#that was more then what every other man expected from her

[vampcubus]

𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 : kyojuro rengoku, tengen uzui & wives, poly obamitsu, tanjiro kamado, inosuke hashibira, zenitsu agatsuma.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, gn!reader, big spoon coded reader cus i said so, wholesome fluff, cuddling n snuggling, polyamory (tengen & obamitsu's parts), kamaboko trio aged up as per usual.

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔

— A teddy bear in the shape of a man and enthusiastic to be used as one! As a Hashira, Kyojuro is often kept away for days and weeks at a time, so he makes the most of every moment you spend together.

— Kyojuro's not happy unless he's got his arms full of his favorite person, so you can expect him to seek you out the moment he arrives home.

— If you’re a civilian and he finds you in the kitchen, he’ll drape himself over you from behind, nuzzling his face into your neck and lavishing it with smiling kisses, rugged hands settling on your hips.

— Kyojuro wants to be cuddled to sleep and truly can’t bear to be parted from you, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets in the summer months. And if he has obligations, he tries to wake up a little early so he can have a few minutes of cuddle time with you before he’s whisked away. You don’t even have to be awake for it, he just wants to hold you for a little while <3

— He started out as a big spoon but converted into a little spoon when he discovered what it felt like to be properly held. He’s no more content than he is when he’s got his back pressed to your chest and you’ve curled yourself around his broad frame. 

— He likes it best when you rub his belly when his eyes are too big for his stomach, always easing a bit of the discomfort <3

— Kyojuro is comfy to lay on, with two perfect pillows for you to rest your head on (his pecs <3). His muscles are quite soft when relaxed, and the way his heart stutters when your cheek rests on it is so cute.

— Kyojuro feels safe in your presence so he’s very prone to falling asleep on your shoulder or with his head in your lap. With his workload and inconsistent sleep schedule, he’s often a cuddle session away from nodding off. Particularly so when you start playing with his flaxen hair, it’s like his off-switch 🤭

— He’s a bit of an oversized lapdog and’ll climb into your lap every chance he gets. As far as he’s concerned, that’s his seat. It looks funny to outsiders if he’s bigger than you, but he hardly cares, all too eager to get all comfy in your lap and tell you about his day.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈 & 𝐖𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

— Big, tough man too cool to cuddle? No sir. Tengen is a touchy lover and raises a brow when you try to sit anywhere other than his lap, like why aren't you in your assigned seat? 🤨

— Pulls you flush against his side every chance he gets, wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders. You often get a companion wet kiss to the cheek to boot just to see you scrunch your face up and wipe his spit off your cheek >:(

— His wives are just like him– Suma especially who practically hangs off of you with those big doe eyes, clinging onto your arm during outings as a group. Between Tengen and Suma, your hands will never be lonely and you'll certainly never be cold. Those two are space heaters and can't keep their hands off their partners to save their lives.

— Makio is easily flustered by affection but ultimately craves it, even if getting her to admit it is like pulling teeth. A hopeless romantic at heart <3 She’s a big spoon and overheats easily, so she prefers to linger on the edges of the cuddle piles. She’ll smack your thigh if you move around too much with an annoyed grumble. She can be such a meanie sometimes 😔

— Hinatsuru doesn’t mind holding or being held, she just wants to be close to you. Though generally more soft-spoken than Makio, Tengen, and Suma, her affectionate touch translates her love for her partners so clearly. Often rubs soothing circles over your back, rests a comforting hand on your arm, and pets your hair while you cuddle.

— Tengen likes to talk when you cuddle, prattling on about his or your day while rubbing your side or back mindlessly. Most times, he talks you to sleep or vice versa, considering what a busy guy he is before retirement. Sometimes you’ll get caught up in deep conversations about your past lives, silly theories, or ping-pong flirtatious banter until you can barely keep your eyes open.

— Tengen likes it most when you and the wives crawl right on top of him, all to eager to be living furniture for his beautiful spouses while you all gossip and giggle to each other.

𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐈 𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 & 𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐈

— Dare I say the clingiest partners ever?

— Obanai hesitates where as Mitsuri openly throws herself into your arms at every opportunity. Just be patient and take things slow and he'll follow Mitsuri's example. It’s a subtle shift, maybe he leans his head on your shoulder to test the waters, unable to meet your eyes. He melts if you wrap an arm around his shoulders and rub his arm, eyelids drooping as he relaxes further against you.

— Mitsuri is a cuddle bug in every sense of the word, like a tiny, purring kitty rubbing its body against your legs when you come near. You swear she chirps like one too, especially when her affections are met with a head pat or tender kiss.

— Obanai won’t say it, but he likes it when he’s in the middle, tucked safely between his two favorite people. The three of you spend many long hours this way, just relaxing in each other's embrace before your obligations call you away from the cuddle puddle– with no shortage of complaints from your lovers (Obanai’s longing wistful look as you go is just as painful as Mitsuri’s whines)

— Their clinginess only worsens as your relationship progresses, I’m afraid 💀 Obanai has a death grip comparable to a boa constrictor, especially when he’s in a deep sleep.

— I have a vivid image in my mind of Mitsuri having to use her insane strength to pry his arms off of you and scooch herself in your place so you can pee in the middle of the night, barely able to stifle her giggles. (Obanai is very much this meme)

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎

— Touch starved but doesn’t know it, and is also unintentionally touchy. Until he isn’t. Until his touches seem all too intentional, never without meaning.

— Cuddling with you is one of his favorite activities and he’ll even schedule official cuddle time if you let him, so you never go without the comfort of one another’s arms for long. He’ll even decline plans if it’s the wrong time of day…

“Sorry, I’d love to, but it’s almost four and I always cuddle with my partner around that time.”

— And no it’s not negotiable. What if he was late, or missed it and hurt your feelings? No no, he’s far too considerate for that.

— Besides, he misses cuddle time the most when he’s out in the field, miles away from your warm embrace. You can tell he’s missing you in the letters he sends home, commenting about how it “ sure is cold out here,” though the longer he goes without the less subtle he is, rephrasing how he misses you in every paragraph. Can you really blame him? He truly adores you so it’s hard to be away from you :((

— Prefers to be the little spoon but ultimately will be happy no matter how you’re cuddling. (I expand on little spoon Tanjiro in this post <3)

𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐀

— Instinctually touchy and yet so unused to cuddling. Inosuke doesn’t know much about positive affectionate touch so he tends to squirm out of hugs and gets a little anxious when you hold him still too long, much like a dog would. He asks you what you’re doing, voice a little softer than normal, cheeks a little pink beneath his mask.

“Cuddling you?” you reply, equally confused by his reaction as he is to your affection.  “Well stop it. It feels weird,” he huffs, and you comply, albeit a bit disheartened. You can’t help but be curious about his rejection, so you push past the sudden awkwardness of the moment to inquire about it. “Feels weird how?” “I don’t know! It just does!” he snaps defensively, a little frustrated, an emotion you can’t help but mirror. But then you relax, reminding yourself to be understanding. It must show on your face though, because he follows you around until he’s sure you aren’t mad at him. Your understanding nature is something he’s still getting used to as well.

— Take it slow with him if you can help it, form positive associations with touch, and then try again another time and he’ll be more receptive <3 REALLY receptive after a while, like before you know it you’ve got a stage 10 clinger on your hands 😭 

— Especially if you start sleeping together, cus he likes to cover you with his whole body as his way of protecting you while you’re in a vulnerable state.

— However, he will get bitchy if he catches you taking naps without him there to cuddle up to you. Like just say you don’t love him 😔 You’ll wonder why he’s giving you dirty looks and the cold shoulder all day, yeah it’s cus you didn’t immediately come find him to nap. Traitor.

— He associates cuddling with sleep so he’s prone to nodding off, and if you guide his head to rest on your chest and massage his scalp? He’s dead to the world, snoring and everything.

𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀

— You cannot pry this man off of you and I mean it. He was clinging to you before you were even an item, often to your leg, your kimono, your hand, wherever he can reach. If you reciprocate once, he’ll keep coming back for more of it. So touch starved it’s pitiable, and he’s smart enough to know that looking pathetic earns him sympathy.

— That said, he’s taken aback if you initiate cuddling, almost unable to fathom being desired. It’s only then that he gets a little shy, chuckling nervously as you take him into your arms. Doesn’t know what to do with himself.

— Zenitsu isn’t picky about how you cuddle, just that you’re touching in every way possible. Tangles his legs with yours, wriggles as close as humanly possible, and holds your clothing in an iron grip.

— Oftentimes he looks so blissed out when he’s wrapped up in your embrace, eyes half-lidded or drooping with sudden sleepiness. You’re just so comfortable, and comforting, and beautiful and aaaa before he knows it he’s muttering all these things to you.

You awaken slowly to a considerable weight on your chest, squinting with your eyes closed you feel around blindly and find the familiar shape of your husband sprawled out on top of you. You sigh, recognizing his snores and a smile tugs at your lips despite it being tough to breathe. Your palm rests on his back, bunching in the thick fabric of his hoari. Your eyes finally crack open, the morning light illuminating your fully-dressed partner. Must’ve been a long night, you mused to yourself, able to picture a half-asleep Zenitsu stumbling into bed so clearly in your mind. Though even his unconscious alter-ego tended to seek you out. You turn, shifting Zenitsu onto his side. He stirs, but only slightly, immediately tucking his head under your chin with a grunt. “Don’t go,” he murmurs in his sleep, most likely to a dream version of you and a fondness warms your chest. “Stay.”

[chaldeanu]

spectacle ノ neuvillette . furina

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 1.5k ノ fem reader — threesome . furina is mostly only watching and praising you two ノ furina is still an achron and in her residence in palais mermonia . set before 2.2 ノ use of toys made of water . masturbation ノ cumming inside . teasing going every way . fingering . nipple play

“lady furina, is this alright?”

at your question, she hums with satisfaction, nodding with her eyes closed — long lashes flutter flirtatiously, and she bites her pink lips at the sight.

she takes the utmost pleasure in making you feel good and seeing your lovely face twist in excitement, little beads of sweat shimmering just like the diamond dust in the air, while the early sun seeps through laced curtains into the sitting room.

with the tips of her gloved fingers, she teases your nipples, tracing slow circles. her touch causing you to shudder as it trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps on the way, a pattern of her fascination.

neuvillette spreads your legs wide, and you can feel yourself leaking, quivering, and throbbing as he makes himself comfortable under you, pulling your hips onto him from behind. you are now seated on his lap, both of you on the sofa, the sapphire velvet of cushions and decorative pillows tossed to the side to make space.

a quiet whine slips from your mouth as the girl’s nails press into the inner sides of your thighs, pushing them apart until your muscles ache with a pleasant tingle. her touch leaves sizzling marks fading within a moment, and to meet her expectations, you arch your back as you sink onto the man below you. his girth is palpable, and it takes you a moment to get used to him inside. she traces the wet line in between your folds, glistening from arousal, where the pliant flesh of your petals throbs and leaks pearls of moisture just to ease the intrusion of the draconic cock.

“ah!” you yelp, instinctively trying to shut your knees, but his powerful grip keep you open for him, at his mercy.

the goddess of justice watches as he thrusts up slowly but sharply into you. a moan escapes your lips — you tilt your head back, and he licks the nape of your neck and wraps his arms around your torso, holding you tight as he slides in and out. the view absolutely fascinated her, so close to the source that if she decided to poke out her tongue, she could lick your cunt. but she won’t do that. you’re stuffed enough already, whimpering and weak from taking the whole of his erection. on the contrary, his balls hang tightly and alone, almost begging to be fondled with.

neuvillette leans slightly, and the archon takes the hint. her fingers wrap around his sack, massaging them gently, then more firmly. she cups them, licking and nibbling, working her way along the skin with kisses.

you are a mess, and he enjoys you writhing from the sensation — the two godlike presences acting in tandem to bring pleasure to each other, and you’re stuck between, doubting if it’s real to be graced by their lust. they cannot see how your insides stretch around the cock that paves its way deeper, yet it doesn’t stop them from imagining what a wonderful job they’re doing.

further down, her wet muscle causes him to harden, which only makes you whimper and squeeze him even more; the feeling similar to mounting a marbled pillar. her fingers move around and tease him, and his balls throb against her mouth. your juices trickle down his base, right onto the deity’s greedy tongue.

“so good!” she coos, looking up at your face and locking the lapis irises with your hazy ones. the look on furina’s is pure lechery; her cheeks are painted pink, and the colour is starting to creep up her nose as well. her trembling lips, marked with an incandescent residue of your essence, betray her excitement.

neuvillette locks your arms behind, between his chest and your back, his strong yet gentle grip on your wrists keeping you in the perfect arch as he continues to fuck you. the young woman spreads you open even further, pulling the flesh with her thumbs. she can hear the filthy sounds of the iudex gliding in and out, hypnotised by the erotic waltz of how your cunt swallows his cock whole over and over.

he releases a hot, shaky breath as her palm strokes and presses against his shaft while his tip remains inside you, then rubs her fingers at the point where the two of you unite with a dew of love gracing the flesh.

“lady furina, stop your ministrations for now...” he grunts into your shoulder, trying not to cum here and there.

“ah, sorry! you two were so cute and fucked out! i couldn’t resist!” she giggles innocently and stands up. she is dripping too, her thighs glisten from the arousal that runs down in little streams she seems not to notice.

the judge adjusts himself on the sofa — not once breaking an intimate contact between your bodies. he holds you by the hips, hands on the sides, and lifts you until all but the head of his cock is out, then sits you back down. you squeal from the sudden friction, so hard and sharp. your walls tighten around him, and furina smiles widely at the sight. resting on the opposite side of you two in the lavish armchair, her palm in an elegant gesture summoning her water spirits. they form two toys — one long and phallic-shaped, the other more round and thick.

“allow me to enjoy myself as you two make such a pretty spectacle…”

she spreads her legs wide, her pussy exposed, wet, and twitching with need. she pushes the tip of the water dildo in, letting out a content sigh as the magic substance stretches her open in a slippery manner, crystalline liquid gushing droplets on her clit.

once more, the iudex glides you up and down on his length until his tempo turns erratic, matching the one set by his esteemed mistress. you are helpless, pinned to him like a butterfly with a pin to the board, impaled in every sense, your body and your soul intertwined within the pool of ecstasy. you let him move you as he pleases, and you watch the young goddess in front of you as she begins fucking herself, thrusting her hips up into the liquid erection and shoving the other, round toy into her mouth, bobbing her head.

“dear, i insist and ask of you, don’t break on me yet, alright?” you hear a sultry voice next to your ear, making you jolt a little. he bites the tip of your earlobe to bring your attention back, forcing a squeak out of your throat from the sudden sting. “our beloved archon wants the show to go on…”

“monsieur neuvillette…” you murmur weakly, and he purrs as to approve your resolve.

the white-haired damsel spares no glances towards your little dialogue, busy enjoying herself, thrusting the watery sculpture, drooling around the bubble in her mouth until the liquids combine. her eyes flutter closed as her hips buck up to meet the hydro shape halfway, her toes curled, and a an expression of utter delight on her face. she speeds up; her legs shake, her breathing ragged, and moans escaping her throat. the cock that stretches her open throbs in the rhythm of her pulse, linking all three of you in the same tantrum.

the man groans into your shoulder, and his grasp turns stronger, numb around your frame. you feel him twitch inside you, getting bigger and pulsating; your cunt is soaked, squelching, and so, so weak as it welcomes the finale. his movements grow frantic, and after a few more thrusts, his muscles tense, and he draws you down, snug against his pelvis, impaling you to the hilt with his shaft, his seed bursting hot and thick inside. you moan out, overwhelmed, and furina reaches her orgasm at the sight of you two, together. her vision goes hazy, head empty that she can no longer control the toys, and they dissolve into small drops as her pussy clenches around moisture, hungry and aching, overflowing with both her essence and the water.

the iudex holds you close while catching his breath, his forehead glistening in puny sweat, his length still nuzzled deep against your insides, descending from his high. there’s a gentle applause reverberating in the air — with her complexion dewy and her hair dishevelled, the goddess lies limp and pleased on the armchair. she looks at the two of you and sighs.

“thank you both, this was a lovely performance, just as i expected! and you, my dear sweetheart,” the archon says, gazing directly at you, “look so dazzling in the embrace of our esteemed judge…”

neuvillette kisses your shoulder and gently, oh so slowly, lifts you off him, cum and juices seeping from the tip of his cock onto the plush carpets below. furina stands up with shaky legs, and you are enveloped in her hug, warm and comfortable.

“now, how should we proceed? a bath, perhaps?” the man suggests, fixing the ruffled tufts of your hair, but his iridescent eyes lock on the goddess before him.

“yes, yes. and macaroons! we shall all have macaroons too!” she declares with giggle, plump face against yours when she nuzzles like a kitten towards the entangled bodies.

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . author’s note ノ i can’t remember if i ever posted it… perhaps it was in my queue, but then i changed my mind. it’s a rewritten scenario i came up with after making a longer version with the same threesome. because i just love their dynamic when there’s a third person involved, hehe <3

[xxdark-obsessionxx]

I’m a big sucker for Psych Au fics. Reader is a cis female doctor who treats Tord with kindness. He becomes obsessed with her. Refuses to talk to any other doctor.

Tord is always on his best behavior for her which leads her to let her guard down.

BIG MISTAKE

I was supposed to be asleep five hours ago but I couldn’t until I finished this. Just know that in my heart, this takes place in Arkham. Also I'm super rusty so I apologize if anything feels off/wonky.

CW: Noncon

Dark themes ahead, please read at your own discretion and keep yourself safe. This is a work of fiction and I do not condone or support scenarios like this in real life

_____________________________________________

“You dropped this.” 

The man stares at you wide eyed as you hand him his lighter. He stands, rigid. You give him a gentle smile and press it into his palm, your other hand curling around the back of his hand. 

“I know there’s no fluid in it, so you don’t have to worry about me taking it,” you say to him. You pat his hand and step away.

The man turns fully towards you and you’re able to read the name sewed onto his shirt. 

“I-” the man- Tord- swallows hard. He quickly pockets the lighter. “Thank you.” 

You give him another smile and walk past him. He had seemed to be going the same way as you but he never caught up. Nor did you hear footsteps behind you. Once you reach the director’s office, he leaves your thoughts. You were absolutely determined to make a good first impression on your first day of the job. 

The man you met earlier had turned out to be your first patient. And oh boy, what a patient he was. Like you had promised yourself you weren’t going to judge any of these people but god damn. His file was thick. At least twenty papers were inside the manilla folder you had received from the head director’s office. Maybe even more. 

You’d never know if you kept standing outside the director’s office gawking at it. You take a deep breath. Going through it sitting down was probably a good idea. As you make your way to the breakroom, your grip on the folder is tight, trying your best to make sure you don’t drop it and reveal your patient's file. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to get to the breakroom. A few people were there but they paid you no mind. They sit, hunched over lunch or their own files. You sit and start to read. 

Løvik Tord

3 7 2 5 9

DOB: 1995

Age: 28

Hair: Dark brown with lighter brown roots

Eye: Silver

You end up skimming through this until you get to the bottom of the page. It wasn’t… pretty. 

CASE INFORMATION: 

Tord is a violent man. He is aggressive, manipulative, and has a short temper. Many doctors have tried working with him to no avail. He does not respond kindly to Dr.Casey (see page 5), Dr.Bonnie (see page 8), Dr.Roxy (see page 12), or Dr.Harley (see page 15). 

He is extremely aggressive towards Dr. Bruce (see page 20). 

You stop reading there, your chest feeling tight. You flip to page twenty. It’s not the last page like you had hoped. There were still…. Quite a bit in the file. 

Dr.Bruce has tried everything he can to help Tord. He has tried finding common ground with the patient. Has tried being lax and strict with Tord’s schedule. Has tried working with Tord and letting him sit outside. Tord had found every loophole and burned every bridge until Dr.Bruce stopped lenient treatments. Tord stabbed Dr.Bruce fifteen times before guards made their way into the room. 

It is unknown how and where he had gotten his hands on a sharp long blade. Tord was seen licking the blood of-

“Don’t worry if you can’t fix him. At this point, Doctor Markman hands his case off to fresh blood to showcase this place. No one expects you to be able to tame him.” 

You startle at the voice, goosebumps raised on your arms. “I’m sorry?” you ask with a polite smile. Anger clouded your fear. What the hell was this person talking about?

The doctor, Alice, her name tag reads, smiles at you. 

“Nearly everyone has tried working with him at this point,” she continues. “No one expects him to ever get better. He's here for murder, after all.” 

You give her a tight smile in return. “I’ll just have to see for myself.” 

Before she can keep going, you straighten up the papers and close the folder. 

“I appreciate the advice, but I must be going now,” you lie through your teeth. What bullshit! What kind of doctors run this place? 

You actually hadn’t needed to be anywhere for another thirty minutes but if this conversation continued you wouldn’t be able to hold your tongue. Everyone can be saved. With compassion and kindness and help, no one was beyond redemption. Or too far gone for help. 

You storm out of the breakroom and wander. 

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” 

Tord grins at you as he’s escorted in. His hands are cuffed and before he can sit down, the guard pats him down. 

It makes your stomach churn but you keep your face kind. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” you greet. You watch cautiously as he sits down in the plush chair. The guard leaves the room. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It’s silent enough to hear the clock as the two of you study each other. He seems to drink you in, eyes wandering up and down, seeming to take in everything. You’d do the same if you weren’t a professional. 

“You used to dye your hair?” 

Tord raises an eyebrow. He tilts his head a little, eyes focused solely on you. It unnerves you almost as much as his file had. No patient of yours had ever stared at you so intensely in the past….

After a moment, he answers. “Yes. I fancied black quite a bit.” He gestures towards his roots. “It’s been a while since Bruce got me more dye. No one else will.” 

“I could look into it,” you clasp your hands, jumping into this opportunity. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to Doctor Marksman.” 

“And what do you want from me in return?”

“I’m sorry?” 

His gaze hardens. “What. do. You. want.” He grinds out, his body rigid in the chair. His hands were clenched.

Without thinking, puzzlement falls across your face. What did he mean? What did you want? For him to get better, obviously. 

“I want you to be at ease with your mental health,” you answer, still looking puzzled. “I don’t want anything else from this job but that. I’m not dangling hair dye in front of you in exchange. I want you to feel comfortable in your skin and at home here, Mr.Løvik.” 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“Is that really what you want?” Tord asks, an emotion you can’t quite place in his voice. “To help me get better?” 

Whatever it may be, you smile at him. 

“Of course. I want nothing but to see you succeed and be happy here.” 

Things were easier after that first session. You always started off kindly, asking Tord how his day was going. If his favorite show or movie had aired on the television today.If his favorite food had been served that morning or afternoon. If he slept fine through the dreadful storm. 

(“I know I wasn’t,” you had laughed. “I tossed and turned, jumping at each sound all night.”

“I’m sure your boyfriend was quite displeased.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Well, no. I have a cat but no boyfriend. I was too busy getting my decree to ever really mingle like that. Though, my poor little man was also distraught at all the thunder last night. He yowled at my door until I let him into my room and he curled up on my bed. I’ll bring pictures next time.”) 

Too well for you and only you. Tord refused to talk to anyone but you. He would sit in silence or insult other doctors during his sessions. In one instance, he broke a new doctor’s nose. The poor guy had quit on the spot, cussing Tord and the whole place out as he was escorted to the medical section. 

You were tense the next few sessions but that violent man was nowhere to be found. He kept his cuffed hands right in front where you can see them at all times. He never lunged from you. In fact, barely ever moved in his chair. 

Tord was easygoing. Polite, charming, even. He took any medications he needed obediently and put up no fuss when you’d have him describe in later sessions how he was feeling and if he was feeling any negative side effects. 

He asked about your cat. About how your favorite show was going. If the movie you were looking forward to has come out yet. If your favorite restaurant down the street from your apartment was still closed for renovations. 

Eventually, enough time had passed that you relaxed. You stopped keeping your eyes trained on his hands. You stopped worrying yourself sick about his body language. You focused on his treatments and his mental health. 

If he was going to hurt me he would have done so by now, you thought to yourself after your latest session with Tord. He was doing so much better than he had been doing six months ago. It seemed as if you were really making a difference, helping him improve. 

It had been three months since he last fought another patient. Two months since he assaulted another doctor. And five months since he refused treatment of any kind. 

You step outside the building and take a deep breath. A dopey smile sticks to your face as you walk to your car. Becoming a doctor was the best choice you’ve ever made. Nothing was more rewarding than helping people. Not even this cloudy weather could bring you down. 

In fact, nothing tried to drag your mood down. There was no traffic on the way home. Some asshole hadn’t parked in your assigned parking spot again in the parking lot of your apartment. And your sweet cat hadn’t knocked his little box over again. 

You happily reheat your leftovers and watch tv for a while before you get ready for bed. Unfortunately, your mood does come crashing down. 

In the middle of the night, thunder wakes you. You jolt up, scrambling for your phone. Your hands come up empty. Shit, you think. I left it charging in the kitchen. Ugh. Oh well, you don’t need to look at your phone to see it is late and storming. 

Another loud sound booms through your apartment. Only this time, it sounds like a crash. 

“It’s just thunder,” you tell yourself. “Nothing to be afraid of.” You lay back down. Your eyes shut and you’re just about drifting to sleep when your door creeks open. 

You bolt up, knowing damn well that your cat can’t open doors and you freeze. 

Your heart races as your mind tries to process just who was in front of you. 

“Tord?” you whimper, hands shaking. But that can’t be. That was impossible. He was supposed to be sleeping soundly in his room with the soundproof headphones you got him. He didn’t like storms. The thunder reminded him too much of gunshots and made him restless. 

Useless information floods your brain. 

“I’m home, sweetheart,” he rasps. His grin is soft in the moonlight. He reaches over to flick on your bedroom light. 

He’s gentle he’s kind he’s sweet he’s-

He’s covered in blood.

Tord steps forward and you’re frozen in bed. His eyes are wild as they drink you in. There’s blood on his hands. In his hair. Splatters on his face. 

“Oh honey how I’ve dreamed of this,” he croons at the foot of your bed. “Your apartment is just as cute as you described.” 

He grabs the edge of your blanket and pulls it off. His smile grows sappy. “You did go for the red pants like I suggested.” He giggles, staring between your legs. “I wonder if there’s a match beneath them.”

That snaps you out of your shocked stupor. You scramble off your bed, slamming your head hard against your nightstand as you try to avoid Tord’s lunging grasp. 

You lay fetal on the floor, tears in your eyes as you clutch your head. “Fuck,” you hiss.

Tord clicks his tongue. He slowly climbs off your bed, crouching next to you. “My poor clumsy sweetheart.” 

You feel his hands in your hair. 

“What do you want?” you gasp. Fear and pain mix as you start to cry into your carpet. 

His hands stroke your hair. 

“You.” 

With that, you’re powerless to stop him as he scoops you up into his arms. You thrash as he dumps you back onto your bed, pinning you down. 

“I know you're scared but it’s ok. I’ll be gentle, my love. So gentle.”

Your mind can’t wrap your head around what’s happening. Tord isn’t supposed to be tying your wrists to your headboard. He isn’t supposed to be kissing your neck and grinding his hard arousal between your legs. He isn’t supposed to be in your home. 

“Such a good girl, staying still for me,” Tord says softly as he pulls back. He slides your pants down. Disappoint clouds his eyes when he sees your panties aren’t red but it’s deepened when he pulls those down and you’re barely wet.

“It’s ok sweets. I’ll figure out what gets you going. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in needing help.” 

Anger wells in your chest as Tord fishes for something in one of his pockets. How dare he. How dare he parrot your own advice back at you. As if this was a simple therapy session. As if you were the patient and he was the doctor wanting to help. 

“Get off me!” you snarl. “You know this isn’t right Tord. Y-you’re sick! You need help!” 

Tord stops what he’s doing to stare dead eyed at you. He plucks a clean rag off your nightstand and stuffs it into your mouth. 

“Enough of that,” he scolds. “You need this as much as I do. In fact, doctors orders.” 

He grins at his own twisted joke. He fishes through his pockets again and pulls out a small bottle of lube. “Yes, just what my love needs. A good thorough fuck.” 

You desperately try to spit the rag out but your mouth is too dry. You twist and tug your wrists but to no avail. This was happening. Your gentle, sweet patient was going to take your virginity. 

Tord carefully squirts lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together. He parts your folds, humming appreciatively as he rubs your clit. 

“That’s it, my good girl. Get nice and wet for me.” 

You feel sick. Against your will, his crooning and his touches stir up arousal inside you. You close your eyes as he gently fingers you as if he was searching for something. 

A minute later, your eyes fly open as he jabs something horrible. Your pussy grows slick from it, pleasure building in your lower stomach. 

“There it is.”

You shake your head violently. Not there, you try to plead with your eyes. Anywhere but there! 

But Tord merely smiles at you and ruthlessly abuses that spot. Over and over his fingers jab and curl,  rubbing it. You squeeze your eyes tight, small moans making their way out of your throat as pleasure jolts through you.. His thumb strokes your clit and you cum embarrassedly fast. You stare at the ceiling and wish you hadn’t wanted to cum at all. 

“Good girl,” Tord praises. He pulls his fingers out, eying them appreciatively. He sticks them in his mouth and sucks, moaning. “So sweet. But I’m too impatient to try it from the source. You’ll have to forgive me, my love.” 

Panic jolts up your spine as you feel his tip pressing against your entrance. You try to climb up your bed rest but you only achieve getting a little higher up on your pillows. Tord sighs and presses forward. 

“It’ll hurt for a moment but I promise this will feel good,” Tord tries to soothe. He picks up the lube and squeezes more into his palm and strokes himself. 

You hate him. You hate him with all your heart. 

He pushed forward and once again, you squeezed your eyes tight. His hand roughly grabs your throat. 

“Eyes on me,” he snaps. “I want to see how good I make you feel.” 

The fear overturns the pain and you quickly open your eyes. He pushes further in, reaching down to run your clit. 

Tord rocks his hips a little, eyes starstruck as he stares down at you. “You’re getting wetter,” he mumbles to himself. A grin spreads across his face. 

His hips snap forward, setting a firm pace. He stops rubbing your clit to grab under your thighs. He lifts them up and pushes until they’re almost touching your breasts. 

He thrusts harder and- 

You squeal, bucking your hips as he hits that horrible spot. You can’t stop bucking your hips, jolts of pleasure stabbing your stomach and stars in your eyes. 

Tord pressed closer to you, caging you in. He holds your gaze intensely, panting a little. His eyes dart between your face and your bouncing tits. 

Like earlier, you cum fast. This one hits you harder. And Tord doesn’t stop. 

You cum again and he pulls out. “Move and I’ll beat your ass with a belt,” he growls. He pulls out a switchblade and cuts the rope off your headboard. He’s quick to tie your wrists together. 

You find yourself on your stomach, ass up. Tord firmly holds your hips. He enters again, pressing down against you. Caging you against the mattress as he pounds into your pussy hard. By the time you’re cumming again, he finally cums with you. 

You’re crying by this point. Overstimulation has you cringing, your pussy tingling as he pulls out. Once again, you start to panic. Tord had come inside you. You thrash underneath him. 

“Stop that,” he hisses, slapping your ass hard. You cry harder as he does it another three times. And another, until you finally go still. 

You hear Tord sigh harshly. “I need to be patient with you,” he mumbles to himself. He gets off of you and you hear him leave the room. 

He’s back within minutes, holding a wet hand towel. You’re gently turned over onto your back and he softly cleans you up. You can’t look at him. 

“Mrrow.” 

Your heart jolts. Your cat jumps onto the bed, purring as Tord pets him with his clean hand. Traitor. 

“You rest while I pack,” Tord says softly. He leans down to press a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll grab everything you need and love for our new home.” 

He climbs off the bed and leaves the room again. He comes back with duffel bags. Your cat paddles up to you and curls up next to you. He purrs hard as you sob your eyes out.

[formosusiniquis]

have your cake

So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision

Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3

The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.

He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.

Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.

Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.

When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another. 

Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.

Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.

Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.

There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"

Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.

And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.

So he looked around.

The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.

It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow. 

Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.

Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.

The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.

“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”

“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.

“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.

Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”

Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”

From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.

“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”

“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"

Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?" 

“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”

“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.

“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”

“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.

“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”

“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.

“Right.”

“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”

Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.

His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.

His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.

Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.

He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.

It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.

They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”

“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”

“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”

“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”

He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.

Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.

It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.

Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.

“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy. 

While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.

"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."

And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.

“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.

“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”

“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.

Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.

The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.

“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.

Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.

“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”

“Don't know, don't wanna know.”

“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.

That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.

“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”

“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.

“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.

“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”

If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.

“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”

“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.

“I’ll tell Robin you were-”

“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”

“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.

Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.

So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.

He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.

“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”

“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious. 

Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.”  He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.

Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.

“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.

“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.

“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.

“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.

He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.

"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.

"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.

Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.

He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."

The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."

She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.

Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.

The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.

“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”

Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.

And so does Munson.

They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.

“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”

“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.

“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.

It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.

He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”

“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.

He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.

“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.

“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”

“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks. 

She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”

“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”

Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.

“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”

“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.

“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”

“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”

The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.

“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.

Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.

“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”

Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.

“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”

“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”

“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”

“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.

He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.

And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.

Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.

“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”

Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.

There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.

Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”

They really can’t stay any longer.

Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.

There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there. 

Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.

But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.

[obsessivelyloved]

This was requested on one of my nsfw blogs but I went insane and made it 3,000 words long. So I can post most of it here lol. Just know that in my heart, this takes place in Arkham. Also I'm super rusty so I apologize if anything feels off/wonky. The ending is abrupt here bc the rest of it/the ending is nsfw. I was up til 5am writing this and I'm not writing a sfw ending for this blog until after i get more sleep.

Anon asks: I’m a big sucker for Psych Au fics. Reader is a cis female doctor who treats Tord with kindness. He becomes obsessed with her. Refuses to talk to any other doctor. Tord is always on his best behavior for her which leads her to let her guard down. BIG MISTAKE

___________________________________________________________

“You dropped this.” 

The man stares at you wide eyed as you hand him his lighter. He stands, rigid. You give him a gentle smile and press it into his palm, your other hand curling around the back of his hand. 

“I know there’s no fluid in it, so you don’t have to worry about me taking it,” you say to him. You pat his hand and step away.

The man turns fully towards you and you’re able to read the name sewed onto his shirt. 

“I-” the man- Tord- swallows hard. He quickly pockets the lighter. “Thank you.” 

You give him another smile and walk past him. He seemed to be going the same way as you but he never caught up. Nor did you hear footsteps behind you. Once you reach the director’s office, he leaves your thoughts. You were determined to make a good first impression on your first day of the job. 

The man you met earlier had turned out to be your first patient. And oh boy, what a patient he was. Like you had promised yourself you weren’t going to judge any of these people but god damn. His file was thick. At least twenty papers were inside the manilla folder you had received from the head director’s office. Maybe even more. 

You’d never know if you kept standing outside the director’s office gawking at it. You take a deep breath. Going through it sitting down was probably a good idea. As you make your way to the breakroom, your grip on the folder is tight, trying your best to make sure you don’t drop it and reveal your patient's file. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to get to the breakroom. A few people were there but they paid you no mind. They sit, hunched over lunch or their own files. You sit and start to read. 

Løvik Tord

3 7 2 5 9

DOB: 1995

Age: 28

Hair: Dark brown with lighter brown roots

Eye: Silver

You end up skimming through this until you get to the bottom of the page. It wasn’t… pretty. 

CASE INFORMATION: 

Tord is a violent man. He is aggressive, manipulative, and has a short temper. Many doctors have tried working with him to no avail. He does not respond kindly to Dr.Casey (see page 5), Dr.Bonnie (see page 8), Dr.Roxy (see page 12), or Dr.Harley (see page 15). 

He is extremely aggressive towards Dr. Bruce (see page 20). 

You stop reading there, your chest feeling tight. You flip to page twenty. It’s not the last page like you had hoped. There were still…. Quite a bit in the file. 

Dr.Bruce has tried everything he can to help Tord. He has tried finding common ground with the patient. Has tried being lax and strict with Tord’s schedule. Has tried working with Tord and letting him sit outside. Tord had found every loophole and burned every bridge until Dr.Bruce stopped lenient treatments. Tord stabbed Dr.Bruce fifteen times before guards made their way into the room. 

It is unknown how and where he had gotten his hands on a sharp long blade. Tord was seen licking the blood of-

“Don’t worry if you can’t fix him. At this point, Doctor Markman hands his case off to fresh blood to showcase this place. No one expects you to be able to tame him.” 

You startle at the voice, goosebumps raised on your arms. “I’m sorry?” you ask with a polite smile. Anger clouded your fear. What the hell was this person talking about?

The doctor, Alice, her name tag reads, smiles at you. 

“Nearly everyone has tried working with him at this point,” she continues. “No one expects him to ever get better. He's here for murder, after all.” 

You give her a tight smile in return. “I’ll just have to see for myself.” 

Before she can keep going, you straighten up the papers and close the folder. 

“I appreciate the advice, but I must be going now,” you lie through your teeth. What bullshit! What kind of doctors run this place? 

You actually hadn’t needed to be anywhere for another thirty minutes but if this conversation continued you wouldn’t be able to hold your tongue. Everyone can be saved. With compassion and kindness and help, no one was beyond redemption. Or too far gone for help. 

You storm out of the breakroom and wander. 

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” 

Tord grins at you as he’s escorted in. His hands are cuffed and before he can sit down, the guard pats him down. 

It makes your stomach churn but you keep your face kind. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” you greet. You watch cautiously as he sits down in the plush chair. The guard leaves the room. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It’s silent enough to hear the clock as the two of you study each other. He seems to drink you in, eyes wandering up and down, seeming to take in everything. You’d do the same if you weren’t a professional. 

“You used to dye your hair?” 

Tord raises an eyebrow. He tilts his head a little, eyes focused solely on you. It unnerves you almost as much as his file had. No patient of yours had ever stared at you so intensely in the past….

After a moment, he answers. “Yes. I fancied black quite a bit.” He gestures towards his roots. “It’s been a while since Bruce got me more dye. No one else will.” 

“I could look into it,” you clasp your hands, jumping into this opportunity. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to Doctor Marksman.” 

“And what do you want from me in return?”

“I’m sorry?” 

His gaze hardens. “What. do. You. want.” He grinds out, his body rigid in the chair. His hands were clenched.

Without thinking, puzzlement falls across your face. What did he mean? What did you want? For him to get better, obviously. 

“I want you to be at ease with your mental health,” you answer, still looking puzzled. “I don’t want anything else from this job but that. I’m not dangling hair dye in front of you in exchange. I want you to feel comfortable in your skin and at home here, Mr.Løvik.” 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“Is that really what you want?” Tord asks, an emotion you can’t quite place in his voice. “To help me get better?” 

Whatever it may be, you smile at him. 

“Of course. I want nothing but to see you succeed and be happy here.” 

Things were easier after that first session. You always started off kindly, asking Tord how his day was going. If his favorite show or movie had aired on the television today.If his favorite food had been served that morning or afternoon. If he slept fine through the dreadful storm. 

(“I know I wasn’t,” you had laughed. “I tossed and turned, jumping at each sound all night.”

“I’m sure your boyfriend was quite displeased.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Well, no. I have a cat but no boyfriend. I was too busy getting my decree to ever really mingle like that. Though, my poor little man was also distraught at all the thunder last night. He yowled at my door until I let him into my room and he curled up on my bed. I’ll bring pictures next time.”) 

Too well for you and only you. Tord refused to talk to anyone but you. He would sit in silence or insult other doctors during his sessions. In one instance, he broke a new doctor’s nose. The poor guy had quit on the spot, cussing Tord and the whole place out as he was escorted to the medical section. 

You were tense the next few sessions but that violent man was nowhere to be found. He kept his cuffed hands right in front where you can see them at all times. He never lunged from you. In fact, barely ever moved in his chair. 

Tord was easygoing. Polite, charming, even. He took any medications he needed obediently and put up no fuss when you’d have him describe in later sessions how he was feeling and if he was feeling any negative side effects. 

He asked about your cat. About how your favorite show was going. If the movie you were looking forward to has come out yet. If your favorite restaurant down the street from your apartment was still closed for renovations. 

Eventually, enough time had passed that you relaxed. You stopped keeping your eyes trained on his hands. You stopped worrying yourself sick about his body language. You focused on his treatments and his mental health. 

If he was going to hurt me he would have done so by now, you thought to yourself after your latest session with Tord. He was doing so much better than he had been doing six months ago. It seemed as if you were really making a difference, helping him improve. 

It had been three months since he last fought another patient. Two months since he assaulted another doctor. And five months since he refused treatment of any kind. 

You step outside the building and take a deep breath. A dopey smile sticks to your face as you walk to your car. Becoming a doctor was the best choice you’ve ever made. Nothing was more rewarding than helping people. Not even this cloudy weather could bring you down. 

In fact, nothing tried to drag your mood down. There was no traffic on the way home. Some asshole hadn’t parked in your assigned parking spot again in the parking lot of your apartment. And your sweet cat hadn’t knocked his little box over again. 

You happily reheat your leftovers and watch tv for a while before you get ready for bed. Unfortunately, your mood does come crashing down. 

In the middle of the night, thunder wakes you. You jolt up, scrambling for your phone. Your hands come up empty. Shit, you think. I left it charging in the kitchen. Ugh. Oh well, you don’t need to look at your phone to see it is late and storming. 

Another loud sound booms through your apartment. Only this time, it sounds like a crash. 

“It’s just thunder,” you tell yourself. “Nothing to be afraid of.” You lay back down. Your eyes shut and you’re just about drifting to sleep when your door creeks open. 

You bolt up, knowing damn well that your cat can’t open doors and you freeze. 

Your heart races as your mind tries to process just who was in front of you. 

“Tord?” you whimper, hands shaking. But that can’t be. That was impossible. He was supposed to be sleeping soundly in his room with the soundproof headphones you got him. He didn’t like storms. The thunder reminded him too much of gunshots and made him restless. 

Useless information floods your brain. 

“I’m home, sweetheart,” he rasps. His grin is soft in the moonlight. He reaches over to flick on your bedroom light. 

He’s gentle he’s kind he’s sweet he’s-

He’s covered in blood.

Tord steps forward and you’re frozen in bed. His eyes are wild as they drink you in. There’s blood on his hands. In his hair. Splatters on his face. 

“Oh honey how I’ve dreamed of this,” he croons at the foot of your bed. “Your apartment is just as cute as you described.” 

[babyblue711]

Loyalty

Aemond Targaryen (HOTD) x Alys Rivers - Part 1 Summary: Alys reflects on her time at Harrenhal under the reign of the Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen. Words: 2.6K

Chapter Warnings: NSFW, Dubcon, Sexual Content 18+, Smut, War Things, Typical Westeros Misogyny A/N: I fully realize not everyone is an Alys fan and that is perfectly fine. Perhaps once the show airs, I'll change my opinion too. But, as of right now, this is fanfiction and, therefore, my fantasy. I personally tried to humanize Alys, which I hope you all will see. As always, I love reading your thoughts, comments, and reblogs! 😘 And - No tag list since I don't know who will be in to Alysmond. 💙 Beta read by the Queen herself: @arcielee 💙 Beautiful banner gif by the one and only: @myfandomprompts

The prince was insatiable at times.

Sometimes he was gentle, sometimes rough. Though she never knew what she was going to get, the news from the battlefront and the state of affairs of the kingdom often foretold the sort of night she could expect from the Prince Regent.

With the weight of the green faction firmly resting on his shoulders, periodically he would be consumed by raw desire; he was fueled by passion, fueled by rage, fueled by an innate need to dominate and control, as certainty was a rare commodity given the unpredictable nature of war. On those nights, his touch was borderline cruel, harsh and demanding, and she would brace herself, anticipating the forcefulness with which he would claim her, feeling a mixture of pleasure and pain as their bodies collided. She didn’t know how to tell him ‘no’. She didn’t think she could. She needed him just as much as he needed her… or so she was leading him to believe. 

But at other times, he would approach her with a soft touch, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns along her skin, his words filled with warmth, just like the first night they spent together. Those were the nights when she had felt cherished and safe, enveloped in his affection and care. She couldn’t ever remember a time where any man of higher standing had ever worshiped her in such a tender way. 

Presently confined within the ominous black walls of Harrenhal, tonight she is suffering the prince’s wrath. The recent tidings are dire: Kings Landing has fallen into the hands of the enemy, igniting the red hot rage of the dragon. She knows Aemond feels solely responsible for this significant blow to their cause, for leaving his family unprotected as he seeks out his greatest foe, terrified of what is happening to those he has left behind. Tonight, he uses their intimacy as a conduit for his pent-up emotions, unleashing his fury upon her in a desperate attempt to find temporary respite from the anarchy gripping the Seven Kingdoms and the chaos of his own soul.

In the dimly lit chamber, the air is heavy with tension and the scent of burning candles. Pinned to the bed underneath him, his long fingered hand is wrapped firmly around her throat as he thrusts powerfully, hips snapping into her with a brutal force, a look of utter madness in his lone purple eye. His grip tightens on her throat as his unhinged gaze flicks from her bouncing breasts up to her face. 

“Why couldn’t you have told me about this before?” he demands with a harsh growl that echoes off the stone walls, his fingers digging into the delicate skin of her throat so that she can barely breathe, let alone articulate an answer. She chokes slightly, wrapping a dainty hand around his wrist, begging with her eyes for him to soften his grip, which mercifully he does so she can speak.

“My prince,” she gasps as he continues to rut into her, “My visions do not work on command…” She attempts to explain but anger clouds his face and his grip tightens once more on her throat, cutting off any further speech. The Prince Regent does not want to hear her excuses. His desperation and anger is evident in every movement, in every harsh word, in every mark he leaves upon her body. She clenches her jaw and tries not to whimper as his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her neck and breasts, afraid weakness will spur him on further; mentally, she tries to disassociate from what is currently happening to her. She is fully aware that he sees her as a means to an end, a tool to gain an advantage in the chaos of war; she purposefully has supplanted herself in this position, just as he is her mechanism for survival in return.

She knows deep down that she cannot fulfill his demands; her gifted visions do not bend to her whim or will, and she cannot control what they show her. To admit this to him would mean certain death, and so she bears the pain of his grip, the forcefulness of his thrusts, and the weight of his expectations, all while concealing the truth that she cannot deliver what he seeks.

With a guttural groan, his hips stutter as he spills deep inside of her, his fearsome eye closed in some semblance of bliss as he reaches his peak. Without acknowledging any need for her pleasure, he tucks himself back in his pants and departs the room in silence, his rage barely satiated. 

Alys lays upon the bed, her chest rising and falling to catch the breath withheld from her while caught in Aemond’s iron grip. She shifts slightly into a more comfortable position, feeling the slickness between her thighs and, despite his brutality, she quietly hopes for a silver-haired babe, further securing her own position and a testament to her worth.

She wonders if Aemond does not think she is capable of having children and, therefore, is much less cautious where he spills his seed. Her moon’s blood is late, but that is not unusual for her, though she still thinks it is too early to tell if they have been successful yet. She rests a hand on her lower belly, willing her womb to quicken, something that hasn’t happened in years. 

Exhaustion tugs at the corners of her eyes as she rests, waiting for her soreness and aches to lessen so she may get a few hours sleep. Sighing deeply, she stares into the dying flames of the fire in the hearth and reflects on the last few months of being caught up in this accursed Targaryen civil war. Life with Aemond is, at least, a little better than when Daemon ruled these halls. The Rogue Prince had been a formidable presence, his sharp eyes saw through her facade of obedience from the moment he landed astride his fiery red dragon. She had never underestimated him, knowing that he would not be easy prey to be fooled by her own ambitions.  

But when Aemond descended from the heavens upon his colossal, ancient dragon, Alys suspected the young Prince Regent to be a lot more volatile, and thus, a little more vulnerable than his formidable uncle. Aemond was desperate to prove himself in the ongoing war, his ego inflated by the fact that he commanded the largest dragon in existence. His mere presence struck fear into the hearts of warriors, who readily bowed before him as he issued commands with an air of undeniable authority. Yet, beneath his bravado, Alys discerned a deep-seated fear—that of failing his family and being perceived as a disappointment.

Recognizing these traits, she decided to try to leverage this to her advantage. She harbored no ill will toward the prince; in fact, she had developed a fondness for the young man during his stay at the fortress. But she knew that sentimentality had no place in the games of power and politics that defined their lives; the world was cruel, especially to lowborn women, and no one in her position would turn down such an opportunity to wield the influence that came with being entwined with a Targaryen Prince. 

It still took considerable effort to gain Aemond's trust, considering his sharp intellect and initial tendency to see her as nothing more than a lowborn woman with limited utility. However, upon learning that she had some experience with the healing arts, he tasked her with tending to the injuries of his soldiers, which she executed without fail. 

It was one fateful night that the prince called upon her for help with his own affliction - the vicious scar that marred the left side of his beautiful face. She concocted a poultice aimed at soothing the damaged nerves around his missing eye that was causing him some discomfort that particular night. Witnessing the visible relief on his face once she had applied it, and taking advantage of being alone with the prince for the first time, she seized the opportunity to subtly offer strategic information, mainly concerning Daemon's previous tenure at Harrenhal. Aware of Aemond's desperation for any advantage in the ongoing war, especially for any knowledge that had to do with his uncle, Aemond clung to anything she could tell him about Daemon and his war strategy. She was aware of just enough information to be deemed useful and what she wasn’t aware of, she may have elaborated just a bit, as the prince would never know. This gesture swiftly elevated her status in his eyes, securing her a place in his inner circle sooner than she had even anticipated. 

But it wasn’t only Aemond she had to charm; she also understood the importance of gaining favor with Ser Criston Cole, the Hand of the King and Aemond's second in command. Although she suspected that Ser Criston could occasionally see through her intentions, she had a knack for manipulating him too.

Late one evening, and after a few too many cups of wine, she prophesied his future, whispering words that she knew would resonate with him as they gazed into the flames of the fire. Men in positions of power and influence loved to be told exactly what they wanted to hear and Ser Criston was no exception. Soon, both he and Aemond would come to depend on her clairvoyance much more than either should, but war often strove men to desperate measures and she delicately played this hand when she had no other choice.

Another aspect she did not expect to contest came a few weeks after Aemond and his army came to stay at Harrenhal. It was Aemond who turned their relationship into something more physical; whether it was brought on by boredom or loneliness, she’ll likely never know, but she certainly had not anticipated becoming the Prince Regent’s bedmate. She remembered the night well, the way his fingertips grazed her wrist lightly as she poured him more wine. The intense look of his eye was…different that night, a primal look of longing coupled with a smoldering desire. The bulge in his pants was obvious and it was clear what was intended from her that night.

Worried to displease the prince by refusing him, she settled on her knees in front of him as he sat by the fire. She held his gaze as she slowly unlaced his breeches, pulling his thick, veiny cock from the confines of his trousers, and began pleasuring him with her mouth. Wetness had formed between her own thighs as she sucked him with abandon, enjoying the way his sharp face contorted with the gratification she was giving him. When he shot his seed down her throat, she expected that to be the end of it… until he asked her to show him how to pleasure her in return.

She could perfectly recall the earnest look in his eye as she stared at him with bewilderment; it was highly unusual for a man to be concerned with a woman’s pleasure, let alone a high-born royal like himself. After a moment’s hesitation, she willingly agreed to his request and they spent the night exploring each other’s bodies; she taught the prince about the bundle of nerves located above her entrance and the special spot buried deep inside her cunt. He was an excellent student, mastering her body quicker than she thought possible. His expression was hungry with intensity when he watched her unravel underneath him as she succumbed to his touch, and she knew this gave him a different sense of power over her body. She encouraged this, fully committing to being the prince’s loyal servant in all things, further gaining his trust and, in return, his protection. 

She lost count how many times she came that night during their passionate lovemaking, and her hopes ignited further when he shot his seed deep into her cunt. Since then, he had called upon her almost every night to visit his bed, torturing her deliciously as her velvet walls clenched around him repeatedly, milking him dry as her cries of ecstasy filled his room. Afterwards, she would pray to the gods to bless her with his child.

However, she was beginning to wonder if she had played her part just a little too well. Unfortunately, the prince, gaining confidence in their arrangement, had started to abuse his position of power, more often than not just using her body as a vessel for only his pleasure. Her disappointment was palpable; he had shown so much promise and she thought she could teach him to be different, that he would continue to treat her with respect.

But such wishes were not to be, as dark thoughts of the first time she had suffered the prince’s wrath resurfaced. On that fateful night, after a particularly fearsome thunderstorm culminating with bad news of the war beyond Harrenhal, Aemond and Vhagar had descended from the storm-stricken sky in a fury, his dragon’s wings clapping louder than the thunder itself. As was customary, she was summoned to his chambers. Lightning flashed as she entered his dimly lit room, illuminating his countenance —a hauntingly beautiful sight. But as she caught sight of his murderous expression, dread filled her gut and she knew she was about to face the consequences for whatever misfortune had transpired.

Afterwards, he seemed to emerge from a trance, apologizing to her as he gazed upon the red marks from his fingers on her neck, the bite marks on her breasts, the bruises that littered her body. She was dumbstruck once more, never had a man shown remorse for hurting her before. As their tryst continued, their passionate lovemaking became rougher and more animalistic, her own pleasure forgotten at times as he used her body as a means to his own end, but she made the best of it, knowing that to bear his child would outweigh her suffering and reward her tenfold. 

Back in the room, these memories of Aemond lulled her to sleep as she curled in his bed, warm and comfortable from the smolder in the hearth. The reprieve was short lived as she was roughly shaken awake, startling at his harsh touch.

“Wake up,” Aemond says gruffly. “We’re leaving.” He refuses to answer any of her questions, throwing clothes at her and telling her to get dressed in a hurry. She has no choice but to obey, noticing he has given her breeches to pull on as well as several warm layers, including riding boots and soft leather gloves. 

The moon shines brightly in the nighttime sky as Aemond takes her by the hand, leading her outside the gates of Harrenhal where the immense form of Vhagar looms in the distance. Alys pulls back on Aemond’s arm, terrified, slowing her pace, her unusual attire dawning on her as it is obvious that the prince means for her to fly on Vhagar. The energy that emanates from the massive dragon is unlike anything she has ever felt before. This was an intelligent being that could not be tricked by pretty words or prophetic visions that danced in the flames, for she was fire incarnate herself.

Feeling her tug on his arm, Aemond whirls to face her, impatient, furious. Vhagar rumbles like thunder from behind him, disturbed by her rider’s erratic energy, but makes no effort to move as she waits for him to mount her. 

“Aemond…” Alys starts to sputter, “I - I don’t think she’ll let me ride...?” Terror clutches at her throat as she tries to stress to him the dire warning in the pit of her stomach, but he only smirks, taking hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger, his breath fanning her face. 

“Vhagar does as I command,” he says confidently as if this could assuage her fear, “but I am going to need your help with something else.”

Part 2 - WIP

[lightlycareless]

I had the high school au on my mind and since Jujutsu tech has forms I was thinking what shenanigans can ensue. I can imagine maybe earlier in their relationship, Y/N would invite/sneak Naoya to her dorm after hours to watch a movie with her. Naoya is obviously excited to hang out with his gf so maybe he mentions it to his friends and they’re like ‘ooh you know what that means. And oh she just wants to make out etc’ something along those lines that puts that idea into Naoya’s head when in reality Y/N’s invitation had completely innocent intentions with the only desire to watch the movie, maybe even cuddle while they watched(I can imagine cuddling might fluster her bit at this stage). So when Naoya eventually gets there, maybe he’s been like prepped to the max expecting his and Y/N’s first make out session only to realize that she really only wanted to watch the movie(either to his relief or slight disappointment). I could see it either going with Naoya trying initiate and it causing problems with him getting embarrassed for his misunderstanding or each time he tries to initiate Y/N is like extremely oblivious to it to the point he gives up. I just wanted to share this with you since the thought kept giving me the giggles and I love young love stuff like this. It’s probably why I’m so obsessed with the high school au.(Feel free to write a little something to this though if you get inspiration from it 😊)

Heya anon!!

I'm sorry it took me a while to get back to you; with prompts that are usually a bit longer, especially those that I have an idea of what I want to write but don't know how to land it?

Though I have to admit that your ask by itself was perfect. It was so cute!!!! I didn't think I could add much, but I still hope you liked what I prepared for this occasion :>

warnings: naoya might be a pervert, no surprise there. fluff. highschool AU. he's a dork too. mentions of smut, very light. just implications.

Happy reading!!

Naoya doesn’t like admitting it, and you’ll never catch doing so either—certainly not when it comes to you, the only person he’s ever tried his hardest to appear as confident, seemingly untouchable, above all problems regardless of their nature: a reliable man you could always lean on.

But the truth is, he still gets nervous. Very nervous, indeed. To the point you’d think he was about to attempt a life-or-death type of endeavor, not a silly thing! (it’s not silly, Naoya just says that in order to feel better)

“Do you want to watch a movie…” it’s how it started—at that point, Naoya wasn’t that flustered. Sure, he was excited to spend time with you, as much as any loving boyfriend would! If it were him, the two would be together, every day, every hour, everywhere!

“…in my dorm?”

It’s only when you say these words that he effectively becomes an utter mess, unable to do anything else besides allow heat to form on his cheeks, throat tightening as he squeaks a quick:

“Yes!”

Before going back to his class, to torment himself with what just transpired, and what wonderful things it actually represented.

Still early in the relationship, this would be the first time you and Naoya… saw each other in a more private setting.

Far from seeing each other at cafeteria to eat lunch together, training when the other’s usual partner wasn’t available, going on missions whenever teachers sought it necessary, studying if you didn’t get something from a class he already had (he’s a year older—before your being your boyfriend, Naoya was actually your senpai.), amongst other things.

In other words, his mind saw it was step forward in what he considered the rest of his life with you, and such statement brought him so much happiness, he literally couldn’t do anything else but spend his time imagining just what you had in store for him; undoubtedly something good, he quickly assumes.

Naoya prided himself for being quite reserved when it comes to personal matters, but such was his excitement this time around, that he was unable to hide it from his prying friends, the same ones that were always eager to tease him simply because he made it too easy, often entertained by his outlandish reactions…

Or amusing discoveries.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, Naoya?” One of his friends, Kiyotaka (probably someone he could replace with someone infinitely better, as you’ve once hinted.) says once taking a seat before him.

“What are you even talking about.” Naoya responds defensively, like he always did.

“Tsk, come on… you don’t really believe we’re going to fall for that, are we?” Another friend of Naoya’s, arguably of the same nature as Kiyotaka, Hideki, adds with a teasing tone.

“I don’t need to believe anything, you can do whatever you want.” He hisses, still avoiding the subject, if he wanted to push them away, he fails miserably.

Unfortunately, they knew it would only take a few more shoves to get Naoya talking.

And when it finally happened, oh, was he regretful he ever said anything.

“I’m going on a date with Y/N.” Is the sentence that pushes them over the edge, a smirk plastered on their faces as they seem to catch on to your “ulterior motives” way before him.

“Really? Where are you two going?” Kiyotaka asks.

“What do you care?” Naoya frowns, but they knew well to take his intimidation with a grain of salt. “…We’re watching a movie.”

“Oh, you’re going to the city?” Hideki wonders.

“No, not really—we’re staying in, at her dorm.”

With that, their theories were effectively confirmed.

“Oooooh, her dorm.” Kiyotaka teases. “Is that so?”

“What? What about it?” Naoya scowls, he never liked bringing you into his conversations with his friends for this precise reason—they always seemed to have something to say about you, or his relationship. And like the ever jealous, overprotective man he was, he simply couldn’t allow that!

But as experienced as he proclaimed to be, there were still things he had to learn, such as the obvious intentions behind your suggestion. So they were trying to hint.

“Come on, you can’t be that blind.” The other insists, Naoya’s frown (as well as intrigue) deepens.

“It’s so clear why she’s inviting you to see a movie in her dorm—” Kiyotaka continues.

“If it’s so obvious, then spit it out!” Naoya demands.

“She was to make out, of course! No, actually, I think she wants to do something more.” Hideki proclaims.

“Oh, most definitely! You guys have been dating for what, a few weeks? I’d say it’s long overdue!”

At the prospect, heat spreads across Naoya’s face, heart quickening as he carefully considers their words… before annoyance and jealousy overrules him once more, quick to demean them back, especially after they continue mocking him.

“Not that our virgin friend would know, too busy jacking off to anime girls— probably hasn’t even gotten his first kiss!”

“At least I have a girlfriend, losers!” Is what Naoya scowls before storming out the classroom and into the hallways, just before he did anything that he’d come to regret; their hyena-like laughs disappearing in the distance.

But nonetheless, their work was done, for their words would remain in Naoya’s mind for the rest of the day, those that were of any use of course.

Because jokes often harbored truth behind them.

Deeply enthralled by the excitement of spending an evening with you, maybe he did fail to recognize the true meaning behind your invitation.

A notion that the more he thought of it, the more he considered it to be… plausible.

Naoya didn’t think it was going to happen now—though he won’t deny he’s been longing for it. It’s just that… he hadn’t done anything in fear of scaring you. Up to that point, all you’ve done together is hold hands, kiss, hugs, and that’s about it. Nothing more, nothing less, and both seemed happy with it.

Until now.

Once these thoughts made way to his mind, and after placing these erroneous pieces together… Naoya can’t help but wonder, is this your way of telling him… you wanted to do more? Formalize this relationship?

If so, another insecurity arises within Naoya, one that stems from the erratic notion that as the man, he should’ve been the one taking initiative, not you.

He should’ve been preparing everything for that special moment, anything beneath that would only catalog him as someone foolish, and thus, undeserving of your affection—you can blame the Zen’in for those beliefs.

Because ever since meeting you, all Naoya has ever wanted to do is give you the world.

But in order to continue doing that, once you took the lead… what must he do?

“Do you really think she wants to do… that?” Naoya eventually resorts to the only other person he trusts enough to bring some clarity to the situation, though sometimes, for matters of avoiding getting too much information, wishes he didn’t. Yet, he’ll always stand by his side.

“I guess?” Ranta cringes, the thought of you and his best friend getting physical is one he wishes to erase from his mind!

On a more assertive approach, even when you’ve been dating his best friend for a few weeks, he has to admit he doesn’t know much about you. Or at all, really—outside of your excessive affinity for mochi, videogames, and wanting to be with Naoya at all times. Ranta rests easy knowing you mean well above all.

However, at this moment, he’s very concerned, simply because this is a delicate subject that if handled wrongly, could gravely wound his relationship… and all thanks to his supposed friends getting under his skin!

Ranta is tired of telling Naoya that he needs better friendships, that they’re only there because they want to get a rise out of him!

Though, a tiny, almost undetectable part of him does think they might be right. Because being invited to someone’s room is often an opening for something more private… right?

So, the possibility of you wanting more isn’t that farfetched, and considering how clingy the two are…

“Do you know what movie you’re going to watch?” Ranta suddenly asks, a necessary question in his mind.

“Hm? No, not yet. Y/N said that she’s ok with whatever, she just wants to spend time with me.”

Oh.

…

Oh.

It’s too obvious now, enough for Ranta’s mouth to fall agape and skin go pale, a reaction that startles Naoya, rushing to frettingly ask what was going on, why did he react that way?! Did he know something he didn’t?

Well, simply put… yes. He did. It’s just too obvious now to deny: the reason why you hadn’t chosen a movie, or even suggested something, when you were the one to invite him, was because that’s not what really matters! In fact, it never was!!

The only reason this date was happening was because you definitely, undoubtedly, clear as water, or like the sun rising, wanted to do something else!

And the movie was just an excuse to get him where you wanted—with Naoya taking the bait as soon as it was casted.

“What is it, Ranta?!” Naoya asks once more. “Will you speak up already?!”

The poor kid sighs.

He just hopes Naoya is prepared.

When the fateful day finally comes, Naoya can’t help but be all too attentive to your behavior, or more like the oddity of it.

Sure, you were still the giddy, loving, albeit a bit weird girl he fell in love with—but there was something… different about you. Almost as if you’d suddenly forgotten you were his girlfriend and got all shy with him.

And he didn’t mean the the adorable way he loved teasing—no, he meant the glance away from him whenever you’d catch him staring type of way, refusing to smile back whenever he’d do so, or straight up avoiding him in the hallways.

Naoya worried that perhaps he’d done something wrong without noticing, said some stupidity and angered you…

But that proved to be wrong when you approached him at the end of the day, rushing over to his locker and softly calling out his name, which he promptly responded to by swiftly turning around to see you, eager to fix whatever issues unwittingly grew between the two—

“Are you ready… Naoya?” it’s what you’d say, with the quietest tone he’s probably ever heard you use, after your confession of course.

“Huh? Oh; Ye—yeah.” He responds, swallowing. “I’m ready. …For the movie, right?”

You nod frantically. “Yes! Haha, what else?”

“I thought you’d… forgotten about it.” Naoya admits. “Since you hadn’t spoken to me at all.”

“Oh, no—it wasn’t that! I… didn’t mean to ignore you, I was just… actually preparing some things between classes and all that.” You confess, his shoulders relax, tension leaving his body alongside one of his worst fears. “I’m sorry.”

“Had me worried there, mochi. Thought I did something to anger you.” he says, you don’t notice it, but he tightly clenches his fist, an attempt to ease his nerves.

“…No, you could never.” You pout, looking away embarrassed. After a few seconds of silence, you return to him. “I already got snacks for the movie, by the way. I made sure to bring your favorite’s too, so need to worry about that! Though I was still hoping we could get something to eat first? Or if you want, we can also get some other snacks if you don’t like the ones I—"

“I don' I’m—I’m ok with whatever you picked.” He frets back, you blink. “Just getting to spend time with you is enough for me.”

“Oh, well then—” you blush. Looking around and noticing no one was near, you proceed. “Do you… want to go… now?”

Naoya nods before taking your hand; it’s only then that he notices the first symptoms of your anxieties: through the warmth of your skin and the dampness of it too—seems he might’ve miscalculated how nervous you’d be, yet he was not surprised, because if his assumptions were to be true, it was only natural you’d be in such state prior doing… that.

Well, it was good to know both were on the same page. If only it helped him to not feel as nervous as he did.

Or at least, make him realize not everything was what it seemed.

Naoya didn’t know what he was anticipating when arriving at your dorm. That his anxieties disappear? Perhaps. Should he have expected that? Probably not, if anything, he should’ve foreseen that his emotions were to spiral even further once getting there.

It’s as if the notion of what was happening finally settled into his mind! Turning him a nervous, sweating mess that you couldn’t help but notice as well—though it was more likely that you were on the same page as him.

Your boyfriend mentally scolds himself for his reaction, thinking that he was supposed to be ready for this moment, he did all the preparations, after all! (don’t ask)

But when he’s here, before you, in your room, alone—it’s like it was all for nothing; efforts thrown out the window as all he can do is look at you oversee the last details for the date in a seemingly assertive manner than makes him feel even smaller.

Oh, but if he only knew…

“You can change out of your uniform in the bedroom, if you like. I’ll go to the bathroom.” You suggest, face bright as a tomato as you gesture to said location. “Get comfortable, and all that…”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll use the bathroom.” Naoya responds immediately, his instinct to please you still intact. “It’s your room…”

“Oh—okay, then. I guess I’ll just wait over here…” You then turn around, heading over to the bedroom.

On Naoya’s way to the restroom, he’s able to get a peek into your room, the place the rest evening was to be spent in, taken aback by the sight that received him, demonstrating just how serious you were to have a perfect date:

After moving the bed to the corner, you’ve set up various blankets on the floor to work as some kind of futon, alongside some fluffy pillows to comfortably sit down and lean back on. After that, you place a neatly folded blanket by the corner to use in case either ran cold, though Naoya doubt’s it’ll be used at all…

Nonetheless, Naoya was impressed by your commitment, giving him the impression you were most definitely striking to achieve something more—in for the kill, as some may say.

He should’ve assumed you capable of so, considering how this relationship came to be. If anything, he should be wondering if he even has the means to keep up? And if he doesn’t… what will this mean for the relationship?

Naoya doesn’t want to lose you.

“What snacks do you want?” you’d ask him once he’s out of the bathroom.

Naoya notices you to be out of your uniform as well, dressing in a matching sweatsuit he normally would’ve considered you looked adorable in, as usual— if his mind wasn’t threading into something a bit more… private.

He made sure to freshen up in efforts to distract all intrusive thoughts, but once again, it was all for nothing when it comes to you; it has always been that way, and it seems will always be.

Attempting to push down his nerves, Naoya eventually makes way towards the makeshift futon, taking a seat there before you join him soon after, bringing along popcorn and sodas you remembered to be his favorite.

“Here, for you.” You say, inching closer to him to the point where your arms are touching his. Naoya tenses up, doing everything in his power to prevent his mind from going somewhere it shouldn’t be, such as holding his breath, or focusing on…

“Is that my hoodie?” Naoya notes, which immediately makes you blush, looking away embarrassed.

“Oh—yeah, I—I guess that’s where it came from.” You chuckle nervously; though it’s not like you didn’t know it was his. In fact, might’ve lied to Naoya about it’s whereabouts that one time he asked you just to keep it around for a bit longer… but could he blame you? It was soft, comfortable, and most importantly, it smelled like him. “…Do you want it back?”

“No!” he shrieks. Your eyes widen in surprise. “I mean—it looks… good on you.” Perhaps a bit too good. “Keep it.”

You turn impossibly redder.

“Th—Thanks…” you whisper, returning your gaze to him, staring at him absolute silence, as if processing the closeness in which the two were, the privacy of it all…

But once it finally settles, oh, does it fluster you even more. Breath hitching to your throat the moment you realized you spent too much time staring at him, quickly turning around and reaching over for the remote control, turning the TV on and attempting to move the evening forward—yet your thoughts would remain behind.

“What movie are we going to see…?” Naoya manages to ask, as if your reaction didn’t affect him further.

“Just one that Shoko… suggested.” You quietly admit; the CD was already set up on the player, all that was left to do was… press play.

Once the movie begins, the two are quickly captivated by it; Shoko wasn’t lying when she said this was something you’ll definitely like, the type of film that won’t let you peel your eyes away from the screen due to its epic storytelling (her words)—and it had been that way up to that point, if it weren’t for the occasional reminder of the other being there.

Whether through a quick exhale, a whine when stretching their legs or arms, or even the warm pressure of your head resting on Naoya’s arm… even with an intriguing movie as that one, neither could refute acknowledging the other’s presence.

Or the supposed reason behind this invitation, which only grew heavier in his mind the same time his insecurities flourished, ignorant of when to take the next step, trying to make out if this was your way of telling him to hurry up or perhaps, something else entirely??

You’ve taken liking to the position you were in, with your head over his shoulder, intertwining his arm with his, occasionally reaching out for a handful of popcorn and asking him if he’d like some before going back to your previous comfortable position, attention completely focused on the movie once again.

Naoya commends you for being able to appear this calm, completely unaware of his turmoil. In a way, he was happy you were.

But your boyfriend knew better than to rely on comfort, and once motivated to act, he was able to quickly intercept the true motives behind your insistency, a wake-up call for him to act and do what he must—as a man, he’s the one responsible to provide a solution to your desire; anything less than that is shameful.

And so, after mentally uttering few more encouraging words to himself… Naoya finally proceeds.

It starts slowly, carefully, with him releasing the arm in your hold to drape it over your shoulders. You don’t seem to put much of a resistance at first, though you did seem startled—but when you realized you could be more comfortable this way, with your head resting over his chest and his arm hugging you, you quickly accepted your new disposition, a smile on your face (alongside a bright blush) as you continued watching the movie.

Naoya remains that way for a few more moments, torn between enjoying your closeness or continuing, perhaps hoping you’d tell him something. But when you don’t, he simply takes it as you being shy.

Thus, he pushes forward, for your introverted sake.

He senses you tense up the moment his hands finally trail down your arm and onto your waist, yet you don’t stop him. Naoya quietly sighs as he keeps his hand there, occasionally giving you soft squeezes here and there, before leaning further and further down, ending by your hips.

Naoya swears to feel his heart (and yours consequentially) to be just a few minutes away from bursting out his chest when doing this—this contact being the most intimate he’s gone with you. And yet, his mind can’t help but wonder why you hadn’t reciprocated his advances, because at that point, his intentions had to be nothing but clear!

But you remained quiet, reserved, with the tightening of your grasp over his chest whenever he moved closer to a particularly sensitive area, softly whining in response, being his only indicative.

Did he need to be more assertive with his actions? Or perhaps he wasn’t doing the right things? Not… touching you the way you liked?

You must excuse him from not knowing, this was… the first time he’d do such a thing with you, and naturally, he’s bound to make some mistakes—but he still wants to make it right.

So, he goes with the one thing he knows won’t fail, considering how you’ve left it clear countless times before that you always enjoyed his kisses—whether through verbal and physical reassurance.

The answers were always there, Naoya just… needs to be bolder about it. Secure. You must enjoy having an assertive boyfriend, right?

Taking another deep breath and in one swift movement, Naoya uses his free hand to grab your chin, carefully turning you to him, leaning forward to take your lips into a kiss before you could even react.

The action undoubtedly catches you off guard, enough to have you tensing, eyes widening as you try to process why the sudden approach—not that it would take you long before you succumbed to it, but still. It had come so out of the blue, you almost felt like it wasn’t truly happening, that perhaps you imagined it, always desperate to dive in Naoya’s gestures.

And it would’ve been quite wonderful too, if only he’d remained in the realms of what he knew, stopped his fingers from travelling up to your stomach and hooking around the edge of your hoodie, gently nudging it upwards in what he thought a clear understanding of what’s to happen, leaving no room for anything else—

Just your shock, which immediately prompted you to place your hands over his chest and push him away from you, with great unprecedented force, so different from the gentle touch you always use on him that Naoya almost didn’t recognize you.

Nor yourself, for that matter.

"Wh—what are you doing, Naoya?!" You breathe, trying your best to hold back the pounding of your heart from deafening your ears, alongside the scrambling of your thoughts, failing to understand what just happened, or more like why. "Why did you—why did you do that???"

"I'm— I'm confused, Y/N" Your boyfriend quickly responds, voice trembling upon seeing the horror in your face, a sight he never wished to see on you again, less be on the cause of it. "I thought you—I thought you wanted this."

“I wanted—wh—what??” you fret. “What are you even talking about?? Want what?!”

“You know…that” Naoya murmurs, and for the first time that evening, the notion that he might’ve miscalculated your intentions invades his mind, bringing along great sorrow that only worsens when all you do is continue to stare at him, surprised. “The…. The thing couples… do…”

“What—…What gave you that idea?” you dared to ask, and then, at that precise moment, is when realization finally settles inside him, making his heart sink to his stomach and his worst fears come true.

“I'm so sorry, Y/N. I thought—I thought you inviting me over was for something else!” Naoya the takes you into his arms, pressing you tightly against him as he continues to mutter endless apologies, silent prayers that he hadn’t hurt the only relationship he has cared about in his entire life, beyond repair."I’m so sorry, please don't break up with me—"

"Huh?! Naoya?? Why would you even say that?!” You cry, whatever you felt for his unusual actions folded immediately in favor of your confusion. “I’m not going to break up with you!”

“Are you not… mad?—Hurt, because of what I did?”

“I mean—I am startled.” Naoya frowns, ashamed. You try to reassure him with a tight smile, he does not budge. “But… I wouldn’t leave you. Never!’

“…Then… what’s going to happen?” he fearfully asks, unwilling to believe that no punishment, no reproach was to occur—you can blame the Zen’in for that.

… Were you truly not angry, not one bit?

“Well, I guess we should… talk about it.” You say, fidgeting with your fingers. A conversation you didn’t think would occur so soon, and like this too—but it did, and with it, came along questions (or more like insecurities) about your own standing in this relationship.

Guess now is just as good as any other time.

“…you don’t want to do it, isn’t it?” Naoya assumes, your eyes widen.

“That’s not true, Naoya. Of course I do!”

“But…?”

“…Not like this.” You murmur. A question crosses your mind. “But… you wanted it… right?”

Naoya remains silent, guess after all that happened, the teasing of his friends, Ranta’s suggestions… he eventually came to hope that maybe you did want more. He would’ve definitely liked that, but then, who wouldn’t want to be intimate with the love of their life?

“You did.” You breathe; now it was your time to lament. “Oh, Naoya, I didn’t mean to confuse you—”

“No, Y/N. I was the one that misunderstood your invitation.” He says, hugging you tighter against him. “I guess I was too excited to spend time with you, that… I might’ve gotten ahead of myself. Might’ve allowed others to that too…”

“What do you mean?” you ask, curiously lifting your gaze to his.

“… I guess… I might’ve… let my friends influence me on what was going to happen…”

“You mean—did they tell you this was for something more?”

“Well—I mean—it’s not every day that you invite me to your dorm, you know??” Naoya gasps.

“Because it’s not really permitted, Naoya!” you cry back. “…and because my room is a mess most of the time, and I don’t want you to see that...”

At the silliness of last, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, invertedly lifting some of the tension that had begun to weight heavy on your shoulders, allowing you relax soon after.

“Is that what you’re most worried about?” Naoya jests. “That I might not like what your room looks like?”

“I gotta look good for my boyfriend, after all!” you fuss. “…and that’s not the only thing I worry about. I don’t want you to get in trouble for sneaking in either.”

“…I’d be more satisfied if you were… well, happy with me.” Naoya silently admits, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“It was just a misunderstanding, nothing more.” You say, leaning into his touch. “…And a reminder that you need better friends too…”

“Yeah, that’s definitely something I have to do.” Naoya frowns, but he doesn’t let this issue take much space in his mind. “And make it up to you.”

“Naoya—I’m just happy that you’re here with me!” you grin, wrapping your arms around him, squeezing him. “It’s been soooo loong since we last had a date, it’s going to take much more than that to ruin it!”

“…But I was pretty close, wasn’t I?” he laments.

“Don’t torture yourself about it.” You lean to kiss his lips, the gesture warming his heart as his worries begin to disappear. “It’ll happen, in time, I hope… and when it does, it’ll be special, for both of us. Because it’ll be just how we want it!”

“It sounds like you already had something in mind, though.”  Naoya recalls, mentally preparing himself to take notes. “…Do you mind… telling me… what?”

“Well, you’ll definitely have to take me out on a date—somewhere nice for dinner. From there, I’d like to go for a walk around the city, or maybe a drive, I don’t know. We can go to a viewpoint and watch the stars, or to the park and just… relax. After that, we can go back to anywhere but a place we could be caught.” You shiver. “I’d rather die than let that happen!”

Naoya laughs, finding your enthusiasm to be both refreshing, adorable, and informative in two matters:

One, that you are just as eager as he was when it comes to that, effectively removing any doubt he had about the ordeal. It was just a matter of being ready, that’s all.

And two, just how silly it was to even consider you wanted to do it in a place like a school, where strictness was only expected. It was difficult as it was having to sneak him around the dorms just to spend this evening together, now imagine that? Some were shameless, amongst them Naoya, but you were out of the question.

What was he even thinking?!

Naoya feels like an absolute idiot for having trusted his supposed friends. Perhaps he should’ve taken Ranta more seriously, take it slow as he suggested.

But there was no use in agonizing about that when he had more pressing matters to tend to, such as…

“…Do you still want to watch the movie?” Naoya asks, hopeful. But you give him a smile that erases all doubts.

“Yes. Of course I do! I still want to spend time with you, you know? With the boyfriend I love very, very much.”

Naoya blushes.

“And you’re the girlfriend I love very much too.” He stammers, verbal affection is something he still struggles with, but it does not abstain it from being genuine. “I’ll make it up to you—whatever you want. Don’t hesitate to tell me.

…And once we get to do that too, it’ll be special; beyond anything you imagined—I promise you.”

“It’s not necessary, Naoya—just spending time with you is enough for me.” You lean forward once more to peck his lips. “With you, I don’t need to worry about anything because I know everything will fall into place by its own.

….

Though there is one think I want you to do, if you really wanna make it up to me.”

“Anything, it’s yours.”

“…Do you think… you can spend the night here, with me? My roommate is going to be away for a few days, and my siblings are out on a mission; I normally wouldn’t mind staying on my own, but tonight… I don’t feel like doing that.” you shyly ask, and while it’s a far cry from what Naoya initially anticipated, it’s still enough to rile him up.

“Su—Sure, Y/N—I just… I think I just need to go to the bathroom first.”

You don’t say anything else, too flustered to do so, aside from reassuring him you’ll be there when he comes back, understanding that this was a situation that, well, honestly speaks for itself.

And yet, you didn’t think much of it—because at the end of the day, one way or the other, it just showed how much Naoya wished to be with you, and how eager you wished the day you were ready to give yourself to him eventually came to be.

Until then, you’d worry about enjoying the rest of the evening, wondering if Naoya would be thirsty after coming back, perhaps wanting to eat something else than popcorn—you sure brought lots of snacks just in case, highly meticulous for a simple movie night. You shouldn’t be blamed, though; it was your first date in a setting like this!

While Naoya tended to some personal issues—but the most important one was the final acceptance that he needed better friends, deciding to drop them soon after this miscalculation almost cost him his relationship (Not really, just a very upset girlfriend) and God knows what else; Ranta being the only one that remained, because he was the only genuine friend he ever had, that much he could still asses.

But when it comes to your happiness, though he’ll sometimes go to him for suggestions, Naoya decides to only trust his heart—no one else.

The rest of them could disappear, for all he cared. Because the moment you stepped into his life, you were all that mattered to him.

All that will continue to matter, until the end of his days. Luckily, he has a lifetime to prove that to you.

Naoya's growth from dorky boyfriend to husband will be satisfying journey to observe.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I did!!! Whenever I get HS AU stuff I get really excited, I literally couldn't stop thinking about this!!!

Either way, it was fun to write awkward Y/N and Naoya, this is way before the latter grew up to be the arrogant bastard we all know; and though he does end up like that, I like to think that because of Y/N he's not as bad lol.

Now, I don't have anything else except that I really do hope you liked this :> Thank you so much for sending in this ask; take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[justlemmeadoreyou]

hey babes have you seen that video of a fan asking Niall out recently and like he says “oh she(Amelia) will be upset” ? Could you maybe write cut blurb based on that for Harry and y/n??

words: 1.2k

warnings: fluff, smut.

***

"Oi, Harry! You single, mate? My friend fancies you!" a voice called out from the crowd during the concert.

Harry laughed and brought the microphone up to his lips. "Sorry, sorry! I'm very much taken, lads. My girlfriend wouldn't be too pleased if I went accepting offers from admirers!"

Y/N felt a rush of giddy affection watching from the wings. Even after all these years of dating, of building a life together, hearing Harry refer to her as his girlfriend still made her heart flutter.

After the show, Harry swept her up into a tight embrace, breathing her in. "You know I'm crazy about you, right love?" he murmured against her hair.

"I know," Y/N replied, feeling warm and content in the circle of his arms. "I'm pretty crazy about you too, just in case that wasn't clear."

He pulled back with a teasing grin. "Oh, I don't know. You'll have to remind me more often. I'm getting forgetful in my old age."

She swatted him playfully. "You're ridiculous. Now c'mon, I want to get takeaway from that Thai place you like before heading home."

As they walked out to the car hand-in-hand, Harry's bodyguard Mick greeted them with a nod. "Nice show tonight, H. You too, Y/N."

"Thanks Mick," Harry said easily. He always insisted that Y/N be treated as an equal part of the team by his staff and security. From the moment they got together, he made it clear she wasn't just another fling or hanger-on.

In the calm of their flat later, settled on the couch with cartons of fragrant Thai curry, Y/N felt a swell of love for this man. This generous, humble, wildly talented man who could have anyone he wanted but chose her. Chose to keep choosing her, day after day.

Harry must have sensed her watching him, because he looked up and caught her eye with a quizzical smile. "What're you thinking about over there?"

She shook her head a little. "Just…feeling really lucky, I guess. That of all the girls who fancy you, you picked me."

His eyes softened and he set his food down, reaching over to take her hand. "Y/N, you've got it backwards, love. I'm the lucky one. You're the most amazing person I know."

A lump rose in her throat at his earnest tone. "You can't just…say stuff like that and expect me to keep it together," she protested shakily.

Harry's thumb stroked over her knuckles. "It's true though. You make me want to be better, do more with the chances I've been given. I'm in awe of you every day."

Unable to find the words, Y/N leaned in and kissed him deeply, trying to convey the depths of her feelings. Harry kissed her back with equal fervor, until a wet noodle hit the side of his face with a comical splat sound.

They broke apart, stunned for a beat, until Y/N started giggling helplessly. Soon they were both consumed by laughter, food containers forgotten as they held each other. These were the moments Y/N cherished most - the simple intimacy, the shared joy of being thoroughly themselves with each other.

She couldn't imagine her life without Harry's bright spirit, without his love and support buoying her up. They had been through so much together already - the difficult early days of dating an international superstar, the intense scrutiny and pressure from all sides, the constant travelling and time apart.

Through it all, they had remained committed to choosing each other, fighting for their relationship no matter what curveballs life threw their way.

As their laughter faded off into contented silence, Harry pulled Y/N closer until she was tucked against his side. She let out a happy sigh, feeling utterly at peace.

"You know," Harry murmured after a while. "All those fans shouting for me, acting like I'm some big prize to be won…they don't realize I'm the one who hit the jackpot, getting to be with my best friend."

Not trusting her voice, Y/N simply squeezed him tighter. She knew there would always be people trying to get between them, throwing doubts and obstacles in their path. But she also knew with so much certainty - as long as they had this, had each other, nothing else mattered.

Over the next few months, tour life resumed in earnest. Frantic dashes through airports, screaming crowds, hotel room nights blurring together, every waking moment scheduled to the max. Y/N was grateful she could be by Harry's side through the whirlwind, her familiar presence keeping him grounded and sane.

One night after a show in Los Angeles, they were lounging on the hotel room sofa, Harry's head pillowed in Y/N's lap as she carded her fingers gently through his freshly-shampooed hair that always smelt so fucking good.

"You were amazing tonight, babe," Y/N murmured. "That whole stadium was eating out of the palm of your hand."

Harry hummed contentedly at her praise, his eyes slipping closed. "Felt good up there. Like all the pieces just clicked into place once I saw your face in the crowd."

Y/N's heart squeezed at his words. "You mean that?"

"Of course." He blinked up at her solemnly. "Having you there, it's…it's like coming home, no matter where we are in the world."

Tears pricked at the corners of Y/N's eyes as she leaned down to kiss him tenderly. She loved this man so deeply it terrified her sometimes.

As the kiss deepened, Harry's hands came up to cradle her face, holding her to him almost desperately. Soon they were a tangle of roaming hands and shared breaths, shedding layers of clothing with increasing urgency until they lay skin-to-skin, hot and bothered.

Harry trailed hot, openmouthed kisses down the column of Y/N's throat as she arched beneath him with a breathy moan. "Need you," he rasped against the hollow of her neck. "Need to be with you, feel you…"

"Yes, yes Harry please," she panted, raking her nails down his back.

He shuddered at her touch and surged up to capture her lips again in a searing kiss. Then, with practiced tenderness, he sank into her welcoming heat and they both let out ragged gasps at the intensity of that joined feeling.

Moving together in a rhythm, Harry and Y/N lost themselves in each other, with moans and whimpers exchanged between the two as they chased their highs. This was their oasis, their refuge from the craziness of the world outside - just the two of them, tangled up in each other utterly.

Aftershocks still trembling through them both, Harry gathered Y/N close and pressed his lips to her damp hairline.

"I love you," he murmured thickly. "I love you so bloody much, Y/N."

She tilted her head back to gaze at him with sparkling eyes. "I know. And I love you, Harry. Always."

Smiling softly, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her swollen bottom lip. "Forever my girl?"

"Forever," she promised.

***

tell me if you like this <3

[freelancearsonist]

all that we see or seem

➔ Dieter Bravo x AFAB!Reader

➔ 5.7k words

➔ You moved to Hollywood in hopes of chasing your dreams; you get a lot more than you bargained for from your new boss, Dieter Bravo.

➔ Rated MA // dark fic, reader is afab (female anatomy, no pronouns used) and generally able-bodied, age gap (unspecified, reader is younger than dieter), vampire!dieter, blood/both consensual and non-consensual blood drinking, knife use, slight self-harm, gore of the mouth variety, pet names, takes place in 1983 bc i’m a sucker for changing settings

➔ this was requested from this prompt list by the very lovely @sp00kymulderr!! happy birthday darling, sorry this took so long but i hope it's worth the wait <3 thank you so much to @missredherring for this AMAZING header graphic ily 🖤

Los Angeles is a far cry from the little town you grew up in. It’s a seemingly endless maze, with more possibilities than you ever could’ve dreamed. It’s a little daunting, really. You step off your plane with your suitcase in hand, and you feel like the world is in the palms of your hands.

The harsh reality comes crashing in without warning.

LA is expensive, especially on your own. As the money you’d saved up to get you started dwindles much quicker than expected, your dreams only get further and further out of reach. Life always finds a way to fuck you over, and the city of angels does it quicker than anywhere else. The glitzy neon nightclubs and the glamor of Hollywood swiftly become an omen of doom rather than a beacon of hope. You’re in over your head, but it’s too late to back out now.

Auditions get put on the backburner. You work yourself to the bone as a server in a dumpy little diner, but it’s still barely enough to cover your basic expenses.

You wake up, you go to work, you come home, you go to sleep. The cycle repeats itself so quickly that your days all merge together into one, long, neverending nightmare.

The light at the end of the tunnel appears shortly before the first anniversary of your move. You’re scanning through the paper during your meal break when you see a help wanted ad. It’s normally the type of thing you would ignore, but a few things about it draw you in. The part that really catches your eye is the large, bold letters that proclaim “work closely with one of the biggest names in hollywood!” It seems too good to be true, and certainly something you’re not qualified for. But it could be a start–a way to get your foot through the door of the industry that brought you out here in the first place. Really, what’s the harm in trying?

You go to the library, type up your resume, and mail it in to the address listed in the ad. Realistically, you know that there must be hundreds of other applicants and you probably won’t get so much as a rejection letter back; but the needling little ‘what if’ in the back of your mind gives you a boost of hope that you’ve lived without for an achingly long time.

You get better than a letter–a broad, handsome man shows up at the diner late one night asking for you three days after you drop your resume into the local mail slot at the post office. Janine, the shaggy-haired waitress you work with almost every shift and have sort of become friends with, nudges you excitedly while you’re handing a ticket back to the kitchen.

“Honey, do you know who that is?” She nods her head over her shoulder towards a table in the corner of her section and you try to look over as nonchalantly as possible.

Of course you know who that is. His face is everywhere in this stupid town–magazine covers, billboards, movie theaters. Even with sunglasses obscuring the dark brown eyes that have made thousands swoon, you recognize Dieter Bravo. He’s bigger than Hasselhoff and Swayze combined.

“He’s asking for you,” Janine whispers. “By name. You know him?”

“Not yet,” you answer truthfully. You know without a doubt that he’s here because of your resume and that your entire world is about to change.

You’ve seen him on the big screen before and now you can definitively say that it doesn’t do him justice. He’s more handsome than any man has a right to be. He’s wearing a black hoodie and black trousers, an ensemble that stands out in the brightness of 1983 but yet perfectly complements the tanned tone of his skin. His shoulders could fill a doorway and his smile might actually melt you into a puddle. You can’t help but notice–with a hint of trepidation–that his canines are the sharpest you’ve ever seen, although that thought is quickly pushed from your mind when he greets you by name.

“Your resume is impressive.”

“No it’s not,” you respond with a little laugh before you can stop yourself, then you have to refrain from banging your head into the wall. What a great start to an interview.

But he laughs, and you can’t help feeling you’ve done something right. You’d do a hell of a lot worse just to hear that gorgeously deep, hearty chuckle again.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase. You said all the right things. You’ve got exactly what I’m looking for as an assistant.”

You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, because this is much too good to be true.

“You’re not from LA,” he states factually. “What brought you here?”

You consider lying–coming up with some story that’s less pathetic than the truth. He’s appreciated your honesty thus far, though, and you don’t want to break a streak. “I wanted to act, but… it’s hard to get started when you don’t have any connections. So I’ve just been kind of… getting by.”

He nods and gives you a look over–assessing, you think. “We all have to start somewhere. But this isn’t an easy job.”

There’s something unreadable in his voice, but you choose to ignore it because you want nothing more than a chance to impress him. It’s not about ‘making it’ anymore; it’s about proving to Dieter Bravo that you’re worth taking a chance on.

“Neither is this,” you reply with a vague wave at the diner around you. “If I’m not covered in fryer grease at the end of the day, it’s a good job to me.”

He chuckles again and it washes over you like fresh water after years of drought. You want more of him–more of his charm, more of his warmth.

“When can you start?”

You ask for two weeks to leave your diner gig on good terms, and he’s gracious enough to accommodate you. As the days tick past, the anticipation ramps up and time seems to move slower. You’ve never been so excited for a new job. Normally, your gut twists with anticipation and your mind swirls with every little minute detail that could go wrong–but not now. No, now you’re just excited. The possibilities of Hollywood finally seem to be within your reach again, and it all starts with this job.

You learn a lot about Dieter within five minutes of starting on your first day. For one, he’s incredibly personable. He greets you himself and vows to show you the ropes. There’s no third party to teach you everything you need to know, it’s just him. Just the two of you. You appreciate that immensely, because you’ll be serving him directly as his assistant. There’s no better person to learn from when it comes to his desires and routines than the man himself.

Two, he wears many different masks. It’s a little spooky, the way his demeanor changes depending on who he’s dealing with. He can be the sweetest, most charming man you’ve ever spoken to, then turn to a producer and be a complete hardass all in the name of getting things done. He knows exactly what persona he needs to wear for each person he interacts with–it’s all very calculated. You suppose all actors have to be capable of that; the mark of a good thespian is being instantly able to pretend you’re someone you’re not.

Still, it’s a little chilling. If you didn’t see it in some form or another with every person you meet on set, you’d be a little concerned. Dieter just makes it look like adaptation–fitting into his surroundings as a means of staying afloat. He’s been in this industry for a long time, he knows what works; and, subsequently, what doesn’t.

As far as the job goes, it’s a nice change of pace from what you’ve become accustomed to. You spend nights on set with him, fetching his coffee order or running little errands while he’s busy shooting. The hours aren’t unreasonable, and it pays double what the diner did. Now that you’re not struggling to get by financially, you have the free time you need to start pursuing your dreams again.

You have only Dieter to answer to, which is a definite learning curve. Directors, producers, and even other actors chase after your favors, but Dieter tells them unequivocally to fuck off. You’re his–it’s a heady feeling each time he  reasserts it. It makes for easy work when you’re not being pulled in thirty different directions simultaneously. He asks for what he needs when he’s around and he gives you a list of tasks to complete when he’s not. He’s a little eccentric–he tells you he can only work after dark because his eyes are sensitive–but it’s nice, falling into a routine after so long of working unconventional hours at a job where no two days are the same.

Still, as days turn into weeks by his side, you wonder exactly what version of Dieter he’s presenting to you. Which face is the most authentic? You want to believe he’s himself with you, but you’re not quite naive enough to convince yourself of that. The thing that bothers you the most is that you want him to feel comfortable enough to drop the facades around you. You want to get to know the real Dieter Bravo, underneath all the masks. But you also swore to yourself, when you accepted this job, that you would be nothing but professional–and wanting to get to know him so intimately is definitely a step beyond just being his employee.

To his credit, he’s strictly professional–even if you wish he wasn’t at times. There’s a lot of rumors and gossip about him, about his hedonism and the life he supposedly leads at night, but you don’t see that facet of him. With you, he’s friendly, kind, and respectful. He’s the perfect gentleman–and that’s how you know that you’re not getting a full glimpse of the real him. There’s too much contradiction between the rumors and the Dieter that you interact with. 

No matter how straight-laced you try to be, you can’t help wondering what it’ll take to get a look at the real Dieter Bravo.

You think he starts to peek through when Dieter asks if you would be willing to work longer hours and be more of a personal assistant than a production assistant. You know him inside and out, he tells you, and it would be a pain in the ass to teach a whole new person how to deal with his errands. He even offers you a sizable raise when you pretend to be contemplating it, like you weren’t bursting at the seams to say yes before he even finished asking. 

The sad–maybe even pathetic–truth of the matter is that you’re falling for him. Every facet of his charm, from his darkly passionate eyes to his easy humor, have you completely bewitched and ready to ignore the way your hair stands on end each time his gaze meets yours. You’ll take any small fraction of him that you can get.

He eases you into your additional duties, at least; that much can be said in his favor. He starts you out with small tasks, like ordering his groceries and picking up his dry cleaning. Dieter’s so kind and patient as he explains how he likes everything done–he’s particular, but not unreasonable. He even gives you a grand tour of his home so you can see exactly where and how he likes everything done–it’s like finally getting that real glimpse of him that you’ve been hoping for.

His Sherman Oaks mansion looks like something straight out of a Bram Stoker novel on the outside, yet the inside is a testament to the warm side of his personality that you’re more familiar with. It’s decorated in shades of orange and red, with patterns that are a little out of date but still manage to feel intentional. It gives the impression of someone who was more comfortable and sure of himself in the 70’s, or at least someone who hasn’t quite adjusted to the new trends that came with the turn of the decade. The walls are covered with art–most of it signed with his familiar “DB” in the bottom right hand corner. It’s neat, but not so neat that it feels staged. It fits the Dieter Bravo that you know perfectly, and it even starts to feel like home to you when you start spending more time there with him.

There’s never anyone else around when you’re there. For someone who has a reputation for throwing the liveliest parties in all of Hollywood, he doesn’t actually do a lot of partying. Not when you’re around, at least. It’s almost like he’s trying to hide that aspect of himself from you. If he has to host, he sends you home early or lets you know in advance that you’re getting a paid night off. You’re almost disappointed–parties have never really been your thing, sure, but you feel like you need to experience at least one of his.

Plus, people are starting to talk. You hear it on set first; his co-stars whispering about how he’s gone soft, how he’s gotten boring. Even the tabloids are starting to wonder if they’ve seen the last infamous Dieter Bravo party, which were once highly coveted and exclusive events. The few times he’s hosted lately have been small, quiet affairs–definitely not the big, star-studded shebangs that he’s gained a reputation for.

A rumor even starts circulating that he’s finally decided to settle down with a nice girl, which makes your stomach twist with a little green monster that shouldn’t be there. He’s your employer, you reason. That’s all. No matter how friendly he is, no matter how much he flirts with you, no matter how much he compliments your perfect cup of coffee, that’s all he is. Your boss. And yet, despite your constant self-assertion, your brain just can’t seem to accept it. You know you shouldn’t want anything more than that, and yet you just can’t seem to stop yourself from hoping.

“What’s going on with you?”

You’re in the midst of trying to sort through the files in his upstairs home office so you can find out when his insurance needs to be renewed when you hear the voice, loud and clear due to the open floor plan downstairs. Sound travels like crazy up the double-wide staircase with Dieter’s office door right at the top. You couldn’t shut it out even if you wanted to–and you don’t. God help you, you’re a little nosy and a little curious.

“Nothing.” That’s Dieter’s voice, but you don’t recognize the other.

“Bullshit. You’re not yourself.” It’s a deep, rich tone that you’ve never heard before and it immediately has your interest hooked. Dieter doesn’t get many visitors, much less such purposeful ones. Most people like to schmooze him, but evidently not this unidentified man.

“I’m trying to be different,” Dieter explains half-heartedly. “It’s time I cleaned up a bit.”

“No. Cleaning up your act is nothing more than a good way to get yourself caught. Things happen in the party climate, that’s how you fit in. Things don’t just happen to nice rich actors.”

Caught? Caught doing what, exactly? You creep closer to the open door on light feet, curiosity peaked.

Dieter sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I’m tired.”

“So what are you going to do? Just give up? Waste away after… how long?”

“Maybe I should,” Dieter retorts–there’s grit in his tone now, maybe even bitterness. “Maybe I never should’ve taken the deal in the first place. You don’t see how fucked up this all is?”

“So, what? You’ve gotten everything you could’ve possibly wanted, and now you’re tired of playing the game? Pathetic.” There’s a sneer in the tone of this unidentified speaker and you don’t like it. You want to jump to Dieter’s defense, but something tells you this is a conversation that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on.

“Whatever, man,” Dieter scoffs dismissively.

There’s noise downstairs now–a slight thud and what sounds like Dieter grunting as if the wind has been knocked out of him. 

“What changed?”

“Fuck off,” Dieter spits.

“What. Changed?”

“You weren’t fucking honest with me.”

“Bullshit,” the stranger growls back. “You knew exactly what you were getting into.”

“No, you said everything I wanted, that was the deal. Remember?” It’s quiet for a long moment, and you wonder if Dieter’s pacing. He does that, when he starts to get stressed. “I’m still alone, though.”

“That’s your own fault,” the stranger replies–voice a little softer now. “I didn’t say I would hand you your dreams on a silver platter. You make your own destiny. Surely it hasn’t been so long that you’ve forgotten that little qualifier.”

“I can’t bring someone else into this shit and you know it,” Dieter replies. The venom is gone from his voice now–he just sounds done. Exhausted and spent.

“You can, but you won’t.” There’s a moment of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Start acting like yourself again before you raise too much suspicion.”

“Fine,” Dieter sighs heavily. 

There’s a few long moments of silence, and then you hear the heavy solid oak front door shut. Presumably the guest has gone, and while you’re eager to sneak down and see if you can catch a glimpse of who it might’ve been, it’s far too risky with Dieter down there. Something tells you that he should never find out about the way you just eavesdropped on that conversation. You don’t know who he was talking to, or what kind of deal they were discussing–you just know that it’s serious, and definitely above your paygrade.

“Did you find that paperwork?”

You didn’t hear Dieter come upstairs–his sudden question from right behind you makes you jump and whirl around to look at him. You fight to keep your calm as you catch your breath; the last thing you want to do is clue him in that you overheard his conversation with his unknown guest.

“Yeah, I’ve got it right here,” you answer after a thick gulp.

“You’re a doll,” he proclaims with a wide smile. How easily he picks up the face he wears with you after a conversation that clearly upset him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you hum with a smile. “This entire room is a nightmare. It’s a miracle you ever find anything. You need to get, like… some filing cabinets. At the very least.”

“I’ll, uhh… get right on that,” he says in a way that makes you sure he definitely won’t get right on it.

Despite the nerves still thrumming through your veins, you laugh. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re a doll,” he repeats with his trademark grin. “Oh! Hey, uhh… you have tomorrow off. Paid, obviously.”

“Why?” You ask before you can think better of it. 

He seems surprised–you don’t normally ask questions, especially about paid vacation days. “Work stuff I gotta take care of. No big deal.”

“Okay,” you answer with a slight frown. “Sure I can’t help?”

He actually does seem to be contemplating it for a moment–his eyes scan over your body, and it’s like he’s considering you more than the actual offer. “No, honey, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” You take a short breath, then head towards the door–this was the last task on your list for the night. “Anything else you need before I head out?”

He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he follows you down the stairs. “No. Thanks, sweetheart.”

You feel heat fluttering underneath your skin at the pet name–he uses them often and they never fail to make your heart pick up pace. It’s like he can tell, because his eyes linger on your lips for a moment before trailing down to the pulse point on the left side of your neck. You wonder for a second if he can actually see it beating, but you quickly push that ridiculous thought away.

“You’re sure there’s nothing I can do for you tomorrow?”

His eyes are still trained on your neck like he’s completely zoned out or something. You watch as his tongue slowly glides over his bottom lip, trance-like; it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

“Yeah,” he whispers after a long moment–he’s standing so close now, you didn’t even notice him closing in. “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“Okay.” You want nothing more than to grab him and pull him in, to kiss him like your life depends upon it. He sounded so upset and every bone in your body is screaming to comfort him. The way he’s looking at you right now, you don’t think he’d mind at all. 

Instead you take a deep breath, grab your bag from the bench next to the door, and bid him goodnight.

Dieter doesn’t seem to realize that you’re always working, whether you’re on the clock or not. Even on ‘off’ days, you get loads of calls for scheduling requests and other tasks. Your saving grace is your trusty day planner—it holds both of your schedules, all neatly color-coded for maximum efficiency.

The worst thing you could’ve done on a weekend leading up to awards season is leave it in Dieter’s home office—and yet, as you frantically dig through your tote bag and your desk, that seems to be exactly what you’ve done.

You know Dieter’s got whatever event he’s hosting at home, but you can’t keep taking calls and scribbling notes on napkins without your schedule in front of you. The last thing you want to do is overbook him at a time where every single interview counts.

With a heavy sigh, you dial Dieter’s home number. It rings for what seems like eternity, and just as you’re about to hang up an unfamiliar voice answers.

“Hello?”

With a sigh of relief, you ask, “Hi, is Dieter there?”

“He’s busy.” The voice is high and sweet, yet her tone says she couldn’t be more irritated.

“Okay… umm, it’s kind of important.”

The stranger sighs dramatically. “I can take a message.”

“I just… I left something there, and I need to come get it as soon as possible. But I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

This time when she speaks, her tone is considerably more friendly. “Oh! Yeah, come on over. The more the merrier!”

You can’t help your intrigue, although you really don’t want to intrude without Dieter’s say-so. “Are you sure? I could always come tomorrow, I guess.”

“No no, come! It’s a party, everyone’s welcome!” Then the line goes dead without any further discussion.

You consider redialing in the hopes of speaking and clearing your visit with Dieter, but you doubt you’ll actually get through to him–and really, what harm would a quick visit do? You know exactly where you left it, on the desk in his office. It’ll be five minutes tops, a quick in and out. He might never even know that you’d been there.

You shake off the curious sense of foreboding that overtakes your mind as you grab your keys and lock your apartment door behind you.

It’s a twenty minute ride to Dieter’s house–a lot of time to spend thinking. At the forefront of your mind is that peculiar conversation you overheard last night; you’re not entirely sure why, really. Whoever that man was sounded almost as if he was in some kind of position of power over Dieter, and you don’t have even an educated guess at who that could possibly be. Dieter’s his own boss and he doesn’t take bullying–you’ve never heard someone get away with bossing him around like that before. He’s constantly in some weird form of pissing match with the directors and producers of whatever film he’s working on; he’s never seemed to be good at taking orders, even when he’s supposed to. You’ve heard many a rant about how much he values the ‘freedom of expression’. It all serves to make the mysterious visitor more confusing. Who does Dieter have to answer to?

The cab pulls up in front of his gated home before you’re able to find a plausible answer. You instruct the driver to keep the meter running since you’ll only be a minute before you step out into the crisp late-January air.

The grounds are a lot quieter than you expect them to be as the guard on duty opens the gate and closes it behind you. One thing Dieter’s famous for is noise–his parties are always reported as loud and exciting affairs akin to the fraternities in his favorite movie Animal House. There's no noise at all today, though, and it makes you curious. Is it really a party? Or was the stranger who answered the phone maybe his only guest? If the latter is the case, why would she want you to join in?

There’s a pale man in a cheap-looking suit waiting just inside the door, a tray of filled wine glasses in his gloved hands. “Take one,” he instructs, his eyes distant like he’s looking through you rather than at you.

“Oh, no thank you, I just need to–”

“Take one,” he repeats. “Master’s orders.”

Master? Of course Dieter would be into that. 

The wine is a deep red, probably that expensive vintage shit that he’s always raving about. You prefer the grocery store stuff yourself, not just because it’s all you can afford. A drink never hurts, though, and you could certainly use something to take the edge off–because that tingling sense of foreboding has only gotten stronger since your arrival.

You take a glass and swirl its currant-colored liquid around. It seems more viscous than any wine you’ve had before–probably a mark of its age, but that’s just guesswork on your part. You take a small sip, then nearly gag. It’s like drinking a pile of melted pennies. You swallow it down with a grimace anyway since you don’t want to make a scene of spitting it out in front of the server. It leaves a metallic taste in your mouth that you’re eager to wash out–thankfully, the kitchen is on your route to the stairs. You quickly deposit the glass on a table once you’re out of the server’s eyesight, then head down the hall in a desperate search for water.

Once you’re out of the foyer, there are people everywhere. Very subdued people, at that–draped over furniture like throw blankets, some even laying on the floor. You consider checking one’s pulse until he twitches and lets out a muffled groan. Clearly high on something, you’re just not sure what. You nearly trip over one person and they actually hiss at you like some kind of feral cat. Your skin starts to crawl with every step you take. Even more important than your discomfort, though, is finding Dieter. What if he’s like this, too? Do you need to call someone?

You notice a dull ache starting in your gums as you make it to the kitchen–thankfully you’re familiar with his home, and you have a glass of water in your hands within no time. It seems that no matter how much you drink, though, that coppery-bloody taste never leaves your mouth. What the hell was that stuff?

There’s a short-haired blonde woman propped up against the wall underneath the mounted phone; she reaches out a lazy hand in some sort of greeting. She looks vaguely familiar, like someone you might’ve seen on the set of one of Dieter’s films.

“You made it!” She says with a lazy smile. She must be the woman you spoke to earlier, although you’re not sure how she can identify you.

“Yeah. Where’s Dieter?” The longer you’re here, the more worried you become. Something isn’t right, and your skin is prickling with apprehension.

“Upstairs,” she murmurs, then her eyes flutter shut and she slumps a little further down. She’s visibly breathing, at least. 

For a moment, you consider picking up the phone and ringing the police. Would that cause more harm than good? Dieter must be aware of what’s going on here–you know you should talk to him before you do anything.

Your mission to find your planner momentarily forgotten, you make your way through the living room towards the stairs.

You check the office at the top first–there’s a few bodies zonked out on the couch, but none of them are Dieter. With trepidation in your very soul, you make your way down the hall. Each room is more of the same–people in varying states of unrest, no sign of the man you’re looking for. Most of them have red-stained lips and you eye more than one smashed glass along your journey. Your own mouth is starting to get alarmingly sore, but you ignore it in favor of finding Dieter.

Each step you take drives your worries deeper into your skull. What if something’s happened to him? What if he’s knocked out like all of his guests, or hurt, or something worse?

This is the first time you’ve breached the bubble of his bedroom. None of your work has ever involved this room, and while you’re a naturally nosey type of person, there’s something deeply personal and sacred about the space someone sleeps in. 

Ignoring the steady throbbing in your gums, you knock once before pushing open the door.

Dieter’s alone in his room, sprawled out like a starfish in a sea of rumpled sheets at the center of his massive bed. Something akin to a groan of horror escapes your throat as you see the state he’s in. He’s paler than a corpse and drenched in sweat, chest barely rising and falling with breath.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place. Your entire body breaks out in a cold sweat as you notice the knife in his right hand and the deep gash in the crook of his left arm, right where an IV would normally be set. You can smell the blood draining from him, you can even taste it in the air–or maybe that’s just the lingering taste of whatever you drank downstairs.

Your stomach churns violently with the sudden realization of what you’ve done, of what you’ve drank.

“Dieter!” You manage to choke out while your brain tries to remember how to send the signals required for your body to fucking move. 

He lifts his head shakily, brown eyes widening after a long moment of trying to recognize the face he’s looking at. “No no no,” he whispers hoarsely, “you’re not supposed t-to be here. You’re.. y-you’re supposed to be a-at home.”

A sharp, shattering pain in your top gum snaps your brain back into action. In a flash you’re crawling across a seemingly endless desert of mattress and it feels like you’ll never reach him. Everything is moving so slowly–each movement seems to take a hundred times the effort it should.

You spit out a mouthful of blood as the pain heightens, barely registering the two upper canines that go with it.

“What the fuck have you done?” You sob, uselessly pawing at his slashed left arm. It’s a precise cut straight across the artery–your hands are sticky and soaked with red the moment you touch him. Pressure, your brain screams at you. Put pressure on the wound.

“A real artist must suffer,” he mumbles weakly–then, even quieter, “I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re dying.” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own anymore. It’s higher, breathier. 

“You drank it, d-didn’t you?” He asks, ignoring your statement. His distant eyes are trained on the sharp fangs that have pushed your canines out. “Fuck. Fuck! You were n-never supposed to…”

“Shut up, shut up,” you plead. Every shaky breath seems to cost him years. “How do I fix this? How do I fix you?”

“Thirsty,” he mumbles. There’s water on the sideboard, your brain reminds you. You don’t even remember bringing the glass with you, much less setting it down. Everything is so fuzzy. Your arm doesn’t move nearly as fast as it should when you reach for the glass, and Dieter’s hand weakly comes up to stop you.

“Not water,” he croaks. “Need… need…”

He can’t seem to form the words required to tell you what he needs. He doesn’t have to, though. You know.

“You’re not dying on me, Bravo.” You take the knife from his slack right hand before he can stop you and grit your sore teeth together as you slash it across your palm.

“N-no, don’t…” But he doesn’t resist as you hold your bleeding palm to his mouth. His empty eyes flash back to life with the first taste, and then he takes your hand in his own and drinks greedily. You watch with nothing short of disbelief as the cut on his arm seals itself right before your eyes.

“You were supposed to stay away from this,” he murmurs as his tongue sweeps across your palm. “Why the fuck are you here, baby?”

You don’t even remember anymore. Everything is hazy, everything hurts. It’s a chore just to keep your eyes open.

“Damn it,” he growls–pushing your hand away from his blood-smeared mouth seems to take all his willpower. “I never wanted this for you.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur as you slump down against his sheets. They’re so soft and light, and you want to cocoon yourself in them for the rest of time. “It’s just a dream.”

“Why’d you have to come save me? Huh?” His voice sounds so far away that you’re not even sure he’s really speaking. 

“I love you.” It’s okay to say that, because he’ll never actually find out. It’s just a dream, after all; you’ll wake up in the morning confused but totally okay.

“You were never supposed to,” his voice echoes from some plain of existence far, far away. “Damn it honey, stay awake just a minute longer.”

You try, but your eyes are so heavy. He sighs heavily, as if he knows it’s useless.

“Promise you’ll still love me when you wake up,” he pleads through the tunnel that separates you.

Nodding saps the last of your strength, so you let your eyes flutter closed. “Okay.”

You feel his lips against yours and his coppery kiss nearly brings you back from the verge of sleep. In the end, though, your throbbing head wins. Sleep takes hold quickly despite your feeble resistance. 

How strange it is to fall asleep in a dream.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my lovelies <3

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :) any feedback or comment is always greatly appreciated!!

[puck-bunny-for-all]

No one else but you - Q.H

@_quinnhughes : the number one love of my life❤️ y/n 2 years is the amount of time you have stuck by me, when I came to Vancouver I didn't know it would gift me with the best fucking girl a guy could ask for. I love you for life babygirl💓❤️‍🔥💓❤️‍🔥💓❤️‍🔥💓❤️‍🔥

tagged : @y/username

location : heaven

y/username : QUINN FUCKING HUGHES YOU ASSHOLE! IM CRYING IN THE CLUB OMG. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU WILL EVER KNOW AND THANK YOU FOR BEING THE BEST THING TO HAPPEN FOR A CANADA GIRLY LIKE MEEEE 💓❤️

bboeser : this almost made me throw up 🤢

↪ _eliaspettersson : @bboeser for real dude like @_quinnhughes we get it you got the girl.

tdemko30 : happy for ya Quinny and Y/N but y'all are for sure breaking hearts out here

ilyamikheev66 : HUGGY DIDN't WE TALK ABOUT WHAT POSTING YOUR GIRL DOES TO THIS TEAM! tears us apart smh

↪ _quinnhughes : sorry not sorry that she picked me 😬🤫

↪ y/username : OMG Y'ALL I WOULDNT HAVE PICKED ANY ONE IF I KNEW IT CAUSED ISSUES .... and @tdemko30 LEXIE GAVE ME PREMISSION!!!!

bmarch63 : oh damn she your girl ... could have done better with a real man who actually takes and dishes hits 🤡🤷🏻‍♀️ how's the cheek there huggy bear? 🤨

↪ j.tmiller9 : PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me that this was a hack PLEASE

↪ _quinnhughes : @bmarch63 .... you can't be anywhere close to serious with that comment bud. 🤬🤬🤨😤🫨

↪ bboeser : @_quinnhughes PLEASE let me and Coley take him is2g 🤬🤬

↪ y/username : Hey there @bmarch63 it's me... first off how are you going to claim you take hits but throw yourself to the floor when the ref taps you... second off at least Q doesn't cry every other game he plays... and third YOUR SCARY PLEASE GO AWAY I DON'T LIKE YOU🫨

icole28 : o m g @y/username really just did the damn thing... I still second Brocks idea though🤨😤

jackhughes : Watch the fuck out next time we play you it's ON FUCKING SITE I swear. @bmarch63🤬🤬🤬🤬

lhughes_06: goddamn I leave for ONE SUMMER and someones trying it with my future sister wtf is wrong with you big boy @bmarch63 🤬🤨🫨

nicohischier : um as a captain myself and a friend of both y/n and Quinn expect the ENTIRE devils team to be completely ok with some minor penalties against u🤬😤

↪ _quinnhughes : ^ same with the Canucks big bud.

A.N:

FIRST CAN WE PLEASE IGNORE THE CHANGING HAIR COLOR THANKS ILY.

Ok so this was based off my first request: "Omggg I'd be so lovely if you could make one where Quinn hughes is just head over heels for his girl, and he makes this appreciation post with pics he secretly took from her and everyone in the comments just pretending to be annoyed by them but also maybe one player from another team kinda comments like "oh she's you girl?" Cuz he saw her and was into her, creating this sort of jealous/possessive thing in the comments section not just from quinn but everyone who loves em"

made by the LOVE OF MY LIFE NOW @skylershines :) I REALLY REALLY REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT and I am so sorry it wasn't quite as long or as interesting as I had hoped to make it but I hope to get better and better with each post :)

Any and all respectful feedback is welcome and I just recently redid my navigation to make it a little easier so I now have a list of who I write for and an ask box :)

xoxoxoxoxoxo, M

[empressdede]

Me, U & Jealousy - Chapter 2

Previous chapter

This story is written in both past and present. Italics is the past and regular font is written in the present.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Two

“Girl c’mon, just think about how fun it’ll be. You can’t seriously expect me to believe you don’t want to go to our first high school party!” Jada had been trying to convince Sorai for the whole day to accept Britney’s invitation to her party that was taking place the upcoming weekend.

It wasn’t that Sorai didn’t want to go, she just wasn’t dumb. If Sorai’s there then her four unwanted bodyguards would be as well. It wouldn’t be a good night if they went because she knew they would do everything in their power to keep her away from any action.

“Jada, if I go then the ‘big brothers’ gone try to go and I already know how that’s gonna end. Me in the corner sipping on juice, while they get to be the life of the party.” Sorai stressed rolling her eyes.

“Just tell your parents your sleeping over at my house. That way their parents won’t suspect anything. C’mon Rai, Cameron said he was going for you.” Jada continued, she was gonna pull all the stops to persuade her friend to come to this party.

Sorai rolled her eyes. “Fine. We’ll go. But you can’t tell nobody I’m going. I’m serious Jada, those boys are so irritating.”

“Who’s irritating?” Josh asked as he busted in her room. Sorai let out a sigh of feigned annoyance.

“You and yo crew. You won’t ever give me a break.”

Even though the boys were too over protective over her, she did love them as if they were her own brothers…. Well almost all of ‘em were like a brother to her anyways.

“We just looking out for you Rai, all these lil boys are the same. They only want one thing and they gone have to see me before they get try to get it.” Joshua stated with a shrug because he was serious. Nobody was going to take her innocence if he could help it.

“Aye man they gone have to see us Uce.” Jon echoed as he walked in with a couple boxes of pizza. His youngest brother following through.

“Did y’all really have to ‘watch’ Sorai while her parents are out for the night? She’s 16, you know?” Jada asked sarcastically but this was how it was every other week.

Sorai’s parents would go out for the night and have the Fatu brothers watch her to make sure she was safe. And at first, it was cool to have other people to hang out with seeing as Sorai was an only child. But as time progressed, Sorai wanted to be treated like a grown up.

“Sefa’s the same age as me and they still want him to play babysitter for me.” Sorai explained with an eye roll to her best friend.

“Awe, don’t be too upset Sorai. Everyone knows I’m way more mature than you. That’s why I have to watch over you.” Joseph replied back in a teasing manner

“Aye man, we ain’t come here to hear allat. Let’s just enjoy movie night and when your parents come back we’ll be on our way.” Jonathan cut our banter short.

That was the plan, it was always the plan. Movie night in my room, and all of us passing out due to the itis. But after Jada passed out the older brothers hopped up.

“Aye man, Joe just sent us an invite. I guess Kiara got a couple friends at her crib and her parents ain’t home.”

“What you just gone leave me here by myself?” Sorai asked with a raised eyebrow and Jon shrugged.

“Sefa can watch you till we get back.” Jon suggested

Sorai rolled her eyes as she watched the older brothers leave. Boys are so stupid. She thought you herself.

The room fell quiet, the only sound heard in the room were Jada’s soft snores and the TV playing the movie Friday the 13th. Jada had fell asleep on Sorai’s bed and Sorai and Joseph were still sitting on the air mattress on the floor while they watched the movie in silence.

“You know I heard of the scheme you and Jada were trying to come up with." Joseph had spoke into the quiet room.

Sorai felt herself freeze at the revelation. Damn, she really couldn’t do nothing with these boys around.

"What scheme?"

"The one where you lie to your parents about sleeping over at Jada’s house so that you can go make out with Cameron at Aaliyah’s house party."

Sorai let out a defeated sigh. She wasn’t going to continue to play dumb with him if he obviously knew what she planned to do.

“So what… you gonna snitch on me now?”

Joseph let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say all that. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go to the party.”

Sorai rolled her eyes. “You’re just saying that because of Cameron. He actually likes me ya know?”

“Sure. And Lemme guess, your smitten with him too huh?” He asked teasingly.

“I’m still going. You guys can’t keep everyone away from me. How can I ever expect to gain any kind of experience if you guys shun everyone interested in me away?”

“Experience? And just what kind of experience-“

“Not like that!” She had hissed at him. She didn’t understand why he was giving her such a hard time. It wasn’t like he didn’t have any experience. His on and off girlfriend made sure the whole world knew that.

“You’re the one going on about experience.” Joseph replied, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“So Monica can tell the whole world you blowing her back out, but I can’t even experience what could be my first kiss with the guy that I really like? How is that fair Sefa?” Sorai asked, a small pout forming on her lips.

He rolled his eyes. “Okay Rai, I’ll let you go to this party on a couple conditions.”

“A couple conditions?” She repeated with confusion.

Joseph nodded his head at her. “1. I gotta talk to Cameron before the party. This is non negotiable and 2. I’ll come with you to the party. I’ll make sure my older brothers don’t come so that you can have fun with your friend. Deal?”

Sorai flashed a smile at him and nodded her head in agreement.

As annoying as Joseph and his older brothers were, Sorai really did appreciate them always looking out for her. And even though she never said it out loud, Sefa was her guy best friend. He’d look out for her on behalf of his brothers but sometimes he would help her indulge in whatever she wanted to do…. Sometimes.

“Can you at least promise to try to like him Sefa?”

“Sure.” He agreed with a a monotone.

“How come I gotta like Monica but you won’t even try with Cameron? I don’t even like the bitch.” Sorai stressed.

Joseph let out a sigh of annoyance. “I’m not even seeing her anymore. And plus, you don’t like Monica because she didn’t want us to be so close.”

“That’s not the point Sefa.”

“Alright, Alright. I’ll try to give him a chance.” He finally agreed but they both knew he only agreed for the sake of the conversation.

She just hoped Cameron didn’t scare easy. She also hoped that Sefa would take it easy on him because she really liked him and she just wanted to know what it was like to have a boyfriend.

The two friends let a comfortable silence fill the room as they paid attention to the movie playing on the screen.

When the twins had returned, they found everyone sleeping. Jada on Sorai’s bed softly snoring away and on the floor Sorai and Joseph on his designated air mattress fast asleep.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“So,” Kayla started as soon as we were out of earshot. “Wanna tell me the history behind that?” She asked teasingly.

Sorai let out a small sigh. “Our parents are best friends. So even though I am an only child, those boys are the brothers I never wanted to have.” She briefly explains.

“Oh I didn’t know they played big brother to a sister.” Kayla replied fully intrigued, the amusement still apparent on her face.

Sorai shrugged and didn’t elaborate any further. She didn’t really want to talk about the people she haven’t seen in five years. Five fuckin years, and while it did hurt her feelings in the past, she’s completely over it now.

“Hey Kayla, what’s up?” A voice called out from down the hallway.

Both girls turned around to find one of the wrestlers, Cody Rhodes, walking towards their direction.

Sorai’s interest peaked. Finally, something to look forward too. She thought to herself as she let her eyes trail over the male figure that stood over six feet.

“Hey Cody. Nothing, just showing my new colleague around. It’s her first day.” Kayla stated with a smile.

She watched as Cody smiled back at her, Sorai’s eyebrow raised, oh?

“Whenever your free, come by my locker room. I got a couple of things I wanna go over with you.” He then turned to Sorai and flashed her a welcoming smile. “Welcome, I hope Kayla’s not giving you too much trouble.”

“No, not at all. She’s been an absolute treasure to be around.” Sorai complimented.

Cody let out a small chuckle, turning his gaze back to the women beside her. “That she is.” He agreed.

Interesting. Sorai thought to herself. “Yes, Well… it was a pleasure to meet you Cody. Hopefully we’ll be able to work with each other soon.”

“You too…uh?” He trailed off once he realized he never got her name.

“Sorai.” She answered

“Right. Well, welcome to the company Sorai. See you later Kayla.” Cody bid his goodbyes before walking down the hall.

Sorai smiled as she turned to face Kayla who was watching the man leave, nibbling on her bottom lip as she did.

“So,” she started, teasingly; Kayla turning to her, slightly red in the face. “Wanna tell me the history behind that?” Sorai asked, flipping the question back on Kayla.

Kayla rolled her eyes, shrugging her shoulders. “There’s no history. I think he’s cute but I think he’s only playing with me.”

“Playing?” Sorai repeated almost mockingly. The two girls continued their journey down the hall.

“Kayla, he stared at you the entire time, it was almost like I didn’t exist.”

Kayla shrugged again. It was clear she didn’t really want to talk about whatever was going on between them.

Sorai guessed it had to do with lack of confidence so she decided she would advise her on one thing.

“Well I’ll tell you what. If you want to know how he feels about you, mention something you like. An event or something and be sad that your going alone, If he tells you ‘that’s tough, you’ll find someone’ then he’s not interested. But if he suggests that he goes with you, then he definitely likes you.”

“He could be suggesting that just to be nice ya know?”

“No man, is that nice unless they like you. Trust me.”

Kayla raised her eyebrow at her in question, “And this has worked on you before?”

“Every single time.” Sorai assured

Kayla flashed her a thankful smile, nodding her head as she took the advice. Maybe working here won’t be so bad if I can already play matchmaker. Sorai though to herself.

The silence between the two was a comfortable one as Kayla led Sorai wherever they had to go next. Both girls lost in their thoughts for two completely different reasons.

It wasn’t until they stopped in front of a door who’s name read Roman Reigns, that Sorai realized where Kayla was taking her. She rolled her eyes.

“Can’t you take me to my new office instead?” Sorai asked, but it was too late. Kayla had already knocked on the door.

“I would love to, but 1. I have a feeling if I didn’t bring you, they would’ve hounded me down for it and 2. I have a new theory that I would love to test out.”

Jonathan opened the door and shouted a greeting towards Sorai.

“Bring her to my office when you guys are done. I got something I gotta do real quick, so I’m trusting you guy can keep her occupied until I’m done?”

Jon threw his arm around Sorai’s shoulder, bringing her into a side hug. “We haven’t seen our lil sis in a cool five years Kayla, if she not back in yo office by the time you get there, you can come find her here.”

Kayla nodded her head and shared a look with Sorai before walking down the hallway to look for a certain superstar.

And if Sorai was a hatin’ ass bitch she would’ve hated Kayla for leaving her with these boys like this. But, she wasn’t. She knew what it felt like to want someone so bad that they yearned to be close almost every single second. But damn did she owe her one.

Sorai let Jon pull her into the locker room to face the men who broke her heart from leaving, five years ago.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

𝚂𝚘, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛? 𝙸 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝 🙂🫶🏾

Tagging the lovelies: @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @skyesthebomb @christinabae @leighla3 @whatdoeseverybodywant @harmshake

[icypenguin]

Ok so can I request the sbg x wony reader but instead of SHES THE ONE AND ONLY SEO CHANGBIN FROM SKZ (she can beat ass.. and can pick ben with one arm :3

⋆ ˚｡ Pretty Phantom Breaker ⋆౨ৎ˚

cw: limping, running away from phantoms, thoughts of broken bones (that’s all i guess??)

a/n: HIHIHI AND OFCCC! but.. i dunno if this is how u expected T-T i hope i got your idea right and personalities right too.. i’m not really in that side of socials BUT DW DW GOTCHUUU anyway this is a platonic relationship with the sbg gang!!! hope you like itttt!

divider credits: @iluvrei @dollywons

to everyone’s eyes, you were known to be a clean, healthy, pretty and feminine girl. everyone always appreciate you for that. In school or literally anywhere, you’re always the one who soreads positive energy, and that’s what the gang loves you about.

you’re always focusing on a healthy life style (even if every night you’re teleported into some other realm) which makes it beneficial for the gang. They sometimes wonder, how can you be so positive even if it sounds like it’s the end for them?

“hey y/n, can you recommend me any blush? I’ve been seeing people use this like.. lisptick blush thing? i dunno what that is.. but it sounds cool!” you and taylor was sitting besides eachother on a bench, waiting for the others to finish class since you finished your work sooner. “ah! rare beauty? yes that’s a popular one nowadays! i do recommend you buying one of it since it comes in many different shade! it’s really useful, you can use it as a gloss and a blush!” picking up your phone to show the pictures of the different shade, the others were finally back.

“ughh i hate maths.. so booringgg…” complained aiden as he rolled his eyes. “well.. i suggest you to pay more attention in class rather than making paper airplanes” ashlyn stays in a monotone tone while logan, ben, and tyler ignored them.

taylor whispered a “thanks!” before moving on to the next topic, “well, took you guys long enough to finish that 5 kindergarten riddle” she joked while grabbing her bag in action to go home. “if it weren’t for that moron, we would NOT be take this long… burden pfft-“ tyler frowned, not making eye contact with anyone except him. “well- friends stay together right? they wait for eachother!” the others groaned as aiden pulled out this ‘friendship line’.

soon, you all started to walk to the main entrance while chit chatting random stuffs. you noticed aiden got closer, meaning he wanted to ask you something. “y/n, is it true that broccoli are better than sausages?” he stared with a curious look on his face. “well ofcourse, it’s better to eat broccoli everyday than to eat sausages everyday..” you smiled and gave him a thumbsup. “awwh man, i love wieners…” hearing that response, you laughed along with taylor whose heard your conversation.

! time skip phantom realm !

somehow, the phantoms were chasing the whole gang… thanks to aiden’s loud shout i guess.. “ugh did you really have to scream that loud to safe your darling ashlyn!?” tyler seemed irritated by how aiden was acting. “it’s called friendship okay!? just like how you protect taylor-“ he fired back the comment back to tyler and it kept going on and on. their bickering kept on continuing until- “wait- ben!? where’s ben!?” taylor was looking around, checking everyone but seeing no sign of ben near them. suddenly, everyone’s attention has been spotlighted to ben, who was in the back, trying to catch up.

when you studied closer to see ben’s anatomy, you noticed he was limping. soon, everyone noticed this wound of ben and aiden, who does not think first, decided to run back to ben “ah-! ben- wait for me-!”

ofcourse he tried to help ben but only ended up with them walking slower. as the phantoms were getting closer and everyone’s heart was beating as fast as ever, hoping they would be safe, you did what you had to did. rushing towards both men who’s being chased by a bunch of phantoms, you lifted them one in each of your arm. you didn’t really like to show this side of you, but what choices are there?

ofcourse, they were shocked to see how the feminine you- is able to carry 2 guys in a blink of an eye. “whatthe-“ tyler exclaimed in a shocked and unbelievable tone, while the others just stare at you speechless.

meanwhile ben and aiden was taken aback by the sudden lift, aiden adapted quickly and cheered you on “go go go! go y/n!” ben was just giving up his whole body on you and trusted you on his life.

as you rushed forward to the gang, the phantoms were catching speed of you too. but luckily, you catched up to them and you all managed to get into the base or the bus graveyard.

“phew that was rough…” panting while dropping those two men softly on the ground, the others stared at you with wide eyes, suprised by your skill. “what. was. that.” tyler shot back from his thoughts and stared at you. “that was so cool, y/n.. i didn’t know you can do that..!” logan admired you while having a happy and amused face. “aww thanks guys… i thought you’ll be weirded by it..” you rubbed the back of your neck while looking down, not used to have compliments by this skill of yours. “no way! you saved their life!” taylor gives you a pat on the back as a supportive sign. too, ashlyn got into the conversation “it’s honestly a relief for all of us…” she handed you a bottle of water for you to finally calm yourself down.

meanwhile the others were all fine, aiden and ben both thanked you before healing ben’s leg that logan thought can be of broken bone. tyler, at the corner, was scoffing. he had a high hope of becoming the strongest one in the group and he even thought he was! but i guess.. more suprises for him?

“aww tylerrr, don’t be so busteddd~” taylor laughed at her brother being to irritated and jelous. “w-what!? i’m not!” he barked back at taylor while having a clear jealous look on his face. “pfft yeah? than it’s no matter if i call you weak?” tyler then started chasing taylor as he wanted revenge.

you felt something tap your shoulder, ashlyn was looking at the corner to a phantom that.. successfully entered the base outta nowhere. “do you think you can break it?” she asked you with full trust.

maybe.. maybe you can be a phantom breaker champion?

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. thankyou for supporting! ୨♡୧

[bigtreefest]

Morning Mewl

Pairing: PhD Candidate! Curtis Everett x PhD Student! Reader

Summary: Curtis is nervous before his PhD defense

Word count: 866

Content/warnings: fluffy fluff fluff fluff (bc Curtis deserves it), kissing, sharing a bed, roommate and good friend Jake, best friend/mentee turned girlfriend reader, pet name usage (cookie, smart cookie, cooks), established relationship

A/N: Inspired partially by @biteofcherry in this post and what was written for @jamneuromain in this post. Shoutout for all my moots for Curtis encouragement and @thezombieprostitute for the constant praise at all hours. I hope you guys melt reading this along with me.

Takes place a couple years down the line once reader and Curtis are dating and in the same program, so there’s not a weird power imbalance.

Comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

You were used to the groans that came out of Curtis when waking up. Every morning, his broad form that was wrapped around your body creaked in the joints as he stretched, fighting the stiffness that would settle over him in the night.

This morning, you were woken up by a slightly different sound than the usual early morning deep breath and whine that signaled him waking. This was was more high-pitched…more of a…mewl?

You snickered lightly at the sound, ready to turn around in his hold and crack a joke to his face.

“That was an interesting one.” You softly giggled it out, mixed with the small rasp of your morning voice. When you finally opened your eyes, though, you were surprised to not see Curtis’s face at all.. it was hidden by a ball of fluff, a black and gray tabby cat curled up and now purring peacefully.

The same cat you had met years ago when Curtis had brought her in so the landlord didn’t find out. You struggled to hold in a fit of laughter, but weren’t sure what to do. From under the restful mound of fluff came the groan you had expected that morning.

“Jensen, come get the cat.” It was louder that your early morning ears expected, but somewhat muffled and still not enough for her to stir on his face.

Curtis’s roommate Jake came walking into the room, glasses thrown on haphazardly and hair messy from the early hour. Jake wasn’t in your program, he was actually studying CS, which was for the best and very helpful for how often your computer got overloaded. Curtis was glad to have a roommate who was in a different program from him, too. It was a nice break from the nonstop work, plus an opportunity to hear about another department’s drama. Sure, he and Jake didn’t have very similar sleeping schedules, but they got along well and were respectful of noise for the other.

Jake rubbed his eyes under his glasses, adjusting to the light that poured through the curtains of Curtis’s window. He laughed at the predicament Curtis found himself in “I swear she likes you more than she likes me. It’s not fair you get all the ladies around here.”

You laughed as Jake walked into the room towards Curtis’s side of the bed. “C’mere, Mav. Don’t scratch uncle Curtis. He didn’t like that last time.”

Jake gently scooped the cat off his face and she instantly clung to the fabric on the shoulder of his own graphic tee, snuggling against Jake’s shoulder. “Okay, I’ll keep her out of her out of your hair, or at least as much of it as you have, while you get ready. If I don’t see you before you leave, good luck today. I’ll be in the back of the lecture hall for your defense.”

He walked towards the door before turning around. “Oh! And by the way, I stopped by that breakfast place you like yesterday. Picked up some sandwiches for this morning’s brain food. All you and Cookie have to do is heat them up.”

You and Curtis had both shifted to sit up by now, and you watched a small, appreciative smile creep onto his face. “Thanks, Jensen, I’ll see you later, man.”

You twisted towards your boyfriend, finally seeing his full face for the first time that morning. “You hear that? He got us the good stuff. Free breakfast, Cooks.”

You shook your head and brushed your hand over the stubble on his cheek, freshly trimmed the past weekend so it was neat for Curtis’s PhD defense later this morning. “I’m not the smart cookie today. You are, future Dr. Everett. It has a good ring to it already.”

Your thumb traced over the freckles on his nose as he leaned into your touch, turning his head to place a kiss on your palm. His eyes sparkled back toward you with a hint of concern you’d rarely seen from the usually confident and secure man. “Not yet, though. Don’t wanna count my chickens before they hatch.”

Your other hand came up to frame his face and pull his forehead to yours. “Look at me. Today’s going to be great. You’re going to show everyone how smart you are and how hard you’ve worked and how there’s no one else who’s as deserving of this degree as you. And I’m going to be right there, cheering you on with your parents, without an ounce of doubt in your abilities.”

He relaxed in your hold, wrapping his one arm around your waist, the other settling on your thigh as his eyes fluttered shut. He sighed, absorbing the comfort of the moment before looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Promise?”

You leaned in to kiss him, slow and deep. An exhibit of love and faith and the deepest support that bloomed from friendship. You both pulled away with smiles on your faces before you saw his demeanor shift and lighten, his usual, determined game face taking over. He was ready for the day.

“I promise. Now let’s go eat that breakfast before Jensen changes his mind and steals it from us.”

Bonus A/N: Pls feel free to screech with me about soft! Curtis. He deserves all the credit and all the love.

[lady-phasma]

This specific use of the 180 Degree Rule has been nagging me since the last trailer came out. The 180 Degree Rule refers to how the camera frames the subjects in a scene so that they are "switched" when the camera moves. This is less disorienting to viewers than if the subjects stayed on the same side of the frame every time (see example below). It's a small trick, but it is noticeable when it isn't used. Logic tells us they should stay on the same side of the frame but it really doesn't work. If you are interested in understanding this further there is a great sequence in Satoshi Kon's Paprika (2006) that explains it better than I have ever seen anywhere else.

Daemon's War

The exchange between Rhaenyra and Jace in episode 10 conveys so much meaning in so few words. I'm not going to discuss Rhaenyra's desires in this post or if they conflict with Daemon's. That would need its own post all to itself.

Jacaerys: Where is Daemon? Rhaenyra: I don't know. Gone to madness. Gone to plot his war.

Daemon and his motivations are revealed so concisely. There is certainly foreshadowing here, but I appreciate that Rhaenyra knows him so well and has no expectations of him (at this point) beyond what she has seen in the past.

Daemon makes bold assumptions and is arrogant enough to think his way is the best way. When he lists Meleys in their assets there is no doubt in his mind that Rhaenys will side with them in the war. But why does he assume this? What isn't being said is intriguing.

We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer. There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.

Then, at some point in season two, we see Daemon presumably stop Rhaenys by grabbing her arm.

This man is manipulative and good at it. Rhaenys is not pleased with him touching her. With no context at all, we only have a few words and body language to interpret. I can't wait to see if I'm correct about this when this episode airs. There is a threat or ultimatum here. Daemon's posture is so self-assured, hand resting on Dark Sister as if whatever he is saying has only one response: agreement.

Correct 180 (from trailer):

Might be helpful to cover one while watching the other.

Incorrect 180 (my edit):

What made this 180 rule from the trailer stick in my mind is how tight the frame is on Rhaenys for her reaction shot. A medium shot on Daemon cuts to a medium close up on her in order to show her facial expression. We can't interpret too much from trailer editing as it is specifically designed to manipulate and distract viewers in a different way from the final product. However, we are given Daemon's dialogue for this particular shot: "We are going to King's Landing." But what next? Why show her disdain, frustration, irritation? Is there an "or else" or some other technique to coerce her and House Velaryon?

Rhaenyra's words are relevant here as well as in the foreshadowing of the upcoming war. Daemon is not asking permission. His hostility, animosity, and wounded ego combine to make him rash. Another example of the applicability of the title The Rouge Prince. This isn't an argument that his character is made more complex by this foreshadowing, but that he has rarely, if ever, hidden his motives. His motivations are always clear even if they shift from selfish to selfless (which is only evident a handful of times). He is morally ambiguous to viewers because much of the time he seems to be amoral. He can stomach things that others cannot. He believes the end justifies the means. I think it will be fascinating to see how the showrunners, writers, and Matt can navigate someone becoming a villain without making him completely one dimensional. He is irredeemable and many of his fans love him for precisely that. He doesn't want to be redeemed. He wants to be in control.

I started writing this last night and today this amazing gifset comes across my dash so I had to link it.

[thedoctorsthings]

Power to the king | final chapter

Here she finally is, the final chapter. This concludes Yoongi's part of the story, but don't fret, Power to the king is not done yet. The next member I will write is Seokjin. However don't expect a peep out of me until at least the end of June because I have finals. Enjoy!

WC: About 2k

Warnings: minor character death, angst, smut but it's only vaguely described not explicitly detailed because I'm a big wuss, good ending don't worry

You had visited the princess, but not much had come out of it. After you told her what you heard she had looked at you quizzically and told you that Frida had always accompanied her brother on his trips. She also said that she never thought anything of it until now. The discovery that Yoongi’s relationship with this maid dated back years was a blow to your stomach, but at least the princess was honest with you. You had formed an ally in this castle.

On the morning of your husband’s return you feel more confident than ever.  On your wedding night he had made you promise to never let your emotions run amok again, and today you would show him you remembered. You had no idea if Yoongi knew how you felt. There was a chance he didn’t even know you knew about them.

It’s almost noon and you’re waiting for his arrival in the great hall with the rest of the family. It was customary for the person who had been away to give a report on the situation to the council. First, he would be welcomed back by his entire family. Jungkook, who was standing next to you, whispered: "I promised him a huge favour if he stopped shaving while travelling”. ‘What did he say?”, you asked. “He agreed, but I’d rather not discuss what he made me do. He better walk through that door with a beard”. You barely had time to answer, or the doors flew open revealing Yoongi, without beard, and his entourage.

With a forced smile and a hushed: “You bastard”, under his breath, Jungkook approached his brother and shook his hand. The minute you saw your husband appear all the confidence left your body. How could you tell this beautiful, intimidating man that you hated him. All you were left with was sadness about the progress you had made that was now lost. After greeting the king your husband came up to you and ceremoniously pressed his and your cheeks together, as was customary. You barely reacted, no eye contact, no smile. There was some visible confusion on his face, but he didn’t say anything about it.

That evening, at dinner, you went back to your old, quiet self. You had no idea why because you had promised yourself you would be strong and tell him he had to stop seeing her. Instead, you had deflated in on yourself upon seeing him.

Yoongi’s eyes were boring holes into your skull. He was seated opposite of you, and spent the entire night staring, no glaring, at you. After the meal you wasted no time fleeing to your rooms. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just talk to him and tell him off like you had before? Suddenly there’s an aggressive sounding knock on your door. “Come in”. You’ve barely uttered, or he’s already inside. He stands tall in front of your door, about two meters from you. “What’s wrong with you?” You’re shocked. What’s wrong with you? You’re not the one sleeping with some maid. “What do you mean?”, you bite back while folding your arms. “You embarrassed me in front of my family, I thought we had made progress. I thought we could be civil to each other now”. He’s pointing accusingly at you now, clear anger on his face. You bite the inside of your lip. “Well, I thought so too, but I should have realised it was only about civility for you”. He’s stands quiet for a moment, face riddled with angry confusion. “What are you talking about?” You take a step closer to him and gather all your courage. “You’re sleeping with Frida. I saw you together some time ago, and now you took her on your trip. I should have known you only visited me every night to keep me content, so you could keep sneaking around with your favourite maids”.

His face contorts in a snarl: “You have no right to accuse me of anything”, he spits. You laugh: “Is it not true then?” your voice overshoots slightly at this last question. He stays quiet. Your eyes begin to tear, but he doesn’t see, he never does. “Are there more? Are you in love with her? God Yoongi, why did you do this?” He stays quiet, and you almost lose your mind. You start yelling as tears well up in your eyes for real now: “Answer me, Yoongi! How could you do this to me? How come you can barely look at me or spend time with me, but you can sneak around sleeping with her without even paying attention who sees?” “Because!” he yells, “I feel sorry, when I look at you, I feel sorry! I trapped you in a marriage with the most loveless man in the kingdom. I can’t stand to be around you because you remind me of how horrible I am. I felt like pushing you away from me would free you”.

It's your turn to be silent now. Anger is coursing through your entire body. How dare he act as if he was helping you by setting you aside as a wife. “If you feel so guilty why not be better?” Your question is almost immediately followed by an answer.  “Because I’m not good! I can never give you what you want. I’m not a husband, I wasn’t ready”. He says while finally looking you in the eye. “Neither was I” you cry, “But you don’t see me running of with someone else. I’ve been trying so hard to make something of this!” Yoongi scoffs. He had been standing in the same spot this whole time, but now he moves closer. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it”, he spits. “I’ve seen the way you behave around me brother”.

You’re standing face to face now, closer than you’ve ever been. You’re white hot with anger. “You are a coward”. You can feel his breath on your face. He bends down. Heath is radiating off him. One moment you’re glaring at your husband, the next, you throw yourself in his arms as he engulfs you, and almost lifts you off the floor. His mouth is on yours and he kisses you as if there’s something he desperately needs from you. Both your hands roam everywhere, pulling at hair, undoing buttons, scratching over bare skin. You stumble on the bed. It marks the start of a long night full of passion and anger. He’s a man starved and you’re willing to give him everything your body has to give.

The next morning Yoongi is gone. You had slept tangled up together, but you hadn’t noticed him getting up. The maid, who you know is here to get you dressed, knocks on your door. Low and behold there she’s standing, Frida. You let her dress you as if nothing is wrong. It’s not that you don’t want to confront her. You just don’t know how you would go about it. At breakfast he doesn’t say a word to you, doesn’t even make eye contact. The only thing you get out of him is a slight smirk to himself when he sees you having trouble standing up on your sore legs.

That day the princess takes you on a walk around the castle. You’re chattering away when you cross the big courtyard. It’s the third day of the week, a little past noon. This means it’s the moment of the weekly delivery of vegetables at the castle. You get your greens from the same farmer every week. The farm is owned by Harald Park. After you saw the man named Jimin almost light his hair on fire at the festival, you had asked Jungkook about him, and he had told you he was Harald’s son. Recently, however, Harald had fallen ill and Jimin took over the deliveries for the palace. When you walk past him, he’s tossing a bag of grain off the carriage, but he stops to make some of the most intense eye contact with the princess you’ve ever seen. You suppress a smile and wait until you’re out of earshot to ask her: “What was that?” The princess blushes and says: “It’s nothing”, while hiding her face from you. It’s nothing yet, you add in your mind.

For the entire rest of the week Yoongi doesn’t make any contact with you. He only says something to you when it’s absolutely necessary, and he doesn’t come to visit you in the evening. Every day Frida helps you dress and every day you almost say something. By the end of the week, you can’t take it anymore, and after dinner you decide to take matters into your own hands. You march towards his room and knock on his door. He opens the door and looks at you with one eyebrow lifted. For some reason that face makes you angrier than ever. “Why won’t you talk to me?”, if the simple question you ask, but it leads to another heated argument, and another passionate night.

Over the course of the next weeks, you notice that You and Yoongi look for little reasons to get angry about so that you can march into each other’s rooms, have a screaming match and then spend the night together. During those nights he discovers parts of your body which you had no idea even existed. You draw an animal out of him, and no matter how much you’ve come to hate him, you long for these nights. When you fall asleep next to him, you sleep better than you have in months. You’re more energetic during the day, and Yoongi too, seems to be doing better than ever. How come you can’t share this newfound bliss with each other. Outside of the occasional fight in the evening you barely talk to him.

Another thing you’ve noticed is that you haven’t seen Yoongi around Frida since that first night you slept together. Maybe he’s just more secretive or careful about it now. One morning you wake up to the knock of the maid on your door. However, when she comes in it’s not Frida. It’s Gertrud again. “Good morning, your highness”. “Good morning”, you greet. You get up to stand in front of the mirror and stare out the window puzzled. When Gertrud is adjusting your corset, you ask: “Where is Frida?” Gertrud seems to have to think for a second before she says: “She got sent away to one of the properties of some rich lord. I think as some sort of diplomatic gesture. Before she left, she said it was your husband’s decision”. “Will she be coming back?” Gertrud pulls on the strings of your corset and says: “They usually don’t, your highness”. “oh”, is all you can muster. After she leaves you stand in front of the mirror for a minute longer. Guess you won’t have to confront Frida after all.

That night, after dinner, you decide to visit the queen again. It had been quite some time since your last visit, and you liked spending time with her. Right when you reach her rooms the doors are slammed open. It’s the younger druid, Taehyung. He looks more serious than ever. “Oh good, your highness, you’re here. Go get your husband. It’s the queen”. After this he rushes towards the king’s quarters without giving you time to answer. You rush to Yoongi’s chambers. While you’re almost running through the dark hallways, tears start welling up in your eyes. You loved the queen so much; she had been such good support for you. You couldn’t lose her. You knock on Yoongi’s door frantically. He opens the door looking distraught: “By Odin, what’s wrong with you?” “Yoongi, it’s your mother”.

Yoongi had held her hand as she went. The princess had lied next to her, and Jungkook sat at the foot of her bed. You stayed seated in the chair next to the bed. While all his children were shedding tears for their dear mother and saying goodbye to her, the king had simply walked in, asked the druid how long she had and left again. The queen had smiled one last time at her children and closed her eyes for good. Yoongi hadn’t cried a single tear. He just looked utterly defeated. After Jungkook left the room, you helped the princess into her own bed. She had asked you to stay with her, and of course you did. After you were sure she had fallen asleep, you decided to check on your husband. Not before placing the princess’ little sleeping dog next to her on the bed to replace your warmth.

You knocked softly and after hearing a hum you slowly opened the door. The room was lit by one single candle and Yoongi was standing by the window looking out at the darkness. You had no idea what to say so you just walked over to him and placed your hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at you and for a moment nothing happened. Then he broke down. This was the first time you had seen him cry, and it wouldn’t surprise you if this was the first time in years that he had. All you knew to do was take him into your arms. He let you. That night, after he calmed down, you washed your husband’s face and helped him into his night shirt. Both of your eyes had been bloodshot, because of the many tears, by the time you got into bed. You let him rest his head on your chest. Right before you fell asleep, you thought about how it took the queen dying for you to finally treat each other lovingly.

It had been three weeks since the queen passed, and Yoongi finally felt like he was getting a hold of himself again. You had been incredibly understanding and warm towards him for these three weeks, and he had no idea how to thank you or how to reciprocate. He was sitting in at his desk right before dinner. For the first time he thought back to that night. For the past three weeks his memory had blocked everything that had happened the night of his mother’s passing. It was finally coming back to him. The way you had been so soft, the way you had kissed his tears away and washed his face. He hadn’t said anything that entire night except right after he had broken down in your arms. He mumbled: “He didn’t even look at her”. You had simply nodded. You stayed so strong for him even though he had seen the tears in your eyes multiple times that night. Is this what it meant to be supported? When he entered the dining hall you were already sitting there. You were so impossibly beautiful. To everyone who saw you, you looked so delicate, but he knew the fire under your skin. He loved you, and he had to figure out how to tell you before you started to hate him again.

You’re sitting in your room, writing a letter to your mother. The queen’s passing had made you realize that if you didn’t try to make it right with her now, you might never have the chance. You’re dipping your feather in the ink when you hear something small and hard hit the window. You look up for a second, but then go back to writing. Then it happens again. This time you get up and open your window. You look down, and there is your husband, with a little stone in his hand, ready to throw again. “You know some people knock on doors. It’s much easier; you can use your hands”, you remark dryly. “I have to tell you something, but I can’t do it when you’re close to me. Y/N when I look into your eyes, I get lost. Every time I try to talk to you, I lose all words, which is horrible because you deserve so many. I’m hoping that if I do it from down here, I’ll actually get out what I’ve been trying to express for so long. Y/N, my wife, I love you”. He’s rambling now: “I know it might be hard to believe, but when I’m around you I’m softer than ever. I can’t sleep when you’re not near. I am so incredibly sorry for how I’ve treated you. I thought I was helping you by staying distant. I thought that I could make you hate me by sleeping with a maid, or by never talking to you. That I could somehow save you from the horror that is me, but you’ve made me realize that I can be better. From now on there will be only you, and if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life thanking you”.

You stay quiet for a moment. He mutters: “Please say something”. You break into a teary smile: “Come up here, you idiot”.

@lifeless-firefly @viankiss @emerald-notes @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @jjkwifestyle @nansasa

thank you so much for all the love

[bambi-kinos]

There is something I noticed in this fandom, that's been bothering me for a while and I'd like to hear your opinion as well.

It seems like there is a tendency to gloss over John's streaks of aggression, violence and the obsession with sex. That post about anon asking if John was demisexual especially reminded me of that.

A lot of times I see untruth perpetuated that John only slapped Cynthia once and was so regretful of it, when there are so many accounts of him being violent with other women: hitting Thelma Pickles when she denied him sex, hitting a woman at Paul's birthday party after he grabbed her tit (same party where he hit Wooler), strangling May almost to death.

I think at the core people are trying to re-write John into someone he wasn't, and that's unfair to him and for the other people around him. He did make amends and become a better man, but that was way after Beatles ended. But at the core, John was aggressive and violent, just because he had soft side to him doesn't make him soft. He also knew how to manipulate people really well.

Also, I think his violence/agression is what actually attracted Paul to him because Paul liked danger. He liked when John behaved as a total prick, which made Paul pretty fucked up as well. But that's personally why I like their dynamic so much.

First of all, expecting demi-sexual John anon to take a pitstop in the middle of their fantheory, look at the camera, and say "did you know that John Lennon beat his wife?" like that dude from The Onion is not great.

Secondly, centering John Lennon's abuse of the women he came into contact with is doing a disservice to them. Cynthia, May, and Yoko are more than John's victims and they all have made it clear how they want their relationships with John to be remembered. They have their reasons for loving him and they communicated those. It's not asking much to respect that. They are all more than that and they should be remembered for other things besides "being John Lennon's victim."

Third, fans want to hang out in fan spaces doing fan stuff. Whether that's discussing musical technique or quoting a book or looking at song lyrics. Are we supposed to put legal clauses at the end of our posts and chat messages saying that we don't support John's DV and do not endorse blah blah blah blah blah?

Fourth, it's not an "untruth" that John regretted hitting Cynthia (and he did much worse than hit her, he grabbed her by her skull and slammed her headfirst into a set of exposed pipes) just because he kept being violent afterwards. This is the same guy that cried in public after he beat the shit out of Bob Wooler and kept saying "what have I done" because he thought he had killed someone. Smokers regret being addicted, that doesn't mean it's easy for them to quit smoking right on the spot.

John actively admitting what a massive fuck up he was is pretty much his only saving grace but it's also really important that he said that. Because wifebeaters don't typically do that, they just screech and shit and wail about how "it's my RIGHT as a MAN REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" and refuse to accept blame for what they did. The fact that John did accept that blame says a lot about who he was as a person.

Fifth, fans aren't trying to "rewrite" John, we're trying to fit together the pieces of a complicated man who hurt a lot of people but also helped a lot of people.

And the thing is, I get it, I GET IT. I've seen insane shit go down before! I've seen people giggle and laugh about John beating women! I've seen fans say that John's violence is overblown and that fans are taking it too seriously, and every other horrible thing you can think of. All of this, and more, is present in Beatles fandom. So I get it! I understand that it's upsetting sometimes. I don't like it either. I piss on people who do that. I am still angry about that.

But how many fans are doing vs how many fans just aren't talking about the stuff you think is important?

We can fully acknowledge that John did many awful things and treat it seriously. We are also adults capable of nuance which means we can acknowledge and appreciate that softer side of him and be a fan of his art and public personality.

What else are we supposed to do. Genuinely.

(Thanks to @the-world-is-treating-me-bad for talking this out with me last week.)