#inside grace's wardrobe

[gracie-bird]

Princess Grace wearing her Aran jumper during a sailing day in Monaco circa 1962 (she probably bought it, or it was given as a present during her visit to Ireland a year before, in June 1961?). Photos by Howell Conant.

#grace kelly #princess grace #white jumper #aran sweater #aran jumper #ireland #irish traditions #aran wool #1962 #howell conant #sailing #monaco #inside grace's wardrobe

[xtra7s]

Can I request Regina x Reader where she catches Regina cheating (like in the movie) and reader takes her back angst to fluff please

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡'𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭

Pairing: Regina George x Fem!reader

Synopsis: Regina gets caught cheating on her girlfriend.

Content: angst, cheating, stuff idk help

Word Count: 2.2k

a/n: not proofread, the gif is from my own video

masterlist

Regina George, the queen bee of North Shore High, ruled with an iron fist and a cunning smile. She was a force to be reckoned with, her every move calculated and precise. Just like her perfectly styled hair and impeccable wardrobe, her dominance over the student body was effortless. They were all mere pawns in her game, following her lead blindly as she basked in their adoration like a true monarch. To them, she was untouchable, untamable, and utterly irresistible.

And then there was her girlfriend. Y/N YL/N was a star on the girls' basketball team, effortlessly gliding across the court with precision and grace. Unlike Regina, who exuded confidence and charisma, Y/N was quieter and more reserved, but no less powerful in her own right. Her kindhearted nature radiated from her every action, always quick to support and uplift those around her. In contrast to Regina's intense drive for success, Y/N had a calming presence that seemed to melt away any stress or tension. Together, they were the perfect balance of fire and water, challenging and complementing each other in all the best ways.

Breathless from running, Y/N burst into the school courtyard where Karen and Gretchen were lounging on a bench. "Hey, have you guys seen Regina?" she huffed out, her words punctuated by gasps for air. Her eyes frantically scanned the area as she explained, "I have a bus to catch and I wanted to say goodbye to her." Gretchen's face looked like it was about to explode while Karen simply tilted her head in curious confusion. Y/N's heart raced as she waited for their response, knowing that time was ticking away before she had to leave.

"Pretty sure she was heading towards the janit-" Karen began to explain, but her voice was cut short as Gretchen abruptly slapped her in the stomach, halting her explanation. Confusion and annoyance knitted across Karen's features as she stumbled back a step. "But I saw her heading towards-" she started to protest, but Gretchen's urgent grip on her hand pulled her away from Y/N before she could finish. The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, echoing off the cold walls and sending shivers down Y/N's spine.

A knot of unease tightened in Y/N's stomach as she hurried down the hallway toward the janitor's closet. Her footsteps echoed against the tiled floor, each step a reminder of her mounting anxiety. She reached the door and knocked, the sound echoing through the empty corridor. "Just a sec!" came Regina's voice from inside. Y/N took a deep breath before yanking open the door, revealing Regina and Shane Oman hastily throwing on clothes. The scent of sweat and perfume hung heavy in the air, mixing with the musty smell of cleaning supplies that filled the cramped closet. Y/N's jaw clenched as she realized what was happening, her bad feeling becoming a sickening certainty.

With pained expression etched across her features, Y/N's voice trembled as she spoke. "Just wanted to say bye before my away game. We're done." Her tears fell freely as she turned away and hurried down the hallway, the sound of her choking back sobs echoed off the walls. The pain in her heart was palpable, like a weight dragging her down with each step she took.

She returned to the bus, clumsily wiping away her tears with strokes of her sleeve. She made her way down the narrow aisle and took a seat at the back. The warmth of the sun seeping through the windows provided a comforting embrace as she tried to compose herself. Her gaze fell upon the passing scenery, but her thoughts were consumed by the emotions that had overtaken her just moments ago.

____

The team rallied and emerged victorious in their away game, fueled by Y/N's unexplainable surge of anger and aggression on the field. Despite feeling sluggish and exhausted for the remainder of the trip, she channeled her energy into dominating the game. While her teammates celebrated their win, Y/N retreated to rest and recharge, opting for sleep instead of socializing. The weight of her uncharacteristic outburst lingered, but she couldn't deny the satisfaction of helping lead her team to victory.

With a heavy sigh, she stepped off the bus and pulled her headphones down from her head. She took a moment to steel herself before facing the looming school building in front of her, the one place she never wanted to return to. As she grabbed her duffle bag from under the bus, she turned towards the parking lot and caught sight of Regina leaning against her Jeep, her striking features drawn into a worried frown as she scanned the crowd of students getting off the bus. The sun beat down on them, casting a golden glow over the scene. Y/N noticed the way Regina's blonde hair glinted in the light, like spun gold. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of her former girlfriend, but then she remembered why she had left this place and pushed those thoughts away.

With determination in her stride, Y/N headed towards Regina, ready to face whatever came next.

"What the hell are you doing here, Regina?" Y/N's voice cut through the tense air like a blade, her words dripping with ice as she faced Regina.

Her sharp gaze raked over Regina's body, noting the uncharacteristically subdued attire of the usually showy girl. The tension between them was palpable, crackling like electricity in the air.

The gentle lilt of Regina's voice pierces the tense silence between them. She wears a small, sad smile on her face as she leans against the car door, holding it open for Y/N. "I'm here to drive you home," she says softly, coaxing Y/N to let her in. "Come on, just get in Y/N." She stands with her arms crossed, but Y/N stands with her arms crossed, refusing to budge. Her eyes narrow and she scoffs, turning sharply and striding away from Regina's outstretched hand. The moon casts a cool glow over the scene, highlighting the tension and heartache hanging heavy in the air.

Regina catches up to Y/N, quickly grabbing her hand and tugging her back towards her. "Please just stop being dramatic. Can we please talk? I'm pretty sure I owe you a really embarrassing apology that totally won't make me die inside." Regina speaks softly, tilting her head at Y/N while she stares at the ground. Y/N cracks a small smile, turning it into a straight face as she walks towards Regina's Jeep, sliding into the passenger seat and dropping her bag on the ground of the car.

As soon as Y/N stepped into the passenger seat of Regina's Jeep, she slammed the door shut with a loud thud. She knew that Regina hated when she did that, but it was a small act of rebellion against the girl who had caused her so much pain.

Regina let out a sigh as she climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot. The two girls sat in tense silence for a few minutes before Regina finally spoke up.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up and hurt you. I regret it every day."

Y/N remained silent for a moment, trying to hold back tears that threatened to spill over at Regina's words. She couldn't deny that she still had feelings for her ex-girlfriend, but she was also angry at her for breaking her heart.

"Why did you do it?" Y/N asked, her voice cracking with emotion.

Regina took a deep breath before answering. "I don't have an excuse, Y/N. I was selfish and so fucking stupid."

"So you just threw our relationship away like it meant nothing?" Y/N spat out bitterly.

"No," Regina said firmly, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "It meant everything to me. But my insecurities got in the way and I made a huge mistake."

Y/N sighed heavily, feeling conflicted about what to do or say next. Part of her wanted to forgive Regina and give their relationship another chance, but another part of her was afraid of getting hurt again.

"I don't know if I can ever trust you again," Y/N admitted quietly.

"I understand," Regina replied sadly. "But please give me another chance to make things right. I promise to be honest with you from now on."

Regina reaches across the center console, holding her hand out for Y/N to take while she keeps her focus on driving, ignoring the tears escaping her eyes. Y/N hesitantly takes it, her hand fitting perfectly in Regina's. Regina runs her thumb over the top of Y/N's hand, parking in the driveway of her own house.

Regina parked in the driveway of her house, still holding onto Y/N's hand tightly. They both sat in the car for a few moments, neither one speaking as they collected their thoughts.

Finally, Y/N turned to look at Regina, her eyes red from tears that she had been holding back. "I want to forgive you," she said softly. "But it's going to take time."

"I understand," Regina replied, squeezing Y/N's hand gently. "I'll do whatever it takes to make things right."

Y/N nodded and slowly let go of Regina's hand, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for her bag on the floor of the car. As she opened the door to get out, Regina quickly got out as well and walked around to open Y/N's door for her.

"Thank you," Y/N said quietly as she got out of the car. Regina nodded and they both walked towards the front door of the house. "Do you want something to drink?" Regina asked as they entered the living room. "Water is fine," Y/N replied, taking a seat on the couch.

Regina went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of water. She handed one to Y/N before taking a seat next to her on the couch.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Regina spoke up again. "I know I hurt you deeply and I can't take back what I did."

Y/N sighed and took a sip of her water. "I just don't understand why you did it."

"I was scared," Regina admitted quietly. "Scared that I wasn't good enough for you or that you would realize that and leave me, I guess just I made it happen quicker."

Y/N nodded, looking up at Regina. "Can I hug you..?" Regina asked softly, Y/N nodding in return and melting into the touch of Regina.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding onto each other. "I'm so sorry," Regina whispered into Y/N's hair. "I know sorry doesn't make it right, but I never want to lose you."

Y/N pulled away slightly to look at Regina. "I want to forgive you," she said with tears in her eyes. "But I don't know if I can trust you again."

Regina nodded, understanding Y/N's hesitation. "I will do whatever it takes to earn back your trust." She wiped away a tear from Y/N's cheek before leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Y/N closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, feeling a familiar warmth spread through her body at the simple gesture.

"Let's take things slow," Y/N said, opening her eyes to look at Regina once again. "I need time to process everything."

Regina nodded again and took a deep breath. "Of course," she said, giving Y/N a small smile.

After a while, Y/N and Regina both started to feel more at ease with each other. They talked about their days, catching up on the things they had missed in each other's lives. Y/N found herself starting to relax on Regina's lap, feeling comforted by her presence.

"Do you want to watch something?" Regina asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

Y/N nodded and Regina reached over to grab the remote. She turned on the TV and scrolled through the channels until she found a show they both enjoyed. As they settled into watching the show, Y/N couldn't help but lean into Regina's embrace even more.

Regina placed a gentle kiss on Y/N's temple as she wrapped her arms around her waist. "I missed this," she whispered.

Y/N felt her heart flutter at Regina's words and couldn't help but snuggle closer to her. "Me too," she replied, feeling tears prick in her eyes.

They stayed like that for the rest of the evening, watching their show and enjoying each other's company. It wasn't until it was almost midnight that Y/N realized how late it was getting.

"I should probably head home," Y/N said reluctantly, not wanting to leave Regina's side.

Regina nodded understandingly but didn't move from her spot on the couch. "Can I see you again soon?" she asked softly.

Y/N smiled and leaned in for a kiss. It was short but filled with all the love and longing they both felt for each other. "Of course," she whispered against Regina's lips before pulling away slightly.

"I'll walk you out," Regina said as they got up from the couch.

As they walked towards the door, Y/N turned around to face Regina one last time before leaving. "Thank you for tonight," she said sincerely.

"Thank you for giving me another chance," Regina replied with a smile before they shared one last kiss.

#lesbian #wlw #renee rapp #renee rapp x reader #the sex lives of college girls #leighton murray #leighton murray x reader #lgbtq #mean girls #regina george x reader #mean girls musical movie #regina george

[roosterforme]

Math for Aviators | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: It's your fault that Bradley finds math so sexy now. When he surprises you by sneaking into one of your lectures, he gets rewarded with a little time alone with the professor after class.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2400 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! Check out my masterlist

"See you two at the Hard Deck later?" Nat asked as Bradley climbed into the Bronco after work.

"Nah, it's my wife's late night on campus," he replied with a smirk. Calling you his wife had such a nice ring to it, he had all but stopped using your first name around his friends. "I'm gonna drop by. Maybe take a peek at her calculus lecture." 

She rolled her eyes in response. "Tell your wife I said not to forget about brunch on Saturday."

"I'll let my wife know."

He zipped out of the parking lot, still in his khaki uniform, and headed across town to San Diego State University. If there was one thing Bradley never thought would get him going, it was math. But you made it outrageously sexy with your PhD and your slutty little math tattoo. 

The fact that Bradley never got to attend one of your lectures during your first semester teaching in California felt like a crime. He'd wanted to, in the worst way, but your classes ended by six o'clock every day last term. But this time, you taught level four calculus on Thursday evenings. 

He parked and headed toward your building, smiling as some of the college aged girls looked at him as he strolled past. If they thought he looked good in his uniform, that was nothing compared to the fuss you usually made over him. 

Bradley followed a kid holding a skateboard into the mathematics and computer science building and turned left. He was only four minutes late for your class as he followed skateboard kid inside the lecture hall and let the door close softly behind him. The room was quite cavernous, but there were only about forty students in attendance. You always claimed you preferred the smaller classes so you could spend more time getting everyone where they needed to be individually. 

When his eyes met your body, Bradley almost moaned. You were leaning over the long table at the front of the room taking attendance, and you were wearing a white blouse tucked into that wool skirt he liked. Even your loafers looked cute. One of his favorite pastimes was picking on you for your east coast wardrobe, but holy shit, the professor look did things to him. Or maybe it was just you.

As you called out names, Bradley realized he was just standing in the back like an idiot, so he walked up a few rows and took an aisle seat.

"Francis?" you asked, and a girl who looked extremely disinterested raised her hand. "Luca? Alex? Did I miss anyone?"

When you looked up, your eyes found Bradley's almost instantly. The softest smile graced your lips, and Bradley desperately wanted to run down to where you were standing and kiss you. Instead he just winked, and then you were opening two additional notebooks on your table. 

"Before we get started, just a reminder about my office hours," you said, your voice projecting beautifully. Bradley had to adjust himself in his seat, because you were speaking right to him. "I'm always available to spend a little extra time with you should you need it." 

He was well acquainted with your office and the way your voice echoed off the walls when he made you scream his name. He would make it a point to join you for some office hours again soon. But right now, he was going to sit back and enjoy how much smarter you were than him.

"If you recall last week, we talked about the theorems of Green and Stokes. Let's focus a little more on the Green theorem. This is simply the relationship between the macroscopic circulation around the curve C and the sum of all the microscopic circulation that is inside C."

Bradley was already breathing a little heavy. Holy shit. Was he actually married to the smartest person in the world? It fucking sounded like it. And then you ran your fingertips gently along the side of your neck, and he sat up a little taller in his seat. But so did skateboard kid who was sitting in front of him. Bradley glanced around the room, and it looked like all the twenty something guys were hypnotized by you. The looks of open adoration on their faces as you turned toward the white board to work out a problem reminded him of the way he used to stare at you when he was twenty one. If he was being honest, he probably still did.

As you worked out the problem and bent at the waist, Bradley needed to adjust himself again. And when you turned to see if anyone had a question, you looked directly at him as you touched your neck again. 

"She's so hot," skateboard kid whispered to the guy next to him.

"Yeah," he grunted in response. "She's like extra hot today."

Bradley leaned forward, grinning and softly said, "That's my wife."

They both turned around to look at him briefly. Skateboard kid nodded in appreciation, and the other guy said, "Well done."

And then Bradley settled back in his seat and watched every move that you made. When you wrote out another equation in your tidy handwriting, you made the variables spell out B-E-E-R-B-O-Y. Every time you glanced at him, your fingers were touching your body somewhere that he was familiar with. He was itching to get his hands on you. 

It was an hour and a half of pure sexual tension, and Bradley knew you were enjoying yourself. Knowing he was sitting in the lecture hall seemed to be making your voice a little breathy. You were throwing out terms like "gradient, divergence curl, line and surface integrals, and differential equations" that were making him hard. This was foreplay at its finest. 

When you ended your lecture with some reminders about your class schedule, you had your hands on your hips, and your diamond ring was glittering on your hand. Bradley smirked as a line of students, mostly male, formed in front of you once you dismissed everyone. And now he understood why you got home so late on Thursdays. Because all these guys had a crush on you. On his wife.

Bradley was semi hard, and you kept glancing up to make sure he was still there. He wasn't going to go anywhere, you must know that. When you were finally helping skateboard kid with whatever question he fabricated just to have a chance to stand next to you, Bradley glanced down at his lap. Maybe you'd let him have some private office hours right now.

When the lecture hall was finally empty, save for the two of you, Bradley watched as you continued to tease him. You didn't glance to where he was sitting at all as you packed up your bag. And when you erased the board, he could tell you were standing on your tiptoes to make your ass look extra enticing just for him. 

"Professor Sugar," he groaned, rubbing himself through his khaki pants. 

You glanced at him over your shoulder with a devilish look on your face. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to my lecture?" you asked quietly, but he could still hear you perfectly. 

Bradley grunted. "Got dismissed a little early. Just thought I'd surprise you."

"Did you learn anything new?" you asked, grabbing your bag from the table and heading his way.

"Nothing new," he replied. "Just a refresher course on how smart and hot my wife is."

You smiled as you set your bag down next to his seat. "I love it when you call me that." Then you came to stand between his spread thighs and leaned down to kiss him gently. Bradley let you tease him with feather soft kisses for a minute before he was aching inside his pants. 

He ran his rough hand along your pretty neck and asked, "Can I join you for some office hours? I really need them, Professor Sugar." When you giggled against his lips, Bradley wrapped his muscular arms around you and palmed your ass, pulling you onto his lap with a squeal. 

"Beer Boy!"

"Please? I'll be your top student, Baby. Better than that loser with his skateboard."

"You know, I'm starting to suspect that Luca might have ulterior motives for taking my class again this semester."

Bradley chuckled as he pushed your skirt up your thighs a few inches. "Yeah. His ulterior motive is your ass." Then he lightly slapped said ass as you raked your fingers through his hair and straddled him in the auditorium seat. "I know you can feel me, Sugar," he whispered. "Office hours? Or are you gonna make me wait until we get home?"

But instead of responding, you just rubbed yourself against him. If you weren't wearing panties, he would have a pretty, little wet spot to show off as he walked back to the Bronco. You tugged harder on his hair so his head was tipped back, and you kissed him a little rougher.

"I'm in charge in the lecture hall, not you. And I say no visit to my office."

Bradley groaned as you sucked on his neck, and he muttered, "Making me walk back to the Bronco hard?"

"No," you whispered, and his cock throbbed. "I'm going to suck your cock right here." Your smug smile as you pulled away from his neck left him blushing, he could tell. 

"Right here?" he asked, but your hands were already working on his belt buckle and zipper, and he lifted his hips in the seat so you could yank his pants down a little bit. 

"Mmhmm," you hummed against his lips before you walked to the back of the auditorium, leaving him sitting there with his hard cock out. 

"Sugar?" he whispered, covering himself with both hands as he craned his neck to see where you went. You flipped the lightswitch next to the door and peered out the small window into the hallway, and then you strolled back to where he was sitting. Bradley let you take his hands in yours and set them on his thighs as you knelt on the floor in front of him.

You looked so pretty, your skin illuminated by the soft lighting shining around the perimeter of the room. Your eyes were bright and mischievous as you looked up at him and kissed the precum away from his tip. Your pink tongue darted out to clean your lips before gently swiping the underside of his cock, and Bradley had to grip his thighs to keep from thrusting. Because it was clear you were going to take your time right now. 

"You are so hard, Beer Boy, you're absolutely throbbing."

When you took an inch or two between your pouty lips, Bradley's head tipped back. "I love math," he groaned. "It really gets me going. And I love your smart mouth."

You hummed around his length as you took another inch and swirled your tongue. Then you pulled him out with a soft pop, his head snapping back up to look at you. "You're such a good student," you whispered. "Top grades. Teacher's pet. Big cock."

"Fuck," Bradley grunted. "I'm coming to your lecture every week, Professor."

You smiled as you gripped him in one hand and licked up and down along the underside of his cock until he could feel your saliva dripping down his balls. He ran his thumb along your cheek, and then you took him deep so he could feel himself there. He groaned your name as he tapped the back of your throat, and you gagged for him. It was so fucking pretty the way he made your eyes water. 

If you weren't concerned about getting caught, then he certainly wasn't going to bring it up. He'd be lying if he said the idea of a public blowjob wasn't adding to his arousal. Hell, he thought the way you and he went at it in the college library study room was hot, and that door had a damn lock. So this was next level.

Bradley grunted in the quiet room, and the acoustics made the sound carry. You were bobbing along his length, making obscene little noises, and he just couldn't take it anymore. His hands found the back of your head, and after one thrust, your moans echoed around the room. 

"I love that sound," he growled, slowly fucking your face as you sucked on him. You kept eye contact with him as he started to come undone, his hips leaving the seat as he wanted more of you. Now you were gripping his thighs, ready to take his cum like a champ. He was there. He was right there. One more tap against the back of your throat. All your saliva dripping onto your blouse. It was everything. 

He knew you already knew it, but he grunted, "I'm cumming," as he spurted into your mouth and down your throat. Gripping the back of your head, he fucked your mouth with shallow thrusts until he slumped back akwardly into the seat with a long groan that filled the room. 

When you withdrew him, his cock was messy and you were grinning as you stuck out your tongue, showing off his load. "Gorgeous," he whispered with a smirk, watching you swallow him down before licking his softening length clean. "I love being the teacher's pet." 

You giggled as you helped him get tucked back into his khakis. "I only suck the dicks of my students with the highest grades."

"Hey now. You're my wife. You better only be sucking my dick," he rasped as you stood up in front of him and shrugged.

"Then you better keep getting top grades, Beer Boy." 

Bradley was obsessed with you. He quickly wrestled his belt into place as he followed the sway of your ass up to the auditorium doors. "I can't wait to see that skirt on the bedroom floor when we get home," he said as you pushed the door open. And there stood the janitor, about to enter the room to clean it. "Shit," Bradley grunted, still fiddling with his belt. 

But you just waved and said, "Goodnight, Herman," as the janitor smirked at Bradley. 

He didn't even bother with his belt after that. He just took your hand in his and walked with you to the Bronco, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to you once your skirt was on the bedroom floor. 

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

This was written to celebrate the birthday of the lovely @mak-32 ! Beer Boy and Sugar wouldn't even exist without you, Mak! I hope you have the most wonderful day! Thanks for your help and the banner @beyondthesefourwalls

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x you #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #math for aviators

[pomefioredove]

movie night

summary: vil devotes his time to showing you all the movies you haven't seen yet type of post: short fic characters: vil schoenheit additional info: romantic, FLUFF, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, kinda short author's note: I so often think about how yuu is completely unfamiliar with pop culture in twisted wonderland. vil would lose his mind if he found out you hadn't seen a single movie yet. in my heart I know he's a little nerdy about it

It's to be expected.

Of course. Of course you haven't had the time or the means.

It's perfectly reasonable that you'd put your studies and social obligations before leisure time. He understands.

But hearing you so openly admit that you haven't seen a single movie since arriving in this world, let alone one of his, doesn't sit well with Vil Schoenheit.

As it turns out, the mythological being who doesn't spend their free time absorbed in media is real, and they're standing right in front of him with an apologetic smile.

Oh, you poor, poor thing.

Even after the conversation dies and you part ways on good terms, Vil can't shake this odd, itchy feeling.

He wonders what it must be like- not understanding anyone's references, being left out of conversations, still so dependent on a culture that doesn't even exist here.

Is there something wrong with the people you spend your time with? Surely at least one of them would take the time to show you the classics. Just one.

No wonder everyone regards you as naive and innocent. No one's taken the time to explain anything about this world to you. And he's sure that extends far beyond cinema...

"What is this?"

It's the first thing you ask when he opens the door to you. Ever curious, ever clueless.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" he says, looking thoroughly unamused with your naivete.

A projector. A white screen. And a tray full of luxury skincare essentials that he'll be sure to test on you while you're distracted.

"Seriously," you say. "What's going on? Your message was really vague."

He sighs. "Oh, goodness, just come inside,"

Vil sits you down on the edge of his bed and hands you a plush headband to push your hair out of your eyes. He's more than pleased at your lack of protests thus far, and continues to take advantage of your willingness while smearing a sweet-smelling face mask over your cheeks.

"It needs to set before we start,"

"Start what?"

Vil smirks, standing and drifting across the room to a large wardrobe- no, a cabinet. He opens it- no, a shelf. Packed full of DVDs, arranged by date and in pristine condition.

"Wow, Vil. I never took you for a nerd,"

His gaze sharpens. "Hardly. And try not to talk so much right now, you'll crack the mask,"

He hums merrily, delicate fingers dancing over the smooth plastic cases before stopping at a soft white one. "This'll do,"

You watch as Vil returns to your side, carefully inspects your face, and then walks back around to tinker with the projector. You, of course, wait patiently, hands folded neatly in your lap as the screen ahead of you comes to life.

He turns off the lights and sits beside you as a white light illuminates your face, turning the hue of the mask a strange color.

"This is a classic," he whispers. "It's the first film I remember loving."

"It's that good?"

He chuckles. "No, it's quite outdated, and terribly unfunny. I'm just fond of it,"

If there's anything Vil Schoenheit is, it's honest. The entire black and white picture (which you surmise is quite old by Twisted Wonderland standards) is heaped with unfunny and confusing references, terribly paced, and acted like a primary school play.

And yet, there's a sense of warmth that permeates the external terribleness of it, that of which takes form in each of Vil's awkward laughs.

You revel in each of his little comments, his tidbits about the actors, his trivia about the production. He certainly seems to know what he's talking about, and his grace and confidence almost distract you from how nerdy he's really being.

Though, he's really not paying close attention to the screen. Vil seems far more interested in watching you, your reactions, almost as if searching for some kind of approval in the expressions you make. Do you laugh at this joke? Do you ask about this plot twist? Do you enjoy this song?

It's a completely alien experience, having him looking to you for validation, although you make sure to comment on how much you enjoyed yourself. Just to see him smile again.

"Same time next week, then," he says. "One movie won't be enough to catch you up on decades of pop culture, after all."

And thus, a tradition is born.

It's strange for him to think about how you've made yourself a home in his schedule. Wedged between expensive photo shoots and meetings with luxury brands, there's you. One single name in the same spot every week.

He couldn't admit it, but you've quickly become the highlight of his calendar.

"And this is just after they transitioned to movies with sound. It was a grand extinction event, not every studio nor star survived," he says, nodding to the screen ahead.

You hum in agreement. Your eyes are heavier than usual, and you're leaning against your elbow, absent-mindedly agreeing with everything he says.

A part of Vil wants to tease you for finding his taste in film boring, but he's not even sure if you have the mental capacity to listen to big words right now.

"Sleepy?"

"Grim kept waking me up last night..." you sigh. "I'm paying attention, I promise."

He watches you lie through your teeth, and then he watches as your words grow heavy and your body slumps over, awkwardly positioned against his.

Vil sighs- whatever is he going to do with you and that terrible sleep schedule of yours?- and readjusts so that your head is neatly set in the crook of his neck and your body is comfortably fit against his.

He finishes the movie, and lets the screen play the menu sequence over and over again. It's not really worth waking you up over, after all.

You're so cute when you're sleeping.

He hates himself for thinking that. You're perfectly inelegant- awkwardly breathing, practically drooling. And yet, he could stay here for the rest of the night and not wholly regret it in the morning. He just wishes you'd picked a better time to fall asleep on him.

Someday, he'd gladly return to bed to cuddle with you after he'd done his evening routine.

But... just this once, he'll let it go.

#had a rough day yesterday and I use this blog to decompress #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader

[pillowbo]

Forcemasc can be extremely humiliating and degrading! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. How humbling is it that you now live to serve a beautiful woman because she strapped you to a table and smeared t-gel onto you repeatedly.

She has to put gloves on her pretty hands, of course, can't let herself be corrupted how she's corrupting you. You hear the snap of rubber and then watch as she squeezes a big glob out of the tube, a glint in her eye as she glances from you to the shiny gel on her fingertips.

Perhaps she's a mad scientist, a cerebral woman with the sole intent of crafting a man out of you for whatever reason, perhaps she sees your potential.

Your thoughts drain out of your head all at once as the cold shock of gel glides against your skin, rubbing into your increasingly taut muscles and all over your body, and you can do nothing but writhe in your restraints as she describes in great detail her plan to make you into her perfect husband.

It's your position to be beneath her, as she sculpts you into her willing servant; here to carry big heavy things and go to work for her, pay her bills, give her money to buy Sephora and Coach and to get her perfect nails done, fuck her on demand when she wants it.

She'll take care to make you appear presentable. Of course, you will be distinctly masculine beside her, but none of that nonsense about smelling awful or being greasy in a wife beater because some simpleton thinks it's manly.

You might think, you're just a guy, you don't need much. Don't worry your big stupid head about any of it. She will arrange your wardrobes; suits and ties and nice shoes and cologne.

Can't have her arm candy looking slobbish! No, you will be her Dapper Dan as she wishes. You'll have all the time in the world to be absolutely filthy with her in the sheets, after all.

She touches your growing tdick with her gloved hands, bringing you back down to the moment once again when she gives it a few quick strokes and laughs at your responses, twisting and jerking at the sensation.

You're so sensitive now!

At last, she decides that you are ready. You look down at your newly grown tdick, hairs sprouting in rough stubble across your face, a happy trail, and hairy thighs that would take forever if you wanted to shave, the hairs inevitably sprouting right back.

You realize how permanent this is, what she has done to you, and all at once it makes you insanely horny. You want to pin her down and fuck her, the woman who did this to you.

She happily welcomes it, orders it even, but swats your sweaty hands away from her until she's led you to her bedroom. Stupid boy, show some restraint.

You get to the room and she strips, and she is so beautiful, such a contrast to you now, to how you always had been, on the inside. She is graceful and feminine and smooth as she walks, you feel so clunky and awkward, but she looks at you with admiration in her eyes at her work.

It's all it takes for you to top her and fuck her into her queen-size four-poster bed until you're both coming, over and over, you can't help but repeat your thrusting into her over and over, because she made you this way, because you've always been just a dumb man toy that exists to satisfy her pleasure.

#omg im breathless #wheezing #doubled over #please women who see this #i need a female POV #because i wanna see it #and also i'm just a dumb guy #you can write better than me #forcemasc #transmasc #ftm nsft #autoandrophilia #autoandrophile #ftmlw #my fantasy involving t-gel #sploshing #transhet #straight trans

[sunkendreams]

twenty minutes.

➾ pairing ; mickey altieri x fem!reader.

in which mickey sneaks into your dorm room and things become more heated than usual.

format: drabble — not requested.

word count: 2.5K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), risk of getting caught, slight corruption kink, fingering (f!receiving), making out, biting, dry humping, dirty talk, mild degradation (use of slut), choking, obsessive behavior from Mickey, begging, teasing, finger sucking, very slight edging, ambiguous ending

author’s note: I wrote this because I love Mickey and I want to write a part 2 with phone sex 💀 also, first time ever writing for him, so hopefully it’s good and people enjoy it! I am also working on requests, but I’m also on-call for work, so I get pretty busy. Hoping to have a lot of stuff finished & posted next week! thank you all for your love & support !!! :)

Mickey Altieri reminded you of a cat — elusive, cunning, and prone to climbing trees without much of a hindrance. The thick, sturdy oak that hovered by your window in the Delta Zeta House provided a place for your boyfriend to scuttle about, thumping a palm against the glass pane of your window.

He had a look in his eyes when you caught sight of him — devious and full of desire, glazed over with a sheen of mischief. It’s coupled with that pearlescent grin as you clamor toward your window, swiftly unlatching it as you glance over your shoulder. Your roommate is in the shower, a worthwhile time for him to come crawling in.

His timing is always impeccable.

This nightly ritual of him sneaking into your room is always accompanied with a giddiness and thrill. His dark tresses are disheveled, sporting a dark sweater that clings to his musculature. He climbs through with a silent grace, reaching for you before you can open your mouth.

“I’m doing all of the work here,” Mickey smirks, pressing a string of kisses along your jaw. “When are you going to climb through my window?” He questioned, tone playful as could be as his hands roughly pressed into your hips.

You and Mickey were still in this honeymoon stage of your relationship, where everything was glowing and bright, with sparks always flying in every direction. He oozes charm and charisma with every breath, and it never fails to pull you right in. He was becoming your addiction — your vice.

Sandalwood and bergamot cling to him as he sighs, hunching in over you as his mouth nips at your jugular. It elicits a low, simpering whine from you, serving as encouragement as Mickey turns that playful nip into a brief, rough bite. You taste saccharine underneath his tongue.

“I can’t climb a tree,” You protest, fingers curling into the front of his woolen sweater. “You have twenty minutes.” You huff, knowing that your roommate won’t be in the shower forever. It’s always the same heated routine — kissing until your lips are swollen, his hands grabbing your breasts, he leaves a hickey, and then he disappears.

Mickey groans into your sweet flesh, teeth idly grazing over your neck. “I want more than twenty minutes,” He uttered, peering down at your choice of wardrobe. It’s a ditzy nightgown that reminds him of summertime, speckled in hundreds of little flowers. He pinches the fabric between his fingers. “It’s not enough.”

“Kiss me, Mickey.” You mumble, a soft gasp tearing past your parted lips when he delivered a rather passionate kiss, open-mouthed with a desperate bout of tongue. He tugs at your nightgown, calloused fingertips tracing across the bare flesh of your thigh.

He was a dutiful boyfriend — eccentric and charming, a natural flirt with an obscene amount of wit. You adored that about him, but above all, you loved how much he spoke about you to other people. Mickey had this thing about staking his claim, and you weren’t about to tell him otherwise.

You can’t see it now, but there is a darkness festering inside of him. It’s always just at the forefront of his lascivious gaze, as if it might lash out and strike you. Mickey’s obsession with you transcended any normalcy, perceived as erratic and strange, but thankfully, you are none the wiser to his impulsive tendencies.

He loves your oblivious nature — it’s easier to control you that way.

Goosebumps form along the column of your spine, prickling along your body as his fingers slip underneath your nightgown, trailing along the waistband of your panties. He’s always teased you, but something feels different this time — it’s electrifying and exhilarating as he pets at your soft skin.

As your lips part, you stare at him incredulously, attempting to decipher his next move. “We can’t,” You protest, though it’s weak and lacking any sincerity. Your roommate, whilst prone to taking endless showers, won’t stay put forever. “Mickey.” You whisper.

“Why not?” He purred, teeth nicking your neck, which caused you to let out a soft gasp. Mickey’s lips soothed the bite with passionate kisses, tongue swirling over the newly-formed mark. “You going to stop me?” His lips curl into a faint smirk.

His laughter is delicious, alluring and full of a teasing mockery, one that causes goosebumps to coalesce along your spine. Mickey keeps it hushed, but you won’t be heard, not over the buzz of Duran Duran from your roommate’s radio.

His digits slip beneath the waistband of your panties as he hurriedly parts your legs, rucking your nightgown up towards your hips. “Maybe,” You squeak, voice barely above a hushed whisper. Mickey’s spindly digits playfully trace over your cunt, declining to touch your clit. “M—Mickey!”

You sputter, clinging to him like a drowning woman, grabbing fistfuls of his sweater as he swipes his fingers along your wet cunt. He’s devilishly enticing, and if you closed your eyes, you could envision his forked tail and silver tongue that continued to seduce you time and time again.

“This says otherwise,” Mickey’s tone has a playful edge of mockery to it as he kisses your jaw, unable to withhold the salacious expression that creeps onto his features. He revels in the way you whimper, hips jolting forward into his hand in an attempt to relieve even a lick of friction. “Want me to stop?”

He’s cruel.

Your pitiful, desperate expression screams for him to continue as you shake your head back and forth a hundred times over. “No, no!” You whisper, moaning when his thumb lightly traced over your clit. “Jesus, please don’t stop!” Your volume becomes heightened, and at that, Mickey decides to conceal it.

Mickey chuckles — it’s a dark and dangerous sound, but that’s why he has you so hooked to begin with. That aura of dominance emerges so quickly, and you’re enthralled, powerless to stop him. “You need to be quiet.” He cautioned, feeling you grab his wrist as you encourage him to keep going.

He does, much to your delight, fingers deftly tracing along your slit, drinking in the softness and wet warmth, thumb drawing circles around that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing at all, yearning for the sensation of his practiced digits.

A hapless whine leaves your lips when Mickey begins to test your limits, two fingers nudging at your entrance. It’s sluggish and teasing as he deliberates, gaze roving over your countenance. “You think about me when you touch yourself?” He questioned, mouth ghosting over yours as he pressed a string of kisses there, and then to your jaw.

Embarrassment rippled through you at the crass question, prompting your boyfriend to stop pleasuring you. Any sensations ceased, and made you moan in protest. “H—Hey,” You whimpered. “Mickey, baby, please don’t stop.” You groaned, feeling his hand lightly clasp around your throat.

“Answer me, and maybe I’ll keep going.” He chuckled, head cocked to one side. His muscled form loomed over you, casting a shadow across your body, moonlight swallowed whole. Mickey appeared predatorial and hungry in this light — ravenous for you.

“Y—Yes, I do, I — I think about you.” You mumbled, and to your relief, his thumb returned to your clit with a feather-light pressure. You rucked your hips forward with desperation, chasing after his hand. You were flustered to no end, burying your face into his chest, which he promptly stepped away from.

“Jesus,” Mickey sighed, drinking in your smitten expression. “You look so pretty like this.” At that, he sank forward, digits nudging their way inside of your cunt. Tightness followed, consumed by liquid heat as he began to piston his fingers in and out of your slit.

Another wave of goosebumps coalesced along your flesh, making you tense with excitement as Mickey gripped your throat with his other hand. Fingers squeezed underneath your jaw, applying pressure as he bit at your lip, surprisingly rough, hard enough to draw blood.

A startled gasp tore past your mouth, accompanied by a keening moan as Mickey found a rather vigorous rhythm. His practiced digits pumped in and out of your tight cunt, coated in your slick as this thumb brushed over your clit. Your body reacted in a violent fashion, desperately clamoring forward, friction electrifying.

The shower was still running, and you were awash with pleasure, cunt clenching around his fingers as he withdrew another moan from you. Mickey loved feeling your throat bob and tighten underneath his grasp, tracing the pad of his thumb above your pulse point. It was racing — beating at the speed of sound.

Molten heat pooled within the pit of your stomach as Mickey callously lapped at the blood coalescing along your lower lip, noticing the sheen of surprise within your eyes. “Doesn’t bother me,” He uttered, kissing you again with a force that made your head spin. “Tastes like you.”

Jesus — if it weren’t for your roommate, you would’ve been screaming. Your entire being ached for him in every way imaginable, hands grasping at his sweater. Mickey turned you around, pressing your knees into your mattress as he deftly felt his way around your body.

“Fuck, I wanna be inside of you.” Mickey snarled, brazenly biting at the dip between your neck and shoulder, having tugged your nightgown into all sorts of directions. His erection was prevalent, grinding against the curve of your ass as he pistoned his fingers in and out of you. “Would you let me?”

It all felt so quick, just heat and carnality, desire that had all rolled into an amalgamation of want. You hadn’t gone all the way yet — part of you wanted to save it for a time where your roommate wasn’t a few feet away.

“M—Mickey,” You whimpered, hips rolling and jolting into his hand, palms grasping at his bicep and forearm, something to steady you. “Please, please don’t stop!” Everything felt so feverish, as if you were trapped in some thick haze, unable to break free.

Mickey huffed, countenance etched with a playful disdain as he nibbled along the shell of your ear. “Would you let me fuck you right here?” He asked again, more pointed and aggressive this time, accompanied by a harsh flick against your clit.

Your head bobbed up and down over and over again in a series of indiscernible babbles and nods. “Yes! Y—Yes, Mickey,” You might’ve said it over and over again, back arching as he began to curl his digits into you, right into a spot that made your bones turn to dust. “M’close!” A desperate whine left you.

His cajoling laughter made the hairs along the back of your neck stand up, thighs rubbing together. “Course you would,” Mickey murmured, kissing at your neck, attempting to give you another hickey, something that he succeeded in. “You’re my little slut.” The sudden degradation made you bristle.

Admittedly, you shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as you did, squirming and writhing against him as he toyed with your clit. You moaned, fingers clamping down into his arm so hard that you were afraid of leaving bruises. Mickey didn’t slow or stop, continuing that same, brutal pace as he brought you to your climax.

His hot, labored breathing fanned across your neck and shoulder, causing you to shiver as he grinded himself against you. The rough denim made contact with your haunch, content to rut against the curve of your ass. Mickey knew you were close, and with another steady barrage of digits, you shuddered.

You were drowning in a white-hot ecstasy, reduced to a sticky, whimpering mess at the hands of your boyfriend, whose grin was etched into the back of your neck like a brand. Mickey let you ride it out, spasming and mewling, hoping to let it simmer before your roommate finished her shower.

Mickey caressed circles into your clit, feeling your knees wobble, thighs quivering as you trembled like a leaf, rocking back against him. He was akin to the cat who’d caught the canary, pearlescent teeth glittering through the dim light as he slowly removed his fingers from your weeping cunt.

“Mickey,” You sighed, feeling him nudge you, coaxing you to turn around as he sat you down against your mattress. There was something vulnerable and exhilarating about it all as he loomed over you, head cocking to one side. “That was amazing.”

He smirked — a haughty, salacious smirk that made your insides turn to mush, heat pooling between your legs once more. “I’m not done just yet, sweetheart.” Mickey crooned, reaching forward to squeeze on either side or your jaw. “Open for me.”

An innocuous confusion fluttered across your features, and he drank it in — you were so innocent, so pious that Mickey fed from it. He watched in silent rapture as you opened your mouth, and again, his smarmy, playful grin was prevalent as he placed his digits upon the flat of your tongue.

A swarm of saliva began to pool within your mouth, a whimper erupting from the depths of your throat. You knew what Mickey wanted, and you elected to obey, able to taste the remnants of your orgasm.

Shyly, you began to suck on his fingers, watching the way his countenance blossomed to life with an insidious desire. “Good,” Mickey purred, placing his other hand against the back of your head, cradling your skull as he urged you closer. “Should’ve brought my camera.”

That comment alone forced you to press your thighs together, and your boyfriend, ever the watchful and observant creature, took notice. Through the dim light of your bedroom, he was as coy and cajoling as the Cheshire Cat, slipping his fingers down your tongue.

“Would you like that?” His voice contorted into something else — malefic and low. You barely noticed the lack of static noise as your roommate turned the shower off. “Should I film us together next time? Might make for an interesting movie.” Mickey uttered.

A familiar heat thrummed against your ribcage, slipping through the cracks as it rippled across your body. You suddenly realized that your roommate had finished her shower, and Mickey hadn’t moved a muscle — he knew. A whimper threatened to break free from your chest, hands tight and fisted within your lap.

When footsteps began to inch closer, Mickey took his fingers out of your mouth, replacing them with his lips as he kissed you. You exhaled, sharp and excitable, reaching for his chest again. It was hot and crackling with tension, even still. His erection pressed against your inner thigh.

“Next time, I’ll sneak over.” You murmured, feeling his lips curl into a grin as he pressed a string of kisses against your neck. As Mickey began to slink away, you grabbed his arm, staring at him with doe-like eyes. “We’ll have more than twenty minutes next time.”

Mickey smirked, beginning to climb out of your window and back onto the boughs of the oak. “I’m counting on it.” He chimed, and began to scale the tree back down and into the darkness. You watched him go, chest tight with the sensation of yearning.

Unbeknownst to you, Mickey intended on making a phone call tonight — and you were set to be the star.

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri x you #ghostface x reader #scream fanfiction #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #scream #scream 2 #mickey altieri #ghostface fanfic #ghostface

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Honkai Star Rail A/B/O: As Omegas

Characters: Blade, Jing Yuan, Welt, and Luocha

cw: omegaverse, nsfw

-------

Blade

His scent is rarely shared with others and is usually covered up by the alphas he works with(Kafka) or by the scent patches and suppressants he takes. But if one gets the chance to smell his scent they'll find the scent of lilies, nectar, and a lingering scent of iron.

During sex he'll bite his mate regardless if he can mark them or not. He'll especially bite when he's got a knot inside him, he wants to feel every bit of his mate inside him and biting is just one of his ways of keeping grounded.

His nests are a bit clumsy but filled with items that smell strongly of his mate and that make him feel safe and warm. He makes his nest in only two locations: his room or his mates room, that's it. As a Stellaron Hunter it's unwise to build a nest on a foreign planet since they're constantly on the move.

Jing Yuan

Candied ginger is what makes up his scent, it's so warm and inviting yet so sweet it makes you want to take a bite. Careful though for ginger has a kick to it just like our General.

Takes control in the bedroom while his alpha services him. He may be in heat but he's in charge here and he wants what he wants exactly how he want it. Thrives off making them go crazy for the need to be inside him but if his alpha is good they'll get a nice reward and maybe be allowed to knot him.

His nest is quite large and fancy as he builds them big enough to hold himself, Mimi, his mate, and Yanqing should he wish to have him in his nest. He takes extra time and care to make sure every pillow is fluffed just right and that every blanket is as soft as possible.

Welt

Has a sensitive nose regardless if he's an alpha or omega so he's more conscious of others and his own scent. His scent is a mix of caramel and chocolate with hints of pine. It's certainly a mature scent that makes one think of time spent with hot coco during the holidays.

Cuddling is his go to when he's having his heat, he feels extra needy for comfort and warmth that once his mate is in his nest he's absorbing all their body heat. He's old he needs it.

If he does feel like having sex he'll let his alpha knot him once or twice and that's it. He could go for longer but being stuck in one position while knotted can hurt ones back so he refrains.

His nests are orderly chaotic piled with thermal blankets and supportive pillows. They tend to smell more like him except for one or two blankets he wraps himself up in that are saturated in his mates scent.

Luocha

Has to deal with unwanted attention as he's rather tall and pretty as an omega so many try their luck. He's graceful as he rejects them but he won't hesitate to get physical if they don't take no for an answer.

Smells like fresh lilies and chamomile with a hint of honey. It's a scent that can make just about anyone relax and yearn for more.

His nests are simple and small, he travels a lot and since he must travel as light as possible extra pillows and blankets are a no go. He takes one favorite blanket and that's it. He's more prone to adding items from his mates wardrobe into his nest as it's easier to access and more practical.

During heats he enjoys cuddling far more than the sex itself though he's certainly not complaining. He does like being filled but it's a little hard to enjoy it all with a half decent nest. He'd rather be comforted and kept filled with a toy until his heat is over. Appreciates if his mate finds a great place he can relax and build a proper nest.

#honkai star rail a/b/o #honkai star rail x reader #blade x reader #jing yuan x reader #welt x reader #luocha x reader

[ch6douin]

> Dᴇᴠᴏᴛɪᴏɴ. — IDV! SELF AWARE AU (5)

i love this au but i cannot bring myself to do anything other than brainrot every single day. i would love to hear brainrots, feedbacks or anything related to this au in my askbox, so feel free to mark your presence there.

cw: obsessive behavior; mentions of feeling/being watched; romantic someway; religious behavior; idk what else

Fiona loved the mystic. That's something not so surprising as she was given the title of a Priestess. She swore upon the Lakeside Village to adore the one and only Yog Sothoth, to be worthy of his blessings.

But she's incapable of escaping from this manor and honoring his name properly, incapable of escaping from you.

She knows you, to a certain extent because of the gossip and whispers around the survivors but you know her all too well, every single flaw and trait. Her devotion to Yog Sothoth didn't budge at that time, since at the end of the day, Fiona did not acknowledge you.

Skepticism could be her middle name, scripted to be deep into her heart, protecting it from any dangers. But you sneaked in, clueless of your effect on her. And so suddenly, her offerings to Yog Sothoth lacked sincerity.

She doesn't want to...be like this, be indecisive, she always criticized one for such weakness. But every time she thinks about choosing between you and the eldritch god, she is sent into a spiral of sentiments and beliefs, and anxiety settles deep within her bones. You're taking up too much space inside her, and she can't do anything besides hope that you give her enough room for breathing.

Yog Sothoth's presence is cold as ice and almost frightening, it is something Fiona thought that she was used to it. But she got way too comfortable with the feeling of your unique presence, safe as the embrace of a lover. It makes her dizzy, her heart is filled with tenderness but her brain tugs on it like a warning. Sometimes, it makes her sick in the stomach to sense that she failed to do something simple as to follow one god.

Little by little, her makeshift shrine with tons of trinkets for the ancient god is emptied. The overwhelming amount of items almost spilling out from the shrine are nowhere to be seen. Her loud murmurs from her requests to "Hastur" that every survivor could hear when passing by her door (which for a curious motive, is filled with thick locks and chains) are nothing now but a faint whisper of your name, so silent and soothing as if she is afraid to startle you or make you annoyed by her wishes. But did you hear her prayers? You must have, she likes to believe you do. That's the only explanation for her wardrobe full of luxurious clothes and accessories, silky materials that she would never even dream about touching.

She dreams of you, every night. It must be because she thinks about you almost all the time, but she fools herself into thinking it's you infesting her dreams despite the mindset being incredibly irrational. And every time you appear, her brain creates an individual that could only be described as breathtaking, because any idea that Fiona had about your appearance however you looked like was nothing short of ethereal, divine. She would kneel and worship you regardless of people's opinions.

The others be damned. They never gave her such a strong feeling.

And may you also give her enough patience to not wrap her fingers around that Mercenary's throat—when he stands with a look of nonchalance and crossed arms as if he didn't fuck up everything. She couldn't care less about the hint of regret in his sharp eyes, and she started blinking fast as if to dissipate the sudden urge to pounce on him. But you wouldn't want that, would you? After all, you graced him with your presence more times than one could count with their hands, even if his mouth was always kept shut, she knows because there was nothing that could justify his fidgety behavior when the subject was you.

"Any explanations for your foul behavior, Mr.Subedar?" Just like him, her arms are folded tightly on her chest as she spits out her words, cutting through the palpable tension in the room. And by the way he looks at her through the corner of his eye, she really has the impression of not even deserving his attention.

"It's simple, I don't trust them." Indeed, a simple and short answer followed by his thick accent doesn't satisfy Fiona that much. But that's just Naib Subedar, the mercenary is always stubborn and will feed you nothing but crumbles of information until you go crazy for good.

"Oh for god's sake. You don't trust anyone, Subedar." She sighs heavily, rubbing her forehead in annoyance. "The day you do, pigs might fly!" The woman walks around the dimly lit room with impatience, and he remains still as a statue. Aside from a twitch of his brows and a brief glare, there is no reaction to her words.

"Who I trust or not is none of your business, Gilman. Just like you being an obsessive freak with this person, if we can even call them that, has nothing to do with me." He is good at pretending to not be fazed as if he didn't experience goosebumps all over his body five minutes ago when he could finally hear your voice clearer than ever. And when the thought of how you looked from the other side of the screen went through his head for a fleeting second, he swears his heart rate did not increase. Why do you have this effect on him? On everyone? You were able to swoon the hearts of even the most reserved men and women in this manor, you even made him feel somehow special initially.

Emma plants flowers that you might like, Frederick and Antonio create tunes and songs inspired by you, Demi has confessed her admiration for you countless times in her drunken state—Hell, Naib is sure that he had a glimpse of Edgar Valden himself stressing over a painting and mumbling how he 'just had to see you in person, his lost muse'.

His thoughts are interrupted by a loud groan. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that for the sake of our partnership." He had hit a nerve, didn't he? It's written all across her face, eyebrows furrowed, lips in a firm line, eyelids twitching...It almost brings a smile to his lips how worked up she got. His eyes trail down to her hands for no particular reason, they are gripping her robe tightly in between her fingers.

"Whatever makes you sleep at night.." His mouth has a small pout of indifference as he shrugs, heavy boots accompany him when he walks away to finally leave and have some rest. There is nothing that he wants more than to forget about all of this for at least a few hours, that is if he doesn't end up having you appear in his dreams and waking up with wide eyes filled with evident embarrassment. Maybe he wasn't so different from the other survivors and hunters...

Twisting the doorknob and looking up through his eyelashes, much to his dismay, a person that he knows all too well stands proud. With his black and white clothes, it's Luca Balsa in the flesh. Even with the shaky postman wiping away his tear-smudged cheeks behind the prisoner's back like a shadow, his toothy grin never faltered. He must be sure of himself if he still remains unperturbed by the problems ahead. Naib steps away to give them enough space to enter the room and then vanishes without a word, not before noticing how the postman's irises followed him till he was no longer within eye's reach. If Naib was able to gain the hate of someone so calm, he indeed might be a jerk.

It doesn't take long for Luca to speak up. "Long short story, an unexpected error happened, and now no one knows how to turn it on without my help?" He's casual with it, maybe overconfident in his abilities as an inventor but some optimism was very much needed right now. After all, he should not disappoint in their pursuit to contact you!

There's a short silence, followed by the loud crack of his knuckles as he takes a long stride towards the machine. "Alright, this might take some time. I recommend for you two to take a break and have a little debate with the others in the main hall. Everyone is starving for good news."

OBS: When Fiona mentions "luxury clothes" she's referring to the A/S tier costumes from the game.

naib wants u so bad bro 🤨 a lot of characters may appear next chapter but of course half of it may be a little more luca centered, and maybe if i make it long enough we will come back to reader's pov😆

#identity v x reader #idv x reader #self aware au #idvselfaware #idv mercenary #idv priestess #idv postman #idv prisoner #identity v naib #victor grantz x reader #luca balsa

[lets-just-daydream]

I loved this:

https://www.tumblr.com/lets-just-daydream/730163482466680833/pls-only-if-you-want-to-but-i-have-been-searching

It sparked a thought! What if Cazador did turn you into a spawn? Astarion and group kill him, perhaps you are sent to safety to ensure your soul is not sacrificed. Then spawn Astarion and you get to spend eternity as equals, no need to find a cure for vampirism or extend your mortal life.

Love your work. Cheers!

POOR TAV LOL

destined to end up in Cazador's clutches (at least in my fics) but we need the angst before the happy ending right???? (decided to put these requests together)

*

Ahh. You'd made it. Baldur's Gate! Weeks and weeks of travel, killing, bloodshed, making friends and making enemies. You were almost certain with all the walking you'd done you could lift a house with your new leg muscles. Well not quite but you certainly felt like it.

Your companions scattered slightly, feeling mildly safer in the city and agreeing to meet up in a nearby tavern Shadowheart had pointed to and said she was departing to. You wandered off to find a merchant to buy some perfumes and soaps from because you were certain you smelled awful. Right beside you, not unexpectedly, was Astarion. The closer you got to the city, the clingier you found him to be. Not that you would ever complain. Being back in Cazador's domain was kind of scary for you and you could not imagine how utterly terrifying it must be for Astarion. As you walked, you looped your arm in his and you felt him relax slightly, a smile gracing his features. But you still saw him looking over his shoulder every couple of minutes.

You tried to converse with him as a distraction. "How about we get some nice soaps and perfumes, go back to the tavern, get ourselves a room and have a nice, warm bath?"

"Mhm," Astarion responded half-heartedly.

"Astarion?" You asked. He barely registered your voice and you gave his arm a slight squeeze to get his attention. "Look, I know that you're worried but I've got your back, we've all got your back."

He smiled back at you and gave you a soft peck. "I know, darling. But I… just can't help the feeling like I'm being watched."

Your brows furrowed and you looked around. It was broad daylight and you were in the middle of the street.

"My love," you said. "It's the middle of the day. You're the only vampire that could be out here."

Astarion looked at you and laughed, he'd forgotten this important piece of the vampire puzzle.

"Of course," Astarion smiled. "Now let's get these soaps so I can lather you up later."

You smiled and chatted as you found a vendor, smelling the soaps on offer, not knowing that Astarion's gut feeling was right. You were being watched. From the shadows.

You made it back to the tavern with many soaps in bag, keen for a relaxing night in. You'd discovered the rest of your companions had booked their own rooms. It made sense after camping out together for weeks everyone would jump at the opportunity to have their own space.

You bit your lip and turned to Astarion. “If you'd like to get your own room, we can bathe wherever you'd like.”

Astarion only offered you his trademark smirk before turning to the innkeeper and asking for one room, with one bed. You blushed and watched as Astarion took the key and turned back to you.

“I would like to bathe with you, in our bath, in our room.”

You nodded and grinned, following him up to your allocated room and stepping inside after he'd unlocked it. There it was. One bed. A bathroom off to the side and a wardrobe, a desk and comfortable looking couches situated in front of an unlit fireplace. It was rather warm these days. You then spotted doors off to the side and opened them to find a balcony decorated with plants and wooden furniture.

“Oh, it's a nice view from here, Astarion,” you said as you leaned against the rail.

You heard him step onto the balcony and he stepped in behind you, caging you in his arms between himself and the railing. “Yes, you're right,” he said plainly.

He sounded so casual and even though you had shared a few nights together and confessed your feelings to each other, his simple touch or his body against yours still sent you into a silent internal frenzy. You truly could spend all day watching the street below with Astarion pressed against your back.

“I am so desperate for this bath. I'll go get it ready,” Astarion said as he leaned down and pressed a kiss just under your ear.

You shivered and felt him smile against your skin before he was gone, retreating inside.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, soaking in the sun before you felt a ruble under your feet. Your brows furrowed and you leaned over the railing to see what could be causing the building to shake.

Before you could even process what was happening, the balcony crumbled and gave way under you, dropping you to the cobbles below. You heard a slight hiss and a cold hand on your skin before everything went black.

Astarion began filling the bath with warm water, a smile on his face. He didn't ever dare to dream that he could have a relationship like he had with you but it seemed the gods had slowly begun smiling down at him. He peered through the bathroom door and watched as you leaned over the railing. He admired the view you unknowingly gave him before he saw you begin to fall as the floor fell out from under you.

He screamed your name and ran to the edge of the destroyed balcony but you weren't there. Were you under the rubble? He screamed your name again as he dropped to his knees and reached for the rubble but he was too high up. He ran out of the room and came face-to-face with your other companions.

“We heard you scream,” Lae’zel said.

Astarion shoved past everyone, unable to put into words what he had just witnessed. They followed silently as he got outside and pushed through the crowd of people surrounding the rubble. Astarion dropped to his knees and pulled stone, wood and plants to reach you under the fallen balcony. He'd made a dent in it as Karlach and Lae'zel made short work of the pile but you were nowhere to be found. Astarion called your name again, scanning the crowd to see if you had been picked up but he couldn't see you. He couldn't smell you. But he could smell something familiar. Something that if his heart still beat, would have made it stop.

This was Cazador's doing.

You woke to a splash of freezing water to your face and you gasped as you gulped for air. You opened your eyes and looked around, not recognising where you were. Or how you even got here. What could you remember? You were on the balcony in your room, it collapsed and… that's it.

“Astarion?” You called looking around the dank, cold chamber.

Stone and tile lined the walls and floors and gods it was freezing. You tried to make sense of where you were and you noticed cages suspended from the high ceilings, a coffin in the middle of the room and… suspended bodies lining the perimeter of the room. Your blood ran cold and you froze as you saw the pained, tortured look on each person's face. You raised your hand to your mouth but were stopped. Chains shackled you to the ground and you could barely move an inch.

“What the fuck…” you whispered to yourself. “Astarion?!”

“Call for the little vampire all you like, but he can't hear you,” a sordid voice came from behind you.

You whipped your head around and saw a tall figure looking over you. Pale skin, long black hair, fangs peeking out from beneath his lips.

“Cazador?” You whispered.

“Indeed.”

You squinted up at him, confused. “You did this to me? Why?”

Cazador huffed and stepped in front of you, leaning down to take your chin in his hand. His skin was ice cold. Colder than Astarion's and you shivered at the feeling, your stomach recoiling in disgust. “Hmm. They told me you were clever. Too much credit, I say.”

Cazador stared at you impassively, like he was bored with you. “You're… insurance. I figure the boy will come to save you. I've heard that he's so desperately in love with you. Isn't that cute?”

You didn't respond, only letting your mind wander to Astarion, hoping he was safe. If you were still here with Cazador it meant Astarion was still safe and alive somewhere. You hoped your companions would keep him away. You knew Karlach would. But Astarion was also stubborn and you prayed to every god who was and wasn't listening that he wouldn't come looking for you.

“Some say cute,” Cazador continued. “Pathetic, I say.”

You furrowed your brow in anger and struggled against your restraints, desperate to reach the vampire in front of you and stake his heart.

“I'll kill you,” you sneered.

Cazador deadpanned and gripped your chin tight, his nails digging into your skin painfully. “Don't test my patience. If Astarion doesn't come for you, you'll take his place. Then I'll ascend and kill him myself.”

You stilled and fear overtook you. Cazador was cruel and he intended to complete this infernal ritual one way or another. Maybe if he did use you instead, Astarion could hide away out of Cazador's reaches. But becoming ascendant, he could go anywhere, sun or no sun. They could play hide and seek for all of eternity. You had to get free and kill Cazador.

The vampire lord dropped your chin and stepped away, taking in his suspended spawn, his eyes landing on the spot where Astarion should be. He was impatient. There was no guarantee Astarion would even come for you. He may not even know where you'd gone. He turned slightly to find you struggling against your shackles. He could just do as he said, use you in Astarion's place and kill him later, anyway. Then he'd have the satisfaction of tormenting Astarion with your untimely death… Yes, the idea had merit and the more he thought on it, the more appealing he found it.

“Change of plans, dear hero,” Cazador said as he approached you once again and crouched in front of you. “I've been patient for too long to wait on that insolent fool any longer.”

You flinched as Cazador's fingers found your neck. “We'll be speeding things up.”

You gulped. “What do you-”

The remainder of your question died on your lips as Cazador reared his head back and bit into your neck without warning. You let out a scream as you felt an icy blanket fall over your body, your blood being drained from you.

You had gotten so used to Astarion feeding on you and being to gentle that this feeding frenzy felt like torture in comparison. You tried to shove Cazador off of you but the shackles held you in place. As the vampire took deep, clumsy gulps from you, you felt yourself begin to weaken and your vision begin to fade around the edges. Astarion would have long stopped by now and kissed your neck before laying you down to sleep.

Your body felt numb and cold as your hands fell limp by your sides, you could feel the strong beat of your heart slow to an unnaturally slow lull. As Cazador took a final gulp, your head lolled back and your eyes slipped shut, visions of Astarion filling the void before you finally faded away. You wished you could tell him one more time that you love him.

“I don't know about this,” Shadowheart said as they searched Cazador's study. “We're not even sure if Cazador is behind this.”

Astarion grinded his teeth in frustration. “I know he did this. The smell of his spawn was all over that rubble. If you don't want to help, then leave,” Astarion snapped as he kicked a book across the room.

It seemed the gods did indeed smile down on him as the book flew across the room and budged a lever everyone had missed and revealed an opening in the floor.

“I didn't even know this was here…” Astarion gasped, stepping past before anyone could stop him.

Your throat was dry. Impossibly dry. Like you'd just consumed a carafe of Baldur's Gate’s finest sand. You tried to move and you realised you were sprawled out on your stomach with something heavy on your back, your bare chest pressed into the cold tiles. Speaking of, your back was killing you. You stretched and felt around before feeling something wet and sticky. You pulled your hand back and saw that your fingers were covered in… was that blood?

Your eyes widened as you felt a stab and slice into your back and you let out a guttural scream at the pain. It felt as though someone had taken to your back with a knife and was carving into it. The dots connected in your brain and your body stiffened in shock. You heard a laugh from above you and you craned your neck to find Cazador above you, dagger in hand with a manic look on his face.

“Yes, let your screams out, little spawn. It makes this all the sweeter,” Cazador praised.

Your screams turned to laboured breaths but it didn't feel right, you couldn't get enough air into your lungs.

‘No,’ you thought in horror as tears welled in your eyes, shock finally giving way to reality.

You ran your tongue over your teeth and found two sharp fangs in place of your canines.

“It's a shame your life as a vampire will be so short, I think you might have enjoyed it,” Cazador said as he stuck the dagger into your back once again.

“Please… please stop,” you sobbed.

“Soon, my dear. Soon you and all these seven thousand spawn will cease to exist and I will become the greatest vampire of all time.”

You let out another scream as Cazador resumed his work, but he stopped abruptly and he fell off of you as you heard hurried footsteps and familiar voices. You turned your head toward the noise and saw Astarion heading the rest of your companions, running down the stairs toward you and Cazador.

“Grab him and tie him up. Tight,” Astarion commanded and Karlach and Lae'zel nodded as the latter put her crossbow back on her shoulder.

You looked up at Astarion, almost not believing your eyes. You began to smile but the look of horror, guilt and shock on his face caused you to frown and close in on yourself, a cry of pain escaping you as you moved.

You weren't yourself anymore. You were a vampire spawn. Cold, covered in bloody wounds and completely different to the person Astarion fell in love with.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion sobbed as he dropped to his knees in front of you. His hands hovered over you in fear of hurting you any further. “What has that monster done to you?”

You let out a pained sob as Astarion took the cloak from his back and draped it over you. He cupped your cheek and you looked up at him, his eyes shone with tears that threatened to spill. “I'm so sorry I let this happen.”

You sniffled and stiffened again as you heard Cazador speak behind you. “You finally made it, Astarion. If only you had been faster, you could have saved your dear lover from this awful fate. A failure once again.”

Your heart hurt as you watched Astarion listen to Cazador's words, you truly wished he didn't have to suffer such an awful master and now he was here because you had been captured and now he would think you're hideous and you were probably both going to die anyway. But Astarion stood and walked over to where Cazador was bound, held in place by Karlach and Lae'zel.

“What to do with you…” Astarion mused, unbothered by Cazador's words. “I could take your place and become the ascendant.”

“No…” You choked. “Don't do it Astarion. You're better than him, I know you are.”

Cazador had revealed that he would be sacrificing seven thousand souls to ascend and there was no way you could live with Astarion if he sacrificed all of those innocent lives. The chamber was silent for a moment before Astarion stepped closer to Cazador, unsheathing his weapon.

“You're right. I am better than him.”

It seemed as though Cazador let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps he thought Astarion was going to cut him free. Be the bigger man, as it were.

“But I'm still going to enjoy every second of this,” Astarion took Cazador's hair in his hand, pulled his head back and stabbed into his master's neck. The sound of metal squishing into flesh was all that could be heard in the cavernous dungeon as Astarion stabbed into Cazador's almost lifeless body over and over. You watched Astarion's face as he finally threw his dagger down and dropped to his knees. You tried to comfort him but the shackles holding you in place jangled against you.

Karlach ran forward and freed you by prying the shackles open and you crawled over to Astarion and wrapped your arms around him.

You felt him stiffen under your touch and you moved away, worried you'd overstepped in this troublesome time he was going through.

“Your body is… cold,” Astarion said, taking your hand in his and pressing it to his cheek.

Tears welled in your eyes. “I'm sorry,” you whispered, not really even knowing why you were apologising. You were worried that without the warmth of your skin and the blood coursing through your veins, he wouldn't love you anymore. You had no warmth and no blood to offer him anymore.

“Why are you apologising? Why are you crying, my love?” Astarion asked.

You looked down at the space between you and felt your face drop.

“I'm… different now,” you struggled. “I can't feed you anymore… I'm cold.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks and Astarion leaned forward and held your body against his, careful of the fresh scars on your back.

“Darling I… I still love you,” Astarion whispered against your ear.

This was a rather tender moment and your companions wandered around the room examining what they could loot and whether the other vampires should be set free.

You leaned back and Astarion offered you a small smile. “You'll have me by your side for all eternity.”

You nodded, wiping the tears from your eyes and offering him a small smile. Admittedly you had wondered what your relationship would be like as the years ticked by. You'd grow old, no longer young and energetic and Astarion would stay the same; forever young and beautiful, frozen in time. But now you were frozen in time, too. Young and beautiful, glad to know you and Astarion had eternity together.

“Let's get out of here,” Astarion said, helping you to your feet and offering you his arm. “I never want to come back here again.”

“Me neither,” you replied.

#red writes #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fic #astarion fanfiction

[dotieeee]

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 5

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession. possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 5 Warnings:

Snow and his vile unclean 18+ thoughts, the blackest of mails lol, manipulation

Replay Level 4

Ready? Level 5 Start:

In Coriolanus’s mind, he can recall, word for word, the meeting he had requested Strabo Plinth to initiate with Acacius Innis.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called for this meeting, Acacius,” Strabo Plinth had said as soon as the servants had cleared out.

Acacius Innis and he were seated on finely upholstered chairs inside the Plinth patriarch’s office, with Strabo’s intricately carved oak desk between them, served the highest quality tea his money could buy. Coriolanus simply stood beside him, obediently there to chime in only when needed. He needed to let Plinth senior handle Innis senior – this is, after all, what Strabo did best.

In a few ways, the patriarchs were similar: they both don’t drink alcohol, they both come from the Districts, and they share an almost uncanny flair for business. But that is where their common ground ended, as far as Coriolanus was concerned. He had the Plinth patriarch essentially wrapped around his finger. The Innis patriarch, however, had always been wary of him; he could tell. He could feel Acacius’s perceptive eyes on him the entire time he’d been at your home, even if he wasn’t necessarily looking – eyes that seemed to see right through people. You shared that with him too, apparently, given how similarly you behaved with him during your Academy years. On top of that, Acacius wasn’t one to flaunt his riches as extravagantly as Strabo, as evidenced by his taste for a simpler wardrobe and refusal to hire a cook and stay-at-home help. District, his roots may be, yet he seamlessly blends well with Capitol’s high society.

And there he was, casually sipping a cup of tea as he considered Strabo’s question. He put it down with the grace one would expect from an Innis. He may spew the occasional acerbic remark, but his social etiquette is flawless.

“I had an inkling what it was about during our lovely dinner,” he said with a tight-lipped smile.

Strabo said as he stirred his tea. “Ever the sharp one, aren’t you?” His light chuckle echoed in the room. “Very well, then. I’ll get right to the point.

“I’d like to propose a union between our houses: Snows - and the Plinths in conjunction – and the Innises by way of marriage.”

Coriolanus had his eyes glued to him the entire time: if Acacius Innis felt anything at all about this proposal, he remained unfazed, his face a friendly, blank mask.

“My heir, Coriolanus,” he gestured to him beside his seat, “And your niece will make the perfect match. I understand they both now have a... camaraderie of sorts; we’d only be giving them a push forward in the right direction.”

The Innis senior’s eyes were hard, but he bobbed his head slowly as if he were weighing the offer.

Strabo continued speaking, but it was at this point that Coriolanus could guess Acacius’s response, although he still had some hope in his heart that he was wrong about it.

“I can’t think of any other couple more attractive. Nellie’s just turned twenty, right? Coriolanus, here, turned twenty several months ago. Both young and bright and excelling in their own fields. Imagine the wedding of the century, two of the most powerful clans of Panem in union...your Nellie will make a fine wife for my Coriolanus, just as he will make a dutiful husband for her. Think of the grandchildren, Acacius. They’d be adorable and frighteningly smart for their age...”

Coriolanus fought the urge to roll his eyes. Acacius Innis will never be swayed by the thought of having grandchildren. Then again, he didn’t know what he would be swayed by; the man was an impenetrable wall.

“Hmm. Does Coriolanus consent to this?” Acacius turned to him. If Coriolanus Snow was surprised by his question, he never showed it.

“I do, sir,” he replied with conviction. “I hold your niece in the highest regard.”

Acacius hummed before picking up his cup of tea and drinking.

“He’s being humble, Acacius,” Strabo confirms. “You’ve seen them together, they’re practically a couple. So, what do you say?”

“No.”

Coriolanus felt his eye twitch.

Innis Senior could’ve just punched him in the face, and he could’ve gotten less of a reaction.

Even Strabo was at a loss for words. “'No?’ Acacius...think of what this union could mean for our heirs. Their combined might will one day rule all of Panem. You see, Coriolanus is setting his eyes on politics. Not just any political seat: he aims for the presidency. I have no doubt he will ascend to the greatest of political heights.”

Could he not have begun his pitch with that, instead?

Acacius smiles wryly. “I’m sure Coriolanus will achieve anything he puts his mind to, Strabo. He has the makings of a powerful man,” he sighs. “But this isn’t about his ambition. This is about Nellie’s life. I cannot, in good conscience, choose for her on her behalf.”

Strabo tilts his head with a questioning look. “Surely, Nellie will understand your choice, given you have her best interests at heart?”

“Precisely why I could never do that to her. She trusts me and my judgement, and I can’t betray her trust like that.”

“What if I told you I could make you a shareholder at my company’s military weapons division? We have, after all, profited greatly for the past decade. Our financial forecasts project even greater growth for the next few years, thanks to reinforced peacekeeping policies. I can guarantee you a hefty slice of the pie."

Acacius clasps his hands together and leans forward on the desk with a polite smile.

“My sincerest apologies, Strabo. I cannot agree with this proposal of yours, and I don’t think there is anything you could offer me that will make me accept. It would be unfair to my niece to seal her fate without her consent. You understand hard work, more than anyone else. I raised Nellie as my own after her parents died, and I’ve worked hard for her to have choices in life where most don’t. I’d like to imagine that extends even to matters concerning matrimony. Whoever she chooses to marry, if she chooses to marry at all, shouldn’t be decided among three men in a room, over a meeting she wasn’t not even allowed in.”

Coriolanus felt a vein in his temple throb. Of course, he was livid. What made him even more furious was the fact that Strabo had the gall to look moved by Innis senior’s speech.

He wanted nothing but to strangle the both of them then and there.

But, as usual, Coriolanus Snow was a man of utter composure. He said nothing, kept his face a blank mask, as he listened to Strabo basically taking Acacius’s side.

“Very well, Acacius, my old friend. Your niece is lucky to have you as a father figure. We do what we can to protect our children, and for that, you have my utmost respect.”

A thought crossed Coriolanus’s mind at Strabo’s words.

Acacius had just inadvertently revealed his weakness. You.

Not such an impenetrable wall, after all.

As if pouring salt over an open wound, Strabo patted Coriolanus on the back and added, “Coriolanus will just have to earn Nellie’s hand the hard way, I’m afraid. Oh, and do come to my birthday party this Friday night at the Palisades? The invitations were mailed out last week, and if you’re not busy, you can bring Nellie with you.”

“Friday, you say?” Acacius asked as he got up from his chair. “I might have to take a raincheck, my friend. I’m spearheading a new defence division at the Citadel, and I expect Friday will be hectic for me. My well wishes to you today, and your birthday gift I shall send via delivery.”

Strabo acknowledged Acacius’s smile of apology with a nod. “Of course, duties to the Capitol come first.”

The elder males shook hands firmly before they all exited the room, led by Innis senior.

To call this a disappointing turn of events was an understatement.

That sweet smile you had on your pretty little face as you bid him good night was his only solace for the rest of the evening. He wished he could see more of that smile; he wished he could have it bottled or kept it in a jar, perhaps, so he could look at it anytime he wanted. Just the thought of having something of you with him all the time made him feel a little better. Obviously, having you to himself all the time would beat having just something of you, but he hasn’t quite gotten to that yet. A certain relative of yours just made sure of that.

He thought he had a plan to get you. He knew he had no chance at winning Acacius Innis over if he alone had asked for your hand himself, but he had high hopes that with Strabo Plinth leading the conversation, he’d be more open to the idea of an alliance between your families by way of marriage. So much for that well-thought-out plan.

No matter: he had one other weapon he had at his disposal. One more leverage on you – and that obstinate prick you call an uncle – that could prove so devastating, it could have you begging him to take your soul for him to keep the dirt from surfacing.

All he had to figure out was his timing.

***

You and your uncle never talk about what transpired at the Citadel the day he asked you to bring those files. You’re still on the fence as to whether he had set you up to uncover what could plausibly be a conspiracy surrounding Sejanus’s death, but the facts you’ve gathered surrounding the incident prove too hard to overlook.

Had your uncle already known about it for a time, and had he been sitting on the information until then? Why did he choose to reveal it this way if he had indeed set you up? Why did he keep it to himself then?

And then there’s that...thing...that thought about your friend that you know you’re not supposed to entertain because of how outlandish it sounds, but a thought you can’t seem to get rid of, nonetheless.

That nagging suspicion that just won’t go away, no matter how hard you try to rationalise.

You keep going back and forth between what you can remember in Sejanus’s letters and the information Dr Kay had revealed; how Sejanus had been entangling with rebel forces; how the peacekeepers in District 12 had been ordered to gather catch jabberjays for scientific research; how he could’ve confessed to someone he trusted enough to be comfortable around with; and he could’ve been recorded by any of the peacekeepers who had access to the jabberjay remotes; how only one of the jabberjays conveniently turned up dead only a day after the birds arrived at the Capitol…

…How the only person Sejanus mentioned he trusted the most the entire time he was in District 12 was Coriolanus Snow.

Everything you know about every event that happened in District 12 circles back to him somehow, and you hate yourself for not being able to come up with a different conclusion.

Everybody says you’re smart, but look where it’s gotten you, now: with more questions and nowhere to get answers from.

Thursday. Three days have flown by since that day.

Every day for three days since you’ve woken up drenched in sweat, having dreamt of jabberjays flocking all over you, screaming your name and Sejanus’s, and Coriolanus singing to the birds a song you don’t quite understand. Today, however, your brain decided to kick it up a notch because it felt you had too little going on.

It began with Coriolanus humming a melody that doesn’t make sense when you hum it in real life, and the birds flying all around you and screaming your name and Sejanus’s in bloody murder. Sejanus made an entrance, facing you from only a few feet away. You could see from where you were that he was trying to open his mouth as if he wanted to say something from beyond the grave, but no words came out. Instead, out came from his parted lips a beak, then the head of a bird with purplish-blue plumage, followed by the entire body of the accursed bird. The bird took one look at you, then darted straight in your direction, before you woke up without much ceremony.

Fuck those birds and fuck these dreams. Just another bad thing that catapults you to another day in another one of those moods.

You have to be out, somehow. Function in society, no matter how much you hate it. No matter how much said society sickens you; even if said society would no sooner have you hanged as traitorous trash faster than you could show an ounce of condemnable humanity.

You made a promise to Sejanus to move on, and so for today, you’ll try.

There is work to be done at the University, what with summer classes underway. The class guides would’ve been taken care of by now courtesy of your uncle’s interns, but you have another task as his official apprentice – a task you can never bring yourself to abandon.

Your living room phone rings a little before noon, just as you’re trying to graze on cornflakes to try and get your day going. You temporarily leave your bowl to answer the familiar voice on the other line.

“Nellie. I haven’t seen you in days.” Coriolanus sounds a tad put out.

“Coryo.” A twinge of guilt finds its way to your voice. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been – ”

“Hiding yourself away again? Nellie, is everything alright?”

“Yes, Coryo, I’m fine.”

You can hear him heave an exasperated sigh. “Nellie, we’ve talked about this. You can freely speak your mind with me. Tell me anything.”

Anything, as in, did-you-kill-Sejanus-anything?

“I know,” you respond flatly.

Maybe you can ask him instead of moping, you think to yourself. He might know something. He might know of anyone else your friend had grown close with in District 12 apart from him. That way, maybe you could finally put away these awful thoughts and decide a course of action. Maybe you can then tell Ma and Strabo Plinth, and leave it up to them to make the next move. Maybe you can find that peacekeeper yourself and kill him with your bare hands.

Wishful thinking.

Ask him. Do something, just so you can shut that stupid voice up in your head blaming Coryo for every little unhappiness you encounter.

“We can go out today before I go to the Citadel,” he offers.

Thank goodness he beat you to it. “Really? You have time?”

“For you? Of course, I do. What do you think of getting ice cream?”

What do you think of telling the truth? “Sure, that sounds nice.”

He gives you an address and a time: The Headless Confectioner’s at two. The same candy shop and creamery your uncle gets all his sweets from. You accept.

There’s plenty of time to get some work done before then.

University life dwindles during the summer break. The only ones that are there are the professors and the few summer students looking into getting advanced credits or making up for failed subjects, allowing the school to breathe for a while and enjoy the little quiet it gets every academic year.

The lab is thankfully empty when you arrive, with your uncle currently conducting a class. You’re comforted, if only a little, at the sound your keyboard makes as you type steadily, entering countless lines of commands that will eventually make up the program.

If only there was some way you could run some tests on it besides the usual debugging.

By one thirty, you’re out of the lab, foregoing your usual car ride in favour of walking to The Headless Confectioner’s. It’s a bit of a long walk, but you figure you need the time to clear your head.

Plan your next more wisely, your uncle had said.

Perhaps you have been approaching this dilemma the wrong way. Maybe, just like all manners of mathematical problem-solving, the problem has to be examined with utmost objectivity. Your friendship with Coryo aside, the facts remain, and you’re simply trying to piece them together to come up with a logic-based conclusion.

Maybe then, you wouldn’t be so upset about asking your friend about it.

The walk gives you plenty of time to get your facts straight and construct your questions. Impartiality or not, you don’t want to needlessly hurt your friend like you did at the Plinth’s Corso home. Sejanus was his best friend, and he most likely was there on the day of his execution.

You are well too aware how witnessing death firsthand can drastically change a person.

You get to The Headless Confectioner’s and find Coryo waiting for you outside the shop. His eyes light up and his lips curl upward the moment he sees you approach. You return his smile and you both waste no time lining up the ice cream booth, where people are already milling around for the best ice cream in the city. He offers to walk you back to the University, to the park near the Computer Sciences College you both frequent.

“You’re awfully quieter than usual,” he observes. You’re both sitting on the same bench where he first offered you his friendship.

The friendship that’s entirely responsible for keeping you from spiralling down further.

“Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind,” you say.

He tilts his head at you, casually placing his arm on top of your part of the backrest. “Tell me. You asked if I had time, and I always would, for you.”

You give him a dry smile and breathe deeply. Ask him now, or forget ever asking him again.

“I went to the Citadel. Uncle asked me to bring something for him. I got lost, and...” you swallow that lump in your throat as you note how aptly he’s listening. “And I stumbled upon the jabberjays.”

“Hm. Interesting little things,” he mutters.

You fidget on the hem of your coat absently. “I was told that it was the peacekeepers who had caught them and they were sent here to the Capitol two days before Sejanus’s execution. A day later, one of them died.”

Your friend offers no insight, so you go on. “Coryo, someone recorded Sejanus confessing to something. Someone from the Capitol caught that recording, which led to his death.”

You turn to face your friend to find that his expression has gone rigid, his eyes are hard and cold when he meets your gaze head-on.

This must be just as painful for him to discover.

“I’m sorry that I’m bringing it up now, Coryo,” you say, your lips trembling, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

Objectivity, you remind yourself.

“I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to relive this, but you have to hear me out,” you continue. “Someone from your ranks did that to him.

“Coryo, please,” you implore him. “Try to remember. I’ve run the math in my head over and over but it’s the only explanation I can come up with. It must be someone from your ranks, anyone at all, who might’ve gotten close to him in his last days...anyone whom he trusted enough to confess what he was doing...”

Was it you? Please, tell me it wasn’t. Please, tell me.

Coriolanus’s lips are thinned, his face unreadable and his shoulders now drawn back, yet his eyes never leave yours. Maybe he takes pity in the way you look with your eyes red and tearful, for his features eventually soften, his eyes contrite and his lips parted as he takes a handkerchief out of his breast pocket. He lifts your chin with his thumb and forefinger and wipes your tears with the cloth.

“Nellie, dear, I’m sorry. I really am.” His voice breaks with emotion as he squeezes your chin lightly. He leans into your space further, saying, “I wish I could take your pain and carry it for you. I hate to see you suffering like this.” He lets go and pulls away with a final dab of his handkerchief on your cheek, leaning once more against the bench.

“But I also wish with all my heart I had the answers you seek. Sejanus withdrew within himself in his final days. What battles he faced inwardly were his to bear, and it seems that he kept it that way until he passed.”

‘Liar’ is the only word that floats in your head.

“He was friendly with the other peacekeepers, Nellie. But as far as your deduction has led you, you’re correct: it could’ve been any of them,” he says, dipping his head a small nod. His eyes flick to yours with a strange glint, as if an idea had just crossed his mind. “Maybe there was someone he mentioned in those letters he sent you.”

Your blood runs cold at his words. You could feel it drain from your face, your heart plummeting as your pulse races, watching a corner of his lips twitch upward.

He knows about the letters. He knows.

But you reason within yourself: this doesn’t prove he had him killed. This doesn’t prove anything.

Right?

That look on him. An unmistakable look of victory. Even as you’re both sitting down, he towers over you, staring down at you with those now-hollow eyes. You suddenly don’t feel safe anymore, but you fight the urge to cower.

“Of course, I know, Nellie,” he says as if he read your mind just then. “He never mentioned anything to me about your correspondence, but after his death, I couldn’t help but look through his things for answers as to what he did to himself and why he did it.”

You mean you ransacked his stuff.

“I found a letter he failed to send tucked under his pillow. Addressed to you, Nellie.”

You almost flinch as he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering to play with it.

“Except, it was written in this odd manner, and none of it made sense. I realised, given how smart you are, it must’ve been an idea of yours to write in code. I knew the both of you enough to tell you weren’t really writing about ‘daffodils’ and ‘dandelions dancing in the sunset.’”

A part of you wants to correct him that it was Sejanus’s plan, but you can’t admit it without incriminating yourself. He lets out a chuckle, but it’s humourless, just like the smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He traces a line on your cheek, making him only one swift move away from strangling you.

“I asked myself, ‘What could my two friends be hiding, writing in code?’” You feel immense relief when he pulls his hand away.

“I knew I had to keep it hidden, because, if Sejanus actually wrote to you about his intentions to rebel and you kept it to yourself...if anyone else got a hold of it besides me and they cracked the code, you’d be labelled as complicit with his actions.

What kind of best friend would I be if I hadn’t? If I let it get into someone else’s hands? I’d be dishonouring Sejanus’s memory if I threw you to the wolves.”

Coriolanus’s smile is cold, bordering on sadistic. Behind those cerulean eyes dance a flicker of madness you know you’ve always seen before but had been actively ignoring. Could your instincts have been right about him all along? Is this a thinly veiled threat from a man who had been wearing a mask the entire time and had now taken it off in front of you?

Has your entire friendship with him been a farce?

“I want to keep you safe, my dear Nellie. Let me keep you safe,” he insists, his icy stare not matching his intentions. He crosses his legs, observing you with that ghost of a sneer, as he waits for you to squirm in your seat.

“I have just been appointed an official gamemaker. No more internships. That means I now have enough power and influence to keep that promise. But I can’t do that if I don’t even see you half the time.”

You gulp, trying to keep your composure. You will not give him the satisfaction of seeing you fumble. “What are you saying, Coryo?” You whisper hoarsely.

Coriolanus sighs and gets to his feet, his hands inside his pocket as he gazes far into the lake.

“All I’m saying is I need you close by for me to keep you safe.”

Then he turns to face you, towering over your hunched form on the bench as if he’s cowing you into submission. His voice lowers by a fraction as he speaks.

“Transfer your apprenticeship to me. I need you by my side, Nellie, as my friend, and now as my ally.”

You look up at him, his unblinking, unrelenting gaze keeping you in place. That wasn’t a request, you notice, but a command.

An order that promises repercussions if you don’t obey.

“I need an innovator like you by my side. Someone I can trust fully. I have always trusted you, Nellie. It’s refreshing, don’t you think? The way we speak our minds with each other? A free-flowing exchange of ground-breaking ideas. That’s the kind of partnership I want.”

In other words, he’ll keep the letter a secret if you do what he wants.

“You already have my uncle in your team. There is nothing I can do that he can’t do a thousand times better,” you reason, even if you see no point in reasoning with someone who’s already made up their mind.

“That is true, for now, at least. Did you know your uncle has been promoted to his own new division? Cybersecurity. We’re being ushered back into a better digital age. Something the Capitol has overlooked because of the war. He’ll be too busy for his gamemaking duties, so he’s letting go of them. Think of me as your new direct report, should you accept. I will take care of the transfer. Your tenure under your uncle’s wing will simply be carried over to mine,” he says as he paces in front of you.

Uncle Cas has been promoted? That’s good for him and all, but something in you can tell they must want him out of the way. Of what, exactly?

“There’s this...project your uncle has been working on.”

Your posture instantly stiffens. They want Uncle Cas out of the way to take control of his program. His baby, the very same program he has crafted with so much care and has entrusted you to keep from the wrong hands.

“I saw your notes, Nellie. You had a hand in it. Except, there hasn’t been much progress on the project. Dr Gaul wants that to push forward. Think of what it could mean for the twelfth Hunger Games.”

You draw your eyebrows together at the sheer betrayal he wants you to commit. “Coryo, this is madness. You can’t expect me to go behind my uncle’s back and hijack his work.”

“Sugarplum, no one is going behind anyone’s back. All you have to do is ask him. He’ll understand. This is your uncle’s legacy, and it will be yours, too. The Innis legacy. Besides, he will want you to explore your abilities outside your comfort zone. Come on, do you really expect your skills to improve when he’s keeping you inside that lab, making you label old hard drives and grade mediocre college research papers?”

Chewing the insides of your cheek, you stare at the gravel beneath your feet. He doesn’t appreciate you avoiding his gaze, for he hooks his fingers under your chin once more to look at him. You meet his hard eyes with your anxious ones.

“Nellie, your uncle is a genius. He’s unlike any other I have ever met. But you’re an Innis, too. You’re cut from the same cloth. It’s time you see yourself that way. Think of what we can accomplish together. Work for me, work with me, I get to keep you safe, and you get to show everyone in Panem what the Innis blood is made of.” He flashes a grin, baring a sliver of his perfectly white teeth.

Like a predator flashing its fangs before it pounces.

“Your place is with me, Nellie. Let me prove it. You and I: we will change the Games forever.”

Your lip trembles as his thumb skims over it. You ask in a hushed tone, “Change it...you mean for the good?”

“For good,” comes his simple reply.

You purse your lips, attempting to wrack your brains for anything that can get you out of this predicament you dug yourself into. You come up with nothing.

“I’ll ask Uncle Cas.” You concede. There is no other choice at this point.

Coriolanus dons on a look of perverse satisfaction. Then, in the blink of an eye, his expression shifts. He’s back to the Coryo you know, with that kind smile and those soft, blue eyes, like he hadn’t spent the entire time with you in the park threatening and blackmailing you to do his bidding. It’s a frighteningly impressive ability.

“Think about it, sugarplum. I have to go, but I will collect you and your response tomorrow.”

Helplessly, you stay rooted to your spot as he bends down to kiss your hair. His lips linger for a short while before he pulls away and vanishes from your line of vision.

You don’t dare move from the bench as you attempt, almost in vain, to curb an incoming panic attack. You squeeze the hem of your coat as you hyperventilate, mentally berating yourself for falling for his trap.

How could you have been this stupid? You just had to ignore every ounce of your subconscious telling you just how nefarious and dangerous this man is that you’ve willingly entangled yourself with.

Everything about your friendship with Coriolanus Snow – every moment spent with him, every word exchanged, every gift he’s ever given – all of it, a spectacular performance, a cunningly planned-out charade designed to lure into his clutches.

Think of Sejanus, you try to soothe yourself. Of his warm hands holding yours, of his warm hugs, and his soft lips as he stole your first kiss...

Your grip on your coat relaxes eventually and your breathing evens out, replaced by frustrated tears and trembling hands.

As you stare into your cup of now-melted ice cream abandoned on your side of the bench, your mind draws a blank, except for a single, all-consuming thought. You still haven’t proven whether or not Coriolanus Snow had your only true friend killed, but you’re sure of one thing now: he was never innocent.

His old self would’ve killed you without question.

The old self he had left behind in the dense forests of District 12 would’ve had a raging fit before he led you somewhere and either shot you or smothered you or poisoned you to death – probably all three, in no particular order – at the mere insinuation that he had a hand in Sejanus’s death.

But he wasn’t his old self, so the fact that it was coming back to potentially bite him like Lucy Gray’s snake only slightly disarmed him. What he is concerned more about is how you, of all people, managed to connect the dots, even if you hadn’t accused him outright. He had gone to great lengths to ensure that it stayed buried, so he’s sure you had almost come to the correct conclusion purely because of your intellect and intuition. He has to admit, you are impressive.

He isn’t his old self. His old self probably would’ve had qualms about digging into dead people’s things and stealing anything of value. But before he returned Sejanus’ belongings to the Plinths, he had all but combed through every crevice, nook and cranny for anything that may prove useful. His new self had been wise enough then to keep that peculiar letter Sejanus had penned, but never got to mail, addressed to you.

He had a hunch about its significance, but he wasn't completely sure until your conversation at the bench that afternoon. It was a little gamble, mentioning that letter, but one that he knew he had already won the instant he saw your face drain of colour at his mention of dandelions (a rather perplexing choice of code). There it was, your little blind spot, exposed so plainly to him. So, ever one for efficiency, he went on further and pushed you a little more to confirm his suspicions: Sejanus had potentially revealed to you his intent to rebel, and you had kept the knowledge to yourself.

Snow landed on top yet again: he had gained the upper hand. A shiver of excitement goes through him at the thought. He’s already used it to get you to work for him – he wonders what else he could have you do for him. You, at his mercy, submitting to his every whim...

This little mistake of yours could prove convenient for him. Gaul had since added more to his lists of tasks. In addition to keeping up appearances by way of dating, she had assigned him to investigate the progress of a top-secret computer program being developed by Acacius Innis. The project has had almost zero progress since its approval, and he is to find out why. And, thanks to his snooping around with your handwritten notes, he had concluded you had a hand in the project as your uncle’s apprentice. He had been charged to keep you close so you could work for the Citadel in Acacius’s stead just in case he proves he’s outlived his purpose.

Now? He’s got three of these tasks all but crossed out, just because you had let your emotions for Sejanus get the better of you.

You should have never mentioned Sejanus to him. That’s an error of yours he’ll have to make you pay for. If there’s one thing he and his old self had in common, it’s the fact that they’re both extremely jealous men to a fault. The drug addict Theophilus Braun figured this out the hard way. Coriolanus Snow can’t have his girl making mistakes for and because of a dead man; you should’ve known better.

You’re his girl. His girl, his bride, his wife.

And by the day after next, he’d make it clear to everyone in Panem, including you, that you are his – taken, off-limits, spoken for. He should’ve done this sooner in retrospect. You’d know by then that you had no business talking or even thinking about any other men, dead or otherwise. You’d figure it out for yourself, you’re smart. It didn’t matter now that Acacius Innis rejected Strabo’s and his proposal of arranging a marriage between him and you. Sure, he had allowed himself a bit of time to stew on his anger at your uncle, but if he gained something but that poorly orchestrated exchange, it’s the fact that the Innis patriarch is fiercely protective of you. An immovable giant, finally revealing its underbelly by accident.

Now, unlike his old self, he’d never let you out of sight or try to gun you down in a crazed frenzy; he’d never allow you to leave his side, and he’d put your useful abilities to work. In turn, your work would be displayed at the Games for the Capitol to admire, and everyone would know that Coriolanus Snow’s girl is more than a fancy arm decoration being paraded to the press and looking pretty at galas.

Coriolanus sighs as he gets inside his apartment. He comes home to the calming sound of quiet, and, making a beeline to his walk-in closet, he puts down the two sizeable boxes he had just picked up from the receptionist. A last-minute request he made to his tailor, conveniently delivered to his new address. He takes his shoes and his coat off and wastes no time inspecting the contents of the smaller box.

What he’s anticipating to see is the dress he had made for you. It has to be nothing less than perfect: it’s Strabo’s birthday party and the Capitol’s richest are going to be there. He had been meaning to formally invite you in person, but he knew he had to be wise about it and not give you room to decline. This is part of your training as his soon-to-be wife, after all: appearing more social and getting used to attending the lavish parties of high society. He had meant earlier to tell you then, that everything would be taken care of including your dress, but the mention of Sejanus genuinely threw him off. In the end, it seemed like waiting it out was the best choice.

The box’s lid comes off: crimson, just like he ordered. Of course, you had to match his tux. It’s a silk slip, flowy, simple, elegant, and most importantly, accurate to your measurements. Or at least, the measurements he got from your housemaid in exchange for but a small sum.

Another stark difference between him and his old self: he isn’t the poor, malnourished, helpless kid who had to settle for scraps and keep up appearances. He has a limitless amount of resources within his grasp now, and he uses all of it to his advantage: this luxury penthouse apartment, allowing him to finally live peacefully by himself, these finely tailored clothing he had grown partial to, even to pay off the maid who had been happy to go behind your back to take your dress size – all of these he now could afford, and more. His old self would’ve turned green with envy.

He’s satisfied with the handiwork despite the rush, and he could already imagine you wearing it for tomorrow: the way you’d turn in it, the way you’d dance in it, the way hungry, envious sets of eyes would ogle at you while he snakes his arm around your waist...

Normally, he hates the thought of having anyone’s lustful eyes on you, but he supposes that’s the price he has to pay for wanting to show you off.

Maybe after the party, he’d bring you here, and he’d get to tear the dress off you, or simply pull it up to your waist and fuck you in it as you’re bent over his work desk...

He isn’t his old self anymore. He didn’t have to suppress these desires in the confines of his own solitude. He makes one phone call, and a woman arrives at his apartment within ten minutes. He was specific with his request: he wanted one that resembled you – except she doesn’t compare to your beauty or your grace. Of course, no one does.

At least she’s wearing a red slip dress like he instructed.

He fucks the whore that night, thinking of you splayed out for him in various ways, wearing that silk crimson dress. It’s quite easy for him to imagine that it’s you because he fucks her face down – in his little fantasy, it’s you he takes several times; that it’s you underneath him, moaning and screaming out his name and begging him to fill you with his cum. He makes her leave immediately after a hefty payment, making a mental note to tell the maid in the morning that the sheets would have to be changed. Having aired out his pent-up urges, he does more work in his home office until he can barely keep his eyes open.

His old self is long dead and gone, and he takes comfort in that as he finally gives in to exhaustion.

The aroma of hot dark chocolate reaches your nostrils and somehow provides a little comfort for what has turned out to be a long day. It’s almost one in the morning, and not a wink of sleep has grazed your presence, so you’re hoping this little treat is going to help put you to bed so you can go back to dreaming of screaming birds, dead first loves and singing peacekeepers.

On impulse, you traipse to your uncle’s office, noting how his dim desk lamp is still on. Not an uncommon sight these days, to have him still awake in the dead hours of the night for many reasons – some of which he refuses to share with you.

You enter his office on a whim; you can’t sleep anyway, might as well.

You also need to talk to him about…that thing. The one Coriolanus asked you to do.

You find your uncle with his face scrunched up in absolute concentration over a chessboard.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks lazily, his cheek resting against his palm on the desk.

You simply shake your head. You offer to make him a cup of hot dark chocolate, which he refuses by a mere gesture to the three colourful mugs sitting near the edge of the table, only obscured by the lamp light not hitting that part of his desk.

“Can I?” you question him, referring to the chess game he seems to be currently playing by himself.

Uncle Cas lets out a hum. “I thought you’d never ask.”

So, you sit and observe the board, assuming black. White is currently in a solid position, having total control of the centre of the board. Your uncle takes his rook to f-one.

You move a pawn to a-four. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Your uncle just makes another humming noise absently as he takes a pawn to f-four. Your pawn captures it immediately.

“You got promoted. Head of the new Cybersecurity division and all that...”

He just raises his eyebrows in derision. “Yeah, lucky me,” he says under his breath as he takes the same pawn of yours with a rook. “How did you find out?”

“Coriolanus told me this afternoon.”

The both of you quietly play your game, your attention dwindling until you notice you’re actually putting pressure on the opposition.

“Uncle, how do I win against an enemy who clearly has all the advantages?” you ask quietly.

For the first time since the game, your uncle looks up, now mildly interested. “Hm. What’s the end goal of this game?”

“End goal?” You’re distracted as your pawn takes his knight. “You defeat the opponent’s king.”

“No, plumcake, the real end goal.”

To focus, you rub your forehead as you scramble for a defence.

“That’s the key,” he continues. “Find out what your enemy wants and use it to gain the upper hand.”

Licking your lips, you sip some of your rapidly cooling chocolate as you watch his queen threaten your position. After a pause, you inquire, “What if I’ve never played a game like this before?”

“Then, prepare to be on the defensive when necessary,” he says thoughtfully. “You’re an Innis. You’ll figure something out.” He takes your pawn on f-five with his rook.

You heave a sigh as you prepare yourself to reveal the truth. It doesn’t matter how he reacts to it, it’s out there now. You made the wrong move, despite his warning, and you’ve nothing left to do but to own it.

“Uncle, Coriolanus wants me to transfer my apprenticeship to him.” You wait with bated breath for him to react.

Uncle Cas stitches his brows, encasing the lower half of his face with his palm. The lines on his face are evident now more than ever; you note how recently he’s lost some weight, and his cheeks are more indented than you can remember even with all that sugar in his diet. His eyes meet yours, his dark circles accentuating his serious expression.

Guilt washes over you. You’re partly to blame for his stress.

“Very well.” He bobs his head once in comprehension. He wordlessly goes back to the game, capturing your knight on e-four using his bishop.

Another thing you appreciate about him: his acuity allows him to read the situation in almost an instant.

“Tell him I’ll kill him with my bare hands if he tries anything funny.”

And just like always, he still manages to make you laugh despite everything.

You move your rook to e-four, on the defensive. “I thought you preferred breaking their legs?”

He just shrugs comically and quips, “I’m the head of Cybersecurity, I’m all about efficiency now.”

Suppressing a chuckle, you observe his rook take f-seven while you transfer your now-vulnerable queen to b-six. The white king, now on h-one, prepares for the endgame. You take your rook from e-four to e-one in what you can now foresee as a futile attempt at mitigating the attack.

Uncle Cas has a point, as always. Moving on the defensive can be an option. After all, you know Coriolanus’s goal now: he wants the program completed, and he wants you for the task. You can just opt to do whatever he wants as quickly as possible, and then cut him out of your life for good.

The white queen finally makes her move to g-six, so you take your bishop to g-seven.

Maybe, you can even opt for the offensive: figure out a way to keep Coriolanus Snow’s slimy hands off the program without alerting him.

The white queen all but slays your poor bishop on g-seven.

Your uncle leans back on his computer chair and declares, “Checkmate.”

“Ah, fuck.” Perhaps you’re not cut out for these kinds of games.

“Language, plumcake. Another one for the road?”

He rearranges the pieces for a new round. He wiggles his eyebrows with a wide smile and adds, “Winner gets the last pint of cherry chocolate chunk ice cream in the freezer.”

You grimace at the thought. “I think I’ve had just about enough ice cream for today, Uncle. How about White Knight’s angel food cake?”

His eyes light up at the challenge. “Oh, you are so fucking on.”

“How come you get to curse, and I can’t?”

He snorts haughtily at your complaint. “It’s unbecoming of a lady.”

He makes the opening move. Pawn to e-four.

Let the games begin.

Enter Level 6

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!!

Next level includes a ball/party scene because I can't resist, despite risking the cliché 😂😅

Also, the chances of me updating as quickly as I have for the past week is getting slim, what with work now getting busy and mostly the next levels getting more complicated plot-wise. Damn plot be getting out of hand when all I want them to do is fuck 😅😂😭 but I think weekly updates are still feasible...we'll see!!

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

[gracie-bird]

INSIDE GRACE'S WARDROBE - "COUNTRY GIRL" WHITE TRAVEL SUIT DESIGNED BY EDITH HEAD, (PARAMOUNT, 1954).

The original sketch (top left) is accomplished in gouache and ink on Edith Head's paper leaf. The dress is a simple yet stylish white day dress worn by Grace Kelly in flashback scenes detailing her young son's death. Inscribed by Head variously, "Grace Kelly", "Georgie", "Georgie #8", "sc 19 day/Travel Suit", etc... and signed by her in the lower right.

#GRACE KELLY #princess grace #edith head #georgie elgin #country girl #1954 #1955 #travel suit #white suit #white dress #costume #sketch #inside grace's wardrobe

[abarbaricyalp]

Strawberries and Cigarettes (always taste like you)

Title from Troye Sivan

Bucky smoked like a chimney. It didn't matter how many times Sam said they'd figured out it was bad for you. Mostly because Bucky had a super soldier serum that made him think he was invincible. Sam had sat next to him on a Brooklyn balcony one night that they both couldn't sleep and watched Bucky go through an entire carton without coming up for air. He always had a cigarette behind his ear, waiting to be lit. A lighter in his pocket, even during missions. It wasn't like it was to help with anxiety or whatever. The dude was jumpy and jittery even while he was smoking. And Sam had never really seen him jonesing for a smoke break, but he took one every chance he got.

He'd asked Bucky to stop smoking around him because Sam didn't have a super soldier serum to save his lungs, which Bucky was slightly gracious about. Gracious up until the point that Sam slunk over because the smell of the smoke and Bucky's shampoo and his leather jacket was addictive, and then he was all smirks and silent 'I-told-you-so's. It at least put him in the habit of asking before he lit up. It really didn't help that he looked like a modern Marlborough man ad come to life. He was desperately alluring and sexy when he smoked. It was woefully unfair that such a foul hobby was so damn hot.

(Oddly enough, the grace came back on the rare nights that Sam sat beside him and wordlessly held out his hand for a cigarette too.)

Sam didn't condone the habit, but he didn't exactly hide Bucky's cartons from him or give him an ultimatum either. Hell, Bucky's smokes were usually on his grocery list when he knew the guy was going to be around.

"Hey, have you noticed if Buck's low on cigarettes?" Sam asked Sarah while she compiled her own list to send him with.

She turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Bucky doesn't smoke," she said. "I've never seen him even hold a cigarette."

Sam frowned and thought before making an answer. After four decades, he'd found it was best not to argue with Sarah about something that may have an objective truth to it. He rarely beat her at this game.

True, he had woken up a few weeks ago, last time Bucky had been around, with the glaring thought that Bucky smelled good next to him. Not like smoke, but a clean, fresh smell. He'd chalked it up to him showering the evening before and not getting up throughout the night. And true that Bucky had a fidget in Louisiana that Sam never noticed anywhere else, where he flipped the cap of his lighter continuously or tumbled the lighter through his fingers. But he never actually lit anything with it. And true, he didn't smoke on the boat. And true, he'd never asked Sam where the cheapest cigs around were (a constant hunt in New York).

Bucky didn't smoke down here, Sam realized with a start. And he never smelled like smoke because he had a whole new wardrobe in Sam's house. Sarah had never seen him smoke.

Sam made for the backdoor, grocery list discarded. Sarah called after him, but he didn't quite catch it--something about the zucchini she needed him to remember and also lollipops--and he went out back.

Judging from the way Bucky had an arm around Cass's center, and AJ was rolling on the ground with laughter, and the swing set was still rocking up and down as Bucky held Cass still, Sam had a feeling he'd interrupted an attempt at swinging the swing all the way around the top of the set. Bucky looked much guiltier than either child, but it was Cass who insisted, "We weren't doing anything!"

Sam leveled a stare at him, but he knew these boys were forged under Sarah's gaze and nothing Sam had in his arsenal was going to be half as effective.

"Why don't you two head inside?" Bucky suggested, still looking guilty. "Your Uncle Sam and I were just about to head into town."

The boys grumbled their objections, but it only took them a few steps before they were jostling each other and starting a game of tag that would absolutely get them in trouble inside. Once the door was shut, Sam looked to Bucky again.

"No one was going to get hurt," he insisted sheepishly, wrapping the chain of the swing around one arm to lean his weight against it.

"Can I have a cigarette?" Sam asked without preamble.

Bucky's got-caught frown turned into a confused one. On muscle memory, but with no conviction, he patted his front pocket with his other hand. "I don't have any on me," he admitted with a shrug.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

Bucky flushed prettily, looking away from Sam in embarrassment. "I didn't wanna do it in front of your nephews. Didn't wanna be a bad example. And, when we were staying here, I didn't want to make Sarah's home smell terrible. You know how that smell is. Lingers."

It was more forethought than anyone had put into anything for Sam in a long, long time. Sam hadn't even thought about Bucky smoking around the boys. Bucky didn't usually smoke in front of other people, unless someone was passing by the alley he had stepped into, so Sam hadn't been worried about it. Bucky had never even seen the boys before he'd shown up on his own down here, new clothes, no cigarettes.

"You chew on lollipops instead," he realized as the fondness in his chest bloomed even further out. "I thought you just did that to give the kids an excuse to have some too."

Bucky scuffed his sneaker in the dirt under the swing. "Keeps me distracted enough."

"Buck, you spend so much time down here. More time than you don't. You must hardly smoke anymore."

Bucky's shoulders came up to his ears. It didn't hide the blush on them. "It's worth it. Guess I might've been looking for a good reason to stop."

Sam thought about all the movie moments he'd caught Bucky smoking--the moonlit balcony, a sunset after a fight, digging through files half naked in bed. All those moments he'd had an overwhelming teenage desire to pull Bucky to him and kiss the smoke out of his mouth. But they were all easily overshadowed by images of Bucky acting as a jungle gym for kids, or reading to Cass and AJ before bed, or helping with science experiments and baking days, or swinging Cass all the way around the swing set, ready to catch him if he fell.

Sam crossed the distance between them, pulling Bucky's face to him between the swing chains to kiss him deeply. He tasted like strawberry lollipops. "I like this look better," he decided.

He felt Bucky smile against his lips. "Well maybe you can help keep my mouth busy," he suggested before kissing Sam again.

Yeah, this was definitely better.

Don't smoke, kids.

Bucky absolutely has an old engraved lighter from the war

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing

[queen-of-deans-booty]

New Life's Purpose

Pairing: No Pairing (female!reader)

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey can i request a imagine with both of the Winchester with a tribrid (werewolf, witch, vampire) and half angel daughter of any archangel that is over 600 years old look like 25 and study some many careers and is super intelligent and have a lot of money,  companies, etc and when the Winchesters find out they are surprised and fascinated?

Summary: You've completed your life's mission. You've lived a luxurious lifestyle. You want something more. You want to do something more with your life. Something like a new life's purpose.

Square Filled: “I’m not saying I’m amazing, but sometimes I’m distinctly above average.” (2021) for @spnquotebingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

All these choices yet you don’t know which one you want. The manager gathered everything he had that fit the description you gave but you’re still having a hard time deciding.

“If I may, ma’am, I think this one would look fantastic on you,” he says and points to the necklace.

“It’s not for me. It’s for a friend.”

The store manager is nervous because this is such a high-end store that the only people who come in to shop must have millions to their name--which you do. More like billions, but that’s neither here nor there.

You tap your fingers on the desk rhythmically as you look at all of the options. People pass by the store on their way to other stores that they can afford but none of them interest you. Not until two men walk by that makes you smile.

“Sam! Dean!” Both men stop and look into the store in confusion. “Over here. Come here.” They look at each other in confusion. “Come here. I need you two.” They step inside, unsure of what is going on. You grab the necklace the store manager pointed to and one that you had your eyes on, and you place both necklaces on Sam and Dean’s neck. “Which one would look better?”

“What the hell is going on?” Dean asks.

“It’s hard to say, ma’am. They both compliment their skin tones.”

“I’ll get both,” you shrug and hand the necklaces back to the manager.

“Of course, ma’am,” the manager grins and takes the necklaces back. He rings up the very expensive necklaces and accepts your cash before handing you the bag with them in it. “Have a pleasant day, ma’am.”

“I intend to. Thank you, Tony.” You grab the bag and leave the store knowing the Winchesters are going to follow you. You hold the bag to Sam who takes it with a confused look. “Hold this for me, please.”

“What is going on?” Sam mutters to his brother.

“Who are you? How do you know us?” Dean asks.

As you’re walking, you look into the windows of various stores, only interested in ones that have the price tags in the thousands.

“You’re Sam and Dean Winchester, born to Mary Campbell and John Winchester. Mary died when Sam was six months old by Azazel and John died by selling his soul for Dean to the same demon. You two grew up on the road with fun Uncle Bobby who later died by a gunshot wound to the head, courtesy of that dick, Dick. I’m sure I missed an angel or two in there somewhere.”

Dean immediately stops you outside the store you’re looking for.

“Okay, lady, who the hell are you? I won’t ask again. How do you know us?”

“My name is Y/N, and I’m the daughter of the archangel, Michael. I’m a tribrid of a werewolf, vampire, and witch along with angelic grace floating around inside of me. I guess that makes me a quad-brid,” you chuckle at your joke. You walk into the store and look around for some new clothes since your old wardrobe is getting pretty boring to style. “Ooh, this would look good on you, Dean. Feel free to get whatever you want. My treat.”

“Why did you find us? What do you want?” Sam asks.

You take a nice shirt and hold it up against Sam, deciding that this would look good on him. You do the same for Dean and let the younger Winchester hold your purchases.

“I’m six hundred years old, rich, and smart. I’m kind of tired of spending all day every day in stores all around the world spending my money aimlessly. I’m not saying I’m amazing, but sometimes I’m distinctly above average.” You pick out a few shirts you like and toss them to Sam who catches them easily. “A life of luxury isn’t all that glamorous. I want to hunt and that’s why you two are here.”

“Okay, why us?” Sam asks, grunting when you toss two pants at him.

“Why not you?” you scoff. “You’re the best of the best or so I’m told. I haven’t been in touch with Heaven for quite some time now, so if things have changed and you’re not the best anymore, I will go elsewhere.”

Dean steps in your way just as you pick two pairs of pants for both brothers. He crosses his arms trying to make himself look bigger than he is.

“Sweetheart, we’re the best of the best.”

You toss the pants to Sam who scrambles to catch them.

“Thought so,” you smirk. You walk to the cash register and pay for everything that’s in Sam’s arms. You take the bags and hold them out to Sam who takes them from you. “So, can I join you?”

“No offense, Y/N, but we don’t even know you. How can we trust you to know what we do?”

“Quiz me if you want but do it while we eat. I’m starving. You two hungry?”

You leave the store and head to the food court where you order three meals and bring them to an empty table. Sam set all the bags on the empty chair just as Dean dug into his meal.

“Dude,” Sam whispers.

“What? I’m not going to turn down a free meal,” he says with his mouth full.

“Okay,” Sam nods, not yet touching his food, “how do you kill a Djinn?”

“A silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood. Or bash its brains in. Both are very effective.”

“Rugarus?”

“Fire.”

“Shapeshifter?”

“Silver.”

“Vampires?”

“Decapitation.”

“Vetala?”

“Silver to the heart and twist.”

“Okay,” Sam nods, “what about a Phoenix?”

“Iron or the Colt.”

“Dragons?”

“Dragon-killing sword.”

“How about a Jefferson Starship?”

At the name, Dean smirks.

“Silver, decapitation, or just ripping their hearts right out of their chests,” you smile. “Did I pass?”

“I’m impressed,” Sam chuckles.

“My turn,” Dean says and swallows his food. “How do you change the sparkplugs in a car?”

“Seriously?”

Both you and Sam give Dean a weird look to which he shrugs and continues eating.

“Okay, Little Miss Quad-brid. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you haven’t fought a day in your life.” You didn’t say anything so he assumes you’re not going to correct him which means he’s right. “How the hell are you supposed to fight a monster?”

You take a bite of your food and stare at Dean in the eyes. Suddenly, every single fluorescent light in the food court explodes and shatters. The only light source is the sun coming from the windows. Two of the food place signs crackle and spark before crumbling to the ground. People scream and run from the place but you continue to eat your food as if nothing happened.

“Like that.”

Sam and Dean are stunned into silence, fascinated by your powers.

“Okay, then why do you want to hunt?” Sam asks.

You sigh and push aside your plate of food.

“I was created for one thing and one thing only. To make new angels. Heaven is dying and Michael wanted new angels to repair the damage Metatron caused when the Angels fell. I did that. I made plenty of new angels and Heaven is now thriving, but I want to do more with my life now that my ‘mission’ is over. I have multiple degrees, mastered skills, and got rich in the six hundred years I’ve been here. I loved the fancy lifestyle before but now I want to try something different. I want to save people and bring meaning back to my life. So, can I hunt with you or not?”

Sam and Dean look at each other and have a silent conversation through their eyes.

“On one condition,” Dean says when they’re done.

“What?”

“Endless supply of alcohol. Like, top-shelf shit.” Sam rolls his eyes and you chuckle. “Oh, and I want spa days.” Dean snaps at his brother before he can say anything. “Shut up.”

“My wealth is yours,” you smile. “Spend it how you’d like.”

“Then you got yourself a deal,” Dean nods.

Maybe this time, you can do something good with your life. Humans are creatures that need to be protected, and this is your way to make sure that happens.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #spn #spn fic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fluff

[midnightcrw]

Running away

Chapter 5

Timorous

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader

Summary: Life really had it in for you. Just moving to a new apartment seemed to unleash a brand new hell

Warnings: blood, scars

a/n: This chapter is pretty short, but I hope that it's alright with all of you. Please tell me if there should be any mistakes since I'm a bit tired from changing some things up in this chapter

The jacket lay languidly on the sofa, a silent sentinel to the night before. You had gently draped it there when you returned from the rooftop, a night when the city's twinkling lights seemed to pale in comparison to the sparkle in Simon's piercing eyes. Since then, you hadn't dared to touch it, fearing that the delicate fabric would lose the essence of his warmth.

The memories of your time with Simon haunted you, replaying like a scratched vinyl record, locked in an eternal loop.

Each repetition highlighted those tender moments when he gave you his jacket, his gaze holding secrets that made your heart race.

You didn't have to work today, which definitely made it harder to get your mind off things.

You had deliberately kept your distance from your messaging app, its notification icon flickering dimly. You tried to convince yourself that you didn't care about those unanswered messages, but the truth was far different.

You knew you'd have to confront them eventually, but for now, avoidance felt like the only refuge.

It had been years since those memories had seen the light of day, years during which you had gladly buried them deep within your heart.

The thought of those times had become a distant echo, until your move to this apartment had unexpectedly resurrected them. It almost felt like a sign urging you to leave, to flee once more.

But you knew, from bitter experience, that running away only compounded the problem. It was a lesson etched into your soul, a truth that had unfolded the hard way.

How you wished you could erase that day, could undo the cries that had escaped your lips. Regret and guilt consumed you like a relentless fire.

It ate you alive.

It devoured you, this unending cycle of memories. Night after night, the haunting screams from years ago replayed in your mind, as vivid and visceral as the day they were born. They never ceased, they merely slumbered, waiting for an opportune moment to resurface.

Sighing, you rose from the sofa and ambled over to your closet, a task you had procrastinated for far too long.

As you slowly opened the drawers, time seemed to stretch, each minute akin to an hour. Sweaters were your only task for today, and you placed them with deliberate care.

Your clothes didn't boast the vibrant colors of Grace's wardrobe. Instead, they were cloaked in darker shades, with only a few daring to be brighter.

Amidst the clothes, your hand brushed against something solid and unyielding.

Frowning, you retrieved it—a small box you had unceremoniously stashed away on your first day in this apartment.

It felt as though invisible strings tightened around your neck, suffocating you, and your eyes welled up with tears.

You couldn't fathom why you had spared this box from oblivion. Its contents held the scars of memories you wished to forget, but its presence seemed an insurmountable obstacle to relinquishing the past.

Your fear of someone discovering it, of them digging into your past, kept you from discarding it. Every item inside pointed back to you, a truth you dreaded.

Of being found.

The dread of being discovered, not just by anyone, but by them, gnawed at your sanity. They had an uncanny knack for resurfacing, tracing your every move with the tenacity of bloodhounds.

Even the faintest glimmer of familiarity would lead them straight to your doorstep.

The box remained untouched over the years, its exterior a tad dusty, as you hesitated to soil your fingers with its contents.

Someone once told you to keep memories close—photographs, trinkets, letters—yet you loathed and yearned for those words in equal measure.

If not for that someone, you wouldn't be burdened with these fragments of the past.

As you tilted your head up, you were met with the mirror on your closet door.

Gazing at your reflection felt foreign and unpleasant, as if you were staring at a stranger.

Deep shadows marred the brilliance of your once-sparkling eyes, and the contours of your face had lost their vivacity. The corners of your mouth drooped, rendering your countenance stark.

Unable to tear your gaze away, you pulled your sweater upward, as if in a trance, compelled to confront the secrets you had hidden for so long.

Slowly, you lowered your eyes, and there they were—the dark pink scars, a tapestry of pain etched into your abdomen. None were straight lines, each one meandered in a different direction, a testament to the chaos that had engulfed you.

They were deep, unforgiving, and some bore the faintest shade lighter, but their presence was a jarring contrast against your skin. Beauty had been snatched away that day, replaced by this disconcerting mosaic.

The memory of your desperate cries, those agonizing screams that had filled the room, replayed vividly in your mind.

But aside from those agonized sounds, not a single word had escaped your lips.

It was all your fault, but they didn't know.

People had asked questions, seeking to uncover what had happened and who was responsible. But you had swallowed your words, your throat constricting as you choked down the truth.

If someone had forewarned you that it would come to this, you would have fled, escaped it all.

But it was too late now.

You could never turn back time, never see that smile, and hear that laughter again.

You had obliterated every trace of information, ensuring there was no trace of your existence. You hadn't departed until every last vestige was consumed by flames.

No one was supposed to remember, except those persistent minds that seemed to track you down. You hated it.

Your fingers traced the scars, the ones that had once throbbed with pain, now only remnants of a turbulent past.

Looking at yourself like this felt foreign, you had avoided it as ardently as you had tried to evade the flames that once licked at your face.

Since that day, you had never worn anything that could reveal even the faintest hint of those scars. You had lost your sense of beauty, your feeling of desirability.

"Where are you going?" The frantic voice had called after you, footsteps echoing louder and closer, but you had paid no heed.

The palm of your right hand pressed down on the fresh wounds as blood seeped from the white cloth.

Your steps faltered, clumsy and uncoordinated, as you darted your eyes from door to door, searching amidst the overwhelming number for the one you sought.

"Stop!" Anger and frustration laced the word, and a hand reached for your arm, attempting to halt your frantic escape.

The touch scorched, a searing reminder of the pain you carried within. You wrenched your arm free. "Don't you ever touch me," your voice quivered as your teeth clenched, emitting an unsettling grinding sound.

Without waiting for them to react, you flung open the door and rushed inside. You barely even bothered to close it behind you as you inserted the USB drive into the computer, your heart pounding.

As you impatiently awaited the display, you rifled through every drawer, the stolen keys clutched tightly in your hand. The documents all appeared the same, indistinguishable save for their corners—some pristine, others darker or folded.

Your eyes darted frantically over each document, while the figure leaned against the doorframe. You refused to meet their gaze, for you knew it would only yield unease, confusion, and pity.

Casting various documents onto the floor, you finally located yours, clutching them tightly as the screen flickered to life.

With fevered determination, you opened each document that bore your name and began importing them onto the USB drive. "What happened to you?" The words were spoken carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal, but you offered no response, your focus solely on your mission.

Blood continued to seep through the cloth, the stain growing larger, but you paid it no mind.

Walking toward the door, you passed by the person who made no move to stop you, and you left with your final command, "Burn it down."

Tears flowed freely down your face, unbidden and unrestrained, as you let them cascade, unburdening your soul. You released your grip on the sweater, your gaze now fixated on the floor.

Faces from the past haunted your thoughts, etched into your memory like indelible tattoos. Some expressed terror, others fear, and still, some extended pity, but there were also those who...

Smiled.

A knock resounded through the rooms, causing you to flinch. In a flurry, you hurriedly stashed everything into the closet, where once-folded clothes now lay in a haphazard heap. The box found its place amidst the chaos, and you slammed the closet door shut.

"I'm coming," you called out urgently, then rushed to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water to soothe your parched throat. As you sipped the water, your heart still raced from the sudden shock of the knock.

With brisk footsteps, you returned to the living room, wiping away the lingering tears with the sleeve of your sweater. The glass still trembled in your hand as you approached the door.

When you opened it, the glass slipped from your trembling grasp, shattering into pieces. A gasp caught in your throat as your breath momentarily abandoned you.

"Laswell?"

Taglist:

@ghostlythots

@kittyoonsstuff

@poohkie90

@gothgirl6-6-6

@jupiternighties

@lumineeye

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #ghost x y/n #simon ghost x you

[sunshinebingo]

Elucien - 400 words - fluff

A tug.

Elain pauses.

A thrum of the string attached to her heart.

She stands from where she was playing on the rug with her nephew and casually walks out of the room. As soon as she is out of sight of Nuala, Cerridwen and her nephew, Elain rushes up the stairs towards her room.

She sits down before her vanity a second after the door closes. I quick pull at the ribbon holding her hair in a bun and the loose curls fall past her shoulders in a golden brown cascade.

She opens her jewellery box, making a mess of everything inside, until she finds a dainty necklace that she knows will catch the light when she will move.

She stands up and looks at her reflection. Something is still not right. She turns to her left then her right, then runs towards her wardrobe. The dress that she currently has on is already on the floor by the time she stops before the racks of clothes. She pulls out another one in a shade of yellow that complements her sun-kissed skin better and which has a cleavage that is just the right amount of suggestive.

Another tug.

A stronger thrum.

She looks at her full reflection one last time before she leaves her bedroom. She runs again but abruptly stops right before she reaches the stairs.

Deep breath in. Then out. In. And out. She fans her face with her hands and breathes until her racing heart slows down enough to mask the flustered state that her race has put her in.

Then, with as much grace and poise as a refined lady, Elain ambles down the stairs and towards the living room again where she finds Nyx where she has left him with the twin wraiths.

Someone else has also joined the little party and is now comfortably settled on the loveseat, looking as though he has just come out of a romance novel.

“Lucien,” Elain exclaims, smiling coyly at the male. “I was not aware that you were here.”

His returning smile can only be described as positively dashing.

“I only just arrived. My apologies for not informing anyone beforehand.”

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #fluff #Another ficlet resulting from my need to take a mental break

[huramuna]

a maid's folly - chapter 6.

dark aemond x maid ofc minor aemond x floris baratheon work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

previous | next

summary: a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

word count: 3.7k

girl.... it took a bit to get here but i hope its worth it - please let me know what you think

warnings: smut (details below cut), power imbalance, religious guilt, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

oh to be in love - kate bush • mary on a cross - ghost

chapter specific warnings: violence, blood, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, virginity loss, biting

The next few weeks were good ones for Rosemary– the best ones since her mother passed. She fell into a quick companionship with Helaena, accepting her oddities as fun quirks, rather than bits of madness that everyone else seemed to discount them as.

Helaena was smarter than people gave her credit for. She was witty with a great sense of humor, often poking fun at courtiers and other denizens of the castle. She had a lot of inside knowledge on the gossip and going-ons of the Keep, as people weren't afraid to speak openly while she was in earshot, citing her as daft and not paying attention.

Rosemary and Helaena sat shoulder to shoulder on the settee near the window. It was open, a crisp breeze tousling their hair. 

The princess had promoted Rosemary to her handmaiden, thus upgrading her wardrobe significantly. They matched now, as Rosemary wore light blue dresses, her hair down in a braid. Helaena usually leaned towards cooler colors, like flushed blues and light purples. 

“I've heard that Floris is pitching a fit over the flowers chosen for the wedding,” Helaena chattered, pricking a needle into the fabric stretched over an embroidery hoop-- she was working on a depiction of a blue carpenter bee, “Mother told me she cried when the florist brought in white tulips instead of yellow.”

Rosemary snorted a small giggle, her hands tangled in Helaena's hair, defting the tresses into intricate braids, “And how has your brother taken all of this?”

Helaena was privy to Aemond and Rosemary's 'situation', whatever it may be– it was ill-defined at the moment. The corners of her eyes crinkled into a grin, “He is running Vhagar ragged with how much he flies her. Mother said that when Floris began to weep, he slipped out of the hall and was gone for four hours.”

“Yes, that sounds about right.” the maid hummed. 

The weeks with Helaena had also proven fruitful for Aemond and Rosemary’s interactions– they were still few and far between, with Aemond expressing more restraint than he had before, but he visited Helaena’s chambers more often, citing brotherly love as his reasoning for his frequent social calls.

He entered that day as usual, his arms behind his back. His eye zeroed in on Rosemary, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. She wasn’t wearing her formless maid’s dresses any longer, as Helaena had her tailored for a few higher end pieces for her. They hugged her curves in the right places with a sweeping décolletage, exposing just the hinting swell of her chest, the light blue complimenting her complexion.

He had been visiting more lately, but the past few days had been taken up with frivolous wedding planning, and half a dozen flights on Vhagar. 

“Brother, you’re staring.” Helaena murmured.

He became all too aware of his surroundings, his mouth slightly dry and his clothes all too tight. It took him a moment to regain his stoic self, “I am merely trying to see what you’re embroidering, dear sister,” he walked forward, nodding his head to Rosemary, “My lady.” he mustered a greeting.

“Your grace,” she hummed in response, tying off Helaena’s braids with a small leather cord, “Would you like for me to braid yours as well?” she said it ever so innocently, but she was goading him. They were in each other’s proximity more often than not lately, with Rosemary often watching him spar in the courtyard from the spectator’s eaves They had developed a back and forth banter— he tested her limits with his witty remarks, and she teased him endlessly until she was all but sure that he would need to relieve himself later. It was a fun game, their little verbal spars, but Rosemary wondered when it would become reality. A man could only be teased so long. 

Aemond cleared his throat, “That won’t be necessary,” he glanced at her for a moment, his pupil blown wide. She knew she had him, hook, line and sinker. 

“Rosemary, weren’t you going to go to the market today?” Helaena redirected the conversation, “I know you had a few things to pick up.” 

The maid perked up, “Oh, yes— hm, I should get started now so mayhaps I’ll make it home before dark,” she squeezed Helaena’s shoulder affectionately, the princess leaning into her touch, “I will see you this evening, my lady,” she got up, smoothing out her dress, curtsying before Aemond, “My prince.” 

“Hm.” he grunted, letting her walk past him. 

She made a quick stop to her room, donning a cape jacket, her hands tying a ribboned, wide-brimmed sun hat to her head. Looping a bag around her shoulder, she set out to the corridors. 

Rosemary walked with purpose, reciting her list, “Lavender oil, honey cakes, lilac and blue thread, rock salt, goat’s milk…” she had her head down, navigating the halls absentmindedly. She brushed shoulders with someone, caught off guard by an anguished gasp. 

Stopping, she looked to see who she bumped, “My apologies,” Rosemary murmured, seeing that it was… Floris Baratheon. She recognized her from passing through Maegor’s Holdfast going to and from Helaena’s chambers, “My lady.” 

Floris scoffed, “Yes, well, watch where you are going,” she looked Rosemary up and down, a flicker of something akin to recognition passing through her eye, “Ah, you’re the princess’ handmaiden, are you not?” 

“Yes, my lady.” 

“I see,” she clicked her tongue, seemingly mulling over something in her head, “Where are you heading in such a hurry, then?”

“I have to pick up a few things from the markets, my lady— I wish to get back before it gets dark.” 

Floris blinked slowly, her hands coming together, “Ah. The markets,” she repeated, “Enjoy your errands.” 

Rosemary curtsied hurriedly, walking away. She had already wasted enough time dawdling. 

The trip down to the market square was fairly uneventful— she managed to get lost once or thrice, still unfamiliar with the layout of the city; she had only visited through it once before arriving at the Keep. 

She haggled with her fair share of merchants and most definitely overpaid for most things. It was a wonder that she managed to somehow haggle up the price. 

The last thing she retrieved was the goat’s milk— it wasn’t to be drinken, but to be added to her and Helaena’s baths. Rosemary had fond memories of her mother drawing her a hot bath and pouring flower oils and goat or sheep’s milk into it, along with the chipped pieces of rock salt. It left her feeling soft and fresh and she wished to experience it once again. 

The sun was beginning to set over the horizon. Helaena warned Rosemary to not be in King’s Landing at night and to always come back before the sun set. 

Rosemary gnawed at her bottom lip as she tried to retrace her steps. She could see the Red Keep up on the hill, but when she tried to navigate there, she ended up being cut off by dead ends, empty alleys, and paths looming with unsavory characters. 

She felt the bubble of panic rising in her chest, her thumb nail sinking into the soft of her palm. Her lip began to bleed from her incessant biting upon it in her anxiety driven state. 

Turning down another alley, she was met with a dead end again. Tears pricked at her eyes, feeling frustrated and helpless— how idiotic could she be to get lost? She could see the Keep but couldn’t reach it. 

Moving to retreat from the alley, she saw a hooded figure at the end of it, awaiting her. Her heart instantly jumped into her stomach and she froze. The dying light of the sun glinted off of something in its hand— a weapon. 

The tears came in full force now as she dropped her bag, backing up further against the wall. The figure descended upon her, brandishing a knife. It was a man, stocky and older. His breath smelled of decay and rot— he was hissing at her, like some kind of animal. 

Rosemary put her arms up to shield against the first swing, she had seen Aemond do something similar in his training sessions with Ser Criston– of course, he was a seasoned swordsman and usually swathed off an attack with a weapon, so this method was nowhere near as effective as he made it look— it ripped through the fabric of her dress, slicing against her arms. She whimpered in pain but shoved forward against him, knocking him off his balance. He kept up his garbled hissing, as if he was trying to say something. 

“Take my bag— the money is in there, just l-leave me be!” Rosemary cried, kicking the bag towards him. 

The man couldn’t look less interested as he regained his footing, coming in again for the second time. This attempt was fruitful as he knocked Rosemary to the ground— he was on top of her, slicing wildly, his mouth agape. He had no tongue. She tried to keep her arms up to stop him from hitting anything vital, the blade cutting through her skin like ribbons. She cried in pain, kicking and screaming, her blood trickling down onto her face, her dress.

Her life flashed before her eyes— her mother, Jeyne, Helaena, the children— Aemond. 

Suddenly, the man was dead weight against her and the dangerous edge of a sword poked through the front of his skull, mere inches from Rosemary’s face. 

It all felt like a haze, a blur. Was she already dead? She felt so cold, the rivulets of blood flowing across her skin feeling like shards of ice. Her vision closed and blackened around her. 

The weight of the man was kicked off of her and then she was scooped up— she was no longer cold, but warm. She was warm, like in a goat’s milk and lavender oil bath, the steamy water enveloping her like a second skin. She had to be dead, surely. 

“Rosemary,” a voice, familiar, murmured, “Stay awake. Fucking hell, I shouldn’t of let you go alone.” 

She glanced up, her vision still muddied and red— her own blood had dripped into her eyes, stinging. But she realized who was holding her, the flash of a single violet eye burning through her. Aemond.

“Ae… mond,” she whispered. 

“Don’t speak,” he grunted, “Just… stay awake, okay?” 

She didn’t know how long it was until the air around her turned from the flowing outdoor air, to a dank and almost tepid air. It was dark now, flashes of torches dancing in her eyes. 

Then she was set down— on something soft. It smelled like sandalwood and smoke. A bed. Aemond’s bed. 

He sat next to her, bandaging her arms, “You did good putting your arms up,” he said, wrapping the soft, spongy cloth material taut around the worst of her wounds, “Where did you learn that?”

Rosemary blinked, “… been watching you spar… recently,” she responded softly, “I might’ve… picked up a thing or two.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. It made her chest feel aflutter. “Hm,” he mused, “I never saw you there but once.”

“I was hiding… didn’t wish to distract you.” 

Aemond snorted then, rolling his eye, “Chin up,” his hand softly lifted up her head as he wiped a damp, lukewarm cloth over her face, cleansing the blood from her skin. 

“How did you know?”

He made a small noise of discontentment, “You were bound to find yourself in trouble. I saw you overpay for all of your items today, far above market price,” he looked away for a moment, “I can’t say I expected this to happen. But it… was good I was there, I suppose.” the cloth eased over her eyes, helping her sight come back into focus. 

She blinked profusely a few times, tears gathering at her waterline– not just from the irritation, but emotion. “... I don’t know what to say…”

Aemond put the cloth aside, “Usually, this is where one says ‘thank you’,” he chided, citing her taunt at him from a few weeks earlier, “How is the pain?”

Twisting her arms, she sucked in a breath of pain, “... hurts.” 

“It will for a while and will likely scar. But, better a scar than your life,” he hummed, his hand flexing and relaxing absentmindedly, “I’ll bring you a salve for them so they won’t mar your skin as terribly.” his hand reached for hers, turning her palm up. He was gentle, his skin warm.

“... thank you,” she murmured, closing his hand between both of hers, wincing at bit at the movement. “I don’t understand… he didn’t want my money or items– he was actively trying to kill me. To just kill me.”

Aemond looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, his mouth wrought into a thin line, “King’s Landing is a dangerous place– the Red Keep even more so. I… will try to figure out what it was– mayhaps a purposeful attack.”

“Purposeful? Why would anyone want to kill me?” 

“You are the princess’ handmaiden– you have eyes and ears into a lot of affairs in the Keep and perhaps you overheard something you shouldn’t have,” he let go of her hands for a moment, but not before rasping his thumb over her knuckles. He then began to pace. “Have you heard anything odd lately? Some conversation you shouldn’t have been privy to?”

Rosemary only now just saw how distraught Aemond looked– his hair was down completely, the leather tie used to pull it back to the nape of his neck gone, likely broken off. His hands were stained with blood, her blood, and the blood of her would-be killer. He looked a bit flushed, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his footfalls heavy and filled with emotion– not like his usual silent, detached movements. 

“Aemond,” she murmured. He didn’t stop his pacing, muttering to himself, “Aemond. Aemond!” she raised her voice slightly, causing his head to snap towards her. “Please– we can worry about it all later, just… come here.”

He looked perplexed by her tone and loudness, but walked over anyway.

 In turn, she reached over and took an extra dampened cloth, holding out her hand, “Let me help.” she asked.

He sat down next to her on the bed, the mattress dipping under him. He bobbed his knee incessantly as Rosemary took his hands and washed them of the grime and blood. His jaw was clenched, his muscles taut as if he wanted to spring into action or mayhaps run out of the room.

“Relax,” she grumbled, “I should be the one nervous, not you.”

“I am nervous– you… you were almost killed. I was almost too late, Rosemary,” he spoke, his voice breaking from its usual even tone into something soft and more raw, “What the fuck would we have done if you were… slaughtered by some ingrate? Helaena and the children– they would be heartbroken,” he took in a sharp breath, “... I would be… devastated as well.”

Rosemary stowed away the cloth, her hands not once leaving his. Slowly and cautiously, she intertwined their fingers. It was an intimate gesture, something soft and soothing. She could feel her heart catch in her throat, her ears burning. “Well, you weren’t too late, were you?” she whispered, her voice almost silent. She glanced up at him, those big brown eyes of hers piercing a hole right through him, right into his soul. 

Untangling one hand from hers, his hand came beneath her chin, tilting it upward. “I might’ve burned this whole fucking city down if I was,” he murmured, leaning forward. They were so close, their lips ghosting over one another.

She felt the heat rise in her stomach, feelings jittering around against her ribcage like some of Helaena’s butterflies. Her eyes flicked to his lips, then back to his eye– she inhaled as she leaned in– and in turn, he did as well.

Their lips met– it was soft but intense all at once, the butterflies in her chest breaking free in a cacophony of emotion. It was chaste at first, their lips melding together like two puzzle pieces– before her lips parted slightly and she tilted forward more, her free hand coming up to his chest, but wavering. “C-can I touch you?” she asked, her words pressed against his mouth.

“Please– please touch me,” he practically pleaded, “I’ve waited so long.” 

Her hand slid up his chest slowly, her brow knitting in discomfort as her wounds pressed against the bandages. 

He took note of this, placing her hands on his hips and a likely more comfortable position for her. 

She hummed contentedly as she leaned farther into him, her lips parting once more to accommodate his tongue slipping into her mouth. She needed more of him, pressing as close as she could. She wanted to crawl inside of his ribcage and live there. It was something of comfort.

“Lay down,” he said, breaking their intimate closeness for just a moment, earning a disappointed whimper from her. “I need to taste you.”

Rosemary swallowed heavily, nodding slowly. “I’ve– I’ve never… done this before,” she breathed, “I’m still a maiden.” she scooted back to lay on the soft pillows, looking down. Her dress was a torn mess.

“All the reason to go slow, little lamb,” he responded in turn, edging up the skirt of her dress, “Tell me to stop if you need to.”

Biting her lip, she nodded. The feather light touch of his hand on her leg made her shiver, a coil of warm settling in her core. 

His hands, calloused and rough as they were, felt like smooth silk as they glided up her leg, bunching up her dress at her stomach. His fingers traced the stretch marks on her hips and thighs as if to commit them to memory. Aemond’s fingers hooked under her undergarments and slid them off– a wet strip of arousal prominently painted down the center of them. Grinning, he stowed them away in his pocket, “Hmm,” he hummed, using both hands to part her legs as if it were some great feat, like mounting a dragon or swinging a sword for the first time. “Beautiful.”

Rosemary felt her face go red as she looked down at him, his head between her legs. “Please.” she murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

She didn’t need to beg, not this time at least– he fulfilled her wish, licking a strip from the bottom of her parted folds up to her aching pearl, causing her to whimper. He was slow at first, eeking out every little sound he could out of her before beginning to feast, his tongue ringing circles around her sensitive bud, his hands gripping her thighs like he was a man staved, and she was his last meal before death.

Rosemary clutched the sheets, wanting to snap her legs close, but his strong grip kept them open– thank the Gods for that– the warmed coil inside of her slowly eking into a smolder. ‘A-Aemond, ah–” her first orgasm ripped through her like a bolt of lightning, her toes curling. Her legs wrapped around him as she clenched around nothing, whimpering his name like it was a prayer.

“That’s it,” he purred, “Bleating like a lamb for me– so soft, like I knew you’d be.”

She panted heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her death grip on his head weakened slightly, allowing him to slip from between her legs for just a moment. 

“Let's get this dress off, hm? I want to see all of you.”

“If you undress, too– I won’t be the only one naked,” she grumbled.

He happily obliged, stripping his doublet and trousers and kicking them away, all too eager to get her out of her dress. His fingers deftly undid the buttons, slipping it off of her. A hand palmed one of her heavy breasts, rubbing a nipple between his fore and middle finger. 

“Eyepatch,” she mewled between tiny moans, “Take it off.”

He was a bit more hesitant here– his thumb hooking under the strap. Pausing for a moment, he looked to Rosemary once more. 

She was disheveled, her face flushed red, her hair coming out of her braid and flowing behind her in pale blonde tresses. Her eyes were half-lidded, lips parted ever so slightly. She wanted him, she wanted all of him– it was evident.

Foregoing any more doubt, he discarded the eyepatch, revealing his sapphire implant. 

Her half lidded eyes grew into large saucers, her breath hitching in her throat. Rosemary didn’t say anything else, giving a hum of contentment before pulling him back onto the bed for another kiss. 

“Beautiful,” she cooed between kisses.

It was enough to make Aemond blush– hiding his bashfulness by slipping his tongue back into her mouth, palming his cock in his fist. He swiped the head against her folds, gathering the slick and slowly sliding it in. 

“Gods above,” he grit his teeth, “Fucking tight.” his lips pressed against her neck, he buried himself to the hilt in her, waiting for her approval.

“F-full,” she whimpered, needing a moment to adjust to his size and the overall new sensation, before she nodded for him to proceed.

He moved slowly again, starting at a measured, deliberate pace, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. 

Soon enough, she relaxed into his rocking motions, beginning to enjoy it. His pace increased as he left red marks on her neck, sucking and bruising the delicate skin there. He wanted to be gentle– but he was still a dragon, and dragons were wholly possessive. 

The room was filled with the sounds of her soft whimpering moans and his grunts– the symphony of skin slapping against skin. 

Aemond clenched, feeling the tell-tale sensation that he was close, “F-fuck,” he groaned against her skin, teeth biting into her now, “My lamb– my pretty lamb– you should be my fucking wife. You’re mine, mine, m– fuck–” he stilled his movements as he spilled inside of her, his fingers gripping her hips like soft putty. 

She clenched around him, feeling the warmth of his exertions spread through her. Sweat beaded at her forehead and chest as her hummingbird heart slowed down finally. 

He didn’t pull out yet– rather, he wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest, laying on his back now.

“Stay with me tonight– please. I wish to wake up next to you, if only this once.” he murmured, holding her close against his chest in his all encompassing hold.

“Of course, my dragon.”

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