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#nor did i include all of the songs
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bau as taylor songs
aaron hotchner: fearless, you’re not sorry, change, superstar, last kiss, superman, everything has changed, come back be here, style, getaway car, lover, false god, the last great american dynasty, cowboy like me
emily prentiss: cold as you, fifteen, haunted, sparks fly, speak now, red, i almost do, the lucky one, out of the woods, i wish you would, this love, i know places, dress, end game, look what you made me do, the archer, i think he knows, daylight, afterglow, the one, this is me trying, mad woman, peace, willow, right where you left me
derek morgan: tied together with a smile, white horse, mr perfectly fine, innocent, i knew you were trouble, girl at home, blank space, so it goes..., gorgeous, i forgot that you existed, hoax, tis the damn season, renegade
jennifer jareau: a place in this world, the way i loved you, you all over me, bye bye baby, mine, enchanted, that's when, state of grace, sad beautiful tragic, begin again, nothing new, how you get the girl, you are in love, delicate, dancing with our hands tied, the man, seven, ivy, gold rush
spencer reid: the outside, breathe, mean, eyes open, the last time, clean, bad blood, wonderland, new romantics, i did something bad, death by a thousand cuts, soon you'll get better, cruel summer, its nice to have a friend, cardigan, the lakes, tolerate it
penelope garcia: you belong with me, the best day, jump then fall, back to december, holy ground, forever winter, king of my heart, starlight, wildest dreams, call it what you want, cornelia street, london boy, mirrorball, champagne problems, marjorie
whole team: long live, this is why we can't have nice things, new years day, exile, my tears ricochet, august, epiphany, no body no crime, long story short, evermore, it's time to go, only the young
i highlighted any that i feel really strongly about for that character. so many of them ended up relating to the 'emily is dead' storyline (i almost do, the last time, sad beautiful tragic, everything has changed - it seems red is the album for that particular storyline, imo anyway) but others relate to character storylines (innocent for morgan, the best day and back to december for penny, clean for reid) idk it was fun and am excited to add midnights !! and i wanna know any u agree/disagree with also i couldn't assign atw
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ichorai · 4 months
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wool ; coriolanus snow.
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pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)
synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.
words ; 1.5k
themes ; mild fluff/angst, slightly suggestive
warnings / includes ; set before events of tbosas so no actual spoilers, making out, clemensia appearance, mentions of other characters, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could, let's pretend the academy also serves dinner
a/n ; this man has consumed me body and soul. this fic was inspired by the song wool by flatland cavalry on the movie soundtrack! let me know if you guys would like a second part :)
series masterlist. main masterlist.
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Coriolanus Snow was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He bore an aristocratic last name—yet you noticed that his dress shirt’s buttons seemed to be various different shades of black and slightly misshapen. His voice, so sweetly saccharine, charming, seductive—would whisper falsities like it was second nature. He would often claim that he wasn’t hungry, but you’d catch the longing glint in his pale irises as he eyed the steaming bread rolls Sejanus slathered with generous helpings of butter. 
Control. That was all he needed. 
It crumbled, ever so slightly, when you nudged your slice of apple pie in his direction. His eye twitched, and you pursed your lips, pulling your plate back to you. You ate quietly, and Coryo stared at you all the while, as if he were mentally dissecting your mind—studying you. 
You knew. It was all too clear, even if he wouldn’t tell you. And if he wouldn’t tell his closest friend—or, the closest thing he had to a friend, the two of you certainly did things that friends wouldn’t do—he most definitely wouldn’t let it slip that he was financially strapped to anyone else.
That same day, he met you in the back of the library. The two of you were supposed to be studying history—Professor Demigloss was one of the nicer teachers at the academy, but that didn’t mean he was any less strict with grades. And neither you nor Coryo could afford slipping now. Not if you both wanted to get into university. Being on top meant that there was only greater distance to fall.
But there were… distractions.
Mainly, his foot knocking against yours under the table. Your hand over his jostling knee. His teeth digging into his bottom lip. When you shifted so that your thighs brushed against his, the books spread out over the table were entirely forgotten.
He pushed you against the bookshelves a mere second later, the wood digging into your back uncomfortably, and kissed you until you grew dizzy. You were a welcome distraction—he could taste the apples on your tongue. The way you snaked your arms around his neck, toying with his pale blonde curls, pulling him closer until his body slotted against yours just perfectly—clicking into place like a pair of magnets facing opposite directions. It was desperate and heavy and he could only barely pull away to inhale sharply before cradling the base of your head to tilt your jaw back and kiss you even harder. Coryo swallowed any muffled whimpers that slipped from you when his free hand traveled lower.
Lower, lower, dangerously low—
When Clemensia’s voice echoed through the library in search of her lab partner, the two of you sprang apart, gasping for air.
She rounded the bend, and her dark eyes landed on the two of you. Keen, observant, narrowed. Coriolanus was flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling erratically. You were looking anywhere but the two of them, smoothing out your clothes and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Oh! I guess I’ll just have to find another time to bother you, Coriolanus,” she tittered, sickly sweet. She tilted her head with a tempered smile. “What’re you guys studying?”
Snow rolled his eyes in exasperation. “History,” he said. Curt, simple.
“Right.” She eyed you curiously. When she spoke again, it was directed more to you than him, sounding uncharacteristically void of frigid scorn. “I’d be careful if I were you. You sure he’s not just sleeping with you because you’re the top of the class?”
You stiffened, and Coryo bristled. 
“I’ll be fine, Clem. See you tomorrow.” 
There was another beat of terse silence. Her eyes darted warily between the two of you, and she whisked away in a flutter of red and black.
You blew out a breath. Your mouth tingled with the phantom memory of his lips planted over yours, and your cheeks flushed with heat. The two of you sat back down, both quiet. You worked in fluid tandem with each other, as you always did. His hands kept to himself this time. 
“I’m not using you,” he whispered, eventually. “It’s not like that.”
“I know,” you replied hesitantly, testing the waters. “It’s not like you’d need to. Your grades are just fine as is.”
The two of you kept working until your fingers cramped with overuse and his head pulsed with the beginnings of a migraine. 
“Dinner?” you asked once the clock struck six, nudging him. “I think they’ll be serving mashed potatoes today.”
His stomach clenched at the thought of warm food. Control.
“Sure,” he replied coolly, flicking his books closed and gathering up all the papers to stuff into his bag. “I’m sick of mashed potatoes, though.”
You shot him an incredulous smile, brows quirking up. He was lying, but you didn’t know. “Not even when it’s seasoned with roasted garlic? A dash of the freshest of herbs?”
The blue of his eyes gleamed when they bore into yours. “Not even then.”
“You’re a strange man, Coriolanus Snow.” Your lips twisted downward, but it was more of a smile than a frown. When your eyes darted below to glance at his school uniform, you couldn’t help but notice the unironed creases in the carmine fabric. One of the buttons—the very top one—was oddly shaped and a different color from all the rest. It reminded you of his dress shirt. You quite liked that dress shirt. He looked handsome in it, but you chalked it up to his uncanny ability to look handsome in just about anything.
Your head tilted to the side, molten eyes fixed on the button. You knew. He knew that you knew. Panic seized in his chest, an irrational clawing sensation searing within his lungs. Would you tell the rest of the class? What would you say to them? That he was living as filthily as a District boy? That he skipped meals because he couldn’t afford them? That his cousin mended his clothes for him?
But your frown-smile deepened. Fondness stained your expression, clear as day. Coriolanus found himself surprised, as he often did around you. 
“I love your buttons, by the way,” you mumbled, reaching out to trace it with a finger. He held his breath on instinct. “Is it a stylistic choice? Having them all irregular like this?”
Stylistic. Coriolanus almost laughed.
“Mhm. It’ll be in fashion one day. I’m just ahead of the trends,” he murmured charmingly. A bluff.
When you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, Coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his. 
“Maybe I’ll start wearing mismatched buttons now, too. Rebel against uniformity.” You stood up from your chair as you spoke, not catching the way Coriolanus’ expression faltered momentarily with your last three words. It was a joke, he had to remind himself. Just a joke. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”
He jerkily stood up. Grabbed your hand just because he could, fingers folding over your wrist. He could feel your pulse, thumping quicker and quicker. You regarded him curiously. Snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. How much of you was lying, just as he was?
His lips fell over yours again. This time, the kiss was sweeter. Slower, more languid. His nose brushed over your cheekbone, warm to the touch. You hummed pleasantly against him, before placing a hand flat over his chest—over the crooked button—and pulled away with a dazed smile. It felt dangerously good that you hadn’t tugged your hand out of his grasp yet. His grip tightened in a near possessive manner.
As the two of you began walking out of the library, Coriolanus couldn’t help but think back to your hyperbole—about how far from starving you truly were. You wouldn’t ever know, not when your family was the very epitome of Capitol wealth. But he was glad he wasn’t the only one lying, for once, even if your lie was merely an inflation of the truth. 
After dinner, Coryo worked off the top button of his uniform with repeated tugs to the threads, pulling apart Tigris’ handiwork. He slid it over the table to you, watching the way your countenance softened in endearment. He kissed you again in the dark hallways outside the cafeteria, finding it difficult to get your lips to melt away from your tightly-stretched grin.
He walked home with a mirroring smile and a missing button that night. One less piece of the wolf’s sheeply clothes.
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lucerants · 1 year
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I finally got to sit down and listen to "Andy" the other day and oh my god - it's sooooo good. His voice is so beautiful and smooth, I love his singing AND his rapping. And those lyrics!! They really hit close to home. I wasn't expecting something quite so introspective and emotional. It definitely got me where I live, in the best possible way. I really loved "Pressure" "Time in a Tree" "Party Anxious" and "27 Club". Only one or two songs didn't really grab me. I'm excited to keep it bumpin' through 2023! Thanks for the recommendation, my dear friend <3
AH okay im gonna try and be very normal about this. I saw this then I had to call my friend abt something so my train of response got interrupted but I'm so glad you liked it!!!!!!!
This got long but god I couldve made it so much longer.
It's very introspective and emotional! I probably shouldve warned you! His wheelhouse is often "songs that sound groovy but the lyrics are sad/emotional/heavy" or its just straight up "this sounds melancholic and it IS". He did it quite a bit on his debut album too and I think it's a difficult line to tread because it can just come across as a bit much but I think that just entirely depends on the listener- it's one of my favourite things about his music. As someone who can never articulate her feelings and having this album at a rough time its always gonna be special because it's one of the first times I listened to music and felt my feelings being vocalised? It was like an "OH thats like ME" moment. (Also so many of the songs just Bang™️)
And hell yeah man can SING!!! and I love his "cut the shit" rapping/speaking verses. Thank goodness he didn't keep trying to sing in an American accent, I don't think that would've worked w the honest nature of the songs to sing in a voice totally different to his own.
And those are great choices for standout tracks, I love them all. Every time I listen to pressure I'm like "yeah this is a great song." Then it gets to the first "I've never been a gooOOOO getter" and I'm like "oh no this is the BEST actually." I think 27 club has some of my favourite lyricism too.
I had a few of the tracks that grew on me overtime, like STFU and Aristocrats and Sadboi. The first time I listened to Sadboi I loved the first verse then it got to the chorus (that isnt really a chorus, it's a sample so when you listen to the instrumental verison of the album (which i also do often lmao) its there) and I was like "oh no, this does not work for me" and I ended up skipping it on subsequent listens but eventually I listened to it more and more and it became one of my favourite songs on the album XD (and my top Spotify song this year lol). When Jacob said he hopes everyone's relationship with this album is as instantaneous and slow burn as his, he was talking about me (and other people from what I've seen) and sadboi lol.
This is so long 😭 but I'm so glad you liked it! It's embarrassingly special to me 🤣
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murdrdocs · 10 months
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just read all your imagines and they are so good!! just on here to req anything hobie brown related cos god that man is so fine. maybe like a one-shot where they are fwb cos hobie doest do labels but gets jealous and then asks reader to be his gf and then shows her off to everyone. just like really anything u want to write tbh ✨✨
end of line | h. brown
description. being friends with benefits with your best friend, hobie brown, is fun and all, but you start to realize that maybe firm labels suit you better than whatever this is
includes. slight smut SUGGESTIVE 16+, fem!reader referred to as “girl”, fluff, sweet!hobie, pav gwen and miles mention, rockstar!hobie
a/n: i have no words this was supposed to be uploaded like a week ago but then i went to disney so ... sorry yall. also not edited well bc ... disney. edit: title from the song by daft punk bc tron <3
word count: 1.7k+
things are still in your bedroom. they always are right before he arrives.
you're not a psychic, nor do you have a "spider-sense" (which, with the creepy-sixth sense way hobie described it, you don't want one either), but you like to think that you can tell when he'll come by.
nights when you haven't heard much from him, but the sirens seemed to never stop outside, were usually when your window would creek as it slid up.
you listen out for the sound now as you finish painting your last nail. you'd used the quick dry polish tonight, in hopes that you wouldn't have a repeat of last time, when your fingernails weren't dried but hobie was incredibly impatient and when you were done, you'd realized that your right ring and pinkie fingers were smudged.
the bottle's closed, you'd blown on your nail to ensure it dried, and that's when your window slides open.
there's no point in looking back at him when he tumbles into the room. he starts mumbling complaints as soon as the window's closed, the sound of his shoes unlacing padding his words, something about some common thief who hobie was going to let go but then he went and messed with the lady on the street and her cat.
you'd lost the tail end of his words whenever he started walking closer to you. you sat up straighter, pushed everything out of the way, and waited for him to turn your chair around.
which, when he did, you looked up at him, small smile on your lips as you stared into his deep brown eyes.
"how's your night, hm?" he asked, a courtesy before getting to the real action.
you shrugged, pretending to think. "nothing. just a lot of this."
"no smashing societal standards? picking off misogynists one by one?"
a small laugh in the form of a snort from you. "nah. figured i'd take a day off, you know?" the sarcasm dripping from your words. that's not who you were. you wish you could've been like that, could've been like hobie. but there's one spider-person for a reason.
"oh, yeah, uh-huh..." and hobie trailed off as he leaned in, pointer finger hooking under your chin to pull your lips to his.
it always felt good to kiss hobie.
you'd fantasized about it for weeks before it actually happened. he's your closest friend at the moment, and he occupied the title before this arrangement even existed. and of course you had the worry about ruining your beautiful friendship if you became more, fear that you wouldn't be able to go back and you would subsequently lose probably the best friend you've ever had.
but that was no need to worry. because while you could let hobie pull you up and lead you to your bed, sitting back and pulling you into his lap while he kissed you with a tenderness you know so well, you could also just be friends with him, sitting side by side on the couch and having a movie marathon of horrible biopics without thinking about jumping each other's bones.
there's a balance here that you could only hope would've existed.
and it's never thrown off. not even when he pulls your shirt over your head and his full lips find your nipples and the slightly-faded marks he'd left a few days ago. not even when he switches your position, laying you back and kissing down your torso until he can bury his head between your legs. not even when you whine and cry just a bit, slightly begging for him to pull his suit off so he can fuck into you in a way that only he can.
you try not to think about the equilibrium of your relationship with hobie when your legs hook around his waist and the heels of your feet dig into your lower back. you try to solely focus on the way his cock fills you up perfectly, mostly long with the right amount of girth for your walls, tip reaching deep within you in an almost mind bending way.
but you can't help but think about the way hobie doesn't do labels when he helps you to your bathroom, where he lets the shower heat up while you sit in a shirt he left behind a few days ago when he'd shown up as just hobie brown and not spiderman. you can't help but think about being hobie's girlfriend when his big, veiny hands run along your skin after the shower, smothering you in shea butter as you struggle to hold your eyes open. and you don't bother attempting to fight off the lasting thought of being hobie's while he hums an unknown song to himself with your head on his chest, the deep sound of his voice and the vibration of his chest lulling you to sleep.
you need to be someone's.
the friends with benefits scenario was fun, it worked, it was glorious, but you don't think it's for you. and labels aren't for hobie.
so, you look elsewhere.
you're at hobie's show, standing in the back of the pub with a drink you weren't interested in, with some guy you really weren't all that interested in, either. but he smelled nice, and he seemed nice, and you were just looking to broaden your horizons just a bit.
you and hobie weren't exclusive, but maybe it's a little wrong to flirt with someone else at his show. but you were slightly upset, and craving attention, so it didn't matter.
not until hobie got off stage.
it took a while for him to roam over to you, but even then you were still entertaining the other guy. giggling, tilting your head, batting your eyelashes, your hip popped out and a manicure, that was still fresh, blinging as your hand rested on the bone.
he greets you with a term of endearment that he uses often, but it feels different in this circumstance. you tell yourself that it feels different because you want it to feel different.
"oi, babe! who's this bloke?"
his arm slings over your shoulder and you tense under it. your hands folding over your chest, your smile tightening a little.
“uh this is steven.” your hand reaches out to point to the man, a tight lipped smile spreading onto his lips.
“steven …” hobie repeats the name slowly, and without looking at him you can tell that he’s eyeing the guy up and down.
the air is stiff, the three of you are silent, and unfortunately, steven takes the hint to dismiss himself, and you instantly turn to hobie, a scowl on your face.
“what the fuck, hobes?” you’re pissed, but the nickname still slips off easily.
hobie shrugs and reaches into his back pocket, a cigarette appearing and he sticks it between his lips. instantly, your fingers pluck it out from his mouth, instead putting it in your own back pocket.
instead of looking upset, hobie looks amused. his hands reach out to grab your waist, and you want to give in, but you try to push his hands away instead.
hobie lets you, and you don’t know if your happy or upset with that.
“what’d you mean?”
you stare at him, deadpan, then gesture to where steven had walked away towards.
“you just cockblocked me!”
a cocky grin, almost a little condescending. “i didn’t ‘cockblock’ you, babes. you weren’t trying to get with that guy.” your eyebrow lifts and you can see realization come onto hobie’s face. “oh … you were?”
“yes! of course i was!”
“but why? you are i are together.”
“sure, hobes, but we’re not ‘together’.”
“yes we are.”
“no, we aren’t.”
“why do you think that?”
you suddenly feel a little insecure, eyes scanning the thinning crowd, ears noticing the way the volume in the pub is lowered. “because you’ve never put a label on it, bee.”
another layer of realization. hobie’s hands coming to your waist again, but this time you let him pull you in.
“i didn’t know we needed a label. but you’re my girl. and i’m your guy.”
your body heats up and you bite down onto your lower lip giddily, peeking up at hobie through your lashes.
"thought you didn't like relationships?"
"labels. i don't like labels."
there's a disruption in the atmosphere. goosebumps raise on your skin, the hair on the back of your neck sticks up, and even if you weren't aware internally, the way the magazine you were previously reading floats above the table would've tipped you off.
the portal opens shortly after, but you knew it was coming. it took hobie a while to tell you that he was spiderman, longer to convince you that he was spiderman, and a while longer to convince you of the existence society, and even though you know, you still get a little shocked whenever a portal opens.
he comes through first, thud of his heavy boots against the floor of his flat. the spoon in your mouth clings against the side of the bowl, your free hand reaches out to the tv remote to pause the episode as you look over at hobie.
"oi, didn't know you were still here." is all he says before he's walking over, pulling his mask off on the way, and leaning down. your head tilts up instantly to meet his lips in a kiss, your body warming with the way his hand pushes into the back of the couch, slender but muscular form caging you in.
you expect him to sit beside you and force you to give a recap of the episode, but he stands back, and then three other people come through the portal.
"oh ... are we expecting guests?" surprise sits in your words, the tone amplified when hobie takes your bowl of cereal out of your hands to finish it off himself.
"right," he speaks through mouthfuls, saying your name as an introduction to the other three. "this is pav, miles, and gwendy. spider people." you nod, waving at each.
"this here, is my girlfriend." three sets of spider-eyes widen with the admission and you can already sense what's coming.
"wow, you're pretty. 's nice to meet you."
"i knew it! i could sense the tension as soon as we got here."
"you have a girlfriend? wait. i thought you didn't like labels."
a small smile on your face as you tuck your hands in the pocket of hobie’s sweatshirt that you wear.
in coordination learned from how close you two are, you speak at the same time.
"he doesn't like consistency."
"don't like consistency, mate."
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the-final-sif · 3 months
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Dream's Response Summary
Dream posted a response to various accusations, covering just about everything ever because he was done with this shit. I've done my best to summarize it here, but I recommend going and watching his whole video. This is going to be extremely summarized for readability and I'm only going to cover stuff I consider serious so anything about speedrunning is getting skipped.
The tl:dr is: Dream never groomed anyone or had inappropriate contact with anyone underage, he provided proof that one accuser flat out lied, and the other ""accusation"" was from a third party who was never involved. The actual supposed victim released a statement that they were never groomed, nor a victim in any way, never was asked about someone sharing information about them, and wants everyone to shut the fuck up.
Police were never actually contacted, both twitter accounts were lying about doing so to make their claims seem real. Also the supposed snapchat video shown is a very obvious fake.
He covers Manatreed, the run down is the guy was a childhood best friend he grew up with and who was struggling with homelessness. Dream helped him, and never knew about the battery charge (Manatreed had lied to him about it). When Dream spoke to Manatreed's ex girlfriend, she was very clear she never wanted any of this publicly out there, that she was happy that Dream had been helping Manatreed and she wanted the best for him.
Dream still doesn't know exactly what happened with that situation, he has since lost contract with Manatreed, all he knows is he was trying to help a childhood friend and got lied to.
The first allegation from Oxy/Anastasia, he's extremely clear they only ever messaged in twitter dms and he disproves the claim about the texts/tik tok. He has a google voice number hooked up to his tik tok account for obvious reasons, and she was showing imessage texts. This is not possible, which means she was lying.
As part of this, Dream scrolls through his twitter dms and shows he responds to fans all the time and talks to people in his community from all over. He also shows how he's friends with and has hired people that were fans of his, including people like Foolish.
He discusses Amanda, the two of them messaged on instagram back when he was a much smaller creator. He showed/posted the transcript of the two of them talking about normal stuff. They had been messaging since 2020. He did attempt to post a complete transcript of those messages, but she had deleted some of her messages and he doesn't have a way to recover them.
Dream explains that Instagram has a "feature" where if you ever reply to someone, then you literally cannot remove their ability to message you without blocking them. Something I did not know about instagram and which is fucking wild.
Since he replied to her in 2020, that meant she could message him forever and her notifications would be constantly showing up for him. He attempted to delete her messages/her ability to message him back in 2021 and showed proof of this, but realized he couldn't. Dream also in doing so accidentally deleted the context to her messages that she was a fan and basically everything prior to 2021.
Since he didn't remember her (what with the prior messages deleted), she was dmnig him from her personal account without fan content on it and was talking about being a streamer, he assumed she was a smaller streamer he knew and was talking to her as such.
They were talking about music so he gave her his personal snapchat to talk and because he wanted to get some feedback on a new song he was working on. He wanted to send the song via snapchat so he could be reasonably sure it'd stay private.
Dream categorically denies any sexting with Amanda or sexual messaging at all, he goes through why she most likely did this (he had been ignoring her messages and made a new snapchat with only close friends). He also downloaded his own data (something Amanda refused to/failed to do), went through the snapchat logs and did see some messages, but never saw either of his supposed compliments to her.
Amanda claimed Dream deleted her dms and that's why she couldn't provide any of the evidence she claimed she had, but Dream showed those same DMs very clearly undeleted. The dms were never deleted and she lied as an excuse.
Amanda lied about going to the police. Dream had his lawyers file a bunch of requests, and track down the police station that she went to based on the photo. They filed every request possible for any information with this police station, and there was no record of Amanda visiting the station or any records relating to Dream whatsoever. So either she lied about filing anything, or she told a story such that the police filed literally no paperwork whatsoever about the situation. Not even a report.
Dream sent the police station a copy of his own drivers license and Amanda's information so they could contact him if anything did come up, and nothing ever did. Nothing was filed, nobody cared.
Dream got swatted several times as a result of online harassment, including his family, and the harassment was overwhelming and awful for him.
He addresses the gumball situation, he showed up to a birthday party for a friend, gumball's VA was there and kept getting aggressive with him. While on facetime with some friends, Cantu ended up hitting Dream to impress them. Dream was obviously put off by this, but at the end of the night people ended up ubering together and Dream ended up in an uber with Cantu. He thought it'd be fine since other people were involved.
Cantu dropped his phone out the window made the uber driver pull over to look for it and got in trouble with the police. The uber driver tried to talk to Cantu about handling the police in the future, and Cantu started calling the uber driver slurs and claiming the uber driver had "down syndrome".
Dream got involved, trying to defend the uber driver, and Cantu threatened to kill him and called him slurs. Later Cantu apologized and Dream wanted to forgive him. Only later, Cantu started spreading lies about him and calling him a pedophile, so Dream realized the apology wasn't sincere and called him out for his behavior.
The third party who had been filming all of this saw what Cantu was doing lying about Dream and trying to claim none of this happened. They reached out to Dream and gave him the actual video as proof of what happened. Cantu tried to threaten them out of sending Dream the video of what happened, but they ignored him and sent them anyways. Dream also had the uber driver in his video backing up what he said.
Finally, the Jamie Allegations
Jamie is a mutual friend of several people that Dream knew, she did not post the allegations, she was never contacted about any of this she made an explicit statement that she was never groomed or a victim in any way.
Dream and Jamie meet prior to Dream being a youtuber on bbh's minecraft server, they were both fans of Skeppy. Which is why Jamie was followed by Dream, Skeppy, Vurb and some other youtubers in their friend group.
Jamie is still active online and put out her own statement, the person in the screenshots never gave permission for any of this to be put out, and they are very clear that the messages were taken out of context and that the claims made are false. The person in the screens is clear Dream is not a groomer, they never accused him of that, and that the twitter account is lying.
The snapchat video shown is very obviously fake, because snapchat just magically opens itself, there's no finger or button use interacting with the screen.
The burner account never actually contacted the police, Dream records him calling to the department they claimed to contact, and the person answering is very clear they have no contact from this person.
The supposed recent document posted is a fake convo of someone using a fake twitter account to talk to "Jamie", Jamie did not talk to them and it's just fake.
All of this was incredibly damaging for Jamie, who had no idea what was going on, and was getting harassed/stalked/having her irls contact.
Dream has also faced waves of harassment over obviously fake allegations, people have just been taking them at face value. He also shows how easy it is to fake these things as I have done.
He's been swatted, harassed, his family has been swatted and harassed, he's been scared for his own safety several times. It's been awful for him, and all based on fake shit. He's not stepping back from minecraft, but he is stepping back from twitter and no longer engaging with people behaving this way.
Also his ping pong record was undefeated.
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jjkamochoso · 27 days
Text
I Think I Like This Little Life
Nanami x gn!reader
Nanami and reader have an adult conversation…
Warnings: a tiny bit suggestive in one part
“Kento.”
“Hm?”
“Are we boring?”
You and Nanami finally had a day off where neither of you were completely exhausted, nor were you called off in some sketchy part of the city to fight curses or held up in your offices, catching up on paperwork. When you woke up that quiet Saturday morning, you felt strangely relaxed. Nanami greeted you with his signature sleepy smile and a kiss on the forehead when he got out of bed. Since it was the weekend, you figured it was the best time to do all the fun things you’ve wanted to but never had the time for. However, you found yourself rain checking invitations for lunch with your cousin and clubbing with your friends. Of all the ideas that sounded the most pleasant to you today, those weren’t it. You slowly peeled yourself out of the bed sheets and draped a bathrobe over your pajamas to ease the chill. You padded your way to the kitchen where soft classical music filled the air and Nanami was simultaneously brewing tea and cooking eggs.
“Good morning, darling,” he called out, giving you another peck, this time on the cheek. “Did you sleep well?”
“With you next to me, my love? Always,” came your reply, earning you the chance to see a small blush on your boyfriend’s face before he turned back to the task at hand. You hummed along quietly to the song that was playing and appreciated the view you had of your domesticated partner. As he finally set a mug and plate down in front of you, everything piping hot, you smiled appreciatively and waited for him to seat himself before savoring the delicious breakfast. These types of quiet mornings were your absolute favorite. There was no need to fill the air with mindless chatter or anxious laughter. The company of each other was more than enough for both of you. The shy stolen glances between you at the dining table were routine in your relationship as you both found yourselves enamored with each other but still lost in the throes of young love. Your first meal eventually came to a close and as you stood to do the dishes, Nanami was quick to intervene.
“Don’t worry about those, y/n, I’ll do them. Please, sit down and enjoy your rest.”
You rose anyway. “No way! You cooked us a delicious meal, it’s only fair I clean it up.”
Nanami looked like he wanted to protest but gave up when he saw the determination on your face. “Fine. You wash, I’ll dry.”
As the last dish was put away and the sink rinsed clean, Nanami strolled over to you, grabbing you by the hips and staring deep into your eyes. “You know, I have a big day planned for us.”
You tried not to let your disappointment show. You had hope for a day filled with recharge and rejuvenation but you didn’t want to let your lover down. “Oh? And what’s included in that?”
He cocked his head, pretending to be deep in thought. “Well, first off we could…” He trailed off, distracted by your extremely kissable lips that were extremely close to his own. As he leaned in, painfully taking his time, his phone began to ring loudly.
“Tch,” he muttered under his breath, but you weren’t deterred. You ran your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, goosebumps immediately popping up on his skin, and closed the distance, slotting your lips against his. You both made a contented noise at the contact. The kiss was gentle but needy, passionate but tender. Nanami’s phone had stopped ringing for but just a moment before the tone began again. He groaned into the kiss but still didn’t stop, his hands now roaming freely over your body and now it was your turn to groan, albeit for a different reason. His phone stopped ringing and started again once more.
“Whoever it is better have a good reason for interrupting us,” grumbled Nanami, breaking from your touch to answer his cellphone. “Nanami Kento. Oh, it’s you. No, thank you. I have plans. Yes, plans. No, not with you. No. No. I’ll see you on Monday.” He hung up.
“Let me guess, that was Gojo?” you mused, a grin erupting on your face. You could tell it was the white haired man on the phone with your beloved because he was immediately annoyed. Nanami nodded his head, his arms enveloping you in a hug as he rested his chin on your head.
“He wanted to know if we wanted to go out with him tonight for dinner and then clubbing. I hope you don’t mind I turned him down.” The blonde was taken aback by your giggling. “What’s so funny?” he asked you, letting go of the hug but holding you by the shoulders.
“I turned down my cousin and friends for lunch and the club today as well.” Nanami breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good. I have no plans today, I want no plans today. This day is ours and we will do as we please.” You nodded in agreement and sealed that with another long winded kiss before you went to your bathroom to get ready.
Thankfully the day had gone by pretty slow. It was a beautiful spring day so you and Nanami enjoyed a nice stroll around your neighborhood, listening to the chirps of the birds and rustling of the squirrels. You pointed things out to each other like a gorgeous flower (that Nanami of course compared you to) and a garden gnome (you couldn’t help that it looked just like Nanami!). You even cloud gazed for a while, enjoying the smells of the freshly mowed grass you found yourself laying on. When it came time for lunch, you made sandwiches for the both of you and munched on them while you did word search puzzles and Nanami did Sudoku puzzles. Like before, not many words were shared during this time but the comfortable silence was everything you could wish for. The plates were cleared, the sponge rinsed out. Another meaningful kiss was shared. Now it was time for household chores. You dusted while Nanami vacuumed. Nanami put the clothes in the washer, you put them in the dryer, you both folded them when they were done. You cleaned the sink in the bathroom while Nanami cleaned the toilet and shower. When that was done, it was time for another break. You picked up the cross stitch project you had been working on while Nanami settled for reading his newspaper. You sat in the family room on the couch while he opted for the chair. The window was opened slightly which allowed for the faintest touch of fresh air to be brought in by the light breeze. It was getting late into the afternoon and the birds, though still singing their songs, were beginning to head into their nests for the night. As you got lost into your project, the rustling of the newspaper brought you back to earth and into a new thought.
“Kento.”
“Hm?”
“Are we boring?”
Nanami lowered his paper and raised his eyebrows. “I don’t usually answer a question with a question, so forgive me y/n, but what brought on that thought?”
You went back to your cross stitching, nervously weaving the needle back and forth. “Well, it’s Saturday. We were asked to go out and join our friends in doing crazy things and instead we acted like an old married couple.”
“Would you have liked to gone out?”
“No. Would you?”
“Absolutely not.” His response was lightning fast.
“And so,” you laughed, “that raises the question. Are we boring?”
Nanami neatly folded his newspaper and sat next to you, taking your project out of your fidgeting grasp and replaced it with his hands. “I would spend the rest of my days watching paint dry if I had the pleasure of you sitting next to me as I did it. If the only views I ever saw were of neighborhood animals and our kitchen stove, as long as you were by my side, I’d be the happiest man on the planet. If that makes me boring, so be it.” You could tell he meant every word of what he said. Maybe you were being too hard on yourself—being able to build a life with someone as loving and kind as Nanami isn’t a privilege everybody is able to have and so what if people don’t understand you like to live a slow life? The only thing that matters at the end of the day is that Kento Nanami is yours, and you, his. You lifted your entwined hands up to your lips and gave his knuckles little kisses to show your appreciation for his answer. Unfortunately for you, you would never know just how wildly fast Nanami’s heart beat in his chest at the action, but you could get a feeling for what was going on by the deep blush spreading on his cheeks and his slightly flustered body language. You were definitely going to cancel plans to stay in more often.
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goldsbitch · 3 months
Text
That one Christmas flight
summary: Y/N and Lando Norris are seated next to each other on a long flight. Innocent little Christmas tradition that Y/N does every year brings them just a little too close.
warnings: fluff, one-shot (whops a lie!), meet cute
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Christmas. Y/N felt like an alien walking among people. It was impossible to avoid it. It was present in songs, in decoration, in fashion, online and on the news. Everywhere.
It's not like she was a grinch or anything. Nor was it because of some tragic incident causing trauma. Just pure fatigue from all the logistics and travel connected, which most kids of divorced parents faced every year.
Flying from Japan back to England, from her mother to her father, was a chore that seemed unavoidable. Her mother was kind enough to splurge on first class ticket for her, which her fancy Tokio job allowed. Ever since fours years ago, she continued a tradition that was introduced to her by a fellow Christmas traveller - the most stylish sassy French woman, who often spend the holidays on a plane. She would get herself and who ever was sitting next to her a glass of champagne and chat them up. Y/N has never laughed so much in her life like she did when she met this woman - so she took the tradition as her own.
Lando's plan wasn't to be on a flight from Japan to London on the 24th of December. He had so little time with his family and friends that this secret work trip to the Honda factory was really pushing him into staying with McLaren for the following years and not switching to a different team. This whole situation was like fuel for his current headache.
Y/N second guessed her tradition when a super gorgeous looking boy, who seemed to want anything but to be bothered, was sat next to her. She was used to having older people sitting next to her. Anyway, tradition is a tradition, so she eventually got up to order the classic. She nearly turned back at the thought that this guy was giving off some serious "I'm a dick" vibes, he had barely acknowledged her since she sat down. Luckily, she ignored this feeling.
When a glass of champagne appeared before Lando, he was sure it was a mistake.
"Well, to Christmas," his neighbor toasted. While he thought that she was a rather good looking girl, he was in no mood for a fangirl.
"I'm very sorry, um...I'll be happy to take a photo with you or something, but I am not in the best mood for a interaction with a fan."
She gave him a baffled look.
He continued. "Look, I'll be more than happy to sign anything. Or a photo, just as long you keep between un on which flight you saw me."
Y/N put her glass down, this was a first one.
"First of all, sorry for invading your private time. I have this stupid tradition of having a glass with whomever I'm destined to spend this Christmas flight. Guess I was mistaken. Second of all, I have no fucking idea who you are. So, calm down." She downed half of her glass. Of course this stupid year would include an asshole like this. Oh well.
Lando was confused for a moment and immediately after that he felt like an idiot.
"Apologies," he slowly replied, somewhat baffled. "I thought you were a fan and I'm just not in the mood for that." Y/N rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her champagne. "I'm Lando, by the way."
"Is that a stage name?"
"No, " he laghed. "I think it was a random decision of my mom."
"Interesting. Y/N," she introduced herself, without looking at him.
There was a weird tension in the air. Lando was determined to break it. Y/N was currently casually offended.
"Let me get you another one so that we can have a toast."
"Great, getting drunk is also an option. Hate flying sober," she joked.
Another glass was brought by a smiling flight attendant.
"So, how does this work?" Lando asked. Y/N was a person easily annoyed, however as quickly this came it also ended.
"Fine. There are rules, btw."
"Of course there are."
"Ehm, ehm, " she cleared her throat. "So, this tradition was started by Madame Tatanova and from now on, if you find yourself on a plane on 24th or 25th of December, you need to toast with your fellow neighbor passenger and answer the following: why and for how long-"
"I will have to write this down, I have a memory of a dead chicken."
"-I'm not finished! And then you follow up by your biggest regret and one thing nobody knows. The purpose of this is to gain or pass on wisdom and use the opportunity you'd normally miss by blasting up your headphones." She's done this for four times now, still the introduction was missing the "Madame Tatanova magic". Maybe one day.
"Ok..." Lando was not following yet, but he was keen on doing so. She raised her glasses, as did he.
"Cheers, to Christmas flights."
"Cheers, " he replied and they both sipped their champagne. "Wait, I have a question - what would you do if I did not speak English? Or if I was deaf?"
Lando was being his cheeky self and Y/N was not having it. She answered the question with a look.
"Got it! Anyway...what was the question?"
"Why."
"Why? Why is the sky dark or....?"
"Why are you on this plane."
"I'm trying to get to London from Tokio."
"I swear to god, I will ask to be seated somewhere else, Orlando."
"Lando, actually."
"If you say so..."
"Huuh, I'm going back from a work trip. And since you claim not to know me, I can probably tell you more than I should. Um, imagine I am in a band, right? I'm singing for a band and every few years they change their lead singer, one of the two actually, and I'm a the lead singer who might go to a different band now. But it's not clear yet and super secret actually. So, please keep it to yourself." Lando felt like someone who has just discovered speech and this was the first time he was using it. "Does that make any sort of sense?"
"Sort of I think. So you're cheating on your band?"
"Uhh, I'd say checking out options."
"Remind me never to date guys like you," she joked and immediately regretted that. Y/N was not good at flirting and did not want to appear creepy.
Lando passed on this comment, still not sure if he could trust this girl. "So, what about you? Why?"
"The curse of the divorced parents. One lives in London, the other one in Japan and I'm a package they pass each year," she said rather bitterly.
"Sorry to hear that."
"Yeah. I get to see mom twice a year and it's all always so planned and predictable. I would kill for spontaneity."
"Take me with you next time, I'm sure she'll be surprised." "Yes, she is a big fan of British guys, that's why she divorced one!"
"Great, happy to follow that route!"
Y/N started to relax a bit. This could be good, actually. "Ok, so now. For long are you staying in London, Lando?"
"Only few weeks. Then our music season starts. "
"Yeah, the one with all the singing, of course."
"Yeeah."
Y/N laughed a bit. He was suprisingly easy to talk to.
"So, how long?"
"A week. Then I'm off to Bologna."
"Uuuh, fancy that!"
"Yeah, I'm studying history there."
"Bologna is the one with the old university?" he asked, pretending he has never heard of that.
"No, not really, they just opened. Last year we did not have chairs, because the shipment got delayed," she replied with a dry tone.
"One does always study better while standing. I believe it was Socrates, who said it."
"Oh, yes. They teach you this at the singing music school?"
"Exactly. We were never allowed to sit."
They continued to chat all the way through the airplane dinner, getting few more glasses of champagne during that. Their laughter was interrupted by a flight attendant, who acted on a complaint from a fellow passenger. They both fell asleep watching a movie. Y/N woke up few times in the night and observed the boy next to her. Knowing this was the best Christmas plane encounter she ever had. Lando woke up as well, feeling strangely happy about the fact she was resting her head on his shoulder.
//
"Wait." Lando stopped her at the entrance to customs hall and pulled them both behind a column, so that they could not be seem by bystanders.
"Yes?" she turned to him.
"This might be weird, but can I kiss you?" Y/N looked at the boy in a hoodie standing in front of her, cheeky guy suddenly appearing nervous. He was absolutely gorgeous. She hated the fact he was random guy on a plane to London and not to Bologna.
"Yes. Must be midnight somewhere. So it could be like a New Years thing."
"Yeah. Just an airport thing." With that he kissed her. Just two young people having a little moment of silence. His kiss was a light slow brush on the lips. He cupped her cheek and her hand brushed through his curly hair. First kiss usually does not take long. For a person passing by, this would appear like kiss these two shared a thousand times before.
When they eventually parted, it all seemed a bit surreal.
"We never got to the second part of your Christmas interview," Lando commented.
"Well. Let's say that the one thing nobody knows is that I just kissed a random guy from the plane. And that my biggest regret is that we will never see each other again." For the first time, she was this bluntly honest with somebody who had just kissed her for the first time. It felt intoxicating.
Lando smiled. "See, I knew we had something in common."
Lando was usually not so open with his crushes, if he could even put her in that category.
"Don't worry. I won't search for you online or anything. I want to keep the mystery of Lando alive."
He kissed her once more, before they parted.
//
Their hearts felt a little more heavier than usual on midnight that New Years Eve. Both standing surrounded by their favorite people, yet with the one they would wish to kiss being impossibly far away.
part 2
_________________________
@superlegend216
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kastheory · 6 months
Text
steve did not bully eddie in "the past" steve was a grade below him for 3 out of 4 years of his high school career freshman steve heard this weird loudass sophomore talking w his friends at 100 decibels in the hallway about fighting elves in the woods or something (steve did not know what larping was nor care to find out) and then he went to class bc are you insane hes not fucking w a sophomore you dont normally fuck w people ahead of your grade especially if they yell at people and wear chains and get into fights in the woods (with elves?) and you dont even have classes w them. you dont even care much about them in the first place beyond passing gossip like HAVE YOU GUYS EVER BEEN IN HIGH SCHOOL. sorry. anyway.
then steve keeps catching this guy in his periphery over the next two years shouting about board games and controversial food opinions and metal bands that steve likes a few songs from but could not ever imagine giving that much of a shit about. like at all. and by (steve's) year 3 the motherfucker is bouncing off the walls giving speeches about what the hell ever and saying he cant fucking WAIT to get out of this FUCKED UP PLACE!!!! YEP ITS TRUE IN LESS THAN ONE MEASLY YEAR ILL BE SAYING MY SWEET SWEET GOODBYES TO THIS BRAINLESS CONFORMIST PRISON!!!! and hardly anyone reacts beyond rolling their eyes or snickering to their friends about it and this includes steve because who cares literally who cares. this guys been causing a ruckus since the beginning of time and hes weird and unpredictable and not worth trying to shove in a locker he would probably evade the attack anyway like a nimble mouse or squirrel he might even try to bite you. and steve didnt shove anybody in lockers in the first place so who cares and yeah he has pretty eyes and a funny way of talking and moving around but WHO CARES
and then steve goes through the first round of nightmarish shit that would become a yearly ordeal and then wraps up junior year in a perfectly normal not haunted whatsoever fashion. and then hes a senior and in his subtly cringefail era (ongoing) and that freak guy is STILL HERE for some reason and kinda pissed off and possibly a bit devastated about it so okay great now steve has a few classes with this angry weirdo loudguy but. crucially. he has had a lot of OTHER SHIT to deal with lately (MONSTERS ARE REAL) (GIRL DIED IN HIS POOL) (GF RESENTS HIM) (HAS NO FRIENDS) (COLLEGE APPS) so the only effect eddie's constantly loudmouthed & often unwarranted input during class ever has is that it adds a little flavor to the constant metaphorical and literal headache of steves life.
and then he goes through round 2 of shit and finishes his senior year with little hope for a satisfying future ahead of him and never once thinks about that guy again except when his fellow grads whisper about oh my godd did you hear that the freak flunked out again hahaha and yep sure enough eddie's not there at the graduation ceremony. and he thinks huh i wonder what his fucking problem is and then he MOVES ON. the end. thats the extent of """their past""" at least in terms of any actual interactions btwn the two of them i promise okay listen to me. i was there
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skzstannie · 4 months
Text
“We’d never want you to struggle alone”
SKZ-> ot8 x 9th member! reader
genre: angst wc: ~2100 cw: mentions of depression and death of family members, hatred for the holidays
Hi guys! Here’s my attempt at some Christmas/holiday angst. The fluffy Part 2 is posted and linked at the bottom of this post!
Feedback and likes/reblogs are greatly appreciated! I haven't got the chance to interact with too many people on here yet, so reach out if you'd like!
Happy scrolling!
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"Hey guys, I'm pretty tired. I think I'm gonna head to bed. Chan Oppa, I'm gonna go lay down in your room until everyone's ready to go back to our dorm," you wave off their comments asking you to stay with them and make your way to the leader's bedroom.
It's December 20th, and the guys are all gathered around the television in the 3Racha/Hyunjin dorm, binge watching Christmas movies. During a normal year, you'd all be at your own homes with your families, cozying up to the fireplaces and drinking hot chocolate with your siblings. However, this was no normal year, and your comeback ran too close to the holidays, not allowing you nor the boys to go home for Christmas. Not that you particularly minded; you hated the holidays.
You imagine what you'd be doing at home right now, no doubt curled up in your bed with an exciting romance novel, listening to some dark academia playlist you'd found on YouTube.
But you're not home, you're stuck here with a bunch of Christmas-crazed dorks who have spent the last few weeks decorating your dorms full of all things Santa Claus. You've been managing to sneak away whenever any holiday-esque activities are taking place. You've not told them of your hatred towards the holidays, and you're not really planning to, either, not wanting to be the reason their fun-filled nights are ruined; they're already sad enough about not being able to head home for the holidays, the last thing you want to do is be a scrooge. So, you’ve resorted to humbly excusing yourself, busying yourself with your own activities when the occasion arises.
As you walk into Chan's room, you take notice of all the little trees he has decorating his room. Cute. You pick up the picture of his family he has resting on his nightstand beside his bed. You stare at his mom, dad, siblings, and grandparents smiling faces, feeling the familiarly unavoidable pit in your stomach form.
Your parents and one set of your grandparents passed away in a car wreck about five years ago, before you debuted with the guys. Your other grandparents, your mother's parents, passed away before you were born, never getting the opportunity to meet them. So, that left just you and your brother. Your brother, being a few years older than you, started his own family the summer after your parents passed. He has a beautiful wife and two children now, one boy and one girl. They got right to baby-making after they got married, so excited to start a family of their own. Unfortunately, that family never included you. You only know of their children because you’re mutuals with your sister-in-law on social media.
Your brother essentially ghosted you after his first child was born. You two were never the closest sibling duo, but you never expected him to completely drop you and ignore your existence. But he did, and that's just something you have learned to live with.
You were not in a healthy place after all this happened. You had no one to go to when your heart was breaking, grieving the loss of both your dead and alive family members. You put all your focus into the trainee program, all your sadness and anger towards the world into your dance and song. Chan eventually found you on that one fateful day that you deemed saved your life. You were at the lowest of your low, and you thought you had finally reached your breaking point, but then walked in Christopher Bang Chan, all smiles and laughter. He recruited you to be in his group as one of the first, right after Han. From then on, you had another reason to keep going, to keep fighting.
You've never told the guys this. You have always been a more reserved member, keeping all of your personal life out of the spotlight. While the boys never heard you talk much about your family, really only knowing you have a brother, they always thought that, when you went home for the holidays, you went home to a nice big house filled with love. They thought when you walked in the doors to your childhood home, you were welcomed in by your parents with opened arms, beckoning you in. They thought you spent your Christmas mornings opening nicely wrapped presents, followed by a home-cooked breakfast that'd be shared amongst your family.
They didn't know of the single bedroom apartment you called yours. They didn't know of the bareness that captured your living room, baren of all things Christmas and the lack of Christmas cookies and presents on Christmas Day. They didn't know you've always spent your holidays alone.
Honestly, you were completely fine with their assumptions. You didn't need nor want their pity. Your family was still an incredibly sensitive topic to you. Before their passing, you were so very close. You'd spent every holiday together, enjoying your time as a family, doing all the cliche things. You'd even gone caroling a few times, walking around your childhood neighborhood singing the classic Christmas songs off-key to your friendly neighbors.
Afraid you'd spiral, leading you right back to how you'd been before Chan found you, you never brought it up, and the boys never pushed you to talk about your family. They figured you were normal with a mom, dad, and a loving brother-so what's to talk about?
The holidays have never felt the same; you knew they wouldn't. So why try? Why go through the effort of making yourself a nice Christmas dinner, attending church on Christmas eve and waking up early Christmas morning, when you knew your parents wouldn't be there to greet you. When you knew your grandmother wouldn't be there to give you the biggest hug she could muster in her old age. When your grandfather wouldn't be there to give you a hearty pat on the back, his only true form of physical affection you'd ever experienced in all your years with him.
A quiet knock pulls you out of your thoughts, and in walks Felix with a glass of milk in hand. You quickly set down the picture frame you didn't realize you were still holding and give him a warm smile.
"Hey, what's up?" you ask him, taking the glass from him and sipping on the cold beverage.
"I just wanted to make sure you were feeling alright. You've been pretty distant for a couple weeks now. Is everything ok?"
You're a little caught off guard, this being the first time anyone's noticed your pulling back since the beginning of December. You honesty didn't even realize anyone was paying attention to you, all of them too caught up in the festive activities and excitement of the season.
"Yea, I mean, I'm fine. Just a bit of seasonal depression," you write off his concerns.
"I didn't know you had that," Felix ponders his thoughts for a minute, giving you a loving look. "Is there anything I can do to help? Have you always had seasonal depression?"
While looking into Felix's warm, brown eyes, you decide that keeping all these things from them all these years has been unfair. They're never afraid of sharing their personal struggles with you. You think back to all the times Han's came to you with anxiety, and how you've wanted nothing more than to take away all his worry and pain. How Seungmin's came to you with his insecurities, and you always hyping him up, calling him the most beautiful boy. If any of them had kept their struggling to themselves, it'd crush you. How dare they feel like they couldn't come to you? Why would they want to struggle alone?
You realize that these feelings are most definitely reciprocated by the guys. Now, feeling vulnerable after being left alone with your thoughts for so long, you have the dire urge to come clean about your family.
"Actually Felix, I've been struggling with this for quite some time now. Can you, maybe just, listen? I've never talked to anyone about this, but I want to now. I want you guys to know," you fiddle with your hands, sliding one of your rings on and off your finger.
"Of course! You can always talk to me. Go ahead, I'm listening." He grabs your hand, halting your fidgeting. You look up at him, take a deep breath, and let it all out. Everything you've been holding onto these last few years. It probably sounds like word vomit, all your feelings and hardships falling out of your mouth at lightning speed. You finish your rambling, and you finally have the courage to look up at his face again.
He's crying. Equipped with all the theatrics, the wobbly lip and rosy cheeks. You made Felix cry with all your problems. You reach up to his cheek, wiping a few of his falling tears.
"Ok, I think I'm done," you freeze as Felix also brings his index finger up to your cheek. You flinch when he pulls away, seeing the dampness of it.
You're crying, too. You didn't even realize. I mean, it makes sense. You just trauma dumped all of your troubles onto Felix, the world's most renowned empath, of course you'd be crying.
You guys sit in silence for a minute, before Felix's whimpers become audible. He's so visibly distraught, and your heart breaks even more just at the mere sight of him.
He launches himself at you, clinging to you so tightly you think your ribs may crack. He tackles you back onto the bed, resting on top of you.
"Why did you never tell us this?" his sobs wreck through his body, his arms trembling around you, "We could've helped you."
"I was scared," you wriggle one of your arms free of his embrace, using it to affectionately run your hand through his hair. Your sobs join together as one, both of you a mess. "I was scared you guys would pity me, or look at me less. I was scared that I'd spiral again if I talked about it."
"Well, we're here now, Jagiya." He sits up after a few minutes. His cries have quieted, and so have yours. "We aren't going to let you continue going through this alone, ya know. We are one, and if one of us is hurting, we're all hurting. Please don't keep things like this from us anymore." He begs, standing from the bed. He grabs your hand and pulls you up, making his way towards the door.
"Where are we going?" your voice shakes and you pull away from Felix, standing in the middle of Chan's room. You wrap your arms around your middle, feeling more exposed than you ever have before.
"You know we have to tell the rest of them. They deserve to know, too."
"Felix, I don't think I can tell the story again. Once was enough for a lifetime."
"OK, do you feel comfortable with me telling them? I'll tell them exactly what you told me, no more, no less, ok?"
You frantically nod your head, grateful for Felix's suggestion.
He blows you a playful kiss, no doubt trying to make you feel better, and he leaves to go to the living room. You take your seat back down on the side of the bed and wait patiently for Felix to finish.
You don't hear much for the next few minutes, but you're startled by the swinging open of the door, the handle cracking against Chan's poor wall. Han stands there, a dazed look on his face. His glassy eyes meet yours, and you shriek when he takes off, leaping onto the bed onto your small frame. He wraps you up in a big hug, squeezing the life out of you.
"We love you, and we'd never want you to struggle alone. We're in this life together."
One by one, the rest of the guys make their way into the room onto the bed. We're haphazardly thrown into a cuddle pile of sorts. A cuddle pile filled with the love and adoration you've been missing during the holidays.
You all lay in each other's arms, and you feel incredibly comfortable and safe. Chan's the first to break the silence, "We have five days left until Christmas. What do you say we make some new Christmas traditions? We don't want to replace what you used to have, and you’re entitled to spend your Christmas season as you'd like. But, if you'll let us, we’ll give you something to look forward to about the holidays again. Please?" The guys are all looking at you now, each of them displaying a face that could rival a sad puppy.
You realize now that there's nothing to be scared of. These are your best friends you're talking about, who want nothing but to shower you in love and happiness.
"I'd love that."
Part 2
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magicalgoblinz · 7 months
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One Thing
Summary: You did it. Cazador's dead and now... Astarion is finding himself working through some big emotions. Pairing: Astarion x gn!reader Word Count: 3.5 k Warnings: General angst, eluding to physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. Possibly ooc Astarion. Quickly edited. Song Recommendation: Never Let Me Go + Florence and the Machine Author's Note: First thing I've ever written for Astarion but I get the feeling it won't be the last. I really genuinely just wanted to get this idea out of my brain even if it's a bit strange and not all that amazing haha.
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It had been a long day. Perhaps one of the longest you and your party had endured yet, or... at least it felt that way. It wasn't hard on your body like the goblin fight had been, nor had it been arcanely exhaustive like chasing that damned hag was. No, standing in the halls of Cazador's palace brought a different type of exhaustion. Passing through the spaces that your lover had once stalked attempting to go unseen by his master, seeing the sights of the spaces he was kept, smelling the decay, the putridness that no doubt lingered in the meals he was forced to partake in.
Every sight, smell, and sound you had come across weighed heavily on you. Even now as you sat in the plush comfort that was Elfsong Inn, freshly washed, the scents lingered in your nose and left a bitter taste in your mouth.
You pushed around the hastily prepared hash in your bowl, frown bared for everyone to see. Your thoughts were only for him. Every second of silence you could hear his sobs in that moment. The cries pulled from his very core, the kind of cries you could imagine he had dreamed of releasing for so long through every moment of torture he was subjected to. There was no way to imagine all of the atrocities he had suffered, yet somehow being left with nothing made every idea that flitted past your mind's eye so much worse.
You for so long had wished to weep for him. Weep for the time he had lost. Weep for the pain he must have felt in having to stand on the outside wondering if his family and friends ever thought of him again after he passed on. Weep for the crushed hopes for the future he had at one time had.
But what good would your tears do him now?
Cazador was dead.
And more importantly... Astarion was free.
So why did it all still feel so... excruciatingly heavy?
"Ts'ka --- eat and do not play. You need your strength for tomorrow." Lae'zel pushed from her lounging position on the floor.
"Have some heart, Lae'zel. It’s been a very difficult day." Wyll was quick to defend upon seeing the way your expression soured at the thought of eating. "Y/n, had to assist our resident vampire through some very hard things today. Including walking through where he had been kept prisoner. Imagine having to do the same with your lover." He said with a gesture towards Lae'zel.
"If I had a lover they would be able to care for themselves; it would be the first thing I looked for in a mate. A prowess to stay alive in battle like my own is the only thing that is truly attractive." Lae'zel said with a lifted chin.
Wyll's lips parted as if to say something more but began to shake his head, there was no fighting with La'zel. She didn't dig her heels in when it came to opinions, no her entire feet were buried. "Speaking of Astarion, where is he?" He eventually asked, changing the focus of the conversation.
"I believe he went for a bath." Shadowheart interjected, "He said something about not being able to stand having his beauty mired... you know how he is." She said, not lifting her eyes from her bowl with a small wave of her spoon that was held in delicate fingers.
Her saying this seemed to pull your eyes towards the door of the wash room. It had been a while since he left now that you thought about it. Your brows lowered a bit in thought; Astarion deserved his space right now, but you still couldn't help but want to hold his hand and not let it go after everything that had happened today. Maybe he wouldn't want that though, not with what you did today.
That look in his eyes...
Now that he had the time to actually think about what you did, what you talked him into doing; would he feel betrayed?
You had promised him you'd help him get that power he so desired, but when that chance came you changed your mind.
The idea of Astarion no longer trusting you hurt more than imagining him ending whatever it was the two of you had. The worries made your expression sullen even more, looking down at your bowl with a deeper pit growing in your stomach. Did you really want to find out?
Out of the blue, there is a light nudge to your arm. The little touch is enough to pull you back up from your descent into grieving something you hadn't even lost yet. With a glance to your right you find Karlach with a bottle outstretched to you. "I think we could all use a little drink tonight... but especially Astarion." She said warmly, "Perhaps you should see if he wants some?" She continued with a little jerk of her head towards the closed doors. Her tone made it all to clear that your inner turmoil was written out on your face for everyone to see.
A sigh escaped your throat as you debated on whether or not that was a good idea but the way Karlach began to lazily swing the bottle back and forth with her hand triggered something in your mind that made you reach out and take it in one smooth movement.
It couldn't hurt to check in on him?
Could it?
Astarion's head was rested back, hanging over the edge of the bath he sat in. The water had lost the majority of its warmth, and his hand had pruned but he made no movements to get out. Eyes transfixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace at the side of the room. Every twist of orange and lift of a spark made his mind lurch through another memory; they all seemed to be coming back to him now, one by one. His mind shuddered from the thought of a blade pressed into his skin, carving, etching, his skin becoming the canvas for a dastardly design that he wouldn't understand for years.
Funnily, the recollection of pain wasn't what bothered him. It was having to recall his own voice struggling not to escape his lips throughout the entire gut-wrenching experience that made his hand ball into a fist.
With a pop and crackle of the wood Astarion's memories would carry on to something else.
His ears ringing, echoing the silence of that tomb. Gods above that tomb. That year spent in silence. Those months spent starving. The way his hands bled from trying ever so desperately to escape. Over what...? A boy that he couldn't bear to steal the life away from.
Astarion took in a sharp breath as he tried to shake away the thought, as he sat up.
But still the memories continued to bleed through. The faces of all those people he had brought to Cazador, he could see them in his mind's eye. The memories of bedding some of them, cycling through his head in a complete sequence even though they were spread across centuries. A flash of a young human woman who excitedly spun in a brand new red dress that she was ever so excited to show off. The pale blue of a nervous elf man's eyes as they darted around the room the second Astarion approached. Seeing the tattoos and the scars spread across the back of a dwarven sailor who stretched after returning to the mainland after a long voyage. The shine of a coy tiefling woman's smile as she attempted to steal his coin purse from his pocket. So many lives, so many people. At what point did he begin to stop caring? Who was it that he pulled by the wrist back to a dreary room that made him start drifting away any time he had to become intimate? Or was it any of them at all?
His features twisted into an expression of disgust the second his mind started going down that path. There was no amount of Cazador being dead that made those memories better. In a snap his balled up hands lifted to rub his eyes in annoyance. If only Astarion could wash out his eyes and his mind and start anew. If only.
And to think... he had wanted this for so long.
He had dreamt about the day he'd be able to have the cathartic feeling of stabbing Cazador, again, and again, and again. And now that it had come and gone... he wished he could have kept going forever. Fuck, he wished he had. After everything Cazador had done to him, the bastard deserved so much worse than to bleed out on that cold floor. He deserved to suffer just as much as Astarion had, if not more.
Astarion couldn't help but wish that he had ignored everyone and continued the ritual as a perfect slap in the face to Cazador. Continued that ritual, so for the first time in all these years... he'd be safe. Entirely safe. And the loss of that made his chest ache, he was so close to crying all over again.
But then...
Tap, tap, tap
"Astarion," Your voice started from just beyond the doors. "I'm sorry to bother you. I just um... wanted to check in. Karlach thought you might need a drink."
There was you.
Astarion's head lifted from his hands as he took in a deep breath. He tried to shove all those emotions back down again, to put the cork back in the bottle before they could really bleed out into him properly. His gaze lingering on the door, lips unmoving.
"Didn't you hear him? If you complete the ritual, you'll be consumed, Astarion." You had said with a look of sincere terror in your eyes. The look wasn't foreign to him... but perhaps different? People had been scared of him before, oh people had been terrified once they realized what he was. But just how many people had been scared for him? That... he didn't know.
He couldn't remember his exact words in reply now, the tension and adrenaline leaving them in a silent part of his mind but what he did recall was the way you looked at him. It stung. It stung so much more than the little voice in the back of his mind screaming that you were breaking your promise.
You promised to help him ascend. You swore you would help him ascend. You said---
Gods that look. Astarion couldn’t shake it.
The way your eyes seemed to plead with him before you had even opened your mouth. Begging him to reconsider. "I know you think this will set you free, but it won't." Your voice was so gentle, but still so desperate. "This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador. Is that really what you want?"
You were right, as much as he hated it. You were always right.
But more than that. As he thought about it now, he recognized something that he hadn't in that moment...
Just outside the door you stood listening, hoping to hear something, anything. Your thumb fumbled with the cork of the bottle nervously. This was a bad idea wasn't it? He needed more time. This was too soon to try and come see him. Gods... what if he really did hate you for what you did. You started to shake your head, "...I'm going to take that as a no. I'll um..." you started lightly, trying not to have your worry show through in your words. "I'm sorry again for interrupting. I'll see you when you're finished, my darling."
Once more. You wanted to call him that one more time before he had a chance to break things off.
"Come in."
Your eyes couldn't help but widen ever so slightly, hand moving to the handle before cautiously pushing the door open and poking your head in. From this angle you could see Astarion's side profile, the good majority of the grime and blood from the day having been washed away, though his clothes that sat off to the side on a bench, were stained a deep red that would take ages to remove, if it ever came out at all. His eyes soon looked your way tiredly. As an instinct you quickly held up the bottle you had brought him, no words coming to follow it, they all seemed to have gone into hiding the second his eyes landed on you.
"Are you planning on bringing the bottle here my sweet, or to just... swing it around like an idiot?" He asked in a long drawn out way, a tone that felt like he was trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for you, but at this point in your adventure together the look in his eyes was more than enough to tell you that he was working through something.
You were entirely taken aback by the gentle name used, a little bit of relief seeping into your chest. "Y-you want me to come in?"
"Was that not what I said?"
Your lips parted, deciding not to speak just yet and instead closing the door behind you. "I'm sorry... I just didn't want to overstep with you, you know… washing and all." You said slowly, acting as if you weren’t both adults – who had on more than occasion – slept together.
Even now, even after seeing him at his lowest today, you were still trying to respect whatever boundaries he had. The thought made Astarion close his eyes and let out a soft laugh, "Darling, you've seen me naked before, it's fine." He assured, "Now...please, for the love of gore and everything soaked in blood, can you bring me that bottle."
There was no reluctance now, carrying yourself to his side with ease. As you approached you couldn't help but notice that his hair was still matted thick with blood in places. All this time he clearly had just been lost in his thoughts as much as you expected really. His hand reached up the second you drew near, taking the bottle from your hands greedily, popping the cork and taking a decidedly long drink. Not minding you at all as you reluctantly found a seat on the bench his clothes were rested upon.
The sight of his nose scrunching a bit from the taste of the wine made an ever so small smile tug at the corner of your mouth. It was hard not to recall him making that same face at the tiefling party not so long ago. Vinegar for wine. Would there be a day when the wine you brought him didn't elicit that involuntary response?
Astarion glanced at you from the corner of his eye, "You'd have made an excellent vampire, you know." He said with an amused little grin, all happy to see the confusion cover your features.
"Why is that?"
"Asking to come in, obviously." He joked loosely,
A small laugh left your lips as your eyes drifted to the floor, "I didn't realize that respecting people's privacy was so vampiresque."
"It's not, we're atrociously nosey by nature and well... it's just another fun hindrance to go against that nature I suppose." Astarion spoke in his normal moseying draw. 
"I see..."
There was a breadth of silence between the two of you. A silence that carried the heaviness of the day's events. You knew it needed to be said, but it didn't make it any easier to consider what the exact words were that needed saying. How to broach it? What if he didn’t want to talk about it at all and you misread the situation entirely? You kept glancing his way hoping to have it all come together in your mind like some sort of epiphany, yet he beat you to it.
"I'm not upset with you, darling. You don't have to keep looking at me like that." Astarion spoke suddenly with all the ease in the world.
"You're not?"
"Well,  perhaps I was a little at first. You did go back on your word, after all." Astarion pointed out, eyes now fixed on the bottle in his hand. “I think anyone might be a bit… sour after something like that.”
There was the guilt again. "Astarion... I'm sorry, I---"
"I don't want your apologies." He cut in sharply, finally turning his gaze to look your way.  Despite what his tone may have indicated, his eyes weren't as stern as they normally appeared when he was upset. No, they were instead ever so full of sadness.  "...I-I'm not angry with you. I swear it. But what I don't understand is why I don't feel any fucking better." Astarion said as his voice suddenly sounded so much more fragile. "I... I killed him. I got the revenge I've dreamed about for two-hundred fucking years. The same revenge I begged for the whole year I was locked in that horrid tomb." He hissed, "I took back my life and yet I... I feel like I didn't do enough."
He was cracking. That much you could see.
"I can't help but wonder if I had completed the ceremony if that would have been enough. Enough to rub it in his Gods damned face that I did it." Astarion admitted sternly, lifting his chin as his eyes stayed focused on the bottle still, "Watch this worm take away everything from him like he took everything from me." He mumbled out, the heat leaving his voice for a brief second as all that he was left with was glassy eyes.
"...I-I would have never had to fear anyone or anything ever again..." Astarion uttered through clenched teeth, tears finally breaking free and running down his cheeks one at a time. "...and now it's gone."
Wordlessly you got to your feet, taking a few steps forward to close the gap between you both, leaning down to wrap your arms around his neck in the most comforting hug you could possibly muster. His hand immediately finds your arm, holding it tight as for the second time in your journey, he begins to cry.
Silence seems to be what Astarion needed from you, wailing into the open air as everything he has stuffed away into that bottle comes pouring back out. No apologies. No consoling words. Just for you to hold him, to give him time. His head rests against yours almost as if to ensure that even now, after everything you both had been through, you couldn't see him cry. Perhaps the idea of you seeing it happen twice in a day was too much for him. Or perhaps there was still a festering feeling of weakness that would bubble up if he let you see him cry.
"Oh my sweet, sweet, Astarion." You mumbled holding him tighter than before, listening as his sobs grew softer over the passing moments. 
Waiting. Listening.
Once his frame had stopped shaking you finally raised your voice once more . "...if I could Astarion, I would take away all of the hurt in an instant... but I can't. And I wish you knew just how much it pains me to not be able to." You speak, parting your lips to continue on but pause as you feel a familiar shudder resonate through your mind. He was peering in, confirming the statement for himself it seemed. "The most I can do is promise you something..." you continued on, pretending like you weren't aware of poking around, you had nothing to hide for one key reason…
Gently you pulled back, running your hand from his neck to his chin to tilt his head up. Eyes looking over his tear stained cheeks and then to meet his own shimmering red eyes. "I promise you that, as long as I'm here you will never have to fear anything... or anyone again." You assured, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as you wipe away his remaining tears. “Because Astarion… I love you and… I will never let you go.”
The look that fills Astarion's eyes is something that you had only seen once before when you decided to hug him for the first time back in the Shadowlands. It was a look that spoke numbers towards just how frightening the unknown was for him. How terrifying it could be to have someone love you so truly and want nothing in return for the first time in his life.
You feel a rush of surprise followed by so overwhelming, your lips curl into the same smile you gave him then as you had reached out to wrap your arms around him to hold him tight…
You know the feeling even if he can’t say it yet.
Love.
Because that was the thing. Astarion had realized before this that you… well, you were the only good thing that he’s ever had. That he’d do just about anything to keep you safe and ensure that no one dare take you away from him. Yet, strangely he never once considered…
That he might mean just that much to you.
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End Notes: Thank you so much for reading! I'd really love to start writing for Astarion more so if you have any ideas send them over <3
873 notes · View notes
asumofwords · 7 months
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Smoke, Fire and Ash - EPILOGUE
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of grief, war, blood, loss.
This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)
Masterlist
Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader
Note: Whelp... Here we are.... This is it. This is the end. The end of Smoke, Fire and Ash. We are ending with this Epilogue in a five year time jump. And oh boy.... I can't believe it. I really hope that you enjoy how I finish this era lmao, with over 370k words.... someone needs to take my computer away from me. Again, I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude to you all, I just hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it! <3 So as always.... ENJOY!
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EPILOGUE : His Song of Ice and Fire
Time jump: 5 years into the future. 
There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing that season, all those years ago. A chill that had swept across the stones of the Keep, cool air creeping into your bones through your gown.
But now, as you stood where you had many moons ago, there was no crisp breeze that sent goosebumps rising on your arms, nor was there a bite to it that came as a subtle and precursory warning for what was to come.
The courtyard of the Godswood was warmed by streams of glowing sunlight that blanketed over the cobblestones and grass.
A soft breeze rolled through as you walked forward towards the tree, having missed being in its presence over the years passed, mostly spent on Dragonstone.
It had been five years since your mother was seated upon the Iron Throne. Five years since you had been named her successor. Five years since Lords, Ladies and Heads of Houses pledged themselves to you and the Queen. 
Five years since the death of Aegon and all those responsible for the usurpation. 
Since you commanded dracarys and watched as Alicent was devoured by flames. Since Larys laid on the flagstones, blood seeping from his stomach.
Five years since your father had gone to Storms End and slayed Borros Baratheon for his play in it. 
Five years since Baela and Rhaena flew to Oldtown and rounded up all the Hightower's who had shown support for Otto and his kin. 
And five years since his death.
Five years ago, in these very walls of the Red Keep, you had plunged a dagger into your husbands neck. Your uncles neck. Your childhood companion. The man you had loved.
And not one day that had gone by did you not think of it. Did you not dream of it. Did you not see him in the corners of your eyes, or in the shadows of your chambers on Dragonstone.
Did you not see the blood that stained your hands when you would wake, or witness with bouts of anxiety.
In your hand, the old and worn cover of your favourite book, ‘Ten Thousand Ships'. A novel in which you had read under these very branches of the Godswood. On the grass your mother had sat with you, or your brothers, or your uncles and aunt. 
You watched as a small head of silver raced ahead of you, shoulder length hair billowing behind him, with two tidy braids holding the sides behind his head.
“Careful, Lucerys.” You called out gently, watching as your son climbed atop the roots and settled right into your favourite spot. His black and red robes crinkling as he leant back against the root of the Weirwood tree. 
The smile on your face stretched widely as you moved to sit beside him, the small boy crawling into your lap as you brushed his hair back behind his ears. Little hands reached out to play with the necklace at your neck.
Aemond’s sapphire.
Ever since Lucerys was born, he had always longed to touch or hold it, violet eyes always finding it with ease against your neck, fingers outstretched to play with it or caress it. He tapped it up and down upon his finger as he looked at it with content.
There was so much of Aemond in him, it was hard for all not to see. It was especially true with his eyes. Eyes that you had loved since you were a child, reflected on your own sons face.
His were, much like Aemond's, a way to read him almost immediately, showing so much emotion and character in them as he thought, or played, or argued. Long silver lashes blinked up at you, and you could not help the tug of your heart as you bent your head to kiss his forehead.  
The young boy scrunched his nose at you in mock disgust before grabbing the book from your hand to hold it open in his lap, finding the page that you had been up to not just the day before.
The bridge of his nose was dusted with light freckles, and there was such a boyish charm to his rosy cheeks, whenever he smiled his teeth would show, bar the one he had recently just lost. 
Little Lucerys was as Aemond had been as a young boy. Inquisitive, soft spoken, kind and daring. He had a longing for knowledge, and sought it out whenever he could in Dragonstone's library or by picking your brain with a continuous stream of questions and consciousness.
But then there was so much of you in him too. His nose, his sure fire temper when things did not go his way, and his utter refusal to back down, even when it brought him to tears.
You read to your son beneath the tree as you reminisced on your days before. On how you had sought solace beneath the branches many times. How your mother had read to you here. How your brothers and Helaena would sometimes join you or play. And how Aemond would sit behind the trunk and listen to you read aloud, your voice carrying enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to let him know that you knew he was there.
And as you read, you felt his presence, there on the other side of the Godswood, where he would sit as a boy, listening as you read to his son. Watching as he always did. There as he always was.
Always and forever more, would the ghost of Aemond haunt you. 
You read louder, just so you could be confident that Aemond could hear, just as you had when you were young, even though you knew he was not truly there. But it felt right. It felt the way it should have been. What could have been.
Familiar. 
That is where your mother found you, nestled where she used to, reading a book she had once read to you to your son, and loud as though you wished for your voice to carry to some unknown spectator.
You felt the eyes of the Queen and lifted your head, pausing your reading if only for a moment, and Lucerys, being as perceptive as he was, looked up and spotted his Grandmother, leaping from your lap all elbows and knees and ran towards her. 
The Queen opened her arms widely as she chuckled, bending down slightly to catch the young boy who launched himself into her arms, crown unmoving from the top of her head.
“Grandmother Nyra!” He had cried as she lifted him into the air, sitting him atop her hip as you dusted your skirts down and made your way over.
“It feels right to see you there. I can remember how eager you used to be.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the boy in her arms, “Did you know your mother had me read to her there too?”
The boy nodded his head, silver hair bouncing atop his shoulders, “Uh huh. And father too!”
Rhaenyra’s smile softened as she looked at the boy and back to you, “She did. Your father loved her reading.”
A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in to kiss your mothers cheeks, son still in her arms as he played with the crown at her head.
“Are you ready for this evenings feast?” Rhaenyra asked, swaying the boy gently as she pressed another kiss to the top of his head, once, twice, three times, exaggerating the noise as she sucked air through her pursed lips.
“Of course,” You adjusted the necklace at your throat in nervous habit, “We flew all this way for this evening, didn’t we?”
“Vermithor is grumpy, Grandmother. But he lets me on his back!” 
Rhaenyra opened her mouth and raised her brows, “Does he? Why, you must be the youngest rider ever!”
Lucerys beamed.
“Muña has been taking me to see Vhagar! She flies with us sometimes.” Mother.
The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, if only for a moment, before she regained her composure.
“Does she now? Vhagar must know that you’re your fathers son.”
Little Luc nodded his head, “I’m going to claim her. Muña said I shouldn’t because she is too old and grumpy and dangerous, but I know father wants me too.”
You cleared your throat, “That’s enough of that. Grandsire will have a new clutch soon, and you will have your own egg.”
“But I-“
“-Hush, my sweet.”
Turning back to you, Queen Rhaenyra lowered the boy back on to the ground, letting him run circles around the courtyard as you spoke, “Is he still having dreams?”
You bit your lip anxiously, before nodding, “He knows things he shouldn’t. He is much like Helaena in that respect.”
Your mother gave you a reassuring smile, “A gift from the Gods no doubt. A most precious one.”
You nodded in agreement, but in some ways you didn’t agree at all.
Was it really a gift if it aided in driving Helaena to madness?
Rhaenyra held one of your hands, brushing her thumb up and over your knuckles soothingly. You didn’t dare look down, knowing that they would be bloodied, “There will be allies from all the realm tonight. I cannot believe little Rhaegar is to have his first name day already.”
Rhaegar was a small boy of silver hair and tanned skin, one violet eye, and one brown. The third son of Jacaerys and Baela, with yet another on the way. Baela had told you in secret that she wished for a girl this time around, but had been surprised when the small boy had been born. 
None were more surprised however, than when he had opened his eyes to peer up at your brother, besotted by his son already, staring down at the violet and brown eyes that looked back up at him.
Aelor, the eldest, was but a few moons older than your Lucerys, and the two got on more fiercely than even you and Aemond possessed. It was a beautiful bond the two boys had, full of love and loyalty. 
The middle child of Jacaerys and Baela was a sweet and quiet boy named Rhaelor. He had the most beautiful of curls like his mother, who braided it closely to his scalp with clips of gold and silver dangling from each. 
"I cannot believe it either.” You agreed, casting a quick glance at your son, “They grow so quickly.”
Rhaenyra took your other hand in hers and squeezed them, “You grew the fastest of all. You shot up far before your brothers. I feel like I blinked and then there you were, a woman grown.”
Chuckling, you squeezed her hand back, “Will Rhaena be joining us this evening?”
Rhaenyra turned to lead you away from the Godswood, Lucerys running up beside you to hold your other hand, “Rhaena sent word that she senses the babe to be with us any day now. It is too far to travel from the Vale to Kings Landing in her condition, but has told us we must all be ready to come see the babe once it is born.”
Rhaena, upon the death of Lucerys, had refused to wed for years. She had stayed loyal and adamant that she would not be betrothed to another, but then she had met Ser Corwyn Corbray, a knight of House Corbray one evening at a feast.
They had immediately connected, an older man with flowing black hair and deep brown eyes that almost looked black. Corwyn was a kind man, if not fierce and skilled as a swordsman, wielding an ancestral longsword of Valyrian steel named Lady Forlorn. 
“A shame that I will not see my half-sister again, but I’m delighted to hear the babe should be born any day now. We shall be having many name day celebrations close together.” You smiled.
As you left the cobblestones of the courtyard, you turned your head back to gaze upon the ruby red leaves of the tree. They shimmered in the light of the sun and rustled softly with the breeze.
And there, sat beneath its branches, was Aemond.
His head was leant back against its trunk as he watched you, sapphire missing from the empty socket of his lost eye.
He had not left you.
He did not speak as Helaena and Lucerys had. Not in full sentences anyway. Not anything but the familiar name of endearment that he had called you.
Zaldrītsos.
It was whispered to you in the dead of night, or in the darkest of rooms when your hair would stand on end. Or at times, whispered to you when you were with Lucerys.
It was never malicious.
Or at least, thats what you liked to tell yourself. Though it never felt like he was there with bad intentions. It felt neutral. And you liked to tell yourself that he was there to watch and keep you safe. To keep you company. That a piece of your mind had made him up so that he could live a life with you, and watch your son grow.
There would always be a part of Aemond with you no matter where you went. Whether in your son, or in your visions, or upon your neck and scarred skin.
Your heart ached at the thought.
Rhaenyra walked you back to your chambers, entering as your four maids bowed and began to get preparations in order to ready you for the feast. The chamber doors opened as they left, held open as the tall and built body of your father entered.
“Grandsire!” Lucerys screeched, and you winced as the sound sent fear racing down you spine.
Your heart jolted, the echoes of screaming in your ears as you plastered a smile on your face, eyes twitching, watching as Daemon lifted him high into the air, throwing him up once and catching him to hold him tight against his chest.
Loud noises sometimes did that to you. Threw you back to your time in the Keep before your parents had arrived. Sparking fear into your very core, to the point where sometimes you could not breathe, as though your brain stopped functioning and you were gasping for air, clawing at your throat.
In those moments, Aemond would whisper to you.
It had been especially hard when Lucerys was first born. His cries would wake you and send you into a fit panic, racing to grab the dagger beside your bed as you would check the chamber for danger, wide eyed.
It took several months to learn to live with it, with his presence there, and you would be lying if you didn't say that looking down at Lucerys in his crib as a babe made you feel a guilt that you could not fight away with common sense. A melancholy that ate away at you viciously.
You had fallen into a state of depression, and in your confusion you had sent a letter to your mother and father via raven asking for star fruit. Your mind was so confused, so lost. You barely slept, or ate, and were in a perpetual state of fear.
Daemon came at once, and ended up spending almost an entire year on Dragonstone with you to help, before he finally convinced you to come back to Kings Landing with him so that your mother could help too.
It was months of screaming through the night, months of support, months of pacing your chambers, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if it was worth living, worth staying another day in such Hell.
The same thoughts had replayed in your mind over and over.
My son will hate me for what I have done.
I took his father from him.
He will never love me.
He will resent me for my sins.
The thought of climbing out the window as Helaena had done became an almost daily occurrence. And it was hard. Hard to not give in to it.
But you couldn't do it. Cowardice be damned, you could not leave you son alone. You would not abandon him. You would not do it.
So after months of the turmoil that chipped away at you day by day, you told them the truth of it, the whole truth of it, and by that time, after voicing such things aloud, little by little, you felt a bit more of yourself.
Lucerys had had his second name day when you were ready to go back to Dragonstone.
“Se skorkydoso iksis ñuha byka Dārilaros?” And how is my little Prince? Daemon grinned, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as your son wriggled in his arms.
“Merbugon!” Hungry!
Daemon plastered mock shock upon his face, something that he would do often to you as a child, "Arlī? Yn ao sepār iprattan.” Again? But you just ate.
“Kesan ipradagon ao!” I’ll eat you! Lucerys growled, fake biting at his Grandsire’s arm.
The young boys High Valyrian was good, but nowhere near perfect. 
Daemon and Rhaenyra spent ample time teaching him, as did his uncles Jacaerys and Joffrey when you'd come to visit, or them you. His other uncles, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger were not too many years older, similar to the age gap you and your uncles had had. They often played with him and Aelor.
Daemon dropped the boy onto the floor, messing his hair with a rough hand before pushing him away to go play with his toys, Saria and Aella sitting with him on the floor. Your fathers lavender eyes landed on you and he smirked.
“Tala.” Daughter, He greeted you, voice almost playful, “Do you look forward to tonights feast?” He pried, mischief twinkling in his eyes.
“I look forward to spending time with all of you, of course.”
“Kostilus kessa ao ūndegon iā arlie valzȳrys.” Perhaps will you see a new husband, He smirked. 
Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “Kepa.” Father, “Kostilus, daor bisa arlī." Please, not this again.
It was a conversation that had begun to come up more often than not. You knew the reasoning behind it. You were heir. And you would be expected to wed again, and soon. But all the Lords in Kings Landing you had met had not once sparked any sort of interest for you. And Rhaenyra had vowed to let you marry whom you wanted, when you wanted.
She had kept true to her word thus far.
Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up at her husband as she looked at him in exacerbation, “Henujagon zirȳla sagon.” Leave her be.
Daemon held his palms up in surrender, looking over you before he brushed your cheek with his knuckle quickly, “Ao jurnegon gevie hae va moriot. Hae aōha muña.” You look beautiful as always. Like your mother.
You smirked, “Don’t try and get in my good graces now.”
Rhaenyra grabbed Daemons hand, “We shall leave you to get ready, and see you at the feast.”
You watched as they left your chambers, Rhaenyra whispering to Daemon in your mother tongue.
You were readied by your maids, the two who had been in service for you for many years, and the two who had been your saving grace in the Keep for all those long and trying months. The four sworn to you, and almost never leaving your sight.
They dressed you in a style you were more familiar with, a style you had worn prior to the war. Tight bodice with dripping cleavage, short sleeves and dragons embroidered all over. Your hair was left in waves down your back, with braids nestled amongst them. Against your neck, the same necklace as you wore everyday. 
Lucerys joined the feast for a time, eating with the other young children, Maelor and little Jaehaera included, before they were taken back to their chambers by maids.
The ale flowed heavily in the Hall, and all wore smiles on their faces, the frowns and wrinkles caused by the tension of war having been smoothed from their skin.
You sat beside your mother, Jacaerys and Baela to your other side. 
Baela was glowing, stomach round with the new child and cheeks rosy from smiling. Jacaerys cheeks were rosy from ale, but parenthood suited him all the same. He had matured, that much was obvious, but his love and devotion to his family and wife had only gotten stronger. 
“Little Aelor is growing so quickly.” You smiled, bringing your wine to your lips to sip as you felt nothing but joy to be where you were. To be where you always should had been. The room aglow with your mothers supporters and love. All around you joyous and bright.
“Little Aelor,” Baela leant towards you, “Is a little shit. Not once did I ever behave such a way. He bit Rhaelor this morning because he wouldn’t play with him.”
Jacaerys chuckled and Baela elbowed him in the arm.
“It's all Jacaerys, I’m afraid. He used to bite me too.” You grinned.
“I did not! Not once did I bite you.” 
"You did too. I have scars to prove it. Even ask the Septa, she's the one who tore you from me like a rabid dog.”
Jacaerys turned to his wife for support, who only bit her lip to try and hide the smile that broke on her cheeks, “My sister condemns me with these lies. Do you hear her?”
Baela smirked, sipping her wine, “I believe her. You were terribly wild. I seem to recall you have bitten me on more than one occasion.”
Jacaerys blushed, tongue in cheek as he looked at his wife.
You made a teasing face of disgust, "Incorrigible, the both of you."
All three of you watched on as Lords and Ladies danced in the middle of the Hall, loud music bouncing off of the walls by the band that played in the corner, and all laughed and clapped with joy as they watched.
“It is good to be home.” Jacaerys grinned, watching the celebrations, “Driftmark, though close, feels miles away.”
“You’re both always welcome to visit me and Lucerys at Dragonstone again, perhaps a longer stay? I am sure he would love to have you and the boys more often.”
Jacaerys nodded, “We will come promptly then. If the heir beckons, we shall come.” He teased.
“You have been summoned then." You put on your most pious voice you could manage, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.
As your eyes looked into the sea of people, a familiar face came into view. 
Jacaerys and Baela, also noticing, turned to face you.
“You know,” Jacaerys began, leaning towards you, “He only comes to these things for you.” He whispered, watching the way a soft blush creeped on your cheeks. 
“He comes for you, brother. You are friends after all.” You breathed, feeling your heart race in your throat as the man got closer.
“Kessa, yn ziry umbagon syt ao.” Yes, but he stays for you, Baela snickered.
“You are both as bad as each other.” You griped, finishing the rest of your wine quickly, hoping to distract yourself by pouring another. 
As you reached for the goblet, the tall figure of Cregan Stark stood before you at the table, donned in brown and black leather robes, his long dark hair tied back away from his face, and stubble casting a shadow across his defined cheeks and chin. 
His stormy grey eyes bored into yours, and the soft and yet polite smile of Cregan Stark greeted you.
“My Lady.” He bowed his head politely, “Jacaerys. Lady Baela.”
“Cregan.” They nodded.
Jacaerys and Baela turned their heads away, conversing with themselves in an attempt to give you mock privacy.
Though you knew they were listening.
“Cregan Stark. You have journeyed far for such an occasion.” You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes flicked downwards and then back to you.
“Of course, My Lady. It is not every day my good friend’s son has his first name day.”
“You could not have missed it, I would have never forgiven you.” Jacaerys chimed in, cheeky smirk on his lips.
Cregan chuckled, deep and heartily, “You’d burn me alive if I did not come. I think those were your words that you sent via raven.”
“Good memory, Stark.”
You smiled, loving the banter the two men had, “But to travel all the way from the North, it must be a tiresome journey, is it not?”
Cregan’s broad chest expanded as he pulled his shoulders back, hands held behind him, “Aye, a tiresome journey if on the backs of horses, and not dragons. Though I am gladdened to know I shall be well rested before my return. His Grace has offered for me to stay at the Red Keep for the month.”
You turned your head towards your father, who’s eyes were already on you, smirk on his face. Your gaze told him you would have a word with him later.
A stern word. 
Turning back to Cregan you gave him a smile, "That is wonderful news that you will be here with us in Kings Landing for longer than expected. I had not imagined you to be here at all.”
“Apologies if my arrival has offended you, My lady.” Cregan jested, and you felt a blush creep across your chest.
“Please, Cregan, enough with the formalities. You may call me Y/n. I think we are well acquainted enough by now.”
Cregan smiled, showing a line of white teeth, “Y/n.” He tested the name on his tongue, as though it was the first time he had spoken it.
He stood for what felt like an eternity as you looked at him, neither of you sure of how to continue this conversation. 
Jacaerys, being the meddlesome man that he was, decided that his false conversation about the weather with his wife had ended with perfect timing, looking up at his old friend with a shit eating grin.
“My sister here has been approached by many men this evening, all who call her the Beauty of the Realm. Do you find my sister to be beautiful?” He smirked.
Cregan blanched, but answered almost immediately after, “Aye. It would only be a fool who could not see it.”
You blushed, drinking half of your wine in one gulp.
“Then will you continue to do her the dishonour of not asking her to dance?” Jacaerys blinked at his friend from atop the rim of his cup, hiding his grin behind the silver.
Cregan looked as though he was ready to chastise the Prince, perhaps even hit him, but instead turned to you, bowing his head, “Might I ask for a dance, Your Grace?”
You looked at the tall man before you, dark hair that curled lightly in waves, with eyes as stormy as winter. 
“If only you call me by my name, Lord Cregan.” You pushed from your seat, turning to give your brother and half-sister a furious glare that the Stark could not see as you turned away from the table, moving towards Cregan who waited diligently for you, hand held out, palm up. 
Cregan was much taller than Aemond had been, broader, and when your hand slid into his, you felt your chest come alight. A rush that you had not felt in a long, long time. A sense of butterflies that fluttered about behind your ribs like a makeshift cage. 
Cregan led you down to the sea of people, feeling the eyes of your family upon your back. When finally amongst the crowd you turned to face each other, dancing with the rest as your hands intermittently connected. 
“I must apologise, Your Grace-”
“-Y/n.” You corrected him.
“Y/n.” He smiled, “It is not often that I dance in the North. I fear I may be a terrible partner.”
“You are yet to step on my toes. I think you are doing perfectly well, if not a little clunky.” You smirked at the tall man, watching as he looked away bashfully.
“There is still time for that I suppose.”
Each brush of his hands atop your body caused warmth to spread through you, tiny little tendrils winding their way up your flesh wherever his skin would make contact with yours. Your hands, arms, shoulders, waist. It was almost overwhelming, and the only time you had ever felt it before, was many years ago.
Five years ago, to be exact.
“Ao jurnegon gevie.” You look beautiful.
Your legs got tangled with themselves as you came to a halt, looking up at the grey eyed man who looked down at you wistfully.
“What did you say?” You breathed, uncertain if you had heard him right, or if it was your mind playing tricks upon you.
“I said you looked beautiful.” Cregan’s eyes roamed your face, brows beginning to furrow, “I apologise, Your-“
“-No.” You shook your head, “Ao ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?” You speak High Valyrian?
A warm chuckle erupted from his chest, “No, My Lady. Just that and some other small things. Your brother has been a great teacher thus far.”
You tilted your head, trying to get your feet to unstick from the floor, blurs of people moving around you, but in that moment it felt as though they had all disappeared, and you were left alone with the man before you.
“He is a good teacher because I have taught him.”
“Then perhaps I must ask of you to teach me instead.” Cregan gazed at you hopefully.
You hummed, “Do you have need to learn it? I did not think the North had any speakers of my mother tongue.”
Cregan opened his arm towards the side, weaving you through the crowd to the edge of the table, grasping a goblet of ale and procuring a goblet of wine for yourself.
You sipped on the wine, eyed widening.
Dornish wine.
Of all the wine on the table from this realm, to the Redwyne's vineyards, from Essos, to Dorne. Cregan had given you the one wine you liked the most.
How did he...
“We do not." He replied, "The North has no need for tongues of fire, our breath is ice.”
“Indeed. I am not too fond of the cold, I am afraid.” You teased.
Cregan’s large hand moved to swipe at his chin with a thumb, stumble rubbing beneath it in thought as he looked at you, “And have you been to the North? It is far more than just ice. Winterfell has a garden that may rival the one in the Red Keep.”
The spiced Dornish wine was sharp on your tongue, “So I have heard. I have not had the Gods graces to witness it for myself. I have however, been gifted a Winter Rose.”
Dark brows pulled together as the Stark looked at you in confusion. Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, the earthy smell of oakmoss, ginger and pine surrounding you.
Oakmoss, ginger, pine. 
Not at all, smoke, leather, and sandalwood.
It was earthy, warm despite his origins, and gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. Like a scent of safety and calm.
“Winter Roses do not grow in Kings Landing. How were you gifted one?”
You swallowed, looking away momentarily. 
The energy around you shifted.
“My husband- late husband, had a knack for gifting me rare things in atonement for his temper.” The words came out sharp, crinkled on the edges, and tasted of iron.
Cregan nodded solemnly, “I am sorry for your loss.”
You blinked.
Not once, had a man or woman or any person who you had spoken to over the past five years, ever said they were sorry for Aemond. Not once had anyone offered condolences, except the silent stares of your family. In fact, most times, people congratulated you for your bravery, your strength, your ability to drive that dagger into his throat. 
People congratulated you for killing the man you loved. 
But not him. 
Not Cregan.
And it intrigued you.
You finished the last of your wine, “I have not had the chance to thank you for supporting my mother after all these years.” You began, taking a glance to look up at her, as she gazed lovingly at your father in small conversation. 
“Thank me not. A Stark never forgets their oath, and we made one to your mother.”
A smile wound its way on your lips, “And how cold does it get in the North, Lord Stark? How does one not freeze in the walls of Winterfell?”
Another warm chuckle floated from his chest, “There is much to be frozen in the North, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs. Brandon the Builder built it amongst giants. The hot water flows through the walls to keep us warm.”
“I thought I had read as much in a book once.” You smirked, feeling warm from the wine, “But I had never imagined such a thing to be true. Giants?” A cheeky laugh fell through your lips.
Cregan smirked down at you, goblet close to his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk that set you ablaze, nor did it create anger or contempt or suspicion. It wasn't a smirk to provoke you. Instead, it made warmth spread steadily through you, like the hot springs in Winterfell. 
“Aye,” He laughed, “What is hard to believe about giants? Your blood rides upon dragons, do you not?”
“I suppose you are right. I do ride upon a dragon, a large one to be sure. I wonder if it would marvel at the size of your giants.”
“We shall never know. Perhaps you might ride upon the great beasts back to Winterfell?”
Your heart began to beat quickly in your chest, fingers tapping on the side of your cup, “My great beast would swallow you whole for calling him such a thing.” Jest on the tip of your tongue.
“It would be an honour to be devoured by a dragon.” Cregan shamelessly flirted. 
Devoured.
I want to devour you, zaldrītsos.
You swallowed thickly, “And what would Lady Stark think of three dragons coming to Winterfell? My son has not seen snow or ice, I have little question if he would enjoy it.”
Cregan placed his ale upon the table, “There is no Lady Stark, unless you are referring to my Lady Mother. Winterfell would welcome you and your son with open arms, and furs to warm you.”
You felt heat in your cheeks, “Why would I need furs if Winterfell is as perfectly insulated by hot springs, as you say it is?”
Cregan Stark pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as you gazed up at him, quick witted response ready to be fired back instantly.
“For all its warmth, there can be a biting chill that occasionally drifts through the cracks. Or if you are to be outside, say in the Godswood, you would need furs.”
“You have a Godswood?” Interest peaked.
“Aye. The Old Gods have not been replaced by the New in the North.”
“Good, I should hope so. The New Gods are an abomination in the eyes of the Old.” You paused, watching as grey eyes flitted down to your lips, if only for a moment, “And what of Dragonstone. Have the Kings of the North ventured as far?”
Cregan huffed a laugh through his nose, “No, I can say we have not.”
“Then perhaps you should see the great Dragonstone Keep. Its walls are the last of Old Valyrian stonemasonry. Fire and magic created it. Dragons live in the Dragonmont, and I am sure they would welcome the Wolf of Winterfell with open arms, and there would be no need for furs to warm you.”
“The Dragonmont sounds like the perfect place to be eaten by the dragons that live there. I may ask to be pardoned from venturing inside, a bite from a dragon would surely be the end of me.” Cregan’s eyebrows were raised, goblet to his lips again, smile peeking over the top.
There was something about this man. Something that drew you to him. Something that made you feel safe, wanted, unafraid. Like an invisible string was pulling you to him from the centre of your chest, the need to be closer to him, the want to be closer to him amplifying with each second spent in his presence. 
In all your five years past, you had not wished to be in the presence of any man again, said for acquaintances and family. 
But Cregan?
It was different.
It was the same pull you had felt in the throne room when he had sworn himself to you.
And that was why the next words that left your lips were playful, light, alluring. You wanted to draw him in. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to get to know the man who had helped to change the tide. The man who had stayed loyal to his oath. And a man who had travelled across the realm, just to kneel before you and swear his House to you, despite him not needing to do so.
“I will only bite if you ask me nicely.” You purred.
A blush crept across the mans face, and you felt your heart soar. 
He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, his eyes half lidded, “I will come to Dragonstone when you beckon. But I fear a wolfs bite may rival that of a dragons.”
Grinning you tilted your head, looking up to the table, to find all eyes on you both again, a large smirk on Jacaerys’ lips. 
“I do not like to make commands, but I shall beckon you. If,” Your hand came to graze his arm gently, sliding down, before your finger traced along his that held the goblet of ale, “You show me these hot springs in Winterfell, and that you have furs for me and my son to be kept warm. I make no illusion to thinking there would be furs enough for Vermithor.”
Cregan’s finger twitched beneath yours as you dropped your hand back to your sides, sliding them together behind your back.
He bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace. But there may not need to be a use of furs to keep you warm. Your blood is of fire, and I have a strange inclination that you would wish to be warmed in another manner.” Your cheeks grew hot, warmth sliding down to settle in your gut.
Cregan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I will await your invitation, Princess.”
You smirked, “And I, yours. Though, you are to be here until the next turn of the moon. I am sure we will see each other more often than not in these walls.”
“I should hope that I would have the privilege of your company whenever you would wish for mine.”
“That you will, and that I do.”
With a nod of your head, you turned, walking back up to your table, spring in your step, and heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the warmth of Cregan’s gaze on your back with each step you took to the table. Jacaerys, Daemon and Baela all watching you with knowing eyes as you moved to sit back down once again, cheeks ablaze. 
You ignored them all, reaching to grasp your goblet and sipping the wine as your eyes instinctually found the pair of icy grey ones that watched you from across the room. He lifted his goblet to his own mouth, mimicking your action as you sipped in tandem. 
The sound of laughter and chattering surrounded you, and it was hard to not get yourself lost in the excitement of it all. 
How things had changed.
Jaehaera and Maelor, Helaena’s children, had been taken in by your mother immediately, and at first, had been terrified, and quiet, and reserved. But now they had now grown into beautiful, soft and sweet children who doted on their nephews with care and familial excitement. 
Jaehaera was so much her mother, and often was woken in the night by terrors of her twin being slain before her eyes. But as time went on, the nightmares lessoned with age, but her visions grew stronger.
There was no denying that the little girl had the same gift as her mother, the same brilliance, the same intuition. And your Lucerys and Jaehaera often understood each other on level that others didn’t, an almost instant connection sparking between the two, and you watched as Jaehaera doted on your son with fierce devotion and loyalty. 
Maelor, was very much like Aegon.
Loud, boisterous, terribly cheeky at times, but kind. Something that he was allowed to grow into with the nurturing of your family, the nurturing of your mother. Something that he would continue to be. Maelor was a whisper of what could have been for Aegon, if he had not been raised with the vile whisperings of the Hightower’s in his ear since birth. 
He had the same round face as his father, the same round face that Alicent had. But there was no sadness in his lavender eyes, no hollowness that settled behind them. And for that, you were most thankful. 
They both especially got along with Lucerys, and that gave you a greater joy like no other, and often stayed with the two of you on Dragonstone.
If you were to say that you had gotten used to being surrounded by so many people, you would be lying. But there was no doubt in your mind, that as the years went by, you would eventually find yourself again, or at least the fragments of her that had survived. 
You had changed. 
But so had they.
And there were some things that would never change. 
Some things that would always stick.
And the visions of your brother, your aunt, and your uncle, would remain forever more. 
Or at least, you hoped they would.
As a reminder.
As a punishment for your deeds.
As a comfort.
Whilst the Lords and Ladies in the court danced, and drank, and sang, and cheered, three familiar faces watched from within the crowd, unmoving, unblinking as they were. 
Observing, watching, with two smiling softly.
The third face however, had not smiled in years, and would never smile again. He watched you, from across the room, hidden behind dancing bodies, long silver hair cascading down his back, an eye of violet, and a shadowed socket peering up at you. 
He never left. 
He was always there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Your hand came to play with the sapphire that sat heavily against your chest.
“What did you and Cregan speak about?” Jacaerys inquired, leaning towards you, breaking you from your stare at a man you missed most terribly.
“Hm?” You turned your head blinking at your brother.
“Cregan, what did he say?”
Baela leant an elbow on the table as she watched, a hand rubbing her swollen stomach in soft, gentle circles, soothing the babe inside.
“Merely asked how I have been, how I have been faring. Pleasantries is all.”
Jacaerys’ brown eyes danced with delight, “Pleasantries? Spoke of pleasures did you? You know, I wouldn’t let him speak to you if he was not a good man. He is a Stark. Dutiful, full of honour, kind, and a skilled swordsman.”
“And I have a dragon. Swordsmanship does little against fire.”
Baela snickered, “And why would he be near dragon flame? Have you promised him a ride upon Vermithor?”
A blush settled across your cheeks, “He wouldn’t.” You argued, feeling exacerbated by their prying, “I was just saying, swordsmanship does not warrant a marriage.”
“Who said anything about marriage?” Jacaerys smirked, and you felt your mouth go dry. 
You gripped your goblet and tossed the rest of its contents greedily down your throat, shivering at the heat that settled in your bones, most of which not caused by the alcohol, but instead the memory of his warmth, eyes, and touch.
Sighing, you looked at the pair beside you, “You have been all but pushing us together for the past five years.”
Jacaerys snorted, “I have not. But there is no denying the pull you two have to each other. You’re allowed to be happy, sister.”
And Jacaerys was right. 
There was a pull. 
And no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, brush it off of you like water, close eye and look the other way, it was there, and it pulled at you. 
“I am happy.” You argued, but it felt wrong. False.
Jacaerys had his chin on his fist as he gazed at you, curled brown hair looking a mess as many a hand had brushed through it. His cheeks were rosy, and pink lips plump from smiling or biting at them to keep his mouth shut. It was clear that the ale had gotten to him, but Jacaerys was never one to lie to you, especially about someone he considered a good friend.
And Cregan was his closest companion.
“It’s a perfect match,” He began, and you groaned loudly, rolling your eyes, “You being hot headed-“
“-I am not hot headed-“
“-And him being cool and patient. Blood of the North and Valyria. Perzys se Suvion.”
Fire and Ice.
A strum of recognition tickled in the back of your mind as Jacaerys continued.
“Opposites attract, even you out, and all the other nonsense some love sick fool would tell you. You would be good together, Y/n. He would calm you, and you would warm him.” Jacaerys teased.
“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Cregan, brother.” You teased back, watching as Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, “All this talk of opposites being perfect for each other, why do you not take him as your second wife? I am sure Baela would not mind sharing.”
Baela smirked, rubbing her stomach, “I wouldn’t mind a break. And Cregan looks good in-“
“-Keligon bona.” Stop that, Jacaerys chastised his wife, turning his attention back to you, “Think on it. He would be good for you.”
“I don’t need a man to make me whole or 'be good for me'. I will be Queen one day, and a husband will do naught but hold me back.”
“You will have to marry again someday, you know this as well as I do. And he would help you forward, if only you let him.”
You huffed, looking back out at the sea of people again, eyes immediately falling on him.
He was talking to a Lord, who’s gold and yellow robes shimmered in the light of the chambers. But as though he felt your gaze upon him, Cregan turned his head, and his eyes immediately met yours.
Instinct.
That pull.
“He invited me and Lucerys to Winterfell.” You told the two of them, seeing Jacaerys and Baela give each other excited looks in your periphery, as a soft smile found its way on Cregan’s as he looked at you, your own stretching your cheeks.
“Will you go?” Jacaerys’ voice hopeful.
As you watched Cregan, his gaze still on you, man beside him still talking, not having noticed his companions attention had been taken away, you felt the pull again. A sharp tug in your chest, the string having wrapped itself around a rib thrice, just below where your heart would sit.
It tugged again, and your hands curled into fists in your lap, desperate to keep yourself seated as you looked at him. Desperate to fight the urge that made you wish to go to him, stand by him, be close to him.
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you watched him, your brother and half-sister staring at you from your periphery as you feigned thought. 
But you knew your answer already. 
You knew it before he had even asked, before Cregan had even spoken to you. 
Instinct.
“Yes.”
Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.
From my blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.
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Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3
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kpop-yes · 6 months
Text
Xiaoting x male reader - F*ck Practice, F*ck me instead
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You woke up to the sun beaming down your my face and Ting on your chest, sleeping deeply,
And very loudly to say the least.
The last thing you could remember was being very drunk at a party and Ting having to walk you home,
___
It was around 2:00 in the morning and it felt like the party could go on forever, But you wouldn't last till 3, You were drunk as hell and could barely walk nor talk.
But all that mattered to you was that you could still see and hear and that's all that you cared about.
But to Ting, You looked like a drunk piece of mess that couldn't walk by himself. She could barely focus on partying without turning her back to look at you.
What made her reach her limit was you asking for yet another drink to wash down the other hundred bottles you already drank.
After saying bye to her friends, she walked over to you, made you stand up, put your arm on her shoulder, and supported you while walking back to your dorm.
You could barely register what was happening as the ringing in your ear didn't stop and you couldn't even see properly.
After reaching your dorm, Ting reached into your pockets snd dug out your keys.
After laying you down on your bed, Ting grabbed her bag and was about to walk out when you grabbed her hand,
"Stay Ting, Please".
"Fine, Only to make sure you don't die in your sleep".
___
And here you were, Ears still ringing and your vision still horrible but at least you had Ting by your side.
After staring at the ceiling for 20 minutes m, you realized how shit you smell and slowly crawled out of bed while trying not to wake Ting up.
Your plan was unsuccessful as Tong almost woke up instantly as you stood up.
"Morning Ting", you said while waving at her.
"What time is it Y/n?"
You looked at the clock, "1:35, why?"
Ting looked shocked and you couldn't help but giggle at her reaction.
"Did we really sleep for that long?!"
"Yeah, I guess so. Anyways Imma take a shower. Feel free to whatever you want as long as it's not illegal", you said while grabbing a pair of clothes and waved.
You assumed that she'd just end up leaving, so you left the bathroom door unlocked.
You took off your clothes and hopped inside the shower.
The first thing you did was put on shampoo and clean your body.
You heard a door close but you assumed it was Ting leaving, But oh how wrong you were.
You continued your shower session, which included a lot of lip syncing to songs and whistling.
After almost finishing your shower, all that was left was too put on your conditioner.
You grabbed your conditioner but heard something behind you.
"Let me see it, I can put it on your hair for you".
"Okay thanks, here", You passed the conditioner to whoever was behind you, not knowing who was behind you.
It wasn't until after a couple of seconds that you realized that someone else was in the shower with you.
You turned around in shock to see Tong standing there with a smile.
"What are you doing here?!" You shouted in confusion.
"What? You were going to hog all the hot water so I might as well be in here as well", She said while Squirting some conditioner on her hand,
"Now turn around so I can Put conditioner on your hair"
You did as she said and she applied the conditioner on your hair.
Her smooth and silky fingers ran through your hair as she thoroughly made sure every strand of hair was lathered in Conditioner.
After a couple minutes Ting sprayed water on your hair and gave you the conditioner,
"Here, now do my hair"
"O-Okay", you nervously responded as you squirted some conditioner on your hand.
You couldn't help but look down at her beautiful round ass.
She could obviously tell what you were looking at so she purposely dropped a brush and bent down to pick it up.
"Like what you see Y/n~"
"W-What, I don't know what you're talking about, now stand still so I can put the conditioner on your hair", You regretfully said.
You thoroughly went through her hair, but you couldn't really concentrate as she was purposely standing in a way where her ass was touching your legs and partly your member.
After thoroughly scrubbing the conditioner, you sprayed water over hair and washed the conditioner off.
"There, happy?"
"Very, But you know what else looks happy?"
She was obviously talking about your member as it was basically rock hard.
"I think your just talking nonsense Ting", You said and turned around to turn the water off.
Ting then hugged you from behind,
"Come on, let's have some fuuunnn, don't you want to know how it feels to have sex with a kpop star?"
"No, Besides you have practice today, what if you're late?"
"Fuck Practice! Id Rather have sex with you then go to practice!"
"No Ting, Your going to practice, I don't want to be the cause for you being late because you want to fuck".
You put on boxers and handed a towel to Xiaoting while still arguing,
"And? like I said, fuck practice, and Stop turning me down Y/n! I'm older than you so you should listen to your elders!"
"Your only half a month older than me? And right now your acting like immature brat!"
You walked to your room while
"Yeah, a brat that wants to have sex with you! Come on Y/n, it won't take that long!"
"I refuse to believe you, last time you told me that it wouldn't take long you missed your whole practice session and your company were on your ass for missing!"
You were about to put on pants when Ting pushed you onto the bed,
"Yeah well it wasn't my fault you wouldn't let mw ride you! If you didn't refuse I wouldn't have missed practice! So now you owe me!"
"I don't owe you shit! And you were still toing to miss practice without arguing! I'm not having sex with you Ting!"
"Why! Is it because you fucking hate my guts?!
"What?! I never said anything about hating your guts, besides if I hated you when we first met I wouldn't have been Rearranging Your guts in the first place!"
Ting climbed on top of you while pulling down your boxers,
"So then lets have sex Y/n! I promise it won't take that long", she begged.
You knew that it would take that long, but this argument would go nowhere if you kept arguing with her.
You knew she'd miss practice but if she wanted you that bad then you'll let her have you.
*exhale* "Okay fine, bug if you miss practice that'll be your fault Ting".
"I won't, besides you won't last long with someone like me~"
"Just cause your an idol that doesn't mean your automatically better at fucking someone Ting".
"Shush, let me handle this", she said as she slowly stroked your member.
Her speed slowly increased as she started spitting on your member.
She took a deep breath before taking your member whole.
It was a sight to see as you couldn't handle but moan at her actions.
Her gagging made you feel like you're in heaven.
She pulled back while gasping for air,
"Geez I don't remember your dick being this
big Y/n~".
You pug your hand on Ting, and after getting the okay signal, you started face fucking Ting. Her gagging made you move faster knowing that every time you hit the back of her throat with your member that you were about to blow your load inside her throat.
You started feeling a bit lightheaded, but nonetheless you kept face fucking Ting.
Looking at Ting, and her face covered in saliva and her eyes asking to be ruined.
The harder you face fucked Ting, the closer you were to your limit.
You felt your member twitching and realized you were about to blow your load inside her throat.
"Ah, Ting Your so fucking tight ah! I'm about to cum!"
And after a few seconds, you released your load into Ting's tight throat, You kept your member in her mouth for a minute before pulling out.
Ting immediately started gasping for air, showing how hard you fucked her mouth,
"Geez Y/n You really liked that didn't you, But now it's my turn~"
And with a swift spin, Ting was now on top of you.
"I've been waiting to do this since forever~"
adjusting yourself, you knew Ting was about to ride you hard, this was one of her biggest fantasies ever since you two started dating.
Ting started hovering above your member, slowly teasing it before slowly inserting herself into you.
She slowly slid herself while moaning the whole way.
When she reached the end of your member, that's when she started thrusting.
Moans escaping left and fight, as you two couldn't  contain your emotions.
The more ting kept riding you the more you felt lightheaded.
You knew how ferocious ting could get and how much stress she had.
And know she was unloading all that stress on you.
Ting’s riding became more powerful as her ass smacking your lap increasingly became louder and so did her moans.
You tried you best to stop her moans and riding from getting to loud but there was no stopping Ting when she’s about to reach her climax.
To sort of neutralize the noise, you started making out with her, trying your best to mute out the loud moans coming from her.
“Mmm~, Fuck! Y/n! Im about to fucking cum! ah!”
And with one last, powerful, thrust, Both of you simultaneously orgasmed.
You spewed loads of your cum inside of her, Overfilling her, causing dome of your liquids to spill out of her vagina.
All you could do was stare at her and admire her body,
“One more round?”
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Text
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 — “I am, I have been, and I was born hungry.”
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: An abandoned son makes a decision. The cared for son is taken away.
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬): Bruce Wayne X ScarletWitch!Reader; Jason Todd x Batmom!ScarletWitch!Reader; Tim Drake x Batmom!ScarletWitch!Reader; Jason Todd x Tim Drake.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: kidnapping, mention of PTSD, weapons, threats (silent), drugs and forced drug use, death of Janet Drake, and mention of Jack Drake in the hospital, Jason is mansplaining, manipulating and manslaughter his way through this sequel.
𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This took a while because I had a precise plan for this sequel, but writing this chapter, something possessed me and changed everything. So, now I'm not sure what's going to happen, it's all in destiny hands now on!!!
Thanks to our beta reader, the wonderful @igotmessymind for her work, as always, I appreciate you very much!!
Now, I would like to make a special mention of @andieperrie18, who made a playlist base on the Batmom Scarlet Witch.
And I need you to admire this masterpiece, because this playlist doesn't just include songs. NOO, It also has dialogue between Batmom and Bruce at the beginning, and it's just gold. Also go to check the other playlist in her channel, they have some good stuff. The small talks and slow dancing with Bruce Wayne is one of my favorites!!!
So, thank you very much to you @andieperrie18 for your love and the dedication it took to make this playlist. I don't have enough words to show my adoration and gratitude for this playlist. So everyone, please go give them love to the playlist while reading this chapter!!
𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬 / Prelude / Next Part
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Jason knew he was not walking on good ground. He hadn't been since he was revived in the Lazarus Pit. He hadn't been when he had killed criminals to try to control Gotham's crime. Nor when he had to escape from Arkham Asylum after Batman had locked him there, under the excuse that it was best for him.
Lies. 
All were lies.
He knew it now more than ever as he looked at his wall.
Jason was sitting in an old chair facing the wall, where a variety of photos, newspaper clippings, maps, and notes were displayed. 
Seeing that wall told him that he was definitely slipping into a new territory of madness. 
But-he-couldn't-stop. It was like he was on a slide, and he couldn't dig his heels in to stop. A part of him didn't want to stop. 
Just as he hadn't wanted to soften the news of his return to Bruce, that part of Jason wanted revenge with every atom of his true self. And now it was pushing him towards that wall. 
Another part of him, though, didn't want to do this. It was the part that still made him want to put his hands in his mouth to eat his cuticles, like he had done as a child. That part wanted to approach you on the street, and calmly let you explain why you hadn't sought him out. So that he could move on somehow, in a way that would make you proud of how Jason had handled everything.
But you had abandoned him.
After Bruce found out he was alive, Jason had hoped that once he told you all of it, you'd show up at his door. Jason had been ready to listen to your logical arguments and leave the whole killing thing behind. 
¿Who cared about revenge and Gotham if there was a chance to get back with his mom? 
Not to Jason.
You didn't; you never showed up. 
And now the part that wanted revenge was screaming too loud for him to hear anything else.
So there he was, sitting in a chair, arms crossed, as he carefully admired the wall he had created.
There were pictures of you picking up Timothy Drake from school, taking him shopping, hugging him at galas, and chatting with him at fashion events. Events that you had probably only been invited to, but you had convinced the team to let you take someone else, the same way you did with Jason when he was young. You probably took him to eat at your favorite restaurant every Friday after school, like they did with him. You probably also turned off the light in his room every night after saying goodnight, like you did with Jason.
No shame; you had given everything that was Jason's to that boy. 
That's why you weren't looking for him when you found out he was alive. You had replaced him with that kid, the same way Bruce had, and you deserved the same kind of punishment.
You deserved his revenge. And you will receive it.
You were in your office, in your brand's office building, a few blocks from Wayne Tower, where your entire clothing brand has done most of its business since you married Bruce. The official and original store of your brand is still in Metropolis, where it all started, but you moved the main offices to Gotham when you got married. So all of your children spent time between Wayne Tower and your building.
Usually, that was where they ended up after school.
Tim was supposed to go there after school. Typically, you would go pick him up. But that day he was staying a few extra hours at school for his Debate Club, and he would walk with his friends to their houses and meet you before you left the office that afternoon. So you were surprised when, as you were evaluating some new designs, your phone lit up with your youngest son's phone number.
“Mom,” Tim’s voice immediately sounded on the other end of the phone when you answered. He sounded nervous.
“Tim, honey,” you said, looking up at the clock. “Did I forget to pick you up?”, and immediately, your mind goes into paranoia, convinced that Tim had asked you to go look for him, and that's why he was calling you, and you had forgotten.
“No, no. Mom, it's fine,” he assured you quickly. You could hear chatter in the background, like someone was encouraging him to talk. “Mom, do you know today is Friday, right?”
Obviously, you remembered that it was Friday. On Fridays, when Tim came home from school, the two of you would go out to dinner at your favorite restaurant as a traditional mother-son activity.
“Yes, I've noticed,” you said, closing the sketchbook to give the boy your full attention.
“And we always go to eat at Julián's on Fridays after school, without fail,” he continues explaining. You assumed he was going somewhere, so you murmured an affirmation. “Well, you saw Dylan, my chemistry classmate. He and others are going to eat at a pizzeria near the school, and they invited me. After eating, we are all going to go to his house to play video games. If you're okay with that, I would like to go. Or I'll just go eat and go back home early. I-” Tim was already in babbling territory; you could barely contain your laughter when you interrupted him.
“It's okay, Tim. I don’t mind a change of plans, darling,” you assured him, and you could see his shoulders relax even from your building. “I'll take advantage and visit your father's office; I'll ask him to accompany me on an impromptu date.”
“Okay, okay. Yes, that sounds good.” Tim was smiling as big as he could, while around him, his classmates were singing victory for the afternoon they had organized. “I'll let you know where we are and call you when it's time to come home. I love you.”
Before you could tell him that he didn't need to tell you exactly where to be and at what time, Tim hung up the call, too excited about the whole thing. To which you inevitably laughed, happy that Tim had an activity, say a boy his age, and that he was so excited about it. You had met Dylan a couple of times; he was a good kid, so you were sure everything would be fine.
Jason watched Tim walk with his friends all night.
After observing him for weeks, he realized that the chic lived based on a fairly consistent routine. One that repeated itself almost around the clock for some reason, but Jason suspected that it had to do with the post-traumatic stress the boy must have had after the Joker's attack on his biological parents the year before. The boy's mother was six meters underground, and his father was on medical care for life because of all this. Jason almost felt bad for him. Almost.
This also meant that you and Bruce were very aware of the boy's routine, so if Tim were to disappear for even a couple of hours, it would ruin your plan. So he chanced it, waiting for the ideal moment to feed his need for revenge.
So when the sixteen-year-old decided to leave school one afternoon in the company of a group of other kids his age, he was clearly not on his way to your office like he usually did.
Jason took the phone out of his pocket and gave the order to start.
The group of friends went into a hidden, but sufficiently crowded, pizzeria a few blocks from the house of the boy Dylan, to whom Tim seemed closest in the group.
Jason had quickly discovered that Tim was a smart kid. He was too smart for Jay to trick him or accidentally cause him to fall into a trap of some kind.
But he had also discovered that Tim was, like Bruce, an idiot for justice.
He had watched him risk his life more than necessary for civilians while he ran around as Robin, when Jason from afar could have found about five ways to save the civilians without getting in the way. Tim jumped in to save them with his own hands every time there was a lethal risk. It could be that the weight of not having helped his parents was still eating him alive too.
But one way or another, Jason would use that to his advantage.
Jason walked into the pizzeria, followed by five other men he knew Tim would recognize. It was because he had gotten them out of jail, especially because Robin had dragged them and put them there, with the aim of getting them to help him. The proposed men didn't know he was there for that reason; they were just doing their job for the money, unaware of the mental games Jason was playing with the teenager.
And Tim Drake understood what was going to happen the moment he saw Jason. She looked him in the eyes and smiled as she casually glanced at the table of the group of friends, who were still wearing their school uniforms.
“Timothy, little one,” Jason greeted casually, putting his hands in his pockets and watching as Tim's eyes went to the way that movement revealed the reflection of a gun on his hip. “I've been looking for you!!”
Jason knew exactly how Tim would react and looked at the situation. They had both been trained by the same man at the end of the day. They were a reflection of each other, and that is why it was a dangerous game. “Are you hungry, Timothy? Because I am starving.”
Jason wasn't talking about the pizzas, and Tim knew it quickly. But he couldn't do anything, not with Jason so armed and clearly accompanied. Both were surrounded by so many civilians, and Tim's friends. His new friends, who had been patient with him and had accepted him into his group, which he had been joining since they were children. But they still tried to integrate him and invited him to things, again and again, until that day he accepted for the first time in months.
The table had fallen silent at the extra situation, but Tim seemed to know the stranger who had sat down, so they didn't say anything. But Dylan, as kind and caring as he was, saw the way the color had drained from Tim's face. So he spoke.
“Don't worry, Dylan,” Jason told him, which took Dylan by surprise since he had never told the stager his name, and he got genuinely worried now. “He just needs something to drink; he's just dehydrated. Timmy works a lot and doesn’t take care of himself.”
While talking to Dylan, Tim watched as Jason grabbed his glass of soda that he had been drinking while they waited for the pizzas. Without anyone else noticing, Tim watched as Jason dropped a pill into the drink, which was probably intended to knock him out, or at least drug him enough to make it manageable for Jason.
All without anyone else noticing, just so he could see it and know what was going on. He was faced with the reality that he couldn't do anything, and he couldn't fight, not at such a potential price. He was trapped. 
It made Tim feel alarmingly alone, despite being surrounded by people.
“Here, drink something.” Jason handed him the glass, where the gas from the soda easily hid the bubbles that the pill made as it dissolved. “It will do you good.”
The two stood face-to-face for a moment as the older brother offered the glass, and Jason didn't need to make the threat for Tim to understand. 
Or Tim drank the soda and voluntarily sedated himself. Or he would get him out of there in a much more aggressive way. And some bullets could be lost in that situation, so Jason could make sure that his friends were the ones who received them.
Tim could see the decapitated bodies of Black Mask's lieutenants, found shortly after Red Hood appeared in Gotham, before Bruce discovered his identity.
So he grabbed the glass and brought it to his mouth. Tim gave Jason a last pleading look, to which the boy just smiled sweetly. And your youngest son just wanted to scream for you, but you didn't know Jason was alive, and you suspected that's exactly what Jason wanted.
He wouldn't put you in danger.
Bruce would handle everything; Tim trusted that.
Tim downed the glass of soda in four gulps and didn't remember anything else after that.
𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @andieperrie18 @totallynotme420 @igotmessymind @amarawayne @calsjack @kodzukenmaaa @mellowdiy @noah-uhhh-what @blarba-girl @dead-sane-stuff @huhuhhuhh @ashlynnmalfoy @kimmis-stuff @undecided-shipper @justafanficsreader @poppyalice2001 @holdyuhmuda @jiabae @mara-moon @avitute @lafrone
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silverzoomies · 18 days
Text
Summer Wind
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tate langdon x reader smut
warnings: existential crisis, death, afterlife, implied/referenced character death, murder, angst, aged-up tate langdon, fingering, fingerfucking, kissing, canon divergence
word count: 4,690
a/n: another drabble. y'know that thing people do sometimes? where they "age-up" a character, but don't really age them up? i initially wrote this in response to that. but it somehow turned into a means of venting my existential terror instead. i was gonna include more smut. but tbh i didn't feel right about it. this one's gonna stay unfinished. sorry about the abrupt ending !!
inspired by the song summer wind by frank sinatra
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You were dead for an indiscernible span of time.
You couldn't be sure how long. But you suspected a few years, at least. Through one of the top floor windows of your eternal purgatory; you watched the trees. Nature alternated between skeletal displays of branches, to vibrant arrays of color. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming again. Rinse and repeat.
Once you accepted your fate, things started clicking into place. Trapped in a vintage hotbox of murder, you put together the pieces of a long lost puzzle. And though some parts were still absent, you pushed yourself to move on. You might never figure out how you died, or who you were before. But to worry so much would be senseless at this point.
Through acceptance, you began to feel again. If only in small bursts. Abrupt, but worth cherishing.
One memory remained ever present. You had the sense you were a school guidance counselor in life. And in death, you took up the mantle again. Offering your services to the other souls lost in the house. One of the ghostly residents shared a similar occupation. Way back in his breathing years. He didn’t do it so much anymore. Instead, he spent time with his family, working towards redemption for his past actions.
You steered clear of most residents, fearful of their unpredictable episodes of bloodlust. They allowed the evil within the house to lure them further into madness. On the days they came to you for your services, you spoke to them in hopes they’d find absolution. Change in the afterlife was extremely difficult to achieve. Your 'clients' rarely ever scratched the surface of their tainted psyches. And any progress they made, they always resorted to their old habits in the end.
Only one of them ever found true change. Of course, he had to be the most wretched of them all.
You once felt sympathy for Tate, making excuses on his behalf. In the years when his heart still pumped blood through his veins; he was young. Misguided. Perhaps the pressures of his upbringing took too much of a toll on him. And in the afterlife, he suffered under the influence of the house itself. The evil buried deep within channeled through his broken soul.
But if such an evil did exist, it never took hold of you. Nor did it sink its venomous teeth into Violet, or her innocent mother, or that pure of heart baby, or even Ben Harmon himself - sinful a man as he was. They resisted, and so did you.
Tate was pure evil. Carnage incarnate. Maybe that made him susceptible to the influence of dark forces. But after talking with him for a few years, you accepted him for what he was. Foul from birth, deplorable in death. No matter how often you tried guiding him to goodness, he remained forever loathsome. The evil in him burned eternally, needing no kindling.
His own acceptance of that fact allowed him to change. In a more physical way, much like Moira. Tate embraced his fate, convinced the house was where he belonged. A punishment until the end of all things. Simultaneously, a safe haven from whatever lay in waiting after purgatory. Tate’s progress was very much real. Albeit, not the kind you aimed for.
You could see his growth in his features, rather than his morals. Sitting across from you during another weekly session, Tate fidgeted with a frayed hole in his jeans. With his blond brows creased, he stared down at the denim. As you watched him like this, you picked apart his finer details. Where his skin once beamed with the pale, ghostly image of youth; creases were now etched in. Faint, but noticeable lines curved under his eyes.
An aura of maturity emanated from him like a light much too dim. Tate carried the same mannerisms from his heyday - if one could even call it that. But he had long since graduated from his mentality of that era. Tate spoke of his past actions as if he regretted them, though you suspected he felt no real remorse. He used to cry all the time. He used to throw childish tantrums. But you couldn’t remember the last time you saw his soulless, black eyes water. Now…
He carried nothing but cold desolation. Common amongst those trapped in perpetual limbo.
“I saw her again today.” He admitted, his lidded eyes flitting up to meet yours, “She hasn’t changed any. Not like me. Not like…” Tate made a gesture at his face, his thumb grazing the angular shape of his jaw. Tiredly, he blinked, “Not like this. Fate’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I always thought we were fated to be together forever, but…”
On the sofa across from him, you kept your cheek perched in a hand. As you scribbled in your notebook, you took note of the way Tate’s features bled misery. All at the mention of her. It must have been painful for him, watching her stay the same. While he finally outgrew himself. Those changes only further separated the two of them. Obliterating any chance he had to make amends. If there ever was.
There especially wouldn’t be now. Even Tate was on the tailend of coming to terms with it.
“How’d it make you feel this time around?” You pressed in a soft tone, shifting on the couch. His dark hues zeroed in on your thighs, bare in a simple dress. The lining appeared cheap, glittering with sequins reminiscent of childhood nostalgia, “When you saw her?”
“Fuckin’...I dunno…” Tate put his face in his vascular hands, fingers curling into his hair, “She’s like a kid to me anymore. What am I supposed to think?”
“Maybe she’s content like that. In the same way you’re content the way you are now.” You shrugged, tenderly laughing, “Maybe teenage angst suits her that much.”
He shook his head, shifting from a criss cross position on the loveseat across from you. Bouncing a leg, Tate gave you a pointed look. His brows turned downward.
“We thought it fit me too, didn’t we? But look at me now."
You were. You were looking at him a lot. And he wasn't wrong. Teenage angst once paired well with Tate's immature nature. Back when he thought like a kid, and acted on impulse. These days, he'd become more lethargic. When he wasn’t consumed with blood lust. Rugged virility was his partner now. Coupled with the melancholy existentialism of a man pushing thirty.
“You wanted to move on.” You clarified, your teeth clicking the edge of a pen at your lips.
“Did I?” Tate bitterly laughed, the empty vacuums of his eyes caught your tongue in motion, “Doesn't seem like anyone else here wants to. ‘Cept Moira.”
“Well, they only think they can’t. They believe they’re tethered here, frozen in time at their moment of death. I used to think growth was impossible too. Until you…”
You took in his masculine features again. The scruff around his chin. So fair, and not too noticeable. Catching yourself in the midst of ogling him, you redirected your gaze to Tate’s eyes. Imposing. Starless. Easy to get lost in. He wasn’t ignorant to your attraction. A hint of grin pulled into his laugh lines and dimples.
“Does it scare you?” He asked, “What’s your excuse then?” Tate threw a condescending nod of his head, “If you’re so enlightened. If you know better than all of us - with your morals ‘n bullshit like that. Why haven’t you changed any since you died?"
Shrugging, you looked bashfully down at your notes.
“Why would I want to? If I can stay young for eternity. If I can keep these curves, and what’s left of my youth. What’s the point in growing older?” You admitted in truth.
“That’s a little superficial though, isn’t it?” Tate leaned back into the loveseat cushions, “Shit like that doesn’t matter here. Who are you tryna impress? And what’s anybody living gonna think? When they meet you, and find out you’re nothin’ but food for maggots now.” He teased, legs spread, one knee bouncing, “There’s gotta be another reason you haven’t moved on. You’re not like us. I dunno why you and the Harmons don’t just…y’know…go.” He trailed off, his gaze falling to his lap.
You saw his bitterness return in full force. Another miserable wave of longing washed over him. Yearning for something that didn’t exist anymore, and never would again.
“I…” You paused, doodling hasty flowers in your notebook. You avoided Tate’s eyes, “I wanna know how I died first. I wanna know who I was. Before I even consider moving on.”
Sinister acidity flashed through his vision, “Seriously? That’s what’s stopping you?” Tate huffed a harsh laugh, admitting without missing a beat, “You wanna know how you died? I’ll tell you. I stuck a knife in your back and stabbed you to death.” He confessed, monotone, “You know it too. You’ve known since we met. You’ve just been in denial this whole time.”
You sat up in an abrupt movement, scooting forward and tossing your notebook away.
“What?! What are you even talking ab-…I’ve been trying to figure this out for years, Tate! Years!” You threw out your hands, “You…you can’t be serious! Why would I be in denial about something like that??”
Tears of betrayal stung the corners of your eyes. Tate shrugged, seemingly unbothered. He crossed his arms, his eyes dark under the ridges of his brows.
“‘Cuz you feel bad for me. Or…uhm…you wanna feel bad for me.” He shrugged again, “Fuck if I know why. I’m the last guy you should have sympathy for.” Tate said, his black hues narrowing in thought.
“You didn’t…did you really stab me? Really? You’re not lying about that?” You almost shouted, clawing your fingers through your hair, “Please. Please tell me you’re lying!”
Tate appeared unfazed, ignoring you, “Do you love me or something? Is that why you’re so broken up about this?” He asked, desperate in his infinite search for validation.
“Why the fuck would you stab me?!” You shouted, full of wrathful turmoil.
You stood off the couch, surging toward him with your fists balled at your sides. Tate didn’t flinch. He pursed his lips, thoughtful again. With an insufferable aura of nonchalance, he shrugged once more.
“Wanted to.”
The blank emptiness in his expression told you everything you already knew. Tears streamed down your face, painting your cheeks and chin in damp threads.
“Where? Where did you stab me??”
Tate gestured with a nod of his head, towards the only window in the room. A summer breeze fluttered, catching the curtains in its dance. You wanted to find the radiant light of nature beautiful again. But it only served as a haunting reminder - the environment remained symbiotic with time. And you were forever left behind.
“Over there. By that window.” He said, watching you pad over to said window, the skirt of your dress fluttering.
The window. In the one room you always felt so drawn to, for reasons unknown. Now, you knew. Bracing your hands on the windowsill, you peered your head outside. Ghosting your skin, the air breathed an essence of life. Something you were no longer a part of. You used to be content with that fact. But now? Knowing your life was unfairly ripped from you, how could you ever move on? Your death wasn’t an accident. Nor had an irreversible illness seized your physical form. Just Tate.
His low voice droned from behind you and in your ear. A faint vibration followed, along with a presence at your back. You felt the soft texture of his sweater, but no body heat with it. One of his icy hands met your shoulder. He reached his other arm out. Tate pointed to a spot near the entrance gates.
“I didn’t wanna tell you. Because I didn’t wanna lose you too. But…” He paused for a beat, “It was on Halloween. Ten years or so years ago, I guess. I was gonna leave. Make my rounds. Y’know…like I used to. The house was-uh...up for grabs back then. You came up to the door. One of the kids here opened it for you. And you kinda...walked in. Tried lookin' for 'em. Wrong place, wrong time.” Tate lowered both his hands to yours, after sliding his fingers down the sides of your arms, “You were holdin’ hands with some kid the whole time. He had to be, like…seven? Eight? I don’t even remember what his costume was.” His lips curved in a grin, “But I still remember yours.”
Your fingers curled into the sill, scraping wood, indenting the paint.
Ten years.
“So, you stabbed me in front of a child?”
Another breeze blew by. The steady air picked up your dress with it, flitting delicate fabric. Glitter along the seams of it fell away, sparkling like microscopic crystallites in the wind. Tate’s long fingers drew patterns over the cold surface of your skin. Tracing infinity symbols onto your hands.
“Rapunzel.” He whispered, “That dress was kinda pretty on you. Sucks about all the blood.”
You remembered then. When death imbued you with unexpected consciousness, you wandered around the house in a blood-stained dress. And ever since, your afterlife wardrobe alternated only between dresses of similar styles. Always cheap fabrics. Decorated in craft materials. You assumed you must’ve loved playing dress up in life. The thought of perishing in a store bought Halloween costume never crossed your mind.
“Who was he?”
You sniffled, breath hitching without any need for oxygen. Tate brought a hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears. He loomed behind you. A cold-blooded apparition of your nightmares. His casual talk of violent depravity made your blood boil.
“Who, the kid?” He asked.
He lowered his hands to the sill. Looking out the window over your shoulder, Tate squinted in the sunlight.
“Yes! I don’t-” You burst into tears without warning, sobbing into your hands, “I-I don’t remember anything! Nothing! I had no idea…who was he??”
“Dunno…” he dropped his head, pressing his cheek to your hair, “I didn’t really stop to ask. He ran away. Right after I pushed you out of this window.”
“You pushed m-what?! You’re a fucking monster.” You whimpered. Wishing you could leap out and disappear with the oscillation of the wind, “You know you’re never getting out of here, don’t you? You’re never going to change, Tate. You’ll always be a monster.”
“Probably.” He droned, wrapping his arms around your middle. Pulling you closer, he added, “You’ll be stuck here too. If you don’t let go of that anger. If you let your rage consume you. All that bitterness and hatred. This house feeds off of it.” Another pause. He nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, “Uhm…I know this won’t fix anything. But…I really am sorry I took your life from you.”
You huffed, staring teary eyed out the window. Taking in the vast, effervescent world you’d never be a part of - through the border that brought your demise.
“But I’m really stoked you’re here….’cuz it’s not as lonely with you around.” He admitted.
“I could always tell you to fuck off.” You choked, venomous in your revulsion.
“Yeah. You could. But you won’t.” He grabbed your arms with gentle hands, wheeling you around to face him. He took your tiny fingers in his palms. You refused to meet his eyes, “If you made me disappear, you wouldn’t have anybody.”
You decided to hit him where it hurt, strangling through tears, “I could always talk to Violet. She has such a good heart. Not like the rest of you. You’re all just…awful. So horrible and cruel!”
Tate clenched his jaw, dropping his forehead into yours.
“You’re right. She’s not.” He woefully mumbled, “How come I still miss her, huh? Been missin’ what we had for, like…forever. Now I’m pushin’ you away too. And you’re all I have left.”
“Maybe stop killing people, Tate?” You snuffed, tears catching your eyelashes. He wiped them away all the same, “Who knew death could be so miserable. I…I finally found out the one thing I’ve wanted to know after all these years. I thought a little closure might help me, but…” You cried, “I feel even more messed up.”
“Why? Do you love me?” He pressed with so little confidence, you felt he only said it to convince himself.
“I…” You hesitated, brows furrowed, “I cared about you. Even though you’re a lunatic. I wanted to give you a chance. But now…now I just want to shove you out this window like you did to me. I want to scream at you, Tate! I want to make you suffer! I want to-”
He shifted closer. Within this vicinity, his maturation became all the more clear. Your weeping hues glazed over the creases under his eyes. The blond bangs of his hair had thinned by a smidgen, losing its youthful shagginess. He was all fine lines and outward exhaustion. Had you met him like this in life, you’d think him a mere decade away from a mid-life crisis.
“Go ahead. If it helps. I don’t mind.” He reached down again, grabbing your hands and guiding them up to his chest, “Just let all that rage go…you can take it out on me.”
This was just another tactic of his. An attempt to appease you, in desperate hopes you’d forgive him. Still, you didn’t think twice. Whatever wrathful anguish you kept buried inside finally erupted. The soul crushing weight of loss tumbled down over you, sending you into a frenzy. You thrashed your arms, throwing your fists in shallow, but sharp strikes. Battering against Tate’s chest, you landed every blow - inspired by betrayal. He remained still, watching you with a hollow look.
Hits turned to scratches as your grief took hold of you. You clawed into Tate’s sweater, wailing, powerless to the pain of his disloyalty. Taken aback by your overwhelming emotions, you wondered how the afterlife could bring so much suffering. Tate wrapped his arms around you again, and you buried your nose in his sweater. Your sorrowful tears stained the stitching.
“I hate you. So much. So fucking much.” You whimpered.
“You said you cared about me.”
“I hate that I care about you.” You cried, sobbing into his sweater, “I-I want to hate you. I need to hate you. But you’re right. You’re fucking vile, and you’re right. If you were gone, I wouldn’t have anybody else.”
Shifting again, he tilted your head up with a cold hand under your chin. Tate stared down at you, weary with lonesome desolation. The endless monotony of purgatory brought forth nothing but turmoil. And that turmoil linked you both in all-consuming angst. When he dove in to kiss your lips, you allowed it. If only to feel something far less painful.
Tate hadn’t kissed anyone in over a decade. But he flowed naturally with you, wary of applying too much pressure. The last of your tears fell, and again, he wiped them away. Separation came slow, as he parted from your lips. He blinked, leering like he couldn’t believe you reciprocated. Another beat, and he dove in all over again.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered.
Kissing in your ghostly state felt bleak as the dull air of winter. In the throes of lonesome yearning, death nuzzled death so intimately. You opened yourself up for him, moving back until you hit the windowsill. In your negligence, you sat on it. A calm, easy breeze enveloped your back, tickling your neck. His desirous kisses swallowed you in, his hands claiming your cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his words weaving through every kiss.
Fate had yet to deliver you closeness of this kind. You couldn’t fathom how intimate connectedness might work in death. As Tate’s cold lips fell to your neck, the atmosphere between the two of you shifted. Something akin to the radiance of life saturated the air. Like the summer’s glow shining from outside. A few seconds more, and coldness turned to heat. Sensual heat.
“What does it feel like?” You asked, breathless without the need for air. You tipped your head back. Tate took this as an invitation to ravish more of you, “To make love after dying?”
The glossy warmth of his tongue painted gradual lines across your neck. He caressed you with a thumb, gliding the digit over your cheek. Under the newfound heat of his palm, you felt burning intensity. No one else brought you physical touch like this. Not since a time before you perished, so long ago.
All because of him.
“Feels kinda the same?” Tate muttered in a hushed voice. Capturing your lips again, he kissed you with cautious tenderness, “It’s a lot like being alive…from what I remember. Some of us get addicted to it. Like a drug. They suffer without it. Drives ‘em crazy.”
His forehead fell to yours once more, and Tate’s eyes fluttered shut. He continued stroking your cheek, cradling your face. As if you’d disappear once he let go. You noticed the way his chest heaved. Slowly, like his lungs were still infused with the essence of life. But when he moved in for another kiss, you felt no breath on your lips.
“Does it drive you crazy?” You whispered between kisses, “Do you suffer without it?”
“Not really.” He said, dragging his thumb over your lip, “Missed this, though. I miss it all the time.”
“What? Kissing?”
Tate nodded, blond brows creasing as his smile faded. For a beat or two more, he fell silent. Staring down into your eyes with all the liveliness of a barren void. You gazed into a cave-like abyss, lost with no light to guide you. Beckoned by the promise of something unseen.
“This feels…different…with you.” He whispered.
“Different how?” You shivered as his soft touches moved elsewhere, "Are you feeling guilty? Does it hurt? I hope it fucking hurts."
Dragging the tips of his fingers up and down your arms, he drew invisible lines with his nails. So careful. Like you’d shatter if he treated you too roughly. His palms settled over your hips, and again, he kissed you. Tate just couldn’t seem to stop doing so, even as you spoke to him with poison on your tongue.
“No. It’s warmer.” He squeezed your hips a little tighter, “Why…why’s it so warm with you?”
The initial kisses between you both were so frigid and lifeless. But now, somehow, so heated and real. You locked your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles. Inviting him forward, you loomed in the sill of the window. Your body tilted. In the arms of the summer’s air, you almost fell backwards. You had every reason to believe Tate would let you plummet.
But he didn’t. Not this time.
With an arm wrapped around your waist, he kept you from slipping. Under your dress, his free hand sought the heat between your legs. His palm cradled warmth over thin cloth. Discreetly, he pressed the pads of his fingers to your sex over your panties. And the contact amplified a scorching fire within you. A vigor exceeding the bitterness of death.
You wondered if Tate had less experience than he claimed in therapy. It took him a few tries before he found your clit. His sizable fingers circled your little nub in easy motions. Drawing long, needy noises out of you. Silence lingered between you both in calm, but tense quiet. Until the rasp of his voice caught your attention.
“Do you feel this? Do you feel, like…anything?”
You whimpered in response - timid like a churchmouse - as wetness stained Tate’s fingers through fabric. Cotton once so pure and untouched became damp. He chuckled, the sinister rumble in his throat making your blood run cold. Until the warmth of desire lured you in before you could second guess yourself. Savoring the hot friction on your pussy, you allowed sin to taint your clarity.
"For you? No. Never. You're sick. You're twisted. You're-" You cut yourself off with another whimper, once Tate caressed you with more pressure.
“Oh, shit…” He hastily tugged your panties down your thighs. Cupping your bare cunt, he pressed firmly into your clit. Thick digits teased the blazing heat of your folds, “You do, don’t you?”
Tate’s fingers dipped into your slick valley, his digits predominantly larger than your own. You rolled your hips just a smidgen, careful not to lose your balance - lest you fall out the window. Again. Though, maybe a rough tumble onto the lawn would knock some sense back into your muddled head. His other arm stayed iron locked around your body, keeping you safe. He eased inside you with all the hesitance of a man out of practice.
"F-Fuck! Fuck this. Fuck you." You mumbled, hushed under airy moans.
Following the squeeze of pleasure in your core, came something you lost in the afterlife. You almost felt the pumping of your dead heart again. A ghostly sensation of life blossomed under your ribs. Warmth flowed through your veins in syrupy bliss. Cozy wind billowed from outside, tickling your skin. If you closed your eyes for long enough, basking in the ecstasy of true feeling - you might’ve believed you were somehow revived.
Flitting your lashes, your eyes gradually opened. The sunny glow of afternoon light painted Tate’s aged features, showering him in golden rays. An image far too heavenly for a cold-blooded monster birthed from sin. You looked lazily into his hues. A whirlpool of guilt intermingling with lifeless cruelty; all within his dusky eyes.
“Feels like…” He mumbled, clumsily nuzzling your clit with the pad of his thumb. Biting his lip, Tate stifled a groan. He buried his fingers to the knuckle in your cunt, “...like I can feel your blood pumping.” Adding a third digit, he stretched you open. Your walls made effortless room just for him. You whined, making him smirk, “Fuck, this is hot. You love it, huh?”
"No. No. No, I'd never! Not with you. I'm just-" You swallowed, feeling your cheeks burn, "It really does feel like-"
Post-mortem coldness became lost on you now. Left behind, alongside your broken hearted resentment. Instead, you were overcome with the lively spirit of beingness. The afterlife had been so unkind to you. For a decade now. It abandoned you to stew in the longevity of solitude. With no one but Tate to provide you true company. Bringing your hands up to his cheeks, you pulled him in for a kiss. Your fingers threaded through his blond locks. Winding your tongue sloppily with his, you whined.
"Make me cum." You asserted, your legs sealing tighter around him, "Make me cum, and I might forgive you."
A flash of vulnerable sweetness overtook Tate's face, his puppydog eyes lighting up. An almighty flood of euphoria built up to a radiant crescendo, as his digits fucked you into oblivion. You clamped around his fingers, squirming with such intensity - he almost lost his hold on you. Tranquility found you at the peak of your climax. A divine miracle. As you cried little pleas into Tate’s lips, you felt as though you grew angel’s wings. As if some ethereal being descended from the heavens themselves, stole you away, and led you to the golden gates.
As you shuddered, your paradisal tremors eventually subsided. Blissful nirvana faded, and the hollow nothingness of death’s touch came again. Outside, the world continued on in slow-moving seconds. And in the distant horizon, the sun began its steady fall into night. Tate’s nose brushed yours. Looming in so close, he withdrew his drenched digits from your pussy. Leaving even more forsaken emptiness behind.
“I could…do that kinda thing for you every day…if you wanted me to.” He whispered, peppering your forehead in kisses, “It feels really good, doesn’t it? Just…please don’t make me go away? Please…”
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tearaez · 4 months
Text
PARTY
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boss!ricky, dom!ricky x fem!reader, 1.5k words, not grammar checked so please point out any mistakes you see so I can fix them, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!!), breath play/choking, pet names, please let me know if I missed anything!! Meant to be read with the song below !!
You didn't want to be here, but it's not like you had a choice. It was one of the only times that your company had an event like this, and all employees were required to attend, that included your boss. No one ever saw much of him, not even you, you'd maybe seen him a total of two or three times prior to this event, but you weren't very fond of him. For all you knew, his position was to just sit there and look pretty, you never saw him doing anything, nor did you ever care for anything that he did. On this night in specific, you felt uneasy, like you were being watched. Sure enough, there he was; Ricky stood against the wall, talking to some of the HR staff, his eyes never leaving your frame, despite being mid conversation. You couldn't deny that he was a good looking guy, especially with his outfit for the party. He wore a black velvet button down covered by a black suit vest, and some black dress pants. Although it wasn't much, damn did it compliment his slender frame.
You hadn't realized that you and Ricky had been staring at each other for a while until you felt a finger tap your shoulder, revealing a man you'd never seen before. "Hey beautiful, wanna dance?" By the way the man spoke, you could tell he was intoxicated; it only took a few seconds longer for you to notice that he reeked of alcohol. You politely shook your head, taking a step away from him, trying to set some boundaries, but he obviously didn't care. "Aw come on~ Don't be a buzzkill darling~" The man spoke, his hands making their way to your waist, gripping it harshly as he tried to pull you closer to him.
"I'm not interested.." You spoke, trying to distance yourself from him but he wouldn't budge.
"I'm not gonna ask you again. I said let's dance." You were surprised, to say at the least a his change of tone, the awkward smile on your face being replaced by a look of disgust.
"Can you not hear? I said-"
"No, she said no. Now get lost before I have you fired." Ricky spoke from behind the man, the hand that he had on his shoulder harshly yanking him away from you. You just stared at Ricky, the smirk he had on his face earlier that evening being replaced with a scowl of anger. You snapped yourself out of your trance, opening your mouth to finally say something, but he spoke first. "Meet me back in five if I matter." He nodded in the direction of the bathrooms, taking a good 10 seconds to just stand in front of you and look you up and down, before returning to the conversation he was having before you had your previous encounter.
Who were you to say no? Especially to him? Hell, the man's so good looking he could probably tell the air vents what to do and they'd listen. You occasionally glanced over to where Ricky was, checking to see if he was still there. After what seemed like forever, but was a few measly minutes, his eyes locked with yours as he started heading towards the bathroom, you following soon after you saw him disappear behind the door.
When you'd entered, Ricky was nowhere to be seen. "Ri-" You began to speak, but you were cut off by a large hand cupping your mouth.
"Shh, keep it down, don't want anyone to know we're in here, kitty." You made a face at his nickname, opening your mouth to speak before you were cut off by him yet again. "You know why you're in here, right?" He questioned, the hand that was over your mouth sliding down your shoulder onto your waist, teasingly tracing your curves until he got to the door lock, locking the door so no one could interrupt the two of you.
"Uhm.. no, Mr.Shen." You looked up at him, one of his eyebrows raising, trying to determine if you were playing dumb or not. A devilish smirk spread across his face as he looked to the side, before turning his attention back to you.
"Well, let me tell you kitty.." He started, leaning in closer to you your faces only inches apart from each other. "I want you to pay me back for helping you with that creep earlier... do you think you can do that, hm?" Ricky's hand snaked itself around your waist, pushing you against the metal door as he got closer.
"A-And how would you like me to do that, Mr.Shen..?" You gulped, your voice hoarse and never louder than a whisper, causing him to lean in closer to you, his lips now on the side of your ear.
"Don't make me explain, you know what I want." Ricky's voice was stern, his face lifting until he was eye level with you once more. "Do you think you can do that for me, kitty?" You found yourself lost in his words, mindlessly nodding at him, his smile returning. He lifted a hand to caress the side of your face before pulling you to him, crashing his lips onto yours in a deep, sensual kiss. You were too distracted by his taste that you almost didn't feel his cold hands on the small of your back, unzipping your dress before tossing it onto the counter behind him. His hand made its way to your hair, bunching all of it up in a make-shift ponytail before yanking your head back, a gasp leaving you at the action.
"listen kitty, i wanna hear you, but you can't be too loud.. can't have other employees finding out about our little meet up.." he whispered against your neck, his free hand caressing your sides once more, making its way to your panties, moving lower until they ghosted over your cunt, beginning to rub your clit at a painstakingly slow speed. You looked at him, a light blush creeping onto your face as you had realized that you were basically naked while the man in front of you was still completely clothed. After a bit, his fingers finally moved the fabric to the side, swiping through your folds a few times before one of his long, slender fingers pushing inside of you, finally earning a sound. "ah, there it is." Ricky whispered to himself, inserting another one before beginning to move his fingers, the speed increasing with every thrust. The bathroom was filled with nothing but the sounds of your dripping cunt from his index and middle fingers thrusting into you at light speed.
"Mr.Shen.." You whimpered, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to that sweet release you wanted. At your words, Ricky pulled his fingers out of you with a puff of air leaving him, struggling with the buttons and zipper of his dress pants before throwing them behind the both of you near where your dress laid.
"No more of that Mr.Shen crap kitty, just call me Ricky." He growled, taking his thick cock in his hands, pumping it a few times before picking up one of your legs, wrapping it around his waist. "I hope you can take me, because once I start I'm not slowing down." He spat, swiping his tip through your folds, sending a shiver through your body. He slowly pushed inside of you, groaning as he felt you tighten around him as he bottomed out. You both moaned in unison when he started moving, your a bit louder than his, a bit louder than what he wanted it to be. His hand starting moving upwards, this time coming to the front of your neck, pressing you against the door as he thrusted into you. "Not a sound kitty, not a sound." His hand tightened and released every few times he thrusted into you, all of your moans being caught in your throat, none but very few leaving.
"Ricky.." You managed to get out, you weren't going to last long, the time between him edging you with his fingers and him shoving his cock inside you wasn't a big break, you were gonna unravel any moment. "Please, so close.."
"Does my kitty wanna cum, hm?" Ricky teased, placing a quick kiss to your lips as his thrusts got faster releasing his hold on your neck as both of his hands went to your hips, pulling you flat to his waist every time he disappeared inside of you. "I'll allow it this time, go ahead kitty.. cum all over my cock." And with those words, you finally let go, creaming all over him. "There we go, almost there kitty, just a little bit more..." He whispered, peppering kisses all over your neck as he continued his abuse on your cunt trying to chase his own high, a loud groan leaving him as he shot his seed inside you, the both of you stilling, trying to catch your breath.
"Well, can't say I didn't have fun with you kitty, but I'm afraid this won't just be a one time thing... Meet me in my office tomorrow at 4, then I can give you a thank you for your thank you."
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YAYAYAYAYAY after an hour of writing & markiplier videos it's finally done !! happy to have finally posted something after not having really wrote anything since my taerae rush earlier this year, my apologies :( @onlyhoons
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szobosz · 7 months
Text
body and soul // rd x reader (fic + smau)
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warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f and male receiving), fingering, mentions of eating/food
words: 7.5k
summary: like the wedding, your first date with rúben is an eventful, all-day affair. to say the two of you have some unfinished business is an understatement. the two of you have been craving. no, yearning, for each other for a while now.
note: the follow-up to my favourite fic i've ever written (the gate crash fic). finally, these two get together. this can be read alone but it makes more sense with the first part.
not edited
part one
fic playlist // every song mentioned:
frank ocean - ivy
taylor swift - dress
frank ocean - seigfried
taylor swift - king of my heart
taylor swift (ft ed sheeran) - everything has changed
yourusername
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liked by rubendias and 136 others
tagged: johnstonesofficial, rubendias and jenniferstones
yourusername: more pictures from not my wedding
view all 34 comments
jenniferstones: oh my god when did you have the time to take so many pics?
yourusername: i actually have loads of the bank, too jenniferstones: i hope @/johnstonesofficial gave you enough!!
johnstonesofficial: where's your tie, mate? @/rubendias
rubendias: think i left it in the hotel yourusername: i've got it johnstonesofficial: oh, so that was your plan @/rubendias this comment has been deleted
rubendias: where's all the pictures we took together?
yourusername: they're mostly polaroids! don't have any on my phone 😢 rubendias: i wanna see them yourusername: i have a few
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——
7:30 pm, the Overground
The Overground to Hackney Wick station is packed - hundreds of football fans flooding through train doors to get to the stadium and into their seats by kick-off - you included. You’re pushed against the door, sandwiched between two people, the air-conditioning not enough to mitigate the humidity in the carriage. Nor is it too hot for people to be considerate, either, because someone is playing Frank Ocean, of all people, on the fucking train. To be fair, it’s a refreshing change from a year 7 showing his friends his freestyle on Soundcloud. That’s a win…or something.
As the train stops, the train almost entirely empties. It pours claret and blue, purging itself of the swathes of supporters that bleed onto the streets towards the stadium. You get to avoid the queues, taking the entrance for guests, and showing your pass to security at the door. Rúben let you know this morning that he wouldn’t have his phone - team rules before a match - so you can go to the hospitality and get some food or go straight to your seat.
Wanting to watch Rúben, you make your way to watch the warm-ups, eyes following him as he passes the ball with John. From where you’re sitting, you’re still able to see that they’re talking, Rúben nodding, a toothy grin on his face. The sight brings you back to the lyrics to the song from the train.
if you could see my thoughts, you would see our faces
It’s ridiculous to already think that you belong here. That it feels right to be sat in a stadium supporting Rúben. Hoping that he wins, even when an additional three points for City is detrimental to your team. 
As the players walk onto the pitch, you see Rúben scan the pitch for you - eyes zoned into the area where family and friends should be. His face lights up - the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile before he nudges John, who also looks over. The brief moment of acknowledgement is replaced by stoicism as they shake hands with the opposing team. But you’re still left with the butterflies you first felt when you met the defender - at Jen and John’s engagement announcement. 
Yeah, you admit, you had a silly little crush on Rúben when you first met. And then you flirted at every opportunity - private or not. But you didn’t expect to fall in love with him. You didn’t expect any of the events of the wedding. How could you? But how could you ignore it after it has started?
The blow of the whistle indicates the start of the match - City dominating in possession. They play fluidly - precise and sharp yet they move with grace. No gaps to be exploited. Each one filled - like water. But, despite how well they play, you’re focused on Rúben. 
You’re captivated by the way the tendons in his neck show through the skin as he orders his teammates around, and shouts orders across the pitch, encouraging each of them to keep up the fight. It’s the opposite of the man you’ve spent so much time with - so different from the tender touches and flirty jabs. Yet you want all of him. You want to be consumed by every facet of his personality. 
Of course, you’d seen him play before. But it was always against your team, your loves, so you’d never really paid him attention. Before meeting him, the only opinion you had of him was that he was a fucking nuisance. Now, as you watch him, there’s a certain allure about how he plays. How he uses his size to impose on smaller players. 
——
10 pm, pizza place, Dalston
‘Come on,’ you pull Rúben’s hand, dragging him into the pizza place, watching as his eyes go wide at the size of them. ‘You buy them by the slice. We’re not eating a full 22-inch pizza unless you’re that hungry.’
‘What’s the best one?’ he asks, eyes scanning the options. A few fans come up to him and ask for photos, which he is nice enough to agree to, asking you to order for him. Rúben hands you his card and you shake your head, declining. It’s not going to be expensive - you’ve been to their other site many times before. 
Once you’re handed the pizzas, you go over to the bar and order some drinks - non-alcoholic for Rúben, and take a seat in one of the booths. He comes over a few moments later with a big grin on his face.
‘It looks good,’ he compliments, lifting the pizza to his face. He’s about to take a bite before you stop him, taking a picture of the comically large slice against his face. You flip the phone, letting Rúben see the masterpiece you’ve taken of him - eyes wide and mouth open. ’Done?’
You nod and watch as he takes the first bite, eyes lighting up. You pick up your slice, mindful of the toppings falling off as you fold and flip the poor slice into something more manageable. It’s Rúben’s turn for revenge as he takes a picture of you - just another one to add to the collection. To be fair, you should know better - hold the plate to your face instead of just the slice - there are ways to make the picture look cute. But you don’t care. You’re hungry and the only thing that matters is shoving said pizza down your face.
‘Good?’ you ask once your mouth is no longer full. Your drinks and curly fries are delivered to the table and you thank the server, watching as they walk away. Rúben nods in response, wiping the corner of his mouth with the serviette. 
‘So good, baby,’ he mumbles, dipping one of the chips into the garlic mayo and popping it into his mouth. Once again, he’s smiling, and you are too. Your heart flutters at the pet name - still not used to it despite calling him almost every evening since the wedding. 
‘They’ve got a place open in Manchester, too,’ you say, taking another bite of your pizza. 
‘Really? I’ve never heard of it before.’
‘That's because you’re a big strong athlete and you’ve got your crazy strict diet,’ you joke, laughing as Rúben flexes his arms. Rolling your eyes, you reach over the table to shove his arm but he catches your hand, kissing the back of it. ‘Oh, and you’re corny.’
‘Yeah, but you think I’m big and strong,’ Rúben teases back. Once more, you playfully slap him and roll your eyes. The two of you sit and eat for a few moments, letting the silence wash over you. ‘Do you want another slice, baby?’
‘Please,’ you say after pretending to think and tell Rúben which slice you want. He walks over to the counter, giving you a good view of his toned back. You need to thank the creator of the white T-shirt. He looks so natural everywhere - his gravitas never fading - always confident. Dominant.
Rúben returns with a plate in either hand, setting yours in front of you before taking a seat. He has a sparkle in his eye and you squint your eyes back at him. 
‘Why do you look so happy?’ you ask, voice suspicious. Rúben shrugs and goes back to eating. Kicking his feet under the table, you let out a small whine, trying to get him to explain. ‘Rúben, what is it?’
‘It’s nothing,’ he says once more, the glint in his eyes still not fading. ‘Eat up before your pizza gets cold, baby.’
‘It’s like you started calling me that and can’t stop,’ you smile into your words, biting down on your pizza, pulling it away slowly to see how long of a cheese pull you can get. Eventually, it snaps, sending the cheese back onto your chin. 
‘Calling you what?’ Rúben plays coy, pulling the cheese off and popping it into your mouth. Your eyes go wide at the realisation he stole it from you. ‘Concentrate, baby. What can’t I stop calling you?’
‘If you wanted to try my pizza, you could’ve taken a bite instead of whatever the fuck that was,’ you laugh, holding the pizza up to his face. Rúben takes a bite of it, humming a sound of approval before gesturing his hand upwards to get you to answer his question. ‘You keep calling me baby.’
‘I thought you liked it,’ he teases. 
‘I do.’
‘Good, because I like calling you it, baby,’ Rúben emphasises the word, his Portuguese accent getting a little stronger. ‘Thank you for agreeing to today.’
‘Did you think I would say no, or something?’ You grab his hand and squeeze it - reminiscent of the two of you in his car. A moment of reassurance. A promise of more.
‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘I thought maybe it was the wedding - maybe you got all wrapped up in it all and afterwards you’d regret it. Realise maybe you didn’t like me…’
‘Oh babe,’ you let you a soft coo. The pet name slips out naturally - as if you should’ve been calling him that for a while now. A pair of warm, expressive brown eyes meet yours - they give you all the reassurance you need. ‘I might’ve had the same thought about you - that you’d find someone less normal - you’d go back to being a footballer and forget about me. I was ready for that to happen. I was ready to wake up alone the day after the wedding.’
You’re not sure where the honesty is coming from but you can’t stop it. It’s almost like everything is finally coming to a head - where conversations need to be had. And you’re glad it’s going well because if they don’t, you’ll never be able to come back here, or any of the other chains. It’s stupid but you don’t want to lose your favourite pizza place alongside losing a man you aren’t even dating.
‘That’s stupid, baby,’ Rúben whispers, squeezing your hand, this time. He laces them together, your food long forgotten as you take in the ability to breathe. The weight is off of your chest - the fear of him finding someone else has been eased just a little. Now you know that Rúben was just as worried as you. ‘I didn’t want the wedding to end.’
‘Me neither,’ you whisper. ‘Should we go, now?’
Rúben nods and the two of you separate to get yourselves ready to leave. He grabs your bag, carrying it for you as you leave hand in hand. There’s no real plan - just the two of you wandering around Dalston for a bit - soaking up the presence of the other. You don’t need to speak, either. It’s enough to have Rúben’s hand in your own, grounding you. 
The September evenings bring cool air and you tuck into Rúben for a little warmth, his hands leaving yours so his arm can pull you into his side. He pulls out his phone and smiles - there’s something about the way he looks at the device that unsettles your stomach - like he could have someone else. 
‘Yes,’ he lets out a small victory hiss and you look to him for some more information. ‘Pep has said that I don’t need to go back with the rest of the guys. I can make my own way back if I want.’
‘Oh, why would you want that?’ your brows furrow, not understanding why Rúben would want to sort out his own travel, but his face falls. ‘What?’
‘Oh. I’m sorry, I just thought…’ Rúben shakes his head and tries to brush off the visible disappointment but you tug on his hand, trying to get him to explain. Despite being stood in the middle of the pavement in Dalston, time has stopped. Nothing else matters more than why Rúben’s mood has so suddenly fallen. ‘I thought you’d want me to stay tonight. I-‘
‘I do,’ you cut him off, squeezing his hand before wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him gently, your mouth moving against his. Soft. ‘I just didn’t think you’d do that - you’d have to find your own way back and that would just be a nightmare with all the strikes and stuff.’
‘Shh,’ he stops you from rambling any further, his arm back around your waist as you continue to aimlessly walk around London. ‘It’s fine - I can get the train, and if not, I can get a car.’ 
‘What time do you need to check out tomorrow?’
‘Nine,’ he says, checking his phone. 
‘Do you want to go back now, pack your stuff, and come back to mine for the night?’ you offer and Rúben nods, pulling you to the side of the pavement to call an Uber. ‘Since you decided you’re gonna stay at mine, already.’
Playfully, you elbow him in the stomach and Rúben grabs you, his beard tickling your neck a little. The two of you giggle there, waiting for the Uber to arrive, feeling at home in his body. The car arrives pretty quickly - Rúben opens the door for you and then climbs in. The drive back to the hotel is short and you don’t let go of his hand until you’re in his room.
‘Nobody’s here,’ you whisper against his lips. Rúben smirks, pushing you down onto the bed, and kissing you as he cages your body beneath his. Your nails dig into the skin of his neck, trying to pull him even closer to you - needing to feel his weight on you. 
Your hips start to move on their own, desperate to get some friction against your aching cunt. You’ve been so desperate for him - you’ve fantasised about him for too long. Rúben’s tongue slips into your mouth and you moan into the feeling, your dress getting bunched further and further your thighs until you hear someone outside of the door.
‘Fuck,’ Rúben groans, pulling away from you, the two of you fixing yourselves as John walks in. ‘Hey, mate, thought you were going out with the rest of the guys.’
John looks at the two of you, a small smirk on his face, knowing that he was interrupting. Your dress is wrinkled and Rúben’s cheeks are flushed - there is no room for doubt. Rúben grabs his bag, throwing it on the bed and packing - it’s a futile attempt at trying to save face, but it’s also the reason you’re at the hotel. He greets the two of you, the smug smirk still plastered on his face - oh, you know he’s going to tell Jen.
‘Yeah, I was meant to but I gotta call Jen first,’ John explains. ‘Why ya packing now?’
‘Coaches said it’s fine for me to make my way back,’ Rúben explains. ‘Gonna get my stuff now.’
‘Oh…’ John shoots the two of you another knowing look and you hope Rúben is done packing - and somehow he isn’t. He goes to the bathroom to get his toiletries, leaving you with John. ‘So, it seems that someone has taken a liking to my best man.’
‘Shut the fuck up?’ you playfully glare at him. ‘Now you’re gonna snitch to your wife, aren’t you?’
‘Oh yeah,’ John laughs. ‘I knew you thought he was a pretty, pretty butterfly.’
Groaning, bury your face into one of Rúben’s pillows. What possessed you to say that at the wedding? You’re starting to think that you’ll never live it down as your body burns with embarrassment. 
‘Let it go, John,’ you say, words muffled by the pillow. Turning to face him, you try to muster your best glare. ‘You’re the worst, you know that? After everything we did for you on your wedding day, the least you can do is not be a prick.’
‘The two of you come as a set, now?’ John continues to laugh and you throw a pillow at him. The centre-back easily dodges it before you’re reunited with your own. He presses a kiss to your temple before he continues packing.
‘Yeah,’ Rúben responds. He says it like it’s the most obvious thing - a given - and it makes your heart race. You watch as he packs, a small smile on your face. You sit up, no longer finding it appropriate to be lying on the bed now you’re not face-down on the pillow. 
‘I’m best man at the wedding, yeah?’ John teases and you think Rúben will shut him down quickly. Maybe it will be for the best if he does that, to nip that sort of teasing in the bud quickly - the two of you aren’t even dating…
‘You know it would be Ivan,’ Rúben laughs, giving him a pointed look - almost as if they’ve had this conversation before. ‘You’d be one of the groomsmen, though.’
‘Yeah, fair, mate. Now, can you ‘urry up so I can call my wife?’
‘Ready?’ Rúben turns to you and you nod in response. He hands you his phone to enter your address into Uber. ‘Bye, mate.’
——
1 am, your flat
You push the door open, kicking the heels off of your aching feet. There’s something so reminiscent of the wedding that it brings a small smile to your face. Rúben desperately pushes you against the wall, his lips on yours - tasting you. His beard scratches against your face, a stark contrast to the softness of his lips. 
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at it in desperation. Needing as much of him as he’s willing to give you. When you break, your lungs burning for air, a small giggle escapes your lips like a schoolgirl. Rúben pushes your head to the side, sucking and kissing at the sensitive skin. You mewl and moan against his touch, nails digging into him as you pull him in, turning your head further so he has better access.
‘Bedroom,’ you whimper, pulling Rúben’s head so you can kiss him again. You grab his hand and stumble through your home, legs weak from his touch. As the two of you pass the table in your living room, Rúben stops, his fingers trailing over something. Looking back, you notice him scanning through the polaroids from the wedding - the two of you dancing, toasting each other, and one of Rúben carrying you out of the venue. You have no idea who took it, but you’re not mad.
‘Did you change your mind or something?’ you try to tease but your voice falters a little. Rúben pulls you flush to him, your back pressed up to his chest. He slides one of the pictures to the front, kissing the top of your head as the two of you look at it. Your stomach flutters as Rúben spins you around, his hand on your jaw as he forces you to look up at him. 
‘Never,’ he whispers, pushing the pictures out of the way before he lifts you onto the table. Your legs lock around his torso as you kiss him gently, wanting to see if he will make the next move. He pulls away from you gently, a dazed look in his eyes. ‘Bedroom.’
Hopping off of the table, you drag him to your bedroom and he pushes you down onto your bed, his large hands grabbing at your body. Before he can do anything else, you put on some music - your curated playlist coming through the speakers.
‘I think we have a lot of unfinished business,’ you say, voice a little deeper than usual - sultry. Needy, too. 
‘Yeah, we do,’ Rúben’s reply is short, his voice heavy with arousal and your hand goes to his trousers, feeling the bulge you’ve been thinking about for the last week. He nudges you back to lying down on the bed, his lips kissing your jaw, down your neck, and in that sensitive area between your shoulder and neck. 
Your fingers go back into his hair, scratching at his scalp, tugging at his hair, urging him to stop teasing you. With your right leg wrapped around him, drawing him into your body, you guide him away from your skin, allowing you to tug at his t-shirt. A silent demand that he take it off. 
Rúben pulls the material from his body, giving you a good view of his broad shoulders and sinewy body. Your mouth salivates at the site - your tongue needs to run across every dip and divot. He smirks before pushing your dress up to your stomach, giving him the perfect view of your lace panties. 
‘I think I recognise this set,’ Rúben teases, his fingers ghosting over your panties, across your thighs, but never touching you where you need him most. Letting out a little keen, your eyes snap open, silently begging him to touch you.
‘I think you’ll have to wait and see,’ you quip. Rúben pulls you up, standing and unzips your dress, letting it fall off your body and into a pile on the floor. His eyes rake over your body as he licks his lips. The music still plays softly in the background, almost drowned out by your heart beating in your ears.
only bought this dress so you could take it off, take it off
‘Fuck,’ he groans, pushing you back down, his knee slipping between your legs, pressing up against your cunt. Rúben mouths at your collarbone, down your chest - marking you as you grind on his knee, soaking your panties as you pant and whine. 
Rúben is gentle as he reaches behind you, unclasping your bra and pulling it off of you - like a child at Christmas, careful to untack every piece of tape to see what’s underneath. As the straps are removed from your arms, Rúben visibly swallows, his pupils blown out and his knee pressing even harder into you.
‘Fuck,’ he groans, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking at the bud and swirling his tongue around it. Continuing to rock against him, you push his head down, loving the feeling of his lips at the sensitive nub. 
‘Rúben,’ you whimper desperately. To say that he’s skilled is an understatement. His hand rolls your other nipple between his fingers and you’d be moving far more erratically if he wasn’t pining you to the bed, keeping you at bay to only rock against his knee. ‘Please.’
‘What do you want, princesa?’ he teases after pulling away from your breast, now pressing gentle kisses in the valley between them, inching down to your stomach. Rúben moves his knee, keeping it pressed against you, trousers soaked with your arousal to urge you on. ‘Tell me what you need.’
‘Need you…’ your eyes screw shut as you try to even out your breathing. ‘To fuck me.’
‘Oh, baby, you’re not ready, yet,’ Rúben’s tone is almost condescending as he pulls your legs to the end of the bed and dangling. ‘Plus, I haven’t even had the chance to taste you yet. And, baby, I’ve waited for so long.’
Rúben tugs at the straps of your panties, silently commanding you to lift your butt so he can take them off of you. Naturally, you oblige, body shivering as he removes the soaking fabric from your skin. Two strong hands guide your legs apart and you feel a little self-conscious at Rúben’s gaze. 
‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ Rúben groans, almost in disbelief, his accent getting thicker as he coats his fingers in your arousal, slipping one finger inside of you. The wanton moan that escapes you goes straight to his body. 
You watch as his head dips between your thighs, the image alone needing to be carved into your memory. In that, he becomes the personification of sin. Temptation. And it only worsens as he licks a stripe across your sex. 
‘Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,’ Rúben praises, pulling his finger from your sex, and reaching up towards your lips. ‘Taste.’
His command alone is enough to have you sit up a little and take his finger into your mouth - to give him a taster of what he missed out on before. To let him know what you’re capable of. He lets out a hiss, standing up and adjusting himself before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Once more, Rúben gives you a chance to taste yourself off of him.
‘Good, huh?’ Rúben restates himself at your cunt, his tongue laving at you as if he fears he will never be able to again. His lips wrap around your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through you as deft fingers find solace in your cunt. They massage your walls, smoking and stimulating you until you writhe under his touch, so desperate for more, but your body is terrified of the sheer pleasure. It’s too much, yet also not enough.
‘No more teasing,’ you cry out, tears escaping the corners of your eyes. ‘Just fuck me.’
‘You’re not stretched out enough, princesa,’ Rúben is stern, but still, he kisses your inner thigh, his beard leaving a slight wetness against the skin. ‘I will not hurt you.’
Realising that your begging isn’t working alone, you sit up on your elbows, fingers tracing your inner thighs before they gloss over your cunt, letting yourself feel your arousal. Your legs clamp around Rúben’s head, trying to keep him in place.
Rúben scissors his fingers inside of you, gently stretching you out. He curls his fingers, lips wrapping around your clit as your hips rock against his face. One of your hands squeezes your breast whilst the other tugs at Rúben’s hair, adding to the little whimpers in spurring him on. 
‘But I’m so wet, papai,’ you whimper, your wet fingers glossing over his cheek for emphasis. ‘I need you.’
‘You’re so impatient,’ Rúben chides, pumping his fingers once, twice, before he tastes you once more. ‘You can wait a little longer.’
‘I can’t,’ you whine, all decorum gone. Rúben tuts, choosing to ignore your pleas and continues his ministrations, lulling your body into a further state of pleasure. Your breathing shallows as the knot in your stomach gets pulled tighter and tighter. ‘I’m…fuck…close.’
‘Come, princesa,’ Rúben says, taking that brief moment from between your legs. ‘Let go for me, baby.’
You let out a choked, garbled cry as you lose control of your body. Involuntarily, your legs clamp around Rúben’s head as he continues to eat your out, lapping at your cunt. His fingers continue to stretch you out, preparing your body for him. 
‘You okay, baby?’ Rúben asks, his hand cupping your cheek as you work through the aftershocks, chest heaving up and down as you try to steady your breathing. Instead of responding, you pull him down, his lips against yours, and his beard spreading your arousal across your own face.
‘Fuck me,’ you whisper, too spent to say much more. There are still colours in your vision - floating around. 
Rúben groans against your lips, pushing his trousers and boxers off in one go. As he pulls away, you get to see him in his totality. Thick cock up towards his toned stomach - teasing you. He’s so hard it must hurt and you get up onto your knees, unsteadily moving towards him. Rúben watches you like a hawk as he strokes his cock with long, fluid motions, his head thrown back at his own touch. 
‘Let me, papai?’ you ask, looking up through your lashes and Rúben bites his bottom lip, in contemplation, before nodding. Your hand joins Rúben’s, the two of you stroking him until he lets go, watching your wrist flick and the way your thumb spreads his pre-cum across the head. 
Pulling him closer, you take his cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling at the head - paying particular attention to the slit, loving how Rúben shivers, his hands going straight to the back of your head. But he’s gentle - he restrains himself. Slowly, you take more of him into your mouth, him heavy on your tongue and start to bob. As you go down his shaft, you take him further until your nose is close to his pelvis. 
Gagging against him, your eyes start to burn, tears wicked at the waterline. Your hand takes what your mouth can’t - one playing with the rest of his length, the other massaging his balls. Rúben lets out a long, low groan and it goes through you. Your cunt aching with need. 
‘I’m too close,’ Rúben warns through gritted teeth, trying to stop you. ‘Princesa, don’t you want me to fuck you?’
At the promise of finally feeling him inside of you, you pull off of Rúben with a wet pop, saliva connecting the two of you. You look up at him, lips swollen and tear tracks down your face. You’re a mess but he doesn’t seem to care as he pushes you back down onto the bed. Your legs wrap around his torso expectantly as he lines himself up.
‘Is this what you want, baby?’
‘Sim, papai,’ you moan, feeling him at your cunt, slowly pushing himself in until he’s sheathed. You’re snug around him - warm and inviting. Your breath hitches as you feel his size - unsure of how you managed to take him in his entirety. ‘Fuck, so big.’
‘I told you, princesa,’ Rúben says, despite your eyes being screwed shut, you know he’s gloating. And you can’t fault him for doing so. You tap at his arm, urging him to move and he does so slowly, the first few thrusts tentative - scared he’s hurting you. ‘You can take it. You’re such a good girl.’
Your walls clench at the praise and Rúben lets out a strangled noise - it’s caught in the back of his throat as he settles for a pace. His hips snap upwards as he fucks you, hitting that one spot. You claw at him, your nails digging into his back as his head is buried into your neck. Rúben breathes into it, he bites down at the flesh, and your body only wants more of it. More of anything he is willing to give you.
‘So good,’ you shiver, your legs so tight around him, you’re unsure of how Rúben is even able to pull out to slam back into you. He pulls away from your neck, one hand on your cheek, and the other bracing himself to not crush you.
‘You feel fucking incredible,’ he grunts, pushing a hand down onto your stomach. ‘Can you feel me here?’
He renders you speechless - you can’t think past the feeling of him. You cry and whimper, your arousal dripping into the sheets beneath you and you’re close once more. It’s so overwhelming - Rúben always has been but it’s different. He consumes you, and right now, everything revolves around him. 
‘Papai,’ you cry, hips rocking against him in the rhythm he created, your bodies in sync. You’re so caught up you can’t say anything more but it’s as if he already knows. Already so attuned to your body he lets out a low hum.
‘Eyes open, baby,’ he chokes out, his thrusts getting less steady, letting you know he’s just as close as you are. You force them open - it’s so hard when he feels so good - but you’re rewarded by the sight of him. Mouth slightly open, pupils blown out, and despite not yet climaxing, Rúben looks ruined. ‘Come with me. Please.’
Rúben continues to thrust, his cock twitching. He pleads with you to keep your eyes open as they flutter shut and you can’t deny him. Not when his thumb strokes your cheek - not when he’s so tender. And you come - mouth open as your walls milk him. It’s earth-shattering watching him come undone. It only spurs you on until the two of you are spent, his cock still inside of you as he collapses onto the bed, mindful of hurting you. You feel him soften inside of you, neither of you can move and clean yourselves up. 
‘Fuck, baby,’ Rúben strokes your cheek, trying to get you to focus on him. He’s sweaty and breathing heavily, your hand against his chest - feeling it race against your palm. ‘God, you’re perfect.’
‘You’re going to be the death of me,’ you admit, trying to regain some composure. Rúben lets out a small chuckle, kissing the top of your head as he pulls you as close to him as possible. ‘I’m gonna be so sore tomorrow.’
‘You did so well, baby,’ he praises, holding you tight. He pulls out of you, the emptiness making you cry out before he returns with a warm towel, cleaning between your legs and soothing you at every whimper. ‘Get some rest.’
Rúben tucks you onto his chest - almost reminiscent of the wedding. How good it felt to be enveloped by him - by the smell of him. For you to hear his heartbeat. Rúben switches off the music, finding your phone charger and plugging your phone in, the music quickly coming to a halt.
i'd do anything for you (in the dark)
The sun fights its way through the grey clouds of London, letting you see just enough of Rúben’s face. He looks so peaceful, on his side, face tucked into the pillow. You’re unsure if this is breaking a boundary - to burst a bubble you’re not sure really exists - but you have to. You trace his face, his cheekbones to his strong nose and just really take him in. 
Rúben stirs at your touch, body shuffling into yours like he is seeking your warmth. Your fingers card through his hair - soft and messy from your activities the evening prior. Your body aches yet you can’t stop yourself from pressing into Rúben’s sleeping frame. To just touch him. Feel him. Something so simple yet you had yearned for it so badly before. And now, you finally have it. At some point, you’re distracted by Rúben, your fingers no longer combing his hair. He lets out an annoyed groan and his eyes peek open.
‘Why’d you stop?’ he groans, mumbling as he shuffles into the crook of your neck. Letting out a light chuckle, you return your fingers to his hair and smile as Rúben watches you. His eyes are heavy with sleep but his gaze doesn’t falter. ‘Better.’
‘Don’t get too relaxed,’ you joke, playing with the soft strands. ‘We need to eat something - it’s almost midday.’
‘I’ll make you breakfast,’ Rúben mutters, kissing your shoulder. ‘Just five more minutes.’
Eventually, you untangle from Rúben, causing him to groan when you leave, but an offer for him to join you in the shower gets him out of bed just as quickly. You’re too sore to do anything but clean yourself off - your walk is just a little tilted. Rúben’s smug when he sees it - when he sees the hickeys he left on your body. To see his effect on you.
——
Noon, your flat
‘When did you find the time to order all of this?’ you ask, bewildered at the food delivery Rúben is bringing through the door. There are at least three of them - all filled to the brim. ‘What are you making?’
‘Bacalhau a Bras,’ he says, his accent thicker than usual. ‘It’s my favourite dish - my mum makes it all the time when I’m home.’
‘Ah, have you made it before?’ you help Rúben unpack, placing the eggs on the table. He shows you the recipe on his phone. ‘Can I help?’
‘I’ve made it before…’ he says, and the sheepish smile lets you know how well it went. ‘But this time, it will be amazing. Just sit down and watch the master.’
‘What if I want to help?’ you ask, cocking your head to the side, your hand slipping over to grab his. ‘We make such a good team.’
Rúben visibly gulps, leaning down and capturing your lips with his, your back pressed to the kitchen counter. You keen into him, letting out little whines at his touch, one large hand on your bum, the other on the back of your neck. 
‘Don’t start something you can’t finish, princesa,’ he warns, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb. ‘You were such a good girl for me last night. Now, where did you learn papai from?’
‘Honestly?’ you laugh, peeling the potatoes as Rúben deals with the cod. He looks back at you with amused eyes, nodding to urge you on. You keep your focus on the vegetable in shame. ‘I might’ve searched it up…’
Rúben laughs, his head thrown back, and teeth on show. Your stomach sinks, the moment humiliating but he grabs your cheeks, kissing you once more. Rúben holds you tight, kissing the top of your head before pulling away.
‘It was hot,’ he admits, burying his head in the crook of your neck. ‘You were so good to me last night. Such a good girl.’
‘Now, I guess it’s time to admit that where I found it, they did say nobody really uses it but I took a risk…’
‘And I liked it,’ Rúben reassures you, slapping your bum before he goes back to making breakfast. You chop the potatoes into matchsticks before handing them over to Rúben. He ends up cooking the rest of the dish as you hug him from behind, just trying to get as much contact with him as possible.
The two of you sit down for brunch, orange juice in front of you both. Rúben looks a little nervous - watching as you take the first bite,
‘It tastes really good,’ you say, taking another bite. Rúben follows suit and comments how his mum makes it better but the dish is good because you helped him. ‘You’re such a sap. Wasn’t this like a whole plot point in Kung Fu Panda? Love makes food better?’
‘Who said anything about love?’ Rúben teases.
‘Well, I didn’t cook with spite, today, so that’s my only other option,’ you jab back. ‘But it’s really good. You need to send me the recipe.’
‘Not happening. If I give you the recipe, what’s to say you’ll keep talking to me?’ he wriggles his eyebrows and you roll your eyes in response. There’s something so warming about him being silly - the opposite of him on the pitch. You love it. You love spending that time with him - seeing him be who he is.
‘Sex was pretty good,’ you try to be nonchalant, shrugging your shoulders and laughing at Rúben’s offended look. He raises his eyebrow and you bite your bottom lip, relenting. ‘Maybe it was more than pretty good.’
‘If it was just pretty good, I can always find someone else,’ Rúben deadpans and you rescind your earlier statement, giving him a large grin. ‘Hurry up and eat your food before it gets cold.’
You take a forkful of it, letting out a low moan as you eat, teasing Rúben when the two of you know that you really shouldn’t go for another round. It’s easy to tease him - you love the way his eyes light up and then darken as a warning. 
‘How long are you in London for?’ you try not to pout at the thought of Rúben leaving, but it’s hard to stop the way your eyes lose their shine at the question. Rúben takes your hand, kissing it to soothe you.
‘I need to be back by tomorrow - we have training on Monday. Come back to Manchester with me today?’ he asks, biting his bottom lip as if he’s worried you’d turn him down.
‘Well, it won’t be the first time I spend a long time with you, would it?’ you tease, alluding back to the wedding. It was something else - the time you spent with him, remembering how your heart raced and your stomach fluttered. All of it. You think back to how badly you wished to marry him - before you even got to know him. 
‘At least we won’t be trying to save the day the whole time,’ he quips back. ‘Come back with me - we can go to the arcade, or something.’
‘Yeah, that sounds good,’ you laugh, finishing your last bite of food under Rúben’s watchful gaze. He’s so intense - you’d realised it before - but it’s so much more when it’s just the two of you. ‘Are we getting the train back?’
‘Yeah, I’ll book the tickets now,’ he murmurs, pulling out his phone. ‘I can book a car, though, baby.’
‘I know,’ you say, kissing him once more. His hand comes back to your bum. ‘But I also remember something you said.’
——
4 pm, Rúben’s car, Jen and John’s wedding day
‘Do you like this?’ you ask, stroking the hand Rúben has on your thigh. The two of you are on your way back to the reception - cheongsam in tow. There are only about twenty minutes left of your journey - traffic having held you up at every turn.
‘What do you mean, baby?’ he looks at you confused, hand squeezing you tightly. 
‘All the fame and being recognised all the time?’ you think back to the kids that asked for a photo outside of the hotel - how they were elated to meet him. Your heart melted. There was something so perfect about seeing him with children. So right.
‘No,’ he says, completely honest. ‘I love my job, I love playing football, but I don’t want my entire life on show for the world. I’m a normal person who also plays football - that’s it. I don’t like being treated like I’m special - or put on a pedestal.’
‘Oh, Rúben,’ you let out a soft coo, taking his hand to squeeze it. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t,’ he says. ‘You make me feel normal.’
——
2:37 pm, Euston Station
You and Rúben bolt down the platform to the train. By the time you get there, you’re panting, lungs burning as the two of you enter the first-class carriage. Falling to your seat, you drag Rúben with you, the two of you laughing as the train sets off.
‘I can’t believe we almost missed the train,’ your laughs are laboured from the lack of breath and you’re sweating but it’s funny all the same. ‘I thought you were good at keeping the time and stuff. Being super organised.’
‘It’s not my fault there was so much traffic,’ Rúben pulls you to his side, kissing your temple. The two of you are curled into the other, your eyes falling shut out of exhaustion. Your, already aching, muscles get even more stiff and Rúben massages your shoulders for you. 
‘So, you never did tell me what you remembered, baby,’ Rúben tries to get you to talk, to reveal the big mystery you’ve been keeping from him. He pokes your ribs, making you squeal and you shake your head.
‘Does it matter?’ you play coy once more, going on your phone and ignoring him. ‘How long is the journey?’
‘Answer my question first, baby,’ Rúben’s voice is low - a warning, his hand leaving yours to trail up your thigh. ‘It’s rude not to answer me.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ you smile, head resting against his arm. ‘But I’m serious, it doesn’t matter what I remembered.’
‘You must’ve remembered it for a reason,’ he says, trying to get you to fold.
‘Yeah, I did,’ you admit, nodding your head. ‘It’s just something for me to know. Something for me to remember. I’m glad you told me it, though.’
Rúben kisses your face, peppering you with them. He holds you tight to him, the two of you giggling like teenagers. Luckily, the carriage is empty - in all fairness, it seems as if most of the train is empty, City fans opting to go home right after the match.
‘Tell me,’ he continues with his onslaught until you admit to doing so, your voice still bubbling from the giggles.
‘You told me that you wanted to be normal,’ you say, relenting. ‘That’s why I picked my favourite pizza place…and why I wanted to get the train here.’
Rúben kisses your temple, holding you close to him. There’s a large, wide smile on his face as he looks back at you - his eyes unable to hold back how touched he is - his surprise that you remembered. 
‘One more question.’
‘One more?’ you quip. ‘You didn’t even answer my last one.’
‘I think you’ll like this one,’ he says, kissing you once again. ‘Will you be my girlfriend?’
and all at once, you are the one, i have been waiting
rubendias
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rubendias: three more points. we worked hard.
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yourusername
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yourusername: your eyes felt like coming home 🦋
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rubendias: do you support city yet?
yourusername: nah johnstonesofficial: @/yourusername coward yourusername: @/johnstonesofficial shut up you still owe me johnstonesofficial: you got your pretty butterfly because of me yourusername: um??? no?? @/jenniferstones please collect your husband. he's stinking up my comments rubendias: that day, we all became pretty pretty butterflies jenniferstones: @/johnstonesofficial babe, stop it before she leaks our address yourusername: listen to your wife, ben grimm (the thing) @/johnstonesofficial johnstonesofficial: who is that? yourusername: i put both names for you to google...use it johnstonesofficial: your boyfriend is the comic book nerd. @/rubendias - this is for you yourusername: i have a boyfriend??? johnstonesofficial: we all know you do
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