#if i was ordering something here and it failed to deliver

[chenziee]

Japanese customer service, I love you so much

[amoscontorta]

Sylus gets a headache | ao3 | other fics in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, no use of y/n. This story contains: fluff, banter, Sylus has a hard time keeping his hands to himself, legal arguments, bad puns, self-indulgent writing, repetitive finger caressing, insomnia that Sylus is determined to vanquish by any means, Xavier is an innocent victim in all this and has no idea, except has Xavier ever been innocent in his entire life? CWs: insomnia, consumption of alcohol, profanity SFW, mostly. With some filthy innuendos at the end. It's Sylus, after all.

It has been a few days since you had the best night’s rest you can remember on the back of a certain miscreant crime lord’s motorcycle, and you’re once again preparing for a long, torturous night of staring at the ceiling and trying to catalogue all the classes of wanderers in an attempt to lull yourself to sleep—Nero’s suggestion. You have your doubts about whether it will work, but he gave the advice so earnestly after overhearing you talking to Tara about your insomnia that you feel obligated to give it a go. Sylus would probably scoff and say something about ‘people pleasing,’—you shake your head. That man does not get to live rent free in your brain, no matter how suspiciously kind he was the last time you saw him.

The kettle squeals, and you pour the boiling water into your chipped “World’s Greatest Hunter” mug that Caleb had gifted you once you were admitted into the Association’s ranks. The hot liquid steams soothingly into your face as it drowns a chamomile teabag, and you try not to think about the last time you saw him, when he was smiling. Patting your head. Whole, and so, so vibrantly alive. You take a deep, shaky breath.

After a suggestion from Tara, you add some honey and then slice a lime and squeeze the juice into the tea, absently stirring the spoon and gazing out your balcony window. You’re home early for once, and the sun is only just setting. You can’t see it through the high rises around you, but dusk filters down into the streets below your flat. The gentle sounds of the city moving into late evening drift up, the traffic like waves crashing on the shore, laughter and shop bells tinkling, a dog barking somewhere.

Suddenly, your doorbell chimes through your apartment and startles you out of your reverie. Did you forget that you had ordered something to be delivered today?

Without thinking too hard about it, you take your still piping-hot tea and pad to the foyer to answer the door.

Only to have your sense of calm shattered as you fling the mug out of sheer, instinctual self-preservation that Zayne accuses you of not having, when you see who is standing on the other side.

Quicker than your brain can actually process Sylus’s presence outside your flat, scarlet-night tendrils have prevented the mug from shattering on the floor, but have failed to stop the liquid from continuing its projectile path right onto his red, standing collar shirt and black vest.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

“You really, and I mean really, need to work on your greetings, kitten,” he tells you calmly, evol delivering the mug into his waiting hand while he holds the suitcase he has in the other hand away from his body to avoid being dripped on by his now soaked torso.

“Sorry, you were the last person I was expecting.” You wince, heart still threatening to beat its way out of your rib cage.

“Oh, expecting someone, are we?” he lifts a dark silver eyebrow.

“No, but least of all… you.” You flap your hand in his general direction. “What are you even doing here?”

“How about,” he drawls, “you let me in, and I’ll tell you. You wouldn’t want your neighbors to get curious and come to inquire about the mess I’m making on your doorstep, would you?”

You stare at him for a moment longer, trying to think of a way out of having him in your space, again, but you’re tired at the end of another long day, another long week, another long month and this whole entire fucking year. Trying to get rid of him will take more energy than just letting him do what he wants so that he’ll go away again. You run a hand down your face and shuffle aside.

He enters, and the scent of him fills the small foyer, warm and mouth-watering. He sets the briefcase and mug on the floor, removes his dress shoes and places them neatly by your own hastily-kicked-off boots next to the step leading into the rest of your flat. He then picks the mug back up and reads what’s written on it.

“World’s best hunter, indeed.” He snorts softly, eyes flicking from your face to your thin tank top and sleep shorts covered in grinning little bounce, bounce planet blobbus, to your bare feet. “Is this how the world’s greatest hunter always answers the door to unknown visitors?”

“It was a gift,” you say defensively, snatching the mug from him and cradling it to your chest. “And the only people who would be at my door this late is Xavier borrowing a cup of sugar for some doomed baking experiment, or a delivery person. I’m sure they’ve seen much worse than this,” you sweep your hand down your body in a dismissive flourish.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve seen much worse.” Sylus frowns slightly.

“Yeah, so if they don’t like it, they’re welcome to move on to their next delivery.”

“Or buy their own sugar,” Sylus murmurs, reaching out to run a finger along your knuckles as you clutch the mug. “And who gave you this highly accurate mug?”

You hesitate, knowing that his face is going to do something complicated, like it always does, when you mention your family. But fuck it, he asked. If he doesn’t like the answer, he can also move on to whatever his next nefarious errand is. “Someone who was like a brother to me.”

“Brother, huh,” he says softly, still gently stroking your skin. “Well, he wasn’t wrong in this.” His hand falls back to his side. “Invite me all the way in, kitten. With your words,” he commands.

“And why should I do that? The deal was to let you come in. You’re in now. You don’t need to come in any further. Now it’s your turn to honor the deal. Why are you here?” You glare up at him, your foyer feeling minuscule with his big body and presence filling it.

“You offered me your place if I ever needed it,” Sylus narrows his glittering eyes. “I needed it today before you flung steaming liquid all over my clothes. And now I need it even more.” He looks pointedly down at the still-dripping clothes in question.

“What did you originally need it for?” You stall, the guilt of throwing a mug full—half! Half full! of tea at him starting to creep in.

“How about you invite me all the way into your home, with your words, help me take care of this mess you caused,” he waves a lazy finger at his torso, “and I’ll tell you.”

“But you already promised to tell me why you’re here in exchange for the initial value of me letting you in, and I let you in. I already paid. You can’t make me pay twice for the same goods,” you protest.

“Remind me to take you with me the next time I have contract negotiations. You’re more useful than my own legal counsel.” He pauses, considering you. “Circumstances have changed. Force majeure prevents me from fulfilling my original promise without requiring additional time and means to fulfil that promise. You owe me the opportunity to successfully deliver what I owe you.”

“What, exactly, is preventing you from telling me why you originally came to my home right here in my entryway?”

“The consequences of an unforeseeable natural disaster,” he answers with a little helpless shrug. “Namely, the trauma of nearly getting drowned in tea following almost being taken out by a mug launched with your god-like strength. Kitten, your assault is the equivalent of an act of god, and I can’t be responsible for the fact that I now need a dry shirt and a safe place to recover from the shock of almost being murdered by your tableware.”

You can’t help it. It has been so long since you’ve actually laughed out loud, so the noise that comes out of you doesn’t even sound human. You’re laughing, and you can’t stop. The affronted look on Sylus’s face in response to your ugly-snorts, causes you to laugh even more, and you’re suddenly bending over, holding your knees, laughing like you might die if you stop.

After a long moment, when you are finally able to breathe again, you straighten and find Sylus looking at you with a soft expression, one corner of his wide mouth slightly lifted… which is alarming. But you’re too filled with gratitude for the relief of laughing that his absurd exaggeration just gave you, so you refuse to think about anything at all too hard right now. You give in.

“Sylus, would you do me the honor of coming into my home? You can tell me what the hell you’re doing here after I find you a dry shirt.” You sarcastically bow as low as you can, your arms uplifted to gesture him forward.

“I suppose I can’t refuse such a graciously extended offer,” he says, as if resigned to a terrible fate, but his smile is smug and he wastes no time striding into your living room while unbuttoning his vest. He gently lays it over the back of your couch, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You force yourself to stop staring as the pale skin slowly being revealed with each flick of his long fingers and head to your bedroom.

You paw through your chest of drawers, trying to find a shirt that will fit his broad shoulders and chest, but all you manage to do is make even more of a mess in your barely organized drawers. You stand, remembering the hoodie Xavier leant you after a recent, particularly messy battle on a chilly night. You move to your closet where you had hung it carefully to remind yourself to give it back to him after having washed it. You pull it from the hanger, turn around, and squeal loud enough to shatter glass.

Sylus is standing right behind you, chest bare, black slacks hung low around his narrow hips, and you did not heard him come in.

“I thought we were past the terror stage of our friendship, sweetheart,” he says, cocking his head, the same ruby stud earrings he was wearing at the club flashing in the light. “But that’s twice today that I’ve frightened you to the point of violence. Am I really that scary?”

“You keep… appearing, out of nowhere. A little warning would be appreciated,” you huff, heart pounding. You don’t know why you’re so nervous around him. Really. It has nothing to do with the broad expanse of creamy skin and pillowy man-tits shoved in your face at the moment. “And honestly, considering the fact that our friendship started with you choking me out and keeping me captive for days, it’s a wonder that I’m not more scared of you,” you flare, because yeah, how dare he act like you should be over the absolute shit-show of your first encounter, when you’ve hardly had any time to get to know him. That’s why you’re nervous. There is no other possible explanation. A couple friendly interactions do not make up for how much of an evil bastard he was when you first met him.

“Would you like me to wear a bell when I’m here, then?” he asks, conveniently ignoring the reminder regarding how he treated you not so long ago.

“How about you just stay out of my bedroom and stay where I can see you at other times,” you snap, feeling violent again at the intrusive thought of Sylus wearing a collar around his thick neck, cute little bell dinging every time he moved.

“I’ll do my best,” he says absently, clearly distracted by his thorough inventory of your bedroom as he takes in the tumbling plants in mismatched pots on floating shelves hanging over the unmade bed, the army of plushies scattered over the bunched up mountain of duvet and pillows. Your bed used to be your sanctuary. The place where you could find rest and relaxation after exhausting battles and long days squinting at the computer filing incident reports. Now it just gives you anxiety. You try to pull his attention away from the chaos of your former safe space by holding Xavier’s hoodie out for Sylus to take.

“Here, this might fit you.”

Sylus looks down at your offering, crosses his arms, and takes a step back, as if the hoodie is so offensive that it warrants recoiling physically from it. “That’s quite a big hoodie for you, even for days when you want to be comfortable,” he says evenly.

“It’s not mine, but it’s clean, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing I have right now that will fit you,” you say, shaking it a little in the universal, impatient gesture of just take it already for fuck’s sake.

“And who is its actual owner?”

“Xavier.”

“In the habit of wearing your partner’s clothing, are we?” he asks, still staring at it, the disdain now plain in his assessment of the sweatshirt.

“Uh, sometimes? We were on a mission recently and my jacket got torn to the point of uselessness, and it was cold. He let me wear his hoodie so I wouldn't be cold. It's been washed since then, so it's clean. I’ll just wash it again when you’re done using it before I return it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

After what seems like a ridiculous amount of time for him to apparently make some mental calculations that only he will ever understand, he finally takes the soft hoodie from you, fingertips brushing yours as he grasps the fabric. You can’t figure out why he he suddenly looks more smugly evil than you’ve ever seen, with his lips curved up in a sardonic smirk. “Oh, of course, I’m sure he will not mind at all.” He pulls the hoodie over his head and shimmies a little as he drags it down is body; it’s a little tight around the shoulders, but you don’t think it’s tight enough to permanently stretch the fabric.

After it’s on, he tugs the collar up to his nose and inhales deeply.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as if you can’t see perfectly well what he is doing.

“It smells like you,” he answers, shameless, as if that is a perfectly reasonable answer to your question.

“Well, I did wear it, and wash it with my normal detergent and it has been hanging in my closet for a while, so…” your voice trails off.

“And soon it will smell like me too,” he continues, letting the collar fall with a satisfied flick of his fingers.

What even is this conversation? “Can you just be normal? For once?" A look of boredom is all the response you get, so you continue. "Now get out of my bedroom. Come tell me why you’re here in the first place.” You stride past him, making your way into the living room.

He follows you obediently and plops down on the couch, and just like last time, spreads his legs wide. This time, he is able to rest his arms on either side along the back of the couch, effectively occupying the whole damn thing. He sits quietly, looking at you expectantly.

You stand, arms folded, a safe distance away from the couch near the kitchen island.

“Well?” You prompt.

“It’s customary to offer your guest a refreshing beverage upon receiving them in your home. I believe I offered you wine the first time I hosted you in my own home.”

“Hosted?” He can’t be serious. “What a generous euphemism for ‘unlawfully imprisoned,’” you bite out.

“Po-tae-to,” he says serenely, “Po-tah-to.”

“Sylus,” you warn—about what, you’re not sure. He wants a beverage? Okay, perhaps you’ll fling more hot tea at him if he doesn’t start talking.

“Kitten.” He continues gazing at you, clearly in no hurry to move things along.

“If you don’t tell me, right now, why the hell you showed up at my place unannounced, I will report you as a burglar and have you removed by the authorities.”

“But then how will you explain to Xavier why I’ve been arrested wearing his sweater?” he asks, eyes wide, all concern for what your partner’s thoughts on the matter would be, and what they would mean for you.

“Burglars have been known to be creeps and go rooting through their victims’ closets and wearing their clothes! I’ll just say you were wearing it when I got here. Maybe he’ll be worried that it’s him you’re actually interested in harassing,” you snicker, trying to picture Xavier’s reaction.

As you’re speaking, Sylus pulls out his phone and fiddles with it with a bored expression on his face.  

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I boring you? Perhaps you should go find something more interesting to do and leave me in peace,” you grind out after you’ve finished and notice his complete lack of attention.

Your irritation is interrupted by a notification on your phone. Since Sylus is so busy messing with his, you grab yours from where it has been lying on the counter since before Sylus interrupted your peaceful evening staring out into the city. You see that you have a new message from… the man currently oozing across the entirety of your couch, head lolled to the side and watching you with a hint of amusement curving his mouth.

You open the chat, and your eyes widen at the conversation that never fucking happened currently loading into your chat history, with time stamps corresponding to when Sylus showed up at your door.

You: Oh Sylus, my big, handsome partner in crime, I think there’s an intruder in my flat and I’m so scared!

The Sytuation: What makes you think theres an intruder in your home, kitten? Im on my way.

You: There is sugar missing from my pantry! I just bought a new bag yesterday, and it’s gone! Oh please, my dark knight, come protect me from the sugar thief who should buy his own sugar and stop coming to my place to pilfer mine!

The Sytuation: Of course, sweetie. Go wait by the door, Ill be there in 5.

“What. Is. This. Fuckery,” you demand, thrusting your phone in his face.

He shrugs. “You threatened to lie about why I’m here in a bid to get rid of me. Did you not expect me to counter your move to ensure that no one will believe you?” he pauses, and then narrows his eyes. "Did you really save me in your phone as 'The Situation,' with a Y?"

"Punny, right? My phone doubles as my work phone. You really think I'm going to save your real name in my contacts? I might as well just save you as 'Sylus Qin, leader of Onychinus, most wanted criminal in the N109 zone," you grumble. "And trust me, that's the nicest name I could come up with."

"Punny," he repeats derisively, unimpressed.

“And don't derail. What is this nonsense about a sugar thief?” You wave the phone again.

“Your colleague should learn to stock his own pantry if he wants to engage in… what did you call them? Doomed baking experiments?”

“How did you even… why does it look so real?” You gaze down at the texts that look so authentic that if they hadn’t been filled with such bullshit, you’d be doubting your own sanity about whether the conversation had really happened.

“You’re really surprised that faking evidence, alibis and dirt on my opponents is a part of my vast skill set? I’m hurt that you underestimate me so.” He looks at you like he’s disappointed, a little pout pulling down his stupid beautiful mouth.

“For fuck’s sake.” You’re done. The longer you resist, the longer Sylus will be in your flat, driving you up the wall. “Fine. Fine!” You set your phone down again and throw up your hands. “What do you want to drink, Sylus?”

“Two fingers of gin, if you have it. Or brandy. Or vodka.” He thinks for a moment. “I’m not feeling too picky tonight.”

“I don’t keep hard liquor in my house, you alcoholic. I have a half-open bottle of rosé in the fridge. Will that satisfy his lordship?” You turn resignedly to trod your way to your fridge.

“What vineyard and vintage?” he asks, perking up.

You open the fridge and pull out the bottle. You squint at the label. “I dunno. It has a cute fish on the label, so I bought it.”

He looks at you like you just murdered Mephisto, and you begin pouring the pink liquid into another mug. This one says UNT on the side in big block letters, matching the size of the handle so that when you hold it, the handle looks like a matching C. You walk back to where he’s sitting, and you think that maybe your smile looks as smug as Sylus’s usually does when you hand him his drink.

He takes the mug from you, snorts when he reads the side, and then look at its contents dubiously for a moment.

“You taste it first,” he finally says, looking back up at you.

“Worried I poisoned it?” You’re still grinning.

“As you say,” he says, tilting his head.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t demand beverages from people you don’t trust then.”

“I trust you, just not your taste in wine after learning you choose bottles based on the cuteness of the label. Indulge me,” he murmurs. “Prove to me that you’re willing to drink it, and that it’s not just swill you’re trying to get rid of by offering it to me.”

You take the mug from him and lift it to your lips, taking a sip, watching him over the rim as you swallow. His nostrils flair, and he lifts his hand in a gesture for you to return it to him. Instead of giving it back, you take one more big gulp, and his brow furrows. Only after you've slowly swallowed again do you comply, relishing the warmth spreading through your body as you lower the mug for him to take. He brushes your fingers again as he takes it back. He turns the mug, so that his mouth hovers where yours just was. He then closes his eyes and inhales, gently swirling the liquid inside. Eyes still closed, he takes a sip.

After a moment, he sighs. “Thank you. This is actually not bad, for a rosé.”

“You’re such a snob,” you smile down at him, irrationally pleased that he seems so pleased.

“Life is too difficult, and too short, to waste on inferior experiences. I only like tasting the best,” he says, bright red eyes opening and fixing on you.

He looks up at you like you should be able to draw some deeper meaning from his words, but you’re tired, warm from the wine, and despite how much he winds you up you were just moments ago, right now you’re strangely relaxed for the first time in days.

“Tell me why you’re here, Sylus,” you say quietly.

“You told me I could use your place when I needed it,” he says, just as softly. He takes another drink, rolls it around in his mouth. Swallows, his adam’s apple dipping.

“And why did you need it this evening?”

“I had some negotiations regarding a business acquisition that I’m considering in this part of Linkon City, and they were abhorrently boring. By the time they were over, I had a splitting headache, and the sunlight didn’t help. It would have been unsafe to operate a motor vehicle under those conditions, so I thought I’d come and wait for it to pass in my newest ‘safe house,’ he answers gravely, as if getting a headache was a perfectly logical reason to crash your evening and take over your couch. “Wouldn’t want to endanger the innocent citizens of Linkon City with reckless driving, now would we?”

“Aren’t all of your shady business deals done under the cover of darkness? Why were you here at a meeting during the day?”

He’s holding the mug in one hand by his fingertips now, along the rim, slowly swirling it. He crosses one long leg over the other and answers languidly. “You’re assuming that today’s business was ‘shady.’”

“So your business today was legitimate?” You’ve been standing for awhile now, and begin to shift from bare foot to bare foot.

He hums in acknowledgement. “My business interests are as varied as they are successful. You insult me by looking so surprised.”

“Well I would never want to insult you,” you drawl. “So that’s it? You got a headache and decided you’d crash my evening?”

He nods, touching his temple and grimacing. “It’s still pretty bad, to be honest.”

“The daylight bothers you that much?” you ask, genuinely curious. You have always assumed that it was the nature of his occupation and perhaps just a proclivity for being a night owl that explained his nocturnal existence, but now you’re wondering if it’s not something deeper that has him avoiding it as much as possible.

You finally decide to give your tired feet a break and perch on the little corner of couch cushion that has been freed for use by Sylus crossing his legs. “If sunlight bothers you that much, what could possibly be so important to come out in it today?”

“Are you really asking about the details of my business ventures, sweetheart?” he asks in what you suspect is feigned astonishment.

“And if I am?”

“Then I’ll tell you,” he responds easily.

“Then I am.”

“I’m in discussions for acquiring a chain of entertainment venues in Linkon City.” He leans his head on the couch’s backrest and lets it roll to the side to keep looking at you. He catches the look of disgust that is no doubt obvious on your face.

“Entertainment venues,” you say flatly.

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“What kind of … entertainment venues?” you ask, hating yourself for wanting to know. It’s his business if he wants to buy porn shops, or strip clubs, or brothels—your stomach twists, and you refuse to consider why.

“What kind of ideas are racing through that fascinating brain of yours?” he asks, reaching up and running two of his fingers along your temple, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“Nothing,” you bite out, turning your face away from his touch. You normally dislike how you have a hard time concealing how you’re feeling, but you particularly hate it right now.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs. “Then, to answer your question, it’s a chain of arcades.”

Your brain grinds to a halt. Did he just say—

“Arcades?”

He nods, and winces, closing his eyes. You’re starting to believe that his head is actually hurting him, and you feel bad for throwing dishware and hot tea at him and refusing to offer him more than the one drink he asked for.

“Why would you be interested in acquiring an arcade chain?”

“Even for odious crime lords, it’s always wise to have a diversified business portfolio.”

You have called him a lot of things both out loud and in your head, but you’d never call him odious. Odorous, perhaps, when he’s sweating heavily after being riddled with bullets. But you have to suppress the urge to chastise him about talking about himself that way.

“Which chain is it?”

“You probably don’t know it,” he says, as if bored with the question. “It’s not a very large chain, but large enough for my interests.”

“Try me! I love going to the arcade when I have some free time. I mean, you’ve seen my plushie collection now that you invited yourself into my house,” you bounce a little on the couch.

“You invited me, kitten. You’ve had a choice, each and every time.”

“Don’t deflect! Answer the question!” You’re quite excited about this. Maybe if it’s a place you know, that has a location nearby, he’ll give you a discount if he ends up buying them? Like an employee discount or something. Is that ethical? You should check the Association’s employee handbook for conflicts of interest.

He squints, as if preparing to evaluate your reaction, and names your favorite place to play the claw machine.

“For real? You’re really going to buy them?”

“I still have to review the contract that was proposed during today’s discussions with my legal counsel, but if negotiations are successful, then yes,” he says, casually examining his nails.

Your excitement is hard to contain, but you suddenly have a troubling thought. “You’re not going to change anything, right? Like, that place is perfect as it is, and the employees are all really friendly and helpful and clearly work hard to keep it really nice,” you rush out, worried that he’s planning to reduce the staff  or try to jack up the prices for a larger profit margin.

He turns to look at you again, and doesn’t answer for long enough that you’re really starting to worry. But then he says softly, “No, I’m not going to change a thing.”

“Oh? So they’re doing well? It’s a solid financial investment?” You’re so relieved, safe in the knowledge that your plushies will continue to be accessible, insofar as claw machines by design allow them to be.

Sylus laughs softly. “Yes, the financials all look good. Considering your interest in the nature of binding agreements, would you like to look over the purchase agreement with me? I have it with me.”

“I’d actually really like to, but I’m starting to get really tired,” you yawn, the relief you were just feeling—the relief of knowing that Sylus wasn’t up to anything that would leave a blood trail today, relief that he didn’t come tonight to try to force you to resonate or finally kill you for refusing to do so, and most importantly, relief that he wasn’t going to acquire and ruin one of the little pleasures in your life—all of it is now drowned out by a heavy feeling of pleasant drowsiness.

“Then I’ll read it to you, until you fall asleep.”

“Huh? You want to stay?”

“Yes,” he says, hauling himself to his feet and offering you his hand. You take it in confusion, and he lifts you to your feet as well. He sets the now empty mug on your coffee table, and then places his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you from behind to your bedroom.

“Why?” you ask, not even thinking to object.

“Headache, remember?” He pushes you gently by your shoulders so that you’re sitting on your bed.

“How can you review legalese when you’re suffering from a headache?” You sink into the softness of the mattress.

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he says, nudging you until you’ve scooted to the middle of the bed. “Don’t move. I’m going to get my tablet out of my briefcase.” He disappears through the doorway, and you’re left sitting on your bed, surrounded by all of your plushies, and you have no idea what’s happening. You’re just too tired to argue with him. You really did miscalculate by spending all of your energy trying to get rid of him when he first arrived.

But just because you’re bone-tired, doesn’t mean you’re going to let him boss you around. You get off the bed and pad into the kitchen, passing him as he snaps his briefcase shut, tablet in hand.

“I distinctly recall telling you not to move,” he gripes, pushing up an elegant set of gold framed glasses perched on the uneven bridge of his nose with a middle finger. Huh, you didn’t know he needed glasses to read. He looks almost … cute wearing them, a little less feral. Like a leopard wearing a monocle.

Suppressing the thought of Sylus and cute in the same sentence, you ignore him, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. Then you rummage through your most chaotic kitchen drawer for a few moments, before triumphantly pulling out what you were looking for.

You pad back over to where he’s still watching you, and offer him the glass and the half-used blister pack of over-the-counter painkillers you fished out of your chaos drawer. “Here.”

He looks down at your hands, offering him what you hope is some relief from his headache. His face is impassive, and you’re worried he assumes you’re trying to poison him again. But then he tucks the tablet under one arm, and reaches out with both hands to grasp the glass and the pill pack—except he doesn’t take them from your hands. He envelops yours with his, and pulls you gently closer to him. He somehow manages to pop two tablets out of the pack with his thumb, and they drop into your curved palm. Still holding your hand, he leans down to sweep them from your skin with his tongue. In a complete daze, you watch him lift the glass that you’re still holding to his lips, and he takes a long pull of water, washing the pills down, all the while holding your gaze with his. When he’s done, he slowly lowers your hands again.

“Thank you,” he murmurs “For the benevolence of your heart.” He says it gravely, as if you’ve just saved his life instead of giving him some headache medicine.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, feeling like you’ve been struck by a truck after… whatever that was, feeling the warmth of his tongue in the palm of your hand like he was still licking it. Sylus then turns and heads back to your bedroom.

You set the glass and the now-empty pill pack on the kitchen island, thinking you’ll clean up tomorrow if you manage to sleep tonight, and follow him.

In the bedroom, Sylus sits, leaning back against your headboard, having needed to gently scoop some plushies out of the way to make room. He stretches his legs out in front of him with a sigh. He looks so soft, wrapped in the white hoodie, silver hair rumpled, surrounded by pillows and cute little plushies.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to remember that the man currently sinking into your duvet and wiggling his sock-covered toes in contentment is the same man who straight up exploded the man who dared kidnap you, and then proceeded to kidnap you himself after choking you to the point of passing out. You try to hold both of these truths about him in your mind at the same time, but the image of Sylus dancing you gently through a press of bodies, of the way he caresses your fingers at every opportunity, the soft slide of his tongue along your palm—these images are conquering every other version of him that you know to be true in your mind. You wonder briefly if this is part of some larger scheme of his, and what his endgame could possibly be. But right now, you’re too fucking tired to care.

“What is even happening,” you ask. You’re exhausted, but you still have enough mental reserves to question how you got here, in this situation, with this man migrating from vanquishing your couch to a large part of your bed. “Is the coffee table, or kitchen table insufficient for your needs? Why are you going to review the paperwork here, on my bed?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you fell asleep on my back on the motorcycle the other night, sweetheart. I’m just reading you a bedtime story featuring limitations of liability and allocation of risk so that you can finally get some sleep again.” He pats his thigh. “Here.”

You just stare at him. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, tapping his thigh again with one long finger. Just for that, you glare mutinously at him and fold your arms over your chest.

He sighs again, this time in exasperation, and leans over, firmly lifting you and setting you down so that your head is pillowed against his meaty thigh. He begins to run his fingertips gently up and down the middle of your back. He returns his attention to his tablet. “Now listen carefully,” he commands, before flicking the screen with his thumb and beginning to read in his softly in his deep, rich voice.

But of course you don't. You fall asleep as the skyscrapers light up like a dragon's hoard of jewels in the night sky outside your window, to the sounds of Sylus’s quiet recitation of indeed, a terribly boring contract, and the whisper of his fingers along your skin.

When you wake up, there is another black feather on your pillow, and you are alone. You yawn, once again feeling unbelievably rested despite the chaos Sylus always brings to your door and into your life. You stretch leisurely, spreading your arms wide and turning your head on the pillow, when something catches in your earlobe. You reach up and run your fingers along a stud earring that was not there when you fell asleep. You feel your other earlobe, but it's empty. You grab your phone from the nightstand, knocking over a semiautomatic hand pistol with scarlet flames engraved along the grip that you also don't remember owning onto the floor. You stare at it briefly, ready to commit murder if you check it and find that the safety isn't on. But first things first: you put the phone camera in selfie mode and lift it to your face, but quickly lower it again after confirming that it is indeed a ruby stud in your ear, sparkling cheekily in the morning sunlight.

Later, you're relieved to find that Sylus did actually leave the safety on on your new little ... toy, and you'll find that the mugs have been washed and set neatly away, the empty pack of painkillers placed in the recycling bin. You also see that various takeout containers and other debris that had piled up on a lot of surfaces in your place are also gone, and the countertops are clean, the coffee and kitchen table gleam in the early morning sunlight. You don't notice that the white hoodie is nowhere to be found, until you meet up with Xavier later in the day. He's wearing one that looks exactly like it.

"Thanks for returning the hoodie," he yawns. "But you really didn't have to."

You pause, feeling a thread of panic start to wind its way through your stomach. You decide to just... go with it. "Oh? You found it okay?"

"Yeah, but why did you just leave it hanging from my door handle? You could have rung and come in. I had a new limited edition bag of those cookies you were looking at in the corner store last week. I would have shared some with you... but now I've eaten them all," he admits sheepishly, big blue eyes shimmering with guilt.

You try to think fast. Did Sylus give back the hoodie without washing it? What the fuck was he thinking? He could have been seen! Does this flat have surveillance footage? Does Xavier suspect anything? You realize that you still haven't answered Xavier's question as your panic spirals. "Oh, you know, didn't want to wake you up," you flap your hands, as if you can flap this entire situation right out of your messy life.

"Well, I don't know what you did to it, but it feels brand new. As if it's never even been washed. And you somehow got out the bbq sauce stain that no matter how much I sprayed it with that stain remover stuff would never come out. So you're going to have to teach me some of that laundry magic," he says contentedly, snuggling further into the entirely new hoodie that you now realize Sylus must have somehow, over the course of the night, had hand-delivered to Xavier's place. "Uh huh," you say absently, pulling out your phone to furiously text Mr. Asshat when you see that he has also changed his name in your contact list.

You: What the hell did you do with Xavier's hoodie?"

My Sy: It doesnt matter who it belonged to before me. All that matters is that its mine now.

You: It doesn't even fit you properly! You're too big for it!

My Sy: Nothing a little size training cant fix.

Your jaw drops. He cannot be implying what you think he's implying. This is your filthy mind at work. You decide that you will simply pretend this conversation never happened. Absolutely nothing good can come from trying to figure out what the fuck is going through Sylus's head at any given moment.

You: And 'My Sy?' Really?

My Sy: Its not punny, but it rhymes. And its accurate. Gotta put the phone down for a bit, kitten. Business requires my attention. Ill be seeing you soon.

You stare at his last message for long enough that Xavier asks if you're okay. You're not. You're not okay. You couldn't even bring yourself to ask him about the other earring, or the gun. You just slowly slip your phone back into your cargo pants pocket and try very hard to stop thinking, for the rest of the day.

[deadsetobsessions]

Your name is Tim Drake and you are nine years old.

Today, tomorrow, and soon, you're going to save Robin.

----

Tim stares at his reflection on the sink tap. It trembles, along with the plane, as he contemplates his situation.

His face is rounder, now, with unfamiliar baby-fat rounding out the sharp lines he'd come to expect. Even with the subpar reflection, Tim can tell that his dark eyebags are all but gone, replaced with youthful skin.

Magic. He's being quite literal, seeing as he's been tossed into the body of his younger self at the hands of a crazed magician.

He could find a way back... or he could create a completely different timeline by fixing everything that went wrong. It's not like he has anything to go back to, anyways. That crazed magician was actually competent and killed everyone he ever cared about. Tim barely got away with his life. He could go back to save that shell of a world- surrounded by people whose minds were broken beyond magical and medical repair- or stay here, fix his own personal troubles and cut off the magician before he could start with his world domination bullshit.

Well, Tim already has an idea of what he wants. So he begins a list, after having oriented himself.

Save Robin

There's no point trying to convince Bruce that he knows where Jason's being held. So, Tim finds himself on a plane to Ethiopia a day before Jason's meant to die. This was long before Barbara even thought of being Oracle, and the tech is ancient in his hands. In short order, nine year old Tim has a trust fund with millions in it, all siphoned from billionaires like Lex Luthor and his own parents.

Tim toddles back to his seat, after washing his hands because he still can't shake the extra bit of paranoia that came with a missing spleen. Oh. Tim blinks guilelessly at his seat neighbor, smiling like Timothy Drake, Angel of a Son as he reels from the realization that he still has his spleen.

Tim adds another box to his list:

Keep Ra's away from my spleen, creepy bastard.

What else...? Ah, the League of Assassins.

Damian

Tim pauses. Holy crap. Damian's only six right now. Tim moves Damian's box upwards in urgency. Tim might have a mildly antagonistic relationship with his younger brother back then, but he wants baby pictures of his siblings, dammit. He's gonna put that photography expertise to good use if it's the last thing he does.

Watch over Z, Owens, Pru

'They're alive!' His mind screams. Cold rationality slaps the sentimentality down with a quick 'But they won't be if I fail.'

His mind wanders to Dick Grayson. He scowls as something pops up in the back of his head.

Catalina Flores

Contact Nightwing- in space

He's gotta call Dick back from that Teen Titans mission, Jason's gonna need all of the support he's going to get.

Find Cass

Train Steph

Save Duke's family from Venom

Tim taps at that last point. He'll save them. But that might mean Duke might never join their family.

But he'll be happy and Tim... will deal with it. He'll be the only one mourning, anyways. To end on a lighter note, he adds something that he should have done ages ago.

Give Tam a raise.

Tim sighs as he gets out of the airport, the hired escort he found and vetted, delivering him to a predetermined hotel. They think his parents are already inside. He laughs and does not say anything to make them think otherwise. He has so many things to do, Tim laments as he settles down to track the Joker's movements. Here. That's where Jason's being held. Being tortured.

He can, however, knock two things off his list in one go. Tim picks up the burner phone he acquired. He doesn't have time, or else he would have done this sooner and saved them all the trouble.

[RR: Are you in Ethiopia yet?]

[Deathstroke: Payment confirmed. In Ethiopia.]

[RR: Third building by the docks.]

An hour.

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Target spotted.]

Ten minutes.

[Deathstroke: Target eliminated. Bringing Robin to Safehouse.]

Twenty minutes.

[Deathstroke: Basic first aid applied. Leaving.]

[RR: Secondary payment sent. Confirm?]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Pleasure doing business with you.]

Tim sprawls on the king bed. He sighs a breath of relief. He'd check on Jason in person, if he weren't paranoid about leaving traces that would get back to him. Tim's pretty sure that Deathstroke's going to get hunted down in the near future, regardless, so he made sure to add a huge tip on top of the extra fees for burning one of Deathstroke's safe houses and the emergency first aid. He taps into the rudimentary camera Deathstroke had given him the access codes to, to stare at Jason's rising and falling chest. On a further table, the Joker's head laid in a preservation box.

He bypasses all of the security on the Teen Titan's tech to send Dick a message.

[Robin has been retrieved from the Joker. Contact Batman for details.]

Then, he sends Bruce the location of the safe house. Tim spends the rest of the day staring at Jason and watching his father in another timeline break as he huddles close to the broken body of Tim's Robin.

Timothy Drake destroys the burner phone.

[linkspooky]

It's not just the fact that Hori decided to kill a lifelong victim of grooming.

My two favorite comic book storylines are New Teen Titans Judas Contract, and Uncanny X Men's Inferno. They both feature villains / victims (Madelyne Pryor and Terra) that die at the end of the story. Terra is specifically fifteen years old and a victim of sexual grooming.

However, both of these stories are clearly written as tragedies. It's clear from the start that these are tragic stories not only meant to get us to sympathize with the victim turned villain but also the failure to save a clear victim is meant to make the heroes look bad.

Let me just list off all the shit Scott Summers put Madelyne Pryor through.

Fell in love with her only because she looked like his ex girlfriend Jean. Even though Madelyne specifically stated before getting into the relationship she didn't want to be jeans replacement.

Married her, and refuses to take time off to the point where he misses the birth of his own son leaving Madelyne at home to deliver her baby on the floor.

When he finally retires and they move to Alaska together he gets a phone call that Jean is still alive and abandons his wife and daughter for weeks to go back to his high school girlfriend.

Madelyne is attacked by a group of supervillains while Scott is away and just barely manages to escape but loses her baby.

She joins up with the x men to look for scott only to find out in the time she's been gone Scott had already gotten back together with Jean.

She is tricked into making a deal with a demon who wants to overthrow ilyanas control of limbo (she thought it was just a dream and the contract to sell her soul didn't matter).

She used her newfound power in order to find her child Nathan only to find Mr sinister there who reveals that Madelyne was a clone of Jean Grey, her entire life was a lie, she was made to breed with cyclops and produce a baby for sinister.

At which point madelyne snaps and decides to burn everything to the ground and kill her own child.

It's clearly telegraphed as a tragedy. The reference to Medea is pretty obvious. Madelyne had no chance from the beginning, however even in this tragedy Scott specifically forbid any of the heroes from using lethal force on her. Jean and Maddie mindmeld at one point and Jean literally begs for Maddie not to die and that she should live on to raise her son. They even throw a funeral for Maddie afterwards because be no one else would ever mourn her.

Not only do the heroes look bad, especially Scott for not being able to save her, they do at least try to talk with her, use non lethal force, and beg her at one point to let them help her.

On the other hand not only did Deku never engage Shigaraki Tomura once, just the vision of a crying child in front of him. Deku doesn't look like a failure for failing in his goal to save him he's still the greatest hero, they don't hold a funeral for Shigaraki, Dekus last words are about how he doesn't forgive Shigaraki (and therefore he deserves to die i guess because deku is the punisher now). Deku doesn't even give Shigaraki the respect of calling him by his preferred name he just calls him Tenko who was the only person Deku cared about saving.

It's not just about a victim dying it's about how the story promised us over and over again the kids were going to save the villains in the final act, that this was going to be an optimistic story about the new generation being better than the old.

Only for Horikoshi to deliver something entirely different. If I'm watching punisher I know what I'm getting into. I'm here to watch Frank Castle shoot mobsters. If Batman picks up a Tommy Gun and starts shooting mobsters that's bad because Batman wouldn't do that shit.

There's writing a story that's tonally inconsistent, or changing your plans for how a character is going to end late in the game and then there's this.

Which is basically narrative gaslighting. Where one thing is clearly happening onscreen but the narrative needs you to believe those gaslights clearly are not dimming.

I know Deku made no effort to save Shigaraki when he explicitly said they OFA is a power for saving but not killing, but don't worry Deku became the greatest hero anyway, and this is still a happy optimistic ending!

Horikoshi isn't looking for treasure in the house. Those gaslights aren't dimming. You're clearly being hysterical, woman.

[missqhughes]

DANCING WITH THE DEVIL | J. HUGHES86

-> jack hughes x fem!reader

-> contains: smut with plot, rough sex, semi public sex, other sexual themes, use of y/n, lowercase intended

-> IN WHICH: jack invites y/n to a night out with his teammates, and can’t control the jealousy that boils in him watching the other players enjoy your company. the only thing that can reassure to him you’re really his, resides in the bathroom of the bar.

-> request :) quick one, but i had fun writing it, yall remind me to do more for jack! just imagine he looks like the photo in this fic, lookin so SEXYY. please love it as much as i do!

*fic is not proofread

18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

jack was usually a casual drinker.

tonight being different; slamming down beers like a madman watching y/n talking, laughing, joking with his teammates.

sure, his arm was snaked around her waist and her body was hooked to his, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t appreciate how all of them suddenly turned into comedians now that he had brought her out.

“hey y/n, down to take another shot?” dawson waved her over to the other side of the bar, and she innocently agreed.

“i’ll be right back jack, okay?” she kissed him on the cheek, leaving a light pink lip mark left on his face.

“okay, but come back here when you’re finished,” he said, eyes following her all the way to dawson and jesper. he knew that she had no ill intent, that she was just trying to get along with his friends. but something about watching her skip around in a short dress around them set it off inside him.

he, yet again, ordered another beer, the cool liquid failing to cure the fire starting in his body.

jack decided he actually didn’t want her hanging out with them alone, so he walked over to where they were, reclaiming his position around her waist.

“hi babe,” she said, holding her small hand on top of his, “everything okay?”

“just fine. what are you guys laughing about?”

“dude, she is just so funny, you got a good one hughes, maybe you should crack a joke from time to time like her,” jesper joked, dawson nodding his head in agreement whilst sipping his own drink.

jack’s jaw tightened with anger, but not wanting it to get the best of him, he just stormed off in pursuit of the restroom.

the group left behind looked confused in jack’s departure, leveling in an awkward silence.

“i’m gonna… im gonna go see if he’s okay,” she sat up off the stool, smoothing down her dress, following in jacks footsteps.

knocking on the door of the single bathroom, she gently spoke “baby? is everything alright?” she heard nothing for a second, thinking he was just feeling sick. as she spun on her heel to go back to the bar, she shrieked when a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the bathroom.

“no, not everything is alright.” he said bluntly, backing her into the cold tile wall.

“well what’s wrong? you just like, stormed away from everyone with no explanation.” she rubbed his arms soothingly, trying to understand what was making her boyfriend so worked up.

“the guys. they’re fucking all over you and it’s pissing me off,” jack huffed, leaning his forehead press against hers.

“jack, you know i love you, and you know your teammates would never hit on me. they were just being nice,”

for whatever reason, y/n being so innocent about the whole situation was turning him on more than the short tight dress she had on, or the intoxicating smell lingering on her skin.

“you don’t get it… i know how guys are..” his head moved down to deliver sloppy kisses to her neck, “you’re all mine, no one else can have you,”

y/n’s breath hitched, hot and bothered from the alcohol and jack sucking on her neck,

“mm, of course i am, all yours,” her voice trailed off into bliss, jacks hands roughly grabbing her wrists and pinning them against her head. his wet lips went to claim hers, kissing her with everything in him.

it all happened so fast; jack moved her body with ease, bending y/n’s body over the sink, hand moving under her dress to rub her clothed clit.

she muffled her moan with her hand, jack’s eyes dark in the reflection staring back at her,

“please jack,”

“please what, baby?”

“more, mm fuck,” she threw her head back, feeling her pussy dripping onto his fingers as his movements on her clit slowed.

“you asked for it,” he husked, moving her panties to the side, slipping down his pants exposing his dick, aching for attention.

he aligned himself with her entrance, and she hissed when he started slamming into her with no time to adjust to his length.

“my fucking slut, letting me fuck you in the bathroom like this,” jack mumbled, his shirt tucked into his teeth, abs flexing with every thrust into her.

the pain turned in to pleasure, and the moans escaping y/n’s mouth, the tears running down her cheeks, and her chest bouncing made him go crazier and crazier.

jack grabbed a fistful of y/n’s hair, she gasped as he pulled her head back to kiss her roughly, biting her hard enough to almost draw blood.

his thrusts became sloppier, coming close to his high, and she was right there with him. a few more pumps and he came inside her, her walls covered with his release, y/n’s own juices coating his dick.

the couple panted, jack groaning as he pulled himself out of her, adjusting y/n’s clothing before fixing himself back into his pants.

y/n could barely stand, completely fucked out. jack held her up against his chest, placing a kiss lightly to her shoulder.

“may wanna fix your makeup before you go back out, pretty girl,” he laughed, his own appearance a giveaway; the hair under his hat was ever so slightly damp from sweat, and his cheeks a flush of red.

she rolled her eyes, examining herself in the mirror and blotting away any of the streaky makeup on her face. they walked out hand in hand, and sat down next to his friends.

“hey- woah, what the hell happened to you two in there?”

“have some fun in the bathroom eh? why they took so long,”

y/n’s face burned with embarrassment, turning to bury herself into his chest, and he only only laughed in response, proud that they knew what the two of them had done.

——————————————————————————

© missqhughes

xoxo, kaia

[dalamjisung]

the escape plan ❋ hwang hyunjin

word count: 3528

genre: fluff

pairing: reader x hwang hyunjin

description: you love working as a barista just because you love people watching. in this case, you end up watching hyunjin and his failed date. this is the one where you and hyunjin learn that the escape plan should've been plan A to begin with.

part of Summertime’s Special Collab with @catiuskaa | series masterlist here

It’s the way he smiles that makes chuckle from behind the counter. 

The bar is full today, but then again, it’s full most nights. During the week, you mostly see older couples, and it fills your heart with warmth to imagine a life in which you get to grow old with someone next to you. But then you mind the bar and the older creeps flock in and, suddenly, celibacy is looking pretty good. The weekend is when the youngsters, like you, flock in. 

Seeing people your age on dates is quite funny. It reminds you of why you used to like dates so much and, at the same time, hate them so much. You kind of miss it, the whole excitement of having a crush and getting ready for a date. It’s the silly dances and the makeup process and the singing with a hairbrush that makes you softer for those moments past. But you just don’t have time for that anymore, not with work getting busier by the second. For a minute, you wonder if tourist season came a couple of weeks early, judging by the new faces you see coming around… his included. 

To be fair, you think every single bartender in that place stopped what they were doing to watch him walk in. He is definitely someone you will all gossip about in the back room, and from how your co-worker keeps elbowing you every time he moves, you know she’s going to be your main source of entertainment during closing time. “Oh my god, Y/N, just look at him,” She groans, putting the cup she’s washing down in favour of leaning forward over the counter, as if she can just touch him like that. “He’s so handsome… why can’t it be me on that date?”

“Oh, I don’t think you want to be on that date,” You laugh, raising your brows while getting their drinks ready. He looks soft, gentle; kind enough to sit through what is visibly one of the worst dates you’ve seen during your shifts so far. “That smile is so fake I’m afraid it might get stuck.” 

“How do you know? It might be the best! With a guy like him, I’m sure it will be the best…”

“For her, sure,” Putting the drinks on a tray and getting out from behind the counter, you get ready to go deliver them. Their table is in your section, and if you’re honest, a little snooping never hurt anyone. “But him? Girl, he’s leaning away from her! He’s basically wincing! Don’t be so superficial– just cause he’s pretty doesn’t mean that’s all he cares about!” 

“Go find me some gossip!” She whispers with a wink and basically pushes you off. 

Being a bartender isn’t what you want to do for the rest of your life. The thought of figuring the rest of your life out, though, makes you shiver in horror. You don’t really see a point in planning the future if that means you can’t really live in the present, and so for now, for this moment, this you, this time, you love your job. You love interacting with people, you love listening to stories through the counter, you love when people ask you to make a drink you think they’ll like. Deep down, you know you won’t stay there forever, but that’s just not something you’re ready to face yet. 

“Excuse me,” You announce yourself quietly, approaching from the side so you don’t accidentally spill anything on them. 

There is an order to serving tables– first the napkins, then the cups, then a gentle smile and a small bow before walking away. Despite your words, the goal is to be a ghost, almost like the cups appeared there without a presence looming over the guests. But you move slowly, you’re gracious, polite, and definitely curious. 

“…and then like, they fired me!” Her voice is almost squeaky.“Because I told them I wouldn’t take a meeting from the hairdresser!” 

“But… it was during your work hours…” 

This is the first time you hear his voice and it shocks you. It’s lower than you expected and oh so quiet, like he regrets saying the words even before he says them. You cough a little, hiding the laughter bubbling in the back of your throat. And he must have heard you because he immediately glances up, eyes meeting yours and it’s almost like, when he notices your pursed lips, it unlocks something in him that makes his lips purse too. The speed in which you both look away is comical, but now you know he knows. The bridge between you two has been shattered and now, it’s like you can’t keep crossing. 

“Yeah, but they still should respect my personal boundaries, you know?” This is the moment she looks up at you, eyes lingering a little too long as if she’s questioning why you’re still there. “Anyways, should we get some food? Could you bring us the menu?” 

“Of course, I’ll be right back.” It takes you a minute to grab the menu and return. “Here you go, ma’am, what can I get for you?” 

She rattles off some random items and you make sure to memorise them before turning to him. “And you, sir? What can I get you?” 

“Oh don’t bother, he’ll be sharing what I’ve ordered.”

When she says this, you’re still turned to him and he’s looking right at you, and both your eyes go wide. “Could you please show me where the bathroom is?” He asks instead, and you nod while he gets up and tells his date “I’ll be right back.”

The restrooms are on the upper section of the bar, and you take him upstairs with a stupid smile on your face. He looks like he’s around your age and the long, tired sigh you hear coming from behind you is the last draw– you start laughing out loud, only looking back at him when you get to the top of the stairs. He looks like he’s amused at your reaction yet tortured because of his reality. 

“You’re laughing because it’s not you sitting across from her!” He gasps, head falling in his hands dramatically. “I don’t even need the bathroom, I just need to get out of there!”

Giggling, you nod. “It does seem like it’s not going well.”

“Oh god, even you guys noticed?!”

“To be fair to you, we see dates going all kinds of ways here, so it’s a part of the job.”

For a second, he falls silent, eyes stuck on yours like he’s trying to speak directly into your soul. “I need an escape plan,” He mumbled, head cocking to the side. “And you might just be it.”

“Sorry?” Your eyes go wide at his suggestion. “I can’t– I mean, you can just tell her, no? Just–“

“Oh come on, you’ve seen dates going all kinds of ways and you think I can just tell her?! Are you crazy?! I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t throw a drink on my face!”

“Why did you even ask her on a date? Poor girl thinks she has a really handsome guy into her and you’re planning an escape,” You asked, looking around to make sure no one is listening to your conversation. The last thing you need is a snoopy client deciding to interfere and tell the girl themselves. You’ve seen it happen and you were the one having to separate the fight. 

“I didn’t!” Whining, he stomps her foot on the ground like a child and your brows shoot up in curiosity. “My friend set me up because I haven’t really been going out lately, and it’s not like I was desperate, you know? I was just… busy! But he set me up regardless and he said he met her at a party because she’s his friend’s cousin’s best friend or something like that and I thought ‘how bad can this be?’ but as it turns out it can be really, really bad and I just want to go home and watch some TV with my dog!”

The way he is panting by the end of his rant has your heart squeezing out in sympathy for him. You’ve had had your fair share of bad dates, and it always feels more urgent than they actually are, but in the moment, while you pretend to be someone you’re not and smile at things you normally wouldn’t, all to appease someone you have no intention to see again, it’s a terrible sensation. Feels like getting lost, like you push yourself so far away that you worry if you’ll ever find your way back. And it made you feel guilty, knowing you were purposefully lying to someone who seemed to be having a good time, although by themselves. 

It’s not like you, to interfere and meddle, but he looks so upset with those plump, pouty lips that even you can’t resist it. “Fine,” You mumbled, straightening your back abruptly. “But you’re paying for her! Don’t be a dick! Just… Just follow my lead.”

“You are my saviour!” He cheered. “I’m Hyunjin, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Hyunjin,” You smile, offering him a hand to shake. “I’m Y/N. Also known as your escape plan.” 

What follows next is a really intricate plan. He will go back. He will smile. He will listen to her and give her the attention he craves because as much as he seems to be hating this date, she isn’t and you are not to make her night the worst night of her life. While he does all that, you will grab the food she ordered and you will bring it to her. In your tray, a mysterious drink will sit dangerously by the edge and as you put the food down, the weight shift will destabilise your hand and suddenly Hyunjin will be covered in liquid. He will then be very upset about it, and order the bill, which he will pay in full. Then, he gets to go home should your plan work. 

“You’re a genius,” Hyunjin whispers before returning to his table, and you can’t help but laugh at him. 

All in all, you understand why the girl looks at him like how she does, you’re pretty sure anyone around him is looking at him like that– impressed and slightly intimidated. Hyunjin is a beautiful man– he is way past handsome, at this point, and you would describe him as beautiful. His lips are full and his eyes are sharp, and his laughter, even in misery, sounds like fine tuned music. For a second, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to be the one sitting in front of him. He seems charming enough, from your brief interaction; would you have fun? Would he want to escape you, too, or would he stay? Shaking your head, you go back to the counter.

“Did I see you go upstairs with Mister Handsome or do my eyes deceive me?” Of course she was watching you. 

“Your eyes are right, but your mind deceives you,” Rolling your eyes, you can’t quite hide the slight blush tainting your cheeks at her insinuation. 

“You cannot seriously tell me you don’t think he’s cute,” She squinted, stepping closer to you with a teasing smile you ignore, you still have to load the tray and make a random drink. 

“I never said that,” You whisper, trying to keep the conversation private even though you two are in a very open space. “But I don’t know the guy. All I know is that he asked me to get him out of that date so… here I go.” 

Everything goes according to plan. Hyunjin is acting like a gentleman by the time you make it to his table, and the cup of the mysterious, too colourful concoction falls perfectly in his lap. You act the part, too, apologising repeatedly for the accident while pulling out tissues from thin air to try and help him dry off. “Sir, I am so, so sorry!” Maybe you are verging on overacting, but what do you know about that? You’re a bartender, not a Hollywood star. 

The fatal mistake, though, is when your eyes meet again. This time, you can’t help yourself and you snort, so loudly and unload like that it catches everyone by surprise. The tables around are either laughing or gasping and you can’t help the way your entire face goes red, actually embarrassed about this stupid, stupid plan. What were you even thinking when you agreed to this? “I–“ Even your hands shake, the nervousness of your sudden self-awareness getting the best of you with all those eyes burning your back. 

“It’s okay.” 

Somehow you hear him above the screeching screams of the poor girl sitting in front of him. “Y/N, it’s okay,” Hyunjin whispers, shaking his head with a hint of a smile that is not mocking nor cocky. His smile, all pretty and cute, is just as comforting as the little nod he sends your way, reaching towards the floor to pick up the tray with one hand and help you up with the other. It’s steady and large, his hands, and you can’t help but freeze a little when he touches your elbow, pushing you upwards with a smile. “There you go. Thank you, I’ll come to the counter to pay in a second.” 

That is not part of the plan, but you just nod, scurrying away as fast as you possibly can.

This feels weird. You’re not shy. Never have been, actually, which is what makes you so happy working with people; you crave the social interaction, love the conversations, smile at the compliments. It fuels you, knowing that, at some level, you’re making someone happy, even if just for a second when they get their food or their drink. It makes you feel happier, too. Well, usually it makes you feel happier too, but, now, there is nothing you want more than to disappear. “Y/N! Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” 

“Can you mind the bar for a few minutes?” You mumble, already making your way to the back door. “I just need a second.” 

The back room is every barista’s safe place. It’s where everyone goes when things are getting a bit too much and they need a second. Right now, you really need a second. You need to ground yourself again, remember that the present is good enough and there is no need to project the future, especially not a crazy fantastical version of it. Sitting down on a chair, you let your head fall in your hands, eyes closed as you just enjoy the quietude of it all. It’s easy, creating a whole scenario in your head, when a guy like Hyunjin is being so kind and gentle and funny. And it’s easy to forget the consequences, too, even if you can’t stop laughing at it. 

It’s the cringeness of it all that gets to you, the way you replay that scenario in your head again and again and you shiver and shudder at the memory of you trying to clean the purposeful mess you made while everyone around stared at you. Chuckling, you shake your head. “Y/N, you are a very silly person,” You mumble to yourself, getting up with a final deep breath. Your co-worker pops her head in the room before you can even take a step towards the door. 

“Hey, your table paid and left. You can come out now, the cute guy wasn’t angry.”

Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better to know he just… up and left. But you nod regardless, smiling weakly at her. “Thanks,” You mumble and then it’s right back to work. 

The rest of the night is uneventful. Boring, almost, and you can’t help but feel uncomfortable. Like you had just done something you were going to regret, like… like you had just been used as a means to an end. “I got it,” You grab the keys before your colleague can. “Go home. You did great tonight, I’ll close up.” 

At this point, you just feel like being alone. What started as a good day has quickly gone off the rails, and you don’t particularly regret anything, but you need some time to process everything that happened in the past few hours. And that’s okay– all you need is time, nothing else, nothing less.

Ironically, it seems like time is all you don’t have. 

“Y/N.”

You almost trip on your foot, mountain of cups in your arms about to go down had it not been for his reflexes, hands catching you at the very last minute. “Jesus Christ! Hyunjin! What are you doing here?!” It’s like he has some kind of weird power over you, face immediately on fire at the feel of his hands on your arms. 

“I came to thank you!” His hands go up in defence and you laugh. “You disappeared after the whole escape plan and I couldn’t thank you properly!”

“So you thought that sneaking in at almost three in the morning when I’m alone in an empty bar was the best way to thank me?” You whisper, eyes wide like a kid who’s afraid to get in trouble. You can’t stop the incredulous smile playing on your lips, though, and you snort a laughter out. “I just met you and this is kind of creepy…”

This time around, he’s the one that looks startled. “I’m not creepy!” He is so dramatic with his gasp and his hand over his heart. “I came here to say thank you and–“ Hyunjin pauses, face a bit blushed. “And you know, I owe you one. You were so nice to help out and you embarrassed yourself–“

“I wouldn’t say I embarrassed myself–“ You cut off quickly, face falling on your hands in a clear contradiction to your words.

“Y/N, don’t kid yourself, that was embarrassing,” Hyunjin snorted. The tension, the one that floated in the air for the first seconds of this interaction and the one on your shoulders whenever you thought about the burning sensation of people staring at you, is gone, and left behind is just this– the giggling, the stepping around each other, the getting to know more. You like this… and it feels too natural for something that looks so misplaced. This kind of interaction, this kind of back and forth, the joking and the banter– this is what makes a good first date, in your opinion. 

But this can’t be a date… right?

Y/N, stop daydreaming, you think to yourself. 

“But it was hilarious. And it was a favour,” He continues, finally taking one, then two steps towards you. “And I want to repay you.”

“You don’t have to–“

“I really want to,” He says, wincing a little at how desperate he sounds. “Okay, I see how I’m coming off as creepy. But! In my defence! I don’t know your number and I don’t know your schedule!”

You just raise your brows at him. 

“At this point there is no escaping my fate,” Hyunjin chuckles, but before he can say or do anything else, he looks at the counter. There are some cups, pens, and notepads you still have to put away. “May I?”

You just nod, eyeing him curiously. “What are you doing?” 

“This,” Hyunjin says, ripping a piece of paper he scribbled on and giving it to you. “Is my number. Text me tomorrow? I really want to pay you back…” 

“And how will you pay me back? Unfortunately, I don’t think there will be an opportunity for you to trip and spill a drink over me any time soon.”

“I mean, come out to get a drink with me and I’m sure I can arrange that.” 

You stutter, eyes wide when he just shrugs. “W-What?”

“Or a coffee!” He quickly says, nodding excitedly. “Anything. Dinner, lunch, coffee, drinks– whatever sounds less creepy right now, cause I’m really nervous I’m coming across like a stalker and I don’t want to scare you off or–“

“Or I might be the one needing an escape plan?” You joke, grabbing your phone from your pocket and typing in the number he has just given you. 

With quick fingers, you quickly send him a message: hey :) drinks sound good.

Hyunjin frowns at the buzzing coming from his phone at such an early hour. But the smile on his face when he reads your text is just breath-taking, and yes, maybe you’re being superficial, or maybe you’re not, but the way your heart picks up a little is not superficial at all.

“Drinks it is,” Hyunjin nods, trying to hide a smile. “I know just the place.”

“I swear to god if you say here I will–“

“Great service, great food– it makes sense!”

“Go home you creep.”

There is a pause before he turns around to leave. You can hear the smile in his voice when he calls your name. “And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a date.”

-----------------------------------------

Wohooooo Hyunjin's is out >.< I'm loving writing for this series!!! as always, make sure to go to @catiuskaa profile to go check out her incredible pieces for this series and her general masterlist!

[roosterforme]

The Gray Sweatpants | Rooster x Reader

Summary: For you and Bradley, sharing a home comes easily. He is always willing to put in the extra work to make you happy, and he will do it wearing his gray sweatpants and a smile.

Warnings: Fluff and smut

Length: 2100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! (But it can be read on its own) Check my masterlist in my profile for the reading order! Based on a request.

Living with you was an interesting change of pace for Bradley. He had gotten so used to tiny living quarters and never sharing anything. But now you were here in this big house, along with all of your colorful stuff, and your perfume, and your kitchen gadgets. And you wanted to share everything with him. 

Not a day went by that you weren't wearing his clothing and using his shaving cream in the shower. And you always offered to share your food with him, holding up a sandwich or forkful of food for him to take a bite. You always seemed to be around asking about his day and giving him all of the details of yours, delivered with your own brand of wit and humor that never failed to have him wrapping his arms around you. 

It was one of the first Friday nights after you moved into his house, and now it was your house, too. Every time he got to use the word "ours", it made him happy in a way he couldn't really explain. 

"I was thinking we should plant a garden in the backyard," you said, feeding Bradley a bite of your dinner from your perch on his lap. You were wearing one of his Top Gun shirts and nothing else, and Bradley couldn't imagine living here without you. "I mean, San Diego kind of sucks for flowers, but we're hardy east coast people. We should have a garden."

"We would have no street cred if we didn't have sad, dying, east coast people flowers," he replied, delighting in the sound of your laughter. 

"Exactly! Plus, the backyard is a little scary, Roo. I'll help you clean it up on Sunday, if you want."

"Sure, Baby Girl. We'll see."

But he had something else in mind now.

---------------------

You woke up on Saturday morning to an empty bed and groaned. Bradley knew you had particular rules concerning him staying in bed with you on Saturday mornings. And you expected a certain level of compliance. 

"Bradley?" you called as you stumbled into the kitchen where you found him brewing coffee and eating some toast in just his gray sweatpants.

"Morning, Sweetheart," he rasped, but your mouth had gone dry. You must still be in bed, asleep and dreaming. That was the only way this would make sense.

You made a soft, strangled sound as Bradley reached up into the cabinet and grabbed your favorite mug. "Want some coffee?"

"Bradley," you whispered. He wasn't even wearing any underwear. You could see the outline of his cock pressing against the soft fabric as the pants hung low on his hips. 

You were taking a step closer to him, ready to drop to your knees when he said, "You'll be late for brunch with Cam and Maria if you don't leave soon." You had completely forgotten about your plans.

Your eyes slid up his naked torso until they met his smirking face. "Why are you not wearing underwear?"

He suddenly looked embarrassed, cheeks flushing pink. "I actually need you to show me how to use the washing machine. I'm almost out of clean clothes. Can you show me after brunch?"

You glanced at the clock on the microwave and sighed. You didn't even have time to properly blow your boyfriend like you wanted to. "Yeah, I'll show you after I get home, Roo," you whispered, running your fingers along his length through his pants.

"Oh fuck," he grunted when you cupped him and squeezed softly. He pressed you against the edge of the counter, and you could feel him getting hard for you. 

But you just stuck your chin in the air. "Next Saturday, make sure you stay in bed with me longer." You ducked out of his grasp with a grin while he groaned your name. "Oh, and I don't want to be late for brunch."

You got ready to go out, and when you passed him in the kitchen before you left, he was eating more toast and glaring at you. 

"You gonna come back and take care of this later?" he grunted, gesturing to his semi.

"Sure, Roo. Right after we do your laundry," you said with a wink. He just grunted in response before you added, "And make sure you don't go out in those pants. They are indecent!"

----------------------

As soon as you were gone, Bradley thought about jerking off, but he knew he had a limited amount of time before you would be home again. So he quickly put his old sneakers on along with his aviators and traipsed out through the sliding glass door to the backyard. You weren't wrong; it was in pretty rough shape.

Bradley kicked over a faded lawn gnome and opened up the shed. He pulled out some shovels and a rake that the previous owners had left, and he got to work. An hour later, he was shocked to find that there was in fact a garden bed buried back along the privacy fence. He dug up dead plants and weird lawn ornaments, tossing everything off to the side to get taken out with the trash. 

He stopped working for a minute to wipe the sweat from his brow. The sun was strong even for early December, but at least it wasn't too hot outside. And now, as he looked around, Bradley was pleased to see that the whole space looked a lot better. His girlfriend wanted a garden? Well then she would get one.

"Roo?" you called from the sliding glass door. You were grinning and heading his way with a cold water bottle. "What are you doing?"

He took the drink from your hand and downed the entire thing before he answered you. "Making the yard nicer for you. Check it out. A garden bed."

But you weren't really looking at the yard as much as you were looking at him. You wrapped your arms around his sweaty torso and kissed him. "You're so sweet."

He grinned down at you but didn't dare touch, not wanting to get your cute dress all dirty. "We can go to the nursery tomorrow and pick out some flowers if you want. We can plant them...." His word trailed off as you bit your lip and slipped your hand inside the front of his sweatpants. 

"I've been thinking about this since I left for brunch." Your voice was soft and breathless as your fingers teased his length before you wrapped your small hand around his cock. "Been thinking about these gray sweatpants."

Bradley let you ease the fabric down until he was fully exposed. You were licking your lips and moaning softly. He knew exactly what that meant.

"God damn it," he groaned as you dropped to your knees on the grass in front of him. He was standing in the center of the yard, looking around to see if there was any way one of the neighbors could see what was going on. But when you kissed and licked away his precum before parting your lips and taking his tip, he decided he didn't care. 

Bradley reached one big palm to the back of your head and guided you along. You took him a little deeper, looking up at him as your mouth filled up with each inch of him until your lip was brushing his coarse hairs. You gagged a bit, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on him. "You're such a good girl. I'll give you anything you want."

You moaned around him, your tongue swirling along the underside of his entire length until you pulled him out to the tip. You kissed him sweetly and softly asked, "You know what I want, Roo?"

Bradley shook his head a little bit, dazed as you let his cock rest against your plush tongue. He was panting now and twitching as your hot breath teased his dick. 

"You tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

You giggled and smiled up at him with half lidded eyes as your tongue caressed him. You kissed his swollen tip and nuzzled him with your nose before you said, "I want you to fuck me. Right here. In our backyard."

Bradley hauled you to your feet by grabbing your elbows. You squealed with delight, but he hushed you with one hand over your mouth. "I'll give you what you want, but you have to behave. You want our elderly neighbors calling the cops, because they think I'm back here trying to murder you?"

You groaned and licked Bradley's palm, gripping his cock with both hands. "Please, Bradley. Please make it so good that it sounds like that!"

His hand drifted down to your neck, and he led you to the side of the shed, stroking your soft skin as you practically purred for him. His hard dick bounced along, hanging out over his sweatpants as he backed you up against the small building. "Okay."

-----------------------

You were so turned on for him, and you blamed it all on his sweatpants. He had no idea what he was capable of in those things. But without underwear? Bradley Bradshaw should have been illegal. 

And now he had your back pinned against the shed with his huge hand on your neck while he reached into your underwear and started to finger you. 

"Oh," you gasped, admiring the way his aviators were sliding down his nose while you rode his middle finger. The pressure on your throat wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to make you feel like you were no longer in charge here. And that feeling excited you. 

Bradley's thumb stroked your clit, and you cried out for him. "Shh, be a good girl," he whispered, kissing your lips one time while his middle finger pressed forward on your most sensitive spot. When you whimpered, he kissed your forehead and said, "Yeah, nice and quiet, Baby Girl. Show me how good you can be."

You kept your little noises as quiet as you could, moving your hips in time with his thumb stroking you. When you were close, Bradley slipped his finger out of you, leaving you whining his name. He spun you to face the shed, yanking your underwear down so the lace brushed along your legs before they hit the ground. You planted both of your palms against the siding as Bradley pulled your dress up to your waist, fully exposing you to any neighbor who could have potentially been a little too nosy. 

"Oh my god," you groaned as Bradley planted his left hand above yours and guided himself inside you with the other. 

"You're so fucking wet." His voice was deep and needy as he fucked you, placing his hand on your pussy. He let you rub yourself against him as he bumped you along with his thrusts. 

"Bradley." The second syllable was much louder than the first, your voice rising in pitch with pleasure. "Fuck!"

"Shh," he scolded once more. "Quiet, or I'll stop."

It was an empty threat, you were sure of it. He must be beyond the point of no return, but just in case, you covered your own mouth with your hand. He had you pinned tight between his pelvis and his palm, grinding against your butt, and holding you in place.

The beautiful friction of his palm had you clenching and cumming as your orgasm washed over you suddenly. "It's so good," you whined, needing both hands on the shed to keep yourself upright. "You're so good, Roo."

The string of obscenities he muttered next to your ear were nowhere near as filthy as his cock slamming into you and filling you with his cum. He used your pussy to drain him of every last drop as you pulsed around him, and when he withdrew, you felt your thighs get coated with his mess.

You spun around to face him, eyes wide. "I can't believe you fucked me in the backyard." Your eyes dipped down to his cock, softening and dripping your mixed ejaculate all over those gray sweatpants. 

He tipped your chin up and looked at you over the top of his aviators. "You tell me you want something, I'm going to give it to you. Especially if it's my cock."

You grinned and kissed him before adjusting his sunglasses. "Let's go inside. We have even more laundry to do now." You tucked him back inside his sweatpants before stepping out of your underwear. "Don't forget those," you said, pointing to the scrap of lace in the grass.

You watched Bradley bend down and pick them up, bringing them up to his nose with a grunt as he followed you inside.

---------------------------

I hope you enjoyed Rooster's gray sweatpants @thedroneranger

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[psalacanthea]

I'm doing that thing again where a random scenario is showing up in my modern AU fic and I have to think of everyone's preferences so: BG3 companions, ice cream edition.

Wyll: The only man alive who gets an ice cream cone and somehow never drips. He loves a good quality vanilla, but likes it with additions, like a handmade fudge ripple or butter pecan. Will eat an ice cream cone with a spoon, confusing everyone.

Karlach: She wants to go to the place where they mix in shit in front of you. Gummy bears and pretzels. Red hots candy and caramel corn. She's inventing flavor combos you've never heard of. Also likes the blue bubblegum ice cream.

Gale: Ooh! Well, since you're asking, he knows a wonderful place a scant thirty minute drive away that makes their own handmade ice cream. He's been known to indulge in a pint or two...perhaps with a nice glass of wine! Toppings? Well, that would ruin the experience.

Shadowheart: She goes to the same place as Gale, but she hoards her pints in her freezer and you're not allowed to touch them. They have a dark chocolate raspberry she's obsessed with. It's hers, though. You can have a bite. Just one. Fine, you can have another bite.

Lae'zel: She goes to the fast food drive through, orders a chocolate sundae, and leaves. If their ice cream machine is broken again, they will pay the price. Will climb through a drive-through window to fight your manager.

Astarion: Goes to the trendy, insanely expensive restaurant, orders the thousand dollar gold leaf covered, smoked white truffle and whisky ice cream dessert, takes a picture of it for his instagram, and leaves without paying by climbing out the bathroom window.

Minthara: She will take two scoops of chocolate ice cream. Nothing more, nothing less. If you fail to deliver exactly what was ordered, she will have your business destroyed on Yelp. Her prowess on Yelp is legendary. Sometimes Astarion helps her make video reviews of restaurants. She has millions of views, adoring fans, and has no idea.

Halsin: He'd prefer something else for dessert, but he's already here, so...maybe a scoop of pistachio on a cone? Will get distracted and end up with it dripping all over his arm. Whoops! Now everyone's staring at him while he licks his own hand.

Jaheira: She prefers a pastry, but fine. She'll let you know once she's tried every sample at least once. Hmm. Not bad. And...you know what? Never mind. She's full now. Thanks for the samples.

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Im with you- Matt Casey

Summary: When an ovarian cyst ruptures on the job, Matt and Firehouse 51 take care of you.

Warnings: vomiting, cursing, probably inaccurate medical stuff even though I do have PCOS and get ovarian cysts.

Authors note: You asked and I’m delivering. Here’s a fic I wrote a while back. I hope you enjoy!

——————————

You and Matt have been together for a couple years. You have been best friends since you both joined 51, straight from academy. You and Matt shared everything. Your feelings, thoughts, personal issues, a bed. Everything was out in the open. Though Matt was your lieutenant, you never let it effect your job or your relationship. You said it was one of the perks of starting off in the house together. He saw you and your strength. He knew you could take his spot any day, but you were content with just being part of the company.

You started feeling some major discomfort on a call. You were doing a sweep with Severide when you kicked open a door, causing the fire to blow back, sending you and Kelly flying through the air.

“Y/N!” You were sure you heard Kelly scream your name, but your ears rung as you laid against the wall. Kelly quickly shut the door and made his way toward you. “Look at me! Say something!” He yelled, grabbing you by your jacket and making you face him.

You were a little further toward the middle of the door than Kelly, which kept him from flying far. You just went through the air hitting the wall HARD. You were disoriented and had some major ringing in your ears.

When you couldn’t focus on him, Kelly called a mayday of sorts through the radio. “Emergency! Emergency! Fire fighter down. I need a medic to meet me out front.” Kelly yelled, not wasting another second before he pulled me up and into his arms. “I’ve gotcha. Your okay.”

“Who?” Chief Boden asked.

“Y/L/N.” Kelly said just before he broke into a sprint when he saw the exit.

Outside, Dawson and Brett were waiting with a stretcher. As soon as Kelly put you down, Dawson was ripping the mask off your face. The light assaulted your eyes, but the fresh air was like a kick in the butt, which was exactly what you needed.

“I’m fine.” You murmured, attempting to push yourself up.

“Y/N.” Dawson said, pushing you back down with a shake of her head. “You were unresponsive for almost two minutes. I need to check you out.”

I shook my head, regretting it as soon as I did it. I laid back, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I said I’m fine Dawson.” I growled out. Finding the strength to sit up, I swung my legs over the edge of the gurney and tried to stand. My legs failed me as I collapsed into Kelly with a pained gasp.

“Fine my ass Y/L/N.” Kelly said, picking you up and putting you back on the stretcher.

“What hurts hunny?” Brett hummed, allowing Kelly to rip your jacket off as Dawson ran to help a civilian.

“My right side. Like all of a sudden.” You gritted out, swatting Kelly’s hand away as he palpitated the area. “Ow Sev.”

“Sorry.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s not too hard like internal bleeding.” He informed Brett. “I’m going to go update Casey. He looks ready to abandon the company to come check on you. You ladies talk.” Kelly said, leaning over to place a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be back.”

Once Kelly walked off, you snuck a glance in Casey’s direction. He was talking to the crew, giving orders, but his eyes stayed trained on you.

“When did this start? I don’t see any bruising or signs of a contusion.” Brett murmured, moving back to let the sunlight hit that area.

“I mean, it’s been a dull pain for a while now, but this is the first time it’s been bad enough to effect me.” I said, leaning my head back and breathing deeply. “I have an appointment set with my gyno tomorrow. I’m fine, really. Just extra sore.” I tried to reason, but I was fighting to keep back a sudden wave of nausea. “It’s uh.” I swallowed thickly before continuing. “It’s a normal woman thing I think. Matt knows. Just give me an anti-inflammatory and zofran and I’m good.”

“Zofran?” Brett asked, stopping as she was pushing me to the ambo, which I suddenly realized meant that Kelly was back and helping.

“Yeah. Kinda nauseous.” I said, shaking my head. Kelly hummed and placed a hand on my thigh.

Brett did a thorough head trauma exam before giving me the all clear once she was sure that I didn’t have a concussion. Kelly spent the entire time texting while I was being treated. He was listening and keeping Matt up to date as I waiting to be discharged from the rig.

“Casey said to ride back with Ambo and go straight to his office when we return.” Kelly said, leaning up to place another kiss on my forehead, jumping out of the rig before I could protest. He hit the doors and Dawson, whom I never noticed jumped back into the rig, drove back to the house.

“Well, looks like I’m off the rest of this shift.” I sighed, leaning back and trying to relax as Brett dimmed the lights to the rig.

“Might not be such a bad thing. He’s just looking out for you.” Brett said, sitting on the bench and buckling me around the waist to the stretcher before buckling herself in and propping her feet up to use as a makeshift desk. “Get some rest. We got 20 minutes till we get back.”

I gave her a confused look. “We shouldn’t be that far out.” I mumbled.

“Dawson has to pick up lunch.” Brett replied. “Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

——————————TimeSkip————————-

I woke up to someone softly pushing the hair away from my face.

“Hey Hunny. Come rest in my office.” Matt whispered, trying his best to coax me awake.

“I don’t feel good.” I whispered, leaning my head forward and into his hand.

“I know.” Matt soothed. “I’ll carry you.”

Matt unlocked my seatbelt and gently lifted me into his arms. Doors were opened for us as we made our way through the house. The common area went quiet as we passed through, shuffling could be heard as doors were opened until Matt got to his office.

“Hey Matt.” Kelly whispered, stepping in and closing the door. “Brett gave me these. How’s she doing?”

Kelly shook a sick bag out and put it on the side table and then stashed the rest on the desk. Matt laid me down slowly, pulling the covers over me gently and turning me onto my side into the recovery position. I kept my eyes closed, wondering why Brett never gave me the Zofran, making me focus on not throwing up.

“Doesn’t feel well.” Matt said, sitting next to me and pushing my hair back again. “Baby. Kelly has a sick bag here if you need it. I gotta talk to Boden and fill him in. I’ll be right back.” He said, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Can you stay with her a minute?” Matt asked Kelly.

“Anything for you guys. You know that.” Kelly said, standing and switching spots with Matt. The door closed softly as Kelly sat next to me. He placed a hand on my back and rubbed soothingly. “Let’s be real. Need to go to med?” Kelly asked, knowing I wouldn’t fess up to Matt unless it was dire.

“No.” I gritted out, frustrated by the whole situation. The pain was subsiding, but the nausea was ramping. “It’s a girl thing.” I simplified.

“Your sure?” Kelly asked, leaning forward and grabbing the sick bag as he saw me pale.

“Mhmm.” I said, not daring to move.

We sat there in silence. I was trying to steady my breathing as Kelly continued to rub my back. He was at a loss. He knew I hated being sick, as he has dealt with a sick me before, but he knew it was gonna happen.

“Sit up. I know it’s gonna happen.” Kelly said, moving to stand and help gently guide me into a sitting position. “Hold this. I’m gonna call Matt.” He instructed, placing the bag in my hand. Kelly went to the door and opened it, yelling for Matt. He knew not to leave me.

The nausea was winning and I began to freak out as Kelly called out again. “Kel- hurlk” I tried to warn him, but got cut off with an unproductive heave.

The door slammed shut as Kelly raced toward me. “Fuck.” He muttered, helping me hold the bag under my chin. With his other hand, he used his radio to call for Matt. “Case. You’re needed in your office. Now.” He said into the radio. A quick “copy” from Matt was all that was heard before I started retching harshly. “Shhhhhhh. Breathe.” Kelly murmured. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“What’s going on?” Matt exclaimed, running and sliding to a stop in front of me. “Baby? It’s okay. I’m here.” He soothed , taking my hand and pushing my hair back. “Dawson’s gonna check your vitals, okay?”

I nodded as I finally started throwing up all the breakfast that I forced down. Kelly kept holding the bag and rubbing my back, Matt held my hand and kept my hair out of the splash zone, and Dawson went about checking my vitals.

“Pulse is fast. Oxygen is mid 90s. Pressure is slightly low, but not worrisome.” She said. “Any other symptoms?” Gabbi asked Matt.

“Ovarian cysts. Think one ruptured on that call.” Matt muttered. “Never seen her this bad before.”

“Does it hurt, Y/N?” Gabbi asked. “Just squeeze once for no and twice for yes.” Gabbi took my hand and felt me squeeze once. “Good. No pain.”

“What does that mean?” Kelly asked, noting how much I was vomiting and the sweat building up on the back of my neck.

“So, sometimes a cyst can rupture and be infected. This is her body getting rid of it, which is probably why Brett didn’t give her anything for the nausea.” Gabbi explained, writing some stuff down. “If she starts running a fever, tell us and we will take her straight to Med. I’d suggest camping out here for a few hours to make sure she doesn’t spike one. Then you can go home and get her rested.” Gabbi said, patting Matt on the shoulder and walking out.

“Breathe sweetheart. Your gonna need to switch bags in a second if you need to.” Matt said, trying to see my face better. He reached over and grabbed a new one, making a quick switch with Kelly and holding the new bag under my chin as Kelly disposed of the old one.

Talking could be heard as he opened the door. Gabbi and Boden’s voices floating in.

Suddenly, a cool cloth was placed on the back of my neck. “Herrmann got you a rag Y/N.” Kelly said, resuming his post of rubbing my back. “Chief has Herrmann taking lead on truck for the remainder of shift and offered to let me hang around to help unless Squad is needed.”

“Thanks Kel.” Matt said, patting his friend on the knee. “You done baby?” Matt asked, noticing the few coughs I was letting out, but also the lack of vomit.

“Yeah.” I breathed, leaning forward and resting my head on Matt’s shoulder. “It’s awful.” I moaned, resting my forehead into the crook of his neck.

“I know.” Matt whispered, reaching up and wiping my face with the rag from my neck. “Wanna brush your teeth and shower before taking a nap?”

I nodded and tried to stand when Matt helped me up, but swayed dangerously as I suddenly became lightheaded.

“Woah.” Kelly said, bracing me from behind. “You okay?” He asked, keeping me steady with hands around my waist.

“Yeah.” I breathed. “Just lightheaded s’all.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head onto Matt’s shoulder again.

“I gotcha.” Matt said, picking me up and taking me toward the bathroom. “Can you grab her go bag Sev?” Matt called over his shoulder.

“On it.” Kelly replied, jogging toward the locker room.

Matt wasted no time in getting me to the bathroom. He sat me down on the counter and pulled my head back into his neck.

Herrmann came into the bathroom with a sprite in his hand. “Cindy used to have this problem. This outta help.” He said, placing the can on the other side of the sink. “I’ve got Mills running to get some popsicles too.”

“Thanks Chris.” Matt said. “You’re a good man.”

“Anything for her.” He said, rubbing my arm. “It’s gonna be okay. You just get to feeling better.” He then patted Matt on the shoulder. “Take care of my girl.”

“Always.” Matt said, turning and placing a kiss to my head as Herrmann walked out and Kelly walked in.

“Got your CFD hoodie.” Kelly said to Matt, “I got everything else out of her locker though. Toiletries and her clothes. Also grabbed your stuff too Case.” He said, putting everything on the counter. “Need anything else?”

“Nah.” Matt said, shaking his head as he looked around. “Just set some towels in here. I’m gonna shower with her. I don’t trust her balance.” He said, rubbing my back.

“Good man.” Kelly said, patting Matt on the back. “Holler if you need anything else.”

“Thanks Sev.” Matt said, watching the Squad lieutenant leave. Finally, he turned to face me. “Ready to get cleaned up?” He asked gently, pulling away to see my face.

“Then nap?” I murmured, pouting at my boyfriend.

“Nap and cuddles.” Matt confirmed, nodding his head.

With that confirmation, I was satisfied and found the strength to get cleaned up. After brushing my teeth and gargling twice, Matt helped me off the counter and to the showers. He sat me on the bench before striping and going in to turn on the water. With quick persuasion, Matt was able to talk me into the shower. He made promises to keep me steady and to sit me down if I needed it, seeing as Mills just finished scrubbing the showers.

Once under the water, which was a little cooler than I usually liked it, Matt kept a secure hold on my waist, leaned down and kissed my head, then adjusted me so that my back was getting the brunt of the shower.

“Mmmm.” I moaned, practically melting in Matt’s hold. “S’ nice.” I mumbled into Matt’s chest, pressing my forehead into it.

“I know baby.” Matt said. “We can stand here for a moment, but we need to get cleaned up and get you resting.” He said, reaching around me and engulfing me in a hug. “You just relax.” He whispered.

“Mkay.” I sighed, losing any fight I could have left.

When Matt noticed me getting heavier, he made quick work of washing my hair and body before calling Kelly.

Matt only trusted you with very few men, one of which was Kelly Severide. You all had made a quick bond when in the academy and Kelly picked you up off the floor more times than you could count, but that was before Matt. Matt didn’t like overstepping, but Kelly had no problems helping you out in a bind and was there for you in more ways at the beginning than Matt, but you knew it had to do with Haily and not because Matt didn’t like you, so you never let it affect your relationship now. Kelly knew his boundaries, even now, and was the one person you trust other than Matt.

Kelly walked into the bathroom and scooped you up in a towel. Once Kelly had the towel firmly secure, he took your microfiber head wrap towel and wrapped your hair up in it. Then, he helped guide you into Matt’s CFD hoodie and stayed with you leaning into his shoulder until Matt came out of the showers.

“Thanks Kelly.” Matt said. “One more favor.” Matt said, cringing slightly into himself. He hated asking for help, but you were pretty out of it at this point. “Mind getting more bags from Brett and Y/N’s fan from her bunk and taking it to my office?” He asked, pulling on his underwear and pants before trading with Kelly.

“Hey man.” Kelly said, taking Matt by the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. You guys are family. I’ve already got it all taken care of.” He smirked.

“You’re a life saver.” Matt said, turning and hugging Kelly once he was sure you wouldn’t fall over.

“I get that a lot.” Kelly laughed, the sound echoing behind the man as he walked to the door and exited the bathroom.

Matt helped me into some pants and left our stuff, claiming he’d get it all later, but knowing that someone else was probably waiting to come in behind you both and get everything situated. Once in his office, Matt laid me down near the edge of the bed, closed the blinds, and turned off the lights. He left the blinds connected to Kelly’s office window cracked enough to give him some light to see you, but also give Kelly a way to see if you and Matt needed help.

Once the fan was turned on and he was sure the radio was turned off and I didn’t need anything else, Matt crawled into the bed behind me, spooning me with an arm around my waist. He carefully rubbed my stomach and placed little kisses on the back of my neck.

“Get some rest baby.” Matt whispered, peppering my shoulder with kisses before leaning up and kissing my cheek. “I’m with you. We will get through this.”

Tag list:

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[artssslut2]

Unexpected: Part Five

Stanford!Art x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: You and Art find out the gender of your baby… and some other news.

You were 20 weeks pregnant now with your best friend Art Donaldsons baby, well now he was your boyfriend. Things were going well, you loved living at his families beach house, it really wasn’t so bad. After Art was done with tennis for the day and you were off work you would spend your evenings at the beach relaxing. Art was loving all your hormones because they usually made you want to fuck him three times a day. He was exhausted from it but didn’t mind. It felt like you were teenagers again, you’d sneak off from friends or do it in public. Everything was fitting into place now that you and Art had faced your feelings for each other. He would remind you one hindered times a day of how much he loved you. You and Art were waiting for the baby to kick, impatiently. Art wanted to be surprised with the gender he thought it would be fun. You agreed but now had second thoughts.

You laid in bed at night with your boyfriends head laying on your chest like a puppy and his hand over your little bump. A show played mindlessly in the background, you could feel art drifting to sleep. You couldn’t hold back your anxiety anymore you had to talk to him,

“Art?” You said quietly, Art shot his head up right away being pulled from his light slumber

“Yeah, what is it babe, do you need something?” He asked his eyes still closed. You giggled to yourself and brought a hand up to brush his curls away from his face

“No no, I just… I don’t think we should wait to find out the gender.” You said quickly trying to be cool about it but failing. Art didn’t say anything he just fluttered his eyes open. You held your breath, you thought he was going to be heartbroken over it for some reason

“Okay.” Is all he replied casually

“W-What are you sure?” You hesitated surprised at his response,

“If that’s what you want babe. Let’s find out tomorrow… is that it?” He said yawning, you chuckled at his response with relief.

“Yeah that’s all.” You smiled guiding his head back to your chest. You continued petting his hair and scratching his bare back. You smiled to yourself in contentment. You thought about how you once stuffed all feelings down for your best friend and couldn’t imagine this ever working out. Now here you were in bed together on a random Tuesday with a baby on the way. It almost made you tear up but that was just hormones.

You woke up to an empty bed, Art had left for his training. Over the summer you were packing in as many online classes as you could so you could hopefully graduate early. Whenever you could you would pick up CNA shifts wherever they were needed.

You walked into the kitchen to get something to eat before starting your classes for the day. You spotted a small note on the fridge.

“Sunny’s Bakery is delivering a cake at 2 with the gender inside. Love you. Order breakfast and put it on my card” it was arts slightly sloppy handwriting with a little heart at the bottom. You couldn’t hold back the hormone tears falling down your face at the thought of Art doing all that at the last minute for you. Now you were full on crying because you missed your boyfriend, which was silly of course. You had never been the clingy type but pregnancy you was a whole different you. You wanted to be inside Arts skin, if he would even leave the room and not tell you where he was going you would feel so sad. Art loved that you were acting more clingy because he is naturally clingy all the time.

You had worked through your latest mood swing and got ready for the day then got to work on your classes. You were so excited, you could hardly wait. Art finally got home a little after three, the cake sat on the kitchen counter untouched.

“Baby let’s do it right now!” You squealed jumping into his arms. Art laughed and set his bag down and grabbed you.

“Okay let me just shower quickly.” He told you, still all sweaty from practice. You frowned

“Artttt, I can’t wait anymore” you pouted looking at him with big eyes, Art kissed your forehead quickly then pulled away

“I’ll be five minutes. Promise.” Art told you while he went to the bathroom. You groaned out loud and flopped onto the couch.

Sure enough Art had been in the bathroom longer than five minutes, you got up to see where he was. You jiggled the bathroom door handle but it was locked

“Art? What’s taking so long…. And why is the door locked?” You shouted over the running water. He never locked the door in case you wanted to join him.

“Sorry babe I’ll be out in two seconds!” He said frantically. That was weird you thought but you let it go. Little did you know that art was trying to wrap a present for you but wasn’t doing too well because this was the first present he’s ever wrapped.

Finally Art was finished in the bathroom and came out into the kitchen with his hair still slightly damp. He kissed you and you could smell his minty soap and shampoo.

“Ready?” He smiled, he already knew the answer, you nodded eagerly and art chuckled. You got two glasses out, you and Art were both going to press down into the cake with them and lift them up to see if it was pink or blue inside. It was a sweet little intimate moment because you weren’t a fan of big parties.

“What do you think it is?” You asked him,

“I think it’s a girl.” He answered unsure of himself,

“Why?” You asked, you also thought it was but weren’t sure why,

“I don’t know I guess I’ve just kind of pictured a little girl running around. But either one is gonna be perfect.” He told you putting a hand on your stomach.

“Me too.” You said putting a hand over his.

“Let’s do this then” he said getting impatient, you both grabbed a glass

“Okay now don’t look, we will go on three” you instructed pushing his face in the opposite direction of the cake. He had a huge smile on his face the whole time. You looked at him for a minute, with love In your eyes and thought to yourself how much you loved him.

“1…2…3!” You counted together. You looked into each others eyes while you pushed into the cake.

“Okay now look” you giggled, you both looked and saw the color

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” You yelled with. Very shocked look on your face, you looked at Art who was in total shock.

“Y/N! I can’t believe it!” He said with tears in his eyes, he pulled you into him and his face buried in your shoulder as you squealed with excitement, you couldn’t believe it either.

“We’re having a girl art! A daughter.” You cried holding his face to yours, art had tears streaming down his face, “baby are you okay?” You giggled kissing his tears,

“Of course, I just- I’m-… I’ve never been this happy. I can’t believe that we’re having a baby. A baby girl” he cried while smiling, tears fell on your face too

“I know baby me too. I wouldn’t change a thing.” Saying this meant a lot to him because sometimes art wondered if you would rather have things the old way.

“I love you so much y/n y/l/n” he kissed your forehead then he bent down and kissed your belly. “You too little girl” he whispered then he stood up and pulled something out of his back pocket. “I got you something” he said handing you a small wrapped box. You opened you mouth in surprise. You smiled at him then opened it eagerly. You pulled a Tiffany’s jewelry box out then opened it. It was a necklace a gold necklace with a diamond heart. You gasped seeing it, it looked incredibly expensive but of course you didn’t care about that. “Art.” You spoke in a gasp, he was smiling from ear to ear

“Take it out” he smiled, you carefully lifted it up and saw something engraved on the back, you looked and saw “♾️ & beyond” in tiny print. It was a reference to you and Arts favorite movie as kids, Toy Story. Tears prickled your eyes again and you looked up and him,

“I just wanted to thank you for giving me the best gift in the world” he told you “But I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my life.” You were full on crying now,

“Art you can’t do this to me when I’m so hormonal” you sobbed into his chest and he laughed, stroking your hair. He took the necklace from you and put it on you. You kissed him with passion. You and Arts hands fell to your bump.

“We’re gonna have a little girl” you told him smiling. He looked over to the empty cake box with the label on it “Sunny’s Bakery”

“You know… Sunny is kind of a cute name” he smirked

“No way.” You laughed, as you shook your head then Arts phone rang. It was his coach so he stepped out to answer. You licked frosting off your finger and thought about the name Sunny. Maybe it was kind of cute you thought to yourself.

Art came back into the room but didn’t look thrilled, he had a weird look on his face.

“Whats wrong, what did he say” you asked walking over to him. Art paused and took a breath,

“He said I’m going on tour next month.” Both of your faces dropped.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

hi hello I love your writing

maybe you could do that Donna and reader are already in a relationship but nobody knows. but they have to stay Dimitrescus castle and after a couple days Daniela wants to play matchmaker with Donna and reader. After a few attempts and failing to get her sisters involved Daniela feels so confident that she’s making progress with her matchmaking and reader and Donna think it’s funny and play along. Of course soon after Daniela breaks into readers room bc she thinks there’s another woman in her bed but it’s Donna.

Yes!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))

Matchmaking

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word count: 5,531

Summary:  A storm made you to stay at the Dimitrescu castle with your secret girlfriend.... What could go wrong?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Cherries, oranges...” You said quietly, reviewing the order you always brought to the castle. No matter how long you had been the village's fruit supplier, you still didn't get used to being treated with respect among the Lords. “I think everything is there.”

The maid accompanying you glanced at the baskets and nodded with a smile.

“The lady says that the apples you brought last week were excellent,” young Ingrid commented, making your pride fly through the air.

“Oh, that's good, I guess,” you commented amused, crossing off the tasks completed in your small notebook.

“Of course, (Y/N), I highly doubt you'd still be here if they weren't,” the maid laughed, amused. You blinked, feeling a knot in your stomach. Sometimes you forgot who you worked for.

“Yeah...” You sighed, picking up a small one with homemade jams.

“It was a joke,” the girl said, embarrassed for having reminded you that one mistake and all the blood in your body would disappear. You smiled and nodded understandingly, before the creaking of the door caught your attention.

“Oh, Lady Beneviento,” the maid said bowing politely to the black figure that entered the warehouse.

The mystery woman nodded and you had to try hard to hide a smile and the rapid beating of your heart.

“Ingrid,” you said, drawing the attention of the maid, who was still crestfallen, intimidated by the presence of the doll maker. “You should inform Alcina of her arrival, right?” You asked, raising an eyebrow, to which the young woman nodded profusely, leaving the warehouse.

You looked at the door to see that the maid had left and approached the lady in black, who also seemed a bit nervous.

“You honor me with your presence,” you whispered, biting your lip and taking a cherry from the basket, walking petulantly towards the lady, who laughed shyly under her veil. “You should try this… It is one of the best I have ever delivered.”

With the smile not leaving your face, you reached under the black veil, popping the cherry into the lady's mouth, who laughed again, reaching out to reach your hand and hold it, swaying.

After looking at both sides, checking that no one was there, you approached slowly, lifting the black veil and kissing the Lord’s lips slowly, something that made her gasp and bring her hands to your face, walking erratically until your back collided with a wall.

“Have you missed me, Donna?” You asked lovingly, contemplating her beauty, the beauty of her smile. She nodded, before attacking your lips again with a slightly rougher, more eager kiss.

“Did you think about what I proposed to you?” She asked in a low voice, lowering her hands to your waist.

You smiled even wider and pretended to roll your eyes.

“I don't know... Leaving my filthy cabin to live in a mansion with the woman of my life...” You murmured, hanging from her neck, soaking yourself in her lavender perfume.

“What do you have to think?! Say yes and let's go to the castle, I want to play with the girls,” the Angie doll said, impatiently tugging at her owner's dress.

“Angie, you always have to ruin the romance, huh?” You protested, shaking your head. The lady's pale hand diverted your gaze back to her, who was waiting for your response even more impatiently than the doll.

“So? What do you say, tesoro?” She asked again, approaching your lips.

“Mm, if you call me tesoro again, I won't think too much about it,” you joked, caressing her cheek and making her bite her lip.

“I can call you more things...” She whispered in your ear, leaning her body against yours in that cold warehouse.

“What kind of things?” You asked back, trying not to get too hot. The lady in black opened her mouth to say something that would probably send shivers down your spine, but she regretted it when footsteps began to be heard in the snow.

“Oh, it smells like a maid,” you murmured, kissing the back of her hand and turning away from her just as Ingrid entered the room again.

“Lady Dimitrescu is waiting for you, Lady Beneviento,” she said with heavy breathing. “And for you too, (Y/N).”

You both nodded and followed the young woman up the hill that led to the castle.

It seemed crazy, unlikely, but the trust the village Lords had placed in you had unforeseen consequences.

You were used to walking to the distant estate on your errands and it didn't take you too long to get used to Donna Beneviento. Strange, disturbed and... A terribly beautiful woman.

The visits became longer and longer, until finally, that curiosity you felt was relieved, you saw her face hidden and immediately afterwards, you showed that you felt something for her with a kiss. The feeling was reciprocal, obviously, something you sensed from her nervous way of speaking to you and those eternal teas that seemed to have no end.

It could be great news, that love you were waiting for, but, even if it was, and you were convinced that it was, there were still small formalities to clarify.

Donna was shy, too shy. For some reason no one but you, well, and Angie, knew about your relationship. Maybe out of fear that Mother Miranda wouldn't approve it, or maybe because Donna didn't want to tell anyone because... Well, you didn't know why exactly. You didn't care, you were okay with it and besides, you didn't want to be the center of rumors in the village, at least until you moved in with her, which was already imminent.

“Why is my sister waiting for you?” The lady in black asked with that tone that showed the jealousy she felt. You couldn't blame her. Until she met you, she was terribly lonely. It wasn't her fault that she didn't know exactly how human relationships worked.

You looked at her out of the corner of your eyes, suppressing the urge to take her hand, and pointed to the small basket you were carrying.

“Jam,” you whispered always careful for the maid to not hear you. Donna was very good at it but you... Not so much.

“You've never brought jam to me,” Donna protested, you assumed, looking at you curiously.

“When I move in with you, I'll do it every day,” you whispered, moving your hand so it brushed hers, causing another shy laugh to come out of her veil. “Which flavor is your favorite?”

“Mm, well, I...” She began to whisper, before a terrible crash interrupted her. It seemed like thunder.

“Uh, oh... It looks bad,” you said, looking at the black clouds in the sky, which had abruptly darkened it. Donna looked up and extended her hand to check if it was raining.

“I don't think it's raining,” you said, resuming your walk before, as if it were a shower, a thin curtain of water began to bathe you. “Oh, wow…”

“Let's go inside, quickly!” Ingrid screamed, now running up the hill.

You both nodded and, picking up the Angie doll from the ground, you ran towards the castle before getting completely wet.

“For Gods’ sake...” You said, helping the maid to close the doors. The rain was merciless and tireless. “Thank goodness this was my last assignment.”

Donna nodded, checking that her dress hadn't gotten too wet.

“Are you okay Don... I mean, Lady Beneviento?” You asked, correctly placing the veil of the woman in black, who discreetly nodded.

“It seems that the storm has caught you,” a deep voice said, Alcina Dimitrescu, who was waiting for you at the entrance, with a seductive smile, as always.

“Yes, my lady,” the maid said, bowing her head. The lady in white smiled and directed her gaze towards you.

“(Y/N), punctual as always,” she murmured with that sensual tone, making Donna couldn't help but cough to let out a little of her annoyance. “Donna, you have come too…”

“Yes, my lady... The jam,” you said kindly, glancing askance at the jealous lady in black and bringing the basket to Alcina.

The lady of the castle picked it up and looked inside with a satisfied smile.

“Good job, little bird,” she told you with a subtle, but terribly seductive gesture.

“Um, yeah, I...Okay, I'm leaving,” you said nervously, not wanting to prolong poor and insecure Donna's suffering any longer.

“Why are you such in a hurry?” Alcina asked mockingly. “It's raining heavily out there. I wouldn't want anything to happen to my favorite fruit supplier. Besides, Donna and I were going to have tea, weren't we?”

“Be careful about what you say, sister, (Y/N) is...” Angie hissed, pointing an accusing wooden finger at the lady in white, who raised her eyebrows.

“Angie, shut up,” Donna snapped.

“Yes, yes, shut up, you kind of talking furniture... The girls are already in the room, I'm sure you have a lot of things to talk to them about,” Alcina said, ignoring that curious threat that caused you to blush. “Anyway, will you come with me, ladies?”

The two of you walked in silence through the corridors of the castle. It wasn't the first time you stayed there drinking tea and avoiding Alcina's flirtation, but of course, Donna didn't know that.

“My lady, the tapestries you commissioned for,” a maid said, interrupting your walk, giving you an opportunity to ask Donna a question that made you tremble.

“Angie's not going to snitch, is she?” You whispered, getting closer to the lady in black, who was maintaining a stoic pose. She looked at you briefly and shook her head.

“No, you can be sure,” Donna whispered with that soft, hoarse voice that made your heart calm down.

“You're talking behind my back, huh?” Alcina interrupted, amused, making you both immediately stand at attention, comically shaking your head, serving only to make the tall lady laugh sinisterly.

That tea was strange. The sound of rain bounced against the glass while the clock on the wall emphasized your boredom. In another corner of the room, the Dimitrescu sisters' laughter with Angie bounced off the walls. You liked them, and you wouldn't have minded spending that time with them instead of sitting in silence over a cup of tea.

“Well, now I really have to go,” you said, finishing your cup in one gulp and getting up from the couch.

“Don't be stupid, (Y/N), it's still raining,” Alcina muttered, lighting a cigarette.

You looked at Donna looking for some complicity. Like every afternoon, your daily romantic dinner awaited.

“Yes, I... I'm leaving too,” the lady in black said, standing up next to you, earning you a curious and suspicious look from Alcina.

“What are you two up to?” She asked curiously, studying your trembling posture.

“Nothing,” you said in unison, sounding even more suspicious. Alcina stood up, approaching in an intimidating manner and leaning down to look at you closer, looking for something that would give you away. You knew that the lady of the castle was anything but naive.

“Then stop acting like you do and put your asses on the couch. No one leaves. The storm is getting worse and dangerous. I will tell the maids to make dinner. Tonight you will stay here.”

“But, but...” Donna murmured, nervous.

“No buts, Donna. If Mother Miranda finds out I left my youngest sister alone in such a terrible storm she will punish me by having to put up with that idiot Heisenberg at the next meeting. And as for you... (Y/N), I'm not going to put those delicious jams in danger.”

The two of you looked at each other and shrugged, sitting back down as the lady in white disappeared with an elegant step.

“I think she knows, Donna,” you murmured, eyes glued to the door.

“You think so?” She asked, getting closer, but keeping the distance, with that tone and that discreet look.

“If she doesn’t, what does that mean?” You insisted. She shrugged again.

“Well, so what if she knows?” Donna asked, with a slightly firmer tone. Of course, if Alcina suspected that there was something between you two, the shadow of Donna’s jealousy would disappear from her mind. It wasn't such a bad thing.

“You're jealous, huh?” You joked, giving your lover a nudge that startled her, making her shake the head in an exaggerated way.

“No,” she said dryly, giving herself away.

“Yes, yes, you are...” You hummed, moving closer.

“Stai zitto...” She murmured, crossing her arms, avoiding your gaze.

“You see? You've gotten nervous,”  you mocked, raising and lowering your eyebrows. She shook her head again.

“You make me nervous, (Y/N),” she protested, just before your little game was interrupted by an irritating porcelain puppet.

“Aren't we going home?” Angie asked, curiously.

“No, Angie. We'll stay here tonight,” her owner explained, still breathing hard from that conversation.

“Good!” The doll celebrated. “(Y/N), do you play poker?” She asked you, pulling at your clothes.

“Bet lei with a bunch of bloodsucking flies? What a plan...” You joked, standing up, but not before winking at your girlfriend, who shivered angrily at your teasing.

The three Dimitrescu sisters were… Curious. They may have seemed like three normal girls, but they weren't. They could terrify anyone. But fortunately, they always liked you and that gave you a certain sense of immunity.

Time passed and the coins went from one place to another on the old carpet. As if looking for a miracle, from time to time your head turned towards the window, hoping that it would stop raining. Luck did not smile on you in that regard.

“I'm bored...” Daniela Dimitrescu protested, plopping down on the sofa next to Donna, after having lost countless games.

“That's because you're a loser,” Bela, another of the sisters, murmured, studying her cards cautiously. You smiled knowingly.

“Cass, tell her something, she called me a loser again,” the girl protested, sitting upright and squeezing her fists.

“We can deny the truth, Dani. Don't you think so, (Y/N)?” The most serene of the three, Cassandra, told you. You smiled, but shook your head, placing your cards down.

“I prefer not to say anything. I like the blood running through my veins,” you joked, sighing, hoping again for a miracle so the rain would disappear. It didn’t do it.

“Let's play something different,” Daniela interrupted again.

“What?” You asked, studying the traps of your playmates. You knew that with them, it was impossible to win, but, to see how they tried to trick, amused you.

“Hide and seek?” Angie asked, excitedly, which made your body shake with terror. No, not again...

The young Dimitrescu's gaze was directed towards Donna, who was sewing calmly, without disturbing, as absent as ever. A sinister smile caught her attention as the girl approached her, wrapping her shoulders.

“Let's play to find a girlfriend for Aunt Donna,” Daniela said, without any shame. The lady in black stirred, trying to get out of her grasp without success.

“Oh, come on, Dani. Leave her alone,” Cassandra protested, shaking her head.

“It can be funny, don't you think?” The young Dimitrescu sang, looking at you in a funny way. You had to hold back your laughter.

“Yes, yes, a girlfriend... Doesn't that sound fun, (Y/N)?” Angie said in a dark voice, looking at you psychotically.

“Shut up, Angie,” you growled, trying not to let the rest to find out. The doll laughed irritatingly and ran to the lap of her owner, who was surely wishing that the earth would swallow her.

“If Aunt Donna wants to be alone, you have to respect that, Dani,” Bela said. “Don't you think, (Y/N)?”

“Of course,” you said, your voice trembling from the attack of laughter that threatened to give you away.

“But that's very boring!” Daniela shouted, shaking your girlfriend by her shoulders. “Wouldn't you like to have a girlfriend, Aunt Donna?”

“Um, I...” The lady in black stammered, crumpling the fabric she was sewing in her hands.

“Mother says that someone to warm your bed always comes in handy,” young vampire said the, making you have to cough to hide a laugh.

“Daniela!” The other two sisters screamed, annoyed by her sister's impudence.

“(Y/N), you were single, right?” The girl asked, approaching you and releasing poor Donna from her grasp.

“Me? Yes, I’m...” You whispered, starting to be uncomfortable in that situation.

“Oh... Interesting, come on,” Daniela said, pulling your wrist to get you up and dragging you to the couch and sitting next to the lady in black, who moved to get away from your body, which she didn't want to do.

“Aunt Donna, (Y/N). (Y/N), Aunt Donna,” Daniela said, pointing at you in a kind of strange introduction. “Come on, come on, shake your hands.”

With the black veil covering her face to know her expression was impossible, but the most sensible thing was to obey that curious order. You reached out your hand towards hers and shook it half-heartedly, noticing how poor Donna was already starting to sweat.

“Well, you know each other,” Daniela said, satisfied, nodding and sitting in an armchair in front of you.

“We already knew each other, Daniela,” you said amused, leaning back on the couch with a curious look.

“Did you? Well, This is even better,” she responded, putting her legs up on the couch and sitting down childishly.

“Daniela…. Leave them alone…” Bela protested. “Mother is going to be angry…”

“Shut up, you boring thing!” Her sister screeched in response. “Aunt Donna, did you know that (Y/N) makes some delicious jams?”

Donna looked at you and then nodded.

“I had heard something about it,” the doll maker whispered, with an almost imperceptible voice. The vampire smiled pleased at the answer and put on a thoughtful look.

“(Y/N), did you know that Donna cooks very well?” She asked you, making an indiscreet smile appear on your face, nodding slowly.

“I had heard something about it,” you whispered, imitating your lover's response, something that surely made her laugh behind that horrible veil.

“Well, it's clear isn't it? You know, jam, cooking... The two things together could be interesting,” Daniela commented, as if she really didn't know what she meant. She wasn't the best matchmaker, of course, but you had to admit this kind of game was pretty interesting.

“I guess so,” you said amused, glancing at the lady in black, who seemed more relaxed.

“Yes, yes, that's the spirit!” Daniela said satisfied, joining her hands.

“Daniela, you're going to...” Cassandra murmured.

The young woman ignored her sister's protests and continued looking at you curiously, looking for a way to get you to agree on something. In reality you did, you both loved each other madly.

Daniela got up from the armchair, pacing from side to side. The Angie doll had serious problems holding back her laughter, just like you. The young woman approached you, perching on the couch and holding your chin so you could look at the woman in black.

“Look, Donna. (Y/N) is a pretty girl, right?” She asked with a childish voice, seductive at the same time.

The lady in black stared at you for a moment, you assumed with that tender look, that look that made you fall completely in love with her.

“She is,” Donna whispered in a scandalously low volume, but perceptible to Daniela, who smiled widely, letting you free from her too-strong grip.

“Well, I... I have never seen Aunt Donna’s face. I don't know what she looks like, but Mother told me that...” The young Dimitrescu murmured confused by having to explain the beauty of Donna that you weren’t supposed to know.

“That's enough,” Bela said, getting up from the floor and dragging her sister away from the couch under your watchful gaze. “Dani, you already know that Aunt Donna is very sensitive, mother says that she can suffer a crisis if we are not careful with what we say.”

“It doesn't matter. It's okay,” Donna herself interrupted, to the astonishment and triumph of the two sisters.

You were also surprised by that reaction. You didn't think it was possible, but she seemed to be enjoying this curious conversation.

“I'm sure she's a beautiful woman... The most beautiful woman in the world...” You whispered tenderly, leaning towards Donna, who laughed shyly.

You couldn't see it, but you were sure that behind that black fabric, there were rosy cheeks.

“You see? You see? It's working,” Daniela said, with a tone of victory, curing her tongue mockingly at her sister, who rolled her eyes, lying down again on the floor next to Cassandra.

“The only thing that will work is mother's punishment when she finds out that you are playing with your aunt and the fruit girl,” Cassandra murmured, laughing amused.

Daniela protested by stamping her feet on the floor, but she immediately relaxed, turning towards you again.

“Don't call her fruit girl,” she protested, “She'll be your aunt too.”

You covered your mouth to hide your laughter and took advantage of that small moment of distraction to caress Donna's hand discreetly, which made her shiver and return the caress slowly, running a finger along the back of your hand.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say...” Cassandra whispered, listlessly.

“Oh, look Dani, look!” Angie shouted, pointing to your clasped hands, causing you to separate instantly. “How cute!”

“Damn devilish doll,” you hissed, embarrassed, even more when the young Dimitrescu's face lit up.

“Keep going, keep going, you were doing very well,” she commented happily, joining your hands again. “Wow, I must have an innate talent…”

“Yes, for the problems,” Bela murmured, shaking her head.

“They were caressing their hands!” Daniela shouted, hitting her sister on the head, who looked at her furiously.

“Angie, shut up now,” you growled at the puppet, who sat between you, swinging her legs. The doll just tilted her head, thus saying that she didn't plan to do it.

“They like each other, I'm sure,” Daniela protested, engaged in a ridiculous fight with her sister. “You’re envious.”

“Envious? Come down from the clouds, little sister,” Bela said, fighting with her sister in a comical way.

“What a mess we made, huh, darling?” You whispered to your girlfriend, who nodded in amusement while your hand rested on her cheek, underneath the black fabric.

“Stop that now!” Cassandra shouted, trying to separate the vampires.

“Fight, fight, fight!” Angie encouraged, paying more attention to the fight, and not to your discreet caresses.

“Girls!” A deep voice interrupted that chaos, Alcina. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing, mother,” they said agitatedly, standing at attention in front of her mother, but not before elbowing each other several times.

“Well... Ladies, dinner is served,” Alcina said elegantly, gesturing for you to get up.

Again, and followed by the three sisters and a couple of maids, you walked through the corridors, heading towards the dining room.

“(Y/N)?” A familiar voice asked, putting a hand on your shoulder. A maid, an old friend of yours surprised you, just when you were going to whisper something to your girlfriend.

“Mihaela, nice to see you,” you said with a smile, causing the lady in black to stop, turning around curiously.

“Yes, well, I've been in the castle for quite some time now and...” She began to explain, grabbing your arms affectionately, before a black cloud pounced on you.

“No, stay back!” Daniela screeched, as she materialized and pushed the maid out of your reach, sticking her tongue out at her. “Out, out, out,” she repeated, making the maid turn away, bow her head, and run away.

“Hey, she was my friend,” you protested, letting yourself be guided back to Donna, who was waiting patiently for you.

“No friends, (Y/N),” the young Dimitrescu said, taking your arm and wrapping it in that of the woman in black, who sighed... Satisfied?

“How good it has been for you,” You joked, without letting her arm go, walking in front of Daniela, who was watching you tirelessly.

“Who was that cagna?” She asked hatefully, whispering with a clenched fist. Jealousy again.

“A friend, Donna. She was my best friend for a while,” you explained, trying to make your words only audible to her. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Well, ladies, take a seat,” Alcina said, spreading her arms on the dining room table.

“Here, here (Y/N)!”Daniela screamed, gesturing for you to go over there, right to the chair next to Donna’s, how predictable.

With a comically chivalrous gesture, the young Dimitrescu sat you in the chair, under the furious and attentive gaze of her sisters.

The dinner was silent, despite Daniela's continuous glances, as she sat mysteriously in front of you, studying each of your gestures.

“Lady Dimitrescu, would you be so kind as to bring me the wine?” You asked kindly. As the lady nodded and grabbed the bottle, the rebellious hand of her daughter interrupted her.

“Wait, mother,” Daniela said, offering the wine to Donna. “Come on, Aunt Donna, (Y/N) wants more wine.”

Alcina looked at her with a frown as the lady in black, with trembling hands, poured some wine into your glass.

“Thank you, doll face...” You whispered, making the bottle almost slip through her sweaty hands.

“What are you playing now, Daniela?” The lady of the castle asked, oblivious to the hand that slid under the table, your hand in Donna's, calming her nerves with soft caresses.

“Aunt Donna and (Y/N) like each other, mother. I think that thanks to me they can be…” the young vampire explained, which caused a laugh from her sister Cassandra.

“Oh, is it true?” The lady asked in a dark voice, as if somehow your suspicions were true and she had known about you for a long time, which was quite likely.

“It's Daniela, mother, she's been bothering Aunt Donna and (Y/N) all the time,” Bela complained, with a look of superiority.

“I haven't bothered them, I'm sure they'll fall in love,” Daniela said, getting up from the table. Alcina continued watching you in a funny way.

“What stupid things my girls say, right, ladies?” Alcina asked in a soft voice, with that sinister smile.

“Yes, yes...” Donna murmured, not letting your hand go under the table.

Finally, and after an uncomfortable and funny dinner at the same time, it was time to sleep. The storm had not let up all the time, the idea of ​​​​spending a night, perhaps a special one with Donna had long since disappeared from your head.

“There, (Y/N), you will stay in that bedroom. Surely inside you will find something to wear,” the lady of the castle told you, opening the door of an old room.

“Thank you, my lady,” you said kindly, wanting to get into bed and forget that day, well, think about that day.

“Donna, you'll stay in this one, okay?” The lady in white murmured, opening the door in front of yours.

Your girlfriend nodded slowly.

“Do me a favor, ladies...” Alcina murmured, walking slowly, turning to look at you over her shoulder. “Don't make too much noise, I'm a light sleeper.”

“What?” You asked when the lady turned the corner.

“She knows, now I'm sure,” Donna said, nervously playing with her hands.

“Well, it doesn't matter,” you said, gently grabbing them, playing with them, getting closer to her.

“What a day, huh?” You joked, passing your hand under her veil, caressing her hot cheek from due to the blush. She nodded, linking her hand to yours.

“Maybe we should tell everyone,” she commented.

“Yes, maybe, before Daniela undresses us and puts us in a bed,” you joked, making Donna step back, overwhelmed by that insinuation.

“Well, I hope that doesn't happen,” she stammered, revealing her nervousness about the step you had not yet taken in your relationship.

“Do you? Well, I partly wish so...” You whispered seductively, lifting her veil and kissing her tenderly on the lips. “Anyway, good night, Donna.”

“Good night.”

You got into bed going over the events of the day. The lightning illuminated the room and the rain from the glass accentuated how sinister it was to be in that castle. You smiled, amused by Daniela's attitude towards you. According to Donna, she had been doing that kind of things for a while.

A noise at the door, a few silent knocks, caught your attention, causing your heart to beat quickly, scared.

“(Y/N), open the door, it's me,” the unmistakable accent and the softness of Donna's voice sent a flow of relief to your body, making you discreetly open it so the lady in black could pass by, already with her hair down and a kind of sleeping dress.

“What are you doing here at this hour, miss?” You asked amused, hanging on to her neck and attacking her mercilessly with your kisses. She laughed gasping for your tireless kisses, for all those kisses you would have given her if it weren't for that stupid storm.

“I wanted to see you,” Donna explained, pulling you onto the bed and getting into it.

“See me? What's wrong, are you cold?” You asked jokingly, joining her under her covers.

“My life is very cold without you,” she whispered affectionately, being the one who kissed you at that moment, enjoying the warmth of your bodies under the sheets.

“Mmm,” you purred, moved by her almost sickly romanticism. “Say it again, but in Italian...” she asked playfully. Donna laughed and leaned closer to your ear.

“La mia vita è molto fredda senza di te,” she whispered in your ear, making you suppress a moan at those seductive words.

“Do it again,” you asked amused, kissing her neck and causing her shyness to come to light with small laughs that you imagined weren't so scandalous.

“La mia...” She couldn't finish the sentence as your kisses attacked her again, turning that old room in the castle into a hot and lustful, anxious and hungry environment.

“Wait, (Y/N),” she said, catching her breath when your playful hands lifted her dress, letting it fall next to yours. “Our first time can't be... Here.”

“Why not?” You asked, running your hands along her bare back, also getting rid of her bra. Donna didn't seem to mind.

“It would have to be special,” she said, playing with yours, sending it flying, unable to suppress her desire.

“A huge castle under the light of lightning is not special enough?” You asked, running your hands over her chest, continuing to caress her. Her smile was all you needed to continue.

After a few gasps, rolling around fighting for supremacy in that small bed, something made you stop.

“What's happening?” Donna asked, looking around her, nervous.

“I think, I think I’ve heard...” You whispered, getting off your lover and turning on the small light on your table.

“Gotcha!” Daniela Dimitrescu rushed to the bed with a cloud of flies, making you both cover yourself, especially Donna.

“What the hell...?” You asked, pulling the sheets to cover your nakedness while Daniela looked for clues throughout the room, grabbing a black bra from the floor, one that wasn't yours.

“What does this mean, (Y/N)?” Daniela said, with an accusatory tone, throwing the garment in your face with contempt.

“Wait, let me...”

“No! I spent the afternoon making you and my aunt fall in love! And what do you do? To get into bed with a whore maid,” She said furiously, clenching her fists on both sides of her waist.

“I think you're wrong,” you said with relative calm, inevitably smiling.

“I'm thinking of telling Donna. You're going to make her cry and you'll pay for that,” Daniela said before leaving the room, making your girlfriend leave her hiding place and peek out of the sheets, sitting next to you.

“Daniela, wait,” she said with a broken, but confident voice.

“Don't dare to give orders to me, you bitch! You're going to...” The vampire squealed, stamping her feet on the ground until she got a good look at your companion. “Aunt Donna… Is that you?”

She nodded, searching for her black veil, forgetting that she hadn't brought it.

“Wow... You are more beautiful than mother had told us,” Daniela whispered, approaching and sitting on the bed, embarrassingly close to your naked bodies.

“There is no maid,” you said, covering your girlfriend better, who was trembling because of her nerves.

Daniela’s shocked face changed to one of happiness, hugging you both awkwardly.

“I knew! I knew it would work!” She screamed, squeezing you tightly. “You'll see when I tell my sisters, they're going to be tired of apologizing,” she said triumphantly, separating to your relief and walking towards the door. “I’m the best. Knock knock, who is it? The best couple creator in history, the infallible, the only, the inimitable Daniela...”

Her words were lost as she walked out of the room, still flattering herself.

“Um... Maybe we should tell her that...” You said amused, scratching the back of your neck.

“She seems happy,” Donna said, resting her head on your shoulder, forgetting about that embarrassing moment.

“You're right. Let's let her enjoy her victory. Besides, tomorrow is a hard day. You'll have to help me with the move, my dear Donna...”

[ghcstao3]

Ghost goes to the bar to drink to Soap's memory where he finds... Soap? Only he is there to drink in the memory of Ghost. Neither of them have any idea of how and why, but they aren't protesting. It's nice to see a familiar face as they mourn together.

cw for unhealthy coping mechanisms

it’s also just kind of. sad 🧍‍♀️my fault for writing memory loss

-

Ghost knows it isn’t a healthy decision but it’s… about the only way he can stand thinking about it. Thinking about Soap.

Because really, drinking is a barrier. It’s said it removes inhibitions, and sure, that’s true—but it also provides a filter for his grief whether or not he runs his tongue, and that obstacle before a feeling such as mourning is all he needs. It’s all Ghost craves, in a sense.

There’s no world worth existing in peace without Soap.

As per a new and frowned-upon routine by Price, Ghost seeks out a new bar or pub to drown nagging thoughts and lingering memories until it’s time to go home and fail to fall asleep sober yet again. Ghost isn’t proud of himself in the slightest, knows he’s ruining everything Soap had rekindled in him, but it’s too late to care.

He’s alone again. He’s nothing more than the shell of a man again.

But then, maybe three or four drinks in (Ghost doesn’t know, he’s long since stopped counting during his outings), someone slips into the stool beside him and flags down the bartender. This isn’t a major revelation or anything, it’s just… strange. No one has ever dared be in close proximity with Ghost in his time mourning.

Ghost can’t find it in himself to care, though. Not until this new person speaks, and it feels as if the haze of alcohol over Ghost’s mind evaporates in an instant.

He snaps his gaze to the man beside him, wondering if he’d just been imagining things, but no—it’s Soap, somehow. The very man Ghost came here to forget. To remember.

Before Ghost gets the chance to say something, Soap seems to catch his eye and turns to face him. He offers a bright smile, though it’s nothing quite as blinding as it had once been.

Soap’s grown out his beard and his skin’s a little sallow, and not to mention the grisly scar at his temple—but it’s still Soap. Certainly not healthy, but… alive.

“What brings you here, handsome?” Soap is asking, gently nudging Ghost’s shoulder.

Ghost wants to scoff. He wants to both tease and scold Soap for flirting with him just as Ghost is only learning that Soap isn’t dead, but he doesn’t.

Instead, Ghost treads warily. He plays into whatever game this is supposed to be.

“I’m grieving,” Ghost tells him flatly.

“Oh.” Soap’s face falls. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Ghost shrugs, though his heart is in his throat. Is this some kind of a joke?

The bartender delivers Soap’s drink, and Soap doesn’t offer more than a nod of acknowledgement.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Soap says, slowly tracing the rim of his glass, “I’m… also grieving.”

At this, Ghost cocks an eyebrow. Something feels… off, about what Soap is saying, but inebriated, Ghost just can’t quite put a finger on it.

“…well, maybe grieving is the wrong word,” Soap mumbles. “I don’t… I don’t know if he’s dead, but I—I don’t remember him. I don’t remember him, but I know he was important to me, so… it only feels right.”

And isn’t that bitter.

Here Ghost mourns a man he loved, and when he learns said man is still alive—he doesn’t even remember Ghost.

But Ghost has already dug his grave. He’s already miserable. So all he can do is torture himself further.

“Tell me about him,” Ghost suggests. “What you think you know.”

Soap looks at him in a way that hurts, but Ghost listens anyway when he begins talking. When he begins recounting the tiniest details, vague memories that seem too foggy to have been truly lived by himself. Soap orders a second drink at some point, and Ghost his fourth (or fifth).

That’s when Soap suddenly cuts himself off, completely angling himself toward Ghost. Ghost acts like he doesn’t notice Soap almost reaching out to set a hand on his forearm.

“—you know what… you look really familiar.” Soap is frowning, brows furrowed like he’s trying to piece something together. “Have we met before?”

And because Ghost is a cruel man, he just shakes his head. Offers nothing more than a curt, “No, we haven’t.”

Soap sighs, almost disappointed. “Well, in that case—I’m John.”

Ghost peers down at the hand Soap holds out to be shaken, but he can’t budge from his spot to hold it. He’s almost… afraid of the touch, like the contact might reveal to him that Soap isn’t really here at all.

Soap gets the hint eventually, though he isn’t at all deterred. Especially not when Ghost supplies him, “Simon.”

“Simon,” Soap echoes, expression drifting far away for just a moment. Nearly reminiscing. “I like that.”

Ghost huffs, something that could be interpreted as a laugh by a certain someone, once upon a time.

Soap clinks his glass against Ghost’s before downing the rest of his drink. He bumps Ghost with his elbow, teasing.

“To mourning,” Soap explains.

Ghost nods. Hums, “To mourning indeed, Johnny.”

He pretends not to notice the curious look that crosses Soap’s face at the use of the nickname.

Ghost already has more than enough to process first.

[greenqueenhightower]

Alicent's Moon Tea—Analysis:

The scene opens with Alicent examining the dragon that has come to signify her union with Viserys.

Back in 1x02, Alicent visits the King in his chamber and they have a conversation about the legacy of Old Valyria. Viserys holds this little dragon statuette in his hands and he drops it by mistake.

Later in the same episode, she has it mended and presents it to him as a gift.

This gesture meant so much to Viserys that a few scenes later, we see him playing with it as he contemplates his choice of wife. In the same episode, he affirms his decision to marry Alicent before his council.

In 2x04, Alicent contemplates her life choices as she observes the little dragon that bound her to Viserys. She slides her finger over the crack she mended for him. He has kept it all these years, so why didn't he love her or her children? She keeps it as a reminder of how young and naive she was to think she would learn to love him in time.

It is early in the morning and Alicent has asked for moon tea. She is expecting it any moment as she is lost in reverie about her conversation with Rhaenyra and her discovery that what she thought was Viserys' display of care and affection towards her and Aegon was a lie. She is in a sensitive but also empowering state of mind. The door opening startles her. The Grand Maester is here. She drops the dragon statuette, which breaks again into two pieces. The bond is severed beyond repair.

She now has two difficult decisions to make.

She greets the Maester and says she will deliver the moon tea discreetly. The Maester meaningfully pauses and says: “do report if the... recipient has any need of remedy,” suspecting she will use it herself and basically advising her to seek his aid in case things go horribly wrong and she needs treatment. Yet Alicent is building that wall around her ever more secure and tight: “I shall observe the girl closely.” He needs to understand that she is not the recipient.

An awkward pause follows when the Maester stares at her—he is not so easily convinced but she is the Queen so he ought not inquire further. He starts to leave. And then Alicent does something intriguing: she stops him to inquire about Viserys.

Is this a ruse, a bluff, a subterfuge? Does she want to make the Maester believe that she will not be attending the council they have together in a few minutes because she is too occupied with thoughts about her husband? How will she excuse her absence to him? Surely, when she fails to appear at the council meeting he will suspect that she has drunk the moon tea.

"Do you believe Viserys wanted Aegon to succeed him?" she asks. Does she really want to know his answer to that question, or does she merely want him to view her as exhausted, distraught, and too burdened by the recent events? Alicent knows that no one can answer this question with certainty. So what is she aiming at? She is willing to let him ascribe her a weakness that governs her frame of mind in order to control him. She is manipulating him.

Alicent expertly diverts his attention elsewhere, away from the moon tea. Now her absence can be justified. She is pensive and downcast because of her increasing concern regarding Aegon’s ascension and his fitness to rule. Alicent is playing the game.

After he is gone, she picks up the jar and touches her belly one time. She has made her mind up. “This is it, this baby has to go,” is as if she's telling herself. She is self-assured and certain of her decision at that moment. Her body finally belongs to her, and this is how she can prove it to herself. She drinks the moon tea and she is fully aware of the dangers involved but she has the abortion anyway.

For the first time, she weaves the threads of her own narrative, as she controls her image and her body.

[b-o-e]

the plan

Wally Darling x Reader

Warnings: you are called dumb by frank lol (he refers to himself as the same GAHSGAH)

although it is not necessary, I highly suggest reading my fics in their recommended order for the best experience! here is the link to all my silly lil wally fics in order. this is #4 :)

Wally, desperate to get you to pick up on his feelings for you, sits down to try and sort out a plan with his wingmen.

“Okay,”

Frank set his hands on the table top, leaning over it. These were important matters!

“We need to brainstorm here,” he said, eyes roaming between the other two seated at the table. “Things Wally can do that our target might actually pick up on,” he stood at his full height, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh!” Eddie exclaimed, raising his arm with a smile.

“You don’t have to raise your hand, Eddie.”

“Right,” the mailman smiled sheepishly, hand finding the back on his neck instead. “We can go with the obvious option and have him write a letter or two?” He pitched. 

“That did work on me…” Frank noted, nodding his head as he tapped his finger to his chin. “What do you think of that, Wally?” 

“I've… tried that,” Wally piped in, his cheeks flushing slightly. He wasn’t very proud of his attempt. 

“Oh. You have?” Eddie quirked a brow, puzzled. “I haven’t seen any letters between the two of you recently. Did you deliver it yourself?” 

“...I got shy,” he admitted bashfully.

“Writing a letter made you shy?”

“When I write, I tend to overthink it... When I speak, my words simply flow,” 

“That… actually makes a lot of sense for you in a way,” Frank commented, brow slightly furrowed. He shook his head, getting his thoughts back on track.

“But, what about the smaller things?” Frank then questioned. “You could try to be a little more physical with them?” 

“Yeah, have you tried a hand on their knee when you're sitting with them? Your shoulders close when you're walking together?” Eddie asked. 

“I do that,” Wally sighed. You guys were at the point of touching nearly every second you spent together. He would rest his leg against yours when you sat next to each other, he would rub your arm when consoling you, he would place a hand on your back when moving by or leading you somewhere, among any other thing he possibly could. He did all that!

“Eye contact obviously isn’t an issue,” Eddie giggled to himself.

Wally agreed with that fact. How could it be an issue? Wally couldn’t help but to gaze into your pretty eyes. He often found himself getting lost in them, losing track of the conversation sometimes as well.

“Treating them to something, perhaps? Maybe a sweet treat from Howdy’s?”

“Every Sunday. We’ve made it routine,” He said. He was fairly certain he could name all of your favourite snacks from there by heart, at this point.

“Compliments?”

“Constantly,”

“Hand-holding? Hugs?” 

“Every moment I can find an excuse to.”

“And you already tried a kiss on the cheek..?”

“Yeah…”  Wally deflated, his head resting against the table as nothing came of the interrogation. Was there no hope for him if all these attempts have failed already?

“Huh. They’re just dense, aren't they?” Frank deadpanned.

“Frank!” Eddie scolded.

“What? So were we,” he shrugged.

“Anything I try, they mistake it as me just being friendly,” Wally lifted his head, offering a defeated smile. “Is a friend all I’m meant to be?” He questioned, eyes like those of a kicked down puppy.

“I mean, I don't think so. It’s pretty clear they– ow!”

Frank had stepped on Eddie’s toe under the table, leaving the man pouting.

“It’s pretty clear they think you do these things in a friendly manner, " Frank took over the sentence. 

“How do I make it so that they don’t think of it that way?” Wally asked. 

“Well…” Frank began.

Wally was open to any suggestions at this point. He was done beating around the bush, and ready to face his feelings toward you head on if need be.

Wally had only one question on his mind. How?

hi!!! here is a lil snippet for today B) next is the one I've been most excited for! I hope that you guys enjoyed this lil inside thing for how Wally gets his advice lol.

here is a link to my silly lil wally fics in their recommended order if you would like :) these can also be found on my ao3 B) I also have a ko-fi if you'd like to support me!

thank you for reading, likes and reblogs are appreciated RAHHH DOPAMINE, and have a great day!!

Posted Sunday, April 30, 2023 at 10:28 AM

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels! Here is another chapter! I did end up splitting it though because it was getting way too long and its my birthday this week so I may not be able to update as much as I would like to because I will be busy with friends and family! Anyways, thanks for all the love as per usual!!! I hope you enjoy <3

Chapter 66: Tides

Tides are something that are never sure.

You could never truly anticipate their movements, whether they would rise quickly or slowly, dragging the oceans swell up the rocks of the shore. Some men could argue that they could foretell the next drag of the sea, determined by the moons waxing or waning. But those men were fools, for the ocean has more than just the skies that guide it. Storms and winds, creatures, and Gods all have a say in what the frigid waters will do. 

With each push and pull of the waves came your salvation. With every waxing and waning moon, came your deliverance. People were often like tides themselves, changing each and everyday, with no discernible pattern.

As is knowledge and power.

Power was something that morphed and contorted, bending to whoever’s will was strongest, but even they could not hold that raw force for long. For power would never truly bend, just as the tides would never stay the same. 

Always changing. 

Always moving.

Always fluid. 

Like you. 

In the past year, you had changed and just like the tides, morphed and been bent, contorted and swelled, rose and fallen. A metamorphosis like the insects Helaena had always loved. And yet with each passing day, you feel your own tides within, pulling and pushing you. It weighed heavily on your mind, dragging you down beneath the waves, ripping the breath from your lungs as you felt yourself drowning in the torrent.

The task you had been given was no ordinary feat, and if it were anybody else, they would have surely broken by now. Given up, and played their hand too early. Raised a white flag and uttered ‘I surrender’. But you could not give up. You could only give in. And that was a distinction that you continually reminded yourself of. 

You were not giving up.

You were giving in. 

Giving in to the pressures of a man you were cursed to lay with. Giving in to the role you had said you would play. Giving in to the actions you so desperately wished to avoid, in order to protect yourself.

To give yourself more time.

To not be a steadfast fool and show your hand to the vipers you nested with. If you acted too quickly, they would smell a plot, and any little freedom you had been given would be swiped up, and the reality of death would be far sweeter. 

Though every fibre of your being screamed at you to hurt them, to maim them, to act quickly, and keenly with the blade of your mind that you had been sharpening each night since the usurpation, but you knew that it would be foolish. A plot played out too quickly and stupidly. Any fool could have seen that. A patient mind would get you to better results, and you had to a game to play. 

Wait and see. 

Wait and listen. 

Wait and deliver justice with a swift hand and a sharp mind. 

If you were to follow your desires, to follow the screaming voice which called at you in your dreams, the whispers of Lucerys and Helaena echoing behind it, you would fail, and all of this would be for naught. Your mother would lose everything, and you would lose your life.

The Greens needed to think you were broken, complacent, tired, and troubled, but not too much so. If you were to bend the knee and submit entirely, Alicent and her enablers would know something was afoot. And so you had to play the dangerous game of waxing and waning, pushing and pulling, listening and waiting, until the time was right.

Until the time you could call upon the Gods to give you your strength and deliver a raven requesting star fruit. 

But for now, you had to wait. 

It was not giving up, it was giving in. 

A distinction in which meant life or death. 

If you were the tides, then Aemond was your moon. Your temperament depended on the weather that he would bring. Would it be rain? A torrential downpour that seeped into your pores? The water rising until you drowned in it?

Or would he leave you high and dry. A sudden drought that had you thirsting for more, itching for more. Scratching at the earth in search of something, anything, to sustain your frail body, withering in the burning heat and loss of your own essence. Your own being. The very core of who you were. 

Or perhaps he would be a lovely summers day.

One where you may bask in the warmth of his light, and feel the soft rays kiss upon your skin, his breath on your face lingering far longer than the storms he would bring. You would forget, for a moment, to give yourself peace, that he had brought any storms at all. That he was not a man who changed with each day, that he was not a man who had brought such destruction.

If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of your sanity. 

Or would he freeze you out and let his bitter frost nip at your fingers and toes?

Would his passion burn you like dragon fire? Melting your body into his with every touch. 

It was inevitable, inescapable, unavoidable. 

Like how the sun slips behind the mountain tops, darkness blanketing the valley below, but you know that it will rise on the morrow. Just how the creatures in the trees and on the ground know, that as the darkness passes, the sun will shine again.

But it is more of a question of not if, but when. 

When would it pass? 

When will it pass? 

The tides come and go with the moon, pushing you away from your desires and pulling you back roughly, dragging you over the jagged rocks and reefs, their sharp edges cutting through you. The tides rage with the storms but they will always rescind back to calm. 

Aemond was the moon, and you were the tides, and he predicted and controlled your rise and fall, just how you have grown to predict the uncertainty ahead. 

There is only one guarantee in your life, and that is not knowing what is next. 

And so you must build yourself a ship, to sit atop the tides, to sail over them with their swell and recession, rather than succumbing to it and sinking into the waves. You needed to be smart, you needed to be patient. 

You needed to wait. 

What knowledge could you surely give your family to help them? That Aemond resents his brother still, and that the Maester was an ally? But is that all? 

That was knowledge that you knew before you were wed to him. 

You could not offer that as a sign to strike. For your family to come forth, dragons and fire, for the same standing as you had before. A standstill. Feet stuck in the dirt on even playing grounds, except you had no access to Vermithor. And so the hill sloped upwards towards the Greens.

And so you had to wait. 

A letter arrived some few days later from your family, asking for your wellbeing and updating you on theirs. It was comforting to know that you still had some form of contact, and when you had asked Aemond if you were to fly to witness Jacaerys’ union to Baela, he had hummed and given you a non-answer. 

You had written back to them and gave them the answer that you had recieved, a shaky maybe to your presence. A subtle, no. No absolute yes. It was all that you could give for the time being, and you would bite your tongue, lest he gouge it out with his talons.

One morning when the maids were readying you for another day by the sea, you had gazed at yourself in the mirror, far more than you had previously, and noticed a change in your appearance. Though the weight you had lost due to your arrival and the subsequent events had come back, there was a hollowness to your eyes. 

Your smiles never quite reached them, and the once vibrant violet looked almost dull and murky, as if beneath waters or behind storm clouds. A darker shade sat on the skin beneath them, making them appear almost hollow, but even still, your cheeks held colour, and your lips were less bitten and raw than they had been. 

Even your fingers had been given a lull in the usual assault your teeth or nails would give them.

But your eyes were something you could not look away from. 

As the girls brushed your hair, you stared at yourself. 

Who was she?

She looked like you, but was she really you?

But it was you. And you had changed.

And you would remind yourself of this.

Aemond had spent most of his days with Aegon and the small council, working with them with tasks for the realm, and then bringing his scrolls and tomes back to the chambers, his sharp nose in a book almost each and every night. 

After you had last spoken, after he had last told you of this so-called prophecy, there was a shift between the both of you. A stand still of your own. You were in the eye of the storm. The eye of his storm. The winds and rains had stopped, and the sky had opened up to show light. A path out. A way up. 

Just as Lucerys had thought he had found.

You anticipated the moment when Aemond would surge up through the clouds and swallow you whole.

You would not tempt him.

That afternoon, you had spent much of your time walking through the garden, looking at the various plants and flowers. You stopped your steps as you looked at a bright purple patch of flowers. It stood on a long stalk with fingerlike leaves, five points to each one, as it stood straight and tall. The flower itself looked almost bell shaped, or perhaps like a hood that a monk from the Sept may wear. 

Its appearance alone screamed danger. Natures own warning.

It looked familiar, and you made a note to yourself to look in the library for a tome on florilegium.

When you had returned to your chambers that evening, Aemond was sitting at the table, bent over a particularly large black tome, sharp nose pointed down to the page. He had hummed a greeting to you, not lifting his eye from the script as you entered. 

He had not touched you since that night, spending most evenings hunched over the table with piles of parchment and tomes, writing and reading beneath candlelight well into the darkness. You would retire to bed, expecting him to follow you, but he would not, continuing to write and read, shuffle papers and hum to himself softly. 

It was an oddly calming sound, a background noise of assurance that his attention would not be on you.

When you had asked him what he was doing, he had told you that Aegon had given him much work to do, and would be spending most evenings like that. 

But what had surprised you most was that he had apologised to you about it.

“I’m sorry that I am not more present. Aegon has given me things that he should be doing, but if I don’t, no-one will, and the realm will dissolve into chaos.” He had grumbled beneath his breath, as you stood beside him, looking at his messy script. 

You had told him you understood, and went to bed quietly and fell quickly into sleep. But this evening was different, and when he had greeted you with a short hum, you had expected yet another evening dining together on a table which had scrolls and tomes hurriedly shoved to the side to make room for the plates. An evening of his writing lulling you to sleep. 

Instead, you sat yourself by the fire, thinking of the flower you had saw in the gardens. It was so familiar to you. You could have sworn you had read about it somewhere, or had been told about it. But nothing could spring to mind.

Was it Hooded-Trumpet? Angels Locks? 

What was it called?

“What are you thinking of?” Aemond’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Some flowers I saw in the garden, I have forgotten their names.”

“Hm, one of the Septa’s could tell you.”

If you were to ask them, and it turned out to be poison, they would know of your plotting and report you to the King. 

“It will come to me, I am sure.” You replied, tongue in cheek as you thought hard. 

“We are to dine with the King again.”

You sighed loudly into the chambers, turning to look at Aemond who was placing his quill in its holder, gathering the loose pieces of parchment in hand to stack them into a pile atop the open page of the tome. 

“Must we?” 

“We must.” Aemond replied, popping the ’t’ at the end as if he too was dreading the evening. 

“Can we not dine here?”

“The King has requested our presence.”

There was the tide again. 

“You are more and more a Prince Regent by the day with Aegon too busy in his cups and whores.”

You were testing the waters.

“It is my duty.”

“Is it not his duty to rule the realm, and listen to the people? Is it not his duty to read tomes, and write letters?” You pushed.

Aemond was silent, his eye rising to your face as he looked at you beneath his brow.

A silent warning. 

You bowed your head and stood, looking out at the water. The sun had lowered behind the horizon and the chambers began to darken. The tides would shift, you just did not know when.

Aemond came to stand beside you, looking out at the water. The smell of sandalwood and leather curled around you.

It was a familiar smell, and something that you had grown to like. Something you had grown to anticipate wherever you were. The occasional waft of his scent curling up from your dresses, when you would enter the chambers, or when he was nearby. Sometimes you would smell it in the gardens, and you would turn your head to look for him, but he was never there. 

“When is my nephew to be wed?” Aemond asked, eye still on the ocean. 

You turned your head to look up at him, almost in shock.

Was this his answer?

“Soon I believe. They had written to ask again if we would be attending.”

Aemond hummed.

“Should I write to tell them to expect us?”

“No.” 

Aemond turned on his foot to pour himself, and you, some wine, coming back over to hand you your goblet. You did not grasp it as you looked at him.

Aemond pursed his lips as he sipped from his own cup, still holding yours out to you, which you eventually took from him, bringing to your own lips as you looked back out at the water. 

“The King will not allow it. I have already asked.”

Fuck the King. 

You nodded your head and stayed side by side until you had both finished your wine, and the had knight come to the door to escort you to the dining hall. You were still taken back that Aemond had asked for you to go. Even if it was escorted by he himself, but still, he had tried. And Aegon had said no. 

You sat in the seats that you always did, with Aegon opposite you, and Alicent and Otto on either side of him, whilst the rest of the council filled the empty chairs. The food was placed upon the table and Alicent spoke a small prayer to the Seven.

You often wondered what she prayed for when alone, did she pray for vengeance? Penance? 

The council had seemed to grow more relaxed around your presence, as though they were finally accustomed to you being there, or they were assured that you would not be a threat. Larys spoke of whispers with no meaning and even offered to go on a walk with you again. You had responded politely and said that you would surely take him up on his offer. 

The night continued with conversations that held no interest to you, and so you listened in to words here and there, hoping to hear something, anything of use. 

Your patience was rewarded.

“There is some troubles down in Flea Bottom, but nothing our guards and knights cannot handle.”

Your ears pricked up. 

Trouble in Flea Bottom?

You reached to grasp your goblet of wine, feigning that you had not heard Lord Wylde speaking to Grand Maester Orwyle. 

Orwyle was a Maester who had served your Grandsire, and turned cloak against your mother. He was an old man, with dark skin, and eyes blacker than coal. In his youth he could have been a handsome man, but now his hair had receded, and his years on earth had wrinkled him. 

Otto and Alicent spoke across the table to Aemond with Aegon, and you strained to listen to the other two whispering.

“…Rhaenyra…if she…supporters…laws…”

Your name pulled you from your eavesdropping.

“I asked how it is to have your husband back.” Aegon smirked, cheeks flushed from wine and crown crooked on his head. 

His hair looked unkempt, unbrushed and oily, tucked behind his ears and out of his face, with smaller strands that had escaped crossed over his forehead. For once, his coat was buttoned up to the top, coming just under his chin, high on his neck.

It looked as though the coat was holding his head upright. 

“A relief, though he spends most of his time reading and writing the nights away. I fear I have lost him to the book.”

“Aemond you must find time to rest.” Alicent softly cooed, head tilted as her hands came together in front of her, elbows on the table. Maternal instincts alight.

Here was your in. 

“I have told him to no avail.” You began, looking at Aemond before back at Alicent, “He rarely comes to bed, and spends much of his time hunched over the table by candlelight for all hours of the night.”

Aemond hummed beside you, “Merely performing my duties.”

“Are they your duties, or the Kings?” You questioned.

“My duties?” Aegon cocked his head to the side, looking at you, “Do you question my rule?”

Otto shifted, and you saw Larys lean into the conversation.

“I merely question if my Lord Husband should be burdened with playing the role of Prince Regent without the title.”

Aegon laughed angrily, pushing his tongue into his cheek as he looked at the both of you. 

“Is this because he is now too busy to warm your bed? Do you sit and wait for him wanting as he neglects your needs?”

Heat rose in your cheeks. 

“Aegon.” Aemond said lowly.

“Merely a question.” Aegon leant back in his chair, the one larger than the rest, “Is your cunny missing my brothers cock?”

“You are a spineless little worm.” You sneered, leaning forward towards the table.

“Tell your whore to watch her tongue.” 

The sound of a chair scraping the floor cut across the room as Aemond jumped from his seat, watching Aegon like a hawk. His brow was drawn and eye narrowed, jaw set tightly into a line as he clenched his teeth. 

Aegon however, looked up at his younger brother in vicious delight. 

“Aemond.” Alicent uttered, desperate to cool the mans temper and ease the tension. 

The King laughed. 

Aemond breathed heavily, and you craned your neck to look up at your husband as he towered over the table, hands bawled into tight fists at his side. His knuckles turned white and you watched as he shifted on his feet, one inching to move behind him. 

A fighting stance.

“All in good jest, brother. No need to get your breeches in a knot.” Aegon smiled cruelly.

You whispered to your husband, looking up at him as he did not take his heated gaze away from Aegon.

“Besides,” Aegon continued, tone teasing, “We all know that her mother is the Whore Queen…Perhaps her blood runs thick in your wife.”

You dug your nails into your palm and stared at Aegon.

Would he be able to scream if you dug out his throat with your hands?

“Say it again.” Aemond growled quietly, looking at his brother. 

“Enough.” Alicent commanded, looking between her two sons. 

Aegon lifted his hands in mock surrender, but Aemond still did not seat himself, standing impossibly stiff as he kept his gaze on the King. 

“Sit.” Aegon smirked.

Aemond did not.

“Your King commands you.” Aegon grinned, watching as Aemond’s face twitched, and moved slowly to sit back down in his seat, hands on his lap as his fingers dug into the flesh of his thighs. 

“Aemond.” You whispered again, and yet the Prince would not take his brother from his sight, staring at him like a predator waiting to pounce. 

You pulled one of his hands from his lap, holding it in both of yours as you began to lift it. Aemond’s head turned, taking his eye from Aegon for one moment to look at you. You brought his hand up to your lips, calloused and scarred, fingers warm but stiff, and placed a soft kiss to his knuckles. Trying to soothe him. 

Trying to soothe the storm that brewed. 

A puff of air left Aemond’s nose as he looked at you, and his fingers squeezed your own. You let a tiny smile grace your lips, an assurance that it was okay, an assurance that you were fine, that he was fine, and released his hand. 

For the remainder of the night, you and Aemond both ate in silence before excusing yourself to your chambers. Alicent and Larys watched you both closely as you looked up at Aemond to see if he was to turn back around and slide a knife between Aegon’s eyes.

He didn’t.

The walk back was tense but not in a way that you were used to. This time, Aemond’s animosity was not pointed towards you, and instead his brother. For once, you did not fear this anger. 

You realised that Aemond could help you. 

You needed to get him to help you.

You needed to convince him that you loved him.

When you entered the chambers, Aemond barely said a word, looking at the pile of parchment on the table waiting for him, but moved to pour himself some wine at the side of the room. He had sat at the fire and drank, and you had joined him, allowing him to his thoughts and you to yours. 

Aemond could be swayed to you. 

He could. 

You needed to use his hatred towards his brother carefully. 

Like a cleverly spun web, it needed to have no faults, and needed to be made with precision.

What was the name of that flower you had seen?

Wolfshood? Snakebean? Bells of Triumph?

The maids came to ready you for the evening, and once you were in your chemise, and your hair had been released from its braids and brushed loosely down your back, you had made your way to bed, watching as your husband moved to sit back at the table to continue his writing and reading. 

A man truly dedicated to his duty.

“Aemond.” You called out to him softly, sitting up in your shared bed.

The light of the chambers was low, and only few candles were lit, most of the light coming from the dwindling fireplace. Aemond looked up to see you, a vision of beauty, all soft and Valyrian, silver hair warmed by the light of the fire, and eyes sparkling in the dark. 

“The hour is late.” 

Aemond continued to stare at you, stood beside the table which demanded his attention, but as did his wife. 

“Come to bed.” You cooed, reaching over to pull the sheets back on his side. 

Aemond looked at you and then down the the table beside him. Eye roaming over the tomes and parchment, piles of scrolls with ink pots and quills. A large candle sat in the middle of the table, its flame flickering and dancing, wax slowly melting down its sides. 

In a split decision, Aemond leant forward and blew out the candle on the table, making his way across the room to crawl into bed beside you. 

He came when you had asked him.

The heat of his body radiated beside you as he moved to blow out the candles surrounding the bed, his long hair laying down his back, brushed and silky, tickled your shoulder as he leant over you. 

Darkness covered the chambers and you settled into the pillows beside him, laying on your back as you blinked in the dark up at the ceiling. Aemond did the same, the both of you lost to your own thoughts and worries.

As sleep slowly began to pull you under, a name popped into your mind. 

Monkshood. Wolfsbane.

You had to hold back your grin. 

You knew you had recognised the tall plant. 

You hummed a tune inside your head, a song the Septa had sung once, long, long ago, in the gardens when you were young, and Lucerys was only three, and she had warned you of plants to not touch and just see.

Monkshood, Wolfsbane, Devils Helmut, three,

Five fingered leaves with sharp teeth on me.

Beware my root, my stem, my leaves, 

My pretty head of flowers tease.

A seed or petal, a touch or sip, will leave a man without his wit. 

Within the hour, a day or so, my poison reaps what has been sowed.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[muzansfangs]

Ice ice baby.

Starring: Douma x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, modern au, human au, blindfolds, ice play, sensory-deprivation, nipple play, enstablished relationship, dom!Douma, sub!reader, oral sex (reader!receiving), slight overstimulation, praise kink;

Plot: When your boyfriend asked you if you trusted him in planning something special for your anniversary, you had no idea of what he had come up with. The moment he had led you to your bedroom, you wondered why he had blindfolded you. Yet, as you laid down onto your bed and something cold, melting even, trailed down your sensitive curves, you knew that you were in for a ride.

Author note: It’s barely midnight, but it’s 7th October… Which means it’s time to post my work for the kinktober collab hosted by the talented @doumadono. To deliver you guys a special treat for celebrating the kinky month, I have chosen to gift you a deadly combo: Douma + sensory-deprivation. Have fun! Here’s the link to the Masterlist!

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT: KINKTOBER’23.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

A shaky breath left your mouth, lips parting in anticipation as your heart was thrumming so hard you thought it was surely trying to break your ribs and jump right out of your chest. Darkness enveloped you. The silky fabric of your boyfriend's tie was kissing your closed eyelids, as you idly accepted your fate. Your other senses were now sharpening, as you tried to come to terms with the fact that you were temporary deprived of your sight.

"Do you trust me, darling?".

His words echoed into your mind, goosebumps raising over the exposed flesh of your body, as he was helping you to lay down onto your shared bed. His voice pierced your ears sensually, as you could feel his hot breath fan the shell of your ear. He was close, so close to you, but as your tried to capture his lips with yours in a sloppy kiss, you missed the target. Lost in the darkness, you had to rely rolely on your hearing to detect his position and, apparently, you had failed.

You sighed in defeat, lolling your head back on what you assumed to be your pillow, your foreteeth sinking onto your bottom lip as you heard him chuckle.

“Blindly” you sassily replied to his question, a small smile tugging your lips upwards as you heard some familiar footsteps slowly fading away.

Laying on the mattress, his presence gone now, you felt the cool air of the room gently bite your skin. You were naked, except for the thin fabric of the red laced thong your boyfriend had asked you to wear for him. The sight of his multicolored orbs was enough to make you yield at his requests but, when you had tried to resist this time, he had pulled his favorite little stunt: the puppy eyes. How could you deny him such a treat, when he stared at you like that?

As you finally heard him walk back into your bedroom, your lips parted in euphoria. He had not told you exactly what he had in mind, but he was Douma, the experimental partner that had talked you into doing things among the bedsheets you would have probably never done with anyone else.

He was the man you had told 'yes' to so many times.

Douma gazed at you, his tongue darting out of his mouth to moisten his plumped lips, as he carefully settled a metal bowl on top of the nightstand. He made sure not to make a sound in order to truly surprise you. He did not have much time to fool around. The material he had decided to involve into your sexual intercourse was melting.

“Douma…” you whispered his name, as if you wanted to make sure he was there, close to you, as he had promised to be so many times.

The silver-haired man grinned, crawling onto the bed and hovering over your frame. You looked so vulnerable, so fragile, as he caged you between his muscular arms. You shuddered, the warmth of his body heating up your own body as his lips brushed against yours. If kisses elicited such strong reactions from you, he could only imagine what would have happned at the feeling of his tongue delving into you until you broke out into a sinful series of whimpers and moans.

“I’m right here, darling’. Just relax…” he purred, his mouth leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your throat and in your middle-section. Your breasts, the soft skin of your sensitive and beautiful bosom made his mouth water.

“Where did you go?” you asked him, mouth hanging open as Douma cupped your left breast with his hand and gently sucked onto your other one. His mouth was so warm, so comforting, and you whined out in pleasure as he seemed to be taking so much care of them this time.

Some silver strands of his hair had fallen over his face, tickling your collarbone as he switched nipples and made sure to sensually give your neglected one the same treatment. You were divine, delicious.

His teeth softly nibbled onto it to make your squirm a little, a mischivious grin gracing his lips as he lifted himself up on his elbows and glanced over the bowl at his left. The time had finally come.

“I need you to focus now, princess. No questions, but moans, that’s all I wanna hear coming from that pretty mouth of yours” he instructed you, as his hand reached into the basin and grasped a medium ice cube.

You furrowed your brows, hips bucking in anticipation as he put the ice between his lips and leant over you. You would have never imagined it, never in your life, nor the act, neither the sensation it was now provoking to you.

You were about to reply something, when chills pervaded your body from head to toe. Cold, you felt cold.

A yelp, your body flinched as your hands gripped the bedsheets beside you. What exactly was that? Your breath hitched into your throat, while Douma slowly dragged the melting ice cube down the valley of your breasts, his gaze flicking up to enjoy the way your face contorted into different grimaces and perplexed expressions.

He could not talk, while his mouth was busy, but he let out a guttural sound you did not fail to hear.

“I-Ice… That’s ice. Gosh, Douma!” you breathed out, a cute noise leaving your mouth as he let the cold trail of melted ice pierce the skin of your already stimulated nipples. You moaned, you moaned loudly as Douma slipped his hands down your body and slipped your thong off of you.

You would have helped him, if you were not that lost into the unfamiliar feeling you were feeling right in that moment. The eternal bliss that man brought to you was something out of human comprehension.

“D-Douma, Douma, please…” you cried out, not knowing exactly what you were asking him to do. Maybe you wanted more, maybe you craved him more than anything and as nothing was left of that ice cube he smirked.

“You should see yourself, baby. You’re so fucked up right now… Let me cool your heat down a bit” he stated, spreading your legs more for him as his hand dived into the bowl again to pick another piece of ice from it. You were in for such a treat that night.

You shivered, a gasp of realization leaving your lips, when Douma buried his face between your thighs and began to lap your core. You clasped your hand over your mouth, toes curling as he pleasured you through his skilled tongue, but then something freezing was settled softly of your throbbing bundle of nerves and you squealed out at the contact the cold ice made with your hot-boiling flesh.

“Douma! Fuck! That’s insane” you whimpered, cheeks heating up as your boyfriend delved his tongue deep into your aching opening. Addictive, he was addictive.

Now, as you came onto his tongue, droplets of cool water scattered all over your naked body, as remnants of the awful amount of ice Douma had involved into your night of passion, you were so glad to have let him handle your anniversary.

He was truly a gift from Heaven.

TAGS: @doumadono @mrskokushibo