#to the cadence of 'this is not a place of honor'

[nighthaunting]

thought too hard about MRI machines today and had this come to me in a vision

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

Summary: Theodore Nott came to learn that an inciting incident can alter the course of history. Lucius Malfoy’s fall led to Draco’s dark mark and the death of Dumbledore. The rise of the Dark Lord urged Harry Potter into hiding and Death Eaters into prominence. And then there was Amycus Carrow, with his tainted hands on Y/N, who forced Theodore Nott to do the unforgivable.

Warnings: Sexual assault, attempted rape, graphic description of violence, panic attacks

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Non-Slytherin!Reader

Genre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 5.8K

All Masterlists | Theodore Nott Masterlist

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐬. The lines between the two flow steadily, each following its own cadence. And yet, despite their distinct course and the light years between them, they somehow find a way to draw parameters of joint space. Somehow, someway, they eventually overlap—meeting each other at the apex of catalysts and the twists between junctures to shape history and write the present.

Today starts like most stories do: quaint and subtle, setting the tone for an inciting incident that will tip this fable on its axis.

It’s a typical day, or as typical as it could get during Y/N’s last year at Hogwarts. She’s sitting at the far end of her Defense Against the Dark Arts class, donning the same apprehensive expression as all her classmates. The turmoil that governs the halls is a jarring contrast to the flourishing and effervescent school of witchcraft and wizardry Hogwarts once was.

In this mangled reality, there are specks of the idyllic tales she’s heard about, and witnessed, growing up. Slytherins and Gryffindors sustain their infamous rivalry while in search of their individual purpose, purebloods hold themselves on par with Merlin himself, and more often than not, students find refuge in a forgotten nuke in Hogwarts when the burden of magic becomes too heavy to bear.

In the first drafts of the story, Hogwarts held its students under one embrace. But now, as we’re nearing a hazy end, an isolating veil drapes over the school, fracturing it into fewer than four houses and dividing it more than ever before.

“Now, as Barty Crouch Junior has so tirelessly shared, you have already been acquainted with Merlin’s three most formidable spells,” Alecto Carrow, one of Voldemort’s trusted Death Eaters explains. Her heels dig into the marble floors of the classroom, their screeches ricocheting across the walls in warning. 

“The Unforgivables,” her brother Amycus eagerly finishes. His yellow teeth wither under the dim light of the darkened sun as his arms open wide. It’s unsettling how he and his sister welcome such misfortune so openly.

As it happens every single time the Carrow twins revel in the darkest boulevards of magic, Y/N shifts in her seat until she’s nearly imperceptible. Each time, her eyes rove the expanse of the classroom, seeking out the comfort of peculiar hazel eyes. Within just ten seconds, her wandering gaze comes to rest on the idle brown walls, a weight of defeat settling upon her.

Upon her reluctant return to Hogwarts this year, Y/N was met with a torrent of unimaginable changes, starting with students being separated not only based on their house but also their blood status.

Purebloods became a procession of peacocks—majestic, refined, otherworldly. Only allowed to flick around with students of the same upper class. 

Half-bloods, on the other hand, belong to inconsistent ideologies. They teeter on the precipice of honor, waiting for Death Eaters like Umbridge and whoever else is in the Ministry to decide their fate. 

Muggleborns, it's best not to get started.

Y/N doodles a few meaningless shapes, swirling her quill around the parchment as she thinks of Theodore. Lately, it's become increasingly difficult to talk to him, let alone spot him, with all the changes in place.

Her classmates know she’s not paying attention and that she's only pretending she has her nose buried deep in her notes. Her quill, which scratches against the parchment, is nothing but a ruse to get the Carrows off her scent. 

This class truly has nothing to offer except for a modicum of nostalgia and a barrage of abuse, so if the Carrows are so gullible to believe that Y/N is actively listening, then so be it. 

By now, she takes it a step further, looking up to meet the eyes of the young children brought forth by the Carrows. She’s mastered the art of stoicism to a T, gazing at their expressions without showing a measly emotion. But every single time, she finds herself transported eons back to a time when things were drastically better.

Her memories vary, depending on whatever catalyst she encounters. She recalls seeing a girl with ginger waves once, and her mind acted on autopilot, bringing her back to the times she and her friends would huddle in their common room to animatedly talk about the latest Weasley prank. 

At the previous hints of pink, she remembered Umbridge when she was finally escorted outside of Hogwarts grounds. 

And today, her memories are not too different. Bittersweet at best and wistful at most. 

She finds a boy biting down on his lower lip. He’s a Gryffindor, judging by the color of his tie, more so by his audaciousness when he decides to lift his head and contain his fear. His eyes are hazel, edging closer to honey brown underneath the dim light of the classroom. And her mind is cruel enough to conjure the image of Theodore hovering above her naked body with lustful hazel eyes and abused fiery lips. 

Theodore doesn’t particularly fancy his eye color—he doesn’t quite fancy much about himself. He’s not oblivious to his popularity, but unlike Draco Malfoy, who shines like the stars, Theodore Nott glows like the moon in a dance of subtlety and intensity; a paradoxical luminosity that always leaves Y/N in awe. 

He never particularly bothered her during their first couple of years at Hogwarts, which explains why they never interacted until their fifth year. Back when Umbridge was foul toward the student population, especially vile toward anyone of lesser blood. 

Dennis Creevey, who had been a first-year at that time, fell victim to her malice. His penance for being born to muggle parents was bloodily etched on his hand. Y/N tried to help him, even though her own hand was hurting just as badly. The healing spells didn’t counter the dark magic infused in the quills, and while she could handle the pain, the poor eleven-year-old couldn’t. 

"May I?" a voice softly breathed from behind her, causing her to jump slightly. She turned to see the unexpected sight of Theodore Nott, dressed in an emerald green tie and an aura of pristine silver. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, and her hands trembled, a reaction heightened by the delicate hints of cinnamon swirling in the air.

When Theodore pulled out his wand, Dennis cowered. And to her surprise, Theodore’s face fell. Yet he quickly covered his crestfallen expression with a mask of pure stoicism.

Y/N’s gaze meandered away from the Slytherin and settled on the young Gryffindor. “It’s okay, Dennis,” she recalled herself saying at the time, even though she hadn’t mentally given her words the green light to tumble out of her mouth. Both Dennis and Theodore seemed equally surprised, turning their heads her way. “He’s not going to hurt you.” 

Maybe it was the softness of Theodore’s hazel eyes, or maybe it was how he abstained from touching the boy's bruised hand and elected to kneel to his level. To this day, Y/N doesn’t know what exactly made her fall for Theodore at that exact moment in time. 

Yet, all she knows in certainty is that she’s in love with Theodore Aurelius Nott. Pureblood, Slytherin Elite, Son of Darkness. But what can she do if one glance at his hazel orbs leaves her drowning in the depths of his moonshine?

“Miss Y/L/N!” 

Y/N’s head jerks when a protruding voice disturbs her reverie. She chances a glance at the front of the classroom, finding Alecto Carrow’s lidded eyes on her. Bright and sage, a stark contrast to the malevolence nestled within them.

“Yes?” Y/N wonders aloud.

“Given your diligence in recording the theoretical aspect of The Unforgivables, I believe it’s time for you to engage in the practicalities of said lesson,” Alecto announces with a tone that leaves no room for negotiation or refutation. 

With a sharp nod, she ushers Y/N out of her seat, beckoning her over until she's two steps away from her. Y/N stands idly, unaware of whether she's going to role-play as the tormentor or the tormented. But her internal questions are answered the moment Amycus Carrow shoves the Gryffindor boy with hazel eyes into her line of sight.

"Go on." Alecto wears a sinister expression as she levels Y/N with a taunting smile. "Demonstrate your aptitude to the class.”

Y/N doesn't step back nor does she shy away. She clings to the apathetic front she's adopted from her boyfriend, her gaze falling on the young boy, and her thoughts drowning out Alecto's sharp voice. By the time Amycus asks her to draw out her wand, she's mustered up enough confidence to answer with a terse "no."

“What do you mean no, you insolent brat!” Alecto bellows, being the first to succumb to her temper. For a snake, she is known to be as hot-headed as a lion. 

“I refuse to perform any curse on anyone,” Y/N clarifies, purposefully refraining from calling her “professor.” And if she had half a brain cell, perhaps she would’ve figured it out. 

“Is that so?” Alecto challenges. 

“Yes.” 

“Very well, despicable half-breed. You know the rules. You’re either the rodent or the snake. Guess you’ll always be the former.” 

She's calm and aloof on the outside, but Y/N is dreading what’s coming next. She’s never fallen victim to the Cruciatus, though she has heard all about it from Theodore and his friends—even once from Harry. 

She watches with steady eyelashes as Alecto draws her wand and points it at her. Although the curse is released, and screams reverberate across the walls, both Alecto and Y/N remain silent.

To Y/N's horror, the young Gryffindor boy thrashes on the ground with clenched fists and agonizing wails. Above him, Amycus stands like a conductor, his wand beckoning the crooked notes of the boy's voice to rise to a crescendo.

Finally, the screams die down, extinguishing and feeding the anguish of every student at once. Amycus turns to address the class, dismissing them all except for one. “You go ahead, Alecto,” he directs toward his sister. “If the little mouse wishes to squeak, then she’ll have to suffer graver consequences than what you have to offer.” 

Whatever Amycus has in mind seems to appease Alecto. Her expression is mirthful as she grabs the robes of the young Gryffindor boy and sweeps him out of the class, using his body as a cleaning broom. 

The students all file out, their glances lingering on Y/N. As the last of the students leaves, Amycus turns to the young girl. 

“Your wand, Miss Y/L/N,” he demands. Y/N debates not giving it to him, but she knows if she doesn’t, he’ll come and collect it himself. So, she reluctantly hands it over. “Ah, pretty little thing. What’s the core?”

“Dragon heartstring.” 

“Fitting for a spitfire like you.” 

“I thought I was a meek little mouse,” Y/N counters, making Amycus grin. 

“You are a lot of things, little girl,” he replies as he twirls her wand in his hand. “The wood?” 

“Larch.” 

“Enlighten me, Y/L/N,” Amycus voices out. If Y/N’s a mouse, then he seems to enjoy being a cat. His long and calloused fingers trace her wand while he circles her, trying to break her resolve. “What does the wood say about you?”

The question strokes her ear, carried by Amycus’ ghastly voice. Y/N stills, not seeing where he’s going. She jolts as Amycus taps the wand against her thigh, particularly the exposed skin between her skirt and stockings. 

“It’s best paired with wizards and witches who possess hidden talents,” she replies tersely. 

The hum coming from her side indicates that Amycus is listening—paying attention, though, not so much, considering he’s rather preoccupied with poking her skin with her wand while rotating around her. 

He’s playing with his food, Y/N tells herself, knowing this is just another trick of his. Somewhere in his sadist brain, his senses are sparking with delight at the prospect of Y/N’s discomfort, relishing the power he has over her.

A part of her wants to jam her wand in his eyes, pluck his eyeballs out, and proceed to stuff each in his nostrils. But another part of her stands idle, not even blinking as he keeps up his ministrations. 

Amycus smiles, taking up more of her personal space. Y/N’s senses are lit on fire as he traces her wand across her body. “Is your mouth a part of those talents, filthy witch? You don’t talk much, but rotten girls like you must know how to use their mouths.”

“To scream, I presume,” Y/N breathes. Her quip hits Amycus right in the face, and the maniac grins. His face is painted with a nefarious glee, that of a predator eager to feast on its prey. 

SA and Attempted Rape Content Begins Here. Skip Through This Scene by Scrolling to "Scene End."

The unsettling sensation against her ribs dissipates when Amycus pulls the wand away, but the apprehension still lingers. As she mentally prepares herself for the inevitable pain that comes along with the Cruciatus, Amycus’ hand cups her chin, and his molten lips crash against hers. The sensation is so crippling and unfavorable it sends her tumbling back into the table.

The pressure on YN’s cheeks intensifies until it becomes sharp and metallic. Fingers dig into her flesh, paving a path for Amycus’ tongue to follow. Though her hands slap against his chest, legs flailing around, he continues his exploration in the depths of her throat. 

It feels like he’s finally thrown her off a cliff, yet with all the energy Y/N can muster, she pushes his body away and slaps him across the face. 

He looks at her with unadulterated rage. Y/N forgoes reading his face in favor of bolting toward the door. But before she reaches the handle, she’s yanked back by her robes. The fabric tears, as does her heart. Amycus then throws her on top of the teacher’s desk and catches both her wrists in his hand. 

“Pitty your blood is impure, little witch. If you had to match your filthy mouth with something, I’d rather it be your pussy than your blood.” 

“Get off me,” Y/N enunciates with a quiver in her voice. It seems to feed Amycus’ wicked desires because she suddenly finds him nipping at her neck in pure delight. 

“You’ve disobeyed my direct order. When witches are bad, they’re punished.”

“You’re sick!” 

“And you’re delicious.” 

Y/N takes a deep breath, burying his face further in the junction between her neck and shoulder. His kisses are filthy, heavy, frigid. They make her body feel like ice—they make her feel as if she's been snatched and thrown into the depths of the Dark Lake. 

Amycus' hands grab her waist and flip her over until her gaze meets the darkness of the desk’s wood. If the sensation of the wand against her thigh left acid in her mouth, then Amycus’ fingers left her with bile overwhelming her senses.

“What a pretty little ass you’re hiding under here. It was made to be ruined.”

Y/N doesn’t have time to panic. In fluid movements, Amycus lifts her skirt, rips off the shorts she typically wears beneath, and spanks her ass. 

She yelps, struggling against the hand against her back that’s keeping her on the desk. She’s hit one more time and then two and three. The slaps are forceful and fiery, leaving her skin scalded and singed. 

A roar erupts from the depths of her soul when she feels a finger easing her thong. The force of her scream catches Amycus off guard, enough for Y/N to elbow him and dive to the ground for her wand. 

“Cruc—”

“Oh, so now you want to cast it!” 

With ease, Amycus manages to slap Y/N’s wand away. He ruthlessly places his palm against her stomach, pushing her back to the ground. 

Her head aches from the force of the blow, a scream barrelling through the space between her lips when Amycus towers over her, digging his obsidian nails into her skin. 

“It’s a shame that the most delightful toys happen to be the filthiest. Maybe this will teach you and your kind that you will forever remain beneath us.”

Y/N cries as Amycus incapacitates her lips. She squirms underneath his body, vaguely aware of the fabric he’s tearing in half, though oblivious to what clothing item it belongs to. 

She tries to non-verbally cast a spell, but her mind is too distracted to focus on the incantation. All she knows is that she needs to get Amycus off her. And yet, no amount of strength in her hands or her spells manages to draw him to a stop. 

His spit traces her lower lip, tantalizingly closing the distance between her mouth and collarbone. Y/N shudders, bellowing at the thought of his saliva trailing her skin. 

She wails, screams, and shouts until she realizes that Amycus probably cast Silencio without her knowing. Though futile, she tries to push his body weight off her, even resorts to kicking his ribs. 

It doesn’t work... until by some miracle from Merlin himself Amycus’ body flies toward the back wall, releasing her.

Scene End

Y/N gasps, pushing her palms against the tiled floor and lifting herself to a sitting position. Her chest heaves as she looks at the discarded fabric of her skirt, the scattered buttons of her shirt, and the remains of her robe that are haphazardly strewn across the room. 

Faint sounds register at the back of her mind. A heavy breath, mirroring her own, emanates from behind, accompanied by an erratic heartbeat that matches hers. Amidst it all, she picks up on Amycus’s forlorn groans, muffled by the surrounding darkness. Resilient ropes now bind his hands and feet, rendering him completely motionless.

“Get Y/N out of here,” a voice orders. It’s far away—at least, Y/N thinks so. But despite the fog around its edges, she can somehow sense the enmity lacing it. 

Before she can process the shadows creeping closer to her side, a robe is draped over her shoulders as arms wrap securely around her.

She thrashes against the man holding her, trying to repel his hands from her body. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says in a low octave. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I promise you. He can't touch you anymore.” 

The voice carries a bit of an edge, yet it’s the most soothing sound she’s heard all day. Her lips quiver as she internally fights with her thoughts, head spinning and shaking in defeat. 

The halls around her move fast, time seemingly irrelevant at this point. She’s crying and mumbling incoherently, burying her face in the fabric of this stranger’s clothes, which smell like a familiar blend of mint and citrus. 

The robe is wrapped tighter around her shoulders, and she receives a faint squeeze as she’s brought up a staircase. Words are whispered, a door is opened, and voices mingle with one another until a delicate tone enters her headspace.

“Draco, who’s that you’re carrying?” 

“It’s Y/N,” the male voice, the one belonging to Draco, replies. Draco kicks open a door and places Y/N on the bed. She wails even more at the action, curling herself into a ball—at this point, she doesn’t know if she should be relieved or terrified.

“What the hell happened to her?” 

“Lower your voice, Pansy! Can’t you see she’s scared enough?” 

Pansy stutters for a few seconds before asking again, “Who did this to her?” 

Draco hesitates, looking between the two young women. “Amycus,” he replies. And though it’s barely a mumble, it’s enough to send Y/N spiraling. 

Pansy’s jade eyes tread carefully as they peer over Y/N’s frail body. She sees the red marks on her hands and the blood that seeps from the cuts on her face. “Cruciatus?” she asks, but something in her tone makes it obvious that it’s just wishful thinking. 

“No,” Draco answers. Y/N’s sniffles and shudders fill the air as Pansy and Draco exchange silent glances. Y/N clutches her throat, rubbing it to try and get herself more oxygen. 

“What do we do?” 

Draco's footsteps echo as he retreats toward the door. “You're going to her clean up. If Theo hasn’t killed Amycus yet, I’m going to join him in his pursuit.”

There was something in that last line that clamped agony around Y/N’s heart, squeezing like a vice. She wept, only vaguely conscious of Pansy’s soothing touch in her hair and the remnants of Draco's anger looming around the room.

The mirror in the bathroom captures two girls in its glassy frame. One of them is put together while the other looks worse for wear. Y/N stares at her wild reflection, moroseness painting her irises. A tiny sob escapes her barely parted lips, and Pansy decides to tear Y/N’s attention away from the broken girl staring at them through the mirror. 

She softly holds Y/N's hand and helps her to the shower, turning her head when Y/N undresses and then carefully cleans her blotched skin. Once they’re done, she lends Y/N some pajamas and underwear, giving her the privacy and space to change into them before helping her dry her hair.

Wordlessly, Pansy leads Y/N away from the mirror. Her grip is firm as she swings open the bathroom door. Y/N squints against the sudden invasion of light from the room beyond. Her gaze takes in the expanse of her surroundings and the rich emerald hue of the Head Dorm's walls. Then, her eyes lock on two men. One with platinum blond hair and the other with brunette locks, both embracing the shadows with deadly intent in their fiery eyes.

She bristles, caught between shying away and clutching the attention she’s receiving from them. Y/N doesn’t dwell on their appearance for too long, afraid to develop the ability to read their eyes and stumble across the shame and pity possibly nestled within them. 

Pansy whispers something under her breath, which Y/N fails to hear under the barrage of despondency she finds herself in. She feels Pansy’s hesitant touch on her forearm, briefly catching her and Draco retreating away, the door to the room closing behind them in a soft thud. 

Silence runs freely around the room, undeterred by the confined space. Its loudness disturbs Y/N, forcing her to wince. She wills herself to say something, but all the words are lodged in her throat, searing it from the inside out.

Theodore takes a deep breath, the sound piercing the stillness in the air. But his words don’t leave his mouth the same way his gaze never paces beyond a fixed point on the ground. 

“Why are you not looking at me?” Y/N asks. She’s surprised that she’s articulated her thoughts even though she doesn’t have enough strength to speak.

Theodore shakes his head. “I can’t”. His words have finally forced his gaze away from the ground, although he’s refusing to settle it on her.

“I wouldn’t look at me either. I get it.” Y/N sniffles. Darkness clouds her sight. She’s tired and aching, barely finding her grip on reality. 

She wants to scream, and she wants to cry, but it’s like she doesn’t know how. Like her mainframe has been hijacked and forced to shut down. 

Something in her periphery catches her attention. Theodore is now standing before her, hands trembling by his sides. They move to embrace her waist, to hold her shoulders, to cup her face; but they never do. They only trace invisible lines that mirror her figure. It’s then that she notices the fray in his gaze. Instead of the rejection and the indifference she expected to find, there’s dejectedness, misery, and pain. 

“I would look at you forever if you let me,” Theodore answers with his hands hanging in the space between them. “If you would still allow me.”

“Touch me,” Y/N retorts. Hold me, find me, fix me, love me.

And Theodore does just that with unprecedented gentleness. He traces her cheeks with his thumb and pulls her by the waist closer to his side. His nose nuzzles her neck, breathing in her scent. His lips press against the shell of her ear, his warm breath penetrating her soul and sending a fond tingle down her spine. 

He touches her, not like she’s a porcelain doll or a bomb about to detonate. Theodore touches her like she’s the most precious piece of art he’s ever encountered, and he’s afraid that even one stumbled breath could force her colors away.

“I love you,” he confesses. A loan tear accompanies his declaration, inscribing the words on the fabric of Y/N’s soul. “And I am so sorry. So sorry, my love, for what my absence and negligence have put you through.”

“Theo…”

“No, Y/N. Don’t. Don’t try to say anything.” 

Theodore wipes her tears, gently tucking some loose strands of her hair behind her ears. Y/N nods, allowing her boyfriend to hoist her in his arms and carry her to bed. She hides her face in his neck, absorbing the lingering traces of his sandalwood perfume. 

When he places her on the bed, she notices the change in his demeanor as soon as she tangles her legs with his and rushes to press his hands against his chest. Her eyes fill with tears, and she fails to prepare herself for the rejection that she’s afraid might be rushing her way. 

To her astonishment, Theodore pulls her into a tighter hug, as if seeking a connection beyond the surface, binding together not only their skin but also the intricate layers below—souls, hearts, atoms.

“Did he…” Theodore pauses, choking on unspoken words. “Did he go far?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. You and Draco came just in time.”

“Barely,” Theodore denies. A stolen glance gives Y/N a clear view of his clenched jaw and crestfallen expression. The war may be looming, yet to find its way to the Wizarding World, but it has already made a dominion in Theodore’s features. 

“Just in time.” Minutes pass while Y/N is cocooned protectively in between Theodore’s strong arms. They encase her, filling her being with the placidity and the tenderness that was robbed of her some time ago. Her eyes close, darkness not as fearful as it seemed now that Theodore’s hands are weaving through her hair, and his voice is carrying a tender lullaby. “How did you know?”

Theodore’s hands falter and the lullaby ends on an abrupt note. His arms pull Y/N closer to his chest as he ruefully explains what happened, “A Gryffindor boy found me. He was frightened and jittery. At first, I thought it was because Draco and I were standing together. Then he said something about Defense class, the Carrows, and the Cruciatus. Your name got suddenly tangled in the gruesomeness of it all, so I rushed to the class as far as I could." 

“They wanted me to hurt him,” Y/N whispers in a small voice.

“I know.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

Theodore looks at her with glassy eyes. “I know you would never.” 

His hands sooth Y/N, featherless touches easing the altercation in her soul. She meets his gaze, heart shattering at the pain he harbors. She knows it’s not easy for Theodore to be a silent witness to torture and heartache, understanding his unconscious pursuit of absorbing pain and rooting it in his very being.

“Please,” she begins, “please, Theo. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I’ve failed you.”

“You haven’t.”

He declines vehemently, “I promised to protect you from the darkness, within me and beyond me. And I have clearly done neither.”

You had no way of knowing! Y/N argued in her head. You, alone, cannot stop this madness! So many rebuttals swarmed her head. She wanted to pelt Theodore with every single one of them until some sense got knocked into him. “Darkness,” he says so loosely as if he’s ever exposed her to any of it. 

All her memories of Theodore exuded radiance, softness, and peace. He’s only ever steered her away from the darkness, whether it was from Umbridge’s rage back in their fifth year or Bellatrix’s terror at the end of their sixth. 

To hear him speak of himself like this, as if he’s one of them, a shadow branded by the mark of death, hurts her more than everything Amycus did to her. 

“What did you do to Amycus?”

The name causes Theodore’s heart to falter beneath the palm of Y/N’s hands. Her eyes trace the veins of his neck, astounded by the voraciousness of their color as his anger escalates. “Do not say that vermin’s name.” 

Darkness, Theodore would call it if he sees himself now. And yet, all the world is witnessing according to Y/N is a darker shade of love and concern: just as sincere, a lot more warm. 

“Carrow,” she concedes. “What did you do to Carrow?”

“I wanted to kill him,” Theodore answers, studying Y/N’s face for a reaction. “I almost killed him.” If he was looking for disgust or worse, fear, he couldn’t find it.

“And why didn’t you?”

“Draco called for Snape.”

Y/N hums, absentmindedly reaching for Theodore’s hand. He hesitates when he feels her fingers entwining with his, his entire body tensing up. Y/N whines, and he takes a deep breath. His fingers lace hers, squeezing her hand before bringing it to his lips. 

“Are you in trouble?”

“No, treasure. No one but that scum is. Snape said nothing. He bound his hands and escorted him to his office.”

“Good,” Y/N replies.

“That’s not all,” Theodore intercedes, catching her attention. She shifts in his arms, waiting for his next words with a bated breath. “We’re getting out of here.”

“What?” came Y/N’s question, loud, sharp, and clear. It resonated across the room, its intensity surprising her.

“I didn’t kill him,” Theodore admits. He’s moved now, body peering away from Y/N’s hold to better study her features. She keeps them the way they are, with no sign of the acrimony or the resentment she suspects Theodore is looking for. “But I uttered the curse. Draco countered it somehow, and it rebounded. Hit the wall instead. It cracked it, the same way I cracked every single bone in his body and watched him bleed.”

As the words fill the space between them, Y/N rushes to grab Theodore’s hands. She inspects them, surprised to find them bruising. How did I not notice this? She whimpers at her late realization—her neglect. But now that his marred skin is beneath the scrutiny of her gaze, she notices that the blue and purple hues are rather dull in comparison to his story.

Almost as if Theodore understood her silent concerns, he says, “Cruciatus.” Y/N bristles, though her body is traitorous. It jolts, feeling the residue of the invisible needles and acid-laced knives. “Sectumsempra and a number of other curses that flew out of my mouth without thought when I saw you lying on the ground, bloody, bruised, broken. Torn apart by a mediocre middle-aged man, who deserves nothing but to be decapitated, torn limb by limb, until there’s not even a speck of his ashes left on the—”

“Theo,” Y/N calls. Her voice quivers, mirroring the tremble in her body provoked by those words. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Theodore sniffs, head bending down. 

Y/N rushes to answer, shaking her head violently. “No. I can’t… I can’t watch you tear yourself apart over something you had no control over.”

“I—”

“Listen to me! Listen to me and not the lies inside your head. Does it hurt? Yes. Does it burn? More than a Fienfyre cast by the Dark Lord himself. But you weren’t there—no, Theo, come back to me and stop traveling in time inside your head.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” Theo defended. “Merlin, Y/N. I was supposed to be there! To stop all of this from happening. You’re in pain more than I am. So, stop subduing my anger!”

“I’m subduing your self-deprecation! I’m not blaming you, and I will not fan the flames of your anger. You had no way, no way, of knowing Carrow would do this.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he answers with a little less fight and a lot more shame. 

“And you did, Theo,” Y/N assures, bringing herself closer to his side. “You got me out. You saved me. In time.”

“Barely!” Theodore screams, a deluge of tears running down his cheeks and burying his resolve in their undertow. “But I will save you this time. I’ll get you out. Both of us. I’ll take you away, somewhere you won’t be judged for your blood or your mistake in choosing me.”

“You’re not a mistake,” Y/N refutes, begging him to see. “Look at you. You call yourself a vision of darkness when your love and care are shining through.”

“My love is darkness, viciousness, and cruelty.” It’s almost as if he’s the one begging her to understand.

Tears cascade down Y/N’s cheeks, the saltiness and bitterness of them incomparable to Theodore’s words. “Your love is fierceness,” Y/N professes, taking Theodore’s breath away, “seamlessness, and warmth.”

“I made you live through pain,” Theodore pleads, hoping she agrees. But she doesn't.

“And I will live after it. With you.”

The confession shatters the last of Theodore’s resolve. He pulls Y/N closer, resting his chin atop her head and enveloping her in a secure embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he cries. His fingers weave through her hair, gripping the back of her head, anchoring himself in her presence—convincing himself that she’s here. “You are so strong, treasure. Stronger than life and death, brighter than light, and fiercer than shadows. I love you, my Y/N. And I swear on your head and on my mother’s last breath that I will protect you even if I have to do the unforgivable. No one will ever hurt you ever again.”

“I know,” Y/N nods as Theodore kisses the crown of her head. Each breath he takes, every word he utters, stitches through her soul, mending the threads of herself. “And I love you all the more for it.”

“You’ve endured a war. I’ll be damned if I let you face another,” Theodore promises, capturing Y/N’s lips and seamlessly merging his soul with hers.

Tomorrow remains uncertain, and control extends only so far across the horizon. Yet, with Theodore by her side, Y/N finds the darkness considerably less formidable. Even if he's willing to commit the unforgivable to shield her, forgiveness is a given. His love is the tranquility that follows the tempest, and she's ready to navigate through destruction with Theodore.

I never expected to write about a topic as painful and sensitive as SA or rape.

Hearing the multiple accounts of women around me made me see how these experiences are prevalent yet scarcely communicated. When I wrote this piece, it was with no intention to diminish the seriousness of the issue but rather use this platform as a conduit to raise the matter and bring it to light. Whether you’ve been personally impacted by this disheartening situation or witnessed someone close to you go through this, I want you to know that you are not alone. You are incredibly brave for enduring this, and there is no reason to feel ashamed. You lived through it and will live after it with even more fierceness and courage than you've ever had.

If you ever feel like talking, please know that I am here to listen, without judgment or reservation. 🤍

All-Fandom Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

[saltywritings]

Bend The Knee | Aegon ii Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You have been called upon at court to bend the knee to the newly crowned king, however, a surprising turn takes place when you bend the knee.

Warnings: Smut, Minors do not interact, male oral receiving, oral as a demand, adult content, slight female receiving.

A palpable undercurrent of terror unfurled its tendrils within you as you ventured through the hallowed halls of the red keep. The subtle cadence of your heels created a delicate patter, resonating against the stoic stone floors, each step echoing the rhythmic pulse of your heart, which had quickened its tempo within the confines of your chest. The ominous ambiance of the surroundings enveloped you, casting shadows that danced in eerie tandem with the disquiet settling in the air. The very essence of the fortress seemed to be imbued with an unspoken tension, as if secrets whispered among the walls, and the weight of history bore down upon you, amplifying the sense of foreboding that clung to the atmosphere like a shroud.

How could one not succumb to an overwhelming sense of terror while traversing the path leading to the throne room? The ominous summons from the king, directed specifically at you, added a layer of apprehension that hung heavy in the air. This unsettling journey unfolded in the aftermath of the harrowing executions, where both your brother and father met their demise for adamantly refusing to yield before the might of Aegon Targaryen.

The weight of grief and defiance still lingered, casting a somber shadow over your steps. The very air seemed charged with a palpable tension, the echoes of the recent tragedy reverberating through the corridors. Each footfall echoed with a haunting resonance, a morose rhythm that mirrored the throbbing ache in your heart. The throne room loomed ahead, its imposing doors a portal to an uncertain fate.

As you approached, the memories of your fallen kin and their unwavering loyalty to their principles pressed upon your consciousness. The foreboding atmosphere intensified, a testament to the gravity of the situation. The iron grip of fear tightened its hold, fueled not only by the formidable presence of Aegon Targaryen but also by the specter of the irrevocable losses suffered in the name of steadfast allegiance.

As the grand doors swung open, revealing the regal spectacle of the throne room, your gaze fixed upon the newly crowned king. Adorning his head was a formidable black crown, adorned with a radiant ruby at its center, a symbol of authority that seemed to cast a profound weight upon his brow. His dark, penetrating eyes met yours as he beckoned you forward with a commanding yet composed presence.

"Lady Y/N, come closer," he declared, his voice unwavering and devoid of menace. The resonance of his command held a magnetic power, drawing you toward him. The air in the throne room seemed to pulse with a peculiar intensity, as if the very fabric of destiny hung in the balance.

Complying with the regal summons, you gracefully approached the throne, your steps measured and deliberate. Standing before him, the gravity of the moment became palpable. The ruby at the heart of his crown gleamed like a beacon, a testament to the authority he now wielded. The silence that enveloped the room spoke volumes, punctuating the significance of your presence in Aegon's gaze.

"I ask of you what I have asked of all my subjects. Prove yourself loyal." Aegon notified you, his voice hung with authority with each word that echoed through the throne room. You stood before him; despite the loyalty that your father and brother had put their life on the line for you were not willing to die. they made their choice and you could be nothing but proud based on the honor they were willing to die for. therefore, you made your own choice.

You sunk down to your knee and looked to the ground as you pledged yourself loyal to his crown. However, a great confusion managed to overcome you as you heard a small laughter come from the king.

"Both knees, lady y/n." Aegon spoke with a certain chuckle to your tone. A great confusion engulfed your senses by his sudden amusement. Still, you complied wanting to ensure that you made it out of this room with your life. You now rested before him with both your knees flat on the ground.

"Come closer," he urged as you gave a small slide on the ground. Remaining on your knees he let out a groan in anticipation. "Come here," he let out an eager demand grabbing onto you by your waist and sliding you so close to him that your knees were touching the iron throne. You were between his legs, looking up at him with pitiful eyes as he smiled. It was only now that you had noticed the growing erection in Aegon's pants and the sudden blush that covered your cheeks.

"Open my pants and use your mouth to show me how loyal you are to your king." Aegon demanded of you, sitting back as he looked to you waiting for you to make a move.

"B-but your grace . . . "you attempted to struggle. "I am a maiden I do not know how to do such a thing." you suggest your voice stuttering in tear unable to look up to meet his eyes.

Aegon let out a sigh as he took your hands. "It is not hard to do. I will show you," he insisted grabbing onto your hands and pulling them to his pants.

He helped you open the button holding them together and brought your hand to the inside of his pants. His cock felt soft against your hand and was throbbing from the very contact you offered. Aegon guided your hand to pull it out and your eyes widened at the sight of his cock before your face. Aegon could not help but to smile at the way your eyes looked to bewildered at the sight of him.

"Now open that sweet mouth of yours," Aegon demanded, you complied without hesitation. You knew what was to happen next and you worried any lack of performance would result in the end of your life and therefore.

With your mouth open wide he grabbed you by the roots of your hair and sank you onto his cock. It was a strange feeling, to have one in your mouth. It tasted slightly salty and you could not help but notice the vein that was pulsing against your tongue as he sunk you onto him. He let out a loud groan of pleasure begun to sink back into the throne.

With this gloved leather hands rooted into your hair he looked at you with his cold eyes, biting on his lip as he begun to force your head up and down on his cock. You complied with the action, however, begun to gad the further he forced your head down. It was perhaps for a moment you attempted to wiggle off a bit to ease from the gagging but Aegon only took efforts to force you down further.

"Hush, Hush. Relax sweet thing that's part of it." He insisted to you as he continued to force your head up and down on his cock until he had balls deep, forcing your lips to swallow his entire length.

"Fuck- Fuck, you're so beautiful when you're swallowing my cock like that." Aegon let out in a groan, still listening to the wet sounds your mouth made as it engulfed his cock. His boots sliding across the floor as he attempted to hold out. But there had been something too good about the feeling of your mouth around him.

Aegon soon pulled you off his cock, watching as the spit that trailed from your mouth and down your chin connected to his cock. Aegon stood before you, his hand in your hair still as he forced you to look up at him. "Fuck, yes-" he let out in a moan again as his cold eyes remained on yours.

Aegon kept you looking up at him as he began to release. The only thing you could do was look up helplessly at your king as he begun to release his seed across your face, watching as it dripped down your cheeks and onto the fine lace of your dress. "You look so beautiful with my cum ruining your innocent face." He said with a smile. "Good little loyal subject," he took a second to praise you while he stuffed his cum covered cock back into his pants.

"Rise," He remanded and you complied standing to your feet, his cum covering your face, you dared not move. However, you were met with sudden shock when Aegon went to his knees, the king before you on your knees was certainly not what you were expecting and he lifted up your dress. Aegon was now before your clothes womanhood and he soon pressed his face against it, taking in a deep breath as his other hand held your back steady. You let out a small yelp and could not help the involuntary struggle.

"Hold still- you are still proving yourself." Aegon reminded you and you attempted to so, looking as his nose pressed into your cunt and he took deep breaths in. He let out a hum of approval as he pulled his face away and begun to pull your underwear down just far enough to expose yourself to him. Aegon did not hesitate, his tongue managed to do a swipe across the inside of your cunt and he soon let out another hum.

"Gods, you little whore. You fucking loved that. You're dripping wet, like a ripe peach." Aegon said, with his hands holding onto your waist his tongue went in again. it licked and sucked and while you found pleasure in it that was not his intention. No, Aegon was trying to suck out every drop he could. However, after a few moments he pulled away, pulling down your dress but leaving your underwear exposed.

"You are expected at my chambers at nightfall. I believe I know a few others ways to test your loyalty."

[cherryredstars]

OH MY GOD REQUESTS ARE OPEN💃🏾💃🏾

gosh cherry i love you and your blog sm it makes my day😭

could i please have a college or highschool au where reader studies subjects like social science and business and literature and he does stem subjects and he at first has like a superiority complex, he doesn’t intend to, but he can’t help it, until he sees the reader like talk about social issues or how she can remember 17 step procedures and shit and he’s like…wow. maybe they can be together and he sees her pretend to teach people to learn and he’s learning stuff from her and it’s wholesome asf

god i don’t know i’m sorry im rambling😭😭 you don’t have to ofc but thank you anyway

and again, love you!!

Thank you, love!!!

He's the smartest person he knows.

It's not narcissistic if it's a fact. He's the top of his major program, already has offers for Ph.D programs nationwide mailed to his door. He's sure to get into any genetics department he wants for grad school. He's the star of the industry-path students. He's just that good, and what's the harm in taking pride in your accomplishments?

But he's never met someone like you before.

Usually he wouldn't care for people like you, with their abstract liberal art degrees in nonsense majors that'll just collect dust in a box in an attic somewhere. But there is something so enduring about you, about everything you do. The way you just know what people are thinking based on the twitch of their fingers and why they think it. The way you're so open to everything in a way that would make his lab buddies laugh with their one-way minds. It amazes him, the way your view is so wide in a way that something like genetics or STEM can't comprehend. In a way they don't allow. There is something so breath-taking about the way your mind has this endless freedom that he can't even grasp. Like a kaleidoscope of colors that are simultaneously beautiful and overwhelming to the senses. Something his factual mind craves.

The first time he had seen you, he was in the library. It isn't a place he would usually go to, but he had to collect some textbooks for his professor in the storage closet. He had gotten in a bit of trouble that day for taking so long, but how could he resist when he had heard the sweet cadence of your voice through the open door of a mini-lecture room. Very few students were in the room, it looked like a side presentation; one of those assignments that forced students to present their ideas on a topic to a group of people to try to captivate them into agreeing with your findings. There was a sort of fiery passion in the way you spoke, a hardened steel in your eyes that showed your resistance to back down. It was... enchanting, siren-like. So much so that he had been forced to sit in one of the empty seats in the back of the room, eyes stuck on you as you paced the front of class and rebutted comments from your peers.

He had no idea what you were talking about, but it still had that overwhelming effect on him. One that had him pressing the surface of his stomach against the hard edge of the lecture tables, his senses honing in to hear every last syllable that departed from your lips. There was this dream-like quality to you, something that consumed the mind and made them listen. A sort of intelligence that he would never know or understand. One that he would spend hours trying to learn if you were the one explaining it. He can't remember how long it took for him to start breathing again when your eyes scanned the room and locked onto him, clear confusion on your face at the random presence of college's most-awarded student. He could feel his heart bursting against his ribs, mouth parting slightly from the honor to be the center of your attention for even a few seconds before you looked away and carried on.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like the smartest person in the world. Not when you left him absolutely stupefied.

[melancholymetropolis]

Exchange

plot: In which a Bridesmaid finds out she accidentally got married in Vegas months prior.

pairings: Clan Leader!Gojo Saturo x Lawyer!Reader

genre(s): Second Chance; Accidental Marriage

warnings: unedited (mostly). Golden Retriever/ Fox Au. Gojo is a goofball and makes Y/N laugh a lot. She is very much anti-marriage, but open to love. COMEDY. Couple's Banter. Lots of fluff. Gojo fell first and hard. New Love.

a/n: this will be a mini series with weekly updates.

w.c: 3.5k

“You have gotten even more beautiful since the day you left me.”

My eyes immediately widen from the sentiment. The air in my throat had become thick and my hands had begun to shake. I almost didn’t recognize his voice. Its cadence was a distant memory; one I had left behind months ago. In Vegas, of all places. It was the way he said “beautiful” that transported me back in time. It was the first thing he said to me. In a dark club, under neon lights and a cloud of smoke. He didn’t use basic, sexually charged words to get my attention. He was respectful, I liked that about him. He had been the only guy to introduce himself and offered to pay for my drink properly. He called me things like “beautiful”, “gorgeous” and “breathtaking”. Those three little words had meant more to me than whatever bullshit the other guys were doing. 

His electric, blue eyes seemed to glow in the low light. They never wandered anywhere else but my face when we talked. He seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to say. From me saying that it was my first time in Vegas to how much I hated crowded spaces. I had only come to the club to celebrate a friend’s engagement and was labeled the designated driver for that night. If I recall, he said my job was “honorable” and applauded me for taking it seriously.

And, in an effort to make up for our lost drink, he gave me his number. Told me to call him when I was free. 

Gojo’s eyes were just as I remembered. So bright and powerful— almost inviting to look into. He wore a navy blue suit to compliment the intimidating orbs and brighten his pale complexion. His unruly, white hair had been combed back with a singular curl setting in the middle of his forehead. The silver watch on his wrist looked heavy and vintage— possibly a family heirloom of some sort. I had forgotten how tall he had been. Even though I had worn six-inch heels, he still was a few inches taller than me. And I definitely was not a short woman.

“I left you?” I said, finally coming back to earth. “I don’t recall ever doing such a thing.”

A sly smirk began to form on his face. “Oh really?” He replied, taking slow steps towards me. “That’s mighty convenient on your end.”

“How so?”

“It relieves you of any guilt.”

A painful silence fell between us. Our eyes locked in a heated exchange, while our hands remained by our sides. I couldn’t deny the connection we had—couldn’t forget the spark. 

“Bride or groom?” I asked, turning my back to him. 

The tall man grew closer to me. He took his stance about two feet away from my spot on the balcony. He placed his forearms on the edge and leaned forward. There was a painful aura lingering above his head. Something was wrong. It was more than simply not seeing me for a few months. It wasn’t my habit of escaping in the middle of the night. It was complicated and conflicting.

“Groom,” he sighed, looking at the beautiful countryside of Japan. “I'm guessing you're here for the bride, given the Bridesmaid dress.”

I hummed in disagreement. “I know them both, actually. We worked at the same law firm for a couple of years. I believe I introduced them to one another, all those years ago.”

“Oh, okay,” Gojo snickered. “A divorce lawyer playing cupid. And I thought I saw everything.”

A quiet giggle fell from my lips. “That's right. Consider me a walking paradox.”

“That you are,” he replied sweetly.

The tension from earlier had broken and was replaced with a sense of familiarity. 

It was nice.

A few breaths later, Gojo opened his suit jacket and pulled out a white envelope. He handed it to me. 

I gave him a questionable look. “What's that?”

“Open it and you'll see,” was all he said before placing the envelope into my hand. 

I lifted the tab and pulled out a folded piece of paper. At the very top was the letterhead for the Clark County Department of Records in Nevada State. The letter read:

  Dear Mister Gojo Satoru,

We are pleased to inform you that your marriage license has been processed successfully and your certificate will be arriving at your residence in 3 to 4 weeks. 

As of April 25, both you and Ms. Y/N L/N are legally m—

“Nope,” I said, folding the letter and shoving it back in the envelope. “No the fuck we aren't.” I handed it back to Gojo. “Over my dead fucking body.”

“You hate me that much, sweet pea?” he chuckled. 

“I don't know you to hate you,” I replied, stuffing the envelope in my clutch purse. “And I would like to keep it that way.”

“You're breaking my heart, Y/N,” Gojo replied. His tone was still playful but there was a twinge of sadness in it. “Surely being married to me couldn’t be that bad.”

I scoffed and plucked a flute of champagne from the waiter’s tray. I took a big gulp of the bubbly beverage and sighed deeply.

Fate must've had something against me. I must've done something extraordinarily vicious in my past life to warrant such treatment. Marriage? The whole thing felt like a nightmare. I spent my whole life running from the false institution that was called “marriage”. It's a contract that almost always ends poorly. From spouses cheating on the other to emotional abuse and gaslighting— I had seen the most stable of unions crumble after a few decades. Families broken apart by secrets,  betrayal and unfortunate circumstances. Men and women alike pleading  for one more chance to correct their mistakes. And if that doesn't work, greed takes over. The desperate struggle for power between the couple and how it always ends badly. 

Marriage wasn't something I was particularly fond of. I didn’t see my sentiment changing any time soon. Even if the tall drink of water before me was legally my husband. 

I finished the rest of my beverage and placed it on a different waiter’s tray. I took several more deep breaths and turned my back to the white haired man. 

The alcohol had sedated the raging storm of emotions swirling in my being. A somber feeling eased into my heart, but I quickly shoved it back down. The blasting music in the background had made it abundantly clear that we couldn't do this here. Not now. Not at my best friends’ wedding. 

“I just need time to think this over. Figure out my next move,” I reached in my purse and pulled out a business card. I placed it on the railing. “Call me tomorrow afternoon and I'll tell you how I'd like to proceed.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Goodnight, Mr. Gojo.”

I didn't even look back as I walked away from him.

“Come on, Jessica,” I practically begged. “There has to be a way to end this shit sooner.”

“I hate to break it to you, Y/N,” my colleague sighed. “But there isn't. As you could imagine, a lot of people accidentally get married in Vegas. The number is close to about 50,000 couples. And a little less than half of them get their union annulled. Meaning, divorce court is overloaded with requests, follow ups and cases. If you file your paperwork today, you probably won't get a response for 1 to 3 months. Even then, the annulment might not even go through.”

“Because I was already married to him for six months without me knowing?” I said, pinching my nose bridge.

“Yup. To the judges eyes, it might not look like a mistake. He can still deny your annulment.”

My head was pounding and my mouth dry. An unknown fear started creeping up my spine. When I thought of the goals I set out for myself, for my life, marriage was never on the vision board. Especially not an accidental one. And definitely not one with a white haired, blue-eyed, Japanese man. However, he seemed to be awfully giddy about the union. Gojo sent upward of twenty text messages asking me how I was feeling or if I needed anything. He, also, suggested having lunch together to talk everything over. 

I looked out the cab’s window, watching the restaurant come into view. The place was clearly exclusive and very expensive. The right side of the establishment was made entirely of glass, overlooking the ocean just below the cliff. The sun was high in the sky and the clouds danced across her warm light. Waiting patiently in the front of the establishment was a familiar flock of white hair. The taller man had been shrouded in black this time. His overcoat perfectly matched the crisp suit underneath. The stark white shirt seemed brighter in the light; it made his chest glow. 

He looked entirely too perfect. As if he wanted to deflect my attention from something else. 

“Okay, Jess,” I said, pulling my gaze away from him. “I would like to survey all my options before I make a final decision.”

“Take all the time that you need, Y/N,” she replied in a sympathetic tone. “I will assist you in whatever way I can.”

“Thank you,” I smiled. “I will ring you soon.”

The car came to a gentle stop at the restaurant’s doors and I quickly ended the call. I thanked the driver once more and opened the car’s door. I barely had time to place my high heel on the pavement before a flock of black appeared in front of my door. A pale hand flickered in the doorway with outstretched fingers. I could only see his glowing chest and black attire from that angle. Not his face. I swung my other leg out of the other vehicle and took hold of his hand. The taller gentleman takes a firm grip and aids me out of the cab. As I rise from the leather seat, my eyes ease up his glowing chest and broad shoulders. They cascade up his broad shoulders and slender neck. His sharp jawline was relaxed and his plump lips in a soft smirk. Round sunglasses rested on his nose, covering his electric eyes. His white hair was messily styled atop his head and, also, seemed to glow in the sunlight. 

With my bag resting on my shoulder, I used my hand to close the car door behind me. Gojo held my hand tightly as he started to walk to the restaurant. The fingers were warm against my cool ones. It felt nice and. . . comforting. I didn’t have the desire to pull away from him. The realization we were still holding hands didn’t dawn on me until he dropped my mine. 

“Let me take your coat, Mrs. Gojo.”

And just like that, the cocky bastard ruined a perfectly good moment with a couple of words. 

I allowed him to slip my trench coat from my shoulders and settled in the seat before me. The taller gentleman slips off his jacket and takes the seat across from me. A toothy grin plastered on his lips as he eased the round sunglasses off his face. His eccentric eyes were already glued to my face. His gaze was unwavering. It was almost like he was waiting for me to say something in response to his little comment. The white haired man was ready for battle.

Unfortunately for him, I left my bulletproof vest at home. 

“Do you come here often?” I asked, bringing a glass of water to my lips.

Those bright blue eyes flickered to my lips. They darkened at the sight of such glossy softness and lingered on them even after I had placed the glass back on the table. It was almost like he was in some sort of trance. Lost in a memory that he treasured and never wanted to part from. 

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Gojo?”

“What gloss is that?” He questioned, abruptly breaking his gaze from my mouth.

“It’s from Juvia’s Place,” I answered with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

“It just looks so good on you,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I want to buy you a lifetime’s supply.”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick there, don’t you think?

“That’s what you do when you’re on a date.”

“This is not a date,” I deadpanned. 

“Sure it is,” Gojo chirped. “I mean why else would we be in such a romantic establishment.”

The wife joke seemed to be a warning shot in hindsight. The taller gentleman was trying to test the waters to see just how far he could push me. I left him stranded the day prior. In mid sentence. He was not able to plead his case, explain his side of the situation. I had laid my intentions out to him loud and clear. I wanted zero parts in this relationship. Our union was supposed to be limited anyhow. A vacation fling that went on a little too long for anyone’s liking. At least for my liking. The marriage was clearly a mistake and one I wanted to rectify quickly. However, any time I clearly displayed my disinterest in our union, Gojo was quick to deflect with a quip. That meant he wasn’t going to take anything I said or did seriously. I would have to approach this matter from a new angle. 

I would have to play his game and play it well. 

The waiter walked over to the table and set down our menus. “Is there anything I could get started for you?”

I hummed sweetly and looked over at Gojo. “What do you recommend? I’ve never been here before.”

The man’s chest practically swelled at the sentences. A new source of pride pumping through his veins. A sly smile fell on his lips as the words started to pour from his lips. In Japanese. 

“What dishes do you have without shellfish? She’s allergic.”

The question caused my eyebrows to shoot up. 

I didn’t remember disclosing that information to him. At least, in the past twenty-fours that we had reunited. That could only mean that he remembered the little tidbit I shared all those months ago. Six months to be exact. He carried that information with him for half the year, almost like he intended to use it again. His memory must’ve been impeccable, which was why he was able to recognize me at first glance at the wedding. Looking back, I didn’t even notice him until he approached me on the balcony. I had been seated with the rest of the wedding party, practically on a stage overlooking the venue and I still didn’t spot him. He would be hard not to notice. He was one of the only people I knew with stark white hair and was under the age of eighty. Along with those electric blue eyes that pierced me like a needle. The chemistry we had was undeniable and I knew we shared a mutual attraction to one another. 

Would that be enough to have a fulfilling marriage?

The waiter skated away with our orders and Gojo’s eyes locked back with mine.

“So, how long are you in Japan for?” He asked, bring a glass of water to his lips.

“Originally, I was supposed to only stay two weeks for the wedding,” I answered, tapping my hand on the edge of the table. “But, a potential client just called and asked for a consultation. They are from New York but live in Japan temporarily. So, the answer is a little unclear for me at the moment.”

The taller gentleman sighed, amused. “It seems like I have a little bit of time before we part ways once again. The heavens have truly blessed me this time.”

“And just what do you intend to do with that information, Mr. Gojo?”

“I’d like to convince you to remain Mrs. Gojo for the rest of our days together.”

“As in for the time being? While I am in Japan?”

Gojo smirked at that comment. “As in for the rest of your life, sweetheart.”

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “And how exactly are you going to get me to do that?”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His pink lips spread into a full blown smile. Those blue orbs sparkled dangerously as they flickered over my face. He seemed to be brimming with excitement. He wanted nothing more than to display his nefarious plan and keep me entangled in his spider’s web. 

“Originally, I planned on going the traditional route,” he conceded. “Showering you in gifts, expensive dinners and maybe a romantic weekend trip to Nokonoshima Island.”

“Buying a woman’s love? That is very traditional.”

“I know, but you are not a traditional woman,” he observed. “You are a divorce attorney. You are used to men attempting to buy a woman’s affection.”

“Very true.”

“So I came up with a proposal.”

“Do tell.”

“As you said, you don’t know me to hate me. Which means you don’t know me to like me either. And I, personally, think I am pretty fucking awesome.”

I chuckled, loudly. “You’re that confident, huh?”

“I am. Which is why I am suggesting that, for however long you are in Japan, we hang out.” 

“Hang out?”

“I would like to use this time to get to know each other. Continue what we started back in Vegas. Before you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you.”

The white haired man scoffed and leaned closer to me. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s not lie to each other. You practically ran your pretty booty out of my hotel room the moment the sun came up.”

“That’s not true!” I interjected with a smile.

“It is true! And you had the nerve to leave me a couple of twenties on the nightstand like I was sorta cheap whore you met on the street. I never felt so violated in my life.”

A fit of giggles burst from my lips, shattering the remaining wall we had between us. 

“That was never my intention! I just felt bad for ripping the buttons off of your Armani shirt. So I gave you some cash for dry cleaning.”

“There’s no need to explain yourself, Y/N. Your message was loud and clear,” he sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair. “I was just your sexy little secret for the weekend. No plans of marrying me. You just wanted to hit it and quit. Leaving me to deal with the pain of your absence alone. Not even a cover to keep me warm, just the memories of our last rendezvous.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” I laughed, shaking my head. 

“However,” Gojo replied, completely ignoring my comment. “Unlucky for you, I have decided to get revenge by blackmailing you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“If you don’t hang out with me while you’re in Japan, I am gonna tell everyone you snore in your sleep.”

“I do not!”

“And you are a blanket hogger!”

“Blasphemy!”

“And you got me pregnant while we were in Vegas.”

A slew of laughter erupted from my being and I could feel tears beginning to prick the edges of my eyes. “ That is not even scientifically possible."

"It is so!" He laughed. "Why else would I have morning sickness and swollen ankles?"

"Gojo, please. I cannot breath. . . !"

"How could you attempt to abandon your child, Y/N?" He crossed her arms over his chest and playfully shook his head. "I am not fit to be a single mother and take care our baby alone."

"Well," I paused and attempted to catch my breath. "You should've just kept your legs closed and this wouldn't have happened."

The taller man let out a dramatic gasp and placed a hand to his chest. "Did you. . . did you just try to slut shame me? After you basically paid for my services? How dare you?"

I lifted a glass of water to my lips; a weak attempt to calm my explosive chuckles down. I gulped the cool drink down and placed the glass back on the table. In the same instance, the waiter started to place our meal before us. There had been a collection of small plates carrying different items on them. Some had stir-fried vegetables and garnish, while others had different kinds of sauces. The bigger plates had anything between sashimi and grilled fish to sauteed pork and beef. Once the waiters were done plating, our table was suited for royalty. All the different dishes came together to create a marvelous spread and their aromas were simply magical together. 

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a little bit of everything,” Gojo replied, meeting my gaze over the food. “I hope that’s okay with you.”

Like a light switch, the playful (borderline pain in my ass) was tucked away from view and replaced with a dashing gentleman. Familiar feelings started to bubble in my chest. Ones I had tucked away months ago. A small wave of adoration danced between our beings. Along with attraction. The little exchange, our unorthodox banter, had lightened the tension that was between us since we reunited. It made room for why we were originally drawn to each other. His playful, almost youthful, side was almost like a cushion in my high-stress daily life. He breathed cool air into my hot tempered mind and gave me a sense of mental clarity I never experienced. It was easy for me to like him. To be attracted to him. To lust for him. But to love him?

That seemed like a different story. 

“It’s perfect.”

---------

Part II

a/n: don't fight me y'all! i've been adulting something fierce. as previously mentioned, this will be a series and i will post updates regularly. if you would like to be on the official taglist, let me know.

[ddarker-dreams]

Loaded Question.

Yan Arlecchino x Reader. Commissioned piece.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, brief alcohol mention. Word count: 2k.

The Knave has grown past the point where she must investigate matters herself.

If a person’s life is divided into acts, then she’d consider the final word of that era written. The ink has dried, the page long turned. Through excruciating effort, she climbed the ranks, claiming the revered title ‘Harbinger’. In this frosty wasteland, there is no higher honor, aside from holding the throne the Tsaritsa occupies.

Menial endeavors are below Arlecchino. Not due to a lack of interest on her part, but to prove she must never lower herself to such a degree again. Her ambitions are great, her drive greater. She won’t stop at reaching for the stars.

She plans to have the entire night sky twinkle and dance inside her palms.

So why do you, a lowly creature of the ground, interest her so?

It’s an itch that’s been bothering her for some time. She’d like to say there is some grand, overarching reason to explain away her curiosity, but she’d only be lying to herself. She’s read your file frequently enough to have memorized the document in its entirety. There was nothing of note on the first read, the fourth, or the thirtieth. Still, she searched, trying to find some justification for the intrigue you sparked.

Her efforts conducted from afar have been ineffective. This is why today, she’s trying a more hands-on approach.

You stand behind her, your Fatui mask in place, uniform dusted with remnants of snow. She isn’t facing you directly. She’s opted to gaze out the windows of her office, her back turned to you. By not facing her scrutiny directly, she hopes your body language will be more open. Reveal little nuances you’d otherwise try to conceal. She can still make out your movements by your reflection in the glass.

“It’s been a busy season, hasn’t it?” The cadence of her voice is smooth. It isn’t time to put you on edge.

That’ll come later.

“Ah, yes, there’s been no shortage of work to do, my lady,” you reply, a little eager, but not inexcusably so. You have no idea what her intentions are, after all. “It’s good, though. I prefer that over sitting around and twiddling my thumbs.”

You are nervous — hence the rambling — yet she doesn’t find herself miffed by it. There’s a touch of something in your tone that warms her, like a steaming cup of hot chocolate enjoyed by the hearth. Sweet, comforting.

She could never stop at one sip.

“[First].”

“Y-Yes, my lady?”

Arlecchino pivots on her heel. You straighten your posture, your spine going stiff as a board. She clasps her hand behind her back and looks at you through thick eyelashes.

“Do you have any idea why I called you here?”

You shift your weight from foot to foot. Poor thing, she muses. Your trepidation is tangible, thicker than the blizzards that paint Snezhnaya in silvery white. Some may call her cruel for playing with you like this, but they’d be wrong. This is her kindness. Allowing you time to think, to mull over what words you should choke out next. Her patience for you surpasses what she gives her fellow Harbingers.

Your shoulders droop. You must not think your response will satisfy her.

“I… can’t say I do. I’m sorry.”

Arlecchino sighs, shaking her head while she does so. Your guess was right — your response was unsatisfactory, though it’s no fault of your own. She’s holding all the cards. You don’t even know you’ve been dealt a hand.

“So am I,” is her unexpected reply. “Up until a few minutes ago, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill you or not.”

You go stiff enough at the admission that it might as well be rigor mortis.

She advances on you. Slow, steady steps, her heels echoing against the stone floor. Gloved hands raise to trace the outline of your mask. It’s then tossed haphazardly into some corner of the room. She smiles at the unobstructed view of your face. Your widening eyes, inward pinching of your eyebrows. She can feel your shallow breaths against her cheek.

“You aren’t a threat,” she isn’t sure if she’s saying this for your sake or hers. “You aren’t scheming, waiting for your moment to strike. I know what that looks like. The little tells that come with it. No… you’re just you. Unassuming, genuine you.”

Arlecchino drops her voice to a husky whisper. “Are you frightened, sweet thing? Do I scare you?”

She finds the trembling of your lower lip mesmerizing.

“I don’t want to be scared,” comes your admission. She raises an eyebrow. “I want to understand.”

This earns you a chuckle. It isn’t derisive, you just stir up pleasant sentiments in her that she didn’t know existed. She cradles your face in her hands. Through the fabric of her gloves, she feels the heat your skin radiates. Lovely, she thinks. You’re oh so lovely. She regrets not doing this sooner. There is no substitute for having you in person, at her mercy, which you’re unaware you have in spades.

With some reluctance, she parts from you. Her fingertips graze your cheeks while she pulls back. She returns to her position behind her desk, her back turned to you once more. Whatever barrier she’d previously torn down between the two of you rises again. It won’t be there much longer, but she still has work to do.

You’ll be a treat to enjoy later.

“You may leave.”

At her order, you rush to gather the mask that was thrown aside. It’s slightly askew when you set it into place. She assumes you’ll fix it when you’re free from the oppressive atmosphere of her office. You waste no time shuffling toward the doors. You give her one final glance over your shoulder, then the wood creaks open, your footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Arlecchino releases a shaky breath. How long has it been since she’s struggled to maintain her composure like that? She places a hand over her pounding heart, savoring the erratic rhythm. You cause the fleshy organ to sing.

What a delight it is. What a delight you are.

-

There is no moon out tonight.

The wind doesn’t howl, tree branches don’t rustle. All is eerily silent.

Your dorm room is a small, pitiful thing. You have a twin-sized bed against the flaking wall, an old desk, and a closet too small for her to stand in. Your personal belongings are next to nonexistent. A few trinkets, some books, and a candle whose wick is charred from frequent usage.

Arlecchino pinches your thin bed sheets, pulling them up for closer inspection. How is this meant to keep the biting cold away? How many nights have you spent awake, shivering from the eternal winter this land is cursed with? It’s unforgivable.

The groan of floorboards gives you away.

“My lady?” You squeak. Water droplets cascade from your hair, you must’ve just gotten out of the shower. She frowns, she’ll need it to dry before you’re taken outside. It wouldn’t do for you to be sick while adjusting to a new home.

“You said you wanted to understand,” Arlecchino motions to the box on your bed which contains all your personal effects. You rub your eyes, as if thinking she’s an apparition. She can’t blame you for believing that. “Well, here is your opportunity. You’ll be coming with me. I assume you have no complaints, correct?”

The abrupt sharpness in her voice gives you pause.

“I—” you shiver beneath the weight of her stare. “I… have no complaints.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have listened to them, anyway.”

Arlecchino drops the box into your arms. You hold it close to your chest, shrinking into yourself. She appreciates how quick you are on the uptake. The thought of exerting physical force on you was unappealing, it’s no way to start off a relationship. You’ve done well to keep your emotions in check. No crying, whimpering, or begging.

“I’ve decided to open my home to you. It isn’t a long journey from here. Whatever you need, I’ll provide, within reason. I’m sure you know better than to take advantage of my kindness.”

You nod, wholly incapable of forming words.

She gives a closed-mouth smile. “Excellent. For being so agreeable, I’ll let you ask me a question. Just one, however. Choose wisely.”

The cogs turning in your head are apparent. She doesn’t rush you, seeing as this is a reward for good behavior. It’s important you learn this early on. The lesson will serve you well.

Your lips part, a few words tumbling out that she struggles to hear.

“Hm? Speak up, [First].”

“Do I… need to report to work in the morning?” You finally croak out. The Knave blinks. A moment passes. Her hand rises to cover her mouth, muffling the sounds of her laughter. She feels light, euphoric, any slivers of doubt that you wouldn’t entertain her melting away. It’s foolish she entertained the notion to begin with.

She can’t remember the last time she laughed like this. Not serving some hidden agenda, just an authentic expression of joy.

With some difficulty, she gathers herself. “No, sweet thing. Accept my care and you’ll never need to lift a finger again.”

That night, when she sits by her fireplace, she has a servant bring in another chair.

The flame dances to some long-forgotten melody. It casts a warm glow upon your face, hypnotizing you with its gyrations. Arlecchino rests her head upon her fist. To think this study was a lonely place a few hours ago. The difference your presence brings can already be felt in the room, sinking into the little details.

Your coat hanging by hers on the rack. Your former Fatui mask resting atop the mantle. The chessboard between your chairs.

In a few more moves, she’ll have you in checkmate.

She’s broken from her reverie by the sound of you yawning. You try to cover the display, a futile endeavor, considering how sharp her senses are.

“It’s been a long day,” she muses, sipping the red wine from her glass. “You should rest.”

The fire crackles, a piece of wood falling into a pile of ash. Glowing embers spark in its wake.

“Ah, well, I’m afraid I don’t know where my room is.”

“Our room,” she corrects, a hint of fondness bleeding through. You finally look at her, your interest in the flame lost. “And it’s just down the hall. A maid can help guide you if you get lost, the servants of this estate are at your disposal.”

You mull over this revelation. She can’t fault you for your caution, especially since you’re exhausted. Still, she hopes you can piece together that she would’ve killed you by now if that was to be your fate. She’s going to lengths to ensure your comfort. Your gratitude might not be necessary today, but she’ll expect it soon enough.

“Then… where will you sleep, my lady?”

“In our bed.”

Your lips form an ‘o’ that she finds terribly endearing. The urge to tease your blossoms, its roots taking hold.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Arlecchino leans forward, steepling her fingers. “A goodnight kiss, perhaps?”

You stand up immediately, your face betraying your embarrassment. “I could never hope to expect that from my lady.”

“Hm. A pity, that is.”

She lets you turn in not long after that. As enjoyable as toying around with you is, she doesn’t want you sleep-deprived. You need to be at your best for the future to come. If you were to ever let your dissent slip through the cracks, it’d awaken a beast inside her that’s better off remaining in hibernation.

For you and her both.

When the flame starts dying off, she prods at it with a fireplace poker. Nothing can start or end without her express approval.

Not even the elements.

The Knave reclines in her chair, exhaustion’s tendrils wrapping snug around her.

This ‘investigation’ is turning out to be her favorite yet.

[mischasbongwater]

farkas x reader

warning: intense sex, vaguely fem-bodied reader but only if you squint

authors note: this is most certainly not my best work, just practice if anything but im still glad i finished it (emphasis on finished) and i wanted to share it and this felt like a good place to do it

(also for context this takes place after his transformation in the crypt that first time)

You slip into Farkas’s room as quickly and quietly as you can, out of worry that one of the other Companions might get suspicious. You carefully close the door, turn around—

—And Farkas is standing at the foot of his bed, in nothing but a loincloth.

“OH!” You yelp, throwing your hands up in front of your face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“It’s fine, open your eyes. I don’t care.”

You falter. “Wh- seriously?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Slowly, you lower your hands and look at him. He’s sat down on his bed now, arms folded. Somehow he still looks just as big and intimidating as when he’s wearing armor. You can so clearly see his muscles rippling beneath his olive skin, but you try not to look anywhere other than his face — or arms.

You catch the inquisitive look on his face and snap yourself back to reality. “So,” you begin. “Werewolf.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “It is a gift given only to those in the Circle. Should you want to share the beastblood, you’ll have to prove your honor.”

“Right.” You cannot stop looking at him.

“Truth be told, if you want a more technical history, you should talk to Kodlak or Vilkas. I don’t usually put much thought into it beyond the gift itself. But- are you okay?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You smell different.” He stands up.

“That- is so weird,” you respond, momentarily distracted by bewilderment. “What do I smell like?”

“Normally? Just you. But now…” He steps closer until he’s barely a foot away from you. It feels like his bare chest is looking you straight in the eyes. “It’s different. Stronger. Sweeter.”

You look up at him, eyes wide, feeling something you’ve never quite felt before. Dread and thrill both building up in your stomach, like white-hot balls of metal expanding through your abdomen. Sharp bursts of adrenaline spiking through your body.

“Are you interested in me, new blood?” His deep, gritty voice had a strange new cadence to it, like warm honey pouring into your ears.

You inhale shakily. “I- don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Can I answer it for you?”

You don’t even know if the word “yes” had left your mouth yet before you were in Farkas’s grasp. One hand is gently gripping the back of your neck, and the other is caressing the top of your head, weaving fingers through your hair. His rough, salty lips are pressed against yours, hard. You reach out and place your hands on his hips, closing the gap between you. He quivers under your touch, then melts into it, grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

After a few heated moments, he pulls back, much to your disappointment.

“Do you want this?” He asks, his voice sounding much darker now.

You look at him, confused. “Wh-“

“The beast-spirit inside of me. He wants you. Bad.” He fidgets with his hands, showing the first glimpse of true uncertainty and nervousness you’ve ever seen from him. “I don’t know if I can keep being gentle like this. I don’t want to-”

“Farkas.” You take his hands. “I don’t care. I’m yours.”

A lustful spark appears in his eyes. He grabs you by your waist, picks you up with ease, and pins you to his bed, desperately grabbing at your clothes and trying to pull them off.

He seems as stocky and strong as a tree trunk, every part of him laying over you like this. He reaches down and pulls his loincloth off, then lowers himself down, almost completely immobilizing you.

His hands wander up to your face, lazily at first, then grabbing you roughly and once more pushing his lips against yours. His hips begin to thrust slowly against yours, and you feel his hardening cock sliding up and down against your stomach.

“Mmm… you smell so good.” His hands travel across your body, greedily touching every part he can reach. Your own hand begins to drift downward, but he grabs your wrist and pins it above your head.

“You had your chance to lead,” he growls. “It’s my turn now.” He pins up your other hand and buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting, forcing high, breathy moans out of your mouth. His movement slowly grows more desperate, and you feel the same.

“Farkas…” you say pleadingly. He lets out a deep purr and snaps his hips against you in approval. He raises his head above yours. You stare into his eyes, and he stares back, perfectly mirroring the burning passion you feel. His soft raven hair hangs down perfectly around his broad, rugged face. He leans down and whispers into your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin and sending tingles down your back. “I’m going to make you mine.”

Without any more warning than that, he grabs your hips so hard you think he might leave handprints, and he pushes his tip inside of you. You let out a shuddering gasp, your hands shooting up and grabbing onto his biceps for dear life.

He begins to push further into you, his thick shaft throbbing and stretching you out. The pain felt so good. A keening moan escapes from your mouth. Farkas closes his eyes, and you can see the muscles feathering along his tightly-clenched jaw as he sinks deeper and deeper into you.

“Farkas,” you breathe out. “Farkas-” you yelp as he forcefully thrusts his full length into you. “Y-you’re so big…” you manage to stammer out. “Fu-uuck. Please, Farkas.”

He opens his eyes and smirks. He smirks at you.

“Please what, darling?”

“Fuck me,” you heave desperately, your nails digging into his skin. “Fuck me, Farkas, please, I-”

You’re cut off by his strong, meaty hand pressing over your mouth, covering half your face. He gives a firm but gentle squeeze. “Sshhh, shh-shh.” He purrs. “Can’t have you waking up the others.” He starts slowly thrusting again. “Or is that what you want? Does the new blood want all of Jorrvaskr to hear them whining like a dog?”

You can do nothing but squeeze your eyes shut, your whole body pulsating with the feeling of him inside of you. That white-hot feeling is back, even more intensely now, like a sun planted in your stomach.

“That’s right,” he groans, starting to speed up. “Good.” He squeezes your face tighter, his eyes closing again and his head tilting back in pleasure. His movements grow almost animalistic, shoving himself further and further inside of you over and over. Your body tenses up, vibrating with heat and ecstasy, his cock filling you up so deep you think you might pass out. Your moans are uncontrollable and muffled by his hand, while your own are nearly drawing blood from their death grip on his arms. He keeps pounding into you, grunting and moaning huskily, holding you solidly in place. Your hips snap back up in rhythm with his, your body twitching from the pleasure and strain. If not for him muzzling you, you would be crying out, screaming his name, moaning and keening in primal euphoria.

The ball in your stomach expands like molten metal, spreading through your body until it feels as if Farkas has filled every last inch of you. It builds and builds and builds-

Until he stops, hilt-deep inside of you. You squirm and cry out, frantic with lust and just on the edge of overstimulation from his huge cock. He hums smugly at your struggle, his face inches away from yours. “Look at you. Such a desperate little thing. You like being used like this?”

You nod, aggressively and pathetically. Farkas chuckles, and the deep, raspy sound of his subtle laughter is almost enough to send you over the edge right there. He shifts, taking his other hand and grasping both sides of your face, pushing his thumbs into your mouth.

“Stay quiet,” he growls, before continuing his merciless thrusts at the same pace he left off at. Without even meaning to, you clamp down on his thumbs between your teeth, letting out a flood of sharp, cut-off moans as he fucks you with reckless abandon. You almost can’t stand the speed and girth hammering into you, sending you into a state of complete, mindless hunger.

Through your feral haze, you see his bottom lip caught under his teeth, his eyes tightly closed, and his eyebrows knitted together. Then his mouth hangs open, and a small whimper escapes into the air.

The molten ball inside of you explodes, coating his length and squirting onto his thighs and stomach. You lay completely silent, convulsing and arching beneath him, consumed with bliss. You scratch helplessly at his shoulders, wordlessly begging, and Farkas complies, thrusting more sensually yet somehow rougher into you now. He covers your mouth again, and you allow the torrent of wild moans to erupt from within you as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, every vein and ridge on his cock hitting you in all the right places.

Just when you think you might finally go unconscious, he pulls out and a thick ribbon of cum streams out onto your stomach. He looks to be reared back like a horse, holding tight onto your hips to keep from falling, head swung back as he shudders through his own orgasm.

Panting, he collapses onto you, practically forcing the air out of your lungs with his weight. You wrestle your arms out from under him and wrap them around his torso — or at least, as far around as they can reach.

“Fuck,” Farkas whispers hoarsely, enveloping you in his arms now and turning you both to your sides. You make a noise of agreement muffled by his chest.

“Are- are you gonna stay here?” He asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice. You make another noise, this one of more serene agreement. He exhales deeply and goes limp, pulling you closer to him. You were both far too hot and sweaty for his blankets, but not for your own skin against the other’s. Filled with contentment and… other stuff… you relish in his scent and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. You catch a glimpse of the moon from outside his window.

Who cares if he’s a werewolf, you think to yourself. Nothing could make me rethink this.

[daughterofcain-67]

𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 (epilogue)

(Beau Arlen x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After the court case was finally over and things are finally returning to normal, the sheriff comes back into your cafe just like normal and with the help of your nosey but well-meaning sister, she helps nudge Beau along to ask you out now that the case is over.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none, just fluffy Beau x Reader content 💕

Eight Months Later…

This was it.

This was the day that would determine if Andre would be getting off Scott-free or if he would be serving his time behind bars.

You hated that you had to be there as a witness. You hated that you had to describe everything that happened, describe the people who kidnapped you. What was worse was that Andre's lawyers did their best to make you out to be a liar, saying that your judgement may be impaired for whatever their reasons were.

The case seemed to take ages and you couldn't believe it was this long of an ordeal to even get court dates settled.

Now here you were, in the booths with the other families whose lives were ruined by the defendant. But Beau was right there beside you just like he had always been through this mess. He was waiting in anticipation with you, anxious to find out the jury's verdict.

You had just been called back into the court room a few minutes ago since the jurors were apparently done making their decision. When you saw them coming back into the room, you and everyone else in the courtroom stood as a part of courtroom etiquette. Though, you carefully held Beau's hand, which he squeezed a little. He seemed just as nervous as you were, despite his confident exterior.

God it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop after the jurors were all settled in their spots.

"Has the jury reached their verdict?" You heard the voice of the judge say.

"We have, your honor."

"And it's unanimous, correct?"

"Yes, Sir, it is."

Then the clerk walked over to the first juror and was handed the file before making their way back to the judge. When the judge said everyone could be seated, the room went back to being silent as he looked through the paper.

Now it all came down to this, what was on those sheets of paper that the jury handed over. It was like the entire room was holding their breath if they weren't glaring at the defendant.

When the judge said that the defendant would rise and face the jury, the judge handed the sheets back to the court clerk so she could make the final announcements.

"The state of Montana verses Andre Bolkonsky," The clerk began to read.

One by one as each of the charges were called out, Andre was guilty to a certain extent of the law if not completely guilty. He was partially guilty of your kidnapping since he orchestrated it, and of course he was guilty of your assault in the fullest.

When you heard the verdict you couldn’t help but feel this immense weight fall off of your shoulders. Yet a part of you wondered if this was really happening and if this was your reality, or if this was some kind of really good dream that you would have to wake up from just to return to some harsh reality.

“Beau…”

He looked down at you and he had a smile on his face, “It’s real, Y/N. He’s going away for good.”

That reassurance was everything you needed in that moment and you threw your arms around the sheriff, hugging him so tightly.

It was finally over and you could hardly believe it!

Morning Glory Coffee…

You never thought you would be able to come back here again. It felt so surreal to have even been able to open this place up again since your kidnapping. But now you were back in the building, bright and early and it’s been about two weeks since the trial ended.

You and Cadence were both there at the shop to straighten everything up so you can open. You brewed some fresh coffee and baked some goodies before putting them on the display table. That was when a pleasant little surprise came up.

The sound of the bell on the top of the door rang out as the door opened up. When you looked over, you saw Beau Arlen standing there.

“You’re here early.” You grinned at him and you could watch a smile begin to form on his face.

“Well, I did miss having your coffee everyday.” The sheriff said, causing you to roll your eyes, grinning at him.

“Just the coffee huh? Let me guess, the usual?”

“Actually… I think I might go with something different this time around.” Beau said as he walked closer to the counter.

“Something different… well if you still want to go with the bitter kind of taste, there’s the Americano, and some cold brew. Or if you’s like something a little sweeter I can make you a mocha, maybe a frappuccino or something like that.”

“I may go with something a little on the sweeter side.” He said and you hummed a little.

“I think we can go with a caramel macchiato.” You nodded and Beau chuckled.

“Whatever you think I’ll like.” He told you.

Beau watched as you started making the espresso and whatever else you needed to make the drink with some ridiculous name. Aren’t all coffees made the same anyway? He supposed that he wouldn’t know for sure. But he knew that he was glad that you were back.

From the corner of his eye, Beau saw Cadence standing in the corner with a certain sort of look on her face. She glanced at her sister that was busily making Beau a drink before she walked over to the sheriff.

“What are you waiting for? She went through something terrible and you were right there by her side through the trials.” Cadence told him in a whisper so you wouldn’t hear anything.

“What do you mean what am I waiting for?” Beau questioned and Cadence rolled her eyes before she reached over and flicked Beau on the forehead with her middle finger.

“Hey! What was that for?” Beau asked and rubbed his forehead.

“You know exactly what I mean, don’t play dumb.” Cadence said.

“I was an idiot for suggesting that she go and date Andre. And I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. But you know what else? I regret not encouraging her to go out with you more. She’s had feelings for you for such a long time but she’s never made a move because she doesn’t want to distract you from your work.”

Beau lifted a brow slightly. You actually had feelings for him? Then again, before you were taken, you did owe him a date since she rain-checked. Did he actually stand a chance with you?

“Are you sure that she wants to actually date someone right now after everything that’s happened?” Beau asked.

“Beau, she’s had her struggles long before Andre even came around. She just went on that date with Andre to try and move on before the date obviously went wrong.” Cadence said but when she looked over she saw that you were almost done making Beau’s beverage.

“Make a move, like ASAP! I want to be an aunt before I die and I want her to be with the right guy.” She said before she went to the back to go and prep something for the day before some other customers would end up coming in later.

Beau looked over at you and smiled a little to himself. There was a glimmer of hope burning in him and it made him wonder if Cadence was telling the truth about you having feelings for him. How long were they there?

“Hey, is something on your mind?”

Your question seemed to make Beau jump and you were a little worried. Was something wrong? Was there another case that he was stressing over? You wished that he could get even a little bit of a break.

You watched as Beau tucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and he looked as if he wanted to talk to you about something, “Actually, there was something I kind of wanted to ask you about.”

“Um… okay?” You said and handed him the drink.

“Do you remember when I missed movie night and you said that maybe I should make it up to you?” In truth, you almost didn’t remember with everything that happened but when you thought about it, you remembered.

“It’s been a while since that rain check, huh? Literally months and I think you’ve made up for it since then.” You chuckled a little but leaned over the counter, curious as to how this came to his mind.

“Yeah, I know it’s been several months… But maybe we could still go out and find something to do. I insist. So are you free tonight?” He asked you as he leaned over as well.

You bit your lip a little. The same feeling that you had when you wondered if the court case with Andre was over had returned, causing you to wonder if Beau was really asking if you were free or not.

“Um.. y-yeah. I should be free.” You answered.

A certain softness seemed to flicker in those beautiful, forest green eyes of his. It made you feel warm on the inside and you were almost certain that you could kiss him in that moment.

“Great. I’ll come and pick you up after work.” He insisted, you nodded in response before watching him stand up and leave.

As he walked out of the door, you smiled fondly to yourself. You never thought that you could feel this happy again. Granted you couldn’t just pretend that everything that transpired with Andre never happened, but it was easier to move past all of it because of Beau. Things were at least beginning to go back to normal other than the nightmares you had. He was always there to comfort you when you needed him .

“Okay, Y/N.. stop daydreaming and help me stock up some cups and lids and everything. If you want to get off early for your big date with the sheriff, I need a little help making sure everything’s in line while the owner’s away.” Your sister reminded you, causing your cheeks to turn pinkish.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re behind him saying something?”

“Hey, he was already going to do that anyway. He just needed a little push in the right direction. And Sheriff Arlen is a guy we can actually trust this time.”

Five o’clock finally came around which meant that it was time for you to get ready for Beau to pick you up.

You were in the back after you had taken your apron off and you placed it in your little locker. You were looking at the camera on your phone, trying to fix up your hair and freshen up a bit. Cadence was leaning against one of the tables in the back just smiling at you since there weren’t any customers at the moment.

“You know, I don’t think he’s going to be too worried about how your hair looks. He knows you’re a working woman.” She reminded you and you shrugged a little.

“I know.” You sighed, “It’s just that I don’t want to mess this up. After everything that’s happened, he still remembered about missing some movie night? We’ve had plenty of those over the past eight months after he got me back.”

“Sweetie, of course he was going to ask you if you wanted him to actually make up for it. You can be a bit naive when it comes to him, can’t you?” Your sister laughed, making you wonder what about this was so amusing but you didn’t really want to question it.

“I guess I’m just shocked for whatever reason.”

“Well don’t let it shock you. You like him, and he likes you enough to ask you out. So enjoy tonight and see where this goes. You know he’s not going to hurt you and these past several months have only proved that point. You deserve happiness and you deserve to have that happiness with someone that will stop at nothing to make sure you have it. And obviously Beau is that person.”

It surprised you how obvious Cadence made it sound, but you supposed she was right. Maybe you were overthinking about something here and you just needed to relax and enjoy whatever moments that you would have with Beau that night. You were sure Beau needed some time to relax as much as you did, so maybe this really would be good for the both of you.

“Anyway, I still want to look halfway decent instead of going on some kind of, whatever this is, in my uniform shirt.” You said but then you heard the sound of a locker door opening up. When you glanced over and saw Cadence going through her locker.

“You are so lucky that I’m prepared.” Cadence chuckled, “But you need to start packing some little outfits to wear incase this becomes a regular thing with the sheriff.” She smirked and wiggled her brows a bit.

You smiled and rolled your eyes a little but then your sister pulled out two shirts for you to pick from. When you did, she handed the shirt to you.

“Now don’t let him tear it up or anything. I like that shirt.” Cadence smirked and your entire face turned red as you clutched the shirt close to you.

“W-We aren’t gonna do anything like that on the first outing!”

“Oh for the love of- Y/N, it’s a date! Call it a date before I strangle you!”

“Okay, we won’t be doing stuff like that on the first date.” You insisted and the biggest smile appeared on your sister’s face when she heard you call it a date after all.

“Okay, okay. Now go change! He’ll be here any minute.” Cadence practically shoved you out of the back so you could change in the rest room and finish getting ready.

After a few minutes, you had now changed into a more comfortable shirt and it actually fit your figure quite well. You put on a denim jacket over it since that was what you wore to work with the uniform, and you pulled your hair into a side, French braid. You were glad your sister trained you to pack a little tube of mascara and some gloss for spontaneous moments like this. It was simple and you preferred simple anyway.

When you stepped out you saw that Beau was just coming into the cafe and you smiled when you saw him.

“Hey. You’re right on time.” You grinned and he looked over at you. He smiled warmly and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach.

“You look nice. I like that shirt on you.”

“Thanks.. it’s my sister’s.” You admitted and you looked over towards the back to wave goodbye to Cadence, and Beau did the same. She waved back at the two of you before Beau looked down at you.

“You ready to head out?”

“I think so.” You nodded and he offered an arm for you to take. Once you took it he escorted you out of the door and took you to the car.

It was still around the time where it would get darker a little earlier in the day, and Beau ended up taking you to some place for dinner. They had some tables outside and it was a pretty night so that’s where you sat. There were several square tables outside and there were some lights strung out on the patio. Then in one corner, evidently there was a local band playing too.

“You must’ve known they’d be playing when you brought me here.” You said and Beau placed one hand up in the air.

“No clue. Swear that this was a surprise for me too.” He insisted and he pulled out a chair for you so you could sit down. Then he sat across from you.

You gazed at him and saw that he was looking down at the menu. You took the time to observe and admire the way he looked and appreciate the small details. Like the way his freckles showed up a little better with this lighting, or the way his hair was falling in front of his face when he was looking down at the menu.

When a waitress came by you got distracted and you looked up when she was asking you and Beau what you’d like to drink. You just ordered a water while Beau ordered his favorite beer. Then she left to get the drinks for the both of you and that was when you looked over at Beau again, who you caught gazing at you too.

“Thank you… for taking me out tonight.” You said and he grinned.

“No need to thank me. It’s something that I wanted to do.” He said but then he rubbed the back if his neck a little, “Actually it’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while now.”

“Well…” You trailed off and decided to make kind of a bolder move and you placed a hand on his that was on the table, “I’m glad that you did.”

He maneuvered his hand to where he could hold your own and it felt like your hand fit perfectly in his.

“How did everything go today?” You asked him, trying to start some sort of conversation and he smiled a little.

“It was an easier day. Luckily we’ve not had anymore kidnapping cases. We had a few house calls but it was nothing too serious. Just nosey neighbors calling because a radio was too loud or a dog was barking and annoying them. Nothing overly serious.”

“Well… at least it was an easier day.”

“Yeah, although there were some case files that we haven’t had any leads on that ended up going cold. I hate they did.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair but you gave him an empathetic smile.

“Well, some cold cases don’t stay cold forever. Somewhere down the line people slip up and sometimes those cold cases get re-opened.” You reminded him.

“Yeah but that doesn’t happen often enough.”

“Cut yourself some slack. I know you hate when cases get cold, but there’s always hope.”

You could hear the little scoff he made and he looked down at the menu again but you gave your hand a gentle squeeze, “You taught me there’s always hope.”

He looked up at you again before you spoke again, “The FBI had been chasing after Andre and his group for a long time. And even if some of those members got caught, they didn’t serve time for long. They thought for sure that they could get away with me and get me out of the country and for a moment, every part of me thought they would be right.”

“But..?”

“But even when I was so close to giving up, I would think about you. How your determination would drive you and I knew somehow you’d find me, even if it would take a while. If you can persevere, then I knew I could too and I needed to figure out how to get out and think of what you would do in some of the situations I was in.” You told him.

Beau listened carefully to what you were saying and he was a little stunned. He had no idea he would be on your mind to help you fight back like that. You were a strong individual and he was so proud of you for taking that risk of screaming out on that phone call. He was proud when you somehow managed to get a phone and call him.

“You know… I think you may be a lot stronger than I am.” He admitted but he carefully intertwined your fingers.

“But you’re right. Those cold cases, I know, will be in the back of my mind and someone will slip up eventually like Andre’s group did.” He said but then he decided to move on.

“What about you? I’m sure your sister’s glad that you’ve been back. How’s your day been?”

“It was a little slow today. But it does get pretty slow on week days since a lot of people are working.” He heard you speak and he grinned a little.

“I suppose that’s fair.” He smiled.

“But I can’t complain. The downtime is nice. I’ve actually been thinking about changing up the interior of the cafe. So the downtime gives me some time to think about some of the interior designs.” You said with a smile, gosh your smile was so adorable to him.

“Well if you ever need any help when the time comes, you know you can always give me a call.” Beau insisted.

“I think I might keep that in mind.” You smirked, then the waitress came back with your drinks and she took both of your orders.

Beau ended up getting a burger and you got some sort of salad.

After a while of conversation and after the both of you had eaten your meals, Beau heard the band start to play some sort of slow song that he didn’t really know by heart, but he saw some couples going up there to dance

Then Beau had an idea and he stood up, which caused you to look up at him.

“What are you doing?” You asked him and he just grinned at you.

“Come on up there with me.” He said and you lifted a brow a little.

“You sure? I might step on your toes a bit.” You chuckled a little and he rolled his eyes playfully.

“Of course I’m sure.” He insisted and he took a hold of your hand and started leading you to the floor where some other people were dancing.

Then, Beau placed a hand on your hip and he could feel one of your hands on his shoulders while the two of you were close together. He lead you to the rhythm of the song that was playing as you danced and he swore this would be one of the moments with you that he would always have in his mind.

You looked so beautiful, with the way your hair framed your face perfectly or the way the lights seemed to shine in your eyes so beautifully. You were perfect in his eyes in every way and he didn’t think he’d be spending a moment like this with you. He supposed he needed to thank your sister for giving him that push.

He could feel your hand move from his shoulder to his cheek. Your touch felt so soft and he leaned into it before he ended up giving you a little twirl as you both danced, your laughter filled his ears when he pulled you back into him. Then he leaned down and kissed the top of your head softly.

“Why don’t we go back to my place? Tonight’s the perfect night to have a little fire or something.” He suggested and you nodded.

“I think that sounds perfect.”

After a while, you realized that the two of you had made it to Beau’s little camper and when he opened the door for you, Beau held out a hand to help you out of the vehicle. When you got out, the two of you went inside of the camper.

“Here, let me help you.” You insisted and you grabbed whatever he needed you to get but that was when the both of you heard some faint tapping on the window.

When the both of you looked out, you saw that it was starting to rain, but then you heard the thunder in the distance.

“I guess the fire pit might have to wait.” Beau said with a chuckle but then you smiled while you gazed at the raindrops, starting to get lost in your own thoughts.

“Y/N? You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, just thinking about something.” You said and you felt his hand on the small of your back.

“Care to share?”

You carefully leaned into him, feeling his chest on your back, “I was just thinking about that night..."

"The night in the woods?"

"Mhmm," You hummed fondly, "It was raining and you carried me to the car because you realized I wasn't wearing any shoes. I swear I thought my toes were going to fall off because it was so cold." You laughed.

"I was just glad that we got you home." He said.

"I was so tempted to kiss you that night..." Then you swore you could feel his muscles tense a little, but they soon relaxed as you looked up at him.

"You wanted to kiss me that night?" he asked and your cheeks started to heat up a bit as you looked out of the window.

"I-I mean, um... maybe." You said bashfully.

"I guess looking back on it, it would have been some silly little movie moment and I know chick flick moments might not be your thing. Kissing in the rain or something like that is so juvenile..." You rambled on before you suddenly felt Beau take your hand and he started taking you outside.

"Beau? What are you doing?" You laughed.

"Something that I should have done a long time ago." You heard him say but then the two of you went outside and luckily the rain wasn't pouring too hard just yet.

When Beau stopped walking, he stood in front of you and you could feel his soft yet slightly calloused hand touch your cheek.

"Y/N... I've known for a long time now what my feelings were for you... And I should have done something about it long before now." He said and you placed one of your hands on his shoulder again.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I let my job get in the way. Because I thought you wouldn't want to take a chance with me. And because of stupid reasons that don't really matter. But I know that the moment you went missing, I couldn't bare the thought of losing you. Then when the trials happened there was so much going on and I didn't want to complicate anything. So I wanted to wait until the court dates were over and when we knew for sure Andre would be gone for good."

"And what about now? Since all of it is over?" You asked in a slightly hushed tone.

"Now... there's nothing else for me to wait for." He said and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Then both of his hands were on your face and he leaned down and kissed you.

The wave of adrenaline rushed through you but then you melted into his touch and closed your eyes. His kiss was so warm and sweet, enough to make you feel light headed as you kissed him back. You could feel the rain hitting you and it was cool in contrast to the closeness between you and Beau.

Your hand went from his shoulder to the back of his neck and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. This was so worth the wait, and you couldn't dream of a better moment. You fell so hard for this man, and knowing that he felt the same way for you made you feel happier than you've been in such a long time.

When Beau pulled away, your foreheads were pressed against each other. He had taken your breath away and you were trying to remember how to form words.

"I love you, Y/N L/N..."

Those words, even if they came a bit sooner than you expected, were the very words you had wanted to tell him for the longest time.

"I love you too, Beau Arlen."

And from there, you knew that the two of you would spend a lifetime that you had always dreamed of having. You knew that this would be something that not even the best fairy tale could match, and the rest of your life would be spent with the man that meant the world to you.

Your heart was his, and his was yours, forever intertwined and maybe even entangled for eternity.

Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this Beau x Reader fanfiction and it was such a joy to write! Thank you to all of you who commented, reblogged, and liked. It's truly appreciated.

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @chriszgirl92 @nancymcl @fanfic-n-tabulous @globetrotter28

[bewilderedbunny]

Objection! (Eddie x reader smut) 18+ only!

Author's note and content warnings:

2.6k words of silly smut. minors DNI!

I thought that a meet cute between a court stenographer and defendant would be fun. Please keep in mind that I know nothing about the judicial system and my only point of references are Better Call Saul and Legally Blonde. (I also found out that the dancing inflatable tubeman wasn't invented until the mid-late 90s. Please forgive me for my ignorance.)

Fem!reader along with use of she/her pronouns. No use of Y/N, just honey, ma'am and sweetheart. Mechanic!Eddie (it isn't touched on much in the story but that is his job in this world) slightly sub!Eddie, vigilante!Eddie, Eddie has a little bit of a stocking fetish, Eddie is a thigh man in this fic, mentions of drugs, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected piv sex (don't do that IRL) strangers to lovers.

Credit to @firefly-graphics for the divider ❄️ not tagging anyone since this isn't my usual fluff 💗

It's a gray, snowy morning as you step off the city bus and walk to Hawkins courthouse. You check your watch as you enter the building. The first case of the day is at 8am and you've got 45 minutes to get your coffee and set up your station.

Most days are pretty much the same with your work. Scribing every word spoken during a case, then later editing and finalizing the transcript. Every once in a while you speak when you need someone to repeat themselves or when you are called upon to read a portion of the transcripts. Other than those instances, your job is to turn off your brain and type as fast and accurately as you possibly can. It can be a monotonous, boring job but it works for you.

You hang up your coat, grab a paper cup of coffee and sit at your station as you wait for the first case of the day.

The prosecutor enters, you see it's Leonard Mitchell. He's one of the older DAs and he has a reputation for being stubborn and irritable.

Next to enter the room is the defendant accompanied by his attorney. The defendant is wearing a slightly wrinkled white button-up shirt, black jeans, and boots, and his long brown curls are tied back into a bun. He whispers something to his lawyer as they take a seat.

The defense attorney looks vaguely familiar to you, but you can't place his name. He's in his mid-forties and has the cadence of an overworked and under-resourced public defender.

The bailiff enters the room and announces,

"ALL RISE"

All of you rise as the judge enters the room.

"Court is now in session. The honorable Judge Steward is presiding."

Judge Steward is one of your favorites. She's mastered the art of being patient yet firm and she's always been kind to you. You're scheduled to work beside her all day today.

"Good morning, everyone. Calling the case of the State of Indiana versus Edward Munson. The charge is petty theft. Mr. Munson, how do you plead?"

Eddie pleads not guilty and the proceedings begin.

The prosecutor starts his argument.

"On the evening of November 12th, an air dancer was stolen from Wheels and Deals car dealership. That air dancer was then seen at one of the defendants' rock shows."

Judge Steward interjects, "What is an "air dancer" exactly?"

"Your honor, an air dancer is an inflatable figure that, when attached to a fan, dances and flails around. They are mostly used for advertising, which was what Wheels and Deals Auto purchased this item for until it was stolen by Mr. Munson. The loss of potential profits from losing this item is substantial."

Eddie scoffs and his defense attorney rebuts with,

"They aren't exactly Superbowl commercials. They could bring in what, an extra sale or two?"

"Yes- of a car. Of which the average sale price for this establishment is for one single vehicle is $14,000."

Eddie's eyes go wide, he can't seriously be expected to pay 14 grand for a balloon, right?

The judge asks, "Mr. Mitchell, how much did Wheels & Deals purchase the air dancer for?"

"$149.95."

The arguments continue for a while, once they are finalized, Judge Steward makes her ruling.

"On the charge of petty theft, I find Mr. Munson guilty. He is ordered to pay $20 in restitution and work 12 hours of community service. The court is now adjourned."

As everyone leaves the room, you're approached by Regina, Judge Steward's clerk.

"You're the court reporter today, right?"

"Yes, I am."

"You can go. Judge Steward had something come up so the rest of the cases today are being postponed."

You grab your coat and walk outside. The ground is covered in slushy snow and as you walk down the courthouse steps, you lose your footing and start to slip. Just as you do, a hand reaches out to hold your elbow and steady you.

You look up and see the balloon thief smiling down at you from a step above. Now he's added a hoodie, leather jacket, and a denim vest over his button-up.

"Careful there, sweetheart. You could've fallen and landed on your money makers." He nods to your hands as he says "money makers" which makes you laugh.

"That would have been awful. Thanks, Mr. Munson."

"No problem. Let's make sure you make it the rest of the way in one piece, 'kay?"

He holds onto you the rest of the way down the stairs. Once you're on the sidewalk, he lets go, you miss his touch instantly.

"Thanks again, Mr. Munson. Take care."

"You too, sweetheart."

He gives you a nod before walking to the parking garage. You wait at the bus stop and check the schedule. The next bus isn't due for another 15 minutes. You would normally head back inside to wait but you don't want to risk embarrassing yourself again with the stairs.

You're shivering and breathing into your hands as a beat-up van approaches. Eddie reaches over and rolls down his passenger window to talk to you.

"You're gonna freeze out here, y'know?"

"Oh, I'm fine Mr. Munson. Really, don't worry about it."

"C'mon, let me drive you home."

You take a moment before getting in the van. It smells like cigarettes and some type of woodsy air freshener or cologne.

You buckle your seatbelt and thank him.

"Of course. Can't leave a fair maiden such as yourself to freeze. Where to?"

You smile at him and give him your address.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you as he drives.

You look over at him and say, "Can I ask you something?" He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

"Why did I steal the air dancer?"

"Why did you steal the air dancer?"

"I didn't, he just came to my show. Can't help it that he has great music taste. Nice guy, actually. Named him Ozzy.

You laugh and he then says,

"That dealership is the worst, scamming people into buying shitty used cars for well over what they're worth. I work at Thacher Tire and we have so many people come in after being scammed by that place. I just had enough."

God, he stole something so stupid for such a sweet reason.

"That makes sense. A little payback for the people."

He looks at you and smiles, a beautiful dimpled smile "Exactly."

"How do you feel about the verdict?"

"Well, I'm still disappointed that my original trial by combat request was denied."

Your laughter fills the van, delighting Eddie as he continues,

"I'm glad I only have to pay $20, wish it was $0 but it's much more ideal than 14k."

"Very true."

"And the community service is fine. I mean, I was doing service for the community by stealing the damn thing in the first place but whatever." You nod in agreement as he continues,

"I'll be honest, one of the reasons I stole Ozzy is that I thought he'd be fun for shows. And for business."

"At the tire shop?"

"No, I deal on the side."

"Deal… cars?"

He laughs, "No, uh, other stuff."

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline and scold him,

"Eddie! Don't tell someone you met at the courthouse that you're a drug dealer!"

"Aw, I'm not Mr. Munson anymore? I liked when you called me that." You roll your eyes as he pulls up to your home. You're disappointed the drive was so short.

"I'm mostly just sad that I had to give Ozzy back to those dickheads. He belongs on stage with the real Ozzy, y'know?"

Your heart hurts at his personification of the inflatable man. You place your hand on his arm and say,

"Maybe they sent him to a farm where he can dance to Black Sabbath all day with others just like him."

He looks at your hand and bites his lip as he smiles.

"That's the dream. What, uh, what do you have going on the rest of the day?"

"Well, they sent me home early so I have no plans. I'm all free."

"Yeah? I'm kind of a free man too, in a way. Avoided some serious prison time today."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do with your newly found freedom, Mr. Munson?"

He looks at you for a moment before leaning in to kiss you. It's soft at first, your lips are barely touching as warm breath fans over you. He holds the back of your head with one hand and rubs your thigh with the other as he deepens the kiss. You give a tentative swipe at his lips with your tongue. He opens his mouth and repeats the action to you. You have your hands pressed against his chest as you lick into each other's mouths.

You pull back and invite him to come inside, he smiles a big toothy grin before jumping out of the van and sprinting (and sliding) to the passenger side to open your door. You giggle at him, he holds your waist as you walk up to your front door. You hesitate before opening it, realizing you should make sure he isn't some notorious drug kingpin.

"What do you deal?"

"Just weed. Sometimes other stuff but it's usually just weed."

"Other stuff? Like what?" Once the door is unlocked take off your shoes and he follows suit.

"Well, it's rare that anyone wants it, but every once in a while I sell ketamine."

"The horse tranquilizer?"

"What's a girl like you know about special k?" He asks.

You chuckle, "A girl like me spent 60 hours last week transcribing in drug court. Probably recording some of your clients, now that I think about it."

You lead him to your bedroom. Once you're inside, he slips off your coat and cardigan, then begins unbuttoning your shirt.

"Well with customer confidentiality I couldn't possibly say." He removes your shirt once it's unbuttoned and leans down to plant kisses along your breasts. You moan and tug at the many layers covering his torso, he takes the hint and removes them.

"Of course. You're a professional, after all." You kiss his neck and trace the tattoos that decorate his chest with your fingers.

"But, the next time one of my customers gets picked up, I may have to show up to their arraignment if it means I get to see you again."

You laugh and lay back on your bed before replying, "You think that would be good for their case? Their dealer showing up with a stolen air dancer?"

He climbs on top of you, a couple of loose curls hang by your face as he leans in.

"Who knows? I may just woo you into accidentally writing the transcript as not guilty."

You roll your eyes and kiss him.

He runs his hand up your stocking-covered leg. Once he reaches the top of your thigh where the fabric ends, he lets out a groan.

"Fuck, these don't go all the way up? You're killing me here. Let's get this skirt out of the way so I can get a better look."

He unzips your skirt and rolls it down your legs. Once it reaches your ankles, he stops and rests his head against your calf.

"Honey, you are something else." He kisses his way along your leg. He looks into your eyes as he lightly bites the fabric of your stockings and pulls. Your thighs go to close on instinct but he pulls them apart.

"Y-you tear those and you're buying me another pair."

"That's fine. Got a deal set up later today with Arod for some Ket."

"Who?"

"Arod? Legolas' horse in Lord of the Rings? He- y'know nevermind. It's not important right now. I'll tell you after."

You laugh at him and he returns his focus to kissing up your thigh. He lays smooches and licks in the area where your mound and thigh meet.

Your hips buck, he holds them down and says, "Woah, down girl."

"You're ridicu-"

He cuts you off by pressing his mouth to your clothed pussy.

You gasp and hold onto his hair.

He pulls back to slide off your panties and says, "Keep talking, sweetheart. Tell me how ridiculous I am while I lick you out." your face heats up as he uses his pointer and middle finger to spread your lips, inspecting you.

"Fuck. Isn't she pretty?"

He spits directly on your clit which makes you squirm. He licks a flat stripe up your folds before eagerly lapping at your clit. It sends little shocks through your whole body. His big hands keep your thighs spread as he devours you.

The slick, wet sounds combined with both of your moans is, quite frankly, obscene.

He moves down to your entrance and gives it a few licks before shoving his tongue in as far as it will go. You gasp and shudder as he presses in and out, fucking you with his tongue. He switches from keeping your thighs spread to squeezing them against his head. You're a bit worried about hurting him, but he's having the time of his life.

The vibration from the little pleasured noises he is making, the feeling of his tongue inside you, and his nose nudging against your clit has you nearly sobbing.

You feel his eyes bore into you and when you finally give in and look down at him, he's a mess. Red cheeks, ruffled hair, and a twinkle in his eyes as he watches you come undone.

He shakes his head back and forth desperately for a moment before moving up to focus on your clit. Having his pretty pink lips eagerly suck at your oversensitive clit is almost painful. As you feel the pressure in your belly build, you tug on his hair and whisper that you're close. He continues sucking, working for your orgasm like it's a prize to be won.

When your release hits, you're seeing stars. He doesn't stop sucking and lapping until you push him away, twitching and teary-eyed. He moves up your body and kisses you. He's more gentle with your mouth than he was with your cunt and the taste of him mixed with your own slick is mouthwatering.

You reach down and fumble with his belt. You tug down his pants and boxers just enough for his cock to spring out. It's a bit longer than average and thick with a reddened, leaky tip. You stroke it softly as he kisses your neck.

"Gotta be inside of you, honey. Please?" He practically whimpers.

"Mhmm, put in me."

You feel him smile against you before saying,

"Yes ma'am. Here, let me help." Reaching down, he covers your hand that's holding his cock with his own and guides your hands up and down your folds before prodding at your entrance.

He enters you slowly, inch by inch, until he's buried all the way in.

"Jesus Christ, I'm not gonna last long. She's squeezin' me so tight. I nearly creamed my pants from eating you out."

"It's okay, Eddie. Take your time."

He holds still for a moment before grinding into you. You moan and hold onto his shoulders. Once he has control over himself, he finds a rhythm. The patch of curly hair surrounding his cock tickles your clit with every thrust. He reaches down to grip your thighs as he fucks you. He lasts for a few moments before pulling back to look at you with a pained expression on his face.

"You okay?"

"Fuck, I'm so close. Where c-can I cum?"

"Wh-where do you want to cum?"

"Your thighs, fuck. Want to cum on your thighs so bad."

"Please, paint my stockings, Mr. Munson."

Your words send him over the edge, he curses and pulls out, covering your stocking and skin with his release. He lays down beside you and pulls you to his chest. You listen to his heartbeat while he takes a moment to catch his breath. Once he does, he says,

"So, as I was saying, Arod is Legolas' horse and-"

[thesoftestirises]

playing with fire ii

♡ pairing : aemond x reader ♡ rating : 18+ ♡ word count : 2.4k ♡ warnings: violence, talks of d wording and k wording, stockholm syndrome, threatening the people you love, forced marriage, dubcon (how can someone really consent in an environment like this?) ♡ summary : To most of Westeros, you are the dangerous leader of an antimonarchist   rebellion. To Prince Aemond, you are both the bane of his existence  and  the object of all his desires. ♡ an :  sorry for the wait! i’ve been super busy with life and work lately. but the comments on this fic really kicked my ass into gear so i wrote this for you guys <3 i’m hoping to establish a regular cadence with these chapters. anyways, thanks for reading

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Perhaps when you were much younger, you would have dreamed of a wedding like this.

Of a ceremony housed in a grand castle hall, decorated with bouquets of gladioluses as blue as the ocean. Of a reception with finely dressed servants handing out slices of white cake made of the finest imported sugar in the world. Of being a vision laced into a pretty blush pink gown with hand embroidered flowers along the hem.

A wedding fit for a princess.

You picked at a loose thread on the ostentatious lace tablecloth in front of you, avoiding eye contact with all the lords and ladies who had come to congratulate you on your marriage. There was no reason to feign pleasantries with them. You knew what they were thinking, it was evident in their tone when they addressed you.

They saw you as an ungrateful, sullen peasant girl who did not realize her fortune in marrying so dizzyingly high above her station. Were you not complaining about being poor? Was that not the root cause behind you kicking up a fuss with the smallfolk? Encouraging them not to pay taxes and telling young men to feign illness to avoid being drafted into their wars?

Prince Aemond should have had your head for your treason. But his highness was kind and merciful, and decided to take your maidenhead instead. You should be thankful. You would live in a fine castle, wear the most elegant of fashions, and never have to want for anything. Was that not what peasants dreamed of? Well, here it was. Presented undeservingly.

These high borns didn’t understand you. They didn’t want to. You were a political forest fire, dangerous and meant to be doused as soon as possible. They wanted to believe that elevating your station would placate you. They could not be more wrong, but you were hardly concerned with their opinions.

Your gaze shifted to the darkest corner of the hall and locked onto the table banished farthest from your place of honor at the front.

The smallfolk stood out almost painfully in the sea of polished nobility. Unlike the genteel mannered lords and ladies around them, they scarfed down all the food at their table and stuffed their pockets with as many leftovers as they could fit, ignoring the disgusted looks they were receiving. Their hair was ungroomed and their clothing soiled. They were, predictably, wholly unprepared to comport themselves in a manner befitting such a formal occasion. In most instances, smallfolk wouldn’t have even been given the pleasure of breathing near the guest list of a royal wedding reception.

But Prince Aemond had decided to break from tradition and make an exception. In his graciousness and generosity, he pardoned all the prisoners who had been arrested for rioting in exchange for their attendance at your wedding.

In between bites of their food, they would glance up at you. Their eyes would take in the sparkling sapphires in your hair, the handcrafted dress you wore, and the prince sitting beside you.

They would see that you had become one of them.

You could see the words on their lips as they whispered to each other. Was this what you had wanted all along? Power? Wealth? Was this what they had risked their lives for? It seemed that you were just the same as the highborns without the breeding to show for it.

There was no way the smallfolk would ever trust you again, not after they watched you marry the second prince without a word of protest during the ceremony. They didn’t know Aemond had threatened to take his damnable beast to the skies and raze the village you were born in to ashes if you didn’t cooperate in front of the septa. They only knew what they had seen, and they believed they had bared witness to the prince laying his lips on yours in the Great Sept of Baelor. They did not see Aemond smirking at you and carefully angling his head to obscure the congregation’s view of your faces when you were prompted to kiss him. They had no idea this whole wedding was a farce designed to discredit you and bind you to a man who saw you as little more than a toy.

You hated to admit it, but Aemond had been tactical and clever in destroying not only your legitimacy, but the legitimacy of your entire movement. To any onlooker, it appeared you abandoned your calls to end the monarchy to join it instead. Whoever attempted to reestablish your movement would face intense scrutiny of doing the same. It would take years, if not decades, to find a leader who could rebuild the momentum.

“You’re making our wedding look like a funeral procession, dear wife.”

You turned your head to Aemond. Your husband now, you supposed. The corners of his lips were pulled upwards in that horrible, self satisfied smirk he always seemed to wear around you.

You sighed, swirling the glass of wine in front of you, but not taking a sip. You were consciously objecting to eating anything at this sham ceremony. “It is a funeral. I am mourning the loss of my autonomy.”

Aemond huffed out a little laugh and shook his head. “Do you ever tire of playing the victim?”

“Do you ever tire of playing the tyrant?” You shot back.

“No,” Aemond said before placing his arm around the back of your chair and leaning in to whisper into your ear. “But if it would please you, I could certainly try my hand at playing the knight in shining armor again. I do remember how you moaned for me then.”

A rush of heat spread across your face as your mouth parted in shock. “I do not recall an event in which I ever moaned for you. You are mistaken.”

“Am I? Do you want to reenact our first meeting and see if it stirs up any old memories that may be lurking about?”

“N-no!”

“Pity. Next time then,” he said, removing his arm.

You waited a few moments before breaking the silence again. “So? What now?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Aemond asked as he busied himself with slicing into the steak on the plate in front of him.

“You’ve won, you’ve delegitimized me. What are your plans now? We are wed inextricably.”

“I already said,” he replied in a casual tone, not bothering to look at you. “I will have you.”

“And I have already said that I would rather pull my toenails out individually. So I ask again, what are your plans?”

“I am the second prince, my dear princess. I have no other plans.”

“Truly? You have no ambitions aside from bedding me?” You asked, raising a brow.

Aemond turned to you, his pale blue eye searching your face before finally landing on your lips. “None that are more worthy.”

“What about the City Watch that you lead? Do you not have an interest in reducing crime? Or education? You studied philosophy, do you not think the children of the smallfolk would benefit from the same? Or perhaps you could help the struggling farmers in the lower villages? The last harvest was difficult and meager. They are barely able to feed themselves, and yet the nobles of King’s Landing throw lavish parties every day. Surely there is something you could spare from the stores?”

Aemond pressed his lips together in a failed effort to hide his amusement. “Are you attempting to radicalize your husband, little fox?”

“I’m attempting to suggest that you use your power to help your people,” you said, your voice laced with annoyance.

“I have no interest in helping them. I am not their king.”

“Does one have to be king in order to want to help others? What of love? Are they not just as human as you?”

Aemond pursed his lips and nodded. He took a butter knife from the table into his hands and flipped it once, the hilt of the blade rolling neatly around his fingers before landing in his palm. “I see my apathy deeply concerns you, but I have no desire to play political games that do not benefit me. Anything I do, any positive impact I make, will all be attributed to my drunken brother who is barely lucid on his best day. I will not begrudge my duties, but I will not be made to do his. That is Aegon’s responsibility.”

“I see,” you said quietly. “You wanted to be king.”

Aemond shot you a sharp look. “Careful, little fox. You’re treading very dangerous territory. I advise you to turn back now.”

You briefly pondered asking him if there was a part of him that wished for his brother’s demise. If he had ever contemplated being the cause. But you knew that line of questioning was essentially treason, and you were not keen to be executed over curiosity. Not now when all the work you had done to help the smallfolk was unraveled. You refused to meet the gods without making some kind of improvement in lives of your fellow people.

But you had no power in this place. You may be addressed as a princess, but everyone knew you were a lowborn seditionist. Even if you were not, your only role in this society is to bear children and be something pretty for your husband to look at. Highborn women were not meant to have political ambitions.

You paused and considered Aemond. “What if we made an exchange?”

“What kind of an exchange?” He asked, his tone bored as he fiddled with the napkin on his lap.

You took a deep breath and dropped your gaze to his hands. His long, elegant fingers that were laced with silvery scars and calluses from years of training with the sword. The slightly red fingertips that you knew to be ice cold.

“My body for your cooperation.”

Aemond barked out an amused laugh, drawing stares from the lords who sat closest to you. “You’d whore yourself out to me for the smallfolk to be given table scraps?”

You closed your eyes for a second before nodding resolutely. “Yes, I would.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened as he looked at you. “How far would you go?”

“I’d do anything you wanted.”

“If I wanted you to wrap your pretty lips around my cock?”

“I’d do it.”

“If I wanted to fondle your breasts and smear your nipples with my seed?”

“I’d let you.”

“If I wanted to fuck you on this table for everyone to see?” He asked, gesturing to the hall around him.

There had to have been at least five hundred people in attendance. Five hundred pairs of eyes to witness humiliation worse than what you’d already been through at the hands of Aemond earlier today. At least four score of those eyes belonged to people who had been arrested for acting on your orders. And yet.

“I’d submit to it.”

Aemond tilted his head, his gaze penetrating yours in a way that made you feel as if he was reading your mind. He reached a palm out to you and cupped your jaw. He stroked his thumb over your cheekbone, his cool fingertips grazing over your skin. You shivered at the touch, but did not move.

“Interesting,” he said, before removing his hand and returning his attention to his plate. “But I cannot accept your offer.”

“What?” You asked after a beat, knitting your brows together. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“No. I want you to give yourself to me willingly, not begrudgingly.”

“I don’t understand.”

Aemond pressed his lips together in an imitation of a smile and shook his head. “You are offering to part your legs for me while laying back and thinking of Westeros. What I want from you is different.”

He moved his hand from the table to rest on your knee, drawing a gasp from your lips. You looked at him sharply as he ran his fingertips over your clothed leg, dipping between the folds of fabric and brushing along your sensitive inner thighs. An unfamiliar, pleasant heat began to brew in the pit of your stomach as a response to his touch. You shifted in your seat and looked down, watching Aemond’s deft fingers slide closer to your heat.

“I want you to seek out my kiss. To fantasize about my touch. For your cunt to drip at the mere thought of me,” he said, leaning in close enough for you to taste his mint flavored breath on your tongue. “I want you to surrender to me out of desire, not obligation.”

Your eyes skimmed over his face, the sharpness of his prominent nose, the curl on his cupid’s bow shaped mouth. “Why? Most other lords don’t mind fucking reluctant wives.”

“I am not like them. And neither are you,” he said, leaning back. “You will either give yourself to me willingly or not at all.”

You sighed, relaxing your posture as he retreated from your space. “I fear we will both die virgins at this rate.”

Aemond chuckled, reaching for his glass of wine. “You will, not I.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away. “Of course.”

“I was actually quite surprised to hear from the Maesters that you are still in tact. Pleased, of course, but surprised nonetheless.”

“As you are probably aware, I did not have time for romantic entanglements.”

He hummed quietly and mused. “Even now, your priority is your cause.”

“My priority is the people,” you said unflinchingly. “They deserve to live full and free lives without fear or intimidation.”

“And you believe this would be achieved by abolishing the monarchy?” He asked as raised his brows.

“Yes,” you answered. “I do not believe the people can be free when they have to live at the whim of a ruling class born to the position. They could be thrown into war at a moment’s notice, lose the rights to their land, or be forced into bed by threat of death.”

Aemond tilted his head down and considered your argument for a moment before speaking again. “Say you did manage to abolish the monarchy. What do you suppose would happen without a leader? Without a king who could command a dragon? There would be chaos. Foreign invasions. People would suffer more than they do now.”

“We are not under any threat of foreign invasion,” you argued. “The Free Cities are in no position to start a war. The Triarchy’s coffers are completely empty from funding the fighting in the Stepstones. Dorne has been significantly weakened by repeated attempts at invasion over the last century. Any other enemy would have a wide expanse of ocean to contend with. It is true that there would be a transitionary period in which there would be no formal leader, but I do not believe it would be as chaotic as you are imagining.”

Aemond smiled and shook his head. “You are an idealist if you truly believe that.”

“There are worse things to be.”

“Few that are as deadly.”

A laugh slipped out from your lips before you could think to stop it. When you remembered what, or rather who, you were smiling at, the amusement dropped swiftly. But the damage was done, and Aemond was examining you with an unreadable gaze. You straightened up in your seat and busied yourself with smoothing out your dress and pointedly avoiding meeting his eye.

After a moment, Aemond spoke again.

“I will see what I can do about the table scraps.”

He then stood from his seat, paid his respects to his brother and sister, and swept away from the hall without so much as looking at you.

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[bonefall]

i know you have a lot coming up for clanmew day, but i was wondering if clanmew has any other "archaic" words that aren't really used anymore? i know 'kurrnia' is one, and it would be interesting if older spirits - such as, idk, cloudberry and ryewhisker are on my mind cause of the darkstripe posting - have a bit of a language barrier communicating with younger cats because of the language changing overtime

Darkstripe: "...................what... what was that dish you just suggested?"

Cloudberry: "Blanc desire. Milke of alemaundes, flour of rys, braun of chapoun, gyngere itried, sucre, hwit wyn; vchon of þoes schulen boillen in clene possenet, & soþþen idon in þe vessel hwaryn hit schal beon imad, in a stude wyþouten vulþe; & poume gernet to strey3en abouen."

Cloud and Rye definitely have an odd cadence, their native tongue is actually early Clanmew. It's a pidgin between Parkmew and Old Tribemew, actively evolving into a creole language. They might have been some of the first cats to grow up with it as their first language!

But they're also the greeters of all new cats, and easily some of the most social spirits in the Place of No Stars. They've been speaking Clanmew AS it evolved. So they probably have a few odd phrases and archaic words, but not as extreme as Middle English Cloudberry up there lmao.

Archaic words that I can think of;

Kurrnia = Honor Child, like you brought up.

Oowe = King. The ruler of the River Kingdom.

Kekaba-weeg = An unfortunate accident or a horse-drawn carriage. References the death of Gray Wing the Wise.

Ssuiche = Homestead. A sub-territory owned by a family, pledging allegiance to the Wind Coalition or River Kingdom.

Bpon = Mountain, as opposed to Kroob, hill, which is still in use. Become the rootword of "boulder," which influenced "stone."

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part Five) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4...

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: kinda anti-Lori, angsty as hell (sorry), misunderstandings, and crying.

[[A/N: Thanks @imaginemyfavoritefics for some concepts implemented in here !!! And this gif is just so pretty, like. Catch me wishing I was at a ball so he could ask for my hand. I'm simple, give me a pretty view of his blue eyes, and I'm happy. Googled it and regency era had gossip-focused newspapers!!! Drama. Thanks for reading.]]

It had been a dreadful past few days -you assumed to make up for the wonder that was the ball. You had ended up dancing -a brief one but still a dance. Sometimes if you closed your eyes you were right there -his hand delicately placed and yours mirrored. It was filled with the perfect poise, and better yet: laughter.

Some of your favorite dance pairings were full of laughter, but the banter you'd had with Mr. Grimes was much different.

You'd doubted you'd ever smiled so much in your life. Bright and big and shiny, you'd danced the last set of the night with him, and all the while desperately wished it could last longer. It was rather unheard of in your book to prefer more dances with men.

But, Mr. Grimes was quite special.

"Hey," Maggie waved her hand in front of you, "-stop drooling, we have to get the post, remember?"

"No, I-" you cleared your throat pointedly, "-have to get the post. You have to be Headmistress's companion for the hour."

She rolled her eyes, pointing out, "Right, and whose the one who has to pick up the rest of the groceries because you got distracted by a man?"

You shoved gently into her side, shaking your head and stepping out into the foyer. Your eyes landed on Beth -looking quite preoccupied with some paper in her lap and loose hand twisting her blonde curl.

"Hello, darling sister," you chimed, smiling brightly and trying to peek at the title -she didn't often share much, you have to learn it on your own, really, "-what is it your reading today?"

And usually, in normal circumstances, she would tell you and your morning would be started rather warm. Beth was always so grand to listen to, anything she spoke of came with the same cadence.

But, apparently, it was not a usual day.

"Are you to be married to Mr. Grimes?"

You froze in your spot, still as stone, peering down at your sister. She was looking at you with rather open blue eyes -vulnerable and curious, she'd always meant well you knew that. But it could be rather degrading in cases such as this.

"What?" You questioned, tone a little higher than you expected.

"Let me see that!" Headmistress rushed from behind you -you'd imagined she'd heard the whole thing, she was quite nosy.

'Have to be,' she'd say, '-to get anything done here.'

And as she stood beside you, you grounded yourself and peered over her shoulder. The black ink is rather bold and threatening like it was demanding you read it. Demanded you paid attention, really.

'LOCAL WEALTHY MAN HAS EYES ON NEW MISTRESS' it read, in big blocky sort of lettering.

"'Mr. Grimes, the wealthy owner of Alexandria estates,'" your Headmistress read, head following the words as she went, "'-was seen with a young lady, still yet to be identified, for most of his time Saturday evening.' Oh my, Hershel-"

He waltzed into the room, fairly dressed for the day -off to a work call, you assumed, "Yes?"

"Your daughter's on the front page," she brandished the paper under his heavy eye -eyebrows settled deep in worry, "-can you believe it?"

"Huh," he hummed -taking the paper in his hands, shaking it to clear the creases, "-I have to say I assumed so."

"Assumed so?"

"Well, I'm off for a trip to the estate," he spoke, eyeing you in a certain sort of way with an amused smile slipping onto his face, "-at Mr. Grimes's personal invitation."

"No," Headmistress lilted -rather improperly, "-you're truly not."

"See for yourself," your father tugged a little letter out of his vest pocket -extending it to her with a rather smug sort of look.

You nearly jumped to look at the note over your Headmistress's shoulder -handwriting rather neatly printed like it took much thought. Like he truly worried over the words he'd said, something in you swirled.

'Dr. Greene,' it said -printed by the fragile tip of a quill, '-I would hope you indulge me with a visit on the 'morrow. I wish to discuss some things at your leisure, I'm sure you're familiar with what. My intentions are obnoxiously clear, I'm told. And please extend an invitation for dinner to the rest of your family come Thursday evening. Awaiting your response, Richard Grimes.'

"Oh my," Headmistress echoed, tone really bubbling up into one of joy and disbelief, "-oh my! This is-"

You laughed, connecting your hands at the skirt -flushing a rather obvious crimson as a smile slipped across your lips, "Wonderful. Father, may I-"

"It's all yours, my dear," he smiled, a sort of wondrously fond look dusting across his face, "-but I must go, wouldn't want him to wait too long."

Headmistress merely grinned, extending the note in her hand to yours and when you accepted it, she only grinned brighter. Bouncing a little in her step, she ran her hands over your arms -something you found you'd rarely seen.

"Oh," she breathed wistfully -you were surprised she hadn't twirled around like she was in a meadow, "-this is terrific! My dearest, darling Y/N. We must work on dresses for dinner, you must look absolutely delightful-"

"Headmistress," you groaned, despite the grin biting up on your cheeks. It was quite the contrary.

"No, no fuss, dear," she urged, hand dusting across your hair -as if there was something out of place, "-if such a man wishes to court you, you shall only look your best."

You rolled your eyes but remained rather submissive as she dragged you out the door -stores slipping through her mouth like mere suggestions. And Beth and Maggie on your tails, a part of you never wished to distract from this day -the joy in your step, the fondness of your family, and the spike of hope on the fact that maybe Mr. Grimes wished to court you.

You found that you were walking on air. Until you weren't.

It was near Thursday evening when your Headmistress had slipped into your room -silent, as you brushed your fingers across the embroidery. Your new dress had been rather pricey, all billowing fabrics and intricate details, but Father had reassured you it was doable. That this occasion was one to mark.

"Dear," she started, tone rather plain for her -especially since the dinner came so soon, "-may we speak?"

You turned to her -a distant sort of concern smoothing over your brow, "Everything alright, Headmistress? You're rather quiet for such an important dinner."

"Darling, the dinner has been canceled."

"Canceled?" you stilled -a sort of question dipped into your tone, eager, desperate, "Why ever would he have canceled it?"

"I don't-" she started, a deep sigh rattling through her body -something pointed in her eyes, "-I don't know, but we mustn't fret dea-"

"Did he-" you stopped -something shaky in your tone, "-Is it going to be rescheduled? Perhaps a week's time?"

Headmistress's eyes faltered, flicking to the ground, "We have... We have reason to believe that Mr. Grimes will not be rescheduling."

There was a heaviness settled on your shoulders, as you watched the rather solemn look settle on her face -this wasn't exaggerating like before. Not as she wept over the carriage, or sobbed over Maggie doing something far less than proper. There was something real there, in the smoothing of her smile to that of a flat line.

"What?"

"You don't need to worry about it, my dear-" Headmistress hummed, hands brushing over your shoulders like she had energy but there was a distinct lack, "-you're sure to have more choices."

"Choices?" you echoed -tone lost and a shake behind your words, you didn't want to cry, "-Headmistress, what happened? Did he... Is he not-"

"It's not important," she answered, but it was all wrong -tone uneven, eyes everywhere but matching you.

"It is," you reasoned, the tears prickling at the back of your eyes, "-it's at the very least important to me. And if you don't tell me, well-"

Your knuckles were white, grabbed onto the fabric of your dress -swirled of delicate embroidery crushed into your palm. It would need to be ironed again if you were to ever wear it. Something inside yourself told you that you wouldn't. Not after this-

"-I shall ask him myself."

Headmistress stood with you, matching your stride, "Y/N, that's utterly ridiculous, and I forbade you from going to that estate unattended!"

You ignored her pleas, moving in a straightforward motion. It was much like you weren't thinking, only going. You couldn't think, none of it made any sense and it would only make your head spiral further.

As you made your way down the staircase, she eagerly followed you -spouting out excuses, and 'forbidden' and 'disrespect'. It was all mere buzz in the back of your mind, drowning out the noise as if it was well-practiced.

"Woah," your Father rose from his seat, "-wherever are you off to this late?"

"Mr. Grimes's estate," you answered -simply and tone-numbed, "-to figure this all out myself."

"Darling," he spoke, "-let me gather my coat and I'll escort you at the very least-"

"Father," you exhaled, looking at him in the eyes -so as to convince him, to keep him focused, "-this is something I must do by myself. Or I shall never understand it and I'd like-" your voice broke, but you stood tall, "-I'd like to understand it."

He stood there for a moment -eyes peering down at you with a touched sort of fondness he'd always had when it had come to you and your sisters. He sighed, a deep sort of sigh, and something told you he knew what had happened himself -as he pulled your head forward to kiss your head, gently, "Okay, just be back in time for dinner, yeah?"

"Okay," you echoed -swinging your coat around your shoulders before making your way out the door.

It wasn't long down the road that the rain started -a light dusting turning into pouring rain. It made you shiver in the wind, but you found a sort of determination -the fire in your stomach came alive, and kept you warm. The mud of the roads had kicked up your skirt, and your hair had been rather thrown by the rain, but still, you put one foot in front of the other.

Something was biting at you, as you wandered up the steps -now empty compared to the ball weeks prior. The beautiful stone was so decorated you hardly felt like you could step on it without feeling guilty. And despite the turmoil, tugging deep in your stomach, you found some solace in its beauty. It gave you pause.

You looked down at your feet, watching the mud trail wash away behind you, but you'd still stained it hadn't you?

Would you ever not be a mere stain on his carpet?

Shaking your head, you gathered your courage back up and stepped closer to the door. Still as pristine as you last saw it, you watched as your hand made a smear there and your thoughts only grew louder -not worth it, don't belong, stain on his carpet-

The knock was a light one, as you gathered your coat around yourself -trying to solicit any sort of warmth out of the soaked fabric. It was all you could think of to do, as the tension settled heavily on your shoulders and the chill of the evening brushed across your skin.

You don't know why you hadn't expected it, everything added up when you looked back now, but then. All you wanted was an explanation.

When the door had opened, you hadn't paid attention to who opened the door at first, eager to get the words out, "Hello, is Mr. Grimes available? I wish to speak to-"

And then you paused, eyes slinking over the woman in front of you -she was slim with a well-crafted face and her dress was a beautiful sky blue -bodice more detailed than you could ever imagine. (Your new dress shied in comparison.) Her eyes were the most brilliant of brown (a shade you recognized from somewhere) and her hair tidied to perfection, you felt rather inadequate.

"Hello," she spoke, a little bewildered, "-what are you doing out in this rain, Miss..."

"Ms. Greene," you filled in the blank -shivering slightly from the cool air, "-my name is Y/N Greene. Lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss-"

"Lori," she added in, a wonderfully beautiful smile smoothing across her face, "-Mrs. Lori Grimes."

[quinttyz]

Awooga,,i keep thinking of elliott stardew valley,,

What is he like when he’s drunk??? My personal headcanon is that his mouth becomes REALLY LOOSE

Instead of his usual flowery cadence he goes hog wild,, he is EXTREMELY FLIRTY!!!!! (And REALLY GOOD AT IT) drunken rizz for the entire night like do u get me..when he gets hangover the next day and learns what he did the night before he always dies of embarrassment. It’s why he always drinks in moderation ksksksmsmsks

I can imagine him and bernie sharing a bottle of wine made from her farm. She invited him to try the first bottle in honor of this new venture into this business lmao

Blud got drunk and told Bernadetta about some of his thoughts that have been plaguing him for a while now…ABOUT HERRRRRRR AGAHAHUWKWHA because one time he treated her to an ice cream while they were on a date by the beach :’3 “a sweet treat for the sweetest person i know!”

Little did she know he was getting distracted by her licking the ice cream lol,,even he wasnt expecting this.. so the entire date he felt flustered (this man has never been in a relationship in a long time ok he is PINING)

And bernie being bernie she was just like

“Huh?”

But Elliott refused to elaborate further

So when he got reallyyyy drunk at Bernie’s place he whispered in her ear and told her what he really thought of her during that one summer day and the things he wanted to do

And then immediately passes out 👍

LONG STORY SHORT ELLIOTT WAKES UP TO A HANGOVER AND A VERY FLUSTERED BERNADETTA TENDING TO HIM IN BED LANAIAJSLEYOSBSKS and his first thought immediately is “shit what did i say this time”

[reilliane]

Pyrrhic ⊱⊰ Genshin!Various

A/N: It's time to dish out one of the delicious angsts to date; unrequited love :) warning, warning! there's no happy ending here!

✤ LIs: Venti, Xiao, Zhongli tw: death, blood

For an immortal, falling in love is a curse. Love in its essence is a beautiful sentiment to experience. Its hold raptures you, never failing in birthing a new day to look forward to. But even the grandest and most felicitous of emotions can beget the most dreadful of all; pain. Heartache. After all, a coin cannot exist with only a singular side. You know this the moment you allow your heart to flutter and soar, to be filled with butterflies and be gladdened as you spend your days with him. Oh, he's so beautiful. He needn't even do anything and yet, you feel as though you would've fallen for him thousand times over, still. Of course, the idea of loving someone... a fellow immortal, is terrifying. The heartache that lies in the agita of rejection will be perpetuated unless one decides to move on. You know this. You know the dangers, you are aware of the unfortunate possibilities, you are cognizant that he has no space for you in his heart. But still, you love him.

Music has always been your close companion. As far as you can remember, with the rise of each sun and the fall of each moon, your voice is resounding through the lands. It does not matter whether it's an aria or an elegy, or a ballad or a paean. The cadence of your voice will reach deep through the viridescence of the earth and the sapphire of the seas, carrying a melody that enriches life itself. It is not an astounding power, per se, and falls subpar against those who are in tune with elements. But you are elated with it. You've seen the manner in which you are able to uplift spirits and heal the heart. You've seen it enliven life itself. And for that, you are content. There is not a day that passes when you do not sing in the winds, and falling in love only ever makes you sing more. Through each note, you harbor the untold love you wish to convey to him. It isn't by any means a glum one, but it's pure bliss. He has taught you to love. It's a fantastic feeling, to simply be by his side. He has even honored your singing, surprising you one day with an instrument of his own. And as you sing the day away, he will be behind you, backs pressed together, playing the instrument to complete the beauty of a song. You can say that, yes, you are a coward for not telling him how you feel. That you are so afraid to tell him what you want; for your hearts to resonate and beat as one. But that is only because you are already satisfied this way—to be beside him, singing without the loom of despair. Yet, of course, all good things have to end. Teyvat is plunged into a great war that will last for an undetermined time. There are no eternal allies and no temporary enemies. Gods are turning against one another, rancor is all about the world, and blood becomes a part of each morning. Screams and warcries supersede the delicate music that used to shroud Teyvat in a loving grasp, marking a dissonance too intricate for you to remedy. But still, you sing. You sing for the arrival of the end of the war, you sing for the fallen and the hurting, and you sing for the hope of peace. Until your throat burns and until your voice runs out.

There comes a day when he says that he must head out further, further into the conflagration as if he isn't already in the heart of discord itself. What are you to do but worry over him? You are not a deity capable of lasting in a fight. How can you stand still, waiting with a dreadful presage? You have to tell him — so you did. It is an inopportune time, of course, but then, you have no proper reigns of your emotions. You wished them to be wayward, to ground you in place more, but even they caved into the desperation to confess. His response is anything but optimistic; and you understand, you really do. It hurts, but that much is expected. He simply does not love you the way you love him. When he leaves, you continue to sing. Until you've exhausted the woe in your heart. Until your voice is no more.

[Name]'s been with him for as long as he can remember. He had been the curious little wind spirit who's drawn to the origin of the beautiful art he learns to be music. He is there with her as she sings for the people of Old Mondstadt, raising their morale as they fight for their freedom. She's there when he takes up on the form of their friend, liberating them all from Decarabian and leading them to a new safe haven. She's there with her melodies to ease the pain in his heart. He's thankful for her existence, for her kind nature, and her love. He truly, truly is. But alas, it is a love that he cannot reciprocate. He knows his apology did zero to appease her broken heart and he wanted nothing, nothing but to sing her a tune. But he knows time is not on their side. He knows that he has a War to be in if he wants to keep his people safe, so he departed.

The fear that swallows him in a suffocating hold when he no longer hears her singing is unfathomable. It almost drives him insanely mad as he rushes—though he does not know where. But still, in some stroke of luck, perhaps, he reaches her. “... [Name]?” Or at least, what's left of her.

✤ Venti was an Archon who carries eternal grief.

No one knows of this, of course, since he is solitary in his remembrances of yesteryears. There is no one to share his sorrow, so he keeps it close to his chest, close to his voice.

On the days when he will play joyful songs in front of the statue, he will find himself drifting away, hearing the voice of his dearest friend. His glossy eyes will remain close.

Only will they open when he has reached the lands beyond the city of wind, where he is alone with nothing but the memory of long ago.

It is during this time when the moon has risen, will he bring out his lyre once more. Sometimes, he is free from the shackles of intoxication.

But sometimes, when the guilt is as fresh as morning dew, he will be a little intoxicated. Such as now.

He needn't worry, for his fingers have memorized the sequence of strings to be plucked and strummed. And he will not be the one to sing.

It is during this time when he will close his eyes and play his lyre does he hear [Name].

Her voice will be as harmonious as always—resonating with the life she left behind, faint, barely audible. But he hears her. He always does.

He can never forget her voice.

And as he continues to play the songs they've played together, she will continue to sing. She is but a presence in the wind, forgotten by all but him.

He can still hear the pain in her voice, masked only by the genuine desire to uplift his spirit. Ever the kind [Name].

Sometimes, he will accidentally strum the wrong string because his fingers are trembling. Trembling for the reason of wanting to reach out to her, but he knows that he can't.

For she vanishes with the end of each song.

Just as he vanished to her by the end of her confession.

He will apologize when it happens, when he mistakenly got the chord wrong, but there will be no response. Just the continuation of the song.

The continuance of a doleful aria.

It brings him back to the anguish he hears in the requiems during the Archon War.

Brings him back to the twilight where he found her body amid the carnage, motionless with a slitted throat.

He remembers crying.

“[Name]! [Name], I'm here, please-!”

He remembers the droop of his wings and the faltering glow of his Anemo as he holds her cold, cold body in his arms. He remembers shaking like he's plunged into the depths of the frigid sea.

“No... No, no no no- not you, too!”

Yet no matter how tight he holds her close to him as she would've wanted—as she would've loved...

“Please... you can't...”

... No matter how he promises to learn to love her if it gets her to wake up-

“You can't leave me, too...”

No longer did she open her eyes.

He only ever entertained her whims due to the insistence of his brothers and sisters. He plays the flute because when he does and she joins him, his family will be delighted. But in the truth of it all, her romantic feelings are something he treats with insouciance. Don't get him wrong, he's flattered that someone like her; so pure and kind, has fallen for someone like him. Dirty and tainted with bloodshed. Yakshas are not meant for fickle things such as love and emotion. They are not meant for those because they belong on the battlefield. It is their home. Not in anyone's hearts. Thus, he dreaded the day of her confession. For as much as he doesn't return those feelings of love, it is never in his choice nor want to bring her any sort of pain. But it has to be done and they both know it. So he did. And he caused the fissure in her heart, caused it to shatter her apart.

He's there when death comes to take her away. Perhaps it was never in her choice to call out his name because he's elsewhere, but she called his name. And he came. But no matter how fast he's dashing through the open air— “Xiao-!” —His name was still her last word.

✤ Nowadays, Xiao plays the flute in memory of his fallen comrades.

He plays for them in the dead of night, when everything is at peace and only the moon is there to listen.

He plays it in memory of the voice that once filled the air of Teyvat in all its pleasant melody. He plays for them and for her.

And he plays with all that he can express with his heart.

At the peaks of Qingyun, Xiao will be found, pressing his fingers against the wooden base of the instrument as he lets it resonate. He notices that whenever he plays, it always ends up being eerie.

As though it is all that his heart knows how to express; the hauntings and grief of a past untold.

Yet the sweet, sweet voice that accompanies each played note makes the sound less fearful. The eeriness becomes peaceful with each stretch of legato.

And similarly, like it's always been ever since he heard her sing, he is put at ease. Though his comfort is always unified with a touch of guilt.

He wants to speak to her. Ever since he found out that until now, she's still singing as he plays in accompaniment, he wanted to speak to her.

For a reticent being such as he, he wanted to say so many things.

“[Name]... I'm-”

Xiao wants to apologize for being unable to save her when he had been there.

But he can ever lift his lips away from the flute without the voice disappearing after. He's tried multiple times, with each defeat weighing him further.

[Name]'s voice, however, seems to carry the message of forgiveness.

Almost saying in her song that it is alright, that it isn't his fault, and that she can never blame him.

So the last Yaksha continues playing the flute in the dead of night.

“I'm sorry.”

And when his breath stutters and fails to deliver a note, he will start over, and the song will restart. He doesn't want to stop playing.

He plays until he runs out of breath- or until the song's done and all he's doing is resounding random notes.

He will play for an eternity, even.

“Please...”

For it is only the time when he can relive his memory of her.

The only time he can relive the wonderful sensation of being loved.

“Don't hate me.”

Morax loves another. There never has been a choice, because no other woman than Guizhong will occupy his heart. And he made sure this is known. [Name] is a dear friend, so goodhearted to a fault. He feels awful for having to disregard her feelings, but there is nothing that can be done. Love cannot be forced upon someone. And [Name] understood that. She's perfectly fine with the way things are—but she had to confess when he had to leave. He can understand the reason why; it's to relieve herself of the weight of a confession. So the God of War gave her what she needed. A cataclysm of her own in the existence of heartbreak, so she can learn to move on. But she never had the chance to.

It was a sacrifice. When Morax arrived, music was no more. There was only the Lord of Dust presiding over what had been the lively vessel of their dear friend. Her throat was slit as if it had been a way to silence her singing. Morax came upon the gods afterward and struck them down the same way they did to their fallen comrade. There were no canticles, just the sound of war cries.

✤ Zhongli is a man and was an Archon of many things, but never guilt. He chooses his next steps braced for all sorts of possible consequences.

The Archon War was a dark chapter of his life and [Name] was his consequence. He knew this. He accepted this, albeit bitterly.

She was meant to live—but she perished and was but a forgotten god to the humans she oh so adored.

In her stead, music lives on. It's almost like it's destined to be this way all along, and though it is an agonizing notion to consider, it is one that he finds himself believing.

Still, Zhongli wishes she was alive. Still, he wishes that they are still the complete group of three.

After all, it is never the same when one is gone.

The callous on his hands are hidden away by his black gloves, hiding centuries of slaughter and bloodshed. They can be so harsh in the handling of his polearm, yet they can be so gentle when strumming the zither.

Its gently produced melody seems to befall silence upon Guili Plains, the accompanying voice revitalizing the atmosphere.

“I will bring upon them the demise they brought unto you.”

If he stares for a bit longer, it's as though he's seeing Guili Assembly again, bright and hearty despite the loom of war. If he squints, he will even see a lost memory of a group of three.

“I will not let your memory fade, [Name].”

Now a pair alone.

Eventually, whether one likes it or not, all songs need to come to an end. And the end is, as natural as it is, there to be dreaded.

The wind is ever so gentle with its caress, acting like the hand of a passing spirit. Transient in its wake.

He prolongs the notes leading to the outro, not wishing for it all to end so easily. It is yet another subtle attempt of desperation to hold unto an ephemeral song.

To hold unto a deity who's meant for greater things yet has passed too soon.

To hold unto a friend who, in her last moments, only knew nothing but the pain of heartache. A pain that he caused.

The song reaches the finale at long last, with the notes leaving a fleeting reverb. He feels a presence pressing against his back, the warmth stinging his chest with the vestige of a time that can no longer be retrieved.

For the last few moments, it feels like he has gone back in the past, blessed with the false image that everything is alright.

Her voice is so close, singing, living.

He then hears the gentle whisper of his name, so broken yet so loving just as the reverb fades into nullity and he turns with a lifted hand.

To reach for her, the one who's been nothing but good and understanding; the only one who did not let her unreciprocated feelings strain them both.

His voice is wistful.

“[Name]—”

For the briefest of seconds, it feels like she's present, as always. Back pressed against his, smiling and asking if it's possible for an encore.

But there is no one there—as well as the comforting warmth of a friend against his back. He is alone.

His hand lowers onto his lap as he wills the instrument to fade away.

He's alone.

With tight lips, he sighs and lifts his face against the cool wind, wishing them to dry his eyes before they can gloss over with water.

He envisions the last time he has seen her smile, only to find out that it's already a blurred mess of [c]. He no longer knows what she looks like and that only tinges him more with a hollowing pain.

“I love you,”

“I can't return your feelings.”

He does not know what hurts more; being the last source of his friend's pain, or not being able to be there to save her.

She was on the road to recovery—everything was supposed to be alright. But then it wasn't.

He leaves the site with a frown on his face, the sting of centuries past etching itself on his chest.

The War is long over, but the victory remains as pyrrhic as ever.

a/n: i remember thinking up of this idea at a random point in the day and rambling about it in my friend's dms who lives on the other side of the world. she woke up to angsty brainrot lmao my apologies.

BUT ALAS, I HAVE COME TO DELIVER! Dish is hot :>

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @aryllechan @epioneemersyn @koi-chairowo @uwu-dreams @yvechu @mininji

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives: Chapter 1 At Dinner Parties, I Call You Out (ARWBFB sequel)

Heeey besties. We're back. We're back. Thus begins the sequel to Always Remember We're Burned for Better. Fucking wild right.

So. This is chapter one of the sequel. The title of the sequel comes from High Infidelity, not because they're experiencing that, but because I liked the line being about picket fences. This fic is structured much different than ARWBFB. It's going to be more vignette day in the life style fics. It's not high intensity. It's not high drama. ARWBFB has all of that. This is the life after the war and that is this.

This concept of this fucking chicken...this is entirely what I wanted to write the sequel for. The mental imagery of spatchcocking a chicken. I'm not lying as you are about to see.

Thats what this whole sequel is to be. Just..moments of life. Fun moments of life. You are welcome to send requests. I will do my best to honor and address them.

So yeah! Fic title from High Infidelity (t swift)

Chapter title from gold rush (t swift).

AO3 Link

masterpost

So! Yeah!

Here we go again. Thank you all for being here and rejoining me.

Life moves blessedly slow in a world without the Hunger Games. 

A life without training to run, a life without interviews to attend. A life with morning runs as a leisure and not a warm up, a life with meals with seasoning and flavor, a life with friends a forty minute train ride away.

It is a peaceful life, albeit somewhat boring for two twenty something kids who spent their life learning to kill. 

It is unbelievably peaceful, actually.

 Cato and Clove sit nearly on top of each other on their living room couch, her little legs tucked in his lap, her feet in his hands. Their luggage sits unpacked by the door from a ten day trip to District Four, having been discarded immediately upon their return in long awaited exchange for their own cool bed sheets on their sun warmed skin. If you ask Cato the best part of the trip, he will tell you it was watching more freckles appear on the skin of his wife every passing day. If you ask Clove she will tell you it was watching Cato’s hair lighten and his skin take on that golden hue she hadn’t seen since he won his games what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

They don’t need to talk, not when she’s lounging in his lap like this, reading aloud the new curriculum designs Enobaria had dropped off for their input. It was more difficult than any of them had anticipated, adapting their training plans to regular recreation activities. Every once in a while Cato gives a hum of approval or digs his thumb into the arch of her foot in a way that makes her lose her place in a sentence. 

“Do you think they’ll let us come teach?” Cato wonders out loud, before kicking his own feet up and pushing his side of the couch back in a reclining position. “Feels like it could be fun, it’s something to do..”

“I think after reading this shit they better let us do whatever we want, I don’t even think i’m pronouncing the word Calisthenics right.” Clove latches her knees over his thighs and pulls herself closer, the warm thrum of his hand on her knee keeping in cadence with her reading. She writes something in the margins of the paper that Cato cannot see, but it’s almost certainly something about the meaning of a word that she will look up later to save herself the embarrassment of asking Enobaria. “Do you think they’re going to keep teaching kids to read after they turn twelve? I feel like thats a skill we should prioritize.”

“I’m not even sure I learned to read well enough before them.”

A frantic rapping at the door interrupts their commentary, and they share a suspicious look though neither move from their position intertwined on the couch. 

“Who knocks?” Cato raises an eyebrow, his hand stilling from where it strokes at her knee. “Doesn’t half the country have a key to our house?”

“We really should change those locks.” Clove muses lightly, making no move to answer the door or even see who it was. Cato had a point. Whoever it was..either they’d let themselves in or they’d leave. 

“What, tired of Enobaria letting herself in for breakfast?” Cato taunts, but there's no real malice there. If the worst that happened to them for the rest of their lives were their family members inviting themselves over at eight in the morning then they are better off than they were with all the victor glory in the world. 

“I just want to know when I became responsible for feeding the world,” 

As if on cue the front door creaks open, and shuts incredibly softly within the same second. There is only one person, one frame, that could slip in like a ghost and as silent as a wisp. 

They hear her soft voice and the ruffling of what sounds like bags before they see her. 

“Clove? Clove I need help.” Glimmer turns the corner from the entryway, two large white canvas totes on her arm. Whatever panic she was in pauses as she sees them for the first time in nearly two weeks, as if they were separated across a war torn nation again. “It’s been so long since i’ve seen you- oh! Don’t you two just look so cute and in love.” She raises a hand to her cheek dramatically, pursing her lips out in a plush. “How was the honeymoon?”

“So long? We got married twelve days ago, and it was you who disappeared without a goodbye-“‘Cato starts to debate, but a firm kick to his thigh shuts him up. “I mean, it was great, Glimmer.”

“I was going to ask if you even enjoyed the beach but from the looks of it you did go outside!! I’m very proud.” The woman sits herself down on the other side of Clove, still holding a canvas bag on each shoulder. “I’m still just so happy for you!” 

“I’m assuming you did not bring gifts?” Clove closes the portfolio of ideas, placing it on the arm of the couch on the other side of Cato. “The wedding’s over, what kind of emergency could you possibly be having now? The dresses fit, they were perfect, what do you need help with, Glim?”

Glimmer lets out a sigh of clear distress, finally letting the bags fall to the floor and relieving her shoulders of the weight. “I may have overcommitted.” She begins, and the repetitive way she starts to twist at her fingers betrays the anxiety that’s been building. “My mom used to make this chicken when I was little. She didn't make it a lot, but it was for special days. It was just so warm and comforting, Clove. And for the last few days it has been all I have wanted. It keeps me up at night. I think about it all day and I want it so bad and I don’t have a mom to make it so I told Cash and Gloss to come to dinner because I was going to try and I did try and it was terrible and pink and Marvel definitely hated it but lied not to hurt my feelings and I don’t want to kill my brother and my sister and my- Marvel, and I really really want this chicken I don’t even like Chicken with bones but it’s all I want and-“ Glimmer ceases her ramble to takes a deep breath  and squeezes her eyes shut, willing away the tears she is on the verge of releasing over this chicken she desperately craves. It isn’t even that remarkable- she just wants the comfort that her mother cannot give her. “And long story short they’ll be here in two hours for dinner.”

Clove sits up far straighter than her lounging position in Cato’s lap, and his chuckle in the background would have earned him a glare had it not been for the shock filling Clove’s face. In fact, Clove is sure if she had not literally returned from vacation last night, she would have choked her. 

“You invited your family to dinner at my house. That I have to make?” 

“Well…Cash was bringing Enobaria! So! I told her to invite Brutus too!” Glimmer buries her head in the heel of her hands, physically forcing the tears back into her head. “I’m sorry! I just want this so bad and I almost killed Marvel with it earlier, and I’m lonely, and all I want is this chicken.” 

Cato and Clove share what can only be described as a what the fuck look, and Cato puts his hands up in defeat. There had been an unspoken agreement amongst all of them, that knowing Glimmer’s precarious history with food, that they’d never tell her no if she wanted something to eat. This, unfortunately, fell into that category. 

Of course there was the question of are we actually crying over chicken or is this something bigger, but that was simply not something they were willing to address right now. 

“….as long as Brutus doesn’t bring those fucking dogs.” Cato concedes, and can’t help but shiver in distaste. Something about those three giant puppies made him feel incredibly unsettled, despite the significant size advantages he had on the literal dogs. “I sure as hell won’t complain about anything you make.”

Clove shoots him a look of disbelief, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, as he merely shrugs. “You should make those really good potatoes with it too, Clovey. ”

Glimmer look’s up with glistening eyes, and nods enthusiastically. “I promised there’d be salad too.”

“Am I your personal chef, Glimmer?” Clove mumbles, but pushes herself from Cato’s lap to a standing position. “I need to start now. If you only gave me two hours, come on, you’re helping.”

“But I can’t cook!” Glimmer tries, but Clove is grabbing her by the wrists and pulling her along regardless. 

“You’re going to learn SOMETHING today.”

Clove drags Glimmer, who shuffles her feet in hesitation, all the way to her kitchen island before beginning to dig around her kitchen drawers. “I’ve seen Cato eat an entire chicken for breakfast when we were younger, you better have at least two between him, marvel, and Enobaria.”

She’s fluttering around the kitchen, sliding a cutting board in front of Glimmer along with an impeccably sharpened chef's knife. Directly beside Glimmer she places one for herself, but instead pulls out something that not long ago Glimmer would have seen her throwing at a target in the capitol training center before their conjoined games. She must make a face at the realization, because Clove’s soft laugh grounds her back in reality.”

“It makes me feel like I'm still doing something cool.” Clove explains, running her finger over the sharp edge of the knife. “Not much use for them other than this, anymore.”

Glimmer shakes her head rapidly, eyes wide as Clove pulls the two little chickens out and plops them directly in the large, steel sink behind them. “This is so cool, Clove. So cool.”

“What? Cooking? It’s a basic survival skill when you’re seven and no one likes you, Glimmer.” Clove comments, before bringing the cleaned chicken over to Glimmer. “Okay. You’re going to learn how to do this, today. What’s your mother put on them?”

“...I don’t know. It was just good.” Glimmer shrugs, and takes the most minute step back away from the raw bird carcass, hands flush against her abdomen so she doesn’t have to touch it by accident. 

“What the hell do you mean that you don’t know, I can’t just magically recreate it? Didn’t you want it specifically?” Clove whips her head to look at Glimmer in sheer disbelief, taking the opportunity to pull her long hair to the center of her head, securing it back and out of the way of her work before reaching out and flicking the ends of Glimmer’s ever increasing long blonde hair. “I’d pull this back, unless you want raw meat fluid in your hair.”

Glimmer gags. Audibly gags. So loud in fact that Cato peaks into the Kitchen with a bewildered, but smug expression before he pulls a chair over to the island across from them. “I have to watch this.”

“God you’re such a dick.” Glimmer mumbles, but composes herself in time to loosely tie her hair at the nape of her neck. “I’m fine, I’m fine, let's just..do this.”

“You’re the one who wanted it.” Clove rolls her eyes, but hands Glimmer a pair of kitchen shears. “Okay. Pull out the insides, and then you’re going to cut out the spine. It cooks faster that way.”

What little color Glimmer had in her face drains immediately, leaving her a sickly shade of translucent white. She drops the scissors instantly, and braces herself on the marble countertop. “T-the insides? We’re going to cut out the what?”

Clove tries, oh she tries, to hide the amused smirk dancing along the corners of her lips, and notices Cato does not even bother to hide his own laugh. “Yes the insides, there's a bag of organs in there– Glimmer didn’t you say you already tried this? What did you even do?”

“I just..I unwrapped it and put it in the oven for a while, I don’t know!” Glimmer defends, but anxiously wrings at her hands. “They don’t come with directions.”

“Damn, I get it now, I wouldn’t want to stick around if I were Marvel either-” Cato starts, but the look Clove throws his way is as sharp as the knives she once did.  “I mean..totally understandable mistake…you know what, I value my life and I enjoy being married so I'm going back to the couch if you need me.”

“Smart move.” Clove remarks, shaking her head as he walks away. “Smart fucking move.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” Glimmer decides, pushing herself away from the cutting board and the knives. “These look like babies.”

“They’re featherless, dead, headless chickens, Glimmer.” Clove reminds her firmly, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her in again. “They aren’t babies.”

“They look like the size of new babies. I can't cut them up.” Glimmer insists, pulling away until her back hits the countertop behind her. “I can’t.”

“Glimmer! YOU have killed people’s babies, now get over here and cut out the spine of this fucking chicken.” Clove snaps, grabbing the pair of scissors. “It’s going to make it cook evenly and faster and it’s called spatch-cocking–”

“You’re doing what to a chicken?” Comes from the living room, the disembodied laugh of Cato following behind. “Say that word again!”

“I married a fucking child.” Clove murmurs, and once again drags Glimmer closer. “Just wait until you have to put butter under the skin.” 

“Oh my fucking god.” Glimmer whines, but stands dutifully beside Clove. She does not reach for the scissors, as she isn’t sure she’s capable of steadily holding anything in this immediate moment. “I just feel so so sick.”

When Clove digs a knife through the back of one of the chickens, the grinding sound of ribs and bones separating from the spine push Glimmer over the edge. “I think I need to lay down.”

“Wait, listen to this. Cato always wants to do this part but it’s my favorite.” Clove climbs on top of the counter, and flips the raw chicken over. She kneels over the cutting board, and puts both her hands on top of the chicken. Quickly and efficiently she presses her weight forward, and the sound of ribs shattering and cracking echoes through the kitchen. 

Glimmer hits the floor within seconds.

“Oh for fucks sake…Cato! Glimmer’s down.” Clove hops off the countertop, and steps over her friend. She switches the cutting board to work on Glimmer’s untouched task. She doesn’t bother to move Glimmer as she begins to work on that one as well, cutting through skin and tissue as if for a moment she is back in the games. 

“Hey that's the best part,” Cato pouts as he appears behind Clove, leaning down to kiss her cheek briefly, before leaning down to scoop Glimmer’s unconscious body into his arms. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“I dunno. Put her in one of the extra rooms.” Clove shrugs, but cocks her head as she looks at Glimmer’s uncharacteristically pale skin. “She seems sick, Cato.”

“What’s new?” Cato grumbles, but does as he is instructed to carry their friend out of the warzone that is Clove’s kitchen. 

Marvel arrives within the hour.

He lets himself in directly through the back kitchen door, a goofy, warm smile on his face. “There’s my favorite ex-bride, how was your little trip!” He announces himself, setting various bottles of wine and other alcohol on the island as a peace offering for Glimmer’s otherwise frantic arrival. “I burn if I even think about the beach too long, but it sounds fun.” He glances around the kitchen, where various arrays of trays full of food cooling or waiting to go in the oven are spread. “Where’s Glim?”

“That's a great segway. I think I should be asking you about your last two weeks.” Clove teases, narrowing her eyes at the man. “Are you two like..back together? Are you just fucking, what’s going on over there?”

“Great question Clove, great question. Things are good, really, they’re great. I’ve been staying there for like two weeks but I don’t know, Clove. I don’t know how I'd explain it.” He reaches for one of the still sizzling roasted potatoes, but drops it both from the burn on his fingertips and the sharp whack on the back of fingers with Clove’s rubber spatula. “I’m just taste testing! Seriously, where is she?”

“I cut the spine out and she passed out. The whole thing really freaked her out, I don’t know. She’s upstairs sleeping.” Clove waves off, focused instead on the slicing and peeling of pomegranate for the salad in front of her. “I thought she said she tried to do it herself.”

“Clove. She did. I threw up for forty five minutes after she left, it was raw. And cold. All she talked about for three days was this chicken, I couldn’t just say no.” Marvel admits with a low whisper, as if the sound would travel all the way upstairs and wake her up with fresh betrayal. 

“Look who it is! I think we need to start calling you loverboy.” Cato surprises Marvel, grabbing him by the top of the shoulders and squeezing. He leans in from behind him and whispers “I have videos of you drunk, crying over her, at eight in the morning. I will never delete them.” 

“It was an emotional day, Cato.” He defends himself, but can’t help the silly little smile that he cannot wipe away from his face. “I was just feeling the love.”

“You were feeling something alright, and that something is five-seven and blonde-” 

“Okaaay, who wants a drink.” Marvel jumps up from the island chair, scurrying over to let himself into the cabinet that contains all the various glassware. “Glimmer made this cranberry thing the other day that was so good, well.. I thought it was good. It made her do that gaggy thing.” 

Clove slowly turns her head to watch him shuffle around the kitchen, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do we need to be concerned that everything is making her do that, because the chicken did too. Is this some new ploy to not eat?”

“Nah, she wants to try things, maybe she’s just getting sick. She’s the one who wanted this dinner so badly.” Marvel insists, stealing a handful of Clove’s pomegranate seeds to sprinkle in the coup glasses. “I guess if she’s sick we’re all going to get it so. Enjoy it before it hits us.”  He slides a glass in Clove’s general direction, before sliding a matching one to Cato. 

It’s Clove’s turn to choke, when the burn of the liquid hits her tongue. “Uh yeah, Marvel, this is straight up vodka.”

Cato seems unphased, and instead takes the entire thing like a shot. “I don’t think it’s half bad.”

“Ah. Right. I’m supposed to add the juice to it. Sorry!” Marvel helps himself to the refrigerator, searching for whatever he simply assumes Clove will have on hand. On his way past a tray of croutons, he nabs a handful to shove in his mouth before he continues speaking.  “I was thinking, you could use the leftover chicken to make chicken soup, that could be REALLY good.” Marvel suggests, words barely comprehensible around the crunch of toasted bread. 

The look Clove responds with is a blend of disdain, disgust, and amusement as the blade of her knife does not stop rocking to slice through the salad vegetables in front of her, a skill to cut and look away from training days past. “...do I look like your mother, Marvel?”

“Well, no, my mother’s dead and you’re not.” Marvel says so easily, so casually, it’s almost possible to ignore the ache in his voice,

Clove can’t help but drop her knife, bringing her head to rest in her hands as her shoulders shake with laughter, “Hey, so is mine!”

Joining in with borderline giggles, Cato adds; “Hey, Clove, tell Marvel what you had to do to the chicken.”

“...I cut out the spine and broke the ribs?” Clove plays with an innocent intonation in her voice, knowing full well what Cato’s trying to get her to say again. “What’s so funny about that?”

“Noooo, Clove say it. Say the word.” Cato pleads, sticking his bottom lip out in a little pout. “Say it.”

Clove audibly sighs as she rolls her eyes, but gently places her hands on the counter, and looks to Cato with a serious expression. Without flinching, smirking, or letting her expression betray her, Clove looks him dead in the eye as she says, “it’s called spatchcocking.”

Cato and Marvel both erupt into childish laughter, Marvel even more so than Cato, as he has to place the glass in his hand back down so he doesn't drop it. Marvel continues to laugh, nearly bent in half with his forehead resting on the countertop as his entire body shakes with his laughter. “Say it again, say it again.” Marvel begs, resting his face on the cool marble countertops. 

“You’re also a fucking child.” Clove reminds, going back to her task at hand of trying to rapidly finish dinner before the rest of their friends (family?) arrives.  “Leave my kitchen. Both of you.”

“But Clovey-” Cato starts, reaching to wrap his arms around her waist before she slaps his hands away. 

“Out.”

Marvel wipes the tears out of his eyes as he grabs one of his wine bottles and heads towards any room but this. “Hey, do you have any wedding cake left I didn’t get to have any-”

“Out.” 

 By the point Glimmer is awake, she remains curled up on the couch looking rather green. 

“Glimmer do you want to come try the chicken, see if it’s how you like it?” Clove offers, holding out a tiny plate to her. 

As soon as Glimmer reaches for it, the smell hits her and leaves her maybe even more nauseous than before. She gags before she can even skewer it with a fork, and Clove walks away with fury all over her face. 

The audacity to come all this way, beg for dinner, and then outright gag at it. 

Fuck you, Glimmer. 

All four of their older counterparts arrive at once, exactly on time, as if they were waiting across the street for the clock to strike dinnertime.

“At least you didn’t bring the dogs.” Cato greets Brutus, who otherwise would in fact be tormenting him with three pitbulls running through his yard. 

“Clove won’t let them around the food. I had to prioritize.”

Gloss follows close behind, and immediately is confused by the way Glimmer is curled up on the couch rather than playing her favorite role of hostess (even at someone else's house.)

“She had the audacity to gag at my chicken. She better get used to fending for herself. What a bitch.” Clove explains, standing to the side as Cashmere leads Enobaria in by her hand.

“She’s not herself, Clove, don’t take it out on her. She tried to cook. You know something’s up with her.” Cashmere gently reminds her, tugging in Enobaria behind her. 

“Cooking is Clove’s love language these days, Glimmer just broke her heart.” Enobaria teases, but pulls out a bottle of the good District One wine to have with Dinner. “I knew there was no way in hell we were eating in one.”

“I thought you were in One this weekend at Cashmere’s?” 

“Oh, yeah. Whenever Glimmer said dinner at six everyone came to two. We’ve been patiently waiting by the door.” Enobaria explains, looping her arm over Clove’s shoulders. “Look at you. A little housewife making family dinner.” 

“Do NOT call me that-” Clove warns, but any further commentary is interrupted by Marvel, who runs into the living room with that stupid, goofy grin on his face. 

“Clove! Tell everyone what you did to the chicken!”

[mcl4r3n]

heyyy, first of all, i just wanna say that i absolutely adore your fics and i wanna thank you for all the amazing works you’ve put up on the internet <3 second, may i ask for 29 dando? (fun fact: your fics got both me and my gf into dando) thank you and i hope you’re having a great day <3

Wait wait wait this is so. THIS IS SO VERY. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 oh my god. You have NO IDEA how much of an honor it is that not just you but also your girlfriend got into Dando because of something I wrote? I will CRY on YOU BOTH. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 thank you so so much for your kind words. I hope this (not so little) drabble is an adequate amount of a gift to express my gratitude for this ask 🥹🫶🩷

-

29 Dando “I never thought you could make such sweet noises.” - “Me neither…”

—•—

Between him and Daniel, Lando knows that there have been an entire orchestra's range of sounds that have left both their mouths.

He's well aware of his own high-pitched laughter when he loses control over his giggles; he's memorized the exact cadence of Daniel's loud guffaws. Hell, they're immortalized everywhere, including F1's official YouTube account where have compilations of pressers and "funniest moments."

He knows what they both sound like when they're happy, when they're angry, when they're gossiping under their breaths while some host prepares them for yet another one of those ridiculous drivers' entrances.

But Lando has absolutely no idea where the hell the sounds he just made came from. That is, the sounds that he makes when Daniel enters him for the very first time.

It should be mortifying. Daniel's so much more experienced at sleeping with men than he is, and by that, Lando means that Daniel is his first guy, and no amount of gay porn and heavy rutting and training his asshole with a metal butt plug could have prepared Lando for the overwhelming, full-body consumption that is feeling Daniel Ricciardo slide his dick into him and settle against his hips.

He's panting into Daniel's hair, his temple, his fingers clutched so tight against Daniel's deltoids that he wouldn't be surprised if he left finger-shaped bruises there later. It almost hurts, but it really only just skates the surface of it.

Everything else is a stretch, and he tries to see how he feels clenching around Daniel's girth, but that proves to be detrimental to Daniel's health, and subsequently, Lando's, too, because it makes Daniel's hips, which he was doing his best to hold in place while Lando adjusted to him, stutter and fuck into him like it's a reflex, and oh, oh fuck, that's good.

Lando honest-to-god mewls, his thighs spasming around Daniel's hips, his back arching, pleasure jolting electric through him better than any adrenaline rush from the lights going on out on the grid.

"M-move, Danny," is all Lando can manage before Daniel is pulling out halfway, and then slamming full force back into him.

Lando loses all sense of time, all sense of coherence. He learns, in such few, frantic minutes, the absolute batshit joy of having a hard cock pressing against his prostate, and Daniel learns the absolute batshit joy of anal with someone who has never done anal before.

Their kisses feel less like kisses and more like shared breathing, panting against each other's mouths while they make all the noise they want because Lando has thick walls and neither of them have a race to drive at for the next three weekends.

Lando is crying now, he can feel it, consumed by the push of Daniel's body into his, consumed with the need to take Daniel in completely, to not give him any more space than necessary to just come back and fuck into him. He catches snatches of Daniel's litany of words, dirty and desperate.

He calls Lando "baby" and that shouldn't feel nearly as good as it does, to be held like this, equally like a precious doll and a free-use whore.

Sweat falls from Daniel's forehead to Lando's lips and even that, Lando goes crazy for. Daniel's working up a sweat because of him. Daniel's losing control because of him. Daniel's going to come because of him.

Lando's hearing goes out when he feels Daniel's calloused hand wrap around his dick and jerk him off. He comes after a few strokes, and he feels the mess between them, feels the coolness that touches the skin of his back because his spine has curved concave against his mattress.

He wraps his legs around Daniel's waist and refuses to let him pull out, so Daniel braces himself over Lando with both his elbows on either side of Lando's head and pushes in hard, and finishes inside him.

The comedown is slow, syrupy in the summer afternoon. Daniel flops on top of him, breathless, panting.

“I never thought—" Daniel starts before cutting off to take a breath."—you could make such sweet noises.”

"Me neither…” Lando's tongue feels too large for his mouth. He might actually be dickmatized.

"Dickmatized?" Daniel laughs, sounding like he just ran a sprint but is too busy laughing to take a proper inhale.

"I wasn't supposed to say that out loud," Lando says, closing his eyes and shoving his hand in Daniel's face to shut him up.

"Baby, if that is what you always sound like in bed, I want you to say every single thought and make every single sound you wanna make, got it?"

Lando has to suppress his eye-roll at his ex-teammate, though "boyfriend" would be the more appropriate title.

His face is burning, though. He figures that's enough of a reply for Danny at the moment.