#it doesn’t mean she predicted how it would end

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

Begging swifties to understand that Taylor didn’t write reputation and Lover with the knowledge of how the relationship was going to end and that trying to “excavate” those albums for evidence to prove a specific theory as to why it ended is not how they should be viewed. Taylor wrote those songs feeling a very specific way because that’s what she was experiencing and she is now reflecting on them with hindsight and relates to them differently than when she first created them. These conflicting emotions can exist; how she views it now doesn’t diminish how she felt about it when she first released it.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dad!Simon Riley x Fem!reader

Simon Riley: Girl Dad

From the request here ; pic screenshot from this video

“Can I come in now?” you ask, popping your head into the nursery as Simon finishes getting your 3 month old daughter Anna ready for the day. 

She wriggles in his grasp, babbling away as he mutters in a hushed tone to her about keeping still for daddy.

"Ya think this is funny yeah," he teases her, tickling her chubby tummy before trying to wrangle one of her legs in his grasp.

It’s like music to his soul the way the happy talking sounds she makes touches his heart and it only makes him want to do whatever he can so that she will keep making them for him. That’s why it always takes longer than usual to get her dressed when he does it.

You crane your neck trying to sneak a peak, but his voice stops you. “Not yet,” he says and moves his body to block your view. 

He doesn’t want you to see before he’s ready. The outfit is one he picked up the other night on a whim, the moment he saw it he knew Anna had to have it for today, and he wants to get it all on to give the full effect. He finishes straightening her up and tucks her body sitting up in the crook of his arm. She is content as can be being snuggled at the side of his chest, happily clapping her little hands together as they turn to face you. 

“Well?” he asks, brow furrowed and body slightly tense as he waits for your critique. “How'd we do?”

You match your daughter’s vibrant smile as you see the outfit Simon’s bought all on his own: a bright yellow corduroy romper with frill capped sleeves, little socks with suns on them, and a big yellow bow to match. Your heart swells full of emotion at the sight; it’s just an outfit, sure, but it really means so much more than the sum of its parts. You know just how far Simon has come in his journey with her and it truly warms your heart to see him so smitten with the little babe this way.  

When she first came home, there wasn’t a moment when Simon wasn’t on edge around her, nervous that somehow, someway, he would end up hurting her. She seemed so small to him in those first days, so incredibly delicate as she lay sleeping in her bassinet like the most perfect doll, that he was certain that someone as rough around the edges as him would never be able to be near her without breaking her and that was something he was not willing to risk.

She is his gift, his light, a treasure that came from out of all the years of heartache and hardship and he would never let anything bad ever happen to her.

It took some time and a lot of encouragement on your part, but finally Simon found his confidence and never looked back. Any chance now that he can get he is holding her, changing her, feeding her; anything and everything he can do to show her his love by his actions alone. And whether he gives himself the credit for it or not, he is doing a marvelous job.

“How did I know you'd choose something yellow?” you laugh as Simon glares at you, trying not to crack that fake tough facade. 

It is becoming a pattern for him to choose yellow things when it comes to Anna. When she came home from the hospital a few months ago in that yellow onesie, it was like a flip and been switched and that was it; that was her hue from then on. It is strange, Simon never really had a favorite color before that special day and then suddenly yellow was never the same. Now he cannot imagine his life without it.

His face breaks into a smile as he shakes his head, not ready to admit that he is becoming predictable. “Come on, did I do it right or not? Just want to be sure it looks fine on her. We got a big day and I want it ta be perfect.”

Your face brightens as you look her over again. “She looks adorable, Simon,” you reply cheerfully. “You did good, baby. I think you’re really getting the hang of this dad thing.”

Looking down at her in his grasp, he beams with a sense of accomplishment and his tense shoulders ease. Parenting is not something Simon ever thought he could be good at, he never thought he would be the one with the chance at having a family, but each day he is making strides in the right direction to becoming the dad he desperately wants to be.  

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own today?” you ask as you watch Simon place a delicate kiss to the top of Anna’s small, wispy-haired head. “Cause I can stay if you need me to. All I gotta do is make a call and let them know I can’t go.”

Simon shakes his head and reaches for you with his free arm, pulling you by the wrist until you step close enough that he can wrap his arm around your hip to pull you against him opposite your daughter. “Ya worry too damn much, sweetheart,” he says as his hand finds your cheek, his thumb stroking across the soft skin before he is leaning his face in towards yours. 

His full lips catch you in their tender embrace, a kiss that is full of emotion, and in an instant your eyes flutter closed as you relinquish yourself to him. You let all those worries fall away as the gentle touch of his lips, the heat from his breath, the passion flowing through his kiss calms your mind. He conveys so much without ever speaking a single word and in a flash you are put at ease.

Slowly he breaks away, already missing your taste the moment your lips part. Eyes still shut, he rests his forehead against yours, rocking all three of you back and forth a moment as he enjoys the feeling of having his entire life resting comfortably in his arms. You both open your eyes after a time and look down at Anna babbling away to herself, before looking back at each other. This is all still new and unchartered territory, so the both of you are working to figure it all out, but so far it has been anything except bad. 

“I promise, I got ‘er. We’re gonna be just fine,” he says quietly. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

At the sound of his voice Anna turns her face to find his and it lights up as it always does whenever her favorite person talks to her. She even employs her recently-learned skill of giggling happily to punctuate that she agrees with whatever it was she was just asked, even though she doesn’t understand a word of it.  

Simon kisses your forehead to be sure the worry is completely gone. “It’s just a couple hours on base and then we’ll be home the rest of tha day,” he says. “Besides, might be nice to show her off to the guys. She does look real pretty today.” 

“That she does,” you agree as you quickly check the clock on your phone and with a kiss to your baby and one more for Simon you are gone, leaving the pair alone.

Simon gets to work double checking everything in his backpack that he has to bring for her: extra diapers, wipes, bottles, toys, anything he could need while he is out. It’s in his nature, years of military training has come in handy as he is prepared for it all. Satisfied, he turns back to the baby at his side. “Alright princess,” he says, “ready to go see where your dad spends all his time when he ain’t at home?”

The moment he’s walking on base, black backpack filled with essentials strapped to his back, tiny baby girl dressed in bright clothes tucked in his arms, he’s drawing curious stares from everyone he passes. This is the first time she has gone to base with him, so of course people are going to be inquisitive about things. How can they not? Simon looks like… well, Simon: intense, stoic, intimidating. Even in just his black t-shirt and jeans, with his lightweight balaclava on, he is still an imposing figure. Never one to be shy per se, Simon still does not like the attention on him, but since he is with his little angel he doesn’t care. He is proud to show off the best damn thing he has ever helped to create.

The contrast between him and his daughter he knows is jarring and Simon laughs to himself at how absurd this must look for someone like him with such a coarse demeanor to be handling such a precious, sweet thing. Who would have thought that the scary skull-masked military officer would have a family of his own? It is a shock he is sure. 

“Seems we’re gonna be the talk ‘round ‘ere today, princess,” he says as he looks down at Anna, secure in his grasp as they continue on towards his office.

She is too busy looking everywhere her little head can turn to be bothered by anything. Being out and about with her father, seeing things she’s never seen before, which is pretty much everything, has her interested and engaged with the sights around her. Those small brown eyes, the ones that are a carbon copy of his, stare on as she silently takes everything in.

He makes it to his office and gets set up, grabbing everything that he needs in one tight spot as he sits Anna up in his lap with a toy for her to play with. She is content for a while as he goes through paperwork, occasionally he gives her a tickle or readjusts her on his thigh, something to show that he hasn’t forgotten she’s there with him. 

Barely an hour has passed before Anna begins to whine and fuss and Simon knows what that means: she’s hungry. He grabs the prepped bottle out of the bag and walks to the small microwave in the corner of the room, warming it and testing it on his wrist before he moves back to his desk and sits back down in his chair, cradling her in his arms against his chest as he places the nipple of the bottle in her mouth.

“There ya are, luv,” he comforts her until she settles into him, “I gotcha. Daddy didn’t forget.”

Unknown to Simon, there is an unexpected guest that has just appeared near his office door, though before the person can even knock to announce themselves, they are caught by surprise at the sight before them. Johnny, who’s come to deliver something from Price, stops right in his tracks and stares at the scene before him.

He stands there, watching as Simon tenderly holds this little infant in his arms, quietly rocking back and forth as she drinks her bottle. Every now and again he speaks to her softly, the skin around his eyes tightening to indicate there is a smile underneath the mask. There is an ease to his movements as if he knows exactly what he is doing and it genuinely shocks the young sergeant. Who could have ever guessed that this would be something Simon would be such a natural at?

As Anna is finishing the bottle, Simon looks up as he feels a pair of eyes on him to see Johnny standing there, obscured by the doorframe, silently watching. He sets the empty bottle down on his desk and moves Anna to sit upright on his thigh, leaning her against the crook of his arm so that he can pat and rub her back until she burps. 

“Can I help ya, Mactavish?” Simon’s distinct voice calls out, catching Johnny off-guard as he realizes he’s been caught staring.

“Sorry, L.T.” Johnny stutters out as he hurriedly steps inside the office, remembering why he is here in the first place, and sets some papers upon his desk. “Price sent these; says he needs ya to look ‘em over.”

Simon nods in understanding, his hand still rubbing the baby’s back. “Will do,” he agrees, thinking this will be the end of the interaction, but Johnny still lingers. “Anything else?”

“I heard ‘round base that ya had your little one here today. Had to come see if it was true fer myself,” Johnny admits with guilt. 

“Well, ya could meet ‘er if ya like, ‘stead a standin’ there just starin’.”  Simon nods his head down at the baby. “Johnny, this is Anna.”

The sergeant observes her as she begins to coo, her eyes catching the tattoos along Simon’s muscular arm, her petite fingers tapping and poking along the lines and patterns with delight as she loves to do when he holds her like this. She’s so engrossed that she hasn’t realized there is another person in the room yet.

Johnny clears his throat. “Didn’t mean ta stare, ya know. It’s just a surprise ta see she’s actually real, I guess.”

The original members of the 141 know about Anna, it wasn’t something that Simon could hide once she was about to make her way into the world, but it’s a bit jarring for the Scot to see someone that he had previously known to be so toughened by the world change so drastically. Anyone who gets close enough can see it in the lieutenant’s soft gaze: he adores the little girl and that is… interesting, to say the least.

Simon chuckles at the clear surprise in Johnny’s voice as Anna is still playing with his arm. “Bit absurd, innit Johnny?” he questions while watching her with a prideful twinkle in those brown eyes as she giggles. “Me with a kid? Doesn’t seem possible, does it?” 

“Ya seem a natural ta me,” the Scot admits in awe of how easily he makes it seem, as if he was given some secret knowledge that made him know exactly what to do and how to do it. “Then again I don’t know the first thing ‘bout babies. Wouldn’t even know where ta start.”

Simon is reminded about how when he first found out he was going to be a dad he had started reading all the books, researching all the things like a good, capable soldier would, but how all of that prep was nothing in the end as the moment she came into the world everything was turned on its head. It’s not like in the books, it’s so much better and it is days like today that make it worth all the worry and fear and anxiety he had to break through to get here.

“Easier than ya think,” Simon replies with a chuckle as he moves Anna around facing forward now. “Once ya get the hang of it.”

“Don’t tell my girl that,” Johnny laughs back. “Can’t afford one right now.”

Anna’s attention is stirred away from Simon’s tattoos and towards the other man standing in the room with them. She looks up at Johnny in awe, not having much experience with others outside of Simon and you, but Johnny shoots her his classic smile and he has her giggling again in a flash. 

“Well hey there Anna, nice ta meet ya,” he introduces himself before turning back to Simon. “I think she likes me.”

“It's your hair she's eyein’,” Simon points out, following her eye line.

Sure enough as soon as Johnny runs his hands over the mohawk cut into his hair her eyes light up. “Can she touch it?” he asks Simon and he nods in agreement.

Johnny falls to one knee in front of the little girl, leans his head down, and lets her put her hand in it. Her short, chubby fingers pull the strands as she laughs, the short, spiky pieces pricking her fingertips. She pulls away quickly before bringing her hand back in again, a sort of game that she repeats a few more times before Johnny gets back to his feet. 

“He’s a funny one, ain’t he, princess?” Simon questions his little one as he strokes his thumb around the smile that fills her tiny, round cheeks. “Ya like him, yeah?”

She coos, her little lips forming an ‘o’ so that she sounds like a dove. That’s the closest to a yes as they are going to get. 

“I sure ‘ope ya do, seein’ as I’m your dad’s best friend,” Johnny picks, looking to Simon to see his reaction. 

He rolls his eyes at the statement, but stays silent and doesn’t correct him. Instead Simon opts to end the conversation there, needing to get finished here anyway so that he can get back home. As much as Johnny’s company isn’t as grating as it first was, he is ready to spend some alone time with the baby before you get back. “Well, if ya don’t mind, I need to get back to it. Say goodbye Anna.”

Johnny agrees, though his mouth twitches like he wants to ask a question, but ultimately decides not to ask it in the end. He turns to leave, but Simon guesses at what he is wanting and calls out behind him so that he stops. 

“And ya can tell the others they can come see ‘er if they want,” Simon assures, “I know they’re probably itchin’ to get a glimpse of her too. That’s why they sent ya, yeah? See if I was up for company?”

Johnny turns around and nods his head. Fuck, they’ve been caught. “Will do, L.T.” he says. “Can ya blame us though? She’s pretty damn cute.”

And with that he turns back around. As Johnny leaves the office with the sounds of Simon and Anna at his back, he can’t help but smile to himself at seeing his friend finally have a bit of happiness; if anyone deserves it, it is Simon. Wait till the others see just how much things around here are going to change.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hello, I hope your having a nice day, can I request Yandere 1st Years + Grim (Platonic) with a Komi Reader? (From Komi can’t Communicate)

Reader’s known for being incredibly beautiful, intelligent, athletic and elegant in everything she does, however she has crippling Social Anxiety and ends up scaring everyone away with her ‘mean/scary’ look so everyone tends to avoid her (When it’s actually herself that’s nervous since she doesn’t know what to say)

Except for Ace, Deuce and Grim after they spent time with Reader in the mine, they discovered her anxiety she wrote it out so now they’re mostly the ones who do the talking for her and try to help her reach her goal of making 100 Friends in NRC, even though they both think that’s a ‘weird/bad goal’ because this IS NRC

Reader loves cats, so she spoils Grim and Lucius (The latter likes laying in her lap and even follows her around) with pets, treats and affection and helping her friends with studying since she gets perfect marks

How would they react to hearing Reader’s voice for the first time? Not to mention have Reader tell write out that she made a friend all by herself who visits her dorm at night and does nightly walks (You know who it is)

Komi-San Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

You’re quiet and intimidating but not because others find you scary. The exact opposite, they’re obsessed. You’re athletic, you’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re kind, and the list goes on. Without so much as opening your mouth, the school is at its hands and knees all for you. Little do they know about your silent struggle, not like your dearest first-year friends. More than anyone they know how hard you work and if their hearts could overfill with love for you it already has.  So imagine your stalkers' friends; reaction to you’re never heard before voice:

Ace Trappola

“Aw man, (Y/n) I can’t begin to explain how much of a pain he is! With his moodiness, we’re not going to win the game.”

“...”

“Don’t say that, I am great but not that great.”

“...Y-you c-can d-do it!” 

He plays 10x better 

All while running on his excitement and embarrassment

“Whoa, Ace! W-were you holding out on us!”

Everyone is floored that he’s suddenly just doing so well

He’s keeping your quiet cheers to himself 

Replaying it in his head

He will teasingly ask you for a recording even when you cutely shake your head

“Oi oi don’t get all shy now, you were doing so well!”

He does circle back having already written down the names of those who turned their heads

If they’re so inclined to hear your voice in a roaring crowd 

Then they should be alright with their ears no longer working 

He’s being merciful when he does just this

And if you mention any mysterious friends, he’d no doubt try to follow up on that same treatment

Deuce Spade

“M-maybe being an honor student was too high of a goal.”

You shake your head

“Ahh I appreciate it, (Y/n) but if I’m going to flunk again I’ll be in trouble. Both with Riddle and my mom, I just can’t measure up. ”

“You…are a good student.”

He blushes 

“G-g-g-g-good j-job (Y/n)!”

He knows how much this is taking for you to try 

But he just can’t keep it together 

He’s among the first to hear your precious voice

He has to be the only one

He doesn’t know what this feeling is but he doesn’t want to share

It especially rubs him the wrong way when you mention a mysterious friend 

He decides to wait it out

See who this new friend he’s going to gut he has to meet

Epel Felmier

“Grrrr I can’t stand it! Why can’t I be taken seriously? I just hate my face!”

“...”

“Don’t hafta lie ta me, (Y/n)! I know I’m not handsome.”

“...I….th-th-”

“Huh?” 

“I think you’re handsome.”

“Aw shucks, (Y/n)!”

He definitely wasn’t was expecting that

You’re just the sweetest as he predicted

He already keeps the notebook you’ve lost+ gone through with your written words

And the apple cores he lovingly retrieves from Ramshackle’s trash no doubt cultivating whatever ends up growing from them

He avoids the impulse to tear his book open at the mention of a new friend 

Well I hope they like a poison-apple

Jack Howl 

“I have a magift practice later on…are you still going to come?”

You nod your head

“T-thank you, I’d appreciate your support from the stands.”

When he says that he doesn’t expect you to actually whisper anything out

“G-go Jack!”

His keen ears pick it up and suddenly he’s breezing through obstacles like never before

And of course, he did his mate practically cheered him on

It makes it much earlier to replay that encouragement when he’s fighting for your honor his ownership of you

No doubt Savvannclaw is filled with your admirers

But some are a little too bold

So leave it to your mate to take action first

And while he’s at it he might as well guard your home more intensely

Sebek Zigvolt

“WHAT A MARVEL HUMAN! YOU’VE TAMED ALL THE FERAL FELINES ON CAMPUS!” 

“...”

“WELL FOR A HUMAN IT IS DECENT WORK! PERHAPS YOU DO HAVE–”

“C-can you please be quiet?”

“...?....!..Y-you think y-you, a mere human, can tell me what to do?!” 

Yes you can, having the loud half-fae go down two whole octaves was a feat

And he keeps replaying the moment in his head specifically the way your lips moved

Burning hot all over he’s not really listening to anyone for the next week month

But once he’s broken out of it he’s determined to repeat the miracle

And it seems it works best if your alone?

Then he’ll be sure to chase off the gaggle of scum+ admirers who you claim to be friends with

And he thinks nothing of a midnight friend…that is if you’re alone with them than that’s completely unacceptable

Grim

“Henchhuman! Everyone is soooo mean! Why doesn’t anyone like me? I know I’m so cool and maybe that’s why–”

“I like you.”

“Well of course you w–W-wait did you speak? T-t to me! Whoopee, I’m going to tell everyone the great Grim is who you spoke to first!” 

He runs off to do just that 

Bragging to anyone who would listen

He has to dodge a lot of assassination hits that day

But it gives him the content whenever that icky feeling comes up sometimes

And as for your ‘Hornton’ friend he’s seen him and next time he comes around he’ll boast all about his greatness and how you spoke to him

[ravisinghs-wife]

The seven + Nico and Reyna and their red flags ✼

warnings: not proofread, swearwords, lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: okay I'm sorry I didn't post for like two months, ngl I simply forgot that this blog existed😭

notes to the fic: reader is written as gn (one mention off y/n), but pls don't read Nico's part if u identify as female! :)

masterlist

Percy

he's always barefoot during spring and summer

you'll never catch him with shoes on because he things that they are "blocking the fresh air his toes need"

at least they never get that dirty because he can't survive five minutes without jumping in the sea

when he was younger sally had to force him wear shoes to school, to the parkt et cetera and he was always so angry at her after that because he hated it with all his passion

that anger quickly faded after she baked some blue cookies

after growing up he learned that he should wear shoes to school et cetera but the second he is at camp he gets rid of them

after you dressed it he delegated that he always washed them and kept them clean so there was no wrong doing it and that it's actually healthy for your feet

Annabeth

listen, I love annabeth

but she's always mansplaining

Like u could be talking about ur close family that she only met once and she‘d say something like „actually, i had the impression that…“

It’s so annoying

she doesn't even mean it mean or something

but it also could be just a conversasiation that she isn't even involved in and she'll just randomly pop up and mansplain the topic

jason

That boy doesn’t have any basic knowledge

Like he is at camp jupiter since he’s three or something

I‘m not sure if they even knew what they where teaching him

Like that boy doesn’t know algebra

You could be talking about something in history and how deeply that event infected the way society lives now and he‘d be like „what do you mean?“

And he’s serious

Everytime Percy and Leo make fun of him for not knowing something he‘ll run to you and beg you to explain it to him

Most of the time you make a bit fun of him too because a 17 year old boy who doesn’t know what the french Revolution was is kinda funny

He knows that you‘re just joking though

hazel

I love her but she's like one of the extra careful mom's whose world break when their child hears a swear word

every time you are someone near both of ou swears she has this weird shocked and impressed look and looks around the room

you had to stop swearing around her bc she always starts blushing and looks at you in awe

they don't even have to be the "bad" swear words, it could be something like shit and she'd still be shocked

you had to learn to find alternatives like fudge or fox

she made you browse for the alternatives to swear words for around two hours at midnight and made you subscribe to the mommy blogs incase they had "more cool little alternatives"

piper

she's a die hard romance book hater

she always gives you the weird look when you read one or even only look at one at the bookstore

like she doesn't even have a plausible reason besides that they "always have the same ending and are very predictable"

I mean she's right but still

when she was 14 she had an instagram where she just talked shit about romance books because she was bored

it's not even that she doesn't like reading or books that much, she just doesn't like them because they (as already said) have the same ending and because she gor sick of the perfect romantic ending after drew talked night in and out about it

you once convinced her to read your favorite romance book and she tried her best to be nice

she actually didn't find it that bad and liked the ending but she would never admit that to you

leo

that boy either doesn't shower for one week or takes two hour showers

it's a bit better in the summer but especially in winter he never shower because he "would just get dirty later again"

you have to force him too properly shower because he would just forget it again

and when he actually showers for once he takes two hour showers

but especially in summer he's just gonna swim in the lake and call it a day because he basically "got clean already"

frank

I love frank sm but he would 7 in 1 shampoo

he doesn't get why it's bad and insists that it makes his hair shinier

you try to explain it to him once but he just doesn't understand 😪

he also tries to convince you all the time that it's so much better than owning body wach, shampoo and conditioner

nico

is a pop music hater

he always has this annoyed look on his face when you play pop music

he always makes this disappointed dad sigh and says "again?"

nico sounds so disappointed

he secretly loves it about you tho

reyna

she's like a confused mom and never gets jokes

"what do you mean by that, y/n? I never do that"

you try to explain the joke to her but give up after 10 minutes

she's grumpy for the rest of the day because you wouldn't finish explaining it to her

eventually she gives her pride up and asks you again

and after another ten stressful minutes she finally gets it

she kept arguing that what you said doesn't make sense

[ebullientheart]

the nice guy. spencer reid x reader

content — fluff. humour. fem!bau!reader. casual mention of sex. loosely based on season four episode nine. case talk. nondescript injury to reader.

you explain to spence the difference between a nice guy and a ‘nice guy’.

“i don’t understand this.”

morgan spun on his chair, “what’s that, wonder boy?”

the files he was flicking through were baffling him. each of the interview transcripts read the same sort of thing. ‘oh, he was a textbook ‘nice guy’ you know’, or something to that effect.

you were the one conducting that set of witness interviews, and the text before him showed no confusion on your part as you continued your original line of questioning. concluding this meant you understood, spencer ignored derek’s response and instead got up to find you. predictably, in garcia’s office, watching unreleased films, seeing as your paperwork was long completed.

“can i ask you something?” he interjected, causing penelope to throw popcorn at him as a consequence of her surprise.

“can you knock?” she quipped back, but he wasn’t really listening to her. spencer could become pretty single minded when he set his focus on something, especially if it was something he didn’t understand.

you excused yourself and followed him into the hall. the simple window on your right showed nothing but the clouded night sky, meaning only a few people lingered in the office now. spencer turned the light on by reaching past your head to the switch, while you tried to ignore the way your stomach felt upon having him lean over you.

clearing your throat, you addressed him, “what did ya need, spence?”

he showed you what he’d been preoccupied with, “what does this mean? we profiled our unsub as desperate, creepy, and we were right. why did they all describe him as a nice guy?”

you pondered for a moment on how best to explain it to him before you answered.

“they’re kind of being sarcastic. a textbook ‘nice guy’ is a guy who really pities himself, quotes ‘nice guys finish last’, that sort of thing. he thinks he’s so kind, and for that women owe him sex, so when they don’t meet that standard, he just believes women only like jerks. he sees himself as good, but he doesn’t comprehend why women would take offence to his sexual reward system for human decency.”

spencer frowned, “there are enough of them that women have a collective name for this?”

you nodded, “trademarked and everything.”

“really?”

“no, kidding.”

he smiled at you and you returned it, his curiosity fulfilled and his faith in humanity slightly lessened, as it was case by case.

a few days later, you were all jetting off to another police department, examining files and bouncing theories. spencer sat on your left, the only one close enough to hear the low rumble of your stomach. chuckling to himself, he produced a breakfast bar from his satchel and slid it over to you. the overjoyed expression on your face at food, and food in your favourite flavour, prompted him to remember your ‘nice guy’ conversation.

you offered him your thanks and he answered, “you’re welcome. no sex required.”

even though he was half kidding, half sincere, you gave him a whole laugh, easy and unabashed. the smile he donned was satisfied at initiating such glee from you.

as the investigation progressed, the danger became more and more apparent. the team knew someone was going to end up hurt, but it didn’t stop them from flinching as they saw you swinging your legs in the back of an ambulance, taking emergency blood supply. you rolled your eyes at their concern, “really, i’m fine guys. just a scratch.”

they weren’t so quick to dismiss your injury, but they didn’t hover. they had protocol to follow, local cops to brief, and press to alert. the only one who lingered was spencer, awkwardly sitting next to you at your invitation. he thought about wrapping an arm around your bare shoulder as a chill set in the air, but was too afraid to dislodge the tube. you bit the bullet of his worrying and leaned until he was prompted to support you.

“are you alright?” he knew it wasn’t the right thing to ask you, but he wasn’t sure what else to say in that moment, not when you were pressed against him so the warmth from your body bled through his vest to his own skin.

you gave a light shrug, but didn’t comment further, instead saying, “you’re nice, spencer. the real way.”

he hummed, “how’d you know?”

“nice guy trademark would’ve tried to kiss me by now. you’re just holding me.”

he knew what he was about to admit was a risk, but the question burned in his throat, “what if i wanted to? kiss you?”

you looked up at him and his heart skipped a beat. if he tried, he could count every one of your eyelashes, even though a few were clumped together by smudges of mascara that had congealed in your initial reaction to the wound. there was a brightness in your irises that sparked something in his chest. the hand you could move freely came up to his face, which had become flushed. you could feel the heat beneath your palm, but couldn’t make it out visually with his back to the ambulance light.

“i’d think you’re even nicer.”

he didn’t seem all that surprised, “can i?”

“please.”

[devildomwriter]

I want to ask... pleasee... when do you think obm charas fell for mc? And how they realize about that kind of feeling. And i actually curious about seraph other than michael and raphael (relationship with lucy) thankyouuuuuu ✌(‘ω’)✌

When Did They Fall in Love?

Mammon fell almost right away. He already was leaving a toothbrush in MC’s room by chapter 4 so I’d say a little before then probably in chapter 3

Leviathan was very flustered around MC after agreeing to a pact and becoming closer friends. I believe this is around the time he started really falling for MC and seeing them as more than a friend. This is in chapter 4

I believe Beelzebub fell for MC after they saved his life. They were already becoming friends but after that Beel was pretty devoted to MC. This happens in chapter 6

Asmodeus became enamored with MC after experiencing their power. This is when he started looking at MC as more than just a human and housemate. The more he learned about MC the more devoted he became. This starts in chapter 8

I believe Satan fell for MC around the time they formed a pact. He had great respect for them and was a bit flustered about the situation. This happens in chapter 12

I believe Lucifer’s interest begins in chapter 12 but dissolves upon MC’s betrayal. However when the dust settles his feelings have returned by chapter 17

Belphegor immediately took an interest in MC in chapter 16 upon learning their heritage. However I believed he felt romantic interest in chapter 17 onwards when MC helped him repair his bond with his brothers and he saw how kind they were.

Solomon is hard to say. He doesn’t get a lot of time in season one and in season two he is mostly trying to figure them out. However in season two he is willing to kill Lucifer and destabilize the Devildom over letting MC die. To I’d say within season 2

Simeon also became more attached to MC in season 2 and was confessing and blushing by season 3. But I predict it was towards the end of season 2

Diavolo fell for MC probably towards the end of season 1. But during the chaos of season 2 and not knowing if MC would live or die he held his tongue. He tried confessing later in season 2 but was interrupted.

Barbatos was pretty confused about everyone’s attachment to MC. In season 3 MC kisses him and he is surprised to feel a warmth from it. But he officially falls for MC at the end of season 4. Barbatos takes a while because he’s been all throughout time and is very strict in his duties, so love didn’t cross his mind until he felt it for MC.

Thirteen is pretty attached to MC in Nightbringer almost immediately. But she begins calling herself an MC Stan before the end of NB season 1 and ropes Mephistopheles into it.

Mephistopheles hasn’t shown much romantic interest in MC in Nightbringer yet but as teased by Thirteen he believes MC looks good but just never says what he means. I believe he develops interest in season 2 but I don’t believe he’s fallen just yet.

Raphael has almost no time in Nightbringer and hasn’t had a chance to bond with MC. In the OG game he did get pretty close to MC as they helped him accept the reality Lucifer and his brothers wouldn’t return to the Celestial Realm. He’s also the first of the new three to get closer to them in OG. But I don’t believe he’s fallen for them yet, though interest is there.

Michael hasn’t fallen for MC but we know he cares about them and has been protecting them though he claims it’s for the brothers’ sake. He feels MC is trustworthy enough to rant to about his issues so he must care at least a little.

Other Seraphs and Lucifer

I believe it was in a daily chat, but Simeon has texted Lucifer that the other angels have been asking about him, especially Uriel. So we know that some of them still care about him or are at the very least curious—Not just the seraphim but all of the angels.

[jymwahuwu]

Jing Yuan who’s always trying to get y/n pregnant :( Ever since he first saw y/n at the Xianzhou Luofu as a traveler passing by since we loved to roam around the galaxy and explore new places and planets, loving the thrill of it more than anything else he got lovesick almost immediately!

He loves to see someone so young and beautiful doing such scary and dangerous thing like traveling alone so as a high ranked general he had to make sure y/n is safe on his territory so he made sure she is at safe and protected place that he was close by so he could be close to her :D

As you loved to be for couple of weeks at the place, you really did love to go out with Jing Yuan on walks and not even a week later at his chambers to play some chess or card games as Mimi fell in love with you almost immediately with you, almost not letting you leave but Jiung Yuan had go let you go for time being :(

Even though he knows he could be your ancestor with how old he is, he quite frankly doesn’t care about it at all. He’s a charismatic man so after 3 weeks of direct and indirect flirting and even a clear romantic dates, you were so shy still so he had to slide a bit of aphrodisiac in your drink the night he knew you would announce you will go in a week to another planet, how did he know? Well…he can just said that you look so cute asleep in your room, as he watched you through cameras he put in your room and those times he kissed you on your lips when he broke in your room, “checking on you” in dead of night as his sinful lips kiss yours for “good night”

He forgot how inexperienced girls are so fun to ruin and corrupt, make them dump :( The way he kissed you sinfully, take (ripped) your clothes off as he pulled you into bed with him… The way your body was so responsive to his touch, losing a count of how much you finished as he put you in a meanest mating press, splitting you hole so deliciously as he creampied you thought entire night, making you go limp for a week straight after :(

At end, there was no doubt when a day you planned to leave after a month, you cried in his arms as two bold lines on pregnancy test were signaling something you didn’t want or planned now, you just thought that you were to young, to childish and free for children, especially when you are not in a relationship with him, it was just a drunk night that was supposed to pass and not have any consequences. He kissed your insecures away as he got to corrupt you till end-

i mean, y/ns pregnancy look divine when your bump showed so quickly, i guess your 6 babies are gonna look so magnificent when they are will look like their daddy ;)

(hiii!!, i had this thought for so long and i didn’t know if you would write for this, so feel free to ignore this :3 haha have a lovely day!)

cw: yandere, non-con, forced pregnancy, forced breeding, aphrodisiac

Who can predict it? You planned your itinerary. Xianzhou Luofu was originally just part of your trip. In the end, you got married there, got pregnant, and settled down…

Jing Yuan knows that changing your mind in such a short period of time is a daunting challenge...especially when you have booked hotels and spaceship tickets to other planets. He tried, really hard. Flirting, dating, but how shy you are >_<

You are leaving. This is not a good sign.

And why - who are you, talented anon, why did you mention "meanest mating press" - I have to search for hentai of mating press again…😣

Whenever, the thought of jing yuan + forced mating press makes me lose my mind.

Those muscles of his are pressing you down, and you are helpless…weak, and your legs are pulled up to the extreme and pressed against your chest. His hands are irresistible. He can wield weapons and has participated in numerous battles. And you are at his mercy. His size hits your pelvic bone, and his round and thick cock reaches the deepest point, pressing against the opening of your uterus. The chaotic sound of water. Your buttocks were spread as wide as possible in humiliation, and with each thrust, the flesh on your thighs swayed slightly. A rough slapping sound. You looked at Jing Yuan with tears streaming down your face. Those amber eyes. Gazing affectionately, as if staring at the most precious thing for him for hundreds of years. His tongue tangled with yours. The slapping sound didn't stop all night long. The seed he has stored for a long time has not been released, and now it is poured into your body. And you can't even move your legs. Just be bred. Sore, sore, but the orgasm was still overwhelming.

[elliewill]

A FOOL'S GAME. III

summary: a heated argument with your ex-girlfriend ellie turns into a steamy hatefuck neither of you were expecting.

warnings: 18+!!, mean!ellie, bratty!reader, reader w/female anatomy, mentions of infidelity, namecalling, choking, pet names, tribbing, box eating, finger fucking. 3.3k words.

a/n: smut written with hit different by sza in mind, maybe hits different by miss swift if you fw it. dedicated to sexy Star @totheblood

tags: @dyk3ification @girluvrr @totheblood @coeurify

part i / part ii

“I was in such a bad place and and I mean, it's not that I'm so much better right now, I’ve just been tryin–"

"You can’t keep using that as an excuse," you jumped in, slightly disappointed that you could predict the conversation. You had heard this all before. Nothing you could ever hear would ever justify why she treated you the way she did. "Do you have any idea how pathetic I felt? How lonely? Even then, I could never do what you did to me.”

“You have to trust me, Y/N. I- I was so fucking wrong. About everything," Ellie scrambled to reason with you. With one hand, she gestured as she spoke, while the other laid just over the hem of your shorts. It was always reassuring when she used to do that. Just a small squeeze on your thigh to bring you back to the present. "I did need you. I needed you then and I still do now." 

But it didn’t have the same effect on you anymore. It disgusted you. It disgusted you so much, you almost wanted her to keep going. To keep pushing you and your boundaries. To want you so bad, that she couldn’t help herself. You agreed to become strangers again, but you knew that was the last thing you wanted. Her words meant nothing. You wanted her to fight for you, to love on you, to show you that you didn’t have to become strangers again. You wanted her to prove you so undeniably wrong.

"And what happened when I needed you? When I wanted so badly for you to love me the same way? I spent so many nights crying over you. All while you were face-fuckin’-deep in another girl’s pussy," you chastised her, your voice faltering ever so slightly as you choked back that stupid lump in your throat.The image of her infidelity would be etched in your mind forever. There wasn’t a moment of thinking about it that didn’t burn your blood hot and choke you up with tears. It was a hurt you were sure you’d never get over.

“All we did was fuck! It never meant anything to me!” Ellie exploded, spitefully swiping her hand off of your thigh.

“Oh, so I guess that means I’m supposed to forgive you? Sure, Ellie! Go ahead, fuck whoever you want! As long as it doesn’t mean anything right? Is that what you wanted me to say?”

While Ellie loved you, she knew how stubborn you were. Loyalty meant a lot to you, and she knew it. Well, fuck, it meant a lot to her too. But she couldn’t get a good read on you. Were you saying this shit because you were still angry? Or was it to punish her? Whatever it was, she had to give it to you; you knew exactly the things to say to rile her. To get under her skin and piss her off.

“God, you always do this shit. You don't have to be a bitch and rub it in my fucking face. I admit that I wasn't a good fucking person, I know! I'm fucking trying!"

“So why the fuck did you come here, Ellie?”

“I wanted to apo-”

“To apologize? Have you fucking learned nothing? You think an apology will magically make this shit go away? Make me forget what I saw? Fuck your apology,” you practically spat at her and the audacity she had. “Get this shit through your thick fucking skull. I don’t fucking forgive you.”

“No, you know what, Y/N? Fuck you! You’re right, I don’t know why I came over here. Don’t know why I ever fucking loved you.”

It felt like the whole world went quiet. Game over. The pit of disgust that sat in your chest exploded into rage. How did you end up screaming at each other again? Why did she always make you feel as if you weren’t allowed to be fuckin’ mad at what she did? Your face grew red with heat and sweat pricked your neck. You made sure to lock on to Ellie's gaze, so she'd be sure you weren't fucking around, and that your next words were absolutely intentional.

“I’m glad the feeling is mutual," you practically whispered, peering directly into those angry green eyes. You nodded slowly.  "Now get the fuck out." 

"I'm not moving," Ellie whispered back and shrugged with newfound confidence and crossed arms. Her temper might be her pitfall, but her willful attitude proved stronger. She came here to get you back and she was already in the midst of fucking it all up again — a spiteful captain on her own sinking ship.

"Ellie. Get the fuck out of my house," you hissed as you drew in toward her, her face only inches away from yours. You glared at each other like two hateful and bitter champions moments from entering the ring. 

"I'm not. fucking. leaving," Ellie said, her voice gravelly and her breath brushing your lips. Her furrowed glare flickered from your lips to your eyes as her hand came up around the base of your throat. Her slender fingers grasped at your neck, pushing you down and onto the couch.

Deeply and desperately, your lips entangled with each others’ for the first time in what felt like fucking years as you laid beneath her on your sofa. By now, the heat that had started fire in your face had traveled its way right between your legs. Fuck, how long had it been? Weeks? Months? Since you had felt those lips on yours? Since you had melted around those fingers? Since you tasted her? If you were honest, there was something about Ellie calling you a bitch that had you dripping wet underneath those shorts. 

In frantic frustration, both of your chests heaved as you rolled tongues and small breathless moans leaked through. Her rough hands traveled from your neck to your tits underneath the oversized tee you wear to bed, your nipples stiffening and aching from her reckless touch. 

“Fuck me,” you managed to moan into her mouth, prompting her to break away from the kiss. Her eyes were dark with an unrecognizable, manic lust. She quickly stripped herself of her grey hoodie, white tank and sweats, leaving just her sports bra and boxers before returning her attention to you, those soft lips, and your chest.

“That’s right, baby,” she growled against your lips before dragging hers along your neck, brashly sucking and kissing, littering your skin with purplish love bites. 

“Don’t fucking leave those marks on my neck, Ellie,” you warned her, feigning your composure as if she hadn’t left you completely breathless. You were too stubborn to admit that it felt so damn good for Ellie to claim you like this. To proudly mark her as yours after months of having frozen each other out. But god, you knew how you’d hear it from Maria and the girls on stable once they would see them.

“What? Don’t want anyone to know?” Ellie retorted defensively in between the painfully sweet, suckling bites on your collarbones. “Well, they need to know you’re fucking mine.”

As her lips drew lower on your neck, you pressed your soaking pussy harder into her knee, desperately trying to relieve yourself of the tension of your throbbing clit. You rocked against her, gnawing the inside of your cheek to mask the moaning that would’ve fallen from your lips - not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing how she still made you feel. But the harder you pushed into her, the harder she ground onto you, the strain already building in your abdomen. “So fuckin’ needy already. You’re gonna fuckin’ beg me to let you cum.”

“Fuck off,” you retorted, sliding your body up and away from her, playfully teasing her for thinking she had the control. The tension in your core began to dissipate, and throbbing nearly made you regret moving away from her touch. But you remained resolute. “I’m not gonna be begging you for shit.” 

Just like that, her fingers came around the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down to reveal the soaking panties stuck to your heat. “I mean for someone who hates me so much, you still get this fuckin’ wet for me, huh?” But before you could snipe in return, her fingers wrapped around your panties and ripped the thin fabric into two, eager to lick up the mess you already made. “Look at this mess, baby. All over this perfect little pussy.”

“I’m not your fucking baby,” you reprimanded her, focused on sliding off the remnants of your shredded panties, eager to feel her fingers glide over your slick.

“Look at me when you fuckin’ say that,” she demanded, sliding two fingers into your aching pussy and bringing her left hand to your neck, driving you absolutely wild. You locked eyes with her as you struggled to catch your breath while her grip closed on your throat.

“I’m not… your f-fuckin’,” you whimpered, your clit throbbing from the way her hand wrapped around your neck like a necklace. At the same time, her fingers rhythmically danced on that soft, sweet spot in your cunt, leaving you at a loss for words, unable to finish your original sentence. You let a groan leave your lips in defeat, your back slowly arching to the sinful sound of Ellie’s heavy breathing and the gushing from her fingers pounding into you. “Shitttt, Ellie…”

“That’s what I thought,” she taunted. She pulled her glistening fingers out from your dripping cunt and delivered a wet blow straight onto your helpless clit, earning a satisfying yelp from you. But before she continued to fuck you, her fingers were in her mouth, cleaning up your slick off of them. Her eyes glued to yours, dark with lust. You’d be lying if you said the sight of her licking up the mess on her fingers didn’t make your pussy ache. But you’d never let her know that now. “I make this perfect little pussy feel so fuckin’ good, don’t I, baby?”

She was making you wait. She craved to hear those words spill from your lips so bad that she fucking dreamt about it. The sleepless nights almost felt painfully worth it to Ellie as she seized you up with her eyes, her gaze lingering on that glossy mess of a sweet spot between your spread legs, a growing ache starting in her own.

But of course, you’d rather walk across glass before admitting how much you missed the way she made your back arch. Instead, you wanted so bad to tell her how you fucking despised her. How she disgusted you.

Except you didn’t hate her. No, you could never hate her, not even in the slightest. What you hated was that no matter what she did, how low she stooped, how unforgivably she acted… you still loved her. Sure, it was bad when it was bad, but when it was good? She knew how to make you feel too fucking good.

“Get fucked. Go find that other bitch to beg for you,” you jeered like a brat while shutting your legs.  Almost immediately after those words left your lips, her hands flew around your thighs and roughly yanked you towards her, your back now slightly lifted away from the sofa. A gasp rushed from your lips, completely caught off guard by the way Ellie handled you.

Her grip traveled toward your inner thighs, her fingers pressing hard into your skin. You were almost fully convinced that you’d see the bruises peppered across your skin later, but you were too enthralled to bring yourself to care.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so,” Ellie muttered at you, lowering her face between your legs so that her lips inches away from your cunt. Without hesitation, her tongue hungrily slipped over your clit teasingly, over and over as that familiar tension grew in your stomach again. You bit your lip, and held your breath, trying to fight the urge to grab a fistful of her hair and plunge her tongue further into your pussy. 

You tried, and you failed. Miserably.

“Oh fuckkkk yessss,” you whined, unable to keep your composure at the sound of her sloppily lapping at your cunt. Your hands flew to her auburn locks and gripped tufts of her hair between your fingers, needlessly driving her face deeper into you. She hummed into your cunt in response, the vibration hitting your clit and sending shockwaves of pleasure toward that delicious knot growing in your core. “Don’t fucking stop, Ellie, please don’t fucking stop!”

Lustful green eyes peered at you from between your legs every few seconds, thirsty to catch every twitch and shiver as her tongue worked your bud. Heat grew beneath her boxers as she stole glimpses of your chest falling and rising…the way you licked and bit your lip with eyes closed as you fervently chased that release. The feeling was becoming frantic, and you found yourself desperately craving Ellie to put you over the edge.You needily rocked your hips against her face, her lips and tongue gliding effortlessly through your folds. 

“Shittt, justlikethatbaby, please, just like that,” you whimpered, too close to bliss to curse yourself for crying out to her the way you promised you wouldn’t. But Ellie wouldn’t let that slide. “Right fuckin’ there, oh fuck right there!”

Moments away from a crashing wave of ecstasy, Ellie ripped it out from under you. She pushed herself away from your grasp to look at you fully, her nose and flush pink lips glossy from a mixture of your slick and her saliva.Your grip in her hair left her locks a wild mess, but the last thing on her mind was how her hair looked. The built up tension at your core dissolved again at the will of the girl you claimed to hate. And the dismay easily revealed itself on your face.

“Ohh, look at that. Look at who’s fuckin’ begging now,” Ellie squeezed out between her panting, a cocky grin helplessly spreading across her wet lips. She couldn’t care less how hungrily you had been chasing your climax; she wanted you to know that she won.

 But before you were able to taunt in return, her hand came up and fell quickly, delivering another hard jolt to your pussy. Her fingertips directly stung your sensitive clit and an involuntary cry rang out from your lips. Your hand flew to your pussy to comfort the painfully pleasurable sting.

“You’re so easy to break, aren’t you?” she huffed, a self-satisfied smirk crooked on her face as she wiped off the wetness. Her resolve sobered you, almost competitively. You knew how bad Ellie had been wanting you, and you knew exactly how to take advantage.

“You’re one to talk. As if you’re not fuckin’ dripping…” you warned her, sitting up slowly to run your fingers across the slippery, wet spot you could see seeping through her boxers. Your hand trailed upward toward the waistband, as your fingers dipped beneath it. You could read each others’ eyes more clearly than you had ever before. A conversation was exchanged within a dark and carnal glare; you had read each other's minds and, without a single word, agreed.

She ripped off and tossed her boxers without hesitation and pressed your left leg back, positioning herself so that both your middles met perfectly. Her warm, slick cunt gently slid across yours, provoking a sharp inhale from between her teeth. With every wet and messy pass over your sensitive clit, that familiar, blissful strain began to build for both of you. 

Desirous glares and nothing but the sound of frenzied breaths and slippery contact of your gushing pussies were driving you over the edge. Ellie’s bucking became desperate, low moans leaking from her lips in ways she knew she’d kick herself for later. Her fingers dug into the thigh of the leg she pinned back, the tension balling up in her stomach almost irresistibly. It didn’t help to watch you writhe in pleasure beneath her, with your pretty parted lips and breathy whines and moans.

 “God, your pussy feels so fuckin’ good baby,” she managed to squeeze out in between sharp breaths and low moans, her left hand wandering toward your chest and roughly squeezing one of your tits. “I’m s-so fucking close.”

“Oh god, Els, ohhh fuckkkk, you’re gonna make me cum,” you groaned breathily, rocking your hips in time with hers, watching the sweat glisten off of her toned stomach in the warm lamplight. Watching her fuck you was pushing you over the edge, with her face screwed up in anticipatory pleasure, her lips wet and spouting the dirty sweet nothings you craved to hear.

“Shitttt, baby, cum with me,” Ellie growled, leaning forward to wrap her hand around your throat again, the purple and red marks from her brash kisses now more darkly staining your skin. The pressure of her grip closed in on your windpipe, dispelling any remaining breath from your lips and leaving no way to inhale again. You almost hated that she always knew how to make your climax the most intense ones you’d ever had. “Be a good girl and cum with me, baby.”

You could feel the blood rushing to your head while that euphoric feeling swelled in your lower half. Your hand flew Ellie’s hand on your neck which somehow gripped even tighter as that intense feeling rolled in her abdomen. She had squeezed her eyes shut, her brows furrowed in a desperate focus and her breath becoming shallow.

“F-fuck!” you tried to squeeze out from under her grasp, nothing but a whiny whisper leaving your lips. 

You couldn’t help but go quiet as your eyes rolled back, your lips parted and the muscles in your legs and abs tensed. Ellie continued to grind herself against you, sending an earth-shattering wave of pleasure from your core, your back arching in pure electrifying bliss. You dug your nails into her forearm as she gripped your throat, her control of your breath amplifying the intense and muscle-tightening pangs of pleasure from your pussy. 

“G-god, Y/N…” Ellie stammered out as you watched her eyebrows pinch at the center, lips slowly parting in ecstasy.  She vehemently rubbed herself against you through her climax, unbridled and involuntary moans escaping her lips as her muscles tensed and flexed over you.

As the feeling began to subside, Ellie let go of your windpipe, allowing you to inhale an exhilarating headrush of air, goosebumps forming along your skin at the gratification. 

She collapsed against you in calm exhaustion, her warm, damp skin sticking to yours as she lay on your bare chest. Both of your chests rose and fell as you descended from the euphoria you experienced moments before. Your hand almost instinctively came up to push her hair away from her sweat-beaded temples while she laid there. But you almost didn’t want to catch yourself.

“…Hope you don’t think this shit means I forgive you, asshole,” you said spitefully, to overcome whatever it was that you were feeling when you decided to brush her hair away. But you pushed her off of you as you both sat up, unable to meet each others’ eyes. 

“Oh pleaseee,” Ellie mocked. “Had you screaming my name and you still hate me?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you picked up your oversized sleep shirt from the side of the couch. You worked on turning it the right way round and pulling it over your head. This time, you were able to meet her green eyes just for a fleeting moment, a flicker of disappointment behind them.

 “Fuck you, Ellie. Yes. I still hate you.”

[asbealthgn]

(i'm gonna call this part two and a half. part one, two, three)

Trust Dustin Henderson to make an entrance.

With a healthy dose of reluctance, Steve pulls away from Eddie to look over his shoulder at Dustin, who is standing in the doorway with his hands on his head. His question, Holy shit, is that Eddie Munson? hangs in the air. 

Steve looks back at Eddie. “So wait, are you actually famous?” he asks, “Because I thought there was still like a thirty-five percent chance that Robin was messing with me.”

“Oh my God, you’re so fucking adorable,” Eddie says, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him back in roughly.

“Can someone tell me what the hell is happening?” Dustin asks.

A voice that sounds a lot like Max’s chimes in. “Steve is making out with Eddie Munson in Nancy and Robin’s kitchen,” she says, “Catch up.”

Eddie pulls away, grinning at Steve. “Do you want to introduce me to your friends?”

So Steve introduces Eddie to the new arrivals: Dustin, Max, Lucas, and Erica. Their reactions are exactly how Steve would have predicted if he had known more than five minutes ago that he brought a huge celebrity with him. Dustin is baffled and exuberant, Max is cool as a cucumber, Lucas is excited but polite, and Erica is acting above it all but secretly seems a little excited too. None of them seem to have any reaction to the kitten in his hands, but then, that’s the kind of party they signed up for. 

Eventually, Robin comes in to beckon them all back into the living room. Steve plants himself cross-legged on the floor in between Eddie and El.

“Look at her, Stevie,” Eddie says, holding up his kitten. “Look how much better than her brothers and sisters she is.”

Steve looks between the other kittens and the one Eddie’s holding. “I don’t know, they all seem good.”

“He doesn’t mean that, sweetheart,” Eddie says, nuzzling his nose against the kitten’s tummy. It should be illegal for anything to be this adorable, actually. Steve sort of wants to set something on fire. “We both know you’re the superior kitten.”

Steve scratches the kitten behind the ears. “She is very cute.”

“Here, you hold her,” Eddie says, passing her off into Steve’s arms. 

She rubs her head against his shoulder and purrs while Eddie presses closer to Steve’s side, one arm around his waist and his other hand petting the kitten. Steve can smell his cologne. It’s very distracting, but not quite distracting enough for him to notice that half of his friends are staring at them and whispering right now. But Steve’s not gonna worry about that. The hottest, most adorable guy he’s ever seen is currently wrapped around him cooing at a kitten. How could he possibly worry about anything?

After about twenty minutes, Eddie pulls out his phone. “Oh, my friend Gareth is here to get me,” he says.

Disappointment rises in Steve’s chest as Eddie takes the kitten back. He doesn’t want this to end. What if he never sees Eddie again? But then Eddie is looking at him with those gorgeous eyes and asking if he wants to come with. And of course Steve says yes. He gets to his feet and follows Eddie hand in hand, mouthing I’ll text you later to Robin over his shoulder. She gives him two thumbs up. 

Outside, a very nice car that Steve couldn’t name is waiting at the curb. As they approach, the window rolls down, revealing a guy about their age with a fluffy mop of hair. 

“Oh my God, that actually wasn’t a euphemism?” he calls, “You got a kitten for real?”

“Yeah!” Eddie says, pulling the door to the back seat open. He slides in, pulling Steve after him. “Meet Steve.”

“Is Steve the kitten or the guy?” the driver asks as he pulls away from the curve. 

“The guy,” Eddie says, “The kitten does not have a name yet.” He turns to Steve and grins. “Stevie, this is my best friend and bandmate, Gareth.”

“Hey,” Steve says, giving an awkward wave.

Gareth gives him a skeptical look over his shoulder. “Are you a gold digger?”

“Uh, no?”

“It’s okay, Gar,” Eddie says, patting Gareth on the shoulder. “Stevie didn’t even know I was famous until his friend told him like half an hour ago. He just likes me for my raw animal magnetism.”

Steve can’t even argue with that. And Eddie is grinning at him like he knows it. 

“Alright, now take us to PetSmart.”

tagging: @nburkhardt @stargyles @csinnamon-fox @manda-panda-monium @silly-jellyghoty @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @starquirk @lightwoodbanethings @dramaticwriter @adaed5 @freyaforestafay @roaringgoodshow @sherrylyn628 @stevesbipanic @stevethehairington @henderdads @artiststarme @softboisteve @gregre369 @korixae @kokoshka67 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @piningapple @iwouldsail @thesuninyaface @aftermidnightwriting @hamiltonsteele @brassreign @bitchysunflower @homosexual-having-tea @adelicioustragedy @trashpocket @dramaticwriter @eddiemunsonswife @blackpanzy @bitchysunflower @adelicioustragedy @thegingerrapunzel @overhillunderhill @beckkthewreck @glittergluekintsugi @elyondelannoy @somegirlsomewhere @pluto-pepsi @shinekocreator @goodomensgurl @savory-babby @blues-tunes

[anashins]

Could we get a ocxJaehyun where he’s kinda insecure cos oc doesn’t show she’s jealous (just not a situation where he tries to make her jealous on purpose pls🥺) and when he confronts her about it she’s like “you have no idea how jealous I am, I mean look at yourself 😭😭😭” so the rest of the story may be smth fluffy like healthy communication or just smut lmao.

Pls <3

Pairing: Jaehyun x You

Genre: light angst, fluff, romance, a bit suggestive in the end

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: After posting a picture of you and your male best friend, your boyfriend turns very jealous. After all, you're always so casual about his life, so he assumes the reason behind is that you don't find him attractive and wait for someone better to come around. If only he knew.

A/N: Thank you for requesting! I went through this 2 days ago with my bf, this hit very close to home haha

“Having dinner with my best friend in the whole wide world!”

Jaehyun read the caption on your Instagram story post over and over again while his stomach dropped in the process.

The fact that the photo you had posted did not only show food, but a guy having his arm around your shoulder while you were leaning close to him put him into a rage. And his members were his target. 

Jaehyun tossed his phone back into his bag and returned to the others who were currently learning a new choreography. By the change of his facial expression alone, Taeyong could tell that his mood had entirely shifted within an instant - something that unfortunately happened too many times lately.

“What’s wrong?”

he asked with his serious leader-voice, having predicted the outcome of this situation already and wanting to prevent it at all cost. There was no way Jaehyun would disturb the entire dance practice with his jealous mood again.

“Nothing.”

How he stood there though, with the corners of his lips facing downwards, eyes dark and arms folded across his chest, now everyone was alarmed and the leader had to look over their friendship for once and put Jaehyun in his place. Again.

“If it’s nothing, then act like it. We have a concert coming up,” Taeyong addressed him. “Otherwise I will have to send you away.”

Jaehyun just grumbled something, but remained silent. His friends rather had him silent than taking it out on everyone though, which was why nobody talked to him for the remaining hours again.

When practice was over, Taeyong walked up to him and took him aside.

“I’m telling you this not only as your leader anymore, but as your friend too, okay? Talk it out with her. Either that or you won’t be allowed on your phone during practice, Jaehyun. I’m serious. Everytime something like this happens, your mood is eating you up and everyone feels it. You can’t concentrate, you can’t memorize the moves, you cannot work with the others. This has to end.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaehyun dropped his head along with his shoulders, and Taeyong felt guilty, but he had to do what he was supposed to do. 

He patted his friend’s back. “It’ll be fine.” And with a grin, he added, “I mean, look at you. You’re Jeong Jaehyun. You don’t have any rivals.”

-

“Hey, how was your day?” you asked Jaehyun after entering his apartment.

You were in a relatively good mood as you had had a great day with your best friend who was visiting the country for a month, and since he was living abroad the majority of the time, you tried spending so much with each other as possible.

The possibility of it irking Jaehyun had only crossed your mind when he started commenting on the photos you posted kind of snarky like “Oh, you’re out together again today?”, but since he hadn’t said anything directly, you had just brushed this feeling off.

Today though, he didn’t look good at all, it was written all over his face, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it with a fake smile that he usually reserved for cringy fancalls. 

“Are you okay?” you asked when you followed him into the living room. “You can tell me, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just…” He took a deep breather. “I haven’t heard from you all day.” 

“I’m sorry, I was busy. You know I’m rarely on my phone when I'm with people. I don’t want them to feel like I prioritize anything else over my time with them.”

He shrugged. “But there is always enough time to post on your Instagram story.”

Jaehyun could have bitten into his own tongue as he was usually very composed, but before he could redeem himself, you had already put the puzzle pieces together. 

He was jealous.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m just-’”

You got on your tiptoes and cupped his face. “Jaehyun… please tell me exactly what’s wrong. You know there is nothing to worry about since he has a girlfriend too and that’s just how we are together. I always told you that.” 

He averted his eyes, but you remained yours. “You’re always so casual and excited about everything. You like all my posts, my stories, comment encouragingly and supportingly on them, no matter when and no matter with who. Even if I don’t find time to reply to you, even if something holds me back from returning you the same energy. Am I the only one who cares?”

“Care about what?”

“That someone might take you away from me.”

“Jaehyun…” You tilted your head. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you never reacted the same way as I. No matter where I am, what I do or what kind of videos and pictures pop up online. You never seem to be bothered, and yet here I am, not being able to return this feeling, because even when a guy looks at you, I want to get you out of his eyesight. Does it mean I’m just not that attractive in your eyes, so you’re not worried at all? I genuinely want to know.”

Your mouth stood open over the fact that your boyfriend, possibly almost every girl in your age range’s ideal type, was assuming you didn’t find him handsome. His perfect face, that graced screens, placards, phones and everyone could stare at whenever and how often they wanted. He thought he wasn’t attractive, because you didn’t show jealousy.

Of course you were jealous as hell.

You brushed with your thumbs over his cheeks, trying to ease him. “Every day, so many people get to see this handsome face and experience your kind character. Just look at yourself. Of course I’m jealous too. Sometimes, especially when you’re touring, they see you more often than I, and I get to backtrack everything online, what you’re doing and saying, after them, after strangers. And the things they write… I don’t want to see, but I cannot close my eyes. At times, the pain gets so unbearable that I have to log off and trust that you eventually call me and tell me about everything.”

Jaehyun frowned and his former dark mien shifted into a frown. “I didn’t know all that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t know, because would that benefit me in any way? No. I trust you and only you. Everyone else doesn’t matter. I don’t have any influence, so I try to distance myself from it. So, I’m sorry if you ever feel like I don’t find you attractive enough, because I don’t show it in that kind of way. It’s just… I will always get painfully reminded that so many other people feel that way too. And every single one of them would take you away from me in an instant if they ever get the opportunity.”

"Nobody will.”

“I know.”

Something inside Jaehyun cracked when he saw you being so honest and also so confident about it. So, you were feeling the same about the other, you just had different ways to express and cope with it. 

Jaehyun took your hand into his and kissed your palm. “I’m sorry for being so insecure sometimes and not having more faith. We love each other, we want to be with each other, I shouldn’t make you feel down with my problem. I should be more like you. It’s the healthier way. Please show me how.”

“Baby steps,” you told him and took his hand into yours. “But first, let me prove to you how attractive I find you.”

“Maybe it will take you more than one time to convince me.”

“That’s fine.”

[missglaskin]

Yandere (HOTD) Targaryen/Velaryon/Hightower family (together) HCS part 2 

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Mainly Platonic, but there are some possible romantic pairings; Spoiler warnings 

Note: This starts with episode 3 to episode 5. Also part 3 will come up soon 

While the realm celebrates Aegon's second naming day, Daemon and Corlys are engaged in a battle with the crab feeder. To their dismay; Daemon and Corlys were unable to take you with them as you must remain in king’s landing. Viserys was the one who demanded you stick by his side; Rhaenyra and the Hightowers all agreed for once. 

Rhaenyra still feels betrayed by Alicent’s marriage to her father. It doesn’t help that everyone anticipates Viserys to name Aegon his successor. Often, she would cling to you and turn to you for solace. She argues you side with her in this matter and avoid Alicent as she is. 

As the queen, Alicent has several advantages. One of them is persuading Viserys to create time for you to spend with her since she is now your "mother"; Otto supports her argument, but in truth, it is his method of making time for you as well. You'll be pressured by the two to get close to and spend time with Aegon. They introduce him as your "brother." Otto believes in forming a bond with Aegon; you’ll back his claim in the future. 

Otto is always cautious when dealing with you in front of Viserys. The king is still your "father" at the end of the day. However, he makes no attempt in front of the Velaryons, Daemon, and Rhaenyra. His plans are known to them. Though Otto is aware that by hastily proposing to marry you to one of his sons, he may have crossed a line and aroused Viserys' suspicion. Viserys, as predicted, rejects the proposal. 

When Rhaenyra had to depart for a while to look for a suitor, she tried to convince Viserys to let her take you with her. However, Otto argued it would be better for you to stay with your father, and Viserys reluctantly agreed. Otto finds any means necessary to keep you in King's Landing, even suggesting that you take part in the small council. With Rhaenyra gone, Alicent and Otto had more time to spend with you, and Alicent made arrangements for you to spend time with Helaena and Aegon as well. 

However, that period of time is shortened when Daemon and Rhaenyra both return. In spite of his delight at seeing you once more, Daemon is enraged to see you so near to the Hightowers. Daemon has made it known how much he despises Alicent and her children, more so her father. He nearly feels the want to act recklessly when he sees you acting so pleasant with them. It appears that you fell victim to their deceivement during his absence. 

But for the first time, it appears like Alicent and Rhaenyra have reconciled and are on the verge of rekindling their friendship. You can tell by the way they have positioned you now, sitting between them. Unfortunately, things are called into doubt when word gets out to the court that Daemon and Rhaenyra were discovered at a brothel. Even so, there was some hope when Alicent decided to believe Rhaenyra. 

Having been exiled once more, Daemon asks to see you one more time. To just say farewell. Viserys, however, rejects it. There's a small chance Daemon may use this chance to take you with him to Vale, and what can a lot of guards do against a dragon?  

When Rhaenyra persuades Viserys to dismiss Otto, she not only points out that he is self-serving but also that he is attempting to take Viserys’ place in your life. All of this convinces Viserys, and he dismisses Otto. Even though Otto intends to leave after being dismissed, he first speaks to you and Alicent. With Alicent, he demands that she prepare Aegon to rule, and with you, he implores you to pick a side in the future. 

Upon your travel to driftmark with the rest of the family to propose marriage to Laenor and Rhaenyra, you saw two dragons flying up high; Meleys and Seasmoke. At the driftmark, Laena is there to greet you with a bear embrace. Likewise, Laenor is delighted and greets you like his sister. You are enthusiastically brought by the siblings to the parents, who immediately give you a warm welcome as well. 

As Viserys and Corlys finalize the details of Laenor and Rhaenyra's wedding, Corlys makes a special offer: he'd want you to come to visit the driftmark from time to time. He even adds that to make matters simpler, he might have Rhaenys ride you back and forth on her dragon, as it is one of the swiftest. Viserys accept, desiring to bring the houses together. 

Before Criston's startling charge at the wedding ceremony, mayhem had already broken out. There was some debate over who you should sit next to, but Viserys and Rhaenyra demanded you take a seat in the middle of the two of them. However, every now and then Corlys and Rhaenys would come to your side or make you come to their side so they could speak to you. Even worse comes when Daemon shows up and asks you to temporarily sit next to him because he hasn't seen you in a while. 

Rhaenyra, Laena, and Laenor all dance with you alternately, and occasionally Daemon does too. Anyone else who attempts to approach to you will be sent away before they can even utter a word. Laenor may even take the time to introduce you to Joffrey. Alicent, who doesn't participate in the dancing, attempts to persuade Viserys to have you sit them instead of dancing; at this point, she can't bear Rhaenyra and watching you dance and laugh with her enrages her.

Chaos breaks out when Criston strikes Joffrey. Everyone is now concerned about the princess and you. Those at the table will shout for help in locating you and the princess. And when Laena reaches for you, she is knocked to the ground. Harwin is the one who carries Rhaenyra to safety, while Daemon carries you. All of them hurry to check on you, but notably, Alicent and Rhaenys, who look to see whether you've been hurt. Upon the dispersal of the crowd, Laenor can be seen sobbing over Joffrey's lifeless body. Alicent grabs hold of you to shield you from the sight.

What was supposed to be a ceremony with days of feasting and celebration turns out to be an empty hall with only a small group of individuals present to witness the culmination. Alicent is still holding you the entire time, as the Vaelyrons can do nothing but glare at her. Since she pardoned Criston and not only made him her sword guard but yours as well, Laenor and Laena in particular have grown to detest her even more.

There's a possibility that Criston will develop tendencies for you. You are not only cared for by Rhaenyra, but also by Alicent, who he believes saved his life. Criston begins to feel a sense of responsibility to defend you. Criston could even view you as someone in need of saving, as someone decent and compassionate in such a harsh world. As Alicent did, he will try to portray Rhaenyra in a negative light. 

[abiiors]

on the road // george daniel x oc

valentine's week - day 5: lovers' quarrel

a/n: this is a bit shit but i wanted to resurrect george and cleo and give them a valentine's day because i miss them. also because i need motivation to finish the series cw: nothing much, just a bit of crying wc: 3k

if someone had told cleo a year ago that she’d be spending valentine's day with george daniel, with her boyfriend george daniel, she would have cackled until her stomach hurt. she would have called them insane for even thinking such a thing and moved on with her life. 

but the night before the big day, cleo sighs into her pillow and turns to glare at her empty bed, and by extension her empty apartment. 

turns out she actually isn’t spending valentines day with her boyfriend—not in the way she wants to, at least. 

she picks at a hangnail and hmms noncommittal to whatever matty’s just said on the phone. 

“are you listening to me?” matty asks, and she can practically imagine him snapping his fingers at her. “i said george is picking you up tomorrow. 8 am.”

cleo gapes and sits up in her bed. “no he’s not!”

there’s a silence on the other end of the line, some static. “uhhh… yes he is,” matty says, confusion clear in his voice. “i just confirmed that with him.”

“no, i meant… he doesn’t have to. i’ll take the train.” she chews on the pad of her thumb, waiting to see how matty would react to this. predictably, there’s some shuffle on the line. then the background noise dims before matty speaks again. 

“cleo,” he begins, exasperation clear in his voice. “have you fought again?”

her first instinct is to be defensive. what does he mean again?! it’s not like they fight a lot! sure they bicker maybe, sure they bicker a bit more than a regular couple whatever that means but they don’t fight. well…

apart from a few days ago. and she’s still dealing with the fallout from that. 

“you did, didn’t you?” matty sighs. “no wonder george was so short with me.”

“it’s just a spat,” cleo mumbles and massages her temples. “‘s fine, matty. i’ll take a train tomorrow. he doesn’t need to go out of his way.”

she expects him to argue back, to insist that george should pick her up as planned. instead he just hums. 

“sure,” matty drawls. “if you’ve got 160 quid to throw away, be my guest.”

cleo almost chokes on air then, her eyes wide as saucers. “fuck off!” 

but matty only laughs at her. “it’s either that or a road trip with george. you pick.”

and then the little shit hangs up, leaving her to fume in silence. 

cleo curses at her empty room, at the any and every train operator she can think of. she even plops herself back on the bed to dramatically check for train tickets only to discover that matty absolutely wasn’t lying. once the annoyance drains away, though, her eyes sting with unshed tears. her throat feels tight. 

she really misses george, so much so that she doesn’t even want to sleep in the empty bed anymore. but she settles for hugging the other pillow tightly and closing her eyes. 

cleo promises herself that she’ll talk it out with him tomorrow. she has to. there’s no way she’s going to be stuck with him in a car for six hours while they both fume silently in their respective seats and not talk for the entire duration of it.

george is there 8 am just like matty said. cleo looks at him through the window of her apartment, curtains half drawn so she could sneakily ogle at him and gauge his mood. to her annoyance, his face is absolutely blank. 

not that that’s the first thing she sees of course. 

he’s in a plain white t-shirt that fits him perfectly—it’s just the right amount of loose on him, the sleeves cut off at the perfect point on his arms and the sun reflects on his stupidly gorgeous hair making them shine. to cleo’s utter annoyance, he looks fucking hot. just like he always has. 

on top of that, he’s leaning against the car, a cigarette dangling between his lips so carelessly, every time he holds it between his fingers, the rings on his hand glint and her mind flashes with all the times she’s spent obsessed over those fingers, all the times they’ve made her feel maddeningly amazing. over and over again. 

he takes his phone out to type something and two seconds later her phone buzzes. 

something warm spreads through her chest—sure, they’re mad at each other but at least he’s texting her. at least, there’s some form of communication. 

she runs to look at her phone and it’s like a bucket of cold water’s  just doused the warmth in her chest. it’s not a text from george, it’s a text from matty – he’s waiting downstairs. where are you?

then a moment later – pls don’t make me your messenger pigeon

she stomps like a child and staches the phone in her back pocket. then, just to be annoying, she takes extra two minutes to perfectly apply her lipgloss—let him wait. she’s not in the mood to be nice to him anymore. no matter how good he looks. 

by the time cleo gets to the car, it’s already ten past eight. his eyes widen just a smidge when he sees but he quickly schools his face into a neutral expression and flicks the cigarette butt away. then he stomps on it a couple times and turns, about to go to the driver-side door, leaving cleo to gape at the back of his head. 

he’s never, never let her open the door even once since they got together. not even a single time. but this time he simply slides into his seat and taps impatiently on the steering wheel without saying a word. 

cleo yanks the car door open and slams it shut once she’s inside, she even clicks her seatbelt in place with a scoff and then resolutely turns to the window, turning her face away from him as much as possible. 

by the time they’re out of her neighbourhood and onto the freeway, she can feel his burning stare at the back of her head, so much so that she can’t help but turn around slightly and take a peak at him from the corner of her eye. a muscle feathers in his jaw when someone honks at them and george mutters a low curse under his breath. 

it’s the first time she’s hearing him speak today, and even this isn’t directed at her. the realisation makes her throat feel tight but she refuses to cry any more about the fight than she already has. and so cleo stares straight ahead, vowing not to be the first one to break the silence. 

“coffee?”

cleo startles when george speaks out of nowhere. they haven’t been driving for that long, only about an hour judging by the time blinking on the car’s radio but the tension in the vehicle is thick enough to cut with a knife. 

he looks at her briefly and then points to a costa on the side of the road. cleo nods and waits for him to park the car. 

“i’ll get it for you,” he mumbles just as she’s about the exit the car and flees before she can make a single noise of protest. 

cleo just sits there, absolutely stunned. 

is this what it’s going to be like for the next six hours? tense silences and george running out on her whenever he has the chance to? bitterly, she thinks about how he can’t even stomach spending any more time with her than absolutely necessary. sighing, cleo closes her eyes and gathers her knees to her chest.

“i just… i don’t get you!” george almost yells, exasperation coating every syllable. they’ve been at it for thirty minutes now. ever since since they got back to her apartment from fucking ikea of all places. 

every since george mentioned “their” home and cleo shut down on him. 

“what’s not to get?” cleo yells back. she can’t even bring herself to stand up and fight, she just sits in the corner of the sofa, a throw blanket on her lap almost like a shield. her hair’s a mess from running her hands through it so many times but her scrunchie is around george’s wrist and the middle of a fight is not the time to ask for it. 

“cleo…” he tiredly rubs his face and her heart cracks just a little. “we’ve been together for four months. it’s been amazing. hasn’t it been amazing for you?”

she just nods, not trusting her voice enough to speak. 

“an we’ve lived together before!” his voice cracks. 

“that was different! we were roommates. not– not—”

“oh you can’t even say it now?”

he completely stops pacing then and stares at her intently. cleo tries not to curl into herself under the sudden attention, she tries not to let the anxious ball in her stomach get the best of her. she tries not to be such a bad girlfriend. 

but one look at george and she knows she’s doing a pretty shit job of it. her heart breaks at how upset he looks but cleo can’t bring herself to say the words he really wants to hear. 

“so it’s a no then,” he sighs, “you don’t want us moving in together.”

the weight of his hope settles on her chest, almost suffocating her and george’s shoulders slump. 

“okay,” he says quietly and picks up his car keys. 

cleo doesn’t move when she hears the front door shut softly or when his car comes to life and drives away. she just fidgets with the blanket and wallows in self pity. she could have said yes so easily. 

but cleo’s scared of how much she likes him—maybe even how much she loves him at this point. she’s scared of going all in so soon after how it ended up for her the last time. she’s scared of letting him see the cracks in her armour. 

she wants to make a decision so badly! but her heart wants to give in and her brain reminds her of the last time and cleo can only sit there miserably on her sofa and not come to a decision at all. 

“cleo?” his voice makes her head snap up and she blinks against the sudden brightness. “did you fall asleep?” 

she’s about to say something but her throat feels clogged and her eyes sting. quickly, she averts her eyes from him and takes the coffee cup from him. george lingers by the door, almost like he wants to say something but then he shuts it gently and goes back to the driver's seat. the whole time she says nothing, not for lack of trying. but she knows the moment she opens her mouth the dam is going to burst and everything’s going to come out and she definitely can’t stand another fight within the first hour of a six hour roadtrip.

so she shuts up and takes a gulp of her coffee, hissing when she scalds her tongue. 

“you okay?” george asks, then inhales like he’s about to say something more but cleo quickly hums and turns to her window once again. 

with a pang in her chest she realises it’s a caramel latte with extra drizzle of caramel, her favourite. even in the middle of a fight, he’s remembered her favourite. 

she chokes out a quick “yeah” and takes another sip of her coffee. it’s so sweet, she knows george would make a face instantly if he had a sip of it. she wants to see him make that face now—his nose all scrunched up, his mouth twisted in a grimace. and then she wants to kiss the grimace away. 

quietly, george slides his hand into hers over the gear stick. and that’s the thing that finally breaks her. big fat tears roll down her cheeks like she’s a cartoon character and she can’t fucking stop sniffling like a child. 

“oh baby,” he whispers softly and cleo just cries harder. she’s already made a mess of everything, she can’t stomach his kindness on top of the guilt. but he’s having none of it. 

george takes the cup from her hands and puts it in the cupholder. then unclicks her seatbelt, slides his seat back and, as if she weighs absolutely nothing, he pulls her from her seat and onto his lap. his hold around her is so gentle, it makes cleo cry harder. 

“i’ve messed up everything,” she wails and buries her face in his chest. his t-shirt is so soft (she makes a mental note to steal it later) and fuck, he smells so good too. everything about him is familiar and nice and he’s just… he’s her george. but then his hand wraps around the nape of her neck and she remembers his sad face from a few days ago. 

she remembers his quiet “okay”

“you haven’t, love—”

“no i have!” she states adamantly, “i made you sad.”

he holds her even tighter then, his fingers gently stroking the back of her head but he doesn’t say anything. at any other time she would have huffed and bickered with him about using her own tactic against her, about staying silent until she feels the overwhelming urge to fill it. 

“can i ask you something?” george asks and she lifts her head up to look at him properly. up close, cleo realises how tired he looks. there are circles under his eyes, and she could easily attribute them to late night studio sessions but she has a sneaking suspicion she’s the reason behind them. 

she can so clearly imagine him too, tossing and turning in his bed, waking up from a half-sleep only to find her not there, not spending the night with him just like she does at least five times a week. 

“yeah,” she chokes out again. 

“do you really not want us to live together?”

“that’s not—” her throat closes up again and she swallows forcefully, “i didn’t mean— it’s just—”

“okay deep breaths,” he encourages and starts rubbing small circles on her hip. the pad of his thumb is rough and scratchy, it creates just the perfect kind of friction against her skin that keeps her grounded. and cleo does as she’s asked. 

when she feels sufficiently calm, she tries again. “it’s really scary,” she starts and looks at him again to try and gague his reaction, but george just presses a kiss to her temple and encourages her to go on. “the last time i let someone in so quickly, it didn’t… it didn’t end well.”

“i’m not him,” his jaw ticks for a moment but he swallows again and gives her another little kiss. 

“i know you aren’t. you could never be.”

“so then…why?”

it takes cleo a minute to mull it over in her head. he’s right to ask that question. he’s right because she has absolutely no answer for it. 

“i don’t know,” she mumbles quietly and looks down in shame. they stay like that for a minute. no one moves, no one speaks, but cleo feels his desperation. she knows he wants it so bad. fuck! she wants it so bad—

“a drawer,” she says. “i’ll clear out a drawer. and we can work up from there? please?”

for thirty whole seconds he says absolutely nothing and cleo’s brain conjures up horrible scenarios—he’s going to flinch away from her and tell her to get out of his car. he’s going to call her something hurtful and abandon her in a fucking costa car park an hour away from home. he’s—

george snorts. “did you just suggest exposure therapy?”

cleo blinks at him in surprise. for a beat they both stay silent, and then just like that cleo cracks up, george following suit. two seconds later they’re giggling like teenagers. a couple more tears leak from her eyes but this time she knows it’s not tears of sadness. she’s laughing too hard for that. 

“you’re a fucking idiot,” george flicks her nose and she kisses him. it's their first kiss in the last few days and if she could melt, right here in his lap, she would. she would be an absolute puddle right here but george holds her together and kisses her back so deeply that her head spins. she kisses him with equal ferocity and in that moment none of it matters, not their fight, not this stupid roadtrip, not even her fears. in this moment he’s the only one that matters. 

“but you’re my idiot,” he whispers on her lips once they pull back just enough to breathe. cleo is breathless and blushing. she hasn’t been kissed like this in, well…days, and she kind of hates the fact that they’re in public. 

“i am,” she nods and hugs him tightly. “sorry for being such a loser,” she mumbles into the crook of his neck and feels him nod sagely. 

“‘s alright. not everyone can be as perfect as me.”

“fuck off, george!” she pokes him in the sides, “or i’ll—”

“or you’ll what, huh?” he pokes her right back, “revoke my drawer privileges?”

“too soon!” she whines but they’re giggling once again, kissing each other like they’d die if they don’t make up for the last few days. 

“we’re going to be so late,” she mumbles once they’ve stopped kissing. “matty’s going to yell at us, i hope you know.” 

george just shrugs and looks at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen. it makes cleo’s chest ache, it makes her whole body tingle. 

“i’m going to give you the best drawer in my apartment,” she promises. 

“yeah?” he smiles at her and kisses her forehead again. it’s so tender that she almost cries again but george tickles under her chin. silently cleo makes a promise to herself—she’s going to get over this silly fear. she’s going to be the girlfriend he deserves. and most importantly, she’s never going to make him sad again. he’s far too precious for that.

lemme know what you think <33

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[freemansgirl]

killer

pairing: amber freeman x fem reader

summary: reader is held at gunpoint once amber finds out that reader knows her big secret. (inspired by nate pulling the gun on maddy scene in euphoria because that is A CLASSICCC angst scene and one of my favorites in media)

warnings: gun, dark!toxic!amber, amber is being manipulative, amber not being a good girlfriend, emotional abuse, physical abuse, amber pulling a gun on reader, reader is crying, traumatized reader

it’s not like you wanted this to happen, same can say for amber. you didn’t mean to trip over the ghostface box that had her costume and knife in it, it was accidentally sticking out of the bed. you never seen the box before and opened it out of curiosity. this was all a big mistake, amber tried to keep it a secret from you as much as possible. at some point, this was going to happen… some secrets cant stay hidden forever.

“amber, have you lost your mind?! what the fuck is this, how can you keep this a secret from me?!”

“you weren’t supposed to find this, (your name).”

the two of you began to get into a heated argument, you felt the need to run away because you know you can’t DATE a serial killer, it’s morally wrong to do that. your friends, family, and everyone around you would hate you if they knew the truth. as you begin to try to run to get to the doorframe in amber’s room to escape, you felt a very familiar pale-skinned hand grab your wrist, yanking you, causing you to fall back a little. “not so fast.”

once you turn around and want to open your mouth to protest amber to let you go and leave you alone, you see something black and shiny is pulled out of her back pocket… it’s a gun. you can feel a chilling spine crawl all over your body, your hairs on your body are standing up while you look at her with widened, scared eyes. “i love you, i love you, i love you.” you say rapidly, as you try to calm her down and pray that will help her put the gun away so she doesn’t kill you. you hear a small yet sinister chuckle escape her mouth as she looks at you with an evil smile. she knows you’re saying this out of fear to escape the moment, not because you actually love her, she’s not stupid. mindy tells her about all of the time about manipulation tactics from the victims side in abusive relationships in movies, plus amber has seen way too many horror movies to see how this plays out in abusive relationships or how people beg for mercy when a serial killer is about to end their lives.

she puts the gun to hip of your body and she seems to lead you to her bed, as you start to frantically look at her, unable to read her blank expression. “you’re…. scaring me… put the gun down…” you say, biting your lip to prevent your lips from trembling for a bit. she still had a blank expression, her eyes never blinked and looked deeply into your soul. you hated when she would sometimes do this in an argument, when she would purposely show no emotion so you couldn’t understand her or predict her next move. your girlfriend tilted her head to the side and smirked…, “good, that’s the point.” is all that comes out of her mouth. the gun is still adjusted to your hip, her hand is sitting on your thigh as she gently sighs looking into your watering eyes.

“now, you know i… love you right, baby? you know i know you a lot better than everyone else around you, just like you know me better than anyone else around me.” she whispers, as she rubs your thighs lovingly, you can feel your whole body tense as it begins to shake. she begins to look down at the locket necklace she has on her neck, she opens it and stares at the happy picture of you two… moments before disaster… she starts to sigh again. you start to stare at her, once again, before you shake your head agreeing with her. “now… let’s see if your words match your actions.” she says, as she leans above you and presses the barrel of the gun towards your head, the muzzle pressing more into your forehead skin. “stop, stop, amber…. please stop, i won’t tell anyone, i won’t go to the police… just let me go and we can talk about this!” you yell to her as you start panicking as you move backwards due to intense force that was on your head, as you feel your back pressing into the bedsheets. the words don’t do anything to her, as her figure is officially above you now with the gun still against your forehead.

“shut up!” she got loud and angry for a second before her facial expression returned to normal, “just… quiet down, princess. i don’t want anyone hearing us, (your name), do i make myself clear?” she spoke, sternly with a serious look in her eyes as you nodded. she didnt like the fact that you got loud, worried about the fact if anyone in the neighborhood can hear you from the window. speaking of the window, she got up and closed the blinds so no one could see the scene. she walks back over to you, hovering above you like she was before with the gun pressed against your forehead again.

“hm….” she hums softly, looking at your saddened and shaking figure, you start whimpering, more and more as tears spill out of your eyes. “back to what you said earlier about talking things out, i like this way of talking more, straight to the point and simple.” she says, as her other hand caresses your face softly. you flinch from her touch and look away to the side, this causes her to get mad and grab your face roughly. “you say you won’t go to the police, right? you say you love me, right, despite me being a killer? swear on it.” she says in a scary and upset tone, as she is breathing heavily on you.

you start to get quiet and as she starts talking to you, too scared to answer. “answer me!” your girlfriend grabs you by your shoulders with her left hand, keeping the gun on your forehead with the right hand. your body was so shaken up from fear and trauma, causing you to sniffle and hold back your tears. all you did was stare at the girl you love, trying to open your mouth but all that came out was choked sobs. this was another one of amber’s tests… she truly needed to see if you loved her, she wanted to know was what you had was real with her. first, she asked you would you still love her even if she was the killer one time you guys hung out…. you did say yes because you know how her humor is and didn’t take her seriously… but now you’re stuck in this… disaster. “yes, i won’t tell anyone, please! i love you too much to do that to you, baby, i won’t tell anyone, please just believe me!” you scream back at her, freaking out and you just wait for her to put the gun down.

she stares at you, still feeling unsatisfied with your performance, she nudges the gun into your forehead. “fucking swear on it!” the raven haired girl yelled, her voice was laced with fury and her eyes got larger. when you stared into her eyes, you weren’t dealing with amber freeman, you were dealing with ghostface. this is not the girl you ended up in love with, the same girl you smile, kiss, hold hands, laugh, cuddle, have sex with, have movie marathons with. this is not the same girl that cuddled and protected you through all of the ghostface murders just for her to be the one responsible for it. this is a whole other person.

“i swear! i swear!” you yelled at her. this is finally what was able to satisfy her, she finally smiles now that she got what it is that she wanted. you can feel the weight on the bed shift as she gets off you, giving you a bit of space. she walks to you, she begins to rub your shoulder as she gives you quick reassurance. you start to flinch from her touch, your body is curled up in a ball. “hey, sweetheart, it was just a joke. there’s no bullets in the gun, see?” amber says, holding the gun up to show you the inside of the barrel. that makes the situation even ten times worse than it already was. she sees all of this as some bullshit joke, she didn’t even care about the drama and harm she caused to you.

honestly, amber didn’t WANT TO DO THIS… she needed to do this just to make sure there was trust and loyalty between you two. “i’m sorry, baby, i thought you would know better enough to know that i’d NEVER hurt you… i’d never kill you. i love you too much to do such sick, twisted things.” she says, as she begins to grab the black box off of the ground. you couldn’t believe the words that came out of her mouth, she claimed that she would never hurt you, but she did. she begins to start getting ready as she slips on the infamous ghostface black robe. “if you loved me, you’d never do this. if you loved me, you wouldn’t put me through this!” you shout at her from across the bed, holding your knees against your chest.

but that’s the issue… the fact that she did this to you… that makes her a killer. this is her true nature. she could feel herself getting frustrated as she lets out a laugh while looking over at your cuddled position. “and if you loved me, i wouldn’t have to do this if you wouldn’t tried to leave. anyways, i have places to be and things to do.” she walks over to you about to place a gentle kiss on your cheek but you flinch away from her again and seethed your teeth. “don’t touch me!”

the reaction that you gave amber caused a smile to tug at her lips. she sighs, not wanting to deal with your attitude because she had better yet important things to do. she’ll have to just deal with you later. as she begins to just turn her back on you, amber grabs her mask and shoves her knife inside of her pocket. she starts to walk away as she leaves to go to her car, leaving you stranded and crying all alone on the bedroom while she plans for her next kill.

don’t worry, this is only the beginning….

[inbarfink]

Alrighty, so a second season of ‘Fionna and Cake’ is now Officially Confirmed! I was being very cautious about speculating and getting my hopes up until it was Actually Announced, but now that it has, I can’t say I am necessarily shocked that there is going to be a continuation. Looking back on what we can now confidently call ‘Season 1’, there are a few peculiar threads which seem like they are probably meant as a set up for this second season.

Now, everything in this post is going to be very speculative. This is just me going over aspects of Season 1 which seems weird from a perspective of set-up and payoff or just feel like they need more elaboration and thinking what might be done with them in S2. With basically nothing to go on for what will Actually Happen in Season 2 save for the fact that it will exist, just remember to put a huge caveat of ‘I don’t actually know anything yet!’ next to everything I type lol

Fionnaworld Stuff

I wanna start by talking about the one part of Fionna and Cake’s Season 2 we can be pretty certain about - which is that it’s going to feature Fionna and Cake and probably the rest of the Fionnaworld gang. Although, to be perfectly honest… Right now, I am struggling to think of a clear ‘loose thread’ that can hint at where these characters will go in future. Season 1 seemed to have left everyone fairly content. 

I’m not saying that there’s no place to explore these characters further - obviously I’m sure Season 2 will find whole new unexpected angles to develop them. I’m just saying that Season 1 doesn’t really have any clear threads you can point at as a basis for a prediction. At least nothing I can really see myself. 

Perhaps we can give more focus to the Fionna/Hunter stuff we hinted at during Season 1, but wasn’t really given center stage? Or something about Fionna learning how she can be an adventurer on her own terms, after her Season 1 experiences kinda convinced her she couldn’t at all? Or maybe since Season 1 was kinda Fionna-focused, we’re going to get a more Cake-Focused Season 2?

That’s all I got for now, at least. I guess with ‘Fionna and Cake’ being a very character-focused show, and the idea of a renewal probably not being certain when S1 was developed - it makes sense to prioritize giving a strong sense of closure for the main characters and keep the ‘sequel teasing’ stuff to just Lore/Plot hints. Like, if there’s a little Hint of Things to Come that doesn’t amount to anything because the show got canceled that’s just like a Little Weird, but leaving the main characters’ arcs/relationships feeling unresolved forever would be a much bigger problem for the show’s legacy. And speaking of which…

Prismo Stuff

And here’s the real Interesting Stuff that inspired me to make this post in the first place. I think the most notable potential ‘sequel tease’ in F&C Season 1, the thing I always noted as Odd before the second season was confirmed, the main reason I suspected a second season was probably in the works -  is definitely this little moment with Prismo during the ending…

Where he seems to ‘glitch’ for a moment.

What could this possibly mean? I am not sure, but I feel pretty confident that it’s Plot Relevant. It’s a quick but pretty noticeable Moment that doesn’t really seem to have a clear explanation within the first season, especially as it happens just as everything is wrapping up. Perhaps this is the first sign of Prismo becoming sick/malfunctioning/infected, and Season 2 is going to be about unglitching him?

Speaking of which, going into more character-related stuff… while Prismo's grief-induced-depression-spiral from Jake’s death is constantly hinted at throughout the first season - it’s never really confronted directly. I mean, we can assume that between helping out F&C and having Scarab around as a personal assistant - that could’ve helped him get a new lease on life… But maybe a second season could explore Prismo’s grief more deeply?

And then there are also these two

That’s another thing I always found very peculiar in a “hmm, are they planning on making an S2??” sort of way. Like, they spend a minute-and-a-half establishing the Core and the way it works... when I first watched it I was pretty certain it was going to come back later. Like, Simon is going to try to fuck with Time Itself to get Betty back or something. But then they just… loop back to it. It was just a piece of Lore Trivia and a background for the Actually Lore Relevant Infodump.

It might indeed be just that. Just an extra bit of Worldbuilding and a neat change of scenery in the middle of the chase scene. But I still suspect that these Time Titans will become plot-relevant at some future point. 

Multiverse Stuff

Well, out of the myriad worlds that F&C have already visited, it seems like the one that has really left a lot of lingering questions in the minds of the AT Fandom is Farmworld, and those questions are primarily…

HEY!? What the FUCK??? Is he okay?? Is he dead??

So yeah, some sort of confirmation of whatever or not Farmworld Finn is/isn’t dead, and if he is dead - some sort of confirmation of how his kids are getting by considering that their eldest brother just fucked-off to another universe one day… that would be nice and give a better sense of closure on the Farmworld segment of F&C Season 1.

But personally…I think the Multiverse Moment that really rings to me the most as a ‘probable future plot point’, is definitely this little moment in Vampireworld.

The show deliberately emphasizes the moment where the Vampire King saw our Trio use God’s Remote Control to warp to another world. And personally, the vibes here seem… meaningful.

With Bonnie also drawing attention to the fact the Vampires have over-hunted the humans and basically doomed both the world in general and Vampirekind specifically… Could this be the Vampire King’s solution to that problem? Now that he has seen ‘a new thing’, a hint at the existence of the Multiverse - will he try to find a whole new world for his children to feast on?

Well… that’s an alright villain concept and a decent plot hook. My current problem with it is just… the Mainworld Vampire King made for an intriguing and interesting character due both to his compelling dynamic with Marceline and the way he has been changed by the destruction of his people into a very contemplative and complex person. Vampireworld Vampire King doesn’t really have that, as a Vampire King who has never known defeat, he's just a Very Dramatic Evil Vampire. And I feel like Adventure Time aspires to more unique antagonists than Very Dramatic Evil Vampires. 

Now, it’s not impossible to make Vampireworld Vampire King a bit more Interesting if he ever takes center stage - maybe the population collapse of Vampireworld affected him in similar ways to Mainworld Vampire King, or maybe it affected him in a totally different direction, maybe we can give a bit more focus on the influence the Crown has or doesn’t have on him, maybe something else completely out-of-left-field could happen to him.

Or maybe the Star did end up surviving the Doomed Yuri Freefall and she’ll be the one trying out for Vampiric Multiverse Conqueror. She was always the, well, Star of Vampireworld - and she has the potential to be a very fun antagonist with cool thematic implications. I mean, like, Imagine her in contrast to Marshall. He gave up on a comfortable life in the laps of luxury due to wanting some freedom from his over-controlling mom and also it seems some level of moral outrage at her Landlordy ways

And the Star is a Daddy’s Girl Evil Vampire Princess and basically everything he has tried not to be. And yet… will he see a bit of himself in the Star?

Also, I wonder if we’ll see some more of the Alternative Universes Simon stumbled on during his trip back to Ooo. You know, the ones we haven’t actually seen in the main plot.

Simon Stuff

Okay, so… even before the announcement was made official, I have seen a lot of people assume that F&C Season 2 will be just as Simon-Focused as the first season. But personally, I am not sure about it just yet. I mean, I’m a huge Simon Fan, being part of the Petricollective ever since I started to watch the show, so I sure as hell will not complain but… it is important to remember the show is called “Fionna and Cake” and not “Fionna and Cake and Simon”.

I can see the idea being that Simon works as more of a ‘link’ between regular ‘Adventure Time’ and ‘Fionna and Cake’. You know, he’s a fan-favorite and the one major ‘loose thread’ in the original show that can draw old fans into this series which is mostly an all-new cast (considering the Fionnaworld Crew consider themselves to be distinctive from their old magical counterparts).... Kinda like he was the link between Fionnaworld and the rest of the Multiverse, actually. So he’s around as a major character for the first season and from then on he takes more of a secondary role. Since he is a good friend of F&C by this point and their main connection to Ooo, I doubt he’ll disappear completely, but he just might not be as central a character. Or maybe the theme of ‘Fionna and Cake’ is F&C teaming up with different Mainworld characters for different kinds of adventures? 

I mean, it still could go either way. Simon’s arc feels pretty well-concluded to me but the same is true for the Fionnaworld crew and… obviously they’re going to have more Character Stuff in the upcoming season and it’s the whole thing about how it’s important to make your character arcs feel concluded if you don’t know if you’re getting another season. We’ve talked about this already. 

And also… There is one aspect of Simon’s Problems at the start of the show that didn’t truly get to a satisfactory conclusion by the end of the first season. Namely, his loving-but-rocky relationships with both Marceline and Finn.

Like, y’know, he’s generally handling his Stuff better by the end of the season so I guess we can assume he’s also better at communicating with his loved ones but… it is very peculiar that we didn’t actually get to see it. Even as just a moment in his Happy Ending Montage when we see him hanging out and being happy with Finn and/or Marcy. Like, there is certainly a Point to be made about the importance of Simon making friends with people who didn’t know him much as Ice King for the sake of his recovery…

But the total absence of Finn and Marcy from Simon’s epilogue still feels… odd. So that could be something to return to in a future season. Like, I did speculate the F&C ‘format’ might be the Fionnaworld Crew + a different Mainworld character given focus every season. So maybe Simon’s still-not-fully-concluded interpersonal issues could be a launchpad to a F&C season with a primary focus on Finn and/or Marceline.

Finn and Fionna adventuring together would be pretty neat, and if we’re going to give more focus to Prismo’s Grief Problem, it would be very Thematically Appropriate. But also....confronting Finn’s own Jake Grief Problems is actually kinda challenging because we already had a whole special about it.

And that special is happening way way farther in the timeline and explicitly established that Finn never truly got over the grief of losing Jake.

So making an F&C adventure that tackles Finn’s grief in a satisfying manner without feeling it steps over Together Again’s toes… Well, it’s not impossible, but it is quite a tall feat.

Meanwhile, Marceline has less Obvious Issues That Need to Be Addressed right now but also… if we do have the Vampire King and/or the Star as a major threat for this new season, she would clearly be the one to get the Maximum Amount of Drama out of it, so…

Other Ooo Stuff

Okay, so speaking of Finn and things established early on in F&C which then didn’t really come back by the end of the first season, let’s talk a bit about the Heart of the Forest.

So this whole thing could be just a Joke. It could just be a gag about Finn disregarding Huntress Wizard’s warnings and taking his depressed middle-aged friend hiking in the Most Sacred and Ancient Forest in all of Ooo, as a joke. Haha, oh this Finn, so irresponsible! But also…

Finn and Simon were being watched. By a being wearing the same mask as the ‘Evil Bear’

But one that does not quite move like a bear world…

And then of course, this supposedly ‘Evil Bear’ only attacks Simon after he tries to get his little nerdy hands on this peculiar and important-looking tree. 

This really seems to have some implications that the ‘Evil Bear’ is not just one more random ‘evil’ monster that Finn and Simon stumbled across. That they might be some sort of Guardian for the Heart of the Forest, and that their shapeshifting abilities also extend to having some sort of humanoid form, and that they are not quite as monstrous or bestial or ‘evil’ as Finn pegged them out to be.

But all that happens is that Finn kills them, and then the whole matter is not brought up again…. Well, as of Season 1, that is…

So if we are doing some sort of Finn Focused Season, that might be something to bring up. Especially if it’s paired up with some of the Fionna/Hunter stuff I brought up above. 

Again, everything here is just Wild Wild Speculation at this point. This is just a bunch of Stuff that felt Weird resolution-wise in Season 1, and some loose ideas about how they might connect. If you guys have your own ideas and observations, I would love to hear them too!

[humanpurposes]

Sweet Dream

The Sandman AU

Her father means to summon and capture Death, but ends up with the wrong sibling. She becomes fascinated with their prisoner // Main Masterlist

Dream!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, spells n shit, mild gore, death, lowkey Lima syndrome, smut

Words: 8000

A/n: For my fellow Morpheus and Aemond lovers. Also available to read on AO3.

Roderick Burgess had always been a terrifying man. In grief he has only become more irritable and less predictable. 

The telegram came in the early days of July. She delivered the news to Roderick herself, while he was in his study. Her father did not like to be disturbed and he might have beaten her to remind her of the fact, until those fateful words slipped from her mouth. “Randall’s dead.” Shot down by a German machine gun at the Somme. In the end he had been one of thousands, his body buried in a neat line of tombstones somewhere in France, his name engraved on a plaque in the church at Wych Cross, ultimately unremarkable and indistinguishable from the other men and boys who had lost their lives.

But it was not so for Roderick. He let out a sudden groan and clutched his chest as though his pain was tangible and terrible. He shed no tears– of course he didn’t, but he gritted his teeth, crying out in fury as he dashed his hands over his desk, sending papers, books, fountain pens and empty whisky glasses tumbling to the floor. 

She stood frozen, waiting for his hand to descend on her for being the one to tell him, but it didn’t.

When they held a memorial service for him, Roderick handed her a piece of paper, to read before the crowd of faces she didn’t recognise. 

“Randall was our family’s happiness. He was the bravest, the wisest, and kindest older brother I could possibly dream of having.” Her hands and voice trembled as she read because she knew it was all a lie. In truth, Randall was like their father. They had the same short temper, the same stubbornness and the same cruelty. 

But Randall being dead meant she could reinvent him.

Lately, she dreams of happier memories and looks back on them fondly, knowing they can never be contradicted or disproved. 

While her father has dreamt of Death ever since. 

It’s a brisk afternoon in October when a man in a suit, bow tie and bowler hat arrives at Fawny Rig. He clutches a leather briefcase in front of him and introduces himself as Dr John Hathaway, a curator from the Royal Museum, travelled all the way from London to this quiet corner of East Sussex. She leads him through the panelled halls of the manor, to her father’s study.

Roderick barges in behind them, in a shirt and waistcoat, already smelling faintly of whisky and waving his cane in her general direction. “Tea for our guest,” he orders.

She has the pot ready and strains the dark, reddish liquid into two delicate china cups while her father and Dr Hathaway settle on opposing leather sofas in the centre of the room.

“I take it you have reconsidered?” Roderick says.

“After our meeting at the museum… I know what I said, but–” Dr Hathaway takes an unsure breath. “I received a telegram this morning. My son, Edmund, his destroyer was sunk last week off Jutland.”

It’s a loss Roderick can share, even if he doesn’t really understand how other than a few quick words of condolence. “I lost my son, Randall last year. He was my greatest joy.”

She pauses as she reaches for the sugar bowl. She has never been under the illusion that her own existence has given her father any joy, but then what sort of person would she have to be to earn his respect? She places the sugar on a tray, along with the small jug of milk and the cups, and brings them to the small table between the sofas. The pair don’t spare her a word of thanks or even a brief glance.

Dr Hathaway’s hand lingers on the clasp of his case. “If I give you this, could you truly do it? Could you really–”

“Capture the angel of Death?” Roderick says. “I believe I could.”

She shudders unexpectedly. The old groundskeeper used to say a sudden chill meant someone was walking over your grave.

Dr Hathaway clicks open the clasp and takes out an aged, leather bound book. It has no title on the cover, just gold markings in square, geometric patterns. 

“The Magdalene Grimoire,” her father mutters, his eyes wide in an ominous sort of wonder. “With the spells recorded in the book, we will see our sons returned to us.”

The next night is a full moon. She stands by the door with Sykes, welcoming men and women dressed in midnight blue robes to the manor and directing them towards the door that leads to the cellar. They’re all part of Roderick’s ‘Order of Ancient Mysteries’ which as far as she can tell is a cult of fanatics who still believe in witchcraft. They come to Fawny Rig once a month, to listen to her father read from so-called ‘spell books’ as though he is a preacher.

The fanatics pull hoods over their heads and descend the narrow stone steps into the cellar with lit candles grasped in their hands. Roderick leads the way, the book Dr Hathaway gave him tucked under his arm. 

She shoots Sykes a concerned frown but he just shrugs. He’s paid to organise the household and guard Burgess’ collection of relics, not to ask questions. Questions are a dangerous game with Roderick.

She trails after them and shuts the iron lock on the door behind her.

The cellar is more like a crypt, an expansive room sprawling under the house, held up by pillars and arches. In the low candlelight she makes out a set of markings on the floor in the heart of the room and this is where the Order of Ancient Mysteries gathers.

The shapes and symbols are unfamiliar to her, painted onto the flagstones, twisting and curling over each other to form a circle. Roderick stands at the very edge of it by a brass lectern.

She watches, half hidden behind a pillar as they stand around the circle and Roderick opens the book, his desired page already marked and studied in the hours since it has been in his possession. 

“Tonight,” her father says to his congregation, “we will achieve what no one before us has attempted. We will summon and imprison Death.”

His eyes meet hers through the shadowy space, heavy and sunken with age, grief and months worth of sleepless nights. They glisten slightly too. 

He holds his hands out and looks down at the markings on the floor. “Here, in the darkness.”

The others echo his words, softly and melodically at first. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

And so the ritual begins.

“I give you a coin made from a stone,” Roderick says, presenting the object to the ceiling as though the eyes of God are looking down from the heavens, through the house and the earth, and drops it to the floor, inside the circle of markings.

“I give you a knife from under the hills.” He holds up a thin blade and lifts his other arm so the sleeve of his robe drops to his elbow. “I give you the blood from out of my vein.”

She winces but does not look away as he draws the knife along the skin of his forearm, until dark droplets begin to fall and stain the markings. 

“I give you a song I stole from the dirt and I give you a feather,” he says, raising a white feather that almost seems to glow through the gloom, “pulled from an angel’s wing.”

And all the while the voices persist. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

He drops the feather and it drifts gently down, landing in the very heart of the circle. 

The room is still and she holds her breath.

The feather starts to move. It twists in a circle and floats up, lurching and turning as though it’s being blown about by a breeze she cannot feel or hear.

The voices raise to an urgent chant. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

She clenches her fingertips against the stone of the pillar. She tries to meet her father’s eye again but he is fixated on the feather flying above their heads.

He calls over the chanting, “I summon you with poison,” and the moment he does the feather flickers like the striking of a match. “I summon you with pain! I open the way! I open the gates! I summon you in the name of the old Lords, we summon you together! Come!”

A noise, like a cracking whip splits her ears. The feather bursts into white and golden flames like the flash of a camera. The heat of it rushes over her face and burns her eyes.

And from the flames a body falls to the floor.

It thuds as it hits the ground, silencing the voices save for a few gasps and murmurs. She feels the flagstones rumble under her feet, sees the edges of a black cloak spilling across the floor and a head of long silver hair trailing from its head.

This isn’t an illusion. Roderick Burgess has brought forth a tangible entity, plucked from God-knows-where, lying motionless on the floor. For a moment she wonders if he is dead, until she sees a slight movement in his chest, but even then she fears she could be imagining it.

She takes a few unsure steps to where Roderick stands and the man– he is a man as far as she can tell– is further revealed to her. She can see his face now, his pale skin, the angles of his jaw and cheeks, the curve of his lips, but beyond that she finds herself unable to look away from the jewel that sits where his left eye should be. It is a bright, deep shade of blue and dotted with silver specs, like the vast expanse of twilight when the stars are out but the sky is not quite black. The eye is framed by twisted, red flesh and a scar, slicing from his brow to his cheek. It takes her a moment to realise his other eye, closer to the ground, is closed. 

The only other parts of him she can see are the tips of his fingers, clasped around a small pouch.

“Is this… Death?” she utters.

“That remains to be seen,” Roderick says. He points to the pouch. “Get that for me.”

She stares back at her father. How he can speak so flippantly when a man has been conjured, seemingly from thin air, is beyond her. But he glares back, his dark expression only more formidable with his aged frown.

So she steps forward and begins to lower herself beside the man.

“Careful, girl!” Roderick barks, “don’t break the binding circle.”

She stops and looks down, where her skirt is inches from brushing over the markings on the floor. She shuffles back and, with trembling fingers, reaches for the pouch. It’s not hard to take, the man hardly resists, twitching his fingers to keep it in his grasp. It feels wrong, stealing from someone too weak to hold onto what is his.

She looks into the jewel-like eye. Can he see through it? Perhaps it has something to do with the scar? Did he place it there himself, or was he simply made this way?

Someone snatches the pouch from her. She looks up at her father as he undoes the strings and peers inside. “Sand,” he mutters, and stows it away inside his robes.

“And the jewel,” he says to her.

She means to protest, but finds she cannot.

She avoids the markings as she leans forwards. She presses her fingertips beside the man’s eye. His skin is cold and firm.

She swallows her guilt and the nauseous feeling in her throat, nudging her fingertips into the socket. It takes her a few attempts, but she pries the jewel free, wincing when she feels it come loose. If he feels any pain he hardly shows it. His brow furrows but his other eye remains closed, and he makes no sound.

She stands and offers the jewel to her father.

Roderick holds it to the light of one of the candles, giving a curious hum before he pockets that too.

“Move,” he mutters to her, pushing her out of his way as he stands over the man. He tugs on the black cloak and it falls into fragments that fade away, like dust on a breeze. The man’s body is bare, pale skin running over details of muscle and bone. He shivers and twitches like he has a fever, but still he does not speak, or even let out a breath.

“We’ll let our guest recover,” Roderick says, “and then we shall make our demands.

They leave him there for days. He does not move, or ask for food or water.

She doesn’t dream in the nights since they captured their ‘guest’. In fact she hardly sleeps at all. Each morning she wakes, already exhausted, having felt like she’s only closed her eyes for a few brief moments.

Then come the stories in the newspapers. They call it ‘the sleeping sickness’. People all over the country, and in fact the world, have been plagued, either to not sleep at all or never wake up.

On a cold, drizzly morning, a stranger appears at the door to the manor.

She listens and watches from the top of the stairs, crouching by the bannister to stay out of sight as a man with choppy silver hair and pale skin strides into the entrance hall, with Roderick following closely behind.

“Do I know you?” her father asks, furiously.

“No.” The stranger’s voice is low and almost seductive. “But I know all about you, Roderick Burgess, and the being trapped in your basement.”

“You mean to intimidate me?”

She sees a flash of a grin and a pair of pale purple eyes through the wooden balusters.

“I am here to help you,” the stranger says. “There are benefits to keeping one of the Targaryens in your confinement.”

“Targaryens?” her father echoes.

“Did you think Death was the only one of her kind? Death has family. Destiny, Despair, Desire…”

“And who have I got?”

“Dream,” the stranger says with a smile that bares his teeth.

A shiver runs over her shoulders. She keeps her jaw tight to stop herself from reacting to it.

Roderick scoffs. “What good is a God who governs dreams?”

The stranger's voice darkens. “There was a saying in the ancient times of humanity, that said the Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. But they are not Gods. They are more than Gods. They are Endless.”

He tells Roderick of Dream’s vestments, the pouch of sand and his sapphire, both of which he says Roderick may manipulate for his own influences. He says the binding circle will not be enough to contain their prisoner, that they must construct a sphere of glass within the circle.

Most crucially of all, he says no one must be allowed to fall asleep in Dream’s presence.

“Why are you helping me?” Roderick finally asks.

The stranger runs his tongue over his teeth and smiles to himself. “Little family dispute, I shan’t bore you with the details. But for your sake, and for mine, he must not escape.”

He offers his hand to Roderick, who returns the gesture after a moment of hesitation.

Before he heads for the door, the stranger’s eyes trail up to where she hides. Her heart leaps with a sense of dread, like she’s seen something she wasn’t meant to. 

She doesn’t trust him, not by the look or sound of him, but her father does. He follows the stranger’s instructions, ordering the construction of the glass sphere, to be welded around their prisoner as it is made. Finally, he arranges a rota of guards to keep watch over him, under strict orders to never fall asleep, lest their prisoner escape into their dreams.

The details of his face are etched into her memory, even after months, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip, the silver falling over his shoulders. If she could dream, she is sure she would dream of him. Instead she holds onto the flashes of images that appear before her waking eyes, the pale skin of his bare body against the floor, the stars in his sapphire eye, now kept locked away in her father’s study.

She knows Roderick has tried to bargain with him, and each time he returns from the cellar more furious than when he entered it. “He will not speak a word!” his voice bellows through the quiet halls of the manor. “He will not even look at me!”

When she dares to ask questions, Roderick glares at her and tightens the grip on his cane.

The stranger with silver hair was right about something, wealth and admiration have come to Roderick Burgess in droves since he acquired the Lord of Dreams. It’s something about the sapphire, or the sand, something she doesn’t understand, but their family comes across good fortunes, which is almost entirely spent on lavish parties to entertain Roderick’s ever expanding crowd of admirers.

She wakes with the sunrise, from a void and dreamless sleep. The manor is littered with empty bottles, full ashtrays, plates of half-eaten food, odd shoes and playing cards. Her father must still be asleep, which is odd. He is usually an early riser, even after a night of drinking.

A rumbling in her stomach has her heading through the entrance hall towards the kitchen, but she stops when she sees two men waiting by the door to the cellar– two of the guards her father has hired to watch the prisoner, dressed in smart suits with service revolvers just poking out of their jackets. They look restless, peering their heads round corners, shifting their weight on their legs, not wanting to step too far from the door.

“We can’t just leave,” one mutters to the other.

“I’m not staying down there with that… thing one second longer than I have to–”

“Good morning,” she calls.

They look at her in unison, and frown.

“Have you seen Noel and Mauirce?” one of the men asks. “They’re nearly half an hour late.”

The rotation of the guards. They take eight hour shifts in pairs.

Her eyes glance to the cellar door, opened only a fraction. “I could watch him until they get here,” she says, “if you want to leave.”

It doesn’t take them long to agree.

They leave through the front door. When she hears it shut, she finally lets herself reach for the handle to the cellar door. The handle is cold, untouched for hours at a time, and a little stiff. She pushes on it slowly, carefully, making as little noise as possible. 

With the cellar door closed, she shuts out the light and warmth of the morning. A silent, icy draft drifts through the narrow stairway. She follows it down, all the way to the dull, eerie light of the main chamber.

The sight takes her breath away, the glass sphere, suspended above the ground, still within the circle of markings that keep his power contained.

He sits in the centre, still bare, his knees tucked into his chest and his hair falling around his face like a veil.

As far she knows, no food or water ever passes the threshold to the cellar, and the cage is never opened. How does he breathe? How does he eat? How does he not wither away? He just sits there, stoic, his face frozen in time like a statue, like the image of a god cut from marble, to be preserved and admired.

A man like that cannot be real, and yet there he is.

“Hello,” she says. 

He does not react to her voice or the sound of her footsteps as she walks further into the chamber.

If he can even hear her. She wonders how thick the glass is, if sound can permeate it, or does he just hear the sound of his own breath echoed back to him, endlessly.

She comes to lean against one of the pillars, tracing her fingertips down the cold, rough surface of the stone.

“Are you really the Lord of dreams?” she says. 

His gaze lifts and turns to her, just enough that she can see his chin, his nose, and a single violet eye. It is not like the stranger’s, it is far more vibrate, burning with with a silent fury that makes her heart flutter and her skin feel tight.

“I have not dreamt since that night.”

She knows it isn’t just her. It’s the sleeping sickness, the war, the cloud of darkness looming over the rest of the world.

“The groundskeeper has a son, he’s only ten years old. He’s been asleep for months now. He can’t even eat. If he doesn’t wake up, he’ll die.”

He does not react, but his eye follows her as she takes a single step away from the pillar, towards the sphere.

“This is my father’s– our doing, yes?”

Her eyes dip to his chest, to the movement of his lungs underneath skin and muscle, a steady rise and fall with a deep, patient breath. 

“My father is a reasonable man, if you could give him something, anything, I am sure he would let you out.”

He tilts his head, until she can just see the point of his scar on his cheek and the edge of his empty eye socket.

He is simultaneously the most terrifying and most beautiful thing she has ever laid eyes upon. The low light only accentuates the harsh angles in his face, the ridges and lines in the muscles and tendons of his neck, torso, arms and legs.

She takes another step closer. “I would let you out, if I could,” she says quietly, like a secret.

He blinks softly, and when her eyes flicker to his lips she sees them curled into something almost like a smile, but not quite. 

“Oh you would, would you?”

Her blood runs cold at the sound of her father’s voice. She whips her head around just in time to see Roderick marching towards her with his hand reaching out. His fist grips at her hair, and when she yelps in pain he hisses at her to be quiet. He drags her back up the steps, away from the cold cellar, to the warmth and the light, to the world without dreams.

She bathes before dinner, wincing as she runs her hands over the fresh bruises that mark her skin. Most of them are red, others are set deep and already turning a greyish purple. 

Her father’s fury still rings in her ears. “Stupid girl! If he escapes he will slaughter us all!”

Leaning on her back is especially painful, it’s where her body took the brunt of his cane. She brings her knees into her chest, hunching over herself.

She hasn’t cried over her father’s cruelty in years, not since she was a small child. He’d always call her weak for it. Randall never cried when he was disciplined, because he knew, deep down, it was good for him. Perhaps she is simply not as strong as Randall was.

Her tears are hot and stinging in her eyes. She blinks and lets them fall onto her knees, to become the dew that lingers on her skin.

“Do you want to die, girl? Because it can be easily remedied!”

She doesn’t wear anything special, a white satin dress, with long, billowy sleeves, and applies some rouge to her cheeks, to make her seem more awake, more alive.

She reaches the bottom of the staircase as the clock in the entrance hall starts to chime. Five times. Marking the start of another shift rotation. 

Two men appear from the hall that leads from the cellar, vaguely nodding as they pass her.

She can see into the dining room from the stairs, an enormous table set with silver cutlery and china plates, for just two of them.

The door to her father’s study is closed, obstructing the voices within. He’s arguing with someone. 

Before she can stop herself, she’s walking towards the cellar. She tries the handle to find it unlocked. With one final look to the door to the study, she descends back into the darkness.

Two guards sit on wooden chairs by the entrance from the stairway, and immediately stand to attention as she walks into the chamber.

“Miss,” one of them calls, “you cannot be here.”

And she seems to have caught his attention too. He looks up from where he sits in the sphere, his forearm resting on his knee. His hair is pushed from his face, and his violet eye is wide, curious.

“This is my father’s house, I will go where I please,” she says, shakily, continuing until she comes face to face with the glass.

He stares at her, somewhat furious, but in a way she knows it is not meant for her.

The men behind her are muttering to each other, she doesn’t hear their words, but she hears their panic.

“It isn’t right for him to keep you here,” she says. “It isn’t right for him to think he can play with mortality. And I am as bad as he is for letting this happen.”

The tendons of his hand flex as he clenches his fist, his fingers restless as he stares at her, intently.

“If I let you out,” she whispers, “would you harm me?”

His face softens as his eye moves over her face. 

He’s studying her, she realises. She imagines him noting the curves of her cheeks and chin, the shape of her mouth, perhaps the faint teartracks and the dark circles under her eyes.

What does he make of her, the daughter of his captor, the one who pried the sapphire from his eye? Roderick could be right, he might slaughter her the moment he is free from his cage. 

“I would like to believe that you wouldn’t,” she says.

His expression gives nothing away.

Suddenly he shifts. His muscles tense as he comes to his feet and uncurls his spine to stand before her. Something about his movements are distinctly inhuman.

The guards behind her are shouting now, telling her to step away, calling for Mr Burgess. Their voices are inconsequential to her, muffled as though spoken behind a closed door. Her heart pounds in her ears. All she sees is him, the intense gaze of his eye, a wide palm reaching out and pressing against the glass.

She reaches up slowly, his eye growing wider with every inch she comes closer to touching the glass that separates them, but not quite meeting it.

His brow furrows as if to question her. Why are you hesitating? What are you afraid of?

She won’t be dragged upstairs again. She won’t be thrown to the floor with nowhere else to go. She will not suffer at the hands of Roderick Burgess any longer.

So she presses her hand to the glass.

Her skin is feverishly cold, her arms weightless. She can almost feel the shape of his palm through the glass, but not quite, like she is reaching for something she will never touch, clawing to the memory of a dream.

She can feel herself slipping into numbness, her eyes and her limbs becoming heavy. She presses her fingernails against the glass, silently pleading though she doesn’t know what for. An escape? An end? Anything.

His face is strangely gentle as he pouts his lips, hushing her, lulling her panic. She can feel her breathing and her heartbeat slowing, but it does not frighten her.

The glass shatters, her knees give way. She is awake enough to know she is falling, but too far gone to stop herself.

But she does not need to.

The world around her is silent– no, a gentle breeze drifts over her skin and whispers in her ear. Sunlight beams onto one side of her face and the other rests against bare skin. She feels a weight around her waist, something propping her body upright.

She tries to steady herself but the ground shifts beneath her. The arms around her only tighten their grip when she stumbles.

Finally she lets her eyes flutter open. They are in a desert, a vast expanse of dry sand, reaching as far as the eye can see.

Her head is moving with his breath, against his chest.

She tilts her gaze up, close enough that her lips barely brush over the base of his throat.

His eye is already fixed on her, holding her firmly in his arms, pulling her into him.

Wordlessly, he releases one arm from her waist, and reaches down, keeping his eye on her face. When he brings himself back up, she looks at his closed fist, where sand slips from between his fingers. 

Her confusion must be visible on her face because he smiles softly at her, letting out a low “hmm” as he does.

She means to blink, but when she opens her eyes the world has changed again.

She lies face down against the ground of the cellar, dust and dirt pressing into her cheek, broken glass littering the floor around her.

She blinks again through the haze of sleep still clouding her vision. She makes out a figure in a long black coat with silver hair falling down his back. He stands over two bodies, lying lifeless on the ground, and stalks towards another.

Roderick is at the base of the stairs. He raises his cane and cries out as the prisoner reaches into his coat.

Her father’s voice fades into a spluttering, retching sound. Then he is silent. His body slumps to the floor with a gut-wrenching thud. When the stranger walks away, she sees her father sprawled out on the floor, blood spurting from his throat, seeping into his shirt, pooling on the floor around him.

She pushes herself up, leaning on her hands as her vision is blocked once again by a black coat. He stands over her, blood dripping from a knife he holds in his hand, his eye a brighter shade of violet than it was before.

He kneels beside her, taking her chin in his fingertips.

“Are you hurt?” he says. His voice is a hypnotic blend of soft and harsh, low and light, chilling in a way that sends a wave of warmth through her stomach.

She looks past his shoulder, where Roderick’s skin is turning from white to grey. “What did you do to my father?” she utters.

He jerks her head back to him. His expression is dark, lips upturned into a sneer.

Does he expect her to be grateful?

“My tools,” he says.

“You’re… what?”

“My tools. The sapphire and the pouch.”

The items that were stolen from him, that her father has now paid for with blood.

“Are you going to kill me too?” she says, digging her fingertips into the stone and the shards of glass beneath her.

He tilts his head and his lips twitch in a flicker of movement. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Tell me where they are. I will not harm you.”

Three men lay dead mere feet from them, and yet she finds herself wanting to trust him.

He offers her his arm as she stands, gripping at the thick, leather sleeve. Her palms are covered in small cuts from the glass, droplets of bright red blood pearling at the edges. He takes her wrists in his hands to have a look and tuts to himself.

“Quickly,” he says, moving towards the steps, leading her along with him, past the bodies of the guards, and the body of her father.

She brings him to the study, her hands shaking, bloody and outstretched before her. The door is wide open, a stack of papers thrown carelessly to the floor.

Roderick’s safe sits in a black cabinet in the corner of the room. She uses her fingertips to open it, wincing at the pieces of glass still stuck in her skin, but she swallows down the pain.

She guesses the combination on the first try. 1895– Randall’s birth year.

There, in the centre shelf, above the Grimoire, below a stack of banknotes, is the pouch of sand and the sapphire.

He reaches for the gem first. She turns away as he fixes it back into his socket, remembering the weight of it in her palm when she took it from him. She sees him reach forward again, but not for the pouch. He takes a hold of her wrists.

With no magic words or spells, he waves a hand over her palms. For a moment she sees a glow in his sapphire eye. The pain vanishes, so does the blood, the glass and the dirt. 

She blinks a few effortless tears from her eyes. Tears for her father, tears of relief, she cannot place a cause.

Cold fingertips meet her skin once more, as the Lord of Dreams wipes her tears away, bringing her gaze to meet his.

He leans in closer, until his forehead meets hers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

She falls into him, to find herself wide awake, clinging onto him as she had done in the desert.

But they are somewhere else entirely. The sky above them is a pale yellow, like daybreak, painted with swirling grey clouds. The land here is… dead. Dead trees, barren mountains and hills, and in the distance, beyond a dried lake, is a castle of red brick, decrepit, falling into ruin.

“You see the damage that has been done to my realm?” he says. With her ear pressed against his chest, his voice is cavernous and she feels everything, the way his words drag through his throat. She feels his pain at being confined, the loss of his home and his creations.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I do not forgive easily, that is why Roderick Burgess had to die. But you…” he pulls away from her so he might look at her properly, cupping the sides of her face and swiping his thumbs over her cheeks. “I do not need an apology from you. We are free of him now.”

“Is that what you think I wanted?” 

He hums with tight lips. “I have seen your dreams, as I see the dreams of every mortal. I see them as clearly as you perceive the waking world. It just so happened that our dreams coincided.”

She had never dreamt of her father’s death and she had certainly never imagined that she might have played a part in it. But she cannot deny the weight now lifted from her shoulders. She will never have to earn his approval, she will never have to endure him again. She is free of him.

“Go now,” he says, “I am sure you have your own business to resolve.”

He releases his hold of her and brings his hands behind his back. As he walks towards the castle the world around her starts to fade. She can smell the musk of the manor, the lingering smoke of her father’s cigars, the distinct scent of a winter evening.

“Wait!” she calls.

The ends of his coat swish around his legs as he turns back to face her. “Yes?” he says, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile.

“I want to know your name.”

“I have had many names,” he says.

“And how would you have me know you?”

“Aemond,” he says.

She echoes his name, letting her mouth linger on the final syllable. “Will I see you again?”

He draws the tip of his tongue between his lips. “Perhaps,” he says.

When she wakes she is laid out on one of the leather sofas of her father’s study. She looks down at her hands, traces her fingertips down her face, now free of the dirt and dust. 

She wonders if she might have dreamt all of it, the beautiful man in the sphere, the glass breaking, her father’s blood on the floor…

Her life is never the same after that. With her father dead, his estate passes to her. For the first time, her life is hers to do with as she pleases.

And yet she feels an absence, a hollow longing in her chest.

Her dreams come back to her since she set him free, and each night she dreams of him.

He only appears in brief moments, like lighting, bright and brilliant, but gone in a heartbeat, before she can truly see him. She sees the movement of a leather coat, flashes of silver, violet and sapphire blue. Sometimes she is met with darkness as a pair of lips ghosts over her neck with a contented sigh and a warm breath.

She cannot bear it.

As she lies in the empty manor house, she traces her fingers over her body, her lips, down her neck and her chest, underneath her cotton nightgown, to her navel and the pool of wanting wetness between her legs, trying to imagine they are his. 

She pictures the way his hair fell around his face, the coldness of his skin, the curve of his lips. She imagines them parting in a small sigh, the sound of his breath, the way his chest hummed as she circles over her bundle of nerves. Pleasure sparks at first but it keeps slipping from her grasp.

She circles faster, harder, searching for a spot that will finally give her the release she craves.

She feels heat and a sheen of sweat settling on the surface of her skin, her breathing hitches, her hips twitch under her touches. The pleasure heightens, then fades.

With her eyes tightly shut, she spurs herself on with thoughts of him, breathlessly chanting his name into the empty space and cold air of her bedroom.

“Aemond… Aemond…”

Something changes.

The mattress shifts beneath her and a weight presses against her body, her legs, her stomach, her chest.

A hand clasps around hers, ceasing her movements, and bringing it to rest by her side.

She laments the loss of the friction against her bud, her pleasure pulled away from her, but in its place anticipation blooms within her.

When she opens her eyes he is above her, against her, hovering his face over hers so that all she sees are his eyes, one violet, one sapphire.

“You have my attention,” he says in a soft but unsettling voice.

A thrill ripples through her body.

She whispers his name on an exhale of breath, running her fingertips over his arms, tense and toned as his props himself over her. 

But she is somewhat dazed, her senses numbed by fatigue and the echo of the pleasure she had been chasing.

“Is this real?” she utters.

Aemond leans further into her. She feels a weight between her hips and an unmistakable hardness prodding at her centre as he brings his lips to her neck, pressing a slow, teasing kiss against a sensitive spot of skin that has her body tensing and her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Does if feel real?” he whispers against her skin.

How much has he truly seen of her dreams, her desires, she wonders? Perhaps she should feel some kind of shame, but she cannot, not when she is on the precipice of something bright, beautiful and damning. She can hardly stand being on the edge of it, having him so close but not close enough.

She wraps her arms around his neck as he teases her with his lips, crosses her legs around his hips, meeting his movements as he torturously grinds his hardening cock against her cunt, dripping with arousal, twitching and clenching around nothing at the anticipation.

“Needy little thing,” he mutters, dragging his nose along her neck as he comes to kiss the hollow of her throat.

His voice sends a shockwave through her body. Her hips buck against his, determined for relief as her fingers thread through the soft strands of his hair, and tug. 

He lets out a quiet growl against her skin. A hand rests upon her thigh and trails up, bunching the hem of her nightgown to her waist and adjusting the other side. 

He sits back, watching her with the same darkness and intensity as when he was trapped inside the cage, intrigued at the least, fascinated if she is presumptive. 

The irony of being laid half bare before him and at his mercy does not escape her.

“I’ve heard you crying out for me, little mortal,” he says. 

“You said you can see my dreams,” she says, “how?”

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he says, “in The Dreaming. I see your dreams as I see the dreams of every other being. I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world. But you…” he muses, settling his hands on either side of her waist. “You are incessant.”

She shivers and writhes under his touch, a pulsing heat settling within her.

She traces her hands over his, where they grip at her waist, along his smooth skin, the tendons and veins. His fingers are long and lithe. She knows they would feel so perfect, wrapped around her throat, stroking over her skin, pushing inside of her wet heat to coax her pleasure.

Aemond smiles to himself as though he can hear her thoughts.

He grips harder into her flesh and pulls his hips back, only to let his cock slide over her slick folds with teasingly gentle thrusts.

Every stroke pushes her closer and closer to the edge, but not enough to find release. She feels the frustrating want pulsing through her body, the coil getting tighter and tighter, her cunt clenching over nothing.

“Aemond…” she says with a breathless mewl, “please…”

“You really want it, don’t you?” Aemond growls, resting his forehead against hers. “Just feel how wet that empty little cunt is for me.”

Her eyes trail along the angles of his face, the line of his scar, the night sky in his eyes as he stares down at her, the gentle curve of his lips and how they settle into a soft expression. 

Her gaze slips further down, over his throat, his collar, his pale, bare chest, the ridges of the muscles on his abdomen, the slight dip in his waist, the trail of silver hair to his cock, long, hard and flushed with need, transfixed by the way it moves against her.

She holds her breath each time he withdraws, stifling her whines into his mouth when he only keeps teasing her.

“I want it,” she groans, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

He lets out a contented hum as he leans down to kiss her. The movements of his mouth are slow and consuming, claiming her with lips, tongue and teeth, wetness and warmth.

She holds him close by the sides of his face. In his violet eye she sees his hunger, his rage, his lust. In his sapphire, she sees oblivion. 

And finally, he eases himself into her. 

He fucks her delicately, dragging his cock through her gently, slowly, deeply. His lips ghost over her skin, her temple, her cheek, back to her mouth with light kisses and strained but soft breaths. 

With a few deft circles over her bud she feels herself come undone around him. Her climax burns through her and she holds him closer for purchase, digging her fingertips into his skin as her resolve melts and her legs tremble around his hips.

Aemond doesn’t stop. He holds her against the mattress with a determined grip, fucking her through her peak until her pleasure settles and simmers once more.

Being kissed by him, held by him, fucked by him feels light a dream, that weightless, numb feeling of being between consciousness and sleep coursing through her limbs. It feels good, it feels deep, it feels perfect.

She cannot be sure how many climaxes he draws from her, she just feels him, his heat, his hands and his skin as he repositions her legs, guides her onto her front, brings her up to her knees, pushes her back down again, until she is a blissful, mindless mess.

He meets his own end when he has her face down on the bed, her face turned to the side against the pillow, his mouth on the underside of her jaw as he pounds into her. 

“You’re doing so well,” she hears him rasp, “you’ve been so good to me… fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Her mind is beyond words and coherent thoughts. She utters the only thing she feels, the only thing she can think of, “Aemond… Aemond… Aemond…”

He stills his hips against her rear with a guttural moan, pressing his face against hers, squeezing her waist under his hands. He allows himself a few more shallow thrusts until he is spent. She feels his cock pulse within her, a warmth pooling, his spend dripping from her cunt once he has pulled away.

The weight dissipates from her back and for a moment she lies there, basking in the afterglow, feeling her chest rise and fall against the bed, the softness of her sheets under her fingertips.

She wakes to a gentle breeze running over her skin and slipping down her spine.

She allows her eyes to flutter open and recoils at the pale sunlight beaming through the spaces in the curtains. 

She holds her breath.

She hears no sound or sign of life other than her own pulse. 

She twists herself to sit up, noting that her bedsheets are neat and the hem of her nightgown is where it should be. 

Is it possible that she dreamed it? She remembers it so vividly, but the mind has a way of playing tricks. Perhaps it was only a dream.

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he had said. “I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world.”

How do we determine what is real? she wonders as she pulls on a robe and goes to open the curtains. The morning floods her bedroom. It brings no warmth, but it brings light and life back into the room. 

To dream is to live beyond ourselves, why should that be any less true than the world around me? 

She seats herself before her vanity, reaching for the drawer for her hairbrush.

But something catches her eye, a glint of colour against mahogany wood, a small gem catching the sunlight.

She takes it between her thumb and index finger and brings it before her eyes; a sapphire, the size of a pearl, a deep and vibrant blue. Its edges are uneven and dull, uncut, as though plucked straight from the earth. 

She turns it about between her fingers. It could be a trick of the light, but there is depth to it, a vastness within. The sapphire seems to capture the night sky, dotted with glimmering stars.

His was the same.

As the dazed state of sleep wears off, she feels the satisfied ache between her legs, the spots on her skin marked by him. She smiles to herself and holds the gem in her palm, this precious gift, this reminder, this promise from the Lord of Dreams.

Tags (comment to be added)

Sweet Dream taglist: @solisarium @sirenangelroyal @sabrinasstar @shygardengalaxy @aemondsfavouritebastard @wintrr13 @thedamewithabook @lexwolfhale @rainyforest777

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

[heartsfromia]

be my date — h. joshua

pairing: non-idol! joshua x f! reader

word count: 3,961

genre: fluff, minor angst

warnings: reader has social anxiety

author's note: reader is 18 ! dont call the cops on poor joshy, they have a two year difference too in this ;__; THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS BTW 🤍🤍🤍

It was that wretched time of the year, the time where you dreaded throughout your entire high school journey. As the winter air clears, flowers begin to bloom and April showers pass by, finals were ending soon and in a month, you’ll be receiving your diploma as a mark to the end of one chapter in your life.

However, it meant one thing, and this thing you hoped would pass by without your attendance.

Yes, it is Prom season. Capitalized for emphasis.

Dress shopping, various incidents of “promposals” taking place within the two weeks between finals and the date of the dance, you dreaded this time of your high school journey because of one thing: the dance.

You understood the appeal of prom. It was the one time when a lot of peers felt was a special closing before they enter adulthood, and college. It was the perfect occasion for everyone to go all out without worrying of whether they’re overdressed for the party, it was an event where couples could take this time to take a further step into their relationship, using the slow dancing portion of the party as a commemorative dance to a hopefully long-term relationship. Everyone would be there as a last hurrah with their high school friends, the same people that watched you glow up through your teens, and eventually bloom and flower on that one single night. It was special.

Unfortunately, you didn’t care. You got the appeal of prom, doesn’t mean you had to like it.

To you, prom is a nightmare. Your school isn’t exactly small, so imagining your entire year being in one, closed off space (albeit, the gym is spacious) sounded like a disaster. A clump of sweaty bodies, dancing to the DJ’s mix of school-friendly songs with lackluster beats—overcrowded, smelly, and just completely unappealing. Don’t get started on the huge possibility that someone would spike the fruit punch when the teacher chaperones weren’t looking.

Sweaty, drunk, overcrowded, you shiver at the thought.

Alas, your distaste and overall reluctance to join prom would be futile because you’re an introvert that, unfortunately, was adopted by a renown extrovert and party-goer.

“Have you bought your ticket to prom?” Yunjin asked, moving to sit on the empty seat beside you. You both had just finished the last exam of the day, and while everyone were packing to leave, you were waiting for Yunjin who was in the class next to you.

“I’m not going,” you uttered, grabbing your bag. “I thought I told you I don’t plan on going, dude”

She looked at you bewildered, eyes wide and mouth agape. “You can’t not go, Y/N. It’s prom.”

You glanced to the side, raising a brow. “So?”

She gasped dramatically, and you rolled your eyes. You anticipated Yunjin pestering you about prom. Ever since your senior year started, prom was the only thing she ever talked about. She raved about the dress she had been eyeing at one the most popular dress boutiques in town, you’d spot her by her desk, scrolling through Pinterest photos for makeup looks to go with her dress, and she even ranted about how her boyfriend had asked her to prom before finals began, just so she’d be at a peace of mind to study.

“Why don’t you want to go, Y/N?”

“I just don’t… like them,” you answered a bit unconvincing and it was evident with the way she rose her eyebrow at you. “I’m not a party person, Yunjin.”

“You don’t have to party, you can sit by the table and people watch,” she offered, causing you to snort. “Hey, people watching at prom is fun, and when I’m tired of dancing, I can join you and we can predict who will end up as what in the future after leaving high school.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” you began, pressing your lips together and shrugging, “I seriously just want to stay home, dude.”

“But it’s our last night together,” she pouted, her big eyes pleading. “It’s our only prom, Y/N.”

“It’s just prom, and it’s not like it’ll be the last time we see each other,” you reminded, “we’re still going to the same campus.”

“Come on, Y/N,” she whined, following behind you as the two of you made your ways to your car, planning to head over to Yunjin’s for a girl’s night. “Be honest with me, because I just don’t believe that that’s your reason.”

Yeah, because the real reason is because I have terrible social anxiety and an overcrowded prom doesn’t seem the most ideal situation to be in.

You wanted to tell her, hell, she’s your best friend, but you knew deep inside that the reason wouldn’t be enough to keep Yunjin from dragging you to the prom. It’s not that she wouldn’t understand, it’s just that she’ll find a way to accommodate to you to ensure you won’t have a panic attack, and by doing so, she’ll be more focused on you, rather than having fun and you knew Yunjin only went to parties because she wants to have fun, not babysit her friend.

So, you uttered the first thing in your head. “I don’t have a date. It seems pathetic to go to prom without a date.”

“Seriously? No one has asked you out?” You only shrugged. Unbeknownst to her, there were a few, but none extravagant—mainly through letters or asking you casually, but you declined, you seriously did not consider going to the end-of-school-year event. Her brows furrowed, the conversation seeming to end there as she scrolled through her phone, replying to messages from her boyfriend as you drove to her house.

“Is someone else home?” you asked as you pulled into her driveway, a car you didn’t recognize it being either of her parents parked in front of the house. Yunjin looked just as confused, shaking her head as the two of you climbed out and headed in. A new pair of shoes were at the front of the door, and from the looks of it, you assumed it to be owned by a guy. “Visitors?”

“Maybe,” she responded, kicking off her shoes and you sighed, arranging your shoes neatly. “Eomma, I’m home!”

“Yunjin, how were your exams?” Mrs. Huh appeared by the doorway of the kitchen, wiping her hands dry. “Y/N, hello to you, too. Did you guys do well?”

“We’ll know when the grades come out,” you responded with a warm smile.

“We didn’t recognize the car in front, is someone here?” Yunjin asked, and her mother’s eyes widened, nodding.

“Ah yes, I almost forgot.” She smacked her forehead gently. “Your cousin is staying here for two weeks, your cousin Joshua.”

“Joshua’s here?” Yunjin exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Yes, he’s upstairs, but he’s tired from the flight here, so you can say hi when he comes down.” Yunjin nodded in understanding, turning to face you, a metaphoric light bulb brightly lit atop her head as she grins at you.

“You’re going to prom with my cousin.”

What?! “What?” It came out less shocked than you anticipated; your tone dead, but as you stare back at her with uncertainty, it was clear you were taken aback, as if you didn’t hear her correctly.

“You’re going to prom with Joshua.”

You glanced around the room, no one but the two of you present in her living room. “Is the Joshua in the room with us?”

“He will be,” she gleamed, sparing a glance at the stairway that led upstairs. “He’s awesome, Y/N, a true gentleman and he can be your date to prom.”

It was your turn to stare at her in bewilderment. “You are talking as if he’s already agreed, Yunjin.”

“He will, trust me,” she began, heading towards the stairs and you following. “He’s a part of the pandemic generation of students, so he never got a prom, and our school is his alma mater.”

“And how does that matter?”

“Because, I know a few other people asking our seniors to prom, some going with their older sibling because they want to have an experience they missed out during their time,” Yunjin explained, plopping down on her bed. “Joshua’s also told me how much he wished he went to his prom.”

“And how are you sure he’ll agree to this?” As if on cue, the sound of the door adjacent to Yunjin’s creaked open and she grinned mischievously at you.

“Joshua!”

“Yeah!” Your heart dropped at the deeper voice on the other side of the door, Yunjin is seriously not backing out this plan of hers.

“Can you come into my room for a sec?” A beat passed and the door to her room swung open, a head peeking through. Light brown, floppy hair was the first thing you noticed from Joshua. Your eyes moved down to his doe-like eyes to his uniquely pursed lips as he looks to his cousin before acknowledging your existence, his pouted lips stretched into a warm smile. “Come in, please.”

Waving a nonchalant hand to you as he entered, he turned to Yunjin, raising his brows. “What’s up?”

“This is my best friend, Y/N,” she began, putting an arm around you. “And she doesn’t have a date to prom.”

“Oh… that’s sucks,” he responded, sounding a bit unsure which caused you to chuckle lightly and Yunjin to smack her forehead.

“You never got to go to your prom, right?” Joshua nodded, Yunjin’s plan finally clicking. “And a bunch of your friends are going to mine, right?”

“Yeah, a couple of them—I think Jeonghan is going with his little sister, and Seungcheol also has a cousin that goes to your school,” he explained. “Don’t you have a date already?”

“Yes, but this is not about me, it’s about—“ she held onto both your shoulders from behind, leaning into you, “—her.”

“I don’t mind taking you to prom, Y/N.” You could only muster a smile. It’s not about taking me to prom, Joshua, it’s about me not wanting to go, with a date or not.

“We’ll be preparing for prom starting tomorrow, you’re free to be our chaffeur for the week,” Yunjin jokingly offered, to which Joshua threw his head back in laughter, his laugh echoing through your head. The way he smiled, his entire demeanor—admittedly, you didn’t mind having him as a date to prom, he’s attractive and the way he so easily clicks with your best friend, it’s clear his intentions are pure, nothing to fear. You wouldn’t have minded if you didn’t have a nagging feeling at the back of your head, a feeling that comes in a tightly packed gift bag with your social anxiety.

When Joshua left the room, you turned to your best friend, staring deep into her eyes as you deadpanned, “I regret sitting beside you when we were freshmen.”

This ensued a fit of laughter from your friend as she pulls you into a hug.

The following week was busy, Joshua had obliged to Yunjin’s request of being your chaffeur for the week as he drove you all around town to clothing boutiques, makeup stores, and cafes as both Yunjin and you occupied yourselves with prom preparations.

You used the excessive time spent together to get to know Joshua a little bit more than just his name, the fact that he’s a sophomore in university, and that he was two years older than you.

Your conversations never lasted too long because of your duties as Yunjin’s prom advisor, and you had to focus on making sure you advise the best clothing to adorn your best friend on one of her most awaited nights—second to her wedding, of course.

There was an opening for a conversation to occur between you and Joshua when Yunjin and her boyfriend were busy getting their measurements in for a few altercations on their outfits, both Joshua and you seated in the front, watching as the seamstress wraps a measuring tape around your friends.

“You’re going to same campus as Yunjin, right?” Joshua strikes up conversation, expecting that the two of you will be for a while as your friends get their measurements in.

“Yeah, both of us are taking business administration,” you told him, and he nodded. “What are you taking?”

“Economics,” he answers, his lips pressed in a straight line—a habit you found that he does every so often when he’s unsure of how to continue the conversation.

“I’m really sorry, by the way, I don’t think I got the chance to apologize,” you began, your face contorted in guilt as you looked at him. “I didn’t plan on going to prom, but Yunjin’s very… convincing.”

His laughter shook his body slightly, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, she can be that way.” Both your eyes focused on the girl of the conversation, laughing as she jokingly smacks her boyfriend’s chest. “But I seriously don’t mind, since a couple of my other friends are going as well, I thought it would be fun to, you know, make up for lost times.”

“Yeah… it must’ve sucked to have a lot of traditions be taken away because of the pandemic,” you uttered absentmindedly, “but that means we were in school together around the same time, no?”

“Yeah, but because of the pandemic we never got to meet,” he explains, “but Yunjin has told me a lot about you.”

“That’s nice to hear, I’m sorry I can’t say the same for you.”

“She probably referred to me more often as her ‘cousin’ to you, since after high school I lived near college and rarely came here.” You nod in understanding.

“I just feel bad because you probably planned on spending your semester break doing something else, but you’re here… babysitting us,” you apologized once again, an endearing smile breaking out on Joshua’s face—a smile that caused heat to spread to your cheeks, and your stomach to turn.

“I really don’t mind, I’m enjoying myself here,” he answers honestly, the sincerity clear in his tone and you couldn’t help to mirror his smile, finally feeling at peace with this whole fiasco that Yunjin had brought onto you.

Maybe having Joshua as your date would make prom more enjoyable then.

Joshua did make your prom more enjoyable, that is, until you arrived at the venue.

Apparently word that a lot of former students were joining through their own insiders had spread throughout the school, the representative from each year reaching out to the school and eventually, a bigger venue was rented out for the prom.

If you heard correctly, there were at least three different batches, including yours, joining prom this year, and the venue would accomodate the estimated 350 students. The venue they had chosen was a hotel ballroom, that specified in big events like international conferences, and weddings, but either way to you, the place was big, meaning that there will be a lot more people than you had anticipated.

You thought that having yourself get ready with Yunjin, songs blasting from her bluetooth speaker as the two of you did each other’s hair and makeup would be enough time to calm yourself down. It did help ease the anxiety that was slowly crawling up your throat, but only temporarily.

At some point before arriving, the dress felt light and wavy as it encompassed your body, and the makeup felt almost nonexistent, bringing out your features in the most natural way, while emphasizing the depth of your beauty. But, as you arrived at the hotel venue, all of it changed immediately the second your heart dropped to the base of your stomach.

All of a sudden, the dress felt too tight, clinging to you in the most uncomfortable way possible, sweat began forming at the palm of your hands and the pits of your arm, and the makeup felt too much, overcrowding your face and accentuating the flaws beneath. All of a sudden the room felt too small, and the people too many.

“Hey, are you okay, Y/N?” You didn’t know who was talking to you, but you felt their hand clasp onto your elbow gently upon seeing your paling face.

“I… I can’t…” Breathe, I can’t breathe, you wanted to scream, but the air felt thin as your heart raced against your chest. It felt as if everyone’s eyes were on you at that very second, their stares filled with judgement, looking you up and down as if you were some clown for showing up to this event. You knew if you stayed there another second, you’d either faint, cry, throw up or all of the above.

“Bathroom,” you forced out as you turned on your heels and maneuvered your way through the crowd and towards the ladies’ rest room, where more girls were found, staring at you in shock before you disappeared into one of the stalls.

I can’t cry. I can’t cry. I’ll ruin Yunjin’s $40 mascara if I cry. But it was futile, and tears began streaming down your face as you tried your best to inhale and exhale at a normal rate.

“God, you’re so stupid,” you cursed yourself through gritted teeth. You were sure Yunjin would be too worried to have fun, but Joshua, who wanted to make up for lost times with his old friends, can’t have fun, too because you’re having a panic attack.

“Y/N?” You sit up straight at the familiar, deep voice. “Y/N, I saw you run in here. It’s Joshua.”

You wanted to call out for him, reassure you’re fine but the bile in your throat kept your words from leaving your lips.

“I’m coming in.” Your eyes practically bulged out of your head when hearing his statement before you quickly stepped out of your stall to make sure no other girl was in there, before Joshua entered. Luckily enough, it was completely empty and Joshua stood there, staring at you, worry written all over his face when he sees you.

“Y/N, oh my gosh,” he approached you, not thinking as he holds your face in his hand, his thumb swiping at the black-tinted tears staining your cheeks.

The weight of the night returned and your breath was caught in your throat. Joshua’s eyes widened, pulling you into his arms, pressing your face into his shoulder in hopes it’ll calm you down.

A gentle hand stroked your back, as he cooed, “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay, Y/N. Just breathe.” Once you had calmed down enough, you pulled away and a tender smile adorning his lips as he wiped your cheeks. “Do you want to step out for some fresh air?” Wordlessly, you nodded and he clasped your hand, pulling you out the rest room, and out the hotel.

The hotel had a small convenient store near the lobby, and the two of you ventured in that direction, Joshua allowing you to sit on the available chairs as he bought you water and a snack, since you hadn’t had the chance to feast on the food provided inside.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately apologized when he sat beside you, placing a bottle of water and a melon bread in front of you. “You’re supposed to be in there having fun with your friends, but I’m ruining it.”

“It’s not your fault you had a panic attack, Y/N,” he reassured, placing his hand on top of your head in an endearing gesture.

Stunned, you stuttered, “H-how did you know?”

“I know a panic attack when I see one, and from how pale you were, it was clear you were going through it,” he explained, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay? What triggered it?”

“Prom,” you answered, scoffing slightly at how ridiculous you must’ve looked earlier.

“Is that why you didn’t plan on going?” You nodded. “Then why did you pushed yourself?” His tone wasn’t accusing, he sounded genuinely curious to why you would purposefully put yourself in a situation that you’re uncomfortable with.

“Like I said a few days ago, Yunjin can be very convincing,” you sighed, tearing open the bread’s casing.

“Still, though, you didn’t tell her?”

“I didn’t want to make her feel like she had to watch over me,” you answered truthfully, chewing on the insides of your cheek. “I thought—if I told her—then she’d go out of her way to make sure I was okay, and couldn’t focus on having fun, like…” You glanced up at him, “like you right now. I’m sorry… again.”

“I really don’t mind, Y/N, I feel a part of being your date is to make sure you’re okay,” he reassures, reaching over to open the bottle for you. You mutter a ‘thank you’ taking a big gulp, the cool water refreshing against the heat from your crying session in the bathroom.

“She was worried about you earlier, Y/N,” he informed, his brows pulled together slightly, “when you feel comfortable, it’s alright to tell her about your anxiety.”

“I don’t want her to feel terrible for putting me in that situation, though, at the end of the day, I still went along with it.”

“Knowing Yunjin, yes, I agree she might feel guilty,” he begins, nodding in agreement, “but we’re still not responsible over how people because, I mean, what they’re feeling is their thing to deal with. What we shouldn’t do is allow ourselves to be put in situations that make us uncomfortable just because you don’t want someone else to feel bad.”

“It feels like I’m listening to myself whenever Yunjin gets herself into trouble,” you muttered, hoping it would ease the tension you felt.

“I’m just saying, Y/N, it’s alright to tell Yunjin about this, I’m sure she’ll be understanding next time.”

You only smiled, nodding before taking another bite of the bread. A beat of silence, and you swallowed your bite to talk again. “If it means anything, I had fun despite what happened.”

He chuckled lightly. “I did, too, Y/N.” Another beat of silence. “Although I can’t say so for right now, I’m a bit… disappointed.”

“Disappointed how?”

“I had a lot of fun with you the past week with your prom preparations,” he began, followed with a sigh, “it just sucks that we never got to do one significant thing for prom.”

Your brows furrowed. “Which is?”

“The promposal.” Your lips formed an ‘o’ as you nodded. “We just suddenly became each other’s dates.”

“That is true.”

“What if I proposed something else to you, though?”

Your eyes widened with shock, leaning a bit back to create distance between the two of you. “No offence, but I just finished high school, Joshua. If this is marriage—”

“No, no, no, what?” He quickly denied, his cheeks reddening as a nervous laugh escaped his lips. “I’m barely through college, and I’m surviving off of ramen, I don’t think either of us are ready for that.”

The two of you laughed at that. You then asked, “Then what do you mean?”

“I was thinking of a less… life-time commitment requiring proposal, Y/N.”

“That is…?”

“I have tickets to the festival downtown,” he starts, eyes bright with anticipation, awaiting your answer. “Would you like to be my date again?”

Your cheeks flushed upon hearing his question, a smile adorning your features as you began to fee giddy. Joshua chuckled along with you, rubbing the side of his neck, “I’m sorry it’s nothing grand.”

“No, it’s not that, I… I’d love to be your date to the festival, Joshua,” you accepted, and his grin only widened. You then added, “But does that mean it’ll be our last date, though?”

His eyes gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, shaking his head, uttering, “Not unless you say otherwise, Y/N."