogotá, when you and your father had visited his suppliers - wine and music melting together with the summer heat, having you dream of the jungle, old villages, and the beaches of private islands off the coast.

Your father had dragged you along once more, this time to Amsterdam, despite your pleas not to - "You will have to take over one day and I want you to be prepared" - and you were gladly sneaking away when your friend invited you to spend the night at his favourite bar.

It is a tango joint and a beautiful place, an old basement with low ceilings and a small bar, people and furniture bathed in colourful neon lights. Purple and red are dancing across faces and sweaty bodies - swirling over the dance floor or pressed against the cold walls, tongues shoved into mouths - reflecting off glasses and expensive jewellery.

It is a place where people like you and your friends get together: the upcoming generation of an international crime elite, sons and daughters throwing away their parents’ blood or drug money, getting high and drunk hidden by the shadows of the night, staying awake until the sun rises again. It's a place where people like you mix and mingle with those working for your families, a welcome change to a certain hierarchy at something a civilian would naively call a safe space.

You open your eyes again, as the band starts to play a new song, blinking while your eyes adjust to the dim, colourful lights. There still are couples swirling across the dance floor to the sensual rhythm of the tango, that the small band in the back is playing. You let out a sigh at both, the loneliness and the boredom creeping in on you, and turn around on your barstool to order yourself another drink as --

Your shoulder suddenly connects heavily with something firm and warm - triggering a muttered Fuckin' hell - and a second later the man, who you just bumped into, turns around. He looks pissed, left eye twitching.

"'M sorry", you say quickly, a little taken aback by both: his anger and his beauty. The former doesn't seem to last very long, with his lips tilting up a little, eyes gleaming mischievously while they dance over your frame.

"Apology accepted, love", he has a strong northern British accent, like some of your father's business partners do.

But he is arguably a lot more handsome than any of them are. Dark, combed, and slicked back hair that curls right over his shoulders building a nice contrast to his light blue, short-sleeved silk shirt, unbuttoned down to his belly - exposing golden jewellery. The necklace shines warmly against his pale skin, glimmering purple in the dim lights.

It might be the alcohol and the loneliness but you really, really want to just dart one hand out, run it over his chest and his neck, feeling his warmth and the few locks of chest hair, smelling and tasting the scent of summer on his skin.

You wonder what he does, what his profession is. The 70s porn-stache, vintage Rolex and golden rings scream Miami and you can't help but imagine him in the hot sun, bare chested, blood on his hands - red red red - cutting open bricks of cocaine -

"May I get you a drink, love?", his voice pulls you out of your daydreams and you blink. He must've caught you staring.

You know, that men like him usually mean trouble. And yet, you can hear yourself say: "That'd be very nice, thank you."

He lifts two fingers up, signalling the man behind the bar that he wants to order something and you notice that his knuckles are bruised. Blue and green mixing with the red of the scab, partially healed. There are scars on his forearm, meandering between his tattoos and up up up his arm below the soft, expensive silk of his shirt.

The goosebumps that erupt on your skin are nothing but pleasant as you immediately know what type of man he is. Everyone in here is on the market for something: drugs, love, sex, guns - but rarely does one sell murder. Real, cold-blooded murder. Ruthless, fast, dirty.

He's trying to hide it but watching him as he discusses the menu with the bartender, it sticks out like a sore thumb: the well-mannered gestures crash with his fucked-up hands, the way he's dressed like a drug-selling pimp refuses to fit in with his sugar-coated talk and the way he moves can't hide a lingering anger, like a raging beast pacing in a cage.

It is a carefully put together façade, but it's no use against you. You know men like him and you know them well. They don't scare you - quite the opposite, and thus the pure and utter danger he emits has excitement tingling in your stomach. As fucked up as it is: it makes you want him - adrenaline kicking in, shooting a tingle right between your legs.

He turns around again and you lean forward a little, deciding to make your move soon.

"'S a Mezcal Margarita alright with you, love?", he asks and you throw him your most charming smile, nodding.

"We'll take two then, mate", he nods and slides a few bucks over the counter, watches the bartender pouring liquid into a cocktail tumbler.

"Sooo", the man turns around towards you and grins, shows some teeth as his hand vanishes in the pocket of his linen trousers, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He's taking a looong deliberate drag, puffing out the smoke, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Y/N", you reply, gaze dropping to his lips and back up, where his gaze catches yours. He has beautiful eyes, blue like the fucking sea and the purple neon lights make them glow with mischief and smugness - dark and oddly promising, inviting - framed by long lashes.

One of your fingers brushes over his hand, that is resting on the counter. The wooden surface is sticky with half-dried alcohol. His gaze holds yours while he takes another drag of his cigarette. You just might lose yourself in the hue that dances over his eyes.

"And you are?", you say, just loud enough to be audible over the music.

His gaze drops to your fingers that are brushing over his golden rings and he chuckles: "Don't ya try stealing those, sugar, I know that fuckin' trick", and you smile innocently, as he leans in a little, "Name's Tangerine, love." There are cheers erupting from the dancefloor, the rhythm of the music picking up.

You pout playfully and his eyes dance over your face, glimmering mischievously. "Oh", you sigh, "And here I was, thinking you'd may even give me your real name."

"Can't, love, m'sorry."

"Mh pity -- who did you kill?"

"Who said I killed someone?", he's dangerously close now, voice a low rumble.

"Your hands", your fingers dance over the crust of his knuckles and his eyes gleam. For a moment he says nothing and then, towering over your sitting form, voice low and rough:

"Aren't ya afraid o'me, love?"

"Terribly", and he grins at that, his eyes holding yours captive.

"Bet you are", Tangerine hums, barely audible and sticks his cigarette between his lips, one hand darting up, has his thumb gently grazing over your chin.

The touch is nice, soft and gentle but firm, in full control. It makes your chest tingle, sends a wave of pleasure through your body. His eyes flick over your face and you find yourself growing a little hot under his gaze. You wonder is he's going to lean in, ditch his cigarette and --

The bartender places two glasses in front of you and it makes you snap out of it for a second, noticing how close Tangerine got. His thighs are touching your knees and his face is so so close to yours, noses mere inches apart.

"Thanks, mate", Tangerine says, pulls the glasses closer. You watch him - slender fingers getting a little wet with condensed water, cigarette between his lips, chain and bracelet rustling with the sudden movement. There's a thin film of sweat glistening on his chest and it has your thighs clench with raw and utter want, wanting to put your lips onto the firm the muscles, licking his skin clean.

The way his body still presses against your knees, is electrifying and you decide to invite him in more. You let your knees fall apart, making way for him. His gaze drops down and he chuckles to himself but moves in nonetheless, one of his hands gently coming to a rest on your thigh, holding you close and in place. The touch shoves the soft, flowy silk of your cowl dress aside, the slit in the fabric exposing your thigh. Tangerine's hand is warm on your skin, rings pressing cooly against your hot flesh, as he starts groping you - thumb digging into your thigh and you gasp quietly.

"Been wantin' to ask -- what's a pretty girl like you doin' in a place like this, huh?", he says, cigarette bobbing up and down in the corner of his mouth.

"My friend sells blow here", you say truthfully - not a full lie and yet not the complete truth, but you know better than to trust a stranger with your ties to your family's business - and piqued interest flickers through his gaze.

Tangerine then, very languidly, takes another looong drag from his cigarette and taps some of the ash on the counter, holding your gaze with his own. "D'you sell yourself, love?"

You laugh at that, violently shaking your head. "Hell, no."

He chuckles, eyes roaming over your face. "Well, looks like I got myself a good girl, then eh?", he knows what he is doing, voice low and deep and you swallow.

"I wouldn't say so", you whisper, "But why don't you come a bit closer and find out?"

Tangerine flashes a grin, shows his bright bright teeth, one of his hands coming up and stroking his moustache while he shakes his head in disbelief.

It's stupid. Very fucking stupid. He shouldn't. He should get the fuck out of here - quickly. This is dangerous. She might be, too.

Instead, he looks up again. Ah, fuck it - fuck the rules. Lemon will get it - maybe. Ultimately, he will, simply has to - with the beast inside rattling the cage.

Tangerine leans in, his hand on your thigh sneaking up, making its way over your hip, your side and then cups your body, thumb digging into your flesh underneath your tit. Your heartbeat picks up as he pulls you close and you nearly yelp, scooting forward on the barstool, your hand coming up and grasping his forearm, holding on to him. "Well, why don't we fuckin' drink to that then, love?", he rasps, the hand resting on the bar pulls your glass in.

With a shaking hand you take it, fingers closing in around the cool glass and you watch him raising his, bud of cigarette nearly touching it. He is exhilarating, demanding and firm underneath the attire of a gentleman and it has your head swimming, wetness pooling between your legs. Excitement bubbles up in your chest, wondering where the night may, will lead.

"Cheers, love", Tangerine smirks and winks at you, both your glasses clink. He is still so so close, your knees still hitting his hips and his tongue runs over the edge, licks the salt away slowly, playfully until he downs half the Margarita in one go, like it's water.

You raise one brow, carefully taking a sip. The salt on the edge of the glass tingles on your lips and the liquor burns nicely in your throat as you take another. It's a hellishly strong cocktail and you wonder if he's a regular drinker. A lot of people like him - call them what you like, assassins, killers, hitmen - are.

Tangerine eyes the glass in his hand, weighs it from left to right a little, then nods to himself in approval while you take another sip. He instead downs the other half of the cocktail and puts the glass back on the counter. It's a quick, routinely movement and you come to realize that you may be right. You decide to not give it too much thought, because he's hot and he freed you from the boredom threatening to swallow you whole tonight and because everything about him has your blood singing with the gleeful promise of adrenaline. You put your glass next to his and look up at him through your lashes. He catches the invitation.

Tangerine throws his cigarette into his empty glass and then leans in again. The tip of his nose brushing over yours, the sensual music entangling both of you as his gaze flicks over your face.

You hook one leg around his waist and he moves in closer, pressing yourself against him, one hand on his arm - to anyone looking over you might even seem like an actual couple, enjoying the night out - and hunger burns in his eyes. His lips brush over yours and you know he's toying with you, keen on him leaning in to fucking kiss you already --

The music stops.

There's sudden silence as the band passes a bottle of whiskey around and the two of you freeze, blinking dumbfoundedly. The silence is odd, stalling both of you but you can't help it, feeling like drowning in the dark dark blue of his eyes, shimmering with green in the purple light. You can hear Tangerine breathe quietly with him being so utterly close to you and it's nice, comfortingly human and you can't help but smile against his lips still hovering over yours, a gentle gesture that is being reciprocated by him.

You're a little dizzy with it too, the alcohol, lack of fresh air and his body warmth mixing together, making you a little unsteady. He has pure and raw want tingling in your belly, your hand on his upper arm clenching around the firm muscles a little, thumb brushing over the soft material. And then, just as the music picks up again, his lips brush against yours: "You don't happen to wanna dance, do ya, love?"

"Fuck yes, thought you'd never ask", and Tangerine laughs, a deep, pleasant sound that rumbles in his chest and offers you his hand.

Yours runs down down down his arm and closes around his, while he's making some room for you to slip off of the barstool and then he's pulling you close again - your body pressing smack against his side as he's dragging you along to the makeshift dance floor.

The crowd still cheers, applauds the band and the bandoneon plays the few first chords of a new song. Tangerine gently takes your hand in his, thumb cupping your index and middle finger as your palm rests against his. His other hand sneaks around your waist and rests and the small of your back, holding you close. He looks at you and you feel like drowning in his eyes, pupils blown wide and you wonder when he'll show first signs of being drunk, with the way you already feel a little warm, light-headed. In a few minutes, maybe an hour you'll learn that he holds his liquor way better than you hold your own.

He is even closer to you now than before at the bar and now you can smell his perfume through the thick cloud of smoke that wavers through the basement's air - he smells nice, deep and rich of citrus and a little of vanilla and cigarettes, reminds you of the summer you've spent in Palermo once.

Tangerine gently places one hand below your shoulder and yours comes up, rests on his shoulder, just as he starts to move to the music. He takes a step backwards, guiding your forward and gently guides you through the crowd - a steady back and forth in rhythm with the tango.

Tangerine's hand still holds yours, guides your arm until it is stretched out and then it abandons your hand, runs down down down your arm very gently, pads of his fingers brushing over your soft skin, hairs on your arms rising. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers cradle back between yours, a smile tugging at his lips.

One of his legs pushes between yours while he manoeuvres you backwards, hand on your waist holding you close. Tangerine presses himself against you, heat radiating off of his body with both your arms still stretched out and you grip his hand tightly, leaning back. You arch your back, raising one leg and hooking it around his waist as his gaze locks with yours. You can feel his crotch pressing against yours, with the way the skirt of your dress hikes up your legs. He is warm and a little hard already, has the breath hitching in your throat and arousal igniting your loins.

Tangerine leans down a little, lips still curled up in smile and then pulls you up like you weigh nothing and you stretch your legs in a delicate, slight split as he twirls you around, your chest firmly resting against his.

His arm presses onto your back, holds you close until your feet touch the ground once more and he immediately guides you sideways with a few long and slow strides until he comes to a halt. One of your arms wraps around his shoulders as he holds you close and you stretch your leg out, your heel gliding forward over the concrete floor of the basement, stretching your leg out in front of you and then gently sliding it backwards into a deep lunge, your body following the movement. You lean back and Tangerine follows, leans down and towers over your body.

He holds you there for a moment, chest rising and falling, brows furrowed a little before he carefully helps you back up - immediately embracing your body once more.

The music speeds up and so does he while guiding you over the dancefloor, face close to yours with unbreaking eye contact as you swirl over the concrete.

At the next strum of the contrabass, you take a step back, arching your back. Very playfully you sway your hips, shoulders loosely following while one of hands rests on his forearm, the other lays in his hand, feet tapping the floor rhythmically with the movement of your hips.

You know that he has a perfect view of your body, your hard nipples being visible through the thin fabric of your dress. His gaze drops down, watches how the silk plays with your curves, eyes growing a little darker. You move in and Tangerine pulls you close, your hand intertwined with his resting on his chest and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, moustache tingling. "No underwear, I reckon, love?", he hums, the fingers of his other hand brushing over your waist.

And you shake your head, whispering: "No, none", and it has his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, a low chuckle escaping his throat. "Fuck me", he breathes and holds you close while moving over the dancefloor, one hand gently but firmly resting on your ass cheek, hiking the hem of your dress up a little.

The touch ignites you and you press against him, leaning in, nose brushing over his jaw, eyelids fluttering. You are pressed against each other, movements slowing down and blooming into a languid sensuality in dance: long strides, toying with him a little - turning your head away, stretching your arm out, only for his hand to gently caress it - feet wrapping around his calf, leg pushing between his. Tangerine is patient with the little game you are playing, unerringly keeping the lead and you in your place.

You wonder if he fucks like he dances. It makes your skin going hot, imagination running wild and breath hitching.

The song ebbs and the crowd applauds and the two of you come to a halt as well, but not parting, not partaking in the celebration of the band. You are clawing to him, breath going fast and heavy and so does his, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His hand momentarily rejects your waist to brush through his hair and then returns. His touch is firm, a little rough and you sigh contently.

Some people are looking your way, intrigued by what got over the two of you, enticed by each other and oblivious to the surrounding world. It's a dangerous thing - letting your guard down, for both of you - but you couldn't care less.

Tangerine smirks down at you and licks his lips. "D'ya know what ya do to me, dove?", he says quietly and you know but you feel the same, and thus, your hand brushes over his shoulder to his neck and you nestle your bods against his.

You wonder if he can feel your raising heartbeat, smell the lust and the excitement spreading in your body. You look up at him, fingers burying themselves in his locks.

"Mhm - do you?", you reply just as quietly and Tangerine chuckles, eyes falling shut.

Your bodies stay like that, closely pressing against each other with the music picking back up. You gently rest your forehead on his temple, leaning onto him as he holds you close. You can't help it, you just want to fucking touch him and your hand runs over his shoulder to the front, gently moves up his throat and then cups his jaw, fingers brushing over the clean-shaven skin. It's soft and warm and you can feel, hear him take a deep breath.

Moving across the floor slowly, Tangerine's body turns into an anchor for your long, ardent strides; his strong arms holding you up during each turn, muscles twitching beneath your touch. He is so so close to you, so warm - each one of his steps lingering with desire and it washes over you like a wave, has the hairs on your body standing up.

You sink against him, falling into his embrace, arms clinging around his neck and his hand is pressed on your shoulder, the other remains in the air uselessly as he looks down in surprise, brows furrowed. He can see, feel your chest heaving, a quiet whimper escaping your mouth.

Then, his lips curl into a smug grin.

Tangerine carefully twirls you around, hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer. Your back rests against his chest and you can feel the tip of his nose brushing through your hair as his hands move over your body - one resting on your belly, the other gently cupping you below your breast, feeling the way your heart races against your ribcage, and his touch sends shivers down your spine, has arousal shooting right between your legs. You remain this way for a few beats, the blood in your veins pumping with the rhythm of the music, feeling his strong frame pressing against you - his breath on your temple and his cologne wrapping you in. His body radiates warmth and you can feel his chest rising against your back, his hardening dick pressing against your ass.

Lust tingles in your stomach looking up at him and, at the next strum of the contrabass, you take his hand and twirl out of his embrace. Tangerine follows and pulls you back in and your hand crawls up his arm, another one resting on his neck. His gaze locks with yours as he leans down, tip of his nose brushing against yours.

The hands on your back keeps you close, a dark shadow resting over his eyes, turning them into a deep deep sea. He slowly guides you forward with two long strides and then firmly hooks one arm around you, lunges backward a little and you follow his movement, bending your leg and resting it against his groin. His hard cock presses against your thigh, and he leans in, lips brushing over yours before straightening both of you back up, heels of your shoes connecting firmly with the ground. Tangerine swirls you over the floor and manoeuvres you through the dancing couples, until he eventually, when the space arises, grabs your hips once more. You let yourself fall, upper body leaning back delicately, enthralled by his strength and the way he guides you through the dance, and he pulls you back up.

Your hand runs up his chest, fingers clawing at the silk as your gazes lock once more. You suck in a few breaths, his scent clouding up your mind, hand running higher and higher, thumb cupping his cheek and fingers resting in his hair behind his ear, earring pressing cooly against your skin.

His lips are slightly agape, eyes you up and down, while his hand presses you close. "Yeah, fuck, you wanna take this elsewhere, love?", he rasps and you nod, eyelids fluttering with the hidden promise.

All the while Tangerine navigates you through the crowd, he holds you close, blood pumping in your ears with the way the music makes your chest vibrate, his scent clouding up your mind - only him him him.

As soon as you are out on the street Tangerine is onto you again, pulls you close in the bright lights of the laundrette and kisses you like a starving man. His arms wrap around your waist, pressing you against him, tits flush against his chest, as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands run up his arms, one of them curling his neck and the other cupping his jaw. You can feel his hard dick through his linen slacks and it makes you hot all over, wetness pooling between your legs. You break the kiss, heaving against his lips.

"Fuck", Tangerine huffs, hand on your waist wandering down, cupping one of your ass cheeks. You mewl, eyelids fluttering. You're desperate to touch him, for him to fuck you.

"My hotel's nearby", you whisper and it sounds so fucking needy, "We could take the tram?"

"Yeah sure, lead the way", and you do, stealing another long and sloppy, hungry kiss from him and then he's pulling you close, holds you by his side as the two of you rush down the streets of Amsterdam - heels clicking, sweet nothings on the tip of your tongues. Some people turn their heads, voyeurism kicking in at the oddly hot couple with the air around them cracking with their energy, watching how the two of you rush by - the woman giggling and clearly a little drunk, hands roaming all over the man's chest, while he holds her close, thick British accent wrapping her in.

That is, until he stops dead in his tracks next to an alley on a rather empty street.

"Oi, wait a bloody minute, love -- would'ya look at that", Tangerine looks down an alleyway and you lean in closer, trying to get a look at what he's seeing, peaking over his shoulder on the tip of your toes. His hand is still resting on your waist, fingers splayed out.

"What?", there's nothing. Just cars parked beneath a warmly glowing streetlight in a dark alley.

"That", his finger darts out and points at a beige convertible.

"I -- that's a car?"

He looks a you, a little offended.

"That's not just a car, love. That's a 1966 Cadillac Coupe DeVille."

You blink, watching him while he eyes the vehicle, fingers brushing over his stache absent-mindedly.

"What are you thinking 'bout?", and it doesn't even take him a second to reply: "I wanna steal it."

Well, that's a surprise. "You wanna steal the car?"

"Yeah, I got this fuckin' thing -- 's kinda like compulsion, innit?"

You raise your eyebrows and he looks at you, lips curling up in an amused smile that's looks an awful lot like Sugar I can't change it, now can I? and before he can come up with something witty to go along with it, you say: "Yeah fuck, alright. Let's do it."

He laughs, eyes you up and down. "Ya naughty little girl, eh."

You can feel your skin growing hot, hand brushing over his forearm, leaning in a little. His eyes gleam. "Show me what you can do, babe", and he does, wraps one arm around your hips and strolls over to the car, carefully eyeing the alley.

The windows are rolled down and he grins. "That's an easy one, love, watch it", his hand brushes over your hip and the touch has goosebumps erupting on your arms, running down down your back and you nod - fuck yes, you'll watch.

Tangerine leans against the driver side's door and reaches inside through the rolled down window. You don't know what exactly he's doing but you can see the way his muscles work underneath the blue silk, as he grabs the handle and then, suddenly lifts the door a little out of its frame. The lock bursts, and for a second your muscles tense, body anticipating alarms going off and reading to flee.

Nothing happens; no sirens erupting - just the door swinging open lazily.

Apparently; obviously this is not his first time stealing a car. The thought of him just taking what he wants does something funny to your stomach.

You peak inside. It is an old-timer, with one large seating bench in the front, instead of two seats. Tangerine is holding the door open for you.

"After you, Lady", and he fucking winks at you.

Crawling onto the seats you make sure to make a little show out of it. You can feel his gaze roaming over your body as you bend down, until you eventually sit down in the middle of the front row seat. Tangerine sits down next to you and you immediately close the distance between the two of you, pulling one leg up, knee resting firmly on the soft beige leather and pressing against his thigh. The fabric of your dress hikes up, the slit exposing your leg up up up to your groin.

The sight distracts him for second, as you throw a look over your shoulder and out of the rear window, into the night. The alley still lays silent and deserted - but for how much longer? Tangerine watches you tensing up next to him.

"Easy, love, just a minute", he huffs and pulls an envelope out of his pocket, takes out a set of lockpicks.

"Oh, so you just carry that around with you?", you blurt out, blinking.

"Yeah", he says casually, bends down a little, trying to get a good look beneath the steering wheel.

If you were to be more of a thief and less of a drug lord's lazy daughter, you'd be able to identify his choice as a Lishi lockpick.

You watch him as he carefully sticks it into the keyhole of the ignition, slooowly starts to move the tool forward and feeling for the contact of the wafer. Quiet clicking sounds fill the humid air.

You can tell, that Tangerine is showing off a little, trying to impress you with speed and precision. He squints his eyes a little, brows furrowing and eyeing the small lock while carefully turning it clockwise.

It jams.

"Bastard", Tangerine curses underneath, pulls the reader of the lockpick back and carefully feels for the missing contact, tuuurns it --

The engine jolts alive, purrs lowly and the headlights snap on.

"There ya go", he mutters, "Piece 'o piss, eh?"

You snort at his vulgar cockney but you must agree - it did not take him more than two to three minutes, from breaking the lock to starting the engine. It shouldn't, but it does turn you on a little.

Tangerine is slamming the door shut and whips out his phone, handing it over to you. "Type in the address, love, would ya?"

You do and then quickly discard it into the cupholder - you want him and your fingertips tingle with it, wanting to touch him and being touched by him. The female voice - uncanny valley personified - of the google maps assistant pipes up and if you weren't so very fucking intoxicated by him you would laugh.

Instead, a fresh wave of desperate lust takes over you and your hands are onto him again in no time, one crawling up his arm, the other resting on his thigh and feeling his muscles work as he backs the Cadillac up. Tangerine chuckles, throws you a quick look before he is steering the car out of the alley.

You are aching for him to touch you, to be closer to you, hand tugging at his shirt a little while you lean in, nose brushing over the side of his throat.

"Jesus, love", he huffs, "Can't keep ya'self together, can ya?"

And you mewl, shake your head and then your lips are closing in around the exposed crook of his neck. Your tongue laps over the sweaty, hot skin, tasting him - his cologne mixing bitterly with his sweat and you hum, gently sucking at his soft skin.

"Fuckin' hell", Tangerine's right hand abandons the steering wheel, coming to a rest on your exposed thigh brushing over your skin. The tone of his voice has your head swimming, spurring you on, encouraging you. Your eyelids flutter as your tongue comes loose:

"Want me to suck your cock while driving?", you say, looking at him - the tips of your fingers are playfully brushing over his shoulder, silk of his shirt rustling under the feather-light touch.

He snorts, shakes his head a little with disbelief, before looking back at you. It seems to click.

"Bloody hell, you're serious, aren't ya?", and you blush a little. You can see the way his Adam’s apple bops as he swallows, eyes aimlessly darting over the road, considering.

The google maps assistant pipes up again, chirps out the directions and then falls silent again.

"Yeah, no, that's a very lovely idea", he rasps, and then: "C'mon love, get to it."

And you do, mouth watering at the same time your sight drops down to his linen slacks, the fabric wrapping around his muscular thighs nicely and pressing firmly to his crotch, exposing the outlines of his hard dick straining it.

Your hand wanders up his leg - feeling his muscles twitch as he hammers down the gas pedal, racing by the light switching from yellow to green - and then sour fingers close in around his cock. It is large and hot through the fabric and just feeling it has fresh arousal pooling between your legs, making you hum, before rubbing his bulge through his trousers. Tangerine's right hand leaves your thigh and comes to a rest on your neck, thumb rubbing over your warm skin and making way for you, giving you some space and encouraging you further.

It's a nice, somewhat patronizing touch that is pushing all the right buttons, has you quivering with excitement.

You make quick work of his slacks, pulling the zipper down - already bowing down a little, stretching your lower leg out on the seat behind you - until you open the fly up. There's a damp stain on his dark silk boxers and your mouth fucking waters, before you pull the hem down. His cock springs free lazily and your breath hitches.

Tangerine's cock is large, cut and a little curved, resting between neatly trimmed pubic hair - vein at the bottom pulsing and the tip already flushed, precum glistening in the low light of the passing street lamps.

You can't wait to suck it, taste it, feel it inside of you -- you are fucking hungry for it, spit pooling around your tongue and heart beating in your chest. Arching your back while bowing down between his lower body and the steering wheel, you put your lips onto his dick, kissing from the base to the top, his musky scent wrapping you in, clouding your mind. You can hear him hum, a nice and deep sound, and the city rushing by through the rolled down window.

Your tongue flicks over the head of his dick, lapping at the precum, circling it. The way he tastes - salt and musk - has your head swimming a little, wetness pooling between your legs.

It makes your brain go mushy, hazy and one of your hands brushes over his thigh, desperate to being closer tohim, to make it feel good for him, caressing the warm skin beneath your touch before you blink up at him.

"Fuck, you got a nice cock", you nearly moan as your tongue betrays your brain, impatiently opening your mouth and letting him slide in a little, feeling him pressing hard and hot against your tongue.

"Shit", Tangerine laughs roughly, hand grabbing your neck as his dick twitches against your tongue, "D'ya even hear yourself speak, girl? Fuck."

You smile to yourself, a little coy, and you start to move your hand up up up his muscular thigh, palming his balls through the linen and then grabbing the base of his cock, slowly jerking him. Tangerine groans, breathing loudly, the city passing by.

Spit runs down his dick over taking him in deeper, pools between your fingers and you flick your wrist, moving your hand in rhythm with your tongue.

The car comes to a halt at the next red light, as Tangerine hits the brakes carefully. Your eyelids flutter and then your gaze darts up, meets his while you are releasing his dick from your mouth a little.

Tangerine moans deeply as tongue swirling around the thick head of his dick once more, his gaze boring into yours. "Isn't that just a lovely sight", he groans, right hand brushing through your hair, while the left grabs the steering wheel hard.

Tangerine watches you, traffic light long forgotten, how your tongue licks over his cock, your eyes looking up at him through your lashes. "You fuckin' minx -- ya do like behavin' like a slut, don't ya", and you smile against his cock, a quiet Uh-huh leaving your lips, before they close in around the tip of his dick.

His eyelids flutter as you start to suck, bobbing your head a little, tongue rubbing over the tip of his cock. "Fuckin' hell", he puffs his cheeks and throws his head back a little, exhales theatrically. The traffic light switches from yellow to green and you let him sink deeper into your mouth - the engine roars. You are certain he's close to breaking the speed limit, veins bursting with adrenaline and testosterone but you couldn't care less, the musky taste of his cock hazing your mind, lust taking over.

You feel yourself growing wet, cunt aching and you surrender to yourself, complying to your body's wishes, as one of your hands slooowly dips between your legs and underneath the hem of your dress. Your fingers brush up your thighs and over your slick folds, mentally thanking yourself for not putting any underwear on, mostly due to the unbearable heat and your skin-tight dress - but it sure does come in handy now, too. Your index finger flicks over your clit, just as his cock slides deeper into your mouth.

It feels fucking nice, the way Tangerine's dick is hard and heavy and hot on your tongue, his taste and scent engulfing you, the way you rub your clit has lust spreading through your body, moaning around his cock.

And then suddenly, Tangerine hits the breaks, hand hammering down on the horn. One of your hands darts out, barely catching onto the dashboard as you are thrown forward. Blood rushes in your ears, hastily sucking in a few breaths through your nose while you sputter around his cock.

The maps assistant chimes up in that second, reminding the driver that he will need to go right at the next intersection but --

"Ya fuckin' prick, imma fuckin' shoot ya in the fuckin' head ya stupid twat -", Tangerine yells and your head immediately pipes up, abandoning his dick and looking out of the windshield. Tangerine is just speeding up, passing by the car in front of him, angrily looking inside. "Ya dirty fuckin' chav, I got a right fuckin' lady with me 'ere, ya git", he spits and the man slowly turns his head. First, he looks at Tangerine, a cascade of insults flying his way and then he looks at you, smudged mascara and spit on your chin, your lips wet with it. You can see the wheels in his head turning, eyes growing wide as they drop down to one of your hands - the one that is still holding Tangerine's cock - vanishing between his legs. The man blinks and Tangerine flashes him the finger, before speeding by.

"Fuck about -- that fuckin' arsehole, love, could've killed ya drivin' like that", he grumbles, throws him one last look in the mirror, "Seriously, where did that prick get his license, the bloody fuckin' lottery?"

Tangerine's eye twitches and you can see his pulse speeding up, aorta pressing thickly against his neck, pumping. He is like a force of nature and a mental image of him, covered in bruises, blood and sweat flashes before your eyes - chest heaving and knuckles bruised, hair curling and framing his face like a halo, dripping with blood.

"You're so fuckin' hot when you're angry", you mumble and then you're bending down again, tongue licking over his cock, from the base all the way up the top, flicking around its head and then gliiiding back down.

A growl, a real fucking growl, leaves his chest, hand on your neck tightening. "You better get fuckin' back to it, love, Jesus fuckin' Christ", his voice is coarse and it gets you going, makes you wet wet wet and has your head diving back in, tongue lolling out of your mouth as his dick slides back in.

"Atta girl, fuck", he groans and then his hips jolt up, pushing his dick deep into your mouth and you hum around it. You start to bob your head up and down, meeting his thrusts - your hand abandons the dashboard to clutch his thigh, nails digging into the flesh a little.

Tangerine moans at both, your hot and wet mouth sucking him off and the slight pain that blooms in his thigh, dangerously mixing with the anger pulsing in his chest and he throws his head back.

"Just like that, fuckin' hell love", his hips buck, shoving himself deeper into your mouth. The sudden intrusion has you choking a little as he hits the back of your throat, spit gathering around the corners of your mouth while you sputter around his dick - jaw going slack and his hand finding its way into your hair, fisting it as he starts to fuck into your mouth.

Holding your head in place his cock hits the back of your throat, steals your breath. Your nose is buried in his pubes, inhaling his scent - sweat and musk - more saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, wetting his locks. You relax your throat and whimper around his dick, the way he uses you has fresh wetness spreading between your folds, squelching sounds filling the air as your finger is joined by a second, rubbing tight circles over your clit.

You moan around his cock, strangled noises escaping your throat while your rock back against your fingers, choking around the head of his cock hitting your throat.

"Shh, shh shh", he tuts, a little breathless, "Daddy's got ya, mh pretty girl? Lemme just--"

Tangerine's right hand lets go off your hair and then you can feel it sneak past your back, a feather-light touch brushing over the silk of your dress. It travels further and then grabs your ass, the sudden rough touch has you moaning around his dick once more. Your eyelids flutter as he pulls the fabric up up up, fists it and exposes you to whoever or whatever may rush past the passenger side's window. Your fingers speed up at the thought while his hand kneads the flesh of your cheeks.

"Fuckin' pretty", he hums, taking another quick look at the way your head bobs up and down his cock, "All over my cock like that, pretty fuckin' slut."

His hand wanders further down and before you can process it, one of his fingers circles your hole, feeling your slick and your plump folds. "Jesus Christ", he nearly groans, "You just love sucking cock, don't ya?"

That you do, whining around his base as the thick head of his dick hits the back of your throat again, with your fingers still working your clit. "Let me help you with that, love", and with that he pushes one finger in, up to his golden onyx ring, nestles it snugly between your hot walls. They clench around him and the sensation - the lingering promise of more - has you squirming a little.

Tangerine gives you what you want, need - finger curling a little, digits brushing over your spongy hot walls, before he slooowly pulls it back out. It circles your hole once more, quickly joined by a second, before he pushes them in again, starting to fuck you fast.

You moan, feet kicking a little and eyes tearing up at the sensation, with his dick pushing further into your throat and your fingers rubbing your clit, quickly has your muscles clench and cunt squirting.

"Yeah, just right 'ere, love, huh? Gettin'ya all loose 'n wet f'me? Such a good girl, aren't ya?", obscene sounds fill the air as he fucks your slick back into you, bottoms his fingers out, rubbing over the spot that has you seeing stars.

Tangerine moans deep in his chest as his cock starts to fuck into your mouth again and you let him use your throat gladly while his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, accompanied by the way your fingers flick over your clit rapidly.

The lack of fresh oxygen has you bucking against his hand, choking and sputtering around his cock that rams deeply in your throat but your stomach still flutters with it, lust igniting your loins and limbs tingling with it.

You can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, heart racing in your chest. Your fucking close and he seems to notice, too, his moans barely reaching your ears through the blood pumping and engine roaring. Tangerine nestles his fingers deep deep inside of you, rubbing over your walls and the spot that has you seeing stars, eyes falling shut and moaning against his cock.

It is all too much and your chest heaves as you finally cum, muscles clenching around his fingers, hips stuttering. His dick pulls back a little, tip resting hot and heavy against your tongue and then, his movements still.

"Open up your pretty mouth, doll, lemme see", he rasps, barely keeps an eye out to the street and you comply, fucked out mind making everything a little hazy, a little slow. Your jaw goes slack as you open your mouth, giving him a perfect view of his dick resting on your tongue.

Tangerine looks at you: mascara pooling beneath your eyes, lips swollen and red and jaw wet with spit and then comes too, shoots ropes of hot cum into your mouth. He watches the way it paints your tongue white, some of it landing on your upper lip, slooowly dripping down, running over your chin.

You swallow and then your tongue darts out, licks over your lips and then darts out, licks his cock clean, too.

Slowly, with your mind still foggy and limbs a little heavy already, you get back up. Your fingers brush through his remaining cum on your chin, wiping it away and letting them slip into your mouth, licking them clean. "Jesus, love", Tangerine's voice is a little coarse, gaze darting back and forth between your mouth and the street, as he carefully pulls his fingers out of you and your body closer instead.

You yelp, pressing yourself onto him, of your knees resting between his spread legs. None of you fucking care anymore, lust tugging at your brains dangerously, daringly. His hand, fingers still wet with your juices, brushes over your waist, grabs your ass and you lean in, lick over his throat, tasting his sweat and cologne.

"Can't wait for you to fuck me", you rasp, hands brushing over his chest, his necklace jingling, down down down, hand brushing over his cock and carefully putting it away, his clothing back in place.

Tangerine huffs, google assistant chiming out a direction, indicator clicking loudly as he sets it and then his hand comes up quickly, grabs your chin hard and holds your head in place. You look at him, deer in the headlights, holding your breath and then he's pulling you close, locks his lips with yours. He can taste himself on your tongue licking into your mouth, pulls you close.

You don't know how you made it to the fucking hotel alive, with Tangerine's hands roaming over your body, lips locking occasionally while he was speeding down the streets, cutting corners and red lights.

The two of you barely make it through the lobby and into the elevator, until Tangerine is onto you once more, presses your back flat against the cold, bronze metal. "I'll fuck ya so good, love", his dick is already hard again, pressing against you through the linen of his trousers and the satin of your dress, "'S gon' be all you'll be thinkin'bout for the next weeks." In a little more than an hour you will come to realize that he is right. You will be thinking about it for weeks. But now, there are only his lips roaming over your throat, occupying your mind and letting you drift back to a hazy, lustful state, with his hands feeling up your hips, your waist.

Eventually, the elevator piiings lazily and the two of you rush out it, like you are on the run from your own lust, hand clutching his as you quickly make your way down the hall to your suite. You unlock the door and turn the dimmed lights on inside. The room's just like you left it, guns and cash on the coffee table, soft light coming from the bedroom on the left. The window there is still opened, a soft breeze rolling in through the light curtains.

Tangerine throws the door shut behind himself and immediately grabs you by your waist, pulls you onto him, hand on your back on your ass as he leans down, devours you with a kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth while he manoeuvres you backwards through your suite. Your hands dart out, catching the doorframe of the bedroom and you grab it hard, using it as leverage as you push back against him, your crotch rubbing against his. Tangerine grins against your lips and grabs your hips hard, makes you moan into the kiss.

He breaks it, chest heaving a little. "Fuck, love, imma ruin ya." Your breath hitches at that and your hands let go of the doorframe, wrapping around his neck instead like you're on some sort of fucking autopilot. "Yeah fuck, please", you whisper.

It takes Tangerine a moment, gaze growing a little soft before the beast takes over again, a gleaming dark hue turning the blue into an endless ocean and he hoists you up, carries you over to the bed.

He is carrying you like a caveman would his bagged prey and he tears at your dress just the same, one hand shoving the straps down your shoulders. Then he's onto the zipper, sliiides it down and throws you onto the bed.

You land onto the duvet with a soft thud, tits bouncing a little and his gaze follows the movement hungrily, before he tugs at the hem of your dress, pulls it down and throws it to the ground carelessly.

Tangerine just watches, gaze hungrily moving over your naked form, slooowly starts to undress himself. His slender fingers unbutton the silky shirt, button by button in an agonizingly slow speed. You know he's deliberately taking his time with you and it works, has your body quivering with anticipation and lust, one of your own hands running up your body, cupping your tit. He lifts a brow as he watches you tweaking your nipple and the haughty disdain has your head swimming, legs falling apart. "Please", you whisper, pussy aching for his touch, "--Need you."

The silk falls open, still hugging his shoulder and Tangerine continues watching you, playing with a ring on his finger, just like he's playing with you. It's cruel but it has lust building up in your belly, shooting arousal down between your legs and making fresh wetness pool between your folds in a way that you just know, that his touch will be heavenly.

And yet, impatience taking over, you mewl and in a desperate attempt for any sort of attention - for him to just fucking touch you again - you scramble to your knees, stretching out on the mattress and pressing your body flat onto it, ass high in the air. You know that he'll see it: your wet cunt, glistening in the dim light, hole clenching desperately around nothing. You feel exposed and at his mercy alone, and the degradation and danger of being unarmed like this in the presence of a killer, has your heart racing, thighs rubbing together for any sort of fucking friction.

Tangerine bellows out a laugh, surprised and dark, can't really hide either how turned on he is, and then his hand comes down on your ass. The sound bounces off the walls and has your bods jolting forward, first a gasp and then a moan falling from your lips, hands fisting the sheets. "Ya dirty fuckin' whore", he groans, hand groping your already reddening flesh. You can hear the silk flowing down to the ground and then he is pressing his crotch against you, fine linen against your wet cunt.

It's electrifying, the rather rough material pressing against your soft skin, your slick immediately wetting the fabric as your start to roll your hips against it, rutting over his clothed dick. Tangerine's cock is so so hard, hotly pulsing through the linen and you can feel its curve pressing against your pussy. You whimper, hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ, love, can feel ya through my fucking pants -- lemme see", Tangerine groans and then grabs your hips hard, stalling your desperate movement, shoving them forward a little. You can feel his gaze dancing over your cunt, hear him whistle lowly, hands spreading your ass cheeks, assessing your slick. One of them comes loose and then --

He gives your cunt a light slap - the slight pain and degradation making your head swim - has you squirming on the mattress, a whiny Daddy, please escaping your lips. Your mind fogs up, all hazy with lust and his perfume, aching your back for him, pressing your chest flat against the sheets.

Tangerine pouts at you, eyes gleaming playfully. "D'you wan'it that bad, love?", and you nod nod nod, wiggling your hips as you chant - a desperate Yes yes yes escaping your lips, muffled by the mattress - hands uselessly darting out for any leverage.

His middle finger runs through your folds and you tremble, goosebumps erupting on your arms, spreading all over your body. He spreads your slick and his other hand comes up, kneads the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks further apart. "Always fuckin' wet f'me, innit? Picture perfect cunt ya got, love."

You mewl, throwing a glance over your shoulder to see him watching your hole clench around nothing. His eyes gleam. "Shit", you huff out as his finger brushes over your clit, feet curling a little and he grins smugly - Bastard - and gives your ass another sharp slap. You groan and then his hands are off you, making work of his trousers.

You watch him get fully undressed and your mouth waters at the sight. Tangerine's body is covered in scars, smaller round ones from bullets and larger, longer ones from knives and nasty fist fights and you want to crawl to him on your knees, kiss and lick them, worship them and him - his body, his tool of death - like he's your very personal reincarnation of Ares.

His dick springs free as he drops his boxers, completely exposing his muscular body to you, dusted on body hair and tattoos and scars scars scars and in the moment, that you can see precum glistening on the tip of his cock, you realize that you had already missed it. You fucking missed his dick. The thought has warmth spreading on your cheeks.

There's a light pat on your hip. "C'mon love, turn around. Wanna see your face while I fuck you nice and proper", he hums and your eyelids flutter, humming deeply in your throat at the proposition, turning around and laying on your back.

The mattress dips as he sinks down on his knees, chest flushed a little - the golden necklace dangling between your bodies - and then he's onto you, crawls over your body like an animal, leaves sloppy kisses on your skin, tongue licking over your nipples, stache tickling.

"Oh fuck", you huff, hands darting out and finding his hair, gently tugging at it. Tangerine's lips move over your throat and he sucks, makingyou gasp, throwing your head back as he marks you up.

"Spread ya legs f'me, sweetie", he rasps against your jaw and you do, knees falling apart. He grabs his dick with one hand, the other one supporting his own weight next to your head, rubs himself along your folds, using your slick as lube. "There ya fuckin' go", he huffs and then the thick head of his cock presses against your hole.

"Fuck, yes", you whimper, hot with anticipation, one hand leaving his hair and clutching around his shoulder. And then, he finally - fucking finally - puuushes in, your hole stretching around his girth a little, dull pain spreading excitement across your body.

Tangerine groans. It's a low and honest sound, has his chest vibrating against yours while he looks down to where your bodies meet. "Shit, fuckin' hell", he says, hand abandoning his dick as he slowly slides into you, fills you up and spreads your walls, grabbing your inner thigh instead. The way he spreads your legs is delicious and you hum, his dick is completely seated inside of you.

He lifts his gaze once more, looks at you. His eyes are dark, a stormy stormy sea, a few loose strands falling into his face, curls of his hair freeing themselves from the hair gel. He looks like a fucking god. "Fuck", you say, lowly, hole fluttering around him, stomach tingling at the sight.

"Ya cunt's so fuckin' tight, love", he growls and you can hear, feel it on your skin, that he is having a hard time holding back, "'S perfect, Jesus Christ."

Tangerine rolls his hips, once, twice and you moan, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulder. "'S good for ya, too, love?", his nose brushes over yours, lips ghosting over your cheek. "Yeah, fuck", you huff, and then he's onto you, licks over your lips with his tongue and shoves it into your mouth, invites himself in. You lick over it, lips locking with his, stealing the air from both of your lungs. It is a sloppy kiss charged with energy and lust, your hands tugging at his curls, making the thrusts of his dick more feral, as he forces himself in deeper, groaning into your mouth. In return you moan, chest heaving against his, tits rubbing over the muscular skin.

His lips brush over the corner of your mouth, breathes against it, stache tingling a little as they move down to your throat, kissing and nibbling at the skin, marking you up.

"Fuck", you gasp at the stinging sensation, pulling his hair and he groans.

It feels nice; the way he is fucking you - you push away the thought that it's dangerously close to actually making love - the way he feels inside of you, how his body feels against yours, but it's also not enough. You need more.

A whine escapes your mouth, all desperate and needy and breathless and his movements still for a second.

Then, Tangerine looks up at you, dark blue eyes meeting yours. "Tell me what you want", he whispers, hand groping your thigh and dick buried deep deep inside of you. You can feel it twitch inside of you and your breath hitches. "Want -- want you to fuck me", you say quietly, "Like - hard."

"Aint' ya just a fuckin' dream, poppet", he growls and then his lips are unto you once more, licking into your mouth, teeth catching your lower lip; licking and kissing your lips until their sore while picking up a faster rhythm, pounding into you.

Tangerine eventually breaks away from you, leaves you panting and straightens up until he's kneeling between your legs - rolls his hips into you with his dick fucking in and out your hole, accompanied by an obscene squelching sound. One of his hands grabs your thigh hard, rings digging into the flesh, and then he's hoisting it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder and you moan at both: how deep his cock now pushes into you and the way Tangerine looks.

A thin layer of sweat covers his cheeks and his upper body, chest and cheeks flushed, a few strands of hair falling into his face as his brows are furrowed, lips slightly parted. You can hear him breathe heavily, occasionally moaning when your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. He looks like a fucking porn star, with his defined muscles working beneath the skin and the golden jewellery, a soft summer breeze rolling in through the opened window, toying with his hair. Tangerine's gaze is glued to his dick that rhythmically pumps in and out of you, watches the way your juices squelch around the base of his cock, balls slapping against your wet skin.

His free hand runs up your belly and cups one of your tits, squeezes it, rolls the nipple between his fingers - the bracelet around his wrist jingles and the rings are cold against your skin. You hum deeply, breath ragged and fingers clawing at the sheets desperate for any leverage, while his deep thrusts throw you back and forth like a fucking ragdoll, tits bouncing and gasps falling from your lips.

Your mouth falls agape, watching Tangerine through hooded eyes and dark lashes and his gaze crawls up up up your body until it meets yours. It is accompanied by his hand, ditching your tit, and brushing up your neck, cupping your jaw and then falling in the crook beneath it, pressing down. The sudden lack of air has the muscles in your legs tensing and he feels it, too, mischief illuminating his face, his eyes, as you gasp for air. You know he could kill you then and there, watch you as your lights fade out and as fucked up as it is, it has your rutting your hips against him, spurring him on.

Tangerine furrows his brows and picks up a quicker rhythm, hand closing in tighter around your throat, rings pressing down onto your windpipe, and you lay your head back, feeling the stretch as he's choking you. The lack of fresh oxygen has your chest heaving, body surrendering to him and the way his cock pumps into your hole fast and deep, lust igniting your nerves. Tangerine can feel you clenching around his dick, wetting his trimmed pubic hair as you squirt, slick dripping down his balls and staining the sheets below. The beast inside him roars, thrums against the bars of its cage, his ribs and he sees your eyelids fluttering, cheeks prettily reddened.

"Atta girl", he groans, fingers giving in a little and you suck in a few deep breaths, before he presses them back down again. It's too soon and your hands dart up, clutching in around his wrist, bracelet jostling and clinking under your touch.

The cage breaks.

Suddenly, quickly, with the force and speed of a predatory animal, Tangerine lets go off your throat and flicks his wrist, catches both of yours in an iron grip and pins them above your head, down onto the mattress. His body follows the stretch of yours, bending over you, holding his own weight up with a hand that crashes down next to your chest. He is feral and it should scare you, especially as air floods your system again, lifts your mind out of your foggy state just a little, but it just doesn't no fight or flight kicking in. The way Tangerine hovers over you now has your leg on his shoulder bend, too, allowing his dick to fuck into you deeper, delicate pain from the stretch of your back igniting your loins.

Ragged breaths escape his throat while he pounds, ruts into you and you lose yourself in both, the sound of his utter pleasure and the way your body feels: on fire, chest tight with your approaching orgasm and raw lust, pure want, that chews up the ends of your nerves, has your limbs tingling.

Tangerine's hand keeps your wrists in that iron grip of his as he rolls his hips into you, dick hitting your cervix, his fingers digging into the flesh of your wrists. You throw your head back, gasping with each of his thrusts and his eyes follow your movement hungrily, groans as your eyes roll back. There's a strong pull in your abdomen and your hole flutters around his cock, his balls slap against your wet skin.

"Fuck fuck fuck", you whine, high pitched moans falling from your hips as he ruts into you, "I'm gonna cum, oh shit --"

Tangerine's eyes fall shut, a throaty moan erupting deep from his chest when your muscles tighten around him. "Yeah, shit love -- that's it, fuckin' cum f'me", he rasps, forehead coming down to a rest on your shoulder.

And you do after a few more of his deep thrusts, whining and legs kicking a little, shakes erupting in your chest as you press against him. Everything goes white as you ride your orgasm out on his dick, moaning and gasping as he does, too, shoots thick and hot ropes of cum into you, painting your walls and pulsing deep inside of you.

Tangerine moans, coarse and raw and his chest heaves, presses his nose into the crook of your neck - but you barely notice it, too far gone, mouth agape and legs shaking.

It takes you a while to come down again, eyelids fluttering open lazily. There's a hand on your cheek, a deep hum near your ear. "Welcome back, love", Tangerine says quietly and then, "Ya did so good for me, eh?" You mewl, stretching your legs a little. Your whole body feels sore, his cum leaking out of you and into the sheets. All you want to so is to get up and clean yourself up, but your legs are so so heavy and you just feel so so tired. Tangerine seems to notice, too.

"You stay here, darlin', imma get you something to clean you up", Tangerine says, voice coarse but soft and he gets up, just as a fresh breeze rolls in through the curtains, blows them up and sends them flying a little. The forecast prognosed heavy rainfall for next week. The air already smells like it a little - damp and mushy.

The breeze cools your sweaty skin, has you sighing with content while you watch Tangerine's naked form as he is walking to your bathroom, muscles in his legs and butt working nicely with each step.

***

It has been over a week and this is his third night. It starts to feel like a fucking stake out.

He feels incredibly silly. Silly for coming here again. Silly for lying to Lemon - again. Silly for ordering two Margaritas. Silly for drinking both.

Tangerine leans against the bar, elbows planted firmly on the sticky wood, smoking a cigarette. The band, same musicians, play a soft and melancholic tango. The air had cooled down a little after yesterday’s rain and maybe, just maybe, that'll be the summer's first soft goodbye before it will go down in a last great huzzah with a hot Indian summer before autumn takes over the city.

He wonders if he will still be in Amsterdam by then, if he and Lemon will watch the leaves fall. There is an offer for a job in Japan and he is considering to take it. He'll have to talk to Lemon about it.

"Anything else for you, Sir?", the bartender asks. And Tangerine nods, orders another Margarita. The bartender takes the empty glasses away and he stares at the wood. Oh, he's just so bloody fucking silly, isn't he?

He takes another drag from his cigarette, shifts his weight from one foot to another and rubs his eyes. She won't come. He knows.

She just won't. Tangerine did have a suspicion who she was, has heard stories about her father and he knew, as soon as he had laid eyes on her, that he was in big, big trouble. He wonders if he had already taken her away, wanting better for his daughter than a no-good ordinary killer. Did not want the danger in his life that came with a man, who potentially could be holding his daughter for ransom at some point or worse, could get her killed.

He gets it, though. He would probably do just the same.

"There you go, Sir", the bartender says and Tangerine just nods, suddenly feels very very exhausted and just barely notices that something, someone is moving next to him.

"Can you still afford to buy me one, too?", a familiar voice says, "Or did you burn it all on car insurance?" He chuckles, feels a sudden burst of energy surging through his veins, straightens back up and slowly turns around to her.

"Wasn't my fault, 'prick was driving like a fuckin' loony."

She chuckles and the noise makes his head swim, a strange fluttering feeling in his stomach. He wants to tear his chest open and claw at it, rip it out. That is how much it fucking scares him. How much she scares him.

"Wasn't sure if you were coming back", she says, casually, calmly like she thought about it so much she's just used to it by now.

"I'm not leavin' that soon, love", he says, signals the bartender that another Margarita is in order.

"Where you going?"

"Tokyo, love. Probably -- most likely."

"Come back in one piece then", her smile is genuine. And he knows, that he just has to now.

[jensettermandu]

nostalgia - huh yunjin

genre; light angst, fluff, sfw

pairing; yunjin x female reader

synopsis; purely based on the song Nostalgia by Suki Waterhouse

wc; 5.5k+

masterlist

a/n; i do recommend listening to the song while or before reading, just to hear all of its lyrics because only certain parts are used in the story plus it's such a good song

‘Do you still have the CDs that I burned you?’

Yunjin was aware that there was a limit to everything, even to how much of her life she could fit in her luggage before going back to South Korea to chase her dreams. It was hard to leave; leaving everything behind was what made it the hardest; the fact that she could only bring a small portion of her current life with her.

There was a fear that if she didn’t bring certain things, she would forget about them.

Of course, she was excited, but the tears of joy had also turned to tears that burned and a difficult feeling to swallow as it was thick with emotions. There were so many emotions to feel and it all ended up overwhelming her; missing her comfort.

As she looked through her last few drawers as a way to reminisce and try not to forget the stuff she would leave, in what would be her old room, her fingers stumbled upon something that held a deep past; it felt like a bitter past now when it had been so sweet. 

Yunjin grabbed the three different CD cases, grabbing onto what was left of the love she could have had. With those she picked up the walkman, she forgot to return and now never would get to return.

As she put the first CD into the player, she lay on her bed and stared at the white and empty ceiling. The girl pressed play after putting in the earphones; it burned her skin as she found herself painting out her memories onto the ceiling; reminiscing about a recent past as she listened to the voice.

Yunjin wasn’t the only one with dreams.

“These are just for you and no one else; our favourites and this one is—” Yunjin watched Y/n who trailed off, a CD case in her hand, she had already handed two to Yunjin.

It was a sweet gesture; it was affectionate and intimate and meant the world to Yunjin at the moment. Three CDs Y/n had burned her were better than anything else she could have gotten from anyone, especially Y/n. Somehow, she found herself creating the best memories when she was with her, she felt the most with her and didn’t want anything else.

They had come to the city for two different reasons; Yunjin had given up on her dreams and she fondly watched Y/n chase hers. There was some hope that it would reignite her passion again.

The girl sighed, her accent thick with her old home after coming from London to chase her dream in New York. 

“A few demos, so…” 

Carefully as if it was a flake of gold Yunjin reached for the see-through CD case in her girlfriend’s hold. This would become a core memory in her head; this was special in so many ways, Y/n’s first demos were in her hold. A smile painted itself onto her lips and she knew that she could always start creating and chasing new dreams; Y/n had become her dream.

Yunjin had never been more sure of the words that left her lips next, nothing had ever felt more right. This was something she was sure of, something she was passionate about. “I love you,” she truly did and being young, 18, she hadn’t had the opportunity to fall in love. 

This was beyond an infatuation, this was deeper, this was love and this time those three words meant what they were and she didn’t say them because she thought it was love.

Yunjin said them because she knew it was love.

Y/n let out a small giggle, a fond smile resting on her lips as her eyes gazed over Yunjin’s face as if searching for an answer to her words. There was no need for a long search because the answer was right there.

“I love you, Jen.” 

And in the moonlight that seeped through the windows in Y/n’s studio apartment as they were on the mattress that was on the floor Yunjin and Y/n both got to live through what was real love. 

The CD cases were discarded to the side, listened to during their affectionate pillow talk, and the same happened to Y/n’s shirt as Yunjin pulled it off, letting it fall onto the studio apartment's wooden floor. 

‘The T-shirt you pulled off me, the night you said you loved me?’

Yunjin reached for the t-shirt that was about to fall out of the wardrobe and onto the floor. “Hurry up or we will be late for practice!” She didn’t reply to Chaewon who had run past her to get to the door. 

She looked at the shirt, the print had somewhat washed away, the same way those memories were washing away. It hadn’t been long since she left, but the remnants of an old dream were still lingering. 

‘I love you, Jen.’

How long has she had Y/n’s shirt? Was it from all those years back when Yunjin for the first time said I love you? How did it end up in Seoul? How did a piece of her past end up in Seoul; a piece of Y/n; her old dream? Did she pack it? Did it fall in by accident? Did someone else put it in? It was here though, with Yunjin, a piece of what she had left of Y/n.

It would do her no good, the same way the CDs wouldn’t as they were put away in her drawer in her old room before her flight. Yunjin stuffed the shirt back, far back, hiding it so as to not stumble upon it again. It was time to forget, the same way they had forgiven so easily. The quicker, the better because it wouldn’t ache.

She couldn’t bring all of this with her though, Yunjin couldn’t bring this nostalgia with her, she had to forget about it even if she wished to dwell in it for eternity.

Yunjin was chasing a new dream. 

‘I still have the marks that you made on me

It's easy to forget that you are gone’

New York City would always be busy, everyone lived in a world of their own, Y/n included. She walked forward, but still always found herself stuck in the same place even after what had been months, a year almost.

She would stutter in her actions; all those times she would stare at the barista. The usual order was what she wanted, wasn’t it? The usual. The usual. What was the usual? Despite knowing the usual by heart she found herself staring at the menu above the man for a second. It was like a blackout in her mind.

It wasn’t the usual:

‘Two iced americanos?’ 

That sounded right.

“One iced americano. Extra strong.” 

However, it wasn’t right and she had yet to grow used to it. 

In the same way, it wasn’t right to reach for her phone every time she came up with a new melody or lyrics to send it right to her lover.

The same way that picture of the broken guitar at the studio ended up with the rest of the unsent pictures. 

In the same way, there was no one to expect at home yet she still always wanted to call out her name when she entered, it would be at the tip of her tongue. 

Those moments of doubt that would always disappear when she asked for opinions; opinions that had always mattered the most to her. It was just another empty reach because she realised she didn’t have that anymore. 

That blackout in her head where she couldn’t remember why it wasn’t right never lasted too long as it got filled with the present. Y/n would remember that Yunjin was gone, she was away from her. The spots would fill with a sadness that washed over her, remembering that she lived in a nostalgia of when she and Yunjin were still together.

She kept forgetting that she was just letting herself sleep in nostalgia.

Y/n’s sip of coffee was bitter, she loved it, but the bitterness from a while back wasn’t as pleasant.

‘I talk about the past like I talk about you’

Two passionate lovers is what they were. They loved big and fought for their love even bigger even if it was with the other. It wasn’t often though, it seldom happened, but when it did it was big because of their passion that only grew with the years.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/n?”

“Why would I be joking about this, Yunjin!?”

Y/n clenched her jaw, taking in a deep breath as she tried to hold her tears at bay. Yunjin didn’t make her cry, it was just her fears that made her cry, the fears Yunjin always reassured her she didn’t need to have. 

Those promises neither of them would break, yet they found their love so precious and important to them that the smallest littlest sign of possible defect sent the whole perfectly organised heart into a frenzy.

Love wasn’t easy, it came with easy parts, but so many parts weren’t. As there were beautiful parts to it, there was ugly too. 

It was still explosive, their love was, it was great; greater than most could handle, but they fought the strength of it to not let it overwhelm them. It still had those moments where it did manage to do so. 

“I don’t fucking know. You just…”

Y/n smiled, it would always be a blur whenever she was asked questions about the songs she wrote. The only story she could tell her friends was that those songs were made-up telltales most of the time. 

‘I leave out every little thing that I don't like remembering’

“Wait–Okay, no, it’s recording now.”

“You’re such an idiot.” Y/n laughed, trying to push away the camcorder that was being shoved in her face.

“Stop it, you look pretty. I need to get it on video.” Yunjin argued, pushing away Y/n’s hands, but her girl was trying to put up a small fight. 

“Is it truly such a need?”

“Uh-huh. You look pretty 24/7 and I need some of it on video.” It wasn’t hard for her to overpower the smaller girl as Yunjin grabbed hold of Y/n’s wrists with one hand and quickly straddled her girlfriend, having her pinned to the mattress. 

Those giddy giggles continued as they messed around; it was always the same, it was always as comforting as a late-night drive in light rain. It created a sense of peace to the mind, it felt serene and warm even if it was cold outside. 

“I can now declare my love for you on camera,” Yunjin stated as she angled the camera towards them and leaned down. 

The lens watched the two girls who stared at each other; Yunjin’s hand unwrapped around Y/n’s wrists and gently cupped her cheek, with the latter wrapping her arms around her shoulders. It watched as they stared at each other in a momentary silence; it caught the love in their eyes, the fondness, the adoration, the care, the comfort they felt with each other; their starry-eyed romance.

Yunjin smiled with a light chuckle as she spoke, “I Huh ‘Jennifer’ Yunjin love you, Y/n Y/l/n, more than I can express.” 

Y/n mirrored the smile, her eyes twinkling brighter than stars in the sky, “I love you more than I will ever be able to say I do, Huh ‘Jennifer’ Yunjin.” 

The camcorder continued to capture their love as Yunjin dropped it onto the mattress and put her lips against Y/n’s to continue declaring the love they held for each other.

It could have been that she skipped the bad parts, left out everything she would rather not remember Yunjin or their love for as she was missing the idea of the girl.

‘I miss you more than I say I do’

“Do you miss whoever that is?” 

Y/n looked over her shoulder at the guy who gave her a discerning smile; as if he knew the answer to the question. The girl grabbed hold of the journal where she had been scribbling down lyrics and spun around in the chair. 

She looked over the words, it had been three years, and then she looked up at the man. The studio was quite dim, almost a yellow and reddish colour that matched the rugs that were on the floor and hung on the walls together with the other types of soundproofing. 

That person she hadn’t seen for three years; were the songs about her? 

“I don’t, it’s just fiction,” Y/n spoke, knowing that it wasn’t fiction as she still, after three painfully dreadful slow years, strongly longed after the person most of her songs seemed to be about. 

She tried to convince herself otherwise, she tried to convince herself that she was too busy chasing her dreams to even remember who Huh ‘Jennifer’ Yunjin was.

However, it was clear that Yunjin had never even for a second left Y/n’s frame even if she wasn’t in the picture anymore. 

The person who wasn’t there was her only muse. 

‘You had to follow all your dreams, move to New York (Seoul), away from me

You were so easy to forgive, but not so easy to forget’

Yunjin’s heart pounded, she knew that she never needed to be worried or nervous, but it was wrecking her even as Y/n jumped into her arms with a squeal. The cool wind that blew on the roof of Y/n’s apartment building was one she would remember for years; the way it left a chill on her skin all while feeling forlornness and happiness at the same time, that bittersweet taste of her tongue.

It was a taste that wouldn’t wash away. 

Y/n buried her face in the crook of Yunjin’s neck, she felt happy for her girlfriend, but she couldn’t tell if those tears that made it past her eyes were solely tears of joy. No, something was crumbling, breaking into pieces inside Y/n; was that what heartbreak felt like? Was this what true love was? It was painful.

True love was pain.

It just took some time to settle for both of them how painful love was as the other things they faced starry-eyed weren’t close to the damage this was causing them. It was hard to keep the same starry gaze. 

“I’m sorry.” The girl barely managed to let out as her fingers twisted the material of Y/n’s sweater. She truly was sorry for making Y/n believe that she was her only dream, but the second the opportunity showed itself after all this time, that spark of her old dreams ignited. 

Yunjin had spent countless years chasing something she failed to reach and now it was right at the tips of her fingers. She never thought it would happen and she had been ready to move on from it, but it was like fate was presenting itself to her. 

Y/n wanted to hate Yunjin, but she knew that she couldn’t even if the girl was breaking her heart. She loved her too much to keep her. She had moved to New York away from everyone to chase her dreams too, so she understood Yunjin, but she couldn’t lie and say that it wasn’t wrecking her; that it wouldn’t leave her a mess.

She wrapped her arms tighter around the taller girl’s shoulders who pulled her in closer; a goodbye to someone who was still there but wouldn’t be for much longer hurt her. They both hurt. They had been protecting their love, they had devoted themselves to protecting it from even the smallest defects, but they couldn’t protect it from themselves. 

As the promises they made, were the promises they never meant to break

“Don’t feel guilty for doing what’s best for you, Jen, don’t be sorry for chasing your dreams.”

Y/n forgave her for hurting her, but that never meant that she was able to forget her, let alone the pain that Yunjin caused her, the pain they caused each other. If they had known, would they still pursue a love this great? The answer was a simple yes; no matter the pain, their love was worth it until the last second no matter how much it tore them into pieces on that roof.

‘Why can't I keep you right where I want you?

Y/n stared at Yunjin, she had found herself admiring Yunjin at night whenever she couldn’t fall asleep. Then every morning when she woke up, later because she could never fall asleep, she did so to Yunjin fondly caressing her with her gaze, waiting for Y/n to wake up.

She moved the slightest, slowly twisting in Yunjin’s tight and warm hold on her waist. It was hard to imagine that it had been two years since they met and that in a couple of months, Yunjin would get a call that would reignite her dreams and leave them torn to pieces that were miles apart. 

Now on her stomach, an arm still holding onto her waist, Y/n could look better over Yunjin's face; unaware that soon her nights would be spent in an empty bed, crying and longing. Her scent was gentle and comforting to Y/n; in a few months, she would only be able to smell it on her clothes until it would fully wash away. She reached her hand up and gently traced along her cheek, thumb grazing the slight pout on Yunjin’s lips; the lips she would kiss and touch for the last time soon enough.

Y/n sighed and was about to move, “where are you going?” She hummed confused at the tired, almost grumpy mumble that came from Yunjin. The arm around her waist tightened its grip, pulling Y/n flush against her warm body. She was held in an embrace she would be missing and never be able to suffice with another one. 

She would miss it all so much that it would leave her lovesick. 

If only they were aware, would it change anything? Perhaps their words.

“Nowhere, Jen.”

“Good, don’t leave.” She mumbled before turning onto her side, sighing in content as Y/n snuggled closer, right under her chin, letting Yunjin take in the calming scent of her hair. 

“I don’t plan on leaving,” her voice held a slight rasp as it was starting to fill with exhaustion and her usually sleepless nights weren’t as bad because it was easy to fall asleep in Yunjin’s presence. Maybe it was good considering that the nights ahead would be nothing, but sleepless and draining. 

“Neither do I,” those words of security. 

Those silent promises they would break. 

Y/n closed her eyes at the security she felt, falling asleep in the home that she had found. 

‘And even though you put an ocean in between us’

Y/n blinked her tired eyes open and stared ahead, the empty room seemed to stretch for miles in the dark, the bed cold and empty even if it had felt so warm just a second before she awoke. A dull ache pierced her heart at the realisation of it being a vivid dream. It took her a while to realise it was just another dream and that Yunjin was far away.

It somehow didn’t matter that she wasn’t there anymore, it did matter because it hurt and the longing for something she couldn’t have exhausted her, it just didn’t mean that she would forget her simply because she wasn’t there. 

There was something utterly beautiful about true love, but for something to be beautiful, there had to be something ugly. Which was the miles in between them, the separate dreams they were chasing and the evergreen feelings she couldn’t express to her anymore. 

All that was left was missing the idea of Yunjin, of that something that they had.

‘I will try to keep us

Together forever, nostalgia’

It wasn’t as frequent anymore, but once in a while those vivid dreams came to haunt Y/n. She turned to lay on her back and stare at the ceiling. She watched the memories wash away, trying to not care, but then she would find herself grasping for them in panic, terrified that she would forget about Yunjin even if it had been two years.

No one had simply been able to be what she was. 

After each of these dreams, she found herself closing her eyes again and repeating those memories. Despite it all, she tried to keep them together forever no matter how faint certain parts could become. Y/n would bury herself with these memories if they ever died. She kept her and Yunjin together even after two years. 

‘I just need to know that you are happy

So if it couldn't be me, then go ahead, forget me’

As time passed Y/n would find herself slipping out of her nostalgia and into reality, instead of dreaming about her, she was wondering about the other girl. Y/n was left wondering if Yunjin still had those CDs she burned for her, together with the walkman she never got back. If that shirt Yunjin pulled off the night she said she loved her was with her even though it had been years.

Did she remember their love? The same way Y/n did. 

There was a part of her that hurt whenever she thought about the fact that she was possibly the only one who still thought about the other. However, even if that was the case, she still wanted to know how Yunjin was doing even if she was the only one who still cared about how the other was doing. 

Was she at least happy after leaving her behind to follow her dreams? 

That was all that mattered to Y/n, to know that Yunjin was happy then she wouldn’t hold it against her. She would be fine with Yunjin not thinking about her the same way she would think about her almost every day. Y/n would be fine with Yunjin never reminiscing about their past together at all; with being forgotten.

“I remember helping this one group produce a song—It’s like they are making them in factories with how many groups debut lately.”

Y/n looked up from the DAW and tilted her head back to look up at the TV that was hung above them on the wall. There was no sound coming from it, “what’s this?” She questioned, wondering why her friend was playing what was a South Korean channel. That sad little bittersweet feeling filled her as she became once again painfully aware that all that she did was escape now and that in reality somewhere among those people was Yunjin.

She was no longer here with Y/n. 

“It’s the little showcases they do when they debut or make a comeback.” Y/n had been too bitter to keep track, but she knew that she would be happy for the girl. It would mean the world to her.

The one simple thing she had been wondering for these past two years was finally answered. “What group is this?” Y/n asked, dewy-eyed. She couldn’t help but smile as relief washed over her and she grew sentimental. Her heart felt fixed for a second, it was beating like it did when Yunjin was around her and told her how much she loved her. 

She was reminded of how much tender love she still had for her, knowing she couldn’t give it to her.

“Le sserafim.” 

Yunjin looked happy, she looked passionate; Y/n felt like she achieved something just from seeing Yunjin finally live out the dreams she’d had for so many years, the ones she had strived for so hard. 

There was no way for Y/n to know if the girl missed her or at least even thought about her once or if she had forgotten all about her. It didn’t matter as long as she was happy and if that was the case Y/n would rather be forgotten.

It couldn’t be Y/n that Yunjin chose in the end, but her dreams.

‘I traced my steps back to where we first met

And hold the memory 'til you slip away’’

“Excuse me, do you have Lucinda Williams LP records?”

“I don’t really work here…” 

Y/n stopped and looked over at the taller girl with confusion, after looking up from her phone, as she was sure that she saw staff in this exact spot a second ago. Her eyes glanced away from the girl and she realised that the person she initially was going to ask for help was now a row away from her.

“I do know where the LP is though–” Y/n stuttered in her step, making the other girl do the same which created an awkward moment of confusion. “I could show it.” She pointed out the obvious she was trying to do and Y/n at last caught on.

“Thank you and sorry for mistaking you for working here.” She apologised as they walked beside each other through the endless aisles of the vintage vinyl store with both old and new LP records, including CDs, walkmans and more. The store was dimly lit with yellow and beige undertones, it smelt of cardboard and dust, and the air felt thick and warm, but was evocative. 

“It’s fine, you have a nice accent. British–” “Cockney.” The two looked at each other and Y/n looped her thumb through the hole in the sleeve of her sweater. She squeezed it, was there a tremble in her voice? There was and there never usually was one. 

“British, yeah, cockney is the dialect.” She clarified as she had answered the girl before she had the chance to finish talking. What she got in return was a bright smile, one she hadn’t seen before, especially not since she moved to New York. It felt like people didn’t have time to smile or be nice in the busy city. 

“It’s pretty,” she fished for words to say, but couldn’t figure out how to receive the compliment. Y/n found herself at a loss for words because of the stranger walking beside her. “Lucinda Williams feels specific though.” However, the pretty stranger filled in the silence that would possibly fall upon them.

“I’m looking for inspiration, I grew up listening to her.”

“Inspiration?” 

Y/n breathlessly chuckled at that, remembering how she was called a fool after declaring that she was moving to New York to chase her dreams of becoming a musician. She nodded and the both of them stopped before a big row of records, her eyes scanning for the one she was looking for.

“Yeah, I’m musically inclined I guess.”

The stranger continued to make conversation, seemingly interested in the other stranger. “As in…” Y/n looked away from the rows of records as one was handed to her and she looked at the ‘World Without Tears’ LP in the dark-haired girl’s hands. 

“As in–” She took the record from the girl with a small thank you. What she also received was a bright smile and the inspiration she had been looking for. It was hard to find a muse, but somehow a pretty and nice stranger was setting a fire ablaze. “I've always wanted to be an artist and so I moved here, to New York, to follow my dreams.”

“I’m Yunjin by the way.” She introduced herself, looking at the pretty stranger with an accent, a cockney dialect like she had said. Something grew inside her chest, someone Yunjin had just met, someone she didn’t know the name of, the girl in front of her; she had so much in common with the girl in front of her despite not knowing her name yet.  

“Or well–Jennifer when I’m back home.”

“I’m Y/n.” The girl said as they both looked each other in the eye, for the first time, but not the last, yet, locked hands. 

‘I miss you more than I say I do

You had to follow all your dreams, just wish that they included me’

Y/n reached for the record that was packed between the other ones on the shelf. The old vinyl store smelled of faint dust, cardboard and memories, evocative as always. She picked up what was the same-titled LP she had bought here when she met Yunjin or Jennifer when she was back home. 

She continued to walk along the aisles, walking through memory lane once again, remembering how this was the place where she spoke about her dreams to a stranger who then became someone who knew her better than she knew herself. That same person who would leave Y/n behind to follow all her dreams; she wasn’t upset about it.

The girl stopped in front of what was a shelf with newer artists, the new generation of artists and looked at the names. However, she knew what she came for, to see a name on the shelves yet when she saw it she continued to walk. 

It did make her heart pound and teeth dig into her lower lip to contain all these overwhelming emotions that were being stirred inside of her. If only she could share them with the stranger who became her everything, to finally be able to share what she always had wanted to share with her.

The old vintage store had changed; it had gotten modern details and more products to attract more people. The world moved forward, and nothing stayed the same, all that used to be had changed around her. 

Y/n had yet to grasp it all, she didn’t meddle in the genre and maybe it was because it only made her think of one person. She still stopped over at the section to see the mini albums. Despite being aware that Yunjin was happy, obviously since she achieved what she always wanted, Y/n still wished that she was part of why she was so happy and those dreams.

Her fingers only brushed over the mini album, letting it slip through them; she preferred the past and didn’t enjoy certain changes as she continued to walk. She took a trip down memory lane, from the beginning until there was nothing more left to reminisce until she reached the part where Yunjin slipped away and they stopped creating memories together. She played it all on a loop. It was hard to pretend when she knew the truth of who and what she longed for.

‘Together forever, nostalgia

It's crazy, baby, I want you’

To sleep in nostalgia; to escape the now, Y/n found herself giving into the beauty of an illusion.

The romance of missing the idea of Yunjin who she knew wasn't far for the first time in so long, but still it felt like miles away.

It had been three years and four months. It was crazy, but Y/n still wanted Huh ‘Jennifer’ Yunjin as she stood on the outdoor theatre stage of Coachella, singing the song she had been living for the past years. 

She too reached her dreams even though she was wistful after her old one. 

‘Together forever, nostalgia

It's crazy, baby, I want ya’

Nostalgia had never been less present in Yunjin’s life as she found herself living in the now, in her reality, but this time it was because she wanted to. This time she didn’t want to escape into a dream when the scene before her was beyond what she could indulge in reminiscence.

The sun was setting and her view felt ethereal and heartbeat familiar. It was all she needed, to see Y/n reach her dreams too, that they both had reached their dreams even if it was without the other there, without being able to share it. 

Dewy-eyed she stared with sentimental spilling from her eyes and love clogging up her throat, her body warming up in a fluttering way she had wondered if she would ever feel again. 

Yunjin still had the CDs that Y/n burned her, she asked her mum to send them just a few weeks after she arrived together with the walkman. That T-shirt, the one Yunjin put on a teddy bear she hugged each night, was still with her, reminding her each time of where her love lay and the night she said where it did lay. 

It was impossible to let go of the past, to not sleep in nostalgia and reminisce every day and think about the girl who was on stage. Impossible to not wonder how she was doing. Impossible to not wonder if Yunjin too was Y/n’s wonderwall or if she was the only one.

It’s crazy, Yunjin thought, it’s crazy that she had kept her and Y/n together forever, in nostalgia. It’s crazy how she kept something that wasn’t there, alive. It’s crazy how close yet how far she was from her. It’s crazy that she watched Y/n from the crowd and wanted her despite the miles and years apart. It’s crazy that she would bury herself with this nostalgia, this illusion if it ever died. 

‘Together forever, nostalgia

It's crazy, baby, I want ya’

That little flame for their old dreams never died, they could always start chasing them again because they had kept it alive with the romance of missing the idea of the other. They had been kept together by sleeping in their nostalgia.

a/n: idk i just had to write this 'cause i love suki waterhouse, and nostalgia is just too good, need it injected into my veins, her every song tbh. hope it was enjoyable though since i really enjoyed writing it. i really appreciate the support, especially reblogs. love yall <3

masterlist

[r0ttenhearts]

cold greetings

cheater! scaramouche x reader

sypnosis: after taking scaramouche back from a nasty breakup-situationship he isn’t the same

warnings: cheating, angst, mean scara

“scara?” your voice almost trembled, seeing him standing on your doorstep. his cheeks and nose were reddened from the cold but a sorrowed look graced his features. he looked as if he had been crying, dark streaks down his cheeks as his cold hand gripped onto the hand you held against the door.

“(y/n)..” he whispered, gaze onto the snowy white carpet of snow on your steps. the lingering resentment held awkwardly in the air. it was almost like an unspoken promise.

the anger and resentment you still held for him kept you guarded. his tears wouldn’t sway you. not this time.

“i just, i wanna talk to you. you don’t have to say anything but i have to say this to you, or i’m afraid i’ll never get a chance to again.” he spoke softly, almost tenderly. it was as if the cruelty he had hurled towards you not too long ago never happened.

“okay. talk, but then you’re out.” you hesitantly stood aside and let his shaking figure inside. it almost felt nostalgic to see him sitting at your kitchen table again. the pink on his cheeks and the thick scarf around his neck did nothing to hide the feeling you got seeing him like this, once again.

taking a seat in front of him, you noticed the way he wouldn’t meet your gaze. his focus on his fingernails, lap, the salt shaker, anything but you.

he let out a heavy sigh before looking up at you. his eye bags seemed darker than they were the last time you saw him.

“i know i have no excuse to be here. i shouldn’t be, i know that. i hate how we ended things (y/n). it’s been you and i for years, and i miss you. i miss having you around, i miss seeing your face and hearing your voice.” a shake exhale left his lips as he sat there. guilt written all across his face. “i shouldn’t have left you that way (y/n). not when you needed me the most.” he whispered the last part, knowing how much he had hurt you.

how much he had fucked up.

memories of that night flashed back to your mind. his anger, that glare he held as he tormented you with the details of the new girl that occupied his mind. his loud laughs at your feeble attempt to show him that you didn’t need him.

it still hurt, even now. you shook your head, feeling that familiar pain again. “i can’t just forgive you scara. that was really fucked up.”

“i know (y/n), and i’m sorry. i really am. it’s just.. i’ve been thinking about it more with the holiday’s coming up. i don’t want to start a year without you in my life.”

you bit your lip back at that. your sense of nostalgia was something that kept you with him for as long as you did. you yearned for the comfort of the past, begged for it. it was the one thing that felt safe, memories.

with some reluctance, you let him back into your life. he seemed different. he was more willing to do activities with you, things he had refused to do once before. some of his belongings had found a place in your home. it felt good to be around him. almost as if you two were young again, discovering the deeper parts of your relationship together as foolish teens.

but.. if it felt so good why was he so distant now? you paused, standing in the doorway of his bedroom. it was dark except for the bright game on his monitor illuminating a corner of his room, headset on his ears as he clicked away. not paying you any mind.

“hey, scara? you said tonight we could watch—“

“i do not care (y/n). let me play my damn game, won’t you? i have more important things to do than watch something i don’t care about because of your whining.”

oh. oh. without another word you slipped away, quietly leaving his apartment. if he wanted to be alone so bad he could have his alone time. to hell with him! you thought to yourself. you wouldn’t spill any tears, not this time.

you went to bed alone that night. hugging yourself and wondering why he had to repeat history, once again. you had lost count of how many times this had happened before. he would always come crawling back to you once his life fell apart, using your weakness for the bittersweet past you’d longed for.

sighing, you rolled over on your side. you wouldn’t bother him anymore, not with how things were going. you were done with him. done!

you tensed at the feeling of cold hands around your waist, warm breath hitting the nape of your neck as your bed dipped slightly behind you. “i’m sorry (y/n).. that was a dick move.”

you scoffed, shrugging his hand off of your shoulder as best as you could. “i’m tired of this scara.” you said quietly. “i’m tired of you doing this to me. it’s been years, and you never stay the same.” you say with a sigh.

scaramouche muttered apologies as he kissed along your neck. his cold hands finding a place on your stomach now as he caressed you. “i’m sorry (y/n). i’ll be better.”

a small smile flashed across your face once he turned you onto your back, leaning down to meet your lips. the kiss felt warm, unlike the cold indifferent kisses you would press against his chapped lips.

he spent the night in your bed, holding you and reminding you of the promise you had made to each other as kids. “i will always stick with you, despite who i meet along the way.”

you woke up groggy the next day, reaching out to the space next to you only to find it empty. with a yawn you made your way to your bedroom door, opening it but pausing once you heard scaramouche’s voice. he was talking to someone, but who?

“yeah i know babe. i’ll be over by tonight. i’m just busy with work stuff, you know how it is. don’t let childe come. alright bye, see you later. i love you.”

you didn’t think as you walked up to him, grabbing his phone out of his hand and slamming it onto the table next to him. “what the fuck? are you fucking serious?”

“what (y/n)? she’s just a friend. don’t get so bitchy.”

you scoffed, shoving him back as hard as you could. your hands trembled with anger. he had betrayed you again. you stupidly believed he had learned.

“fuck you. i’m done, done with this game. get the fuck out and never come back.” he didn’t say a word as he went back into your room, grabbing his jacket and leaving you there. alone.

you didn’t cry, not at first. you were too angry to cry, all you wanted to do was scream. it seemed so good while it lasted. you believed it was the last time, the last time of being apart and being no contact for months until things would fall apart for him. the way it always did.

it took months to rebuild your life without him. he hadnt reached out, not once. but inbetween drinks with kazuha you would hear about him. his new relationship, how nice his new girlfriend was. it made the drinks taste more bitter as you’d gulp them down.

once it was june you’d find yourself with kazuha on most days. your shared laughs throughout the night turned into interlocked fingers on the sheets of your bed. it was the first time in a long time that you felt good about having a relationship with someone. like a new phase of your life had begun.

a knock on your door one stormy night brought all of this to a halt. you half expected to see kazuha there as you swung open the door. “kazu- oh.” your smile fell seeing who it was. it wasn’t your white haired lover, but your ex situationship from what seemed to be forever ago. the rain slid down his dark hair as his hand went to touch yours, but you retracted it just as fast. it was just like that day in december.

“can we talk, (y/n)?”

taglist: @whorerificstuff @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @msdevilis @linkookie197 @berriiov @xiaonscaraswife @foxlover1144 @reblog-crazily @samarill

[mypearlsareclutched]

Because You Got Out of Hand

High By The Beach | Chapter Ten

Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character, Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character

Perhaps it is nostalgia that makes her sees the bright side of Aemond once again. Perhaps it is her innate desire to feel loved. All that she knows for sure, is that the Targaryen's are a damn good fuck...

Can the Targaryens PLEASE just not have a familial dispute every five minutes, like goddamn. It's three in the morning GO TO SLEEP DAEMON! Also so sorry this has taken so long, life hit me x

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: Sexual Content (MDNI, 18+), death, funerals, reunited at last, Targaryen daddy issues, love triangles, rhaenicent crumbs, so much angst, Daemon, Otto, smutty smut, oral sex (f receiving), missionary sex, manhandling, hair pulling, doggy style, Mila and her post nut clarity.

Word count | 5.6k

previous chapter // next chapter

Hours after the burial, Mila sits beside Baela on a wall outside of the mansion, the sky growing dark.

With a shaky breath, she lights a cigarette. The click of the lighter and flicker of the flame, and the feeling of the smoke in her lungs comforts the Stark as her mind goes into overdrive, trying to make sense of her feelings.

Baela watches her worriedly, playing with a strand of her hair as her eyes follow Mila's trembling hand. She moves to say something, when another person joins them.

Helaena scurries up to them, looking even more pale than she did before. Both Baela and Mila go to speak when Helaena beats them to it.

"Grandfather is going to read dad's will out now." She murmurs, crouching down to pick up a snail slithering down the pathway. She places it into a nearby bush, before standing again and looking between the two women.

"Yeah, I saw dad stalking off." Baela rolls her eyes, "I swear he grieved Viserys for about fifteen minutes before he started thinking about taking over Dragonrider."

Dragonrider, the illustrious investment company began by Viserys' grandfather, Jaehaerys. Viserys had taken it over years ago after he had passed away. When Viserys was still young and unmarried, he promised Daemon he would take over the company when Viserys grew tired of it. But that promise was never upheld. Because soon after, Viserys got married, and had a daughter. The company was no longer just his job, but his way of providing for his family, and making them proud.

Daemon never forgot about that promise, though. He famously feuded with his brother over it. Over his 'birthright'.

"Do Rhaena and I need to come to the reading?" Baela asks Helaena, a frown on her full lips.

"No. Immediate relatives only, Otto said." Helaena says with an apologetic tone.

"Oh, thank gods." Baela relaxes, rolling her shoulders, "As little time I have to spend around my father, the better."

"Word." Rhaena calls from beyond the wall, where she crouches as she texts someone. Cregan, most likely. Asking about Morning, most likelier.

Mila smiles down at her friend, before taking another drag of her cigarette as she looks back at Helaena. The blonde woman looks at her nervously, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"What's wrong, bug?" The Stark asks.

"Otto has asked you to join as well." Helaena murmurs, her already somber face dropping further.

Of course. Because I am apart of this sordid, godsdamned family.

Mila clenches her jaw, patting Baela's knee as she rises from the wall. Her friend gives her a worried look, opening her mouth to say something, before Mila shakes her head. Offering her the half-smoked cigarette, which Baela takes, Mila takes Helaena's hand and begins walking back to her doom.

Helaena leads her through the house, avoiding as many remaining mourners as she could. They ascend the stairs, walking further and further into the vast, castle-like home until they find a dark oak door.

Criston Cole stands outside of it, talking softly to Alicent. She stands still, picking at the skin around her nails as she stares off into the distance. The two of them jump when Mila and Helaena appear, standing taller and falling silent.

"Mum." Helaena says softly, nodding.

"Darling." Alicent clears her throat, sending a pained smile to her daughter before looking at Mila, "Mila."

"Is everything alright?" She asks her, rather absentmindedly, as her eyes move to the large doorway.

"Of course. We just have to get the legal stuff out of the way, and then we can all go home." Alicent states, wearing a smile that looks painted on. Helaena sighs, walking forwards towards the door, and Cole opens it for her. Inside, multiple voices could be heard arguing. Alicent grimaces, quickly following after her daughter with Mila in tow.

"Do you know why I've been asked to be here?" Mila asks Criston quietly as she passes him.

"Maybe he left you a paper weight." Cole shrugs, holding the door open for her.

Mila gives him a small smile, before crossing the threshold.

Inside, Daemon Targaryen lounges in a leather armchair behind an expensive desk, toying with the ring on his finger as he glares at his nephews. Aemond paces the room, his suit jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. He argues in a low voice with his uncle, who seems greatly amused by the situation.

Rhaenyra sits on one of the chairs opposite the desk, staring at the night sky outside as Alicent takes the seat next to her. The two women share a look, their expressions softer as their eyes meet. Daeron, Jace, Halaena and Aegon sit dotted around the back, all silent and looking greatly uncomfortable. Luke appears around the corner as Mila walks in, and he visibly relaxes when he sees her.

"Mila." He smiles, walking over into her open arms. She hugs him close, ruffling his dark curls affectionately.

Other heads in the room turn to her, noting her attendance to this meeting. No-one looks shocked, though perhaps anxious due to her difficult recent history with Viserys' second son. Rhaenyra offers her a comforting smile, Daeron nods at her, Jace widens his eyes in a silent plea to jump out of the window with him.

Aemond stares at her, lone eye softening as he turns and begins approaching her. Luke leaves her side, avoiding Aemonds line of sight as he stands at his mother's shoulder.

The one-eyed Targaryen walks towards Mila slowly, not unlike a hunter approaching a startled animal. A weight settles on her chest as his hands each up to caress her elbows.

With the attention of the room on her, she allows him to pull her into an embrace. His arms feel familiar as they wrap around her, his hands finding purchase on her waist, his chin on her shoulder. Mila leans into him, her own instincts betraying her as she allows herself to find comfort in the hold of her ex-boyfriend.

Over Aemond's shoulder, she meets Aegon's eyes. He stares at her, face expressionless. But his eyes hold a thousand thoughts, ask a million questions, try to hide an immeasurable amount of feelings.

Mila can only hope that he find solace in her own eyes.

A short laugh zips through the air, making Aemond stiffen against her. Mila's eyes turn to the Targaryen in the room she is least acquainted with.

"The She Wolf," Daemon states dramatically, smirking. His eyes roam over her, an eyebrow raising in intrigue, "I get it now."

"Come on. She's young enough to be your daughter, uncle." Daeron rolls his eyes, visibly cringing.

Daemon's smile is predatory, and Mila fights a shudder as she extracts herself from Aemond, walking further into the room. She finds a spot away from everyone, leaning against a bookshelf as she crosses her arms over herself.

"We're just waiting on my father." Alicent tells the room, trying to ease the tension as she smoothes out her skirt, "He's taken care of Viserys' legal business for over thirty years."

"Was that before or after he sold you off as his child bride?" Daemon asks with feigned interest.

"That's enough."

Mila is shocked when Rhaenyra speaks up, sending a sharp look to her uncle. The Stark knew little of Rhaenyra and Alicent's strained relationship. All she knew was that they were friends when they were young girls, and that friendship ended when Alicent married Viserys at nineteen, a bump barely concealed by her dress. But as Alicent looks at Rhaenyra now, a grateful and soft expression, Mila understands that their friendship meant a lot to both of them.

And if Mila knows Otto Hightower, then she knows he was the reason it ended.

"So we're waiting on the old man, huh?" Daemon sighs, lifting his feet to loudly drop them on the mahogany desk, crossing his ankles, "Let's all catch up then, hm? As family."

Everyone glares at him.

Jace clears his throat, turning his head to smile at Daeron at his left, "You're playing footy at uni, right?"

"Yeah! It's great, I'm in goal at the moment but-"

"Boring." Daemon fake yawns, "Let's discuss what will change when I take over Dragonrider."

"That'll be the day, huh? Pigs will fly, the hells will freeze over..." Aegon sighs, playing wistful.

"No one finds you funny, nephew of mine." Says Daemon as he rolls his eyes.

Aegon puts a hand to his chest, gasping in outrage. As he grins slightly, his eyes flicker over to Mila, and she gives him a small smile, as if telling him 'I find you funny.'

Neither see Aemond watching the two with a narrowed eye.

"Surely the company will go over to mum. Right?" Luke chimes in, seemingly innocently confused by Daemon's comments, "That's what grandfather always said."

"Sure. Maybe that was what he intended when Nyra was young and single and careerless. Now she's got other priorities."

"Did you just call me old?" Rhaenyra asks with a raised eyebrow. Daemon scoffs, waving a hand dismissively.

"People love MILFs." Mila winks at her, and Rhaenyra tuts at her with a humoured smile she tries to hide.

"Down girl." Jace grimaces, "I'm right here."

"So am I." Aemond says, and if he had shown that kind of possessiveness a month ago, Mila would have adored it. But now, Mila feels herself shrink slightly.

Aegon stares at his brother, pressing his tongue to his cheek as he bounces his leg, agitated.

"Well, at the end of the day, it would be Viserys' decision who would take over his company." Alicent sighs, touching her seven pointed star necklace, "May the seven rest his soul."

"Now that doesn't sound like daddy's perfect little girl, does it?" Daemon taunts, making Alicent send a glare his way. Rhaenyra subtly rests a hand on Alicent's arm, offering a small comfort.

Mila focuses on her hand, on the affection of it. It looks so natural, and it makes . They were destroyed by circumstance, perhaps like her and Aemond, perhaps like her and Aegon...

Those around her continue arguing, mainly Daemon, with the others voicing their opinions or merely telling him to shut up. Mila tuned most of it out, biting at the nail on her thumb. But the jist of the argument was not lost on her.

Neither Rhaenyra nor Aegon want to inherit the company, but both Daemon and Aemond do. Oh the curse of being the second born.

"We're getting nowhere!" Daemon groans, sending a spiteful glare to Alicent, "How long will your idiot father take to slowly walk here?"

As if summoned, Otto Hightower finally turns up, his face unreadable as he slinks into the room. He sneers at Daemon, sat at the desk.

"That desk costs more than your house, Mr Targaryen. Kindly remove your cheap shoes from it."

"Ooh, someone's time of the month is here." Snickers Daemon as he stands, presenting the chair with a flourish.

Otto ignores him, placing the envelope containing the will on the desk.

"Viserys Targaryen's will clearly states how he wanted his assets divided between his family." Otto states, sitting on the newly empty desk chair, "He owned three properties, two domestic and one for business. This mansion will be left to his wife, Alicent Hightower. Dragonstone is now solely owned by Rhaenyra Targaryen. The 'Dragonpit', as he calls his place of business, will go to whoever inherits his company. His funds will be equally distributed between his five children, with seperate accounts held in place for his grandsons."

"Oh, result." Aegon snickers, crossing his arms, "Now I can get a pony."

"Shut the fuck up, Aegon." Daemon sneers.

"In regards to his company, Dragonrider Investments, he has stated that his first born son, Aegon Targaryen, will take over as CEO of the company, effective immediately."

The room is deathly silent as everyone digests this information.

And then, all hell breaks loose.

Daemon stands from his chair with enough force to send it tipping backwards, his eyes enraged as he sneers at Otto, "You lie."

"I do not lie, Mr Targaryen. It is written right here."

"My brother would never leave his company to this half-wit!" Daemon yells, pointing to Aegon. He slams his hand against the table, "You fucking snake, you changed it, didn't you?!"

"A vile accusation, Mr Targaryen. It would be wise to refrain from making baseless allegations against me." Otto sneers.

"There's no way Viserys would have chosen Aegon over Rhaenyra. He chose her years ago and would never, under any circumstances, change his decision to his second born, lowlife of a son. The company belongs to Rhaenyra." Daemon states.

"You just want Rhaenyra to have it so you could manipulate her into giving it to you in favour of keeping her own business." Aemond rolls his eyes at his uncle, leaning over one of the chairs to grab the back of it, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.

Aemond's voice is calm, but Mila can see the barely contained rage in his shoulders.

"If Dragonrider was left to me, I would not have chosen Daemon to take it over." Rhaenyra scoffs.

"Yeah, she has a whole son over here." Daeron nods to Jace

"Leave me out of this." Jace murmurs, holding up his hands defensively. He shares an exacerbated look with Mila, who shrugs at him as she gnaws on her thumb nail.

"I want to see the original will." Rhaenyra sighs, glaring at Otto.

"You didn't even want the company." Aemond bites, "You should be jumping for joy."

"All I want is for my father's last wishes to be respected. I do not believe he would have chosen Aegon."

"Because who would?" Daemon snickers, "Apart from the obvious."

The room goes quiet, and Mila looks up to find Daemon Targaryen's eyes on her. Aemond stiffens from beside her, rage radiating off of him, hotter than dragon fire. The others in the room look between the two Targaryen's, feeling the tension rise to a boiling point.

"What is it you are implying?" Mila finds herself asking, staring Daemon down.

"Oh, nothing." He smirks, "Just that you seem to have a type, She Wolf."

His tone catches Aegon's attention, who sits up in his chair. After looking bored throughout the hearing of his father's will, Daemon's sudden aggression towards Mila makes Aegon suddenly sober up. He looks ready to speak when Aemond beats him to the punch.

"How dare you?" Aemond growls, stepping forwards towards his uncle, "Say what you wish to the rest of us, but think twice about what you accuse my girlfriend of doing-"

"I'm not accusing her of anything. Just stating the obvious. We all saw those pictures from Old Town, anyone with two eyes could see what was going on..." Daemon makes an exaggerated face, holding his hand up to his mouth as he looks at his nephew, "Oh, wait!"

"Watch your tongue, uncle." Aemond warns, voice icey, "Or you may lose it."

"Oh, be quiet, Aemond. The grownups are talking." Daemon says dismissively, "it's not like you were even in the running to inherit Dragonrider, anyway."

The room soon dissolves into chaos, with Daemon and Aemond standing chest to chest as they bicker and hurl insults at one another. Rhaenyra stands at Daemon's side, trying to prevent the two from throwing punches, while Otto tries to shout louder than the other's to control the situation.

Helaena holds her hands to her ears, sitting beside her mother, who looks pale and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Jace and Daeron sit side by side by the desk, watching the growing chaos with bored expressions, and Aegon sits as still as a statue away in the shadowy corners.

Mila holds her head, standing to the side next to Criston Cole, who looks about ready to quit his job. His eyes keep flicking towards Alicent, a protectiveness on his face that makes Mila like the bodyguard even more.

"Maybe you should take her away. She doesn't need to see this." Mila murmurs softly to him, her own concern for the older woman's stress evident. He gives her a firm nod, disappearing across the room to come to Alicent's side. Alicent grabs Helaena's hand as they leave, and Mila thinks about following them out.

Across the room, Mila spots Aegon rising from his chair, heading over to another door leading out. Without another glance, he quietly slips out and away from the chaos.

"Aegon, wait!"

Outside the Targaryen estate, Aegon turns around at the sound of Mila's voice. She crosses the cobblestone of the drive, face twisted with sympathy and desperation.

"I can't do this, Em." Aegon sighs, shaking his head. He runs a shaky hand over his face, his breathing erratic, "I can't be what they want me to be. And... I can't be what they expect. I'm not that guy anymore. The delinquent freak who would roll over and do what Otto told me to. I know my grandfather had a say in this. He must have... manipulated my father into making me the heir, or something. Otto thinks he can control me, so he would control Dragonrider."

He paces as he rambles, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. Mila watches him with a pained expression, unable to help him and forced to stand aside and watch as he struggles.

Lifting his head, Aegon looks at her with glassy eyes, "I can't be apart of this."

Mila reaches out for him, and she can see his eyes moving frantically from her hand to her face. With two swift strides, he reaches her.

"I..." He starts, his voice trailing off. He clenches his jaw, looking down at her lips before back at her eyes. Mila nods almost imperceptibly, reaching a hand up to brush against his sleeve.

Aegon's hands cup her cheeks, pulling her in for a swift, loving kiss. Mila melts into him, holding his elbows as he kisses her languidly, enjoying the feel of her against him. Their lips move in a sensual dance, mapping the other out until the feel is carved into their memories.

But all too quickly, his lips disappear. With a final look into her eyes, Aegon turns and walks away, disappearing into the night.

When Mila finally returns to the mansion, Criston Cole stands waiting in the foyer, releasing an annoyed sigh when she is the only one who returns.

"Is he gone?" He asks simply. She nods, trying to blink away the tears that spilled outside.

Criston eyes her, pulling out a handkerchief and giving it to her wordlessly. She wipes her eyes silently

"Makeup smudged?" She asks, trying to sound casual.

"Just say you're really upset about Viserys' death."

Mila chuckles, giving Cole his handkerchief back with a thank you, and he nods.

Turning the corner on the way back to the office, she watches as Daemon storms out of the double doors, throwing them open hard enough so send the doors colliding with the walls, their loud thuds. The other's rush after him, in various states of distress.

"Daemon, stop being so childish! Stop this!" Rhaenyra yells after him.

"Oh I'm sorry, am I being too loud?" He screams back at her, long hair wild around his head.

"Loud enough to wake the dead." Jace murmurs around his drink with a raise of his eyebrows. Rhaenyra smacks his arm, causing the younger man to flinch and jump back.

"Good! Let's get Viserys up here, he can put an end to this shitshow!"

Alicent walks down the hallway, eyebrows raised eye as she eyes Daemon warily, "What-"

"I'm going to disembowel your father." The scorned Targaryen sneers at her, making her press her lips together with a huff.

With that, Daemon struts off, likely to throw a further hissy fit elsewhere. Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, murmuring 'pathetic' before wandering back off into the office with Alicent following. Jace downs his drink, winking at Mila before he disappears down the hallway with Luke and Daeron on his heels. The muffled voices of Rhaenyra and Alicent can be heard through the dark wood of the office door.

A small grimace appears on Mila's face when she realises she is left alone in the hallway with Aemond. Her ex watches her, his face twisted in a barely contained scowl at the actions of his family, his eye narrowed in anger.

Before Mila can utter out an excuse to leave his presence, Aemond sighs through his nose, "I need a drink."

He turns on his heel, walking away in a flurry of blonde hair and dark fabric. When he doesn't hear her following, he stops and turns his head.

"Are you coming?"

"...Apparently." Mila sighs as she crosses her arms and follows after him.

Mila watches Aemond pour himself a drink from the families lavish bar, the rest of the room dark and quiet apart from the clink of ice and Mila's heel tapping against the wooden floor.

Not a word has been spoken, neither of them being the first to speak for fear of how the other will respond. Rain distantly patters against the large windows across the parlor, and thunder occasionally rumbles ominously.

"It's late." Aemond finally comments around the rim of his glass, "It would be best if you stay here tonight."

Mila raises an eyebrow, "Oh would it?"

"You can sleep in one of the spare rooms." He sighs, "If you wish."

"But you would prefer it if I slept in your bed? If I forgave everything you have done and move forward as if nothing happened?"

"Yes." Aemond says simply, putting down his glass, "All of that. That's exactly what I want. What I need, Mila. I need you."

"Aemond I don't want to talk about this." Mila shakes her head, trying to push his words out of her head.

"But we must." Aemond says, his voice pleading. His hand leaves his side and attempts to take hers, but Mila wraps her arms around herself and turns her back on him, tucking her chin as if she were protecting herself. Aemond sighs, walking around her to the glass doors. He opens them, ignoring the rain crashing down around him as he pulls out his pack of Marlboro reds and his lighter.

Mila joins his side, watching his strong profile as he puts a cigarette between his lips and lights it. Aemond offers her his pack wordlessly, and she takes one, letting him light it for her.

They stood in silence in the shelter of the doorway, the world outside stormy, the house behind them silent and dark. Their solemn faces are illuminated by the cherries of their cigarettes, smoke escaping their lips and floating up to join the dark clouds, ripped apart in the sky by the harsh winds. Mila watches the sky, feeling a few stray drops of rain caress her cheeks.

"Did you love me?" Aemond asks suddenly, looking down at the lighter between his fingers.

"What?" Mila asks, turning to look at him.

Aemond's head lifts, staring right into her eyes. His one eye is stormier than the heavens above them, his eyepatch a black hole on the left side of his face.

"Did you love me?" He repeats, his voice softer.

Looking into his eyes, she's reminded of the first time she realized she was in love with him. Three months after their first meeting, Otto had dragged their sorry asses to Tyland Lannister's birthday bash, and the Targaryen clan spent an evening in the lions den of Casterly Rock. After a surpise appearence by Jason, Mila had instinctively grabbed Aemond's hand and fled away from the celebrations. Out of breath and finding herself in the gardens with Aemond chuckling down a her antics, Mila looked up at the Targaryen man and came to a startling realisation.

She was in love with Aemond Targaryen.

In the present, Mila stares up at him, feeling Deja Vu as the gardens surround them and his eye watches her carefully. Words escape her, a shakyh breath released from her smoky lungs.

Aemond's hand cups her cheek, pulling her closer as he finally breathes out what she always wanted to hear.

"I love you." Aemond says.

She took a sharp breath, face scrunching as her heart lurches.

For months she waited to hear those words. She craved it. Finally, a traitorous voice says inside her head, as Aemond's lips press to hers.

Mila has no idea how she ended up here.

One minute, she kissed Aemond in the door leading out to the gardens of the Targaryen manor, in the early morning after his father's funeral, after he finally told her he loved her.

Now, an hour later, he had her naked laid out on his head, his head between her legs.

Fisting the sheets at the side of her head, Mila's back arched off the sheets, a sheen of sweat across her skin. Aemond prodded her with his tongue, delving it deep within her to drink her up. His large hands spread out over her hips and stomach, holding her down as she shuddered and shook, pleasure coursing through her.

"Fuck..." Mila moaned, dropping her head down as his lips surrounded her clit, sucking harshly to bring her closer and closer and closer to her impending orgasm.

Having discarded his eye patch, Aemond looks up at her with one pale blue eye and one glistening sapphire, the contrast harsh but eerily beautiful. Mila finds herself avoiding meeting his gaze, her eyes scrunching shut

"He can't have you." Aemond growls between her legs, "He won't have you. Not after everything."

His teeth grind down on her clit, and with a silent scream, Mila's legs shake around his head, falling over the edge.

Euphoria clouds her mind as she watches Aemond crawl over her, kissing along her neck up to her jaw, where he mumbles unintelligible words against her sweaty skin.

The head of his cock brushes against her, and she whines against his face, pleading. For him to stop? For him to keep going? She didn't know.

"My love." Aemond groans, sinking into her to the halt, "Mine."

A protest sits on Mila's tongue, but it disintegrates as Aemond begins fucking her quick and hard, slamming his hips forwards and backwards like a madman. He sets a punishing pace, forcing her to feel every beautiful inch of him.

Her hands desperately grip onto him, his shoulder and his forearm. His one eye watches her, a fierce passion within its depths, the sapphire almost shining within his barren socket.

Her body sings for him, moans escaping her lips as she begs him not to stop. For a moment, Mila can almost forget everything that's happened.

A headlight outside passes over Aemond's face, casting shadows that morph his face into that of his brothers.

Aegon's name sits on her tongue, almost escaping her as the vision of her ex-boyfriend's older brother brings her closer to her rapidly approaching peak.

Something crosses over Aemond's face as he watches Mila's eyes glaze over, almost as if he could read her mind.

Her flips her over, sharply re-entering her from behind. Mila gasps, bracing herself on her forearms, her body surging forward with every harsh pound of Aemond's hips.

He threads his fingers into her hair, tugging on her scalp whilst his other hand smooths down her back.

"Tell me how good it feels." He commands, delivering a sharp smack to her ass. Mila whines, pushing back into him, "Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it? Fucking cockslut."

Mila babbles out, collapsing from her elbows onto her face, biting down onto the pillow as Aemond's thrusts increase in speed, fucking into her hard enough to make her back arch impossibly low.

"Oh gods... Aemond, I'm-" Mila sobs, feeling her orgasm quickly approaching.

"Fucking do it. cum all over my cock, that’s my good girl. My beautiful girl."

With a muffled scream, Mila arches her back, her cunt fluttering as Aemond's brutal fucking sends her into oblivion.

"That's it, there you go." Aemond grits out, panting as he fucks her through her orgasm, his cock throbbing with his impending high. With a low groan, he pulls her ass flush to his hips, emptying himself deep inside her until his cum runs down from where they meet, staining the sheets below them.

Aemond pulls out, causing Mila to groan at the sudden emptiness. The Targaryen collapses beside her, taking shuddering breaths. Mila remains as she was, her hair in her face as she stays fucked out. His fingers move the hair from out of her face, leaning forward to kiss her lips gently.

The moonlight shone through the sheer curtains of Aemond's old room, casting the Targaryen and the Stark in a sheen of white light. Aemond's breath has evened out, his one eye fluttering in his sleep, the other open. The sapphire sparkles, taunting Mila as she watched his face.

It feels like her stomach is alive with confusion and dread.

Aemond told her he loves her. He finally said it.

Isn't this what she wanted? All those months at his side, hoping that what they had was real. Hoping Aemond cared about her as deeply as she did him. For months all Mila wanted was to hear him tell her he loved her. Shouldn't that be anough now?

No. It isn't.

Because he's not the man she loves. Not anymore. Mila knows who she loves now, and it is not the man lying next to her.

Looking over at Aemond as he slept, Mila felt her stomach twist.

She shouldn't be here.

After throwing on her clothes hastily, she found herself speed-walking through the darkened mansion as her mind ran wild with thoughts of varying degrees of panic.

I fucked Aemond. I fucked my ex.

I love Aegon Targaryen.

"Miss Stark."

Mila bristles as she recognises the voice, turning around to see Otto Hightower standing in the doorway. He looks her over, an eyebrow raising in interest at her disheveled appearance.

"Hm." He hums, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Save it." Mila rolls her eyes, turning on her heel as she heads towards the foyer.

"Going to see Aegon?" His question stops her in her tracks, an icy chill sliding down her spine. Looking over her shoulder, she meets Otto's snake like gaze, a self satisfied smirk on his lips, "Tell him we'll see him soon."

"Leave him alone." Mila snaps, storming over to the man who, for a second, looks afraid, "Don't you ever try to force him into this role you made for him. We both know Viserys did not want Aegon to take over the company. You did. Because you think you can control him."

"Please-"

"It was Aemond at first." Mila interrupts him, "But now you know you can't control Aemond. That was made clear by him fucking Alys Rivers and fucking my relationship with him very publically."

Now Otto looks taken back, his usual smirk dropping slightly.

Mila smirks, "What? You think I didn't know? That you orchestrated our whole relationship to make us both look good? That went well, didn't it?"

"Whatever Aemond told you-"

"Aemond didn't tell me shit." Mila laughs, "I knew from the fucking start. Inviting my brother and I to that gala, sending Aemond off to flirt with me via cigarettes, him asking me out not two days later. You had this all planned out. But Alys wasn't in the cards, was she?"

"...No. She was not."

Mila smiles, with no joy to be found in it, "Yeah. She really fucked things up for all of us, huh? Well, her and Aemond."

Otto sits down, watching her as she crosses her arms.

"If Aemond had sticked by your rules, would you have wanted him to take over?"

"Doesn't matter what I want, Viserys was the head of the company."

"And who made the decisions for him when he became paralyzed from the waist down due to his medication?"

Otto smirks, nodding, "Alright. I yield. Yes, Aemond would have taken it over."

"And now, it's Aegons turn to play grandson of the year."

"He will ." He nods, "Larys has said he is driving down to the Beachouse. Took one of Viserys' cars, no less. By the end of this week, he will be getting dragged by his shirt collar back here, to take over the company."

"To play figure head while you take over the company."

The Hightower just smirks at her, humor evident in his eyes as he regards her. "You know a lot more than I realized." Otto says softly, quirking his head, "How?"

"Because I sit down and I listen." Mila rolls her eyes, "Figured that shit out when I was sixteen. People talk when they're drunk, when they're high, and when they think that the person listening to them is of no importance. Makes us people of no importance very powerful when they're around the right people yapping."

Otto watches her for a moment, the smallest of smiles on his lips. Taking this as her sign to leave, Mila rolls her eyes and turns on her heel, her head held high.

"I underestimated you." Otto calls after her, making her stop in her tracks, "She Wolf."

With a huff, Mila keeps walking.

Laena Targaryen was having a quiet night in, glass of wine in hand as she sat on her balcony on Driftmark.

Her daughters are on the mainland, and also both women in their early twenties, giving her nothing to worry about for the evening. Since she retired from modelling last year, she found many of her evenings were spent like this. Sitting in the sun,

Rhaenys walks out onto the patio, handing her the landline phone with an amused smirk. With a raised eyebrow, Laena takes it, blowing a kiss to her mother before she talks to whoever is on the phone.

"Hello?" Laena greets, taking a sip from her glass

"Can I borrow your car?" Mila stark asks.

AN// BEACH HOUSE, BEACH HOUSE, BEACH HOUSE.

I am my own worst enemy. My fingers had a mind of their own when they started writing that Aemond smut smh. I needed to give more to the Aemond girlies (me included), but don't worry there is still plenty more coming with bbg Aegon <3

Lula x

[zada-quinn]

The Goodness, Love, I Still Carry for You (Pt.1)

Hozier x reader slow burn old friend to ?enemies? to friends again to ?lovers?

lil breakdown: You and Andrew were childhood best friends. After a heated argument and a slam of the door, you were gone. Years later you just so happen to reconnect with the now star, creating mixed feelings for the both of you.

A/N: IDK HOW TO WRITE IM SO BAD BUT I JUST WANT TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE HOZIER FANFIC COMMUNITY 🙏🏻🙏🏻 I also have no idea how to use tumble and I apologise for that :(

Feel free to send me some ideas on small stuff I can write for you guys (they will most likely be terrible lol)

Warnings: I don’t think so but if you feel like something in my writing needs a warning I will add it :)

The November rain pelted on your windows as you passed through tight country roads. You always enjoyed this kind of weather, your music playing softly while the rain taps on the windscreen. Calm before the storm. Today, you go home.

It’s not that you hate your family by any means, they’re loving folks that have always supported your endeavours, but the way they express their love is… a lot. But what you need right now is exactly that.

Your mum’s waiting impatiently by the window, looking out for your car. She rushes to open the door, welcomes you with open arms and a grin that’s ear to ear.

“Y/N/N, how are you? we’ve missed you so much, you need to come home more often, your Dad and I miss you desperately” She rambles before kissing your cheeks, making you laugh.

“Okay, okay, let me get my things from the boot first!” You smile at your mother and walk back to your car to collect your suitcase.

You don’t get to see your family much anymore, you’re a freelance photographer and have to travel a lot for work, but your recent breakup has got you running back to you parents for comfort and support.

Walking through to your living room you see your dad in the spot he’s always in, his chair by the small fire and TV, he greets you with a big hug and your mum shouts at you for wearing your shoes in the living room when she has just cleaned.

“Oh love, leave her be, she’s only just got in. How was the drive over Y/N/N?”

“Good Dad. Here, I’m gonna take my stuff up to my room and unpack my things, okay?”

“And she’s off again already!” Dad jokes as he sits back in his chair watching the TV.

Dragging your case up the stairs and walking into your childhood bedroom fills you with nostalgia. Throwing your case on the bed and beginning to unpack, you look around at all the memories you have hung on the wall. Music and film posters you liked when you were young, mixed with the photos you’d taken of friends and family, and lastly a familiar face that makes your heart heavy. Your first muse you liked to call him jokingly, but truly he was. Going to your bedside table you pick up an old pink photo frame, decorated with stickers and glitter, inside a picture of you and your old best friend, Andrew.

A/N: It’s short because I just randomly whipped this up at 1am. I shall continue tomorrow 🙏🏻

[otakuworks]

❛ 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑. reborn au

feat. Zhongli x Reincarnated!GN!Reader | PART II | wc. 5.4K

Based on 'See You In My 19th Life' webtoon | overview. This Webtoon follows the story of a woman who somehow can remember all her past lives.

sum. You were running too fast in life, so fast that no one could catch up, not even Morax who left you to fend off with your curse. Just when you thought you'll slip and fall, a certain consultant came behind and caught you.

cw. mentions of extreme emotion breakdown. cttro 双niarss on Twitter for the art below.

main m.list genshin m.mlist

PART I < PART II

THEME SONG; Slump by Stray Kids (English Version)

There are five stages of grief; Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. All in order.

In your case, it was the other way around. You have long accepted Morax will lay on his deathbed one day, every living thing will eventually cease to exist, mortal and immortal alike

You, out of all people know the in-depth concept of death.

And yet, no amount of tutelage or experience can prepare you for the real thing.

Now you understood what Morax felt when you died.

Your chest feels raw like there's a sudden gash wound that has manifested in your heart. It was painful, too painful that you wouldn't wish it upon anyone, even on your worst enemy.

Scratch that. It's not just pain. It feels something more destructive, demanding and insatiable, crueler than sorrow. Not even death can appease this feeling.

It was agony.

Impale your abdomen with a spear hundred times. Sever your limbs every lifetime. Suffer for all eternity hiding behind Morax and watch him love with someone else over and over again— you'd take them all and say thank you.

You'd be grateful and endure each of them just to trade whatever horrible feeling that's tearing you apart.

Confusion, terror and fright blanketed your mind as you slumped on the floorboards, desperately gasping for breath.

The acrid smell of snarling lightning crackles in the stale midnight air, sharp enough to singe every nerve of your body, rendering you cowering in overwhelming emotions— agony, pain and grief.

Inazuma was bustling with the news of the Geo Archon passing away recently. You could only imagine how Liyue is digesting the cruel twists of events.

The news spreads fast enough for foreign people to sympathize to Liyue citizens, some even offered prayers to the Raiden Shogun, some pay their respects by wishing the late Archon to rest in peace, some never bothered to care.

But none of them mourned in the confinements of their four walls as you did, the Celestia above knows the quiet sobs that wrecked the very core of your existence. The horrors of every shitty lives you went through cannot be compared to this day.

Rex Lapis, who is— was widely known for many names, mostly as the Geo Archon, God of War, God of Contracts, Former Prime Adepti, the Stonebreaker, God of History is now reduced by dust with his people carrying the legacy he has passed on.

To you, all this time, he's still... Morax the petulant child who leans on you for comfort, who politely demands you to sing a lullaby as kids. You're already sold to the idea no one would ever believe you if you told them what embodiment of mischief he was in the ancient times, the exact opposite of the Archon they knew about.

Nostalgia hits you in particular days you can't find traces of the young Morax, but Pride would caress your heart every achievement he succeeds as you watch the people love him.

Similar to a lone planet, you desperately search for a star to orbit around, to give you a source of energy and strength. Once you find one, it'll be difficult to rearrange your position after you have settled down, you're attached until the star loses its amber glow.

And now the star is gone. Gone with the cosmos after a supernova.

Destroying the neighboring planets, including you.

You were the closest in its orbit, you're the one who had to endure the scorching flames morphing you into ashes until you're reduced into cosmos particles for no one to remember.

Morax left you to fend off with your curse and face adversities alone.

Mortals would succumb to these adversities and would choose to sever their connection to the living to escape from everything. You've seen a handful of them and can't ever get enough of it.

If there's anything you long to have other than having Morax beside you is a swift escape.

Every mortal is capable of such thing, you are too, but it's pointless if the pain will cling to you in your next life. It's fruitless to cry when you know every affliction won't be forgotten even if you tried.

Just why?! Why do I have this perpetual curse of reincarnation? I abhor you, Celestia! Not only you cursed me, you even took away Morax from this land!

You shake your head as the anger surge took over your sanity. You thought you can just go live your merry life, unbeknownst how dependent you were to Morax.

Your will to live is solely operated by the fact you have someone you want to protect. But now he's gone? What's the back up plan? Clearly you can't just follow him in his death knowing you can die, but your memories will remain with you.

Was it out of selfishness to protect him to have someone accompany your lonely soul? Because he's the only one who actually remembers the real you?

Rain began to pour from the desolute atmosphere as you heard disembodied voices theorizing Morax's death. The muffled thundering of the storm only growing louder, reminding you of today's unsavory news. How convenient, the sky is sympathizing.

No, make it stop! I don't want fo hear any of it! Morax is dead, that's how nature works. I'm griefing because it hurts, not because I have nothing to live for.

You lived in that illusion for minutes until. . .

*drip* *drip*

. . . the dam broke.

Hot tears streamed down your face, and you squeezed your eyelids shut in the hope the pain would stop, just numbing it would be fine too. Your choppy breathing and watery eyes remained for quite some time, and sat there unmoving.

There's no see you later's anymore, for Morax has left you. Today has marked your first Goodbye to him.

For an indiscernible amount of time, there was only a black void and it could have been as if you didn’t exist and you had never existed.

And then you felt each of your cells that had been ripped apart within seconds be sewed back together just as quickly, and your eyes met nothing but a blinding white light.

Have I reborn again? You're not aware which is which anymore. You lift your numb hand and reality crashed over your head, you haven't died out of grief, yet.

Your mind is in havoc, you don't know what you want, not that you have any choice.

Dying won't help you escape, forgetting is not an option, loving. . . can't heal an open wound.

No words can equate the absolute devastation you feel.

❖ ── ✦ ── 『 6000 YRS AGO 』 ── ✦ ── ❖

This is stupid. Utterly ridiculous!

What kind of mortal would go in the mines in the middle of the night where monsters lurk in the shadows to hunt for preys? Yeah, that's a question he would like for you to answer!

He flies twice the speed he usually exerts, his mind running rampant of all worst possible scenarios.

He doesn't know what compelled you to do such ridiculous act, but all he knows is he has get to you before any monsters do.

Landing unceremoniously, he gulps at the sight before him. He was never a fan of darkness, it never fails to instill fear in him, the fear of the unknown.

The only time he feels comfortable in the night is whenever you're around him. You don't fear the night, and it somehow influenced him in a way that there's nothing that should be afraid of as long as you're with him— as his human shield.

Young Morax finds himself slowly withdrawing, the fear overpowering his will to come and save you.

"Morax? What are you doing out here?" Saved by the gracious voice of yours, young Morax nearly broke his neck with how fast he looked at your direction.

Your face is contorted out of concern for him, he's sweating profusely and his breathing is ragged.

Just seeing you all in one piece with no signs of injuries made hin slumped on the ground, sighing in relief.

You were at his side seconds later, subconsciously caressing his cheeks. Celestia above! He's shaking like a leaf!

"It's alright, let's get you out of here." Your soothing voice appeased his troubled mind as you helped him get back on his feet. He clutches the fabric of your shirt and wordlessly launches himself on you, arms and tiny tail entrapping you in an embrace.

You waste no second reciprocating the gesture, you've known him for months to be comfortable with physical sentiments. Though you can't say the same to him as he would always flinch away when you initiate it, but has no problem when he does it.

And it seems like he needs your comfort to even give a damn.

"Whatever it is, it can't hurt you now okay?"

From that angle, he peered from below you as if confirming the validity of your words, amber eyes looking like someone has kicked an innocent puppy, it's no wonder you have a soft spot for him.

Both of you strayed away from the caves leading to mines, "I-I thought you l-left me." He meekly mumbled, almost incoherent.

That baffles you as he continues, "I overheard f-from your village that m-monsters are increasing in the area and you're probably..."

"Shh... I'm here now, aren't I? I'm sorry you have to hear that, I can assure you I haven't encountered any marauding monsters during my little excursion." You sighed, guilt pooling your conscience.

He sniffled, "So, you're not going to leave me?"

"Can I even go anywhere when you have a sharp sense of smell?"

"I'm a dragon, not a wolf." He whined, though you could still see the glint of dubious in his eyes, "Can I trust your word?"

Words never served him better than actions, you ought to show him you honor your word by affirming it through gestures.

Smiling, you offered your hand to him.

"How about you hold my hand on our way home? Will that help?" He stares at you and literally contemplated before he relented.

It's warm, much similar to your hug, but like a form of hug that has been reduced to a smaller fraction. It's still a paragon of comfort.

Surely enough, it did help his mind to be at ease. If you ever feel like he's cutting off your circulation, he is cutting your circulation by intertwining your fingers as if trying to tangle it so it won't loose.

"I'm sorry, you must think I'm stupid for cowering away just because of some stupid dark cave." He lowered his head in shame.

He's a Dragon who has greater strength than most beings, and yet he lets his fear consume him as if they can hurt him like how—

"Nonsense! Don't ever think like that or I will personally be the reason why you should fear humans." As stern as you sound, your eyes tell a different story.

Young Morax deduced this as concern, which resulted a flustered and heartwarming reaction from the boy. You were worried for him.

It shouldn't be something he's supposed to feel happy about, but your fretful intentions warranted warmth and security in his mind.

"I didn't know how oddly. . . pleasant it is to hold hands." He mused, and you responded with an amused giggle, "Here I thought only couples do this stuff, but it's really reassuring."

"It does, doesn't it? Sometimes the solution to your conflicts is in a form of validation."

Too wise for a kid, he inwardly complained, ". . .Meaning?"

You hold his other hand and stood to face him with a sequined smile, "No matter how minuscule or massive your fears are, you'll still find comfort when someone validates your feelings; to let you know that they care. It may not be the solution in some cases, but it's better than being alone in times of your vulnerability."

You leaned slightly closer, "Can I ask you a favor?" Your gaze pierced right through his soul and he can only nod absently which resulted for you to grin.

"If you see someone, friend and stranger even enemies, looking so vulnerable that they actually might cry. . ." You lifted your intertwined hands with his, ". . .Make them feel significant."

A cold midnight wind whisked past the both of you, your eyes shone brighter than jewels and stars alike as you spoke those words that made a huge impact in his life.

". . .Even if my enemies are about to cry because I'm about to end their miserable lives?"

What a way to ruin the moment.

"You know what I mean, Mora." You deadpan, preparing to let go of his hand, but his grip is much stronger and it only tightens once he feels you're trying to detach.

"I'm afraid you have to elaborate further, Y/N. And please, I only have two syllables in my name. What's so hard in including the X?" In contrast to his words, he quite enjoys hearing his nickname.

"The X is not even a syllable, Mora."

That time, young Morax found peace.

He's always on the hunt for something new, something glimmering, something incredible, something undiscovered and something bedazzling. That's how his childlike brain thinks and he seizes anything outwardly beautiful.

But he never knew how amazing it was to see something— or rather, to see someone's beauty on the inside.

Perhaps that's what draws him to you, because of your voice, patience and understanding. He would never admit it though

To him, you're beautiful inside and out, almost perfect, even your flaws are easy to love.

He can't deny he wasted a few immortal years just mourning your death, you'd probably scold him.

Within those years, he's only reliving the memories and wise words you have with him. He wanted to come out as a better person after your death, take it as an honour of your passing.

You made him for what he is.

If he hadn't met you he'd still be the intolerable, impatient and disrespectful person as he grows up.

He'd still fear the unknown, never having the courage to take risks and accept whatever outcomes.

Everything he does always brings him back to you, his actions always correlates to something that's relevant about you. It had always been you.

He prays the Celestia to let you know you will always be apart of his person. Yes, you died, but every lingering piece of you still remains intact in the deep recesses of his mind.

He has moved on, but you remain the person he loved the most. Not even the sands of time has the capability to change that.

"How disastrous. People can be really simple-minded." Morax rubbed both of his temples once he heard the speculation of him and Guizhong plausible relationship.

"I apologize on their behalf, it never crossed my mind they'll be quick to make assumptions." The fair Goddess bowed in shame.

"You have done nothing wrong to spark such rumors, Guizhong. If anything, it is I who should seek forgiveness for I have tied you down with such unpleasant gossips."

She meekly chuckles, "If we're going to paint ourselves as the culprit then we might as well work together to quell the rumors."

His perfectly lined eyebrows knitted, which didn't go unnoticed by Guizhong, "What seems to be troubling your mind?"

A few seconds ticked by before he let out a whisper that only Barbatos can only hear thanks to his wind. For Guizhong who has keen sense of hearing, "If Y/N was here I'll gear up for another war just to extinguish this spreading rumors." She stifled a laugh.

Oh, she knows alright. She knows you. She knows the person who captivated Morax's heart, it's all about he talks to her in their leisure time and you're not a secret between their comrades.

Most people would find it dull to listen about someone's life unless it held any merit to pass onto the other mouth, she would too. But Morax describes you like a protagonist of a fairy tale, like some mythical being, caught between two worlds, a miracle of existence that racked his existence— which makes you an interesting person

She was so eager to meet you, it was rather unfortunate that you've already passed on uncountable years ago.

"Where are you going?" She inquired as the Geo Archon whisk passed her, "Out to visit an old friend. I won't be returning until tomorrow dawn."

She sighed, a corresponding smile soon follows as she took over his job for the meantime.

Morax walked through the barren areas in Mt. Tianheng, it became part of his leisure activities during the day when his mind needs to detach itself from reality and let himself be swayed by the memories he tucked in the deep recesses of his mind.

Memories of his late comrades who perished in the horrors of war and the most painful but nostalgic one; Y/N.

He ruefully sighed at the thought of you. Even in death, you have full grasp of his heart and shroud his head with your image.

Filtered beams of light accented the spaces between the ancient trees that twisted like spires from the undergrowth. Golden leaves littered the forest floor as Morax appraised the trail of mycelium path, one leading to a particular tree.

His expression remains unchanging, at least that's what he thought, any stranger sees him they'll stop to ponder what made this godly man smile so fondly.

A single maple leaf flow with the breeze, swaying in inconsistent direction until it falls in his gloved hand. The rich color of autumn and texture brings him back in his youthful days.

[ cttro papercider on Twitter ]

"Ah! All I do is reminisce to pass time." He muttered to himself as he let the leaf get carried away by the zither winds once again.

"It certainly has been awhile, Y/N. I was but a petulant child since I've visited you. I now stand here as the Geo Archon." It has been a habit to come back to this specific tree and treats it as his home.

It's a sacred place he's closely attached to, he can perfectly picture his young self failing to spy on you. He grimaced at the memory when he was caught in the act.

"I still have no idea why you let me trail your shadows, you weren't least afraid that I'm a dragon. You told me you're fascinated, but. . . was that the only reason?"

Only the breeze answered for him with nothing, "If you hadn't allowed me to do so I do not know what kind of person I would be as of today." He steps closer and pulled off his hood.

He let the silence hang for minutes, maybe even hours. Just standing there as he appreciates what nature has to offer in the place where his story began with you.

"Are you proud of me? My comrades claimed they were more than proud to stand alongside with me, but I doubt the veracity of their words when I led them to their demise. Is it that prideful to have me as a friend when I bring nothing but misfortune?"

He finally sat down between the roots of the tree, relishing the blissful comfort as the sunlight accentuates his godly features.

"I met a boy who was being manipulated by an evil god who only desires power and selfish gains." He began.

"He was a fierce warrior, strong and capable, the manipulation only fuels him to be at his strongest form. I was thinking of eradicating him, but his eyes already looked so dead. It reminded me of. . ."

He holds his tongue and shuts his eyes as he's in pain, "It would be one of my greatest regrets if I had impaled my spear into him."

"I thought of you that time. Hadn't it been to my promise to you, I wouldn't have gained a new ally. Xiao is his name."

The wind blew stronger, ". . . I forgot you can summon him just by calling out his name." He chuckles to himself.

Green statics cracked into the air and quickly revealed a masked man with his polearm readied for any danger.

"Settle down now. I apologize, your name slipped in my mouth." The young Yaksha visibly looked confused even under the layers of his mask.

"I was narrating a story to my old friend Y/N."

Guizhong couldn't have been more right.

By the end of the day, Xiao now knows every detail there is to know about the person called Y/N. It's what Morax ever talk to him.

"Mr. Zhongli is in a very elated mood ever since you told him Archon knows what, Traveler." Hu Tao, the Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor finds the situation quite absurd to look at, but never impossible. His mood just feels out of place.

Who looks at mournful families with an eccentric smile on their face as they consult them about their loved one's death?

"Why does Paimon feel like you're pointing finger at the traveler?" She puts her tiny hands on tiny her hips like a mother hen.

The Traveler let out a nervous laugh, "I wonder what exactly brought him in such high spirit with my words."

"Ooh... Paimon thinks it's about Y/N. Isn't it obvious by now?" Hu Tao furrowed her eyebrows, "Y/N? You mean the Adventurer?" Both heads snapped at her direction, "You know them?"

She reluctantly shrugged, "Only at acquaintance level. They showed interest in business and I taught them a few things." She smiled at the epilogue of her statement.

"If they ever come back, my hunch tells me you'd find them in Wangshu Inn, they frequented there before." She added before turning her attention to a new customer.

Zhongli, who's been eavesdropping, perked up at the claims. Perhaps he should visit Xiao tonight and totally won't inquire if he ever met you before.

Midnight falls and Zhongli bid his farewell to the traveler before heading towards the Wangshu Inn.

For some unknown reason, Zhongli could sense the foreboding feeling that's nagging his instincts as he gets closer to his desired destination, yet he doesn't stop. What's worse is that he doesn't know if it's for the good or bad.

All of a sudden, a harsh breeze blew past his face as if the winds attempting to convey a message that's only for his intuition to decipher, for him to meander.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his statue glowing bright blue, but that wasn't what caught his attention. A hand reached out to touch the stone statue.

A mop of [H/C] facing him backward bowed down in respect of the late Rex Lapis, but Zhongli could feel a much more intense feeling.

Something stirs inside him, he remembers this situation— when he watched Y/N with such fascination from above the tree, not knowing what they look like, yet they never fail to express their feelings through threaded words he finds so wondrous to hear.

In contrary to that, the person appears to be. . . forlorn. He stepped closer until he's only less than five meters away from them.

All of a sudden, he feels skittish around the person. It's as if he doesn't want to leave a bad first impression, he's suddenly self-conscious of his looks, and Zhongli never cared about his outer appearance.

Then they spoke, in a solemn voice.

"See you later, Mora. I hope you found your eternal peace."

There are times when you wish you'd forget Morax, some that you don't. But still, in the birth of new beings, you will find Morax in his next life. The prospect of being alone is a phobia you can't ever overcome unless you have Morax.

What a joke. It should've been a farewell. Your final goodbye to your old friend. Not a hopeless see you later.

It took you months to come with that mindset, only to end up saying what's the exact opposite.

It was difficult to come back in Liyue, every step adds a new pile of memory that drags you further into the depths of agony. Every where you look reminds you of the late Geo Archon. Each encouraging word in your mind gets trampled on by his image.

You consider it as an achievement to stand tall in front of his statue after his death, and a failure that you didn't get to bid your final words to him before you depart from Liyue.

You're still clinging to a nonexistent hope that you'll actually get to see him even after your death. Old habits die hard they say. It couldn't have been more relatable than now.

Sighing in disappointment, you retracted your hand from the statue and briskly turn around when you felt the disturbance behind you.

A gloved hand suspended in the air seems to be trying to reach out to you. As you raise your eyes to meet the oh-so-familiar glowing amber eyes that you grew to love. . .

You offered the stranger a faux smile, seemingly naive to the person standing in front of you with an aghast expression.

You failed to realize Morax as Zhongli just as Morax failed to realize you in your different lives.

"Hello. How may I help you?"

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Time has stopped, both hands of the clock moved counterclockwise, bringing him back to the time he first laid his eyes on you— so unsuspecting from what's about to unravel after a sweet hello.

His broadened eyes are solely fixated on you, it ingnited a feeling he couldn’t immediately identify, a sense of a certain and long-forgotten familiarity fogged his memory.

From the color of your eyes, skin and hair. The subtle furrow of your eyebrows and the upturn of your lips. The gentle facade that compelled him to indulge his curiosity towards you.

Y/N. . . Are you the Y/N the traveler was talking about?

But you bare no resemblance to the Y/N he knew, yet he can tell how it is your soul residing in the mortal's body. It is you. Your eyes aren't the ones that welcomed him as new friend. It feels different.

You're smiling while your eyes are grieving.

Your eyes failed to conceal your weeping soul and could only hope the last bits of its strength will keep it standing until someone reach a hand to put back the shattered pieces.

Behind that gleeful stare was a mountain of pain and extracting it would bring instability to the person who would dare to climb. Yet come what may, you're always worth any risk.

He lowered his hand to shake yours, his lips upturned into an enigmatic smile.

Your heart went erratic and the usually dormant butterflies imploded in your stomach. You haven't felt like a teenager since. . .

You felt your breath hitch in your throat when suddenly, with a mere handful of strides, the beautiful man was standing right in front of you, his amber eyes searching your face intently, trying to find whatever it was he was seeking.

"My name is Zhongli, I'm a consultant in Wangsheng Funeral Parlor." Your [E/C] eyes blinked surreptitiously before accepting it. What a beautiful name, you thought almost immediately.

Under normal circumstances you would've strictly reprimanded the man with his incongruous advances, but you felt something else, something so powerful it overshadowed your senses.

It was a need, an unyielding need to be close to him.

Rather than pushing him away, something inside you stirs awake and begin to implore to coalesce with his existence.

"I'm Y/N L/N, an adventurer."

So it is really you.

He briefly looks down to their intwined hands.

For countless nights, the image of your bloodied hand reaching out to him as you take your last breath plagued his every dream. The tender, soft hands that will no longer bring him comfort. The hand of the person whom he loved so dearly, whom he failed to protect against the wicked ways of the world.

The intense urge to hide you away from the prying eyes that shared similarities to his kept his mind in shambles.

Which what led him to mumble to you what his thoughts are repeating like a mantra.

When he spoke the promise he'll show you what's up at the highest altitude his wings could go, he was mostly speaking out of his selfish desire to hold onto your hand and fly you away to the farthest place no living creatures have ever stumbled upon.

He had to learn it the hard way; that the greater you wish for something, the crueler fate can be. Maybe if he hadn't been so greedy you could've live your mortal life.

Now that you are standing in front of him, shaking your hand, he can amend his mistake by straying far away from you before he repeats history itself, before he could inflict pain on you again.

And yet, looking at you attempting to shoulder the boulders of life is what all it takes for all the wisdom he garnered for centuries to be thrown out the window.

He can't imagine himself distancing from you when you're suffering and have no one comfortable enough to share your burdens with, no one to validate your feelings, no one to embrace you in your vulnerable times.

You taught him to be compassionate, to not disregard emotions, and he's about to set that in motion. You were there when he needed you the most, offered your shoulder to vent out his feelings, it's about time to let him do what you always did for him.

It became abundantly clear he's not willing to let you go through anything alone just like he had gone through without you.

"You claim you're a consultant. Did you perhaps think I'm a potential customer?"

He let go of your hand as much as he loathes being away from your warmth for even just a second, he's still convinced you can be taken away from him at any given moment.

"Indeed, I couldn't stand idle and watch you grieve alone." He watches how you averted your eyes as if hiding the pain would appease your mind.

"I appreciate the thought. . . though, I highly doubt it'll be effective."

He mentally chuckled at the irony. He, too, was once amazed of what simple gestures can bring to a downhearted person.

"Hmm. An old friend once showed me how to console a person. Allow me to share their insights."

Your eye brows perched in curiosity, this man speaks like he's in his 50s or something, ". . .If you insist. I could use a company for now."

Morax experienced eons of desires to attain what he wishes to, though he refrains from being blinded by those greedy thoughts as he had witnessed how cruel fate can be when he once desired to have you. Will history repeat itself?

Zhongli chortles in response, but his expression soon turned nostalgic, "I may not know what adversities you're facing nor do I know who you are, but know that you're never alone."

His smile never left his face as he takes off his glove and held the palm face forward to you, he watches how your eyes glisten with unshed tears, "W-What is that supposed to convey?"

You didn't even notice how much gap he closed just to increase the proximity between the both of you. Archons! You can smell the lingering scent of Osmanthus Wine mingling with his breath!

Is he a drunkard like Venti?

Perhaps this man is drunk to comprehend his actions, perhaps he won't remember this the never next day, perhaps he has mistaken you for someone else, perhaps—

"Wherever you wish to go, I'll keep you company. I dare ask if I may hold your hand along the way, Y/N?"

Perhaps there's hope you can cling onto until your aching heart is at ease.

Your hand found its way to his, almost too desperate to not let this moment of comfort vanish. Just this once, you thought to yourself as the man smiled with absolute glee that it puts the sun in shame.

Out of reflex, your fingers laced with his, wanting nothing more than to relieve in the warmth of his hand. His expression soon turned into a priceless one as if he's in disbelief that you actually just did that, and that alone made the realization struck you harder than Raiden's lightning and fried your nerves with embarrassment.

"I-I'm so-sorry! I didn't mean to get too comfortable!"

You're a stranger to him, and you acted as if you've been a longtime friends. He must have been feeling uncomfortable, you nervously thought as you quickly tried reel back your hand in an attempt to salvage whatever budding acquaintanceship you have.

Keyword; tried.

Your action prompts him to retaliate by locking his fingers in place, keeping your hand sealed with his and shot you a reassuring smile.

"Do not fret. I'm delighted to know I somehow earned a little fraction of your trust. It's only fair to mirror the trust you gave me."

As if to spell out his point, he held up your intertwined hands just below your chin. His eyes blazed with a newfound emotion you couldn't decipher. He almost looks eager. He was gripping your hand, not too tight, but firm enough give emphasize of something.

His action wasn't fruitless as it gained a reaction from you. Your eyebrows twitched, there's something too familiar about it, but your memory refuses to give you that answer.

Instead, you could only mutter weak responses, "I-I understand, but if you feel uncomfortable in any way then don't hesitate to point out what I'm doing wrong."

Whether it was a satisfying answer he wants to hear, his emotions betrayed to even give you a brief answer and his face only lit up as he turns away from you, "You could never do anything wrong in my eyes."

Did he just say something? "What was that?"

"Nothing. Are you new in Liyue? I could give you a tour if you'd like to make you familiarize with the environment."

Your lips turned into a genuine smile, it didn't reach your ears but something tells you this man will lengthen it until you're the happiest person alive, "I'd love to, Zhongli."

As the wind blows to the East, a new chapter has began with a new retelling of their unfinished story. Until the last maple leaf falls and the oldest standing tree drought, two souls will always find their way to rekindle what has been lost.

>> PART III

─ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @itsyourgirlria @shizunxie @elsoleil @cherlynono @slzarr @katsuissus @tartarsaucechi1de @spyanya @tikitsune @shoujishu @useless-potatho @chimsblogg @xiamuyi @lemonlimesocks @belletifeshyl @alexon-mars @multifandomvoyage @malt-rants-and-stuff @jameineliebe @angelkazusstuff @orginiallyann @eissaaaa @beezgobuzzbuzz @towos @kamukayakmonyet @atsukawolfcat @sunflowers1970 @yamtwt @avery-needs-more-fics @angstylittleb1tch @bigcandlesmolbrain @lxmine @imk1ra @fauxizs @islxisl @chihawari @bishishbored @yuuki4646 @sunsethw4 @princeabomination @alexiris @chocolateneapolitan @ayra2452008 @akaritenchi @sophiee-bush @ittosoneandoniwife @alatus2716 @almighty-raiden-shogunate

(it's my first time doing tags so pls inform me if it's not working, idk why the others are white, did I do something wrong??)

PS. if you want to get tagged for the next part or be removed then simply comment it TAGLIST is for the readers who want to be updated for my future genshin works.

─ 𝐀/𝐍. Can you all smell that? *sniff sniff* I smell a Xiao ver. of this 👀👀 Fr, I didn't expect the fic will be loved that much as I initially thought, I received many appreciative comments and messages which is what motivated me to write part 2, and possibly part 3 (just for the fluff) since this was supposed to be a series but I crossed that idea out until everyone broke my expectation. Thank you💜💙 and merry christmas everyone ❤💚

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Silent Night, Joyful Hearts - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: This is my second of three entries for @sailor-aviator's Christmas Writing Challenge to celebrate the holidays with our favourite aviators.

pairing:  Jake Seresin x reader

warnings/content: Jake as a lovesick little puppy, mentions of church/Christianity.

word count: 1.9k

It had been months since Jake had gone back home to Austin, Texas. He couldn’t remember a date other than “too long.” When the chance to go home for a three week leave for the holidays arose, Jake practically jumped on it. As cocksure and seemingly uncaring as he made himself out to be, at the end of the day, Jake was becoming homesick, ready for a long overdue trip to his hometown.

“Uncle Jake! Uncle Jake!” 

A little voice squealed from the living room around the corner, a blonde haired, green eyed little boy - the spitting image of Jake - came speeding into the hallway, wrapping his tiny arms around his uncle’s leg in an effort to hug him. Jake reached down and tousled the boy’s hair, beaming down at his little nephew as he scooped him up for a hug.

“Well if it ain’t my favourite nephew! Miss me?” Jake chuckled as he gave his nephew a tight squeeze.

“Sure did!” The boy grinned, in an accent that almost perfectly matched Jake’s. 

“Easton, give your poor Uncle Jake a minute’s breathing space, he just got in the door!” Jake’s sister, Stephanie shook her head as she laughed, her hand on her hip as she watched her son fuss over his uncle. 

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it, Steph, I missed the lil’ guy, I don’t mind being showered with a warm welcome. Besides, he’s gotta say hi to me now before his big moment on stage tonight!” Jake grinned, ruffling Easton’s hair once again.

“I’m gonna play one of the smart guys at Jesus’ birthday party, Uncle Jake!” Easton said proudly as he puffed out his chest.

“You’re gonna be a what, bud?” Jake bit his lip as he held back a laugh at the six-year-old’s misinterpretation of a nativity play.

“Well, Mommy said wise means smart, so isn’t that what a wiseman is?” Easton furrowed his brow as he thought it over.

“I guess in a way, it does, pal, but you know, I fell asleep during Sunday school a lot, I wouldn’t listen to me.”

Jake set Easton down on the ground, the boy running off to go get himself changed into his outfit for his performance tonight. Jake laughed as he smiled and gave his sister a hug. Stephanie pulled away from his embrace after a moment and laughed at him, shaking her head. 

“You know, Mama’s been talking to that girl you used to like back in elementary school again. She volunteered to help for the nativity play, she’s helping coordinate it,” Stephanie smirks and nods her head, “You know…the one you used to run around naked in the backyard with when you were 4, her mama and Ma are good friends…what was her name again?”

Jake froze as a wave of nostalgia washed over him, the memories of you and him playing together as kids came flooding back, enveloping him as he was transported back to a time where you and he were the best of friends, completely inseparable as kindergarteners, best friends who couldn’t be without one another for more than a moment. That was, until, you had moved to the other side of the city when the two of you were 8 years old. By the time high school had come around, you were reunited again, but something was different - the best friend he knew as a young child was gone, the two of you having taken different paths in your preteen years, different interests now shoehorning their way between you, making it harder for either of you to ever reconcile the friendship you once had. 

Jake was an all-star athlete in school, captain of the lacrosse team, star quarterback for the football team, and first-baseman for the baseball team. He was in a world you weren’t a part of when it came to high school, and you two struggled to find your way back to one another. He’d always had feelings for you, for as long as he could remember. After you’d both grown so distantly far apart by the time you’d reached high school, he never had the courage to ever tell you. The mere thought of you was enough to get his heart racing all over again, just like it did in high school whenever he saw you walking down the halls. 

Jake shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and shook his head, trying to appear indifferent to the mention of you.

“I dunno, can’t remember. I haven’t seen her in like, 16 years, Steph.”

“Hmm…,” Stephanie smirked as she raised her eyebrow at him, “You best go get showered and changed. Gotta leave here in about 45 minutes.” 

Jake emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later,  freshly showered, shaved and dressed in a creamy beige coloured sweater and his favourite dark washed denim jeans, cognac brown cowboy boots adorning his feet to complete the look. His golden blonde military-approved haircut was gelled up in the front, the way he’d worn it every day for the last 20 years or so - he swore up and down that if he didn’t use the hair gel, it’d be an unruly mess, though everyone around him knew he was just a creature of habit whose life motto was “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”  

The drive to the church was a quiet one, little Easton was practically buzzing with excitement in the back seat beside Jake, but insisted on not speaking so he could save his voice for the lines he had in the play. Jake couldn’t help but laugh at the child’s insistence on playing the part so professionally, but Stephanie had simply nodded and smiled, giving Jake a look that explained this was just how Easton was, a perfectionist like his uncle. 

The church auditorium was full of parents and families waiting to see their children on stage for the next hour, a handful of lines of dialogue shared between each child in order to make it fair for everyone. Phones were held out with cameras pointed at the stage, each parent excitedly watching for their child’s big moment. Jake took his seat beside his sister and her husband, his parents seated to his left. They all smiled proudly as they watched the stage, waiting for Easton’s big stage debut. 

Jake had noticed you standing by the front of the stage, a few rows of seats ahead of him. You were discreetly and quietly helping the children when they got stuck with remembering their positions on stage or the lines they were supposed to say. You looked just as he’d remembered you - in fact, he’d argue that you’d only grown more beautiful over the last 16 years. He felt his heart racing again, a soft, rosy pink hue filling his cheeks as he smiled in your direction. He could hear his mother lean over and whisper something to his father, who dissmissively rolled his eyes at his wife, trying to stifle a laugh. Stephanie smirked to herself, and her husband, who was none the wiser about your lifelong crush, sat confused, trying to work out what he was missing. 

“Jake,” Stephanie whispered to her brother, nodding her head slowly as her eyes stayed on the stage, watching for Easton, “I’d say somethin’ to her if I were you. Can’t go back to California and not say a word to the poor girl about how you feel. Maybe she feels the same way and y’all can have something together before you go back in a couple’a weeks?” 

Jake shook his head slightly, a warm smile on his face. His green eyes were betraying him as he spoke, showing how he felt as his words contradicted him.

“I don’t still have feelin’s for her, Steph. It was just a crush in high school. I bet she’s even forgotten me.”

“She hasn’t,” Jake’s mom piped up as she whispered, leaning over Jake’s father to speak.

“What?” 

“She hasn’t forgotten you, Jake,” His mother simply repeated before returning her attention to the stage.

Jake spent the next 20 minutes mulling over this information from his mother, and the words of encouragement from his sister. While there was always the very likely possibility that the two women were meddling and trying to set him up on a date with someone, anyone, who they thought he might have a shred of happiness with, there was also the possibility they could be right - maybe you really had been harboring the same feelings for him all these years too. 

After the play had ended and the auditorium had cleared out, Jake approached you, waiting politely for you to finish your conversation with another parishioner, one congratulating you on the play being a success. Jake smiled warmly, his million-dollar grin on full display, a twinkle in his pale green eyes as he spoke. 

“Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me or not?” He began.

“Jake, right? Jake Seresin? I suppose you’re a Lieutenant now, your mama told me about it, congratulations!” She smiled warmly, nodding her head, “I could never forget you, we used to be good friends back when we were just lil’ kids.”

Jake nodded his head, unable to control the wide, beaming grin on his face as she spoke, revealing that his mother was at least right about one thing, you’d never forgotten him. 

“That’s me! My mama’s pretty bad for bragging about me, sorry ‘bout that,” Jake laughed as he shook his head, running a hand to the back of his neck, his finger tips running through the ends of his short hair in the back, “Listen, I, uh,” Jake stuttered for a moment before shaking his head with a laugh. 

“I’d like to take you for a drink or something, we could catch up? For old times sake, I mean, if we both remember being good friends when we were little but haven’t spoken in 16 years, then we have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?”

Jake grinned as you titled your head, an eyebrow cocked upward in a challenging manner as he waited for your response to his proposal. 

“I’d like that, actually,” you responded, nodding her head, “I’m free tomorrow, if you’d like?”

Jake nodded his head, laughing softly as he smiled, unable once again to fight the urge to feel hopeful and hopelessly in love as your unrequited crush from 16 years ago accepted your text. Jake had no idea what he was doing at this point - he wasn’t a dater, he was generally unable to keep a relationship going longer than a couple of months, usually out of fear of what would happen while he was deployed. Would they cheat? Would he’d make it home ok? What would they do if Jake didn’t come home exactly the way he’d left it - not having a relationship was just easier.

However, in this moment, hearing you agree to have a drink with him tomorrow night, Jake was staring to wonder if maybe his bachelor streak was coming to an end. And he couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that it all unfolded because of his nephew’s role in his childhood church’s nativity play. 

[nolita-fairytale]

comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: called you again

summary: you and carmy try your best to repair the relationship... but it only leads to distance. you both make the mistake thinkin' the other is better of without you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: angst, death, grief, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language

word count: 3.5k

listen to: supercut - lorde | speechless - lady gaga | call me back - young the giant | called you again - lizzy mcalpine

a/n: while i felt like i was dropping an emotional bomb on you with the last chapter, i didn't know it would have such an emotional impact. i just wanted to share that i write so much from my own experiences -- perhaps why some of the chapters feel so realistic. anyways, thank you for all of your kind words in regards to the last chapter. i didn't want to write the phone call, since after this part, 'make my heart surrender' begins / i write a bit of it in that story / it really made for a spicy dramatic ending.

on another note: it's me, hi! i broke my own heart writing this. high key like... i feel like i'm going through a breakup right now (i'm not). the next part will be a big time jump: it takes place after right after 'make my heart surrender' ends, where reader has just moved to chicago for carmy so you'll be glad to hear that i'm done hurting you and myself.

read: chapter four

April 2022 

“Seriously, Carmy. I can’t thank you enough. You really saved the day,” Maya harps, reminding Carmy for the 100th time today that he single-handedly saved Passover. 

“It’s nothin’ really,'' Carmy mumbles with a shrug. “I’m uh… gonna finish cleaning up in the kitchen. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Sure I can’t help?” Maya asks, giving him one last chance to say ‘yes.’

“No, it’s all good. I got a whole system,” he explains, a reassuring look in his eyes. 

“Of course,” Maya replies, bowing out of the conversation. 

She walks through her home towards the open double terrace doors that lead out onto the patio. You’re outside, shifted to one side of the large outdoor dining table, your focus unbroken as you stack empty plates, one on top of the other.

“Hey,” you say to her, a warm nostalgia about the way the spring air kisses your bare shoulders. 

“So… Carmy really came through,” she starts, watching you for your reaction. 

“Yeah, he did,” you reply simply, as if it’s just fact.

Maya half expects for you to say more, but she knows it’s been weird between the two of you since you slept together. She’s not sure why, but she’s always rooted for Carmy. Perhaps because you light up every time he’s around – every time you talk about him. Perhaps because she sees the way he looks at you, especially when he thinks you’re not looking. Because, even though he’s deeply imperfect, you’re good for him – and he, you. 

“It’s all for you, you know,” she says, growing bolder in her reminder. 

Her words stop you in your tracks. You stop working on the pile of dishes you’re creating, taking a moment to look up at your friend. 

“Why do you think that?” you ask quietly. 

“Because he took the night off to be here,” she answers, checking to make sure Carmy isn’t listening. “I mean, when have any of us seen him take any time off? He’s not doing it for me. I just think… it seems like he’s really making an effort to mend things.”

You nod slowly, processing what she’s just said. Carmy, in an effort to try to mend things, had joined you for a drink with some of your mutual friends from the restaurant. As Maya had lamented about the caterer falling through for her Passover dinner, he’d more than eagerly offered to step in, surprising all of you. 

“Maybe,” you shrug, trying not to get your hopes up. “I don’t know. It’s still not the way it used to be.”

“Well of course it’s not!” Maya exclaims with a laugh. She sighs out your name, shaking her head as she continues. “You guys are… of course that would change things.”

“I think it’s just going to take a while…” you explain, your voice soft. “I uh. I should take these in.”

You collect your pile of dishes, heading back inside into the kitchen. You know you’re avoiding having the conversation with Maya, but the distance between you and Carmy has been so tough on you. It wasn’t until you took some space from him that you realized just how big of a part he’d been playing in your life. And now, he was grieving, and you’d both crossed the line that had complicated things. 

It all just felt… messy. 

As you enter the kitchen, you see Carmy standing there. He’s staged the kitchen for the most efficient dishwashing: one half of the sink is filled with to sanitize, the other to rinse, before loading up the dishwasher. You place the first stack of plates down on the kitchen island, making a sound that doesn’t even seem to grab Carmy’s attention. He doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t acknowledge the sound, so you decide to keep moving things in from outside instead. 

You’ve managed to get all of the dirty dishes from the terrace into the kitchen, Carmy giving you a nod as he’d instructed you to place them down on the counter for him. 

You put your focus on packing up leftovers in deli containers and making sure all the food that needed to be has been put away. Carmy’s loaded up the dishwasher but he’s got at least a dozen wine glasses that he knows need to be hand washed. You notice that he’s taking a break, pushing yourself to ask him, as if it’s going to be your only chance to.

“How are you?” you say, instantly regretting it as the words come out of your mouth. 

He shrugs, unsure of how to answer the question, leaning up against the kitchen counter. You think it’s the only answer you’re going to get as he crosses his arms across his chest. You continue packing up the equipment that you and Carmy have brought over, while he manages to steal a few glances when he thinks you’re not looking. 

He’s not sure what to say. 

Hell, he doesn’t even know how he feels about it. 

But something inside him is begging him to tell you – as if telling you will give him some kind of resolution. Like he’ll know what to do. Like telling you will bring him the comfort he’s so desperately been craving. 

He opens his mouth to say something, noticing that you’ve kept yourself busy – almost as if you’re trying to stay out of his way. 

He hates this. 

He hates that you feel you have to tiptoe around him. 

“Mikey left me the restaurant,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth like five hundred pounds of bricks. 

“Oh wow,” you gasp, taking in what he’s said. 

He nods, pausing before he speaks again. And it’s the first time he’s said it out loud to anyone:

“I think it’s time for me to go home.”

You don’t say anything back, because you’re not sure what to say back. You know he hadn’t gone home for the funeral, despite your insistence.

Why now? What did this mean? What would this mean? And when did he find out about the restaurant? You can’t help but feel like everything's falling apart, like this is the end. While you know he has to go home – you’re honestly surprised it’s taken him so long to come to this conclusion – it’s impossible not to feel your heart shattering into pieces. 

Carmy was going to leave. You were going to stay. And you didn’t know where that left the two of you. 

“Can I help – with the wine glasses?” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. 

Focusing on the glasses may be the only thing that keeps you from crying. 

“Yeah,” he nods, and you know it’s his way of trying to connect. 

You work quietly, the only sounds in the background are the dinner party playlist that’s playing on a loop through the home’s speakers. You wash and Carmy dries, knocking out the remaining dishes that need to be hand washed, before packing up to go. Maya, of course, thanks Carmy again and again, while her partner, Patrick, compliments the meal, letting Carmy know he’s got to get some cooking tips from him. 

As the two of you walk out of the door, brown paper bags loaded up with empty delis and equipment that you brought over to the house, Carmy stops before either of you can go your separate ways. 

“Can I walk you home?” Carmy asks you, a hopeful look in his eyes. 

You nod, “Yeah.”

May 

Hope you’re doing okay. How’s home?

It’s about the third text you’ve sent to Carmy since he left New York. After letting you know he’d made it safely, you hadn’t heard from him at all. Sure it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it’s like as soon as he let you know he’d made it safe, he’d cut you off cold. To say that you’re angry would be an understatement. 

You’re really fucking pissed off. 

And you also know that underneath all that anger, is a fuck ton of hurt that you’d really rather not acknowledge – that you’re not ready to feel yet.

You don’t know how he’s able to turn it off – just pretend that the last two and half years haven’t been significant. That you haven’t practically been attached at the hip since the lockdown. That you’re not best friends who also just so happen to maybe be in love with each other. 

Somehow, Liz has coaxed you out after a long night at the restaurant for a round of drinks with your coworkers. Something about a need to blow off some steam. Only a round has turned into many, and you just might have had one too many to forget about the searing pain you feel when you think about the fact that you may never hear from Carmy again. You’re waiting for your next drink at the bar, making a mental note that this has to be your last. 

“How’s Berzatto these days?” you hear a voice ask, turning your head as you realize someone’s joined you at the bar. 

“Uh.. yeah, I think he’s been really busy. You know… with the family restaurant. Getting adjusted, you know?” you lie to Nate, pretending that you’ve been in contact with him. 

Nothing would sting more than to admit to Nate fucking Walker that Carmy’s ghosted you. 

Nate laughs cooly, with a shake of his head. 

“He hasn’t called you, has he?” he asks. 

You don’t answer. But your silence is the only answer Nate needs to confirm his suspicions. 

“Listen, can we just talk about something else?” you dismiss him, watching as the bartender returns with your drink. 

The rest of your friends have started a game of pool, but you’re not in the mood for it tonight. Nate asks you to sit, so you do. You hate to admit it, but the attention feels nice, especially with how much you miss Carmy. It burns in your chest tonight, leaving you breathless. You’d rather be numb than feel this much pain. 

You’re not sure how the conversation turns back to Carmy after an hour or so of conversation with Nate. Even though you said you didn’t want to talk about him. Even though you can see that Nate’s tired of hearing about him. You can’t help yourself when it comes to Carmy. Every little thing reminds you of him, and he just keeps coming up like word vomit. 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about him,” Nate reminds you. 

You shake your head, “I don’t!” 

Nate shoots you a look, before shaking his head, making sure to polish off the last of his drink. 

“He’s an idiot,” Nate scoffs with an eye roll. 

“Don’t say that,” you relent. 

“I mean it. He’s a fuckin’ idiot!” he exclaims again, turning much more serious. 

“Nate!” you protest lightly. 

“I mean it,” he repeats himself, holding piercing eye contact with you. 

Nate waits a beat, his eyes flickering from your lips back to your eyes as he leans in, lowering his voice. 

“He couldn’t even see a good thing when had it,” he croons, leaning in towards you. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you just want to feel wanted, but you feel woozy – hazy, you’re head spinning with lust as you contemplate kissing him. 

“Not even when it was right in front of him,” he adds, his lips so very close to yours. 

Nate’s always been good looking. Your eyes flicker to his full lips and deep brown eyes as he towers over you from where he sits, knowing that he wants to kiss you. He’s just the kind of guy that knows he’s good looking – something you find terribly annoying. 

“You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry that he can’t see it,” he practically whispers against your lips, so close that all the blood rushes to your head. 

It just feels good to be wanted, to be seen. So you surge forward, closing the gap between you. As you press your lips against his, you can feel Nate smiling into the kiss. He’s a smug bastard, but tonight, you don’t care. You entertain the kiss for a little longer. At this point, you could care less that you’ve garnered the attention of some of your coworkers, that you’re just making out with Nate fucking Walker out in the open for everyone to see. 

“You wanna go somewhere else? My place is around the corner,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“Sure,” you agree, you breath catching in your throat. 

“C’mon,” he encourages you, with a nod towards the door. 

Revenge, or the last of your gin cocktail, burns in your throat as you make a deal with the devil, following Nate out of the bar. 

June

Carmy’s phone buzzes again, catching his attention as he takes another drag from his cigarette. He’s got one missed call from Sugar, a voicemail, and a text with a link to that meeting she won’t stop nagging him to go to. He’s just about to put his phone back in his pocket as it buzzes again. 

He looks down. 

Shit. 

Fuck.

It’s a text from you. 

His heart stops beating for a moment, just for a second, and he freezes. 

Came across this article in the New Yorker about denim & rock n roll. Made me think of you. 

Carmy’s eyes scan over the title: From the Working Class to a Fashion Statement: John Lennon, Elvis Presley, & Other Icons That Brought Denim to the Mainstream. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s been so focused on the restaurant, so focused on fixing it, that it’s been easy to compartmentalize, push any thought of you out of his mind. But as his thumb hovers over the article, daring to open it, he can picture it all so vividly. His head is filled with the image of you walking down Bowery, a few paces in front of him, clad in your favorite denim jacket of his as you tell him to ‘hurry up.’ 

And just for a moment, it feels so real. He can practically smell the New York City air. He can hear your laugh as you bump into him in the small walkways of each mom-and-pop dumpling shop. He can almost feel your skin brush against his as you scoot by him on the way to your table.

It becomes harder to push the thoughts of you out of his mind, the sobering reality that it’s been at least a month and a half since he’s talked to you. 

She’s better off without me. Without this. Without all of this chaos, he thinks to himself. 

He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t been in touch on purpose, and he had to admit, it was killing him. There were days where all he wanted to do was call you, ask how you were doing – days where the only thing that would bring him comfort was imagining you running your fingers through his hair while he bitched about the restaurant. Days where he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with you while you forced him to watch some violent action movie, and he’d watch you in awe. He’d call you a psychopath, when in reality, he was just in shock that someone like you could want to be around someone like him. 

Carmy wonders if you miss him – if it’s killing you too. 

But he doubts it. 

You’re a fucking mess, he thinks to himself, coming to conclusion that you’re better off without him. Without all of this… mess… grief… chaos. 

What would he even say?

Sorry I'm such a prick.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.

I love you.

It becomes progressively easier to push his thoughts of you out of his mind, as he hyper-fixates on what needs to be done today: outsource bread, read over Sydney’s report because she’s probably right about the budget…. And what the fuck is KBL electric anyways? 

Now that the impulse is gone to text you back, Carmy shoves his phone into his pocket, shaking his head as he finishes his cigarette and reminds himself again:

You’re better off without him.

August 

“I don’t understand,” the exec chef says to you, his voice monotone. Something wild stirring behind his eyes in response to the notice that you’ve just given him. 

“My heart’s not in it,” you explain, hesitantly. “And I know you accept nothing less than perfection. I just… need some time to figure things out.”

“You’re not going to find another job like this,” he reminds you, coldly. 

You nod your head in response. You thought he’d say that. 

“I understand, chef,” you reply, using your tone of professionalism in your voice as a barrier. 

“I told her we could reevaluate in a month. I’m open to a rehire, should after your sabbatical, you come to the conclusion that here is where you need to be,” the head pastry chef adds. 

Sabbatical. 

Your head pastry chef is the only one using that word, as if they expect that you’ll come back. As if this is just a break. 

But it’s not a break to you. It’s a much needed change. 

Your exec chef thinks it over, his lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“You’re an exceptional pastry chef, but your lack of commitment worries me,” he states plainly. “You’ll have to interview again.”

“I understand, chef,” you repeat yourself. 

The conversation goes like this: you keep your cool, wanting nothing more than to get the conversation over it. It’s a daunting thing – quitting your dream job – enough as it is. Your head pastry chef fights for you, while the exec chef continues on his ego trip, as if you’re not sitting right in front of him. It’s not hard to tune him out. There’s a feeling inside of you, something telling you that you won’t be back, so the hoops he’s creating for you to jump through don’t seem to matter. 

Your feet hit the pavement as soon as the conversation is over, and you can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. Dinner service prep had already begun, and as you’d left, you understood there would be questions, rumors, strange looks from your coworkers. But you knew this was right. 

Your heart hadn’t been in it for a while. 

Not since it left and moved to Chicago and decided not to call you back. 

You feel lost. 

It’s not just Carmy. It’s not just the big changes and shifts you’re experiencing. It’s everything. You don’t know what the hell it is you want. And you’re brave enough to go searching for it. 

You want nothing more than to call Carmy, to send him a text, for him to yell at you for quitting the job you both held in such high regard and tell you that you’re making a mistake. But the sting of the last time he ignored your call a few weeks ago stops you from picking up the phone.

Maybe he was only meant to be in your life for that chapter. 

Maybe, as you leave the restaurant behind, you’ll be able to let go of him too. 

Soon-To-Be Fall 

It had only been a few weeks since you’d quit the restaurant, in those few weeks, for the first time in a long time, you were at peace. You’d gotten loads of calls and texts: a ‘just want to check in’ from your head pastry chef, a ‘you doin’ okay?’ from Tim, and a series of ‘can’t take no for an answer’ texts from Nate that you have no plans to answer. 

The past few weeks have been filled with quiet. You’re enjoying your time, and you’re doing a whole lot of thinking about what it is you really want. You spend your Tuesday afternoon deep cleaning your apartment and listening to some of your comfort albums. It feels good to get to live slowly for once. It’s soon-to-be-Fall, even if the heat seems to be sticking around in New York City as of late. 

You hear a ping coming from your phone as you close up the container filled with sanitizing wipes that you’ve been using. Making your way over to your small studio kitchen, you see a text from Liz. 

Liz: I have the day off. Drinks & catching up?

You: Yeah. 7 pm?

Liz: Perf. I have restaurant goss. 👀

You chuckle in response to her text. Just as you’re preparing to type out a response, your phone buzzes again as a call comes through. 

‘Carmy.’ 

Carmy is calling you. 

Holy fuck.

It’s as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you have to try not to drop your phone. As it continues to ring, for a split second, you think about not answering. What if you didn’t? Send him to voicemail just like he’s done to you? But your curiosity gets the best of you as your thumb hovers over the ‘answer’ button. Had he heard? Was that what this was about? 

You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker. 

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little. 

And it’s as if all your troubles melt away as you hear his voice.

“Hi,” he replies.

a/n: hello! yes, by popular demand i'll be writing the phone call as a drabble. however, my first series i wrote about carmy, 'make my heart surrender' picks up right where this chapter leaves off. chapter six will take places after that story, so for those of you that have not, feel free to read it while we wait (w baited breath of course) for the final chapter of this one.

read: chapter six

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery @strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn

[overtail]

Anything - Zuko x Reader

🔥🥀

IMPORTANT: I wanna apologize for all of the requests I haven't been able to complete due to writers block. Im literally only writing this to get motivated, I'm so sorry gang

...

.☘︎ ݁˖ anything - adrienne lenker (a song based one-shot)

playlist I listened to while writing this ~

Summary: The tranquil summer afternoon, a brief but blissful time, when he journeyed up the hill to witness the sight of her. Zuko harboured a secret yearning for those precious moments from the past, when her mere presence warmed his cold heart.

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff, a tad wee bit of angst

Info: Takes place before the agni kai and after the defeat of Ozai, a female intended reader, no use of (y/n), and I skipped some lyrics cause it didnt apply..........

...

'Staring down the barrel of the hot sun

Shining with the sheen of a shotgun

Carol has a little if we need some

Joyous rays, we wanna come'

The young prince felt the sweat of the summer trickle down his loosely robed back. He wiped his forehead with his bare, pale arm, beads of salty sweat sinking into the thin brows sat upon his face.

It was mid afternoon, presumably around 12:34. Zuko usually abandoned his duties of summer schoolwork around this time every Thursday, taking his long awaited treck up the hill not too far from the palace.

As mid-summer crept up, Zuko decided to wear less moisture-inducing clothing. His uncle Iroh offered him some old shorts of Lu Ten's, though they were a tad bit too small for the prince's frame. Zuko was big for his age - 10 - around 4'10 and skinny limbs. He remembered when his mother used to call him her 'little foal'. At the time, he hated the nickname. It made him feel clumsy, ridiculous, and insecure about his skinny limbs. But now as he looked back, he cherished every little detail, every memory, every signal of his mother.

Zuko liked the sounds of wood pigeons. Many of them occupied this grassy region of the fire nation. It held a feeling of calm nostalgia, like he was just a little boy once again, playing around in the gardens with his mama, teasing Azula and her friends.

As he neared the top of the hill, he heard the soft 'coo-coo' of a wood pigeon. He glanced up at a nearby tree, trying to see if he could spot the small brown winged creature. Before he could correctly inspect the tree, he was knocked to the ground.

Zuko glanced up, smiling as her toothy grin filled his sight. Her hair messily fell over both of them, all frizzy and crazy.

She yelled his name in glee, holding Zuko tight in her small arms. Zuko smiled back, patting her backside with a gentle hand.

'Hanging your jeans with a clothes pin

Skin still wet, still on my skin

Mango in your mouth, juice dripping

Shoulder of your shirtsleeve slipping'

The two sat on a ruffled blanket, watching as the breeze ruffled up the hair-like leaves of the willow trees in the distance. Her bare toes messily poked the dirt, tracing small figures and images in the grass in front of him.

Zuko watched as she chewed on the flesh of a mango, humming a soft fire-nation tune as she watched the hustle and bustle of nature below. A few droplets of the juice fell onto her lap, seeping into the dark red fabric of her skirt. She didn't seem to mind. Her stature and way of livelihood was much different compared to the strict life of a fire nation prince. It was a calming pace compared to his life back home - and maybe that was why he loved hanging out with her.

Her hair was loosely tied in two ponytails, which was obviously put up by her own hands. One was bigger than the other, mostly because half of the right ponytail was falling out and the hair was resting on her shoulder. Her haircut was choppy, and Zuko could see the gap between her two front teeth as she sucked on the fruit.

Everything about her seems so human, so carefree. Every single waking moment Zuko spent with her made him feel like a normal child.

The two spoke about ridiculous things, like how she saw a woman and her husband fighting in the middle of the nation's plaza. She told him about what the wife was wearing, how she pointed at her husband, how her husband was balding in some areas.

Her little stories helped Zuko get a glimpse of the outside world.

'Grocery store list, now you get this

Brunch, had calls and messages

I don't wanna be the owner of your fantasy

I just wanna be a part of your family'

Her eyes widened as a glimpse of remembrance filled her big, child-like eyes. She reached up, grabbing the mango out of her mouth and placing it on the blanket beneath her. Zuko chewed on his lip as the juices of the fruit rolled down the side of it.

She reached into her back pocket, shifting slightly so she could fully reach into it. As she pulled it out, it was a haphazardly folded piece of paper. Some of the corners were crumpled and ripped off, and Zuko saw crayon peeking out of one of the sides that were folded inwards.

Zuko asked what the paper was for, but only got a chest full of paper. She giggled, smiling as she awaited for Zuko to look at the note.

He unfolded the paper, looking at what was hidden inside. A small doodle of a red stickman with a crown and a smaller one of a girl (which was obvious from the triangle dress) next to him. In messy handwriting, there was text that said 'Yu as firlord' pointing to the man.

Zuko looked up with a smile, his cheeks chubby and full. He felt overjoyed seeing this, especially since he lost sense of his worth. Zuko assumed the girl was her, and she also had a crown on.

'And I don't wanna talk about anything

I don't wanna talk about anything

I wanna kiss, kiss your eyes again

Wanna witness your eyes looking'

The moonlight crept over the lip of the hill, illuminating the dew-covered grass blades around her and Zuko. Her head rested on his lap, and Zuko's hand supported his weight while he leaned on his arm.

Zuko had mentioned that he would be going to one of his father's war meetings tomorrow for the first time. He was overjoyed, all the while she wasn't very strong on the idea. She was on the left side of the war. Even though she was Fire Nation, she wasn't proud of her nation's actions.

The two spoke about the upcoming future, what Zuko's 14th birthday would be like. It was over 8 months away, but being a kid meant that day was everything. Everything.

His fingers tangled in the messy length of her hair. Her mother refused to let her cut it ever since she messed it up. 3 years later, it almost reached her back.

Zuko didn't know what was between them. 13 was a weird age, especially when your best friend is a pretty girl. She wasn't 'perfect pretty'. She was reckless, unladylike, clumsy and didn't care what she looked like, but maybe that's why Zuko admired her so much.

The two had shared a kiss. Just one. It was a singular peck on the lips, and it was only because the two wanted to know what it felt like. The boys at school didn't like her, and she was the only girl Zuko knew besides Azula.

Zuko wasn't aware what would awaken between them. It was gradual, but he started to become nervous around her. Simple things they always did like hugs, cuddling, and her laying on his lap like this soon felt like there was a secret incentive under every little detail and action. Zuko felt as if he was suffocating under his own mushed up emotions.

Though, behind all of the nervous glances and red tinted cheeks, Zuko never wanted to be away from her. Despite the new feeling, everything else felt the same. Everything felt like they were little again. Like they were still human.

'I don't wanna talk about anyone

I don't wanna talk about anyone

I wanna sleep in your car while you're driving

Lay on your lap whеn I'm crying'

Zuko watched the crowd on the beaches of the fire nation get farther and farther away as the boat slowly drifted from shore. The wind whipped his pale skin, red marks from the lack of warm temperature forming on his cheeks. Half of his sight was blocked by the bandage on his eye, making Zuko feel blind and vulnerable.

He felt as if he was ripped apart, all of the good things in his life dripped out of his wounds and seeping into the floor beneath. He couldn't cry. He couldn't feel. The world around him felt numb.

In the midst of his sulking, he hadn't even thought about her.

Zuko heard a screaming from the deck, bringing him back to reality. He glanced down to the land he just left, his eyes drifting over to the commotion below. Two guards struggled to hold back a screaming girl, her body tempted to jump into the cold ocean and swim over to Zuko. He realized who it was when she screamed for the guards to let her come with.

Her hair had come undone, falling in front of her tear-filled eyes. Her face was red from all the effort she put into trying to escape from the grasp of the soldiers. Snot ran down her nose as she sobbed, choking on the sound of her own tears.

Zuko wanted to tell the captain to stop, to turn around and bring her with, but he knew it was for the best. There were to be no distractions. His mind had to be set on capturing the Avatar, and restoring his honor.

Whenever he was with her, he felt alive. He felt human. Zuko always thought that feeling was good, not having to be a perfect robot constantly. Now as he watched the girl he once admired scream and cry just to see him one last time, he finally wished neither him or her felt human.

'Circle of pine and riddle

Circlе of moss and fire smoke

Fan on the ceiling like a wheel spoke

Push the clutch in and I pull the choke'

Three years, three long years thrown over the cliff and into the gaping hole of Zuko's tragedy.

Finally, finally, he found the Avatar. He found his meaning, he found the key to the lock that was his father's trust, his honor. Even with the determination of a thousand guards, he let the opportunity slip from his thin fingertips.

Zuko trashed his bedroom, throwing books to the ground and Knocking dressers over. A low growl echoed from his throat, followed by the choking of sobs. He didn't know how to feel, so these sudden emotions were so frightening.

The urge to stake his skin off, to scream and cry like a child, was all too much for him.

Zuko reached into his desk, grabbing loose papers and notebooks as he threw them to the floor. He cursed under his breath, biting at him bottom lip.

As he trashed every item in his desk drawer, he crumpled up another paper, throwing it onto the floor behind him. Though, before he did, he saw a glimpse of what was on the paper.

Zuko stopped his tantrum, turning to look at the paper. He saw red crayon.

[gunsatthaphan]

~ Monthly BL Breakdown: February 2024 ~ 

🌱 Happy March!!! 🌷

Disclaimer: ALL shows can be streamed here or here, as well as on Youtube and other platforms. For more info on where to watch what, check out this post! 

New breakdowns are coming at the end of every month - feel free to add stuff! -> previous breakdowns

What came out this month? (green = seen/currently watching)

🌟 Anti Reset - February 2nd (Taiwan)

🌟 Love Syndrome: The Beginning - February 8th (Thailand)

🌟 Baka Pwede pa? - February 9th (Philippines)

🌟 War of Y: The Reunion (special episode) - February 10th (Thailand)

🌟 1000 Years Old - February 14th (Thailand)

🌟 My Strawberry Film - February 16th (Japan)

🌟 A Secret Love - February 17th (Thailand)

🌟 To Be Continued - February 19th (Thailand)

🌟 Unknown - February 24th (Taiwan)

🌟 Wedding Impossible - February 26th (South Korea)

🌟 Kiseki Chapter 1 & Chapter 2 - February TBA (Thailand)

🌟 Ambiguous - February TBA (South Korea)

Monthly likes/dislikes

❣️ I'm gonna have to list Cherry Magic and Cooking Crush again just because they filled me with so much serotonin lol. Truly beautiful productions, so carefully written, so well executed and with so much wholesomeness and so many green flags lol. I had the best time watching them and the fact that 2 OG pairs had comeback shows back to back gave me so much nostalgia lol, especially since the genre is reminiscent of their old shows. It's been a blissful and therapeutic few months and I'm extremely sad that it's over 😩🥺🫶🏻 A+ content from everyone involved. 12/10 for both.

👎🏻 It has been a year lmao a lot of things happened this month, the Pawin situation makes me sad, we don't know what actually happened but the whole thing is messed up either way. James dropping out of LUAT came as a surprise as well, I'm not a NetJames fan but if they really had a falling out like the rumors say then that's sad. Singto coming back to gmm has been a nice surprise amongst the scandals lol but other than that I hope things go uphill after this 🥺

New series & movie announcements

🎥 My Bias is Showing (manwha adaption) - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 All About Lust - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 A Balloon's Landing - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 Roommates - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 Good Night to Get Drunk - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 First Note of Love - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 Living With Him - Coming April 11th (Japan)

🎥 The Young Gangster - Coming 2025 (Taiwan)

Other news from the BL world

❗️ Actor Singto Prachaya has returned to GMMTV as an artist. He previously left the company in 2021 to work as a freelance actor & producer after being under contract for nearly 5 years. It is unknown whether he will be part of any projects of the 2024 lineup.

❗️ The Thai BL Playboyy is getting a second season.

❗️ The upcoming Korean series High School Return of a Gangster announced the removal of the original BL plot. The show will air as a censored version, focusing on the friendship between the male leads.

❗️ Actors Charles Tu (HIStory 4) and Michael Chang (My Tooth Your Love) were confirmed to star in the upcoming BL First Note of Love. The series tells the story of a musician who is struggling with stage fright and one of his fans. An air date has not been announced.

❗️ Actor Non Ratchanon will no longer partake in the upcoming BL Live in Love. In an official statement, the production company stated that the decision was made due to disagreements between his agency and the one representing his co-star Hearth Chindanai. A recast for his role has yet to be announced.

❗️ GMMTV actor Win Pawin was accused of physically assaulting his ex-girlfriend, who made public allegations with photo evidence of her wounds. As a result GMMTV released a statement announcing the suspension of Pawin from all further work activities until legal investigations are complete. This lead to him making a public statement saying he is withdrawing from the upcoming BL We Are. He was cast as one of the 8 protagonists and was paired with his former partner Marc Pahun. GMMTV released a followup statement today, announcing Pawin's character would be recast to newbie Poon Mitpakdee.

❗️ Actor James Supamongkon announced his withdrawal from the upcoming Domundi BL Love Upon a Time. He released a statement on Twitter, saying he wants to expand his career and focus on other projects as an artist apart from acting. The company stated that Net and the others will stay part of the cast and that a new partner for Net will be cast shortly. This caused a big uproar amongst the fans who have been waiting for the series since it was announced over a year ago. Whether James' dropping out has anything to do with a dispute between him and Net is not confirmed.

Upcoming series & movies for March

👉🏻 Love is Better the Second Time Around - March 5th (Japan)

👉🏻 Deep Night - March 7th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Two Worlds - March 21st (Thailand)

👉🏻 High Demand - March 23rd (Thailand)

👉🏻 Wuju Bakery - March TBA (Thailand)

👉🏻 The Star - Date TBA (Thailand)

👉🏻 Blossom Campus - March TBA (South Korea)

👉🏻 Jazz for Two - March TBA (South Korea)

[qveerthe0ry]

With Peace on Earth

Summary: A brief tale of your first Christmas Eve in Jackson Word Count: 2,166 Pairing: Joel Miller x GN! Reader Rating: 18 + Explicit (but not super descriptive smut) Warnings: 18+ mdni, established relationship, fluff, post-outbreak/Jackson, oral (m and gn receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, fingering (gn receiving), finger sucking, spit as lube, Joel is handsy, soft!joel, no y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is gender neutral, description of reader having a mother when they were young, reader celebrates Christmas, reader has no age, a tiny bit of sadness, nostalgia, no beta, let me know if I missed anything! Note: I wrote this very quickly to try and alleviate the writer's block because I have about 15 Pedro character WIPs (mostly Joel) and have yet to complete a single one. I also wrote this to express my feelings about how the holidays haven't really felt very magical for me for a while, but adopting new traditions has helped me find the magic again.

The streetlights are reflecting off of the fresh layer of snow. Despite it being the dead of night, the white ground makes everything just a bit brighter. The air is dry, and it smells like pine and open fires and for a second, when you focus really hard, it’s Christmas Eve, pre-apocalypse. 

You can remember it plain as day. You can feel the air like it was yesterday, that palpable excitement as you spread a mixture of oats and glitter and sequins across your childhood front yard. 

“So the reindeer know where to land Santa’s sleigh,” your mom had told you. 

You can feel the warmth of her hand enveloping your tiny, freezing fingers. The warmth of her voice, of her gaze on you. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, try to remember that happy memories can be just that— and not a cruel taunting of the way things used to be and how different they are now. 

You don’t realize how cold you actually are until two warm arms wrap around you, and hot breath creeps down the collar of your long johns. 

“Gonna catch your death,” Joel mumbles. 

You lean back into him, close your eyes, and take a big, deep breath. You smell the snow and the chimney smoke but also homemade oat soap and lavender laundry wash and it isn’t like it used to be, but maybe that doesn’t have to mean it’s worse. 

“Was hoping I’d see Santa fly over,” you say, distracted, watching the stars in the crisp winter sky. 

“You think he made it through all these years?” 

Joel chuckles as he says it, and wraps his arms a tad tighter around you. 

“I like to think so,” you shrug. 

His soft laughter turns into a hum, turns into lips pressed under your ear. 

“I love the way you are.” 

It’s sweet. It’s sticky, nauseating words coming from a man you never thought would be anything but cold and calculated, when you first met. It warms you all the way through, maybe even melts some of the snow that’s blown its way onto the porch you’re standing on. 

You want to say it back, want to tell him how much you love the way he is, the way his guarded heart shines through the cracks so bright it blinds you, the way his smiles make you weak so that it’s a good thing he’s so stingy with them. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask instead. 

He takes a long moment to respond. You can feel his teeth grinding together where his jaw is hooked over your shoulder, and the way his breath is coming in less than slow and steady. 

“Just— It’s 20 years into the end of the world and you still have hope.” 

You sigh and turn your head, seeking out his stubbled cheek, and press a kiss to the wind burnt skin. 

“I found you after all this time, didn’t I?” 

He huffs, and it sounds amused. You turn a bit in his hold to look at his eyes and the way his eyebrows gather together in the middle. 

“And this is a blessing, not a curse?” 

You want to kiss the skeptical look off of his face, so you do, hooking your arms around his neck and capturing his bottom lip between your own. 

You feel the warmth of his palms through your shirt as they splay out across your back, fingers digging, working the muscles there like he’s kneading bread. You hum into his mouth and let your fingers tangle in the soft curls at the nape of his neck just as his tongue finds yours. 

You can feel him slowly filling out his worn jeans where his hips press into your own and you think, with a chuckle you can’t contain, that this is the only Christmas gift you want from now on. 

He pulls away at your soft laughter, his own eyes twinkling with an edge of humor. 

“Are you stallin’ or somethin’?” 

You shake your head as a smile splits your face from ear to ear. 

“Never. Always a blessing, babe,” you tell him. 

Your hands drop from his neck quickly to grab two handfuls of his ass and squeeze, and he glares at you as you press him just that much closer to you. 

“I’ll give you a blessing,” he grumbles. 

His head ducks down so that his lips can find your pulse point, and then his teeth, a playful nip with a hint of something more desperate and charged. 

“Better not give the whole neighborhood an eye full,” you warn, half-heartedly. You know most people are asleep, and you know neither you nor Joel would really mind it. 

Still, on the off-chance Tommy and Maria are still awake across the street, you don’t need to give the town leader any fuel for retaliation. 

His breath comes out in whisps of steam around your face, minty with notes of whiskey. 

“Go on ‘n get, then. Warm up by the fire.”

And you know by now not to protest, not when your prize for obeying is so worth being bossed around by the grumpy old man. 

You undress by the fire and look around the living room while Joel makes sure the house is locked up. 

It’s not quite decorated like an old Christmas movie, but it’s still festive, still as warm and full of cheer as you remember from before. 

There’s a Christmas branch, really, a small little bush that Ellie had brought home to you a few weeks before. You had spent the day looking around for scraps of anything red, some ribbon, the sleeve of an old t-shirt, some berries on a bush that you were certain weren’t edible. You both worked on decorating the Charlie Brown-esque tree as Joel watched, grumbling, but plucking away at a rendition of ‘Oh Christmas Tree’ on his guitar as he complained. 

There are three big socks hung up on the mantle of the fireplace, Joel’s, who griped about having to give up the precious fabric while he decorated them with you and Ellie at the kitchen table. ‘Decorated’ used lightly, as you only had a few errant pipe cleaners and the guts of a few raspberries as a red/pink dye. 

And then there’s the whittled reindeer Joel had presented to you just days ago with a shy look on his face you don’t see very often. The wood is smooth and the antlers are intricate, and even though you can’t see it, you know there’s a little heart carved into the bottom of its back left hoof. It’s your favorite decoration out of all of them, displayed lovingly and proudly on the coffee table. 

You grab an old blanket from the back of the couch and lay it in front of the fire just as Joel finds you again. His footsteps are lighter without his heavy boots on, and his fingers don’t feel as warm now as they grab your hips. 

“Gonna lay down for me?” 

His voice is low and gruff and calm, and all you can do is obey, and lie down naked on the fleece. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him undress. The light of the fire makes all of his golden skin look even more so, dancing an orange glow across his scarred stomach and sparsely haired chest and the contrasting hardness and softness of his form that’s so familiar now. 

You touch yourself gently as you watch him, light strokes, just to tease while you wait for him. With a grunt, he gets down to share the warm blanket with you, rolling you onto your side to face the flames. 

“You remember that Mariah Carey Christmas song?” he asks as his rough hand curls around your hip. 

You hide your smile in your own arm before answering. 

“Not sure if I do. Sing a few bars for me.” 

He groans and squeezes your flesh. 

“You're pullin’ my leg."

“Yeah, I remember it.” 

Remembering songs post-apocalypse is strange, the way you can not hear it for decades but still remember every note and word. Now, ringing through your head, is the high register of All I Want for Christmas is You, and you hum the chorus as Joel’s heavy prick presses against the small of your back. 

“That’s how I feel,” he tells you.

His hand gets bolder, travels to the place where your thigh and hip meet, and then farther, between your legs, where it’s quite obvious what you want for Christmas, too. 

“I feel the same, Joel.” 

His breath puffs against your neck as he nuzzles that tender place behind your ear. He doesn’t often talk about his feelings for you, electing rather to show them through gestures. You like when he says it though, it makes it feel even more tangible, makes a nostalgic warmth tingle throughout your guts and your chest. 

“Have you been good this year?” he asks you, a hint of mischief in his voice that makes you giggle. 

“I think I have, yeah.” 

“Debatable,” he grumbles, “but I guess you won’t get a lump of coal.” 

He gets you on your back, and your breath hitches as he covers you with his big, solid body. His skin feels so incredible against yours, always, every time you’re together like this. 

He starts to press open-mouthed kisses down your body, a searing hot trail across your most sensitive spots, until he’s mouthing around where you want him most. 

“Please, baby, please.”

You know he likes to hear you beg for it. His sweet brown eyes find yours as he smiles, and the warmth of his gaze and the fire start to pull little pinpricks of sweat from your pores. 

But he doesn’t tease you for long. You watch with wonder as his graying curls bounce between your legs, his attentive mouth working you tenderly but thoroughly. Your hand tangles in his hair for purchase as you lift your hips to urge him on. 

He’s always so sloppy with it, and his saliva drips down onto the blanket, and you love it like this, so messy and haphazard, with no regard to anything but making you feel good, getting you off. 

His fingers, three of them, tap at your parted lips. They’re so big as you take them in and swirl your tongue around them, getting them nice and wet, and your own spit seeps from the corners of your mouth. He groans, and you can feel it with his mouth on you. 

His hips make small little moves to rut against the blanket between your open legs, and you want him inside, need to feel him inside you. 

You tell him this much, though it’s muffled with his fingers in your mouth. He doesn’t let up until you’re teetering on the edge, moaning and whimpering around his flesh, gripping his hair so tight you don’t know how you haven’t pulled it out. 

You whine when his mouth retreats. 

“I know, I know. So greedy for it,” he coos, teasing. 

You scowl at him, but it holds no heat, and he laughs at your impatience as he coaxes you back onto your side. 

Behind you, Joel’s chest is solid and sweaty against your back. His fingers are solid too, sure but gentle, as he works them inside one by one to open you up with the help of your drool. 

“So good for me. What a present,” he tells you. 

It makes you impossibly hotter, and impossibly more in love with the man, and impossibly more impatient. 

“I want my present now,” you sigh. 

He tuts at you, against your shoulder blade, but you know he won’t deny you for longer because you can feel him leaking all over the skin of your back. 

When he presses into you, slow as ever, you feel even more full than you usually do. 

“Yes,” you pant, “like that. Just what I wanted.” 

He fills you over and over, a leisurely but steady pace, and his hands roam across your slick, heated skin. As his body presses against yours, and as he reaches around to work you to your climax, you can’t help but feel overwhelmed at the realization that things are okay, things are great, and they’re allowed to be, despite the state of everything. 

When you come, he comes too, deep inside you. His teeth bare down on your shoulder, and he grunts your name into your skin, and he tells you you’re perfect, and that you’re so good to him.

Joel doesn’t move far, after. He grabs an article of discarded clothing to clean you up. You know his back must kill like this, on the floor, but his happy breaths across your cooling skin make you think that this must be worth a little pain in the morning. 

And when he sleepily mumbles, “Merry Christmas, Darlin’,” it sounds a lot more like “I love you.”

[vilentia]

Uncle Wayne's Diner

Eddie Munson x reader (from Wayne’s perspective)

As Wayne sat on the porch of his small house, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry for his nephew Eddie. He had always been a sensitive boy, prone to getting his heart broken at the slightest provocation. And now, with this new girlfriend, Wayne could see the signs of angsty teenage love brewing in the air.

Eddie and the girl - what was her name? - had been inseparable since they started dating a few weeks ago. They would come to Wayne's diner every day, sitting in the same booth, holding hands and giggling over milkshakes. Wayne had to admit, they were cute together, but he couldn't shake the feeling that things were moving too fast.

One evening, as Wayne was closing up the diner, he heard a knock on the door. It was Eddie, his eyes red and swollen, his hair tousled from running his hands through it in distress.

"Uncle Wayne," he said, his voice cracking. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Wayne let him in, sensing that this was something serious. Eddie collapsed onto one of the stools at the counter, burying his face in his hands.

"What's going on, Eddie?" Wayne asked gently.

"It's her," Eddie said, his voice muffled by his palms. "I just... I don't know if I can handle it, Uncle Wayne. It's like she's always on my mind, and I can't focus on anything else."

Wayne nodded sympathetically, remembering all too well the all-consuming feeling of teenage love. "It's tough, kid. But it's also kind of wonderful, isn't it? To care about someone so much?"

Eddie lifted his head, his eyes shining with tears. "Yeah, I guess so. It's just... what if it all falls apart? What if she realizes she doesn't feel the same way about me anymore?"

Wayne leaned in closer, placing a reassuring hand on Eddie's shoulder. "Listen, Eddie. I know it's scary, but you have to take a chance on love. You can't live your life always wondering what could have been. And who knows, maybe this girl is the one for you."

Eddie sniffled, looking up at Wayne with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "But what if she's not?"

Wayne shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Then you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep on going. Because that's what life is all about - taking risks and making mistakes, and learning from them. And if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me."

Eddie nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Thanks, Uncle Wayne. You always know what to say."

Wayne chuckled, ruffling Eddie's hair affectionately. "That's what uncles are for. Now go on, get out of here. You've got a girl waiting for you."

Eddie grinned, hopping off the stool and heading towards the door. "Thanks again, Uncle Wayne. You're the best."

As Wayne watched his nephew disappear into the night, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for his own angsty teenage years. But he was glad that he could be there for Eddie, to offer him some guidance and support as he navigated the tumultuous waters of young love. And who knows, maybe one day he would be giving similar advice to the girl who had captured his nephew's heart. Only time would tell.

___

As the weeks went by, Wayne couldn't deny that he was growing more and more fond of Eddie's girlfriend. At first, he had been skeptical - after all, he had seen his fair share of teenage flings fizzle out before they really began. But as he watched the way she cared for Eddie, listened to him, and supported him through his various anxieties, he couldn't help but be impressed.

One afternoon, Wayne was taking a break from the diner, sitting on his front porch with a cup of coffee and watching the world go by. He saw Eddie and his girlfriend walking hand-in-hand down the street, their heads close together as they chatted animatedly. They caught sight of Wayne and waved, smiling brightly.

Wayne waved back, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. He had to admit, seeing Eddie so happy made him happy too. And he was grateful that his nephew had found someone who seemed to truly understand and appreciate him.

As Eddie and his girlfriend approached, Wayne stood up to greet them. "Hey there, you two. How's it going?"

"It's going great, Uncle Wayne," Eddie said, grinning from ear to ear. "We just went to the arcade and I beat her at Galaga again."

His girlfriend rolled her eyes playfully. "He's just lucky, don't listen to him."

Wayne chuckled, enjoying the banter between the two of them. "Well, why don't you two come inside and I'll fix you up some milkshakes?"

They eagerly agreed, and as Wayne mixed up the shakes, he couldn't help but ask Eddie's girlfriend a few questions about herself. He was surprised to learn that she was an avid reader, with a particular interest in science fiction and fantasy. They chatted about their favorite books and authors, and Wayne was impressed by her intelligence and creativity.

After they finished their milkshakes, Eddie's girlfriend helped Wayne clean up the kitchen, offering to wash the dishes while he dried. As they worked, Wayne couldn't help but notice how kind and considerate she was, always making sure to ask if he needed any help and thanking him for the hospitality. He was beginning to see that she wasn't just a fleeting crush for Eddie - she was someone special.

Later that evening, as Wayne was closing up the diner, he saw Eddie's girlfriend sitting outside on the bench, staring up at the stars. He decided to join her, taking a seat beside her and offering her a warm smile.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" he said, gesturing up at the clear sky.

She nodded, a small smile on her lips. "It really is. I love looking at the stars - it makes me feel small and insignificant, but in a good way."

Wayne chuckled. "I know what you mean. Sometimes it's nice to be reminded that we're just a small part of something much bigger."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, before Eddie's girlfriend spoke up. "I just wanted to thank you, Wayne. For being so welcoming to me, and for always looking out for Eddie. He's lucky to have an uncle like you."

Wayne felt a warm flush spread through his chest. "Oh, it's nothing. I just want him to be happy."

"I know," she said, her voice soft. "And I want that too. He's such a sweet, caring person, and I feel lucky to be with him. I know relationships can be hard, but I'm willing to work at it, to make it last."

Wayne was impressed by her maturity and dedication. "That's good to hear. I have a feeling you two are going to be just fine."

They sat a while longer, chatting about life, love, and the mysteries of the universe. Wayne felt grateful for the connection he was building with his nephew's girlfriend, and he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this relationship was something special after all.

___

A couple of months had passed, and Wayne had grown even more accustomed to having Eddie's girlfriend around. She had become a regular presence at the diner, often coming by after school to hang out with Eddie or chat with Wayne. They had even gone on a few double dates together, and Wayne had to admit that he was impressed by how well the two of them seemed to complement each other.

One evening, Wayne was closing up the diner when he heard a loud commotion coming from Eddie's apartment upstairs. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should intervene, but then he heard Eddie's girlfriend's voice, raised and angry.

"I can't believe you would say something like that! How could you be so insensitive?"

"I was just trying to be honest!" Eddie shouted back, his voice tight with frustration. "Why can't you see that?"

There was a moment of silence, and then the sound of a door slamming shut echoed through the building. Wayne's heart sank as he realized that Eddie's girlfriend had stormed out.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, before finally making his way upstairs to Eddie's apartment. When he arrived, he found Eddie sitting on the couch, his face buried in his hands.

"Eddie, what happened?" Wayne asked, concern etched into his voice.

Eddie looked up, tears in his eyes. "We got into a fight. A really bad one."

Wayne took a seat next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Eddie nodded, taking a deep breath. "I don't know what to do. We were arguing about something stupid, and then it just... escalated. And then she left, and I don't know if she's ever going to come back."

Wayne listened patiently as Eddie poured out his heart, expressing his fear and sadness at the thought of losing the person he loved. It was clear to Wayne that Eddie was really struggling with this, and he knew he had to offer some guidance.

"Well, the first thing you need to do is give her some space," Wayne said, his voice gentle but firm. "She's upset right now, and she needs time to process her emotions."

Eddie nodded, wiping his eyes. "Okay, I can do that. But what about after that? How do I fix this?"

Wayne paused for a moment, thinking carefully. "You need to be honest with her, Eddie. Tell her how you feel, and really listen to how she feels too. Relationships are about communication, and sometimes that means having difficult conversations."

Eddie nodded again, taking in Wayne's advice. "You're right. I need to be brave and tell her how much she means to me."

Wayne smiled, feeling proud of his nephew. "That's the spirit, Eddie. I have a feeling things are going to work out just fine."

Over the next few days, Eddie took Wayne's advice to heart. He gave his girlfriend some space, but when they finally spoke again, he was open and honest about his feelings. He apologized for the hurtful things he had said, and he promised to work on his communication skills going forward.

To Eddie's relief, his girlfriend was willing to give him another chance. They worked through their issues, talking things out whenever they had a disagreement. And through it all, Wayne was there to offer support and guidance, watching with pride as his nephew grew and matured in his relationship.

As time passed, Eddie and his girlfriend grew even closer, cementing their bond through shared experiences and a deep love and respect for each other. And Wayne was grateful to have been a part of their journey, seeing firsthand how the power of love and communication can overcome even the toughest obstacles.

In the end, Eddie knew that he had found something special with his girlfriend, something worth fighting for. And with Wayne's wisdom and support, he knew that he had the tools to make it work, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

[weemssapphic]

do you get deja vu when she’s with you?

Larissa Weems x reader

“The truth is that you’ve always gravitated towards Larissa - always turning towards her like a sunflower turning to face the sun, as though you need to bask in her light to survive (you are honestly starting to think you might).” Or A collection of scenes post-breakup with Larissa Weems, based loosely on the song ‘deja vu’ by Olivia Rodrigo.

EDIT 17.1.2024: ao3 user levisha created a playlist inspired by this fic and it is absolutely fire! really sets the mood :')

A/N: This is a breakup fic - read at your own risk, I guess (I won’t be offended if you skip this one, I usually steer clear of hurt/no comfort - both in the reading and writing sense - but I felt weirdly compelled to write this. Was on the fence about posting it but here it is I guess).

Words: ~2.3k

Content/warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, no happy ending, breakups, mentions of alcohol, mean!Larissa

The sun bathes your face in a comforting warmth as you stroll along the pier. It’s the end of summer and there’s a cool breeze in the air as the days slowly turn shorter. You’ve visited this pier dozens of times this year, but today is the first day you’ve gone alone. The sounds of children playing and waves rolling rhythmically, the scent of salty sea air mixed with strawberry ice cream - all send waves of nostalgia crashing through your body.

You took Larissa here for the first time last summer. It was all she could talk about for weeks after, until you brought her here again. You pass by a bench, the bench where you sat back then, your head leaning on her shoulder, her hand on your thigh, alternating between talking about anything and everything, and watching the seagulls, wrapped in a comfortable silence. Your chest constricts but you walk on, passing by couples and families and groups of teenagers.

It’s been a month since you last saw her. A month of crying and screaming, a month of feeling like your heart has been torn out of your chest. Today is the first day in a month that you’ve successfully managed to make it to the afternoon without crying once. 

As you look across the pier, your gaze settles on a woman. She’s standing alone, watching the water ebb and flow. You notice her because of the sundress she’s wearing, the funky print - it’s something you could see yourself wearing, and it makes you smile. 

It appears that someone has called out to her - she turns her head and you can see from the side that her face lights up as she reaches out her hand, into which a cup of ice cream is deposited. The woman beams, but your own smile melts right off your face as you drink in the form of the tall blonde that has sidled up next to the young woman.

You already know that Larissa has found someone new - it isn’t exactly a secret, she’d told you so herself when she’d ended your relationship. Her heart had been captured by another. They’d met during a work conference. They’d hit it off. It wasn’t personal, she’d told you with doe-eyes and a sad smile as she cracked your heart in two. You just weren’t enough, that much you could infer. And that was that. A part of you knew from the start that this was exactly how Larissa would leave - she found someone more exciting, the next second she was gone.

You wonder what Larissa had said to her new girlfriend before leaving the house this morning. “I have the perfect spot for a date,” perhaps. “There’s a lovely spot by the ocean I’ve been meaning to show you,” maybe. Either way, you’re certain she left out the part about coming here with you.

That was our place, I found it first.

It hurts to look, and you know you should look away, but you can’t. Not when the woman slides closer to Larissa, when Larissa’s arm winds its way around her waist, when she presses a kiss to the top of the woman’s head, when they begin to share the ice cream - one spoon for two, just as you’d always insisted. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there, but a gust of wind makes you shiver and you know the two women have felt it too, because Larissa rubs a hand over her bare arm and the woman shrugs off the cardigan she’s wearing to drape it over the taller woman’s shoulders. It looks tiny on her, and both women begin to laugh, and you feel you may be sick because you recall offering Larissa your own jacket on a day not unlike this and it feels so reused to you - you wonder if the thought crosses Larissa’s mind, too.

When you trudge home shortly after, you can’t help the tears that begin to stream down your cheeks, staining the front of your shirt. So perhaps today isn’t the first day you haven’t cried in a month.

~~~

You don’t want to, you don’t try to, but somehow you manage to run into Larissa and her new girlfriend everywhere. 

It’s a few weeks later and you’re standing in line at the Weathervane. The barista hands you your coffee and you turn to make your way back to your usual corner booth.

Except, it’s already occupied. The woman sitting there facing you looks vaguely familiar, but what’s even more familiar - so achingly familiar - is the back of a blonde head, soft curls pinned into elaborate loops. 

Your stomach churns as your eyes fall to the table, to the two mugs of hot chocolate, each covered with a generous heap of whipped cream. You step closer in spite of yourself, drawn like a moth to a flame - you know you will be scorched, burned alive, but you cannot help the trance you find yourself in as soon as Larissa is involved.

“Go on, try it,” comes a smooth, velvety voice - you’d almost forgotten her voice (almost made yourself forget), but now it comes flooding back to you and hits you straight in the gut. The lilting accent, dripping like honey from painted (always painted) lips - you can picture the way they curl up into a little smile, baring pearly white teeth as Larissa waits for the woman across from her to lift the mug to her own lips and take a sip.

The smile that lights up her face is bright, innocent. “It’s really good!” she says enthusiastically, and then Larissa reaches across the table to swipe her thumb over the little dollop of whipped cream that coats the woman’s upper lip. She giggles - they both giggle - and you feel tears prick your eyes as the ghost of Larissa’s thumb passes over your own lip.

She thinks it’s special.

She thinks she’s special.

You look away. You take a step back towards the counter. “Actually, can I have this to go?” The barista gives you a funny look but takes the mug from you, pouring your drink into a to-go cup and pressing the lid firmly in place. You leave. You cannot stand it anymore, and you leave. Before the woman catches you staring at her, before Larissa turns and pins you in place with what would surely be a look of pity or disgust - or worse, apathy.

~~~

New Year’s Eve. A party at a local bar. A party that everyone goes to. A party that you managed to drag Larissa to the previous year. You aren’t sure you even want to go - you are sure that the memory of Larissa will be everywhere, the memory of the New Year’s kiss, of singing together, of whispered resolutions to fall even more in love and travel the world together.

But you need to get out, you cannot sit at home drowning in memories. Not after months have passed since the breakup - you should be moving on. And they’re only memories. You should be safe, you think - Larissa never was one for crowded parties, she would’ve rather spent her New Year’s Eve on the balcony of her apartment with a glass of wine in hand. “Please, Larissa,” you would beg. “I wouldn’t go for anyone else,” she would purr. 

So you go. And for a few blissful minutes, it is pleasant, and the music invigorates you and the alcohol numbs you and maybe, just maybe, you can forget about Larissa Weems for a few hours.

But as you stand in the dimly lit bar, clutching a bottle of beer to your chest, you spot her. More specifically, you spot her first, all bouncy and giddy and wrapped in a sparkly dress that catches the light and throws specks of silver across the floor in front you. You think - it’s possible - she could be alone, but then Larissa is standing there, tall and regal and grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes sparkle in amusement as she looks down at her girlfriend and it’s as though time has slowed to a complete stop. Her hand settles on the woman’s lower back and you find yourself shivering in response, recalling how it felt the first time it was your back that her fingers pressed into.

“Uptown Girl" by Billy Joel starts to play. You cannot escape this damned deja vu that sneaks up on you every time you see Larissa with her girlfriend. All of your senses are invaded by the feeling of standing in this very same bar with Larissa, drunk and singing along, giddy at the prospect of another year together, another year of falling even more madly in love. 

You wonder, as you watch the woman turn her head up to meet Larissa’s gaze, as you watch her mouth form the words to the song, as you watch Larissa sing back to her, leaning in until they are practically shouting the lyrics into each other’s faces, grinning giddily - does Larissa feel it too? The deja vu? Does Larissa have a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach just like you do? Does the memory cross her mind of you yelling “it’s our song” whenever “Uptown Girl” began to play? Does she think about how you teased her for getting the lyrics wrong? Does she still get those lyrics wrong? Maybe her new girlfriend teases her about that, too. Maybe Larissa whispers “I love you” to this woman after the chorus, too, just like she always did with you.

You try to spend the evening as far from Larissa as possible, try not to look for her in the crowd as you might have once done. Your efforts are futile. The truth is that you’ve always gravitated towards Larissa - always turning towards her like a sunflower turning to face the sun, as though you need to bask in her light to survive (you are honestly starting to think you might). 

She never turns to face you, though. Not once. You aren’t sure if she doesn’t know you’re there or if she is actively ignoring you - you aren’t sure which would be worse. That she can walk directly past you without registering your presence, even though you could pick her out of a crowd of hundreds in an instant, irrespective of her height? Or that she cannot even bear to look at the person she once swore she’d spend forever with?

Your throat is dry and you aren’t nearly drunk enough to get through the evening - but Larissa is sitting at that damned bar once again, elbows on the counter and chin resting in her hands as she listens intently to something her girlfriend is saying to her - she used to hang onto your every word like that, like she was held captive by your voice. It used to make you feel like the most special person in the world, that Larissa Weems would choose you, that she would value what you have to say.

Larissa speaks - it’s too loud in the bar to hear their conversation, but she must have said something funny because her girlfriend throws her head back with laughter, and Larissa simply watches her with sparkling eyes and parted lips that curve up into an adoring smile. You cannot help but wonder if you’ve heard the joke she’s told before - if it’s one of the jokes you’ve taught her, that she loves to retell. You cannot help the bitter taste this leaves in your mouth. 

No more drinks for you then - not when Larissa is at the bar and you’d have to brush against her to get the bartender’s attention. It’s nearing midnight anyway, and most people are starting to turn towards the TVs hanging in the corners of the bar - a news program covering the Ball Drop in Times Square plays.

The countdown begins:

“10, 9, 8…” 

The entire room chants as the countdown on the TVs continues. 

“…2, 1 - HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Confetti begins to fall around you. It catches in your hair, blurs your vision with kaleidoscope colors. Music and screaming and laughter fill your ears, deafening you. But all you can do is watch as Larissa kisses her girlfriend - right at midnight. They kiss and kiss and just as you feel you’re about to be sick, Larissa pulls back. And then she smiles, she smiles like she used to smile at you, and reaches up to gingerly pluck a piece of neon pink confetti out of her girlfriend’s hair, and her girlfriend’s shoulders shake with laughter as her hands slide down from Larissa’s neck to her waist to tug her closer - even closer. 

Then Larissa, beautiful, sweet, merciless Larissa, begins to laugh as well, and as she does so she turns her head and her eyes (half-lidded as her face scrunches up with unadulterated joy) pierce your own. And it is the worst feeling you have ever felt, and a knot begins to form in your throat, because her gleeful expression does not change. Not into one of guilt, not into one of pity - not even into one of recognition. It is as if you are two strangers, accidentally and fleetingly making eye contact in a bar.

Tears prick at your vision and for a moment, Larissa is blurred. You blink the tears away and when you can see clearly again, her attention is back on her girlfriend. She’ll never feel sorry for the way you hurt, you realize.

A new year. A fresh start - for everyone but you. You will always be stuck in a bar with Larissa Weems on New Year’s Eve, with nothing but your memories and an overwhelming sense of deja vu.

x

Taglist: @oceansblooming @alexusonfire @brienneswife @rosieathena @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles