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deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months

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— HOLD ME LIKE A GRUDGE

SUMMARY : dean is a demon. it’s Christmas Eve and it’s exhausting to keep fighting him, but he’s accidentally knocked out by the reader. so, she took him back to her parents’ place to clean him up... but her whole family is already home.

PAIRING : demon!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : cenric (OMC), guren (OMC), koro (OMC), kandora (OFC), meliora (OFC)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, implied cheating, fluff, fun family time, toxic relationship, rough sex, intoxicated sex, p in v, unprotected sex

WORD COUNT : 4.8k

A/N : fall out boy song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — hot tub sex and drunk sex. let's pretend demon!Dean lasted for a long while. wtf is that name? it’s from the video game Destiny, probably (they have badass names, especially the villains/sometimes they’re ridiculous, lmao). XXxx

Y/n and Sam split up in their search for Dean.

Both were in search of him… and Crowley. But mostly Dean.

Dean didn’t behave much like any other demon. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He settled for over drinking, dancing, singing bad karaoke, sleeping with random women—which stung, killing people in self-defence. The list goes on, but he’s more bored than evil.

She knew Dean, even now, as a demon. This was Dean when he was bored. Not Dean being evil. That just wasn’t Dean.

She didn’t know it, but he was keeping tabs on her, too. He’d fool Crowley by promising to seal deals, pretending he was going off with a girl or two, getting away for some ‘Dean time’ doing random shit…

He was just going out to see her. There’s something that he can’t shake off about her. It might be the possessiveness, the ownership he feels towards her… it’s something he doesn’t understand, a tug deep within himself that yearns to be whole. A part of him that’s sure that missing piece is her.

Crowley sent demons after her. Of course he did, to slow her down, to throw her off. Dean lied to Crowley, the way he always did to get what he wanted. Instead of fleeing because ‘you’re getting too attached, let’s move on’, Dean stayed behind to make sure she made it out safely.

It irked him to feel that guardianship, that… need or whatever the hell it was that compelled him to keep her safe.

But, one thing led to another, she was outnumbered by about fifteen demons. She’d gotten at least five of them by the time Dean decided to show himself. He didn’t completely protect her from harm, but he saved her from possibly deadly blows.

She was stunned to see him there and she looked absolutely ravishing. Covered in blood. Her soft hair falling free from the tie holding her hair in place and out of the way. The focused furrow of her brows. The irritated scowl on her pretty face.

Dean got distracted. It was his first mistake, ever since he became a demon. He felt time slow down with only three demons left, the two of them moving in sync like nothing ever happened, like nothing stood between them.

“Six!” She shouted, expecting him to get down, but he didn’t. She punched him square in the face and his body fell loudly with a thud, but she didn’t let herself get distracted.

She killed the last three demons in a breeze because even they were astounded that the knight of hell, Dean Winchester, was knocked unconscious by a smaller hunter. By a human.

She didn’t bother cleaning up. Fifteen bodies? If Crowley didn’t want to be tracked, he’d clean it up on his own. Instead, she carefully pulled Dean out of the warehouse she was staying in as she stalked her boyfriend and Crowley.

She found his car nearby, poor Baby was a complete mess. She hid her stolen car behind the warehouse next to a bunch of tumbleweed, took everything that was hers, wiped it clean of prints and other evidence, and left in the Impala.

With Dean in the backseat, she wondered what she would do now. She didn’t expect for this to happen. The plan was originally to see what Dean and Crowley were up to, call Sam, then go back home as Sam took care of the rest.

It was too late for that. Her family was home waiting to celebrate the holidays. All of them cleared the schedules to get together, they’d planned it a whole year before, even she did and she was supposed to bring Dean.

Guess that’s still the case, except he’s a demon now… and she’s kidnapping him.

It was a long ride back home. It was inevitable that Dean would wake up completely pissed.

He glared at her from the backseat, cuffed with his arms behind him. The road was empty so there was nothing to put them in danger as he wasn’t secured with a seatbelt. Most importantly, it wouldn’t matter that she swerved so hard that he fell onto his side with a grunt before letting out a deep growl.

“Bitch!”

“Oh, stop it, it’s the least you deserve after everything you’ve done,” she muttered, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. Her heart hammered rapidly with anger and hatred, but she focused on driving herself home safely.

“I just helped you out,” he reminded her darkly, leaning against the car door to sit back up.

“Yeah, and I’m thanking you by saving your life,” she retorted.

“I’m fine.” She scoffed at him, but stared at him from the rearview mirror for a few seconds before he looked back at her. She realigned the car when it veered off slightly.

“You’re a demon.”

“I’m still me, sweetheart, just because you don-”

To prevent further conversation, she pulled out the first cassette tape she touched and shoved it into the car deck. The ride to her family’s home was tense and irritating because Dean decided to sing along tunelessly.

It was better than having to hear his insults or cruel comments. He was funny sometimes, too, when they made pit stops… even if she currently hated him.

“Ah, here we are, awesome,” Dean murmured sarcastically as she killed the purring engine of the Impala.

“Shut up, I’m tying you up in the basement,” she glared at him. He scoffed as she got out of the driver’s seat, walking around the front of the car to unlock the door for him.

“Hey! We’ve been waiting for you!” She heard from the doorway. It was her little sister who was now walking towards them.

“I’m going to shout,” Dean told her, gazing up at her with a feigned innocent expression. Green, sparkling eyes wide and a pout that almost reminded her of when he was human.

“Shut up,” she whispered harshly before lifting her head with a sweet smile towards her sister. “Hey, Dean’s got.. an embarrassing situation going on, think you can distract everyone for the meantime?” Her sister stopped where she was, her eyes flicking to Dean for a heartbeat or two and then to her older sister.

“Sure,” Kandora shrugged, quickly turning around and jogging up to the door.

“Cute,” Dean grunted. Y/n gripped the back of his red flannel and harshly yanked him out of the car, holding back a snicker when Dean bumped his head on the top of the inside of the car. “You know, this is the body of the man you used to make love to,” he reminded her with a sneer, leaning his back against his car as she shut the door.

She smiled at him sarcastically, “yeah, and then you used this body to fuck whores, so I don’t really care.” She grabbed the middle chain between the cuffs and tugged him the whole way to the entrance where they removed their shoes.

When she was fully inside the house she could hear her sister telling a story loudly while laughing hard along with her family.

She quickly made her way down to the basement, turning the light on before pushing Dean. He stumbled over the stairs and glared back at his lover when he regained his balance.

“Smart, no one could hear me here,” he told her with a smirk. She frowned at his words, freezing in the middle of uncuffing him after leaving him over an ugly rug where a devil’s trap was painted underneath.

She had a few quick flashbacks of her and Dean having sex in the soundproof basement when they could get away from all the family time. No one could hear them—and hopefully no one knew what was going on. Those were the perks of a retired hunter family.

She undid the cuffs and he gently massaged his wrists even if they healed up quickly. She watched curiously and then looked away to hand him a few clean up supplies that weren’t necessarily dangerous to her or her family.

She turned to look at him and opened her mouth.

“Let me guess: shut up and stay put?” He smiled down at her in an attempt to be charming, but she rolled her eyes, pretending it didn’t work.

“Oh, you’re so smart,” she praised bitingly, patting his cheek in a demeaning manner. He scowled and moved away from her to clean the demon blood off himself.

She made her way back upstairs to join her family who were now somewhat silent. Music played softly in the background. Thankfully, it wasn’t irritating Christmas music, but songs she recognised were her oldest brother’s favourite songs.

The scent of her favourite food wafted up her nose, arising hunger into her stomach that growled like a great beast. The lights weren’t too bright either, which allowed her to relax when she settled in the kitchen with her family as they waited for the food to get ready.

Her mother, father, two older brothers, and little sister sat around the table doing random things waiting for the food to finish cooking.

“Honey, you made it,” her mom, Meliora, smiled happily, halting when she saw the bloody state of her daughter, but her happy expression didn’t falter.

“Hey, mom, guys,” she smiled at her family bashfully, not looking them in the eyes. “I’m gonna clean up, just wanted to say hi before going upstairs,” she informed them.

“Good, you stink,” her brother Koro snorted playfully.

“Yeah, you didn’t have to say come hi, we could already smell you were here,” her oldest brother Cenric remarked just as mischievously.

They all broke into laughter and Y/n shook her head, giving her dad, Guren, a kiss on top of his greying head before making her way out of the kitchen to clean up.

Once she was done cleaning up—wearing cosy clothes from her past that her mom kept—she made her way downstairs again. Much to her dismay, she saw Dean wearing only a black t-shirt having the time of his life telling the embarrassing story about the time she got so flustered, she spit her milkshake out into the face of a woman who flirted with her when they were undercover for a Lamia case.

She wondered how he got out of the devil’s trap. She figured that maybe her parents removed it, but that wouldn’t be safe.

He smiled brightly when he looked up and saw her, acting like nothing was wrong in the world. It looked domestic, way too painfully domestic. The casualness of him leaning against the couch next to Kandora who was holding a mug of warm Champurado in her favourite yellow mug looked too natural. He wore only some socks and really looked like a boyfriend right now.

“Hey, babe,” Dean grinned and she forced a smile, making her way to him.

“Hey.”

As he wrapped his arm around her he murmured into her slightly wet hair, “you’re so lucky.” She hummed a laugh, feigning amusement and wrapped her arm around his waist to pinch his back harshly.

He tightened his grip around her and released a strained laugh before adding to the conversation, talking to her family and answering their questions the same way he would have if he weren’t a demon.

“I know we said no partners, but Dean and I were working a last minute case,” she began explaining to her mom.

“It’s okay,” Meliora smiled, “Dean explained already.” Her mother kissed her forehead and got up to check the food. “Besides, he’ll make sure there are no leftovers that will go bad.”

“Right,” she murmured, laughing softly as her mother disappeared into the kitchen with Guren getting up to help her out as well.

It was almost normal, except he’d sneak a couple of drinks—mostly alcoholic eggnog—until she could smell it in his breath, but he seemed completely unaffected by the alcohol. It was something her family didn’t catch on to throughout the evening. Although, the only one who knew about Dean’s drinking problem was Kandora—they told each other everything.

Dean was a bit more handsy as he got less sober, and he held his tongue most times to keep the conversation appropriate and respectful, save for a couple of swear words he’d exchange with Koro as they told each other stories.

When they all sat at the dinner table to finally eat, Dean kept his hand on her thigh. Occasionally, he’d pet her, sneaking his fingers teasingly between her thighs, brushing over the thin material of her thick leggings.

In response, she’d pretend to be cute and couple-y by lifting food up into his mouth and whispering warnings into his ear. She knew it only egged him on, he’d stare at her with a little smirk and even dared to kiss her with his mouth full of food, the corner of his lips smudged with tamale sauce.

He was even playful. It would have warmed her heart, except it was very irritating and hurtful to know it wasn’t even real. When Kandora dared him to eat her mom’s spiciest salsa with his tamales, he accepted the challenge, and permitted her to serve him what she wanted him to finish.

Y/n didn’t know if he was pretending or not, half the time.

Still, Dean kept up appearances by overeating, taking at least two servings of everything, even the cherry pie her little sister made especially for him once he finished eating tamales with Meliora’s spiciest salsa.

Even she resorted to drinking eggnog with alcohol to make the night easier, to loosen up a bit as Dean got clingier. She played along with Dean and finally, she was able to get away as midnight came and her family cleaned up to go to sleep.

It sucked to watch Dean help her mother wash dishes, the way he would have if he were human. As if he were truly her Dean. She was just glad he didn’t plan on hurting them, at least so far he hasn’t tried.

He just fit in perfectly with every single one of them, the way he always did. Easily moulding himself into whatever environment he was placed in. Everyone adored him, he was always so real, so loveable, so easy to talk to. He had a light to him that no one could recreate, one everyone was drawn to like moths to a flame.

“You drank too much,” she commented as she walked upstairs to her room with Dean behind her.

“Was the only way I could deal with you and not be an asshole with your whole family there,” he grunted, stepping in front of her to open the door, falling straight into her pink bed rather than holding the door open for her or shutting it behind them.

“Real thoughtful,” she muttered, shutting and locking the door of her childhood bedroom. “Get off my bed,” she ordered, making her way next to him. He only smiled, eyes closed, trying to be cute as he snuggled her pillow, verdant eyes fluttering open as he gazed up at her through long, beautiful lashes.

“Just join me instead and we can show this bed the action it’s been missing since you moved out,” Dean purred, turning over onto his back. He reached out for her wrist and tugged her forward, catching her with his arms around her waist. “You’re criticising me for drinking, but I can smell it on you, too,” he narrowed his eyes up at her.

“Shut up,” she muttered, squirming and wiggling until he let her roll over next to him. “I can’t stand you.” She grabbed the pillow beneath his head and yanked it out with a snicker, placing it between her legs as she turned over on her side.

“I’m still me,” he retorted, turning on his side to face her back.

“So ya keep sayin’,” she mumbled in irritation, trying to make her head stop spinning when she closed her eyes.

He sighed and scooted up on the bed, staring up boredly at the pink ceiling, the bright light at the centre. He knew she wasn’t asleep, she kept moving, trying to make her drunkenness stop her from sleeping peacefully.

He knew she wasn’t going to stop being angry at him, which was a complete one-eighty from the last time he saw her. She’d begged for him to come back to her, professed her undying, unchanging love for him… now, she seemed almost disgusted by him. It made him wonder what changed.

Irritation boiled in him, even jealousy made heat rise up his chest to his ears and neck. What if there was someone else?

“I’ve always wanted to get in a hot tub,” he broke the silence, staring at the back of her head as she stilled. She grunted in response after a few moments of silence and lifted the pillow between her legs up to her mouth, tight against her stomach as the alcohol decided to turn against her. “Wanna… get in?” He asked, grasping her hip and squeezing.

“We’ll… drown..” she lied, tightening her grip on the pillow when his touch sent sparks of pleasure down to her clit.

“Nah,” he murmured, sliding his hand beneath her shirt against her warm stomach to turn her onto her back, tight against his body. “Come with me,” he murmured, sliding his hand up higher.

“Fine,” she inhaled sharply, getting up faster than she should have to avoid his touch. Dizziness from the alcohol made her stumble, but she caught herself on the wall, facing the Christian Bale poster on her wall.

“Careful,” he told her, getting up from the bed to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.

“Let’s just go cross it off your weird bucket-list.” She made her way to the door, forgetting to unlock it as she tugged it hard.

“You’re drunker than me,” he chuckled, unlocking the door, wrapping his large warm hand over hers to turn the doorknob and open the door. She pursed her tips and unfocused her gaze on the door until he removed his hand from hers.

They quietly made their way down the stairs and she held the wall to balance herself while Dean watched her closely. Making their way blindly through the house to the backyard, Dean laughed softly to himself, which made her shush him.

“Sorry,” he whispered, completely unapologetically, “it’s just that you’re such a good girl,” he began explaining, an undertone of sexualness in his words, “I can’t believe you agreed to this.” He sighed gleefully, opening the glass door to the outside where the hot tub was.

“I… not always,” she argued, noting a few times in which she proposed scandalous ideas to him. He started to unbuckle his belt, his shirt riding up his tummy.

“No, not always,” he agreed quietly, staring straight into her eyes as she stared hungrily at the bit of exposed skin. “But you never want your family to know we have sex,” he told her, shoving his jeans down his legs, revealing the lack of boxers.

Her eyes widened and she looked away, walking past him to fill and turn the tub on. He smirked, pleased with her reaction.

“You were really loud in the basement, though,” he recalled, pulling the shirt over his head and toeing his socks off. “So pornographic,” he added dreamily. Her face heated up and she turned to glare at him. “Hey, sorry, beautiful… Come, take your clothes off.” He laughed, then bit his lip seductively, trying to reel her in with a tilt of his head.

She scoffed at him, but began removing her clothes. He shrugged and dipped his fingers into the tub, testing the waters before stepping inside. She tripped down to her bra and underwear, which he tilted his head at disappointedly with a frown. He held his hand out for her to take and carefully helped her inside.

She scooted far away from him and slid inside so only her chin rested above the water to combat the biting December wind. He rolled his eyes at her, but let her do as she wanted, staring up at the sky which was frosted with stars, the whole gated community dark and asleep.

“How’d you get out?” She broke the awkward silence, looking around the white glazed bricks separating her parent’s home and the neighbours’ homes. The lights inside were shut off, except for the Christmas lights decorating the inside and the outside of their houses. No one was awake to peep.

“Devil's trap not gonna work on something like me,” he told her smugly, playing with the water. She hummed in irritation, looking at him. “Come closer to me,” he requested, making his way halfway to her.

Begrudgingly, she made her way to him, staring curiously at his still handsome face.

“What?” She murmured, tilting her head at him. Dean gently brushed his knuckles down her cold cheek and she moved away slightly, brows furrowing with perplexity.

“You know, to really cross it off my bucket list, we need to have sex,” he reminded her. She considered his words and grimaced, moving away from him. It stung, demon or not, to see the woman who once loved him unconditionally become disgusted by the thought of sex with him.

“No,” she whispered, “we’re drunk.”

“It’s not like we haven’t done it drunk before,” he pressed, splaying his hand over her back and cupping her jaw. She inhaled and became tense, pushing him away.

“You getting separation anxiety?” She asked scathingly, hoping to change the subject. He released her reluctantly and relaxed on his side of the tub.

“From who? Sam?” Dean asked boredly, playing with the water again, his mood sour.

“Crowley.” He glared at her, this time, he pounced on her, holding the back of her head to press his mouth to hers roughly. His tongue forcibly parted her lips, tasting the sweet eggnog and bitter alcohol in her mouth. As bile rose up to her throat, she whimpered and pushed him off. “You ass!” She splashed water into his face and he growled at her, eyes flickering black.

“Why are you being difficult?” He shouted at her, gripping her arms tightly.

“I’m not some meaningless lay,” she spat, reaching up between his arms, burying her fingers into his hair to pull roughly at his longer, honey strands, until he loosened his grip on her arms and hissed.

“I never said you were,” he seethed, wrapping his hand around her throat. She tugged his hair harder and so he immediately let her go, running his fingers down his face tiredly. “Is that what this is about? The women?” He inquired casually, like they meant nothing.

“What?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest, shuddering at the cold breeze despite the flush of alcohol and the hot water.

“You heard me,” he whispered threateningly.

“Yes! Okay?” She admitted, then sighed, tears welling up her eyes. She blinked them away and clenched her jaw to keep her breath steady. She turned away, ready to climb out of the tub when Dean grabbed her elbow, moving them both into each other.

He didn’t say anything, but for the first time since he was a demon, his green eyes were cast downward in shame and regret.

“You told me that if you couldn’t have me, no one could,” she reminded him quietly.

“I meant it,” Dean reaffirmed, pulling her closer.

“That just applied to me, then?” He remained quiet, averting his gaze from hers. “What makes you think I’m letting you go now that I have you back?” His eyes snapped back to hers and they darkened.

He leaned down to kiss her again, but this time, she took his face in both of her hands, angling his face to control the kiss. Dean wrapped his arms around her, keeping her tight against his body.

Her soft tongue smoothed over his, teeth scraping, and lips bruising. Possessive and hot, she slid one hand away from his face between his legs where his cock was already erect. She curled her hand around him, pulling a deep groan from him.

He slid his hands up her back, finding the clasp of her drenched cotton bra, darkened red from the water. He quickly rid of it as she pressed and kissed him, her hand tugging his cock slowly.

His blunt nails scraped the silky skin of her shoulders, pulling down the straps until she released him for total removal of it from her body. He walked forward with her until her back was pressed against the heated wall of the tub and pulled away from her mouth to catch his breath.

He panted against her mouth, kissed her deeply once more before trailing open-mouth kisses down her neck and shoulders. His tongue picked up warm droplets that rolled from her velvety skin, his teeth grazed her collarbones and the tendons of her neck, suctioning her pulse and the sensitive parts of her.

“Remember that cat your sister had?” He murmured against her skin, moving her up slightly to attach his lips to her nipple and remove her underwear.

“Um, yeah, Tickle-toe?” She mumbled absent-mindedly, arching her back.

“Yup,” he chuckled, removing her underwear completely, throwing it out of the tub. “Always tried getting into the room when we were having sex? And then when we finally did let him in, he’d just stand there watching, or he’d lick you, or scratch me, like it was trying to be a part,” he retold, grasping both of her thighs. “Yeah, that’s Crowley.”

She laughed softly, wrapping her arm around his shoulder, her nails digging painfully into his skin to the point of breakage. Dean moaned softly, pushing her fully against the wall of the tub, spreading her thighs wide open so they were pressed against the wall.

He nuzzled his face into hers, brushing his lips softly against hers as his cock nudged teasing through her folds and past her clit. With her free hand, she wrapped a hand around his cock and guided him to her entrance.

Dean was gentle at first, slowly pushing in while his teeth sunk into her bottom lip. The pull out and the push in was slow as he felt the drag of the water, the way it slowed him before he began to fuck her earnestly. He released her lip to smash his mouth against hers, matching the painful thrust of his hips against hers.

She clung to his waist, moaning wantonly into his mouth as his cock stretched her walls, the length of it brushing wonderfully against the most sensitive parts of her, driving her crazier and crazier, driving her deeper into pleasure.

“Think I’m gonna fuck someone this good, this raw, with this much passion?” He panted against her mouth as she pulled him closer. She gasped loudly, squeezing his cock so tightly he growled deeply against her. “D’you think I’ll ever feel this love for anyone, for someone who isn’t you?” Her toes curled and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, moaning his name softly, pulling his body closer to hers.

“Please,” she whispered, chuckling breathlessly as he thrusted roughly and shallowly into her. He tightened his grip on her thighs, bruising her thighs, cutting her soft flesh with his fingernails, moaning with her as his body thrummed with life he hadn’t felt since he became a demon.

She squirmed as she approached her orgasm, her warm walls pulsing around his cock. Her mouth found his once more, their lips moved together messily, violently like their love, until they both fell apart.

He sucked her bottom lip and pulled away breathlessly with a smirk.

“Come with me,” he whispered, unhanding her thighs so she could wrap her legs around him instead. He held her closely, too, folding his arms around her waist.

“Ask me again in the morning,” she murmured, kissing his prickly jaw. “When I’m not drunk. When the afterglow’s gone.” She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth and he nodded in agreement, staying in the tub for a few moments before they untangled each other's limbs.

“Will your answer be different?” He quizzed, holding her chin between his two fingers. She tongue poked out to lick her bottom lip, followed by a thoughtful bit of her lip.

“No.”

Dean dipped down to peck her lips, lingering for a few thuds of his heartbeat before pulling away and kissing the top of her head.

“I’ll stay,” he promised, moving both of them out of the tub into the freezing cold. Dripping in water, they put their clothes back on with much difficulty, laughing quietly. Somewhat drunk still, they cleared out the tub and tried to get dry with Dean’s t-shirt before heading inside to shower and sleep in her childhood bed where they continued to do unspeakable things in the darkness as quietly as they could to not be discovered.

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@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis

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#12daysofspnkinkmas2023 #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x female!reader #supernatural #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction

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crisiscutie · 2 months

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Dissidia Darling's Disaster Dates! Round 1: Sephiroth

In celebration of Rebirth's upcoming release, my blog's anniversary and the sad demise of Opera Omnia, I might just do a mini-dating series, set at the Gold Saucer. Let's see how it goes. Enjoy this scenario! Features slight Aerith/Darling.

Content Warning: Slightly NSFW. Yandere/toxic relationship. Blood. Some physical abuse. Emotional abuse and manipulation. Skinshipping. Lots of dialogue. Darling's POV is trippy and unreliable.

You looked around with worry, desperately searching for any sign of your allies. Somehow, you had become separated from Kadaj, Aerith and the others while exploring a haunted mansion. You looked all over this damn amusement park searching for them, but with no luck so far. Why the hell is everything so eerily quiet now? Everywhere you went, there didn't seem to be signs of life. But all the bright lights and machinery operated as normal, oddly enough. The round square is one of the last places you haven't checked, so you went there to see if they're around.

But the longer you walked, the hazier your vision became and your kimono felt constricted, causing you to readjust your obi. Maybe it's just your anxiety making you feel that way. But you hated being alone. You just need something, someone, to keep you from going mad. You didn't even notice a black feather landing on top of your head as you approached a gondola ride. Maybe this will lead you to the others? The reason you all came to this world was to hunt for crystals, but Aerith came up with the idea for everyone to take a break and enjoy themselves, which is why you opted to dress up. Kadaj and the others must be worried sick about you. You hoped that no monsters or summons had caused any trouble in your absence.

"...Are you lost?" a deep voice purred from behind you. Coming to a sudden stop, you turned hesitantly to face Sephiroth. His gaze was so intense that it practically rooted you to the earth, and your vision became clouded by a pink-purplish tint, blurring everything but him. The man who rescued when you first arrived in this universe, the one who masqueraded as your jaded, but caring mentor. He had treated you so well. But now, you knew the truth about him - he had used you for his own gain. What could he possibly offer you now that you knew his true nature? Yet, you're alone, with no one else by your side. The void was becoming unbearable. But the simple act of him offering his hand shattered your psychosis, bringing you back to reality. You couldn't resist the impulse to take his hand now, though it was against your judgment. When you took the final step into the gondola, your body stiffened, causing you to stumble and lose your balance, but Sephiroth acted swiftly. He caught you, wrapping his hand around your waist.

He pulled you close to him and your hands gravitated towards his chest as he leaned down to your level. And without warning, his luscious lips inched dangerously close to yours, making you gasped. He smirked, savoring the way you reacted and how you shifted uncomfortably. Then, he moved his lips to your ear, almost brushing against it, and spoke in a soft whisper.

"You know, you could thank me for catching you." He chuckled when you quickly took a step back, too flustered to respond. Though, he still kept his hold on your waist. With a heartfelt sigh, he reached out and took hold of your hand. His lips hovered above it as if he were about to kiss it, but instead, he lovingly nuzzled it against his cheek and closed his eyes. Your touch alone sent shocks of euphoria to his cold heart. Slowly, he guided your hand down his neck, collarbone, and chest, while wearing a euphoric smile that seared itself into your consciousness.

"I've missed you..." He then sat down on the seat, pulling you into his lap soon after. He gave your neck a small kiss before locking his slit eyes onto you. Even with all that transpired, every fiber of your being craved him. You wanted him to keep holding you, touching you, worshipping you. This had to be the reunion instincts Cloud and Vincent warned you about, it's a mix of unsettling rightness and wrongness that erupted goosebumps all over your body.

"Have you been keeping up with your sparring?" he asked, adopting the caring tone of a father checking on their child. You shyly mumbled a "yes," which earned you another sweet neck kiss from him.

"Good girl..."

"Why did you lie to me, Sephiroth?" you huffed out, as you tried to resist the reunion and the euphoria building up within you. Your face grew hot, and beads of sweat trickled down your forehead.

"I never lied to you, my darling. In fact, I played my role well. Guiding you in this realm was my duty. I was always there for you. And let's not forget, it was you who offered to help summon 'Mother' for me." As these words sunk in, your heart dropped.

"I... did.. But-"

"and you had to know that she didn't have a physical form," he interrupted you, still nuzzling into your neck. He had you cornered. What he said was certainly true, but there had to be some lie in there. Like the others told you, he's always lying... Right!?

"I NEVER AGREED TO BE ITS VESSEL!" you shouted, a surge of strength and anger flowed through you in that fleeting moment. In response, he erupted into a series of dark, eerie chuckles like a deranged maniac, almost as if he was emulating someone.

"Foolish girl," he hissed, his voice cutting through the gondola, making you feel like an unruly child being scolded. How else could she come into this realm without a beacon? You're the one who called her, so it's fitting she chose you. It is my duty to see this through, as her chosen son." His lips curled into a sneer as the horror and self-doubt washed over you like a wave. You had gotten yourself into this situation, but now you didn't know how to deal with it or even put an end to it. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, drawing him nearer to you. The expression on his face suddenly shifted from sadistic and smug to... almost comforting and warm?

"I know you're scared, darling," his voice was smooth and reassuring, almost hypnotic. "But I'm here for you, and we're in this together. Remember the good times we had? Do you really want to throw all of that away? We could rule this world, the entire cosmos, if you'd only come back to me." He finished his speech with a relaxed sigh. In one swift movement, he tore your kimono open, exposing your soft skin to the cool air. He then pressed his cheek against your upper chest, causing a sigh of pure bliss to escape your lips. He gave your collarbone a firm nip and left his mark, his slit eyes glowering at your belly with a solemn look when he's done.

"You are carrying our future within you," he whispered. "And soon, it will be born."

Afterwards, a blissful silence enveloped the gondola, as both of you became completely engrossed in each other's presence. You two just wanted to keep holding each other for eternity. Your trance started to end when you heard the familiar voice of Aerith calling out to you. You muttered her name in return and glanced out of the gondola's window to see her and the rest of the group waiting for you two at the final stop, weapons drawn and prepared.

"It seems like our time together has come to a close," he whispered, hissing softly in your ear. Your heart raced, and your vision blurred, focused on his alternating expressions, a sinister smirk, and a euphoric smile. His slit eyes widened, and his pupils dilated, fixated solely on you. As soon as you blinked, his Masamune blade was pressed against your neck, its icy touch leaving you paralyzed with fear. "If I take your head, darling, I can keep better track of you. No one will ever separate us." His velvety voice betrayed a glimmer of giddiness, revealing cracks in his composed demeanor.

"No! Don't do this! Nothing will come out of it!" you exclaimed. His blade barely moved, and already a small trickle of blood ran down your neck. You closed your eyes, hoping this nightmare would end soon.

"Nonsense, it will work just like last time, Mother," he whispered, his thumb gently caressing your left cheek. He slightly moved the blade again, the flow of blood increased. But then, his Masamune vanished, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

"The manifestation is not yet complete. Go on, my darling, continue filling your hollow heart with despair so that we may achieve the reunion we seek." After those words, he carefully and tenderly positioned your weakening body onto the seat, like a precious doll being prepared for exhibition. He kissed your foreheadbefore disappearing, leaving his dark feathers scattered around you. Your vision was clouded by that same pink-purplish tint from before as your body went completely limp, just as the gondola ride came to a hard stop.

The others were geared and ready for a fight when the gondola's doors automatically opened, but they were surprised to see Sephiroth gone already. Aerith was the first to rush inside, making a beeline for you. As she examined your body for injuries, she noticed something peculiar when she looked into your dull eyes - a brief, faint pink glow. Her gasp was followed by her gaze drifting downward, where she spotted a strange dark feather resting on your swollen collarbone, covering Sephiroth's lovebite. With a grimace, she gently removed the feather, watching it disintegrate in her hand. It was undoubtedly his twisted way of asserting ownership over you, a taunt to her and the others about your impending "destiny". Despite her efforts to lift you to your feet, your body remained dead weight, making it impossible to get you up.

"Zack, I need your help!" she yelled. He nodded, quickly rushing over and utilizing his SOLDIER strength to carry you out of the gondola.

Your last thought before fully losing consciousness in Zack's arms was whether there was time to enjoy the fun night with other dates. Got those priorities straight, don't you darling?

Date rating: 2/10.

Sephy tried, but he just couldn't help himself after being separated from darling for far too long. 😔 As I said, I might make a mini-dating series with other FF characters.

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widowsofchaos · 2 months

Note

could you please do prompt 168 with carol x fem reader? if you’re comfortable writing that of course:)

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐭

synopsis: Trying to find peace at your job’s gala, but a familiar haunting shadow finds you once more.

pairing: dark!Carol Danvers x brown!fem!reader

ao3 // modern au // 5k words.

warnings: dubious wlw smut (forced stimulation, vaginal fingering), stockholm syndrome, toxic established relationship, domestic violence, mention of childhood abuse.

a/n: Carol’s outfit reference. title is a reference to the song, Mary by Alex G. requested 168. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” from this dialogue prompt list. dog metaphors, because I must write pain. Channeled my inner amy dunne for Carol. I’m sorry that I’m just finishing this 2 years later, but I hope whoever requested this, I hope you see this! <3

“She became the parent, the lover, the friend you’ve always craved for—- and yet, here you are,”

The truth can sting, just the sharp tip of a knife, flickering at the raw flesh. Poking and prodding till there’s small plots of ichor forming.

“——broken…” Her index finger arched, halting her words, still a vivid memory, “…. but not beyond repair.”

A scoff escapes.

“What is love without hate, I guess.” Unconsciously it spewed from your lips, the vowels felt like acidic vomit. A pregnant silence arose.

That all knowing head tilt, with those observant eyes—- always earned uncomfortable tension within you.

“Love isn’t meant to be confused with hate.”

The cigarette burns slow between your clenched fingers, nursing three fingers deep. Brown liquor swishes against the carved rocks glass, its clear silver grooves twinkles under the gala’s vermilion hues.

Fragments of words compulsively knock against the walls of your brain; as you mull at the gala’s open bar. A scorned woman who just wants peace, and quiet. Lingering stains of hurt that can last a lifetime settles to silence for once in a long time.

Showered an ugly duckling with affections, and built the pillars of security. Growing up in a childhood filled with anxiety and fear of attachments, lingering stains of abuse from the very beings who birthed you into this world.

She cleaned you, bandaged the scars, and assured you that she was the only one who adored you—- persisted that she was the only one who would.

Now, fighting violently in the legal battlefield of divorce, these past weeks have been mentally exhausting —- all whilst handling the burdening responsibilities of your profession.

Your very mind and hands helped craft this sophisticated gallery.

Your boss, Mr. Laufeyson, opened a new exhibit in the National art museum—- Norse history, one of his niche fixations. A man birthed on Norwegian soil, but raised in the monarchal land of England.

An established man who often seeks to explore the rich culture of his ancestors with much sophisticated adoration, and esteem. The Norse exhibit is now the largest section of the institution, with vast collections of rare artifacts protected behind hard stainless glass.

He breathed down your neck for long weeks, you had the task of restoring each piece that had been brought in, nearly breaking your damn back from all the hovering.

A gala bustling with a sea of middle-class folk, and self-proclaimed aristocrats of New York. You sought solace at the open bar, smoking a stogie—- and slipping into the whiskey.

It wasn’t a preferred choice, but it helps give a quick kick to your nerves. Seeking solitude away from pressures to gallant with faux professionalism, and an particular noisy friend, who should be presenting the Norse gods section.

Earlier, she was pestering with a thousand questions flying by the mouth —- if you ever gave thought to rekindling with Carol.

Dissociating into a mindless static, flickering at your clear square nails, as your cigarette burns slowly. At first, the mention of this exhibit with your boss months ago sent you into a frenzy of joy, but now—- it’s a dreadful experience.

All you long for is to start your weekend, to cuddle with your daug—-

“What an incredible scent you have—-”

Oh God, no.

“—- is that Histoires de Parfums, 1969?”

Fuck.

“I haven’t been around that perfume in a long time.”

It’s as if she can smell you a mile away.

A sensual, purring voice whispers near you. A shadowing silhouette eclipses the shimmering ceiling lights from your peripheral vision.

Your lips wrinkle, restraining the foreboding tears of frustration. Tightly nodding, swallowing a sob. Your breathing becomes heavier.

A hum, “It really smells wonderful.” With precision, the shadow sits onto the empty seat beside you.

“Thank you.” A forced smile curls at your mouth.

“With that scent, I’m surprised you’re not being hounded by the men here tonight.” A subtle wordplay, are you looking for anyone tonight?

As if your mind has forgotten all the bad, and reminisces on the good, all the fun, all the beauty that once blossomed.

“It’s not men I'm looking for.” You whisper, snuffing the cigarette into a provided ash-tray. A creamy hand strokes your knuckles, and your skin shivers under your blouse.

A jolt to your groin, and your breath hitches. All she can do is just touch you, and it’s as if you can get on your knees, and forgive her for everything.

“Why?”

You can see that pearly grin, from the corner of your eye, teasing and twisting.

“They’re too easy to hunt?”

You exhale a chuckle, eyes still trained onto the glistening counter.

“They bore me.”

“So—” Her voice lulls as a moan, “—- see anyone worthwhile?” Her fingers curl around your glass, twirling it by the rim. Your lipstick stain faces her direction, and bold as always, she lifts for a sip. Connecting the lip stain to hers, her eyes never leave yours.

It’s not tacky, nor forceful. How she moves is as if it is her nature.

Your eyes gaze over your shoulder, taking a full look. Finally, to drink in the force of nature that is your estranged wife—- Carol.

Her blonde tresses cascade on her shoulders, milky breasts on display. A pristine, black dress, that cuts and splits at the chest hem, polished nails, and clean skin. Her dress halts near her knees.

“Well, I have my eye on a blonde tonight.” You say timidly. Tenderly, your eyes glance fleetingly, a quick trace over Carol’s bodice, nearly losing your composure.

A pregnant pause.

That pretty pink mouth stretches smugly, as if the cat that got the cream. The hooks caught the flesh.

“You like blondes.”

Her tone lingers as an open question, guising the truth.

“Just one in particular.”

Sinking now, the hooks are tugging.

“Really?” Carol leans, her eyes hooded. “Which one?” Pretending to scan her eyes across the ocean of people.

But your eyes remain fixated on her. As if you were a lost puppy, just gazing at its human. Lucidly, influcating between the spaces of yearning, and guilt.

How at ease Carol is, as if nothing was wrong. The charming woman, the woman you thought she was. The woman she wanted you to think she was.

“The one in the black dress.” You say softly, and defeated brown eyes.

Carol’s eyes gaze back at you from the corner of her oculus, downcasting with a mirth, humming a chuckle. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” She shakes her head, an enticing warning.

A dangerous but delicious fruit hanging at your reach. She wants you to take the bait, urging you to—- to get you back in her grasp, and if she does, she won’t let you go.

This game, a cat and mouse play, is all too familiar. Playing as strangers, attracted together by lust, and curiosities—- the type of curiosity to feel the other’s flesh, subtle carnality. Act out, with playful words, pretend to be different people.

It slowly suffocates you, a twang in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t normal.

She isn’t normal.

Carol can be an array of personalities, she can be the doting wife, the whore in bed, the mother—- she can be the bitch with a violent mouth. Different faces for different folk, no one knows her true self, and she’s good at it —- real good.

So, when you tried to seek help from friends, they couldn’t believe it, nor did they want to. You’re not surprised that Carol snuck into the gala—- your co-worker, Maria, who you thought was a true friend —- the matchmaker from hell, let her in, unknowingly allowing the terror onto you.

But, that’s no surprise. Maria has been Carol’s right hand since their days in the Air Force.

None of your friends believe you—- and, it’s hurtful to admit, you’re too scared to speak about all the hurt Carol made you endure over the years.

Barely spoke of the discomfort Carol used against you, and all your shared friends thought you misinterpreted. All saying that Carol is just head-strong, and that you two are perfect together.

Carol feeds the fire with a ‘She’s just going through a tough time.’

Boundaries aren’t respected, everyone trying to push you back together, inviting Carol in social events —- to the point where you didn’t go out anymore, and just drowned in work.

“I like challenges.” Carol softly leans in, her breath fans the bare skin of your shoulder, “All the more fun when I win.” Her voice drops low, to a wispy whisper.

Her body heat engulfs you, and your eyes droop with haziness for a slick second. You can’t—- not again. No matter how intoxicating she can be, how delicious, it’s not worth your peace.

You’re too drunk for this.

“This cat is too tired to entertain.”

“Who said you were the cat?” Carol’s brow arches, halting you in your step. Carol’s infliction hardens, from the corner of your oculus, you can see the clench of her jawline. That pretty mouth morphed into a restrained frown, the same one you see before a punishment.

An offense has been made.

“I didn’t realize the roles were switched.”

The mask slips.

It’s always her way, her rules. Because no matter how clever, how coy the mouse can be, the cat always wins.

“You’re getting brave on me?” Carol asks.

And now the mask has been dropped.

“I think it’s best I leave.” You quickly collect yourself, a bit wobbly from the alcohol. Leaning against the counter to regain your composure, trying to stand upright.

Not this time. You won’t fall for her charm.

Carol sucks her teeth, “You’re seriously going to leave? Aren’t you tired of this childish bullshit?” Crossing her arms against her chest, lips wrinkling into a scowl. Carol talks as if scolding a child.

Your body twists in a haste, “My bullshit?” Your teeth are gritting harshly, hissing. Angry eyes pierce over the hill of your shoulder, fingernails digging into the leather of your purse; if not the leather, her eyes preferrable.

But this is a place of work, no matter how elegant the night is, you will scream if you have to—- just to escape her. You click your tongue, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I mean I’m usually amused by your brattiness,” Carol laughs sarcastically. “But, now it’s gotten too far.” Her fingertips graze your arm, toying with you, soft and playful—— her fingers grasp your arm in a clutch, earning a whine.

Her eyes are hooded, nearly tugging you downwards. A whine bubbles at the pit of your throat, too terrified to even move.

“You have to come back home.” Carol says, a strain to be sweet, but it’s as if a monster tries to be human. “I miss you.” She purrs, but her eyes … are cold, and agitated.

You remain silent, closing your eyes shut, gliding down in your seat. “Carol… have you signed the divorce papers, yet?” Your eyes stay glued to the sticky counter.

Carol chuckles, “You’re going to try to talk business to me, and you can’t even look me in the eye?” Her baby pink polished nails thump against the bar, thump thump thump.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“And neither do I.” She sips her drink, smirking into the cup, “But it seems my wife likes to play games.” So light, so sarcastic, chastising you as if this was a running joke on your end.

“Carol, for fucks sake.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “You made me go crazy.” You bite on those words, full teeth. Fingers curling into makeshift claws, vowels spilling as acidic vomit.

“Controlled me, like I was your puppet.” Your fingers curl and slither in gesture. “Manipulated me against the world, against our friends.” Your mouth opened again, the words weighing heavy against your mouth, but a hum interrupted.

“Look up at me when you talk.” Carol says, your eyes peer up through your lashes, owlishly. “If you’re going to lie, you might as well make it convincing.” She licks her lips, tasting the remnants of her liquor.

“I —- I—” you can’t find the words to even respond. You stare at her incredulously, she will never admit to it. Even now, she has you questioning your own sanity, if it was even worth fighting against her.

It’s not worth screaming about it. Not anymore.

“I have to go.” Swiftly, you stand up, with a bated breath.

“That’s how you talk to the mother of your child?”

Stiffening, as the hairs that align a cat’s spine, “Don’t you dare!” Your index finger pointing, shouting in a hush. “Stop using Kamala against me—” your voice wavers, throat nearly choking a sob, “You did enough of that in court.” Big brown eyes sheening wet, the last nerve shot.

Trying to maintain a level of calm, eyes fluttering back and forth around, seeing if anyone has witnessed your outburst.

“I don’t even have to do that,” Carol’s open palm gestures to your rigid stance, “she can see perfectly fine how erratic you’ve been.” Carol hisses, making your nose scrunch up.

Kamala adores — idolizes— Carol. So memorized by her strong, willful mother, since she was a waddling baby.

You haven’t dared utter a bad word about Carol in-front of Kamala, fearing to shatter the fragile bubble you curated as a shield for her. You wouldn’t let her witness the court meetings, especially the negotiations of joint custody.

By every fiber of your being, you’ve tried to make this separation as discreet as possible—- but Carol has been a devil, bulldozing those efforts. To make you appear as the bad parent.

You can’t stand her lawyer, Carol hired one who hails from Hell’s Kitchen—- fitting since he’s a thorn upon your rib. Subtlety bringing up your mental health, questioning your abilities as a mother —- no doubt, Carol was chewing his ear off about your past.

All Kamala knows is that her mothers are splitting up, with foreign lawyers, and that she now has to split weekends—- those pained brown eyes, her puffed cheeks, it kills you deeply—- all the guilt weighs on you, it feels as if you’re to blame for all the problems.

“You’ve taken so much from me, Carol.” You lean in, kneeling at her eye level. “My dignity, my peace— shit— even my sanity.” Your body anxiously fidgeting, breath quickening.

“But I will not, let you take my child away from me.” Your fingers dive into your purse, fumbling with irate, snagging the last cash you had—- with the finality of this conversation, slamming the money onto the marble countertop.

You carried Kamala, incubated inside you for nine months, fed her from your breast—- you will not lose her, not over your cold dead body.

“Goodnight, Carol.”

Sharply, you turn on your heel, leaving Carol without turning back. Walking with a gait, faking confidence, but truly at your core, a gnawing sense of uneasiness.

The corridor stretches as a miniature maze, the more you descend out of the gala, the less crowded it is. Turning left and right, trying to find the exit.

The ambiance is of grainy gray, the tinted blurred windows are foggy with the night’s shadows.

The echoes of clicking heels are faint, your mind doesn’t register, as your own feet and mind are stuck on auto-pilot.

“There she goes again,” an agitated voice snags your attention, brows furrowing, “always acting like the little victim.”

Not granted the chance to realize, in a flash, just as quick as you turned your head, rough hands grab you by the curve of your shoulders, throttling you against the chilled wall pavement.

Earning a hiss, and a gasp, stinging pain births and stretches along the muscles of your spine. Quickly, your fingers fruitlessly try to claw at Carol’s, but all it does is make her more enraged.

Carol thrashes you once more against the wall, and another for good measure; airy gasps of pain escapes you, tears beading at your lashes. That militant discipline seeps from her pores, it’s not a stranger to you, the rough edges of her touch is a familiar bruise.

“It may have worked with the rest of the world,” Carol barks in your face, nose to nose, “but it’s not going to work with me.”

Sniffling, your chin wobbles, trying to restrain a sob that burns your throat raw.

Carol hums, that tut of a sympathetic mother, “Look at us.” Her thumbs rubbing your shoulders, pressing on the blooming bruises. “I don’t like it when we fight.

Eerily, she influcates from predator to savior, “You always get erratic, and you know it upsets me.” Leaning in, her pink lips press a kiss on a falling tear.

“Where’s my special girl?” Carol whispers. Fear is beating inside of you, buzzing as tv static. Staring at Carol through your hooded lids, terrified, and confused.

Carol purrs, awaiting for an answer.

“I’m here.” Barely a murmur, you speak softly.

Carol thrives off of her aggression. But it’s not the traditional masculinity that some women possess in their personalities. She feels it’s the only gift her father ever gave her.

“It’s very cute that you try to fight me.” Carol mocks, her knuckles stroke your cheek. Carol hums, her eyes tracing over every facial feature.

“Let me see if she missed me.”

A string of no no no slip from you meekly.

One of Carol’s hands graze over your shoulder, twirling her fingers into your hair—- gripping between her fingers tightly. To then cup the nape of your neck, her thumb pressing slightly over your pulse point.

As she has you pinned by the scruff, her other hand flows down your cavlices, to your clothed breast—- she snags the collar to expose skin.

Groping a handful of your tit, she mutters still so soft, traveling down the path of your navel—- with a quick precision, Carol snatches your groin; more like clawing.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and all she does is laugh.

A quick glance at the end of the hallway, praying that nobody turns the corner. Carol snickers. “Afraid someone will catch us?” You exhale a huff, nose flaring.

“I remember you used to be quite adventurous.”

“That’s when I was young and stupid.”

Her eyes narrow, pinching your vagina in her hand even tighter. With her knee, she wedges her thigh between your shaky legs, spreading you more open.

Slithering her hand through the stitched fabric, her knuckles stroking your sensitive skin. Your breathing becomes heavier, and all she does is smirk.

Moving your panties to the side, Carol’s makes herself home to your body. Ashamed to feel yourself grow wet, and Carol moans.

“It seems she missed me.”

All unbridled frustration hits the hilt, you cry in a stretched whine, thrashing in her hold. In need to escape, you wanted to go home, away from her.

All these weeks of trying to flee from her, do the right thing to gain custody, to live a good life, give your daughter stability —- all of it goes down the drain by her simple touch.

Beating on her arms with fists, slapping and trying to knee her in a weak spot. Carol’s eyes darken—- as if she’s bored of the insolence.

Carol pushes her weight onto you, pinning to the wall. And her fingers don’t cease on her assault.

“I hate you.” You choke on a wail, your head tilting up as a child.

“I’ve saved you.” An expert circular motion of her fingertips, sending a jolt to your bundle of nerves.

“Who else can say that?” Carol leans in, her head tilting, as her lips meet your cheek.

Softly, she kisses you, caressing and grazing against the skin of your cheek.

“I took care of you, and you just want to leave?” Carol’s pink tongue slithers between her lips, licking and nibbling. Boldly, her fingers dove between your folds, playing with your wetness.

“You wanted a savior, baby, I’m it.” The bridge of Carol’s nose traces yours, humming at the wet sensation of your tears. “You were nothing before me—-” another finger plunging inside you, “—- and you will be nothing after me.”

“I — I — would rather be alone.” You say with a stammer, lips wet with tears. Mouth curling into a brave scowl, regaining some bravery, “I’ll be fine.”

Carol’s face leans a little back, tilting her head mockingly. “When I say nothing after me, I mean it—-” Carol’s teeth bare as fangs, “you’ll be buried six feet deep, before I let you go.” Her fingers grip the nape of your neck, tugging you in.

“No one can ever have you.” She whispers.

Your eyes are owlish, you don’t doubt her…. her time in the boot camp was extensive, you felt her trained strength many times—- she loves like a knife. Many bruises healed over the years.

Not brutal beatings, but very handsy.

A glimmer of fear suffocates you, your body keels as a leashed dog.

Her fingers slither against your peach fuzz, slipping between your mound, toying with your wetness. Splitting your velvety folds apart, Carol vulgarly strokes you with her fingers sloppily, staining the hem of your panties.

Carol grinds herself onto your thigh, you can feel a wet spot pooling at her silk panties. Your fingers are digging into her forearms. A rough dance of humping and grinding, both reaching for a high.

Your wet walls can’t help but suck her inside, clenching tight. Fiercely plunging in and out—— it’s been some time. Since the last time, you were touched. It’s bordering on painful, a bit tight.

You did entertain another for a while. A woman you met at a bar. Short dark chestnut hair, a soft posh english accent, a bold yet cheeky mouth. She said her name was G’iah, you never met anyone with such a name.

Despite the attraction, the idea of offering yourself physically was too overwhelming. But, the emotional energy was wonderful. It was a breath of fresh air.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to love another.

Skin screaming for touch, yet your heart is trying to fight back. The flesh only reminisces the good, but all the hurtful memories are chained to your mind.

Carol’s mouth ajar, hovering over the meat of your cheek. Your face scrunches, eyes tight, a whine boils at your throat. She breathes a chuckle. She always finds amusement in your misery.

Carol loves to play God—- the Old Testament God. In the carnal sense, and in spite. Worship her, and only need her, obey every command, but commit a sin—- and she shall see to it, that her pettiness will rule over your life.

Her fingers spread, your slick connects to her fingertips, flickering the gossamer thin threads between her expert fingers, diving into you.

Her teeth grazes your cheek, her warm breath cascading against your mouth. Torn between closing your thighs to stop her, or thrust your hips into her hand.

Carol’s tongue slips out, and kitten licks your parted lips. Her pink tongue licks your canines, inhaling your breath. Sweet scent of liquor coats your tongue, Carol suckles into her mouth, moaning at the taste.

A lewd pop comes from Carol pulling back on your tongue, as her fingers curl harsher. Bordering on pain, the pleasure is electric. Pulsing through you, as her thumb toys with your swollen clit.

Her moans are animalistic, you can feel her pussy splitting, a sensation of silk and waxed bare skin. Her clit is grinding fully onto your thigh. It feels so damn good.

A part of you wants her to cum on you. To use you.

Carol’s face tilts away from yours. Her brown eyes swirl with malice, narrowing for a split moment. A smile stretches.

“Kamala would be so hurt to lose her mommy—” Carol’s words earn a mean eye from you, but all she does is laugh humorlessly. “How could you abandon our child?”

Like a stab to your heart, Carol just twists the edge deeper. Her fingers still deep inside you, clenching in need for her to finish— to get you right at the precipice.

“I would never leave Kamala,” you speak with a strain, a rough slice at your throat. “I love her.” Bordering on pleading, your eyes water-sunk.

“Then why do you make her cry?”

“What?”

“Every night she asks why her mom isn’t home,” Carol leans more of her weight on your belly. Her fingers fucking you harshly, hitting that sweet spot so perfectly. Your juices are now soaking down her hand.

“She cries till she falls asleep. She thinks you hate her.”

Torn between rutting your hips into her palm, grinding and fucking her fingers as if it was one of Carol’s toys —- and the need for space, to free yourself from these clutches.

Salty tears fall to your wrinkling lips, shaking from silent tears.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Carol says, her voice smooth and affectionate. Her lips pouted, “We can be together again.” Her shiny blonde hair kisses her lashes, in the grainy city lights, she looks innocent.

“Don’t you want to be a family again?”

She pushes her fingers further, slowly playing with your clit— and then stops, edging you. She can feel your spongy walls nearly spasming. Carol knows how to play the strings of your flesh.

Damn her.

“I do.” Your voice gurgles in a sob.

You know she’s tricking you… and you enjoy it.

In some deep seeded—- an absolutely fucked —- part of you, relishes in it. Because it’s all you know. But, it’s that glimmer of tenderness, the kisses, and honeyed words that pulls you back in.

Back to mutilate yourself on her knife over and over again. And isn't that what love is? Carol would say, time and time again, after the dust settles from her fits of rage.

Wet squelching floods your ears, echoing throughout the empty hallway. Your hand trails to her waist, gripping her dress, roughly grazing the smooth skin of her waist.

Legs entangled, and Carol’s thrusts are getting faster, sloppy. Her moans are getting high-pitched, away from primal and more girlish.

You cling to her, in this moment, you just need to feel anything. And you know she needed it too.

A burst of euphoria, hanging onto each other, as if both would fall apart. Carol felt it, how you spasmed on her fingers. Clenching so tight, trapping her hand for a moment.

Bated breaths dance against each other, hair flying by the breeze of huffing. Yours are gasps of relief.

In a desperate plea, you reach for a kiss, but Carol pulls away.

“I hope you learned something …” Carol hisses, her fingers stroking between your slippery folds, agitating your over-stimulated clit. The meat of your thigh quivers, tailbone pinching as you try to mesh into the wall, far from her.

Carol takes her fingers out, leaving behind an empty feeling—- like a void. Without blinking, Carol unabashedly suckles on her two fingers, tasting you.

“I hope you make the right decision.” Carol whispers against her tips. Pulling her warm weight off of your bodice, a chill sweeps against the tepid sense of your belly.

Carol hums for a moment with a stony face. She tugs on the collar of your dress, the top of your bosom exposed —- it was a stiff gesture.

Without a word, Carol posed her spine, and walked away, a snide side-eye.

Leaving you behind with an ache between your thighs, love bites across your chest, and fresh bruises. Left behind in the chilled hallway, and in wrinkled attire —- as if you were a used whore.

Your head falls, crying into your chest. Your fingers pulling your dress down, your inner thighs tender. Your fingertips touch the wet spot Carol left behind near your knee.

A pause.

It’s wrong, but you crave her taste. Suckling your fingertips into the cave of your mouth.

You can still smell her fragrance lingering—- and yet, you crave it, hoping it clung to your dress.

Timid footfalls carry you through the high-end residential hallway. Bated breath, and in wrinkled clothes, you lift and loosely drop your luggage in your grip. Pacing back and forth, trying to salvage any scrap of courage to knock.

Your head is bowing down, chin to chest. A stop in-front of the door. The reasoning motivating your surrender blurs—- is it for Kamala only, or is it also that a loyal dog who always forgives?

A silent white flag has been waived.

A lonely dog always comes back.

Dull steps creep closer, syncing with the beat of your heart. One unlock, and another follows. Defeat seeps from your pores, a bone-rattling warning siren echoing in the rush of your ears.

The door knob slowly twists, as if she’s mocking you. But not a second more, the door creaks open. Green eyes blink back with mirth, and a smile.

No words are needed.

Carol hums, stroking your hair, fingers gliding down the terrain of your neck, guiding you inside by the nape of your neck.

Awaiting on the bed is a silk nightie, and skincare, curated by Carol’s choice. Pristine, wrinkled-free silk. Not one flaw in sight.

She knew you would come back. A cocky woman, and yet she’s never wrong. A stir of irate coils in your belly, but it’s snuffed before it can disrupt.

In the dark, you tip-toe down the hall. Elated and relieved, it felt like a century crept by, but it was only a week of separation.

Weekends weren’t enough. You needed to see her everyday.

Brown fingers slowly grasp at the knob, twisting open. The white walls are adorned by the flash of a night light that glows small stars glimmering against the ceiling.

A room of action figures, anime, music posters and a wall dedicated to her drawings. That familiar scent that never really went away, that baby smell that clung to her as an infant.

Kneeling into her bed, curling under the blanket. Legs curling underneath you, knees bent, as you caress Kamala’s scalp, furling her hair behind the shell of her ear. Your brown fingers melt into the onyx shine of her tresses.

Her sleepy cheeks puffed, she looks like a sleeping cherub. Silently, tears cascade against the hill of your nose, staining the pillow sheet.

For months, you’ve tried to conjure ideas on how to run away from this life with Kamala, but all your ideas end up in the possible reality of being arrested with charges of kidnapping, and never seeing your daughter again.

The truth of the matter is -— you will crawl skin bare in the deepest parts of hell just for her. Suffering silently in these marital ruins, for the sake of being able to raise your only child, is what you will do.

You don’t know what you want with Carol —- you don’t have anything else to offer as a wife, besides submitting your entire being as a sacrificial offering.

It’s all she ever wanted. Wholesome love is seen as a defect in Carol’s eyes, a trait taught to her by her father. Control over everything is what brings her peace. And being cared for is what brings you solace.

The only person in the world Carol doesn’t unleash her wrath upon, who she adores entirely, is Kamala. Never once has Carol raised her voice, nor her hand at Kamala.

It’s disturbing, to see Carol be so genuine in her affections.

But, you’re ever so grateful. Despite being a masochist, under all the rubble harboring in your cavity— is a little girl suffocating for tenderness. For anything, just for someone to hold her.

Carol is a peculiar creature, and yet she has driven you to the brink of madness over the last stretched months, because she can’t bear to lose you —-- that has to mean something, right?

But as you lay here, wallowing in the dead silence, staring at Kamala slumbering —-a thought came to you; a lingering fear. Paranoia gnawing at you, chewing away bit by bit.

You wouldn’t want Kamala to suffer like this one day.

#widowsofchaos wrote this #carol danvers x reader #dark Carol Danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #dub non con #dark elements #lesbian Carol Danvers

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moonaged-moony · 15 days

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Okay, hear me out. a jegulus miraculous au.. James is ladybug, and his superhero name is Helios (named after the sun god). Regulus is chat noir, and his superhero name is Astraeus (name after the star god)

Regulus, like Adrien, has to live up to his family's expectations, and the only time he can be himself is when he is Astraeus

James is friends with everyone and will do anything he can to help them, and everyone loves him like marinette!!!

also imagine the love square?! Astraeus loves Helios, but he's in love with Regulus, who denies his feelings for James because he loves Helios!!! Also, the black brother angst would be amazing, Sirius escaped the family and became a rockstar while Reg is stuck doing whatever his mother tells him to do.

the characters would be something like

Marinette - James (ladybug - Helios)

Adrien - Regulus (chat noir - Astraeus)

Shadow Moth - Walburga

Mayura - Orion (He does whatever Walburga asks him to)

Alya - Sirius

Nino - Remus (HE'D BE DATING SIRIUS AND BE REGULUS’S BEST FRIEND!!! PLATONIC MOONWATER SUPREMACY)

chloe - Severus

sabrina - Lily maybe?? like how she realises her friendship with sev is toxic, but she doesn't want to leave him?? Obviously, if I wrote this au, I would nake it so that she leaves him, but so that she still cares for him and wants the best for him even after everything he's done to her, yk?

Kagami - Barty (Can have some bartylus, but they realise they're not meant for each other, and then it turns into jegulus and rosekiller!!)

Felix - Evan (just in the sense that i NEED rosekiller and i feel like they would have a similar dynamic to kagami and felix, also i kinda love the idea of Evan and Reg being cousins)

Rose - Pandora. They're both so sweet and everyone loves them.

Juleka - Emmeline (i dont know much about her, but the fics I've read with emmadora are adorable. I love them, and i feel like they'd have the same sort of relationship as juleka and rose)

Tom and Sabine - Effie and Monty ofc

For Mary, Marlene and Dorcas I'm not entirely sure but I don't think the characters have to be the exact same as they are in the show. So I think Marlene and Dorcas could be

Marlene - Mylene

Dorcas - Ivan

I'd really want Mary and Lily to be together, and I don't really know who Mary would be? Maybe Zoe? But if I made her Zoe, I wouldn't want her and Severus to be siblings, but I feel like Sabrina and Zoe's characters could have a good dynamic? If anyone has any ideas PLS lemme know

#miraculous ladybug #dead gay wizards #miraculous au #marauders #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #james x regulus #ladybug and chat noir #tales of ladybug and cat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir

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imjusthereforagrandtime · 2 years

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Finale spoilers!!!

I don't think the writers will shy away from the cliffhanger.

The wwdits writers HAVE to change things.

Guillermo has pointed out that things NEVER change and since hes always been the 'human/audience' eye in the world of monsters, means that the writers are well aware of the fact there's going to be a new turning point. And it makes sense that guillermo will be the one changing things again.

Those 4 vampires have lived together in that house for decades but they weren't close, not really. They were roommates who could hardly stand each other. In season one, they all outright detested spending time with Colin. Nandor was always too self absorbed to notice anyone (no less his own familiar). And Nadja and Laszlo were too wrapped up in their marriage to give a shit about anyone but each other.

Not until Guillermo got into the picture. Or, more accurately, his heritage. Actually, all biggest turning points in the series always came down to Guillermo and his slayer heritage

If he hadn't killed the Baron, the Baron would have killed them. The Barons false death was why they got onto the Vampiric Councils radar in the first place. When they escaped (with Guillermo's help), the VC sent in assassins (that Guillermo killed) and planned an entire event just to execute them (that Guillermo stopped). Its only when GUILLERMO slayed nearly the entire Tri-state vampire population were the 4 vampires approached to become leaders of the Vampiric Council.

If Laszlo wasn't in that library in the Vampiric Council, he never would have found out that Colin was going to die. He wouldn't have tried to become real friends with Colin, wouldn't have cared much at all for Colin's death. Which means he wouldn't have raised baby Colin.

If Nandor didn't get the cloak of Duplication, would he have ever pursued Meg? If he hadn't been assigned the task to go to that cult, would he have met Jan? Nandor WANTS change on a subconscious level, he wants love like Nadja and Laszlo do, he just doesn't realise he has to be the one doing the changing. All these terrible and toxic relationships (where he's both the victim and abuser) have only made him backslide in his growth.

If Nadja never became a coleader of the Vampiric Council, she might have never realised her potential, her ambition, always stuck in the house with her husband for company. (Its why the ghost of her was so disappointed she never achieved anything as a vampire)

Guillermo has always been the agent of change, the root of it all. Only reason why he hasn't changed absolutely EVERYTHING was because he wanted only Nandor to do the honours, so he put up with 3 more years of being a familiar/bodyguard. It makes total sense he'd change the rules of the game again by the end of this season, by letting go of his ONE MAIN character trait (which is wanting Nandor to do the turning) and going to Derek.

On the surface, it seems like nothing has changed. But in actuality, things are never going to be the same, no matter how hard the 4 vampires try to pretend. Now, Laszlo isn't just the Lazy Vampire who only fucks and sucks, he's also Colin's dad. Nandor has only become more depressed, resigned to his ever-lasting lonely life. Nadja's ambitions are once again snuffed out, her dreams squashed, sending her crawling back to her safety net.

Physically, everyone's back at square one. Emotionally? They've all experienced things they never have before and they don't know how to cope with the internal change.

They may pretend things are fine. That nothing has changed since the documentary started. But it's only a matter of time before either a) something gives (which is highly unlikely because these vampires are codependent as much as they are emotionally repressed) or b)...

Guillermo (the writers) changes the game.

And turn him into a vampire.

The natural progression would be that all 4 vampire admit that they do care for each other, that they see each other as family (They have lived together for decades, yet they've only started genuinely acting like a family when the documentary started, aka when Guillermo was revealed tno be a slayer)

But like I said, they're repressed, and nothings gonna change until Guillermo shakes things up.

And I, for one, can't wait to see how it pans out.

(I don't want to theorise or set expectations, but I do hope that Guillermo will become a big target to the Vampiric Council (if not them, then maybe to another big baddie). For a Van Helsing to become a vampire? Thats unheard of. It has to be illegal somehow. If The Guide had her memories wiped for sleeping with a Van Helsing, what would be the punishment for a Van Helsing to become a vampire?? If that's how the writers will approach it, then the Family will be involved somehow. Stakes have to be raised, and they'll be forced into positions where they have to admit they genuinely care about each other.)

I truly dont think the writers will shy away from turning Guillermo into a vampire. Or at least, play with the real possibility of Guillermo becoming a vampire.

Because this has always been Guillermo's role in the series: to be the catalyst of change, the domino effect in everyone in the family.

And what better way to switch it up than completely overturning the vampires' expectations of Guillermo their human familiar-bodyguard?

Letting go of his full devotion to Nandor and finally becoming their equal will do exactly that.

#Wwdits #What we do in the shadows #guillermo de la cruz #What we do in the shadows spoilers #Wwdits spoilers #Finale spoilers #nandor the relentless #nadja of antipaxos #laszlo cravensworth #colin robinson

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

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I’d love to see a tense and restless Jack on his and the reader’s first night out since El was born. Like moms are usually the tense ones, but Jack can’t even think straight because it’s weird not having his kid around and not knowing if she’s okay or not.

“Jacky, she’ll be okay.” my hand rubs circles on my husbands back, our daughter held tightly in his arms as i try and reassure him that the four month old will be okay without us.

“there’s prepared bottles in the fridge, you’ll just have to warm it up. and you know the diapers and wipes are in the diaper bag on the table. she just ate like twenty minutes ago, so she might only need one bottle in about two hours, if we’re not home by then. um-”

Jack is cut off by Quinn’s sigh.

“bro, it’ll be fine! you have a whole house of babysitters right now!” Quinn reminds his brother. “go. take. your. wife. on. a. date.”

Jack heaves out his own sigh and nods, finally handing El over to Luke, who stands next to Quinn.

“yeah! remind her she’s sexy, or else i might become El’s new stepdad!” Trevor chimes in from his spot on the couch. i roll my eyes as Jack lets out a sarcastic laugh.

“my wife knows i think she’s very sexy. how do you think we got here in the first place?” at Jack’s words, i lightly smack his shoulder, huffing out a chuckle.

“let’s go, babe. just ignore Trevor, i’m not sure why he thinks he would be a fit decision for a stepdad.” i joke, pushing my husband along towards the front door. “if anyone, it’d be Alex!”

Trevor gasps at my quip, swinging around to look at me.

“i resent that!” he calls out.

“i knew i was daddy material.” Alex shrugs as he walks out of the kitchen and into the living room, dropping his weight onto the couch.

“never say that again.” Cole laughs, stretching his leg over from the armchair he sits in to kick Alex’s leg.

Jack rolls his eyes as i laugh at our friends, a small smile playing on his lips.

“let’s go to dinner, J.” i tell him, finally able to pull him out of the house.

Jack spends the entire drive to the restaurant gripping the steering wheel tight, his eyes glancing down towards his phone in the cup holder every minute.

“Jacky.” i sigh as we’re seated at our table, him immediately checking his phone as i pick up my menu.

“hmm? yeah?” his eyes flicker towards me briefly before setting his phone back down.

“she’s fine. i promise.” i reassure, my voice gentle as i snake my hand to rest on top of his on the table.

“i’m just worried.” he confesses, as if i couldn’t already tell. “what if something happens? we should be there, we’re her parents.”

i can tell the guilt of any hypothetical situation is eating away at him, and i’d be lying if i said it wasn’t setting in slightly for me. but i know that our daughter is in good hands. she has five uncles who love her, watching over her right now and she’ll be okay.

“i know you’re worried, and i know you feel guilty at the thought of us not being there if something were to happen. but we need this, Jack.” his shoulders square when he realizes i didn’t use a nickname, showing him that i’m serious.

“it’s been probably five months since we’ve had a date night. four months since we’ve spent any time to ourselves. there has to be at least some semblance of romance still in order for us to to not turn into a pair of zombie parents who drift apart.”

my voice trails off at the end, and i know he knows i’m referring to my own parents. who after i was born, took their roles as parents much too seriously, thinking i was their only priority, never taking a date night, never putting their relationship first, until eventually they grew apart. they stayed married, but it was somehow worse, as they had fought and became locked in a toxic marriage that hadn’t done any of us any good. they became overbearing and overprotective of me as a result. which only ended badly.

“hey.” Jack coos, squeezing my hand in his to ground me back to this moment. “i won’t let that happen. i promise to you, and to El.”

a smile pulls at my lips at his words.

“i know.” i assure him. “and i know it’s hard to leave her right now, it’s hard for me too. but it’s the first time, eventually, it’ll get easier. i hope.”

he chuckles at my last words, nodding his head.

“i hope so too.” he tells me. “it’s different when i’m on roadies because you’re there. you’re the one taking care of her. but…”

Jack wrinkles his nose.

“my brothers? our friends? do we really think they’re capable?”

i bark out a laugh, covering my mouth to try and muffle the sound in the crowded restaurant. a grin spreads across my husband’s face at my laugh, making my heart race like when we first started dating.

“i really think they’ll be okay.” i giggle. “she’s their niece, they don’t want anything to happen to her.”

“you’re right.” Jack nods.

“i always am.” i shrug and he playfully rolls his eyes as a waitress finally steps up to our table. as i’m telling the girl my order, i can’t help but notice Jack checking his phone again, even typing what i assume is a check-in text to his brothers.

once the waitress leaves, Jack’s phone buzzes on the table and he reaches out for it like his life depends on it. reading his incoming text, his shoulders slump in relief and i furrow my eyebrows at him.

“she’s asleep.”

#el!hughes au #jack hughes x reader #ask faithlynn ✨

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astroa3h · 2 months

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Travis Barker & Shanna Moakler: Their Destructive 22 Degree Composite Saturn ❤️‍🔥

Travis Barker and Shanna Moakler have one of the most toxic and aggresive Composite Charts I’ve ever seen, just looking at their Saturn placement sends me into a silent rage. Saturn can be a difficult planet, ruling restrictions and limitations and where we need to be responsible, so this placement in the composite chart can show areas of difficulty in the relationship. And let’s get real these two weren’t short on difficult moments.

Cancer Saturn in the 1st House @ 22 Degrees

Conjunct Cancer Venus & Ascendant, Square 10th House Aries Mars

With Saturn in the 1st house and in the sign of Cancer, and especially at twenty two degrees, a Capricorn and destructive degree. We're not just talking about a challenge; we're looking at a relationship under siege. Saturn here is in detriment, meaning it feels like a relentless storm, bringing cold, harsh winds to what should be the warm, nurturing environment of Cancer. This placement doesn't just whisper about difficulties; it shouts about emotional blockades, creating a chilling atmosphere where insecurities fester and emotional connections freeze over. It's the kind of setting where vulnerabilities aren't gently tended to but rather are left out in the cold, leading to a buildup of resentment and detachment.

Twenty Two degrees symbolizes a deep, transformative pressure that's meant to push individuals (or relationships, in this case) to evolve, but not gently. It's like being in the pressure cooker of personal growth – it's hot, it's uncomfortable, but it's where you're forced to shed what's not serving you. In terms of a romantic relationship? Twenty Two Degrees is not great. It can indicate DIVORCE.

The conjunction of Saturn with Venus and the Ascendant pours salt on these wounds. Venus, when embraced by Saturn, finds its expressions of love and affection restrained, as if love had to pass a rigorous test to prove its worth. Instead of love being a source of comfort, it becomes a battleground, where every gesture of affection is weighed and measured for its sincerity. The Ascendant's involvement makes this struggle VERY visible, not just felt.

The square from Saturn to Aries Mars in their tenth house throws fuel on the fire, igniting conflicts between personal desires and professional ambitions. Mars, the planet of action and conflict, is already fiery, and in the 10th house, it pushes for recognition, success, and achievement. But with Saturn squaring off, it's like every step forward in their careers or public lives demanded a sacrifice at the altar of their personal lives. The tension between wanting to achieve and the need to connect and nurture their relationship created an almost impossible situation. Instead of supporting each other's ambitions, their successes became another source of competition and conflict, eroding the foundations of their partnership.

This toxic mix of emotional coldness, love under scrutiny, and conflicting ambitions painted their relationship not as a sanctuary but as a battleground. Every attempt at connection was overshadowed by the looming specter of Saturn, ensuring that instead of growing closer, they were driven further apart. Their story, marked by these astrological challenges, serves as a cautionary tale about the importance of warmth, open communication, and mutual support.

xox astro ash ✨ Get your own Composite Reading @ astroash.net TikTok - astroa3h

#astrology #astrology readings #astrology aspects #astrologer #pop culture #celebrity #astrology degrees #astro observations #travis barker #shanna moakler #mtv #daily astrology #composite chart #synastry #saturn #22 Degrees

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vicvinegarandhughhoney · 2 months

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Dennis writes a letter 💌

(My fic for @its-always-ziney-in-philadelphia 's Valentine's Day zine)

Read here on AO3, here for the full zine, or below the cut!

It starts with a box of chocolates, as all romantic gestures that Dennis has read about do. He buys them from this fancy place in Rittenhouse Square that charges an extra five bucks for gift wrap, though he manages to charm the guy behind the counter into waiving it and walks out of there only twenty bucks lighter.

Once home, he attaches a tag to the box- For Mac, from Dennis- and stands back to admire his work. He places the box in the kitchen for Mac to find when he gets there, at which point Dennis is sure Mac will throw himself at his feet with words of praise for his boyfriend’s gesture. Plus, this is only the first step of his grand plan for Valentine’s Day, the entirety of which involves far more than just chocolate. He is going to blow. Mac’s. mind.

At least, this is the way Dennis envisions things going.

How it actually goes?

“Oh, sweet, Den! That’s so cool!”

Dennis tries not to let the disappointment show on his face at his roommate’s lacklustre reaction to what he is sure amounts to a proper gesture of affection... right? Every website he scoured told him that there was no clearer message of affection than a box of chocolates on Valentine’s, and yet Mac only claps him on the back and walks off with them after Dennis humbly presents his offering. Like it was nothing more than a bag of chips or a takeaway pizza.

He stands there in the kitchen for a few seconds after he hears the door to Mac’s room close, blinking as his brain short circuits.

What the flying fuck is he doing wrong?

His next attempt at proving his love for Mac according to the five-step plan Dennis has constructed involves breakfast in bed, a true staple of the romantic flicks the two of them used to (platonically) watch every so often before the themes became too confronting. He wakes up bright and early on the morning of February 14th and sets to work on his creation in the kitchen while Mac remains asleep. It’s not a simple affair, either- there’s bacon to be cooked, and eggs, and pancakes dotted with blueberries that Dennis very nearly burns himself trying to flip.

Cooking isn’t something he does very often, after all. It’s a little harder than he anticipates.

Still, he manages to arrange the plate perfectly, even the side toast is the exact shade of golden brown that he knows Mac likes. Any darker, and Mac says the carbon makes the bread toxic. Dennis isn’t quite sure that’s true, but he’s not going to risk serving Mac poison on Valentine’s Day of all days.

He’s just about to pick up the tray and turn around when he hears Mac’s door open. His stomach drops.

No. No. Get back in there, Ronald McDonald, or so help me God I’m going to-

“Den! You’re up early.”

Dennis wheels around to face him, cheeks aglow. “Uh, Mac- yeah, I was just- I was just making you breakfast.”

Mac stretches in his doorway, though one hand still remains at his side- a hand that Dennis soon realises is holding a gym bag.

“That’s nice of you, dude, but I’m heading to the gym. You made some for yourself too, right?”

Dennis glances back at the worktop, though he’s not quite sure why. He knows that he didn’t make himself any, because of course he didn’t. Breakfast isn’t his thing.

“Uh, yeah, I...”

“Sweet. I’ll see you around later, alright?” Mac wanders over to Dennis and presses a kiss to his cheek, eyes moving briefly to the tray. “Hah. Cool. Looks almost like a smiley face.”

Dennis watches him leave with a growing pit in his stomach, and barely forces out a fake chuckle at the ‘coincidence’, that tapers off the moment the door to the apartment closes. He picks up the tray and curls his lip at the ridiculous face which stares back at him, almost taunting, and the heart shaped toast he’d carefully cut out with a knife.

He throws the whole thing directly in the trash.

The bar is empty when Dennis arrives. Mac’s still at the gym, Dee’s probably still in bed, and Charlie and Frank are probably fucking around playing some Valentine’s version of NightCrawlers.

It doesn’t matter, though. Dennis is glad that he’s alone because it means he can place step 3 of his Grand Valentine’s Day Plan right on top of the bar ready for when Mac enters- a little vase of flowers, each one picked out especially for the occasion. He’d endured the allergen hell that was the florists for Mac, and even now the pollen makes his nostrils itch, yet he doesn’t consider abandoning his plan for a second. The chocolates and the breakfast in bed were missteps. This will prove to Mac just how he feels. It’s written there, spelled out in the petals.

Baby’s breath symbolising everlasting affection. Bluebells for humility. Pink Camellia for longing. Daisies for loyalty. Heliotrope for devotion.

Red Chrysanthemums- I love you.

He spends a few moments longer arranging them to look their best, then slips a little note underneath the vase for Mac to see once he picks them up. The action means he has to muffle a few sneezes into his elbow, but it’s worth it.

Tired from his early morning escapades (nobreakfastnobreakfastnobreakfast), he pulls himself into the back room and flops down onto the desk chair. The moment he closes his eyes, he falls asleep.

When he wakes, he can hear footsteps and conversation outside, and his pulse leaps at the realisation that it means Mac has discovered his gesture. He stands up and tugs nervously at the fingers of his right hand, then opens the door to the main bar. This is it. This is his chance to explain what each flower means, and in doing so assure Mac that though he may not have said it in words yet, he’s said it in petals. He loves him.

The moment Dennis turns to the spot where the flowers should be, though, his stomach sinks. They’re not there.

He can do nothing but stand there for a few seconds, brain short-circuiting as he tries to figure out what could have possibly occurred to displace his gift, when he sees Mac pop up from behind the bar, apparently having been crouched under there cleaning a soda pipe.

“Hey Den! You feeling okay?”

Dennis doesn’t know whether the question is posed because of his impromptu nap or the way the light has probably faded from his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. He clears his throat and replies,

“What happened to the flowers on the bar?”

Mac’s expression morphs into one of understanding- or, at least, a false sense of understanding, given Dennis knows exactly what he’s going to allude to.

“Ah, right, of course! See, I knew they were going to give your allergies trouble, which they obviously have- sorry dude, I don’t know who put them there- so I got Dee to throw them out the back.” He grins, so assured of his good deed that he looks like a proud puppy after completing his first successful trick.

Dennis, meanwhile, feels the familiar weight of disappointment heavy on his shoulders.

“Ah... cool. Right. I’m... I’m gonna go outside for a smoke. Don’t wait up for me.”

Mac makes a slightly confused face, but lets Dennis trudge to the back anyway. Once outside, it doesn’t take long for the latter to see the bunch of flowers sticking out of the trash can, their stems bent, a few errant petals scattered across the ground. Dennis’ fists curl up with frustration. He wanders over to his ruined gift and shoves it a little further into the trash, a low growl building in his throat when it refuses to goddamn go down. Stupid fucking idea. Stupid fucking gift. Stupid fucking Valentine’s Day. Stupid fucking-

“Dennis?”

Oh. Fantastic. The last person he wants to see right now is here.

He sighs, rolling his shoulders, and doesn’t turn around until he’s convinced he’s not about to let how upset he is show. “What do you want, Dee?”

She’s standing just outside the back entrance to Paddy’s, brows creased with almost concern. “Is this about the flowers you put out for Mac?”

Dennis’ ears flush so red he can feel their temperature rise. He hates being a twin sometimes.

“What do you care?” he snarls.

She doesn’t retreat beneath his anger. Never has. Instead, she merely sighs, holding a little scrap of paper aloft that Dennis recognises with a pang of dread. “I found this underneath the vase while I was picking it up to throw out.”

Her brother says nothing. What can he say?

“You were inviting him for dinner? On Valentine’s?”

It doesn’t sound like she’s mocking him, but his own vulnerability being parroted back at him hurts all the same so he marches forward, snatching the note from her grasp before wheeling back around and pacing in front of the dumpsters. “Just- just fuck off, alright, Dee? I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, tough shit, dickbag. You’re my brother. Unfortunately, whether you like it or not, I’ve become wrapped up in this love affair between you and Mac, and somehow the fact that you’re asking him out on a date for Valentine’s is almost touching to me... Y’know, Mac didn’t see the note, Den.” Despite himself, Dennis freezes. “He saw the flowers, that’s all, and the only reason he got rid of those was because he thought someone else left them in there, and he was worried they were going to set your allergies off.”

Dee gives him a once-over, wrinkling her nose at the redness she seems to perceive in his. “Apparently for good reason.”

Dennis rolls his eyes.

“Look, what I’m saying is he didn’t do this maliciously. In fact, it was the opposite. He was trying to look out for you.”

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d open his goddamn eyes for once!” Dennis growls, still pacing like a caged tiger. “I don’t get it, Dee. I’m doing everything that I’m supposed to do.”

“Everything you’re... supposed to?”

Dennis pauses, looking at her as though she only has half a brain. Throws up his hands in exasperation. “Yeah! I followed all the stupid steps on these stupid websites to show him that I care about him, and for what? The stupid idiot doesn’t even notice!”

He’s aware that he’s said ‘stupid’ way too many times, but he’s angry, and the coherence in his head evaporates before it can reach his lips. Dee doesn’t seem phased by his outburst in the least.

“Look,” she says, far too gentle for comfort. “Have you ever wondered why he doesn’t notice these things?”

Dennis quirks a brow. Waits for her to do what she’s never done before, and enlighten him.

“Alright, let’s break it down. It won’t take long. Who, in Mac’s life, has ever shown him proper affection?”

The question catches him so off guard that the first reaction Dennis has is to chuckle. That’s ridiculous. Of course Mac has... he’s... A cool flood of realisation washes over him like the sweat of a bad dream. The mirth fades from his features, and his arms fall limply to his sides. Oh.

Nobody.

Dee smiles a little. “Get it now?”

Dennis swallows and looks her in the eyes with the sincerest expression he’s ever mustered. “So- so what the fuck do I do then? How am I supposed to show affection to a guy who doesn’t even know what that looks like?”

“How did we show each other, Den? Back when we were kids?”

He feels his features soften, and as he looks at his twin sister, he’s half compelled to hug her.

Of course.

“Thank you.” He murmurs.

Dee only nods towards the exit of the alley. “Yeah. I know. Go do what you gotta do, asshole. I’ll tell Mac to dress pretty for his date tonight, alright?”

For once, Dennis is sat in Guigino’s before Mac arrives, his leg bouncing up and down beneath the best table in the restaurant (far from any fans or kitchen doors). He’s checked his appearance in his compact mirror ten times already, but that doesn’t stop him from hazarding another quick look while the coast is clear.

Usually, he’s only dressed in a shirt and pants- perhaps a little more formal than his day-to-day attire, but nothing to write home about. Tonight, however, he’s jazzed it up with a proper suit jacket and matching pants, plus a pocket square that perfectly resembles the shade of his shirt. His hair is styled in that carefully constructed muss of curls which is so particular to His Look™ at the moment. He’s wearing Mac’s favourite cologne. He’s wearing just a touch of mascara. He’s wearing the most nervous expression he’s ever sported in his life.

There’s no fanfare when Mac walks in, as much as Dennis would’ve liked that, but it seems to play in his head regardless, because damn. Mac. Looks. Good.

Evidently, he got Dee’s memo about dressing fancy, and for once he’s ditched the monthly dinner polo in favour of an actual dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows accentuating the muscles of his arms. His hair isn’t gelled, and Dennis thinks the slightly fluffy look he’s rocking is hot as shit. It reminds him of when times were a little bit simpler. Back when labels were things you put on diagrams instead of complicated relationships with your roommate.

Still, as Mac wanders towards the table, a smile lighting up his expression like summer’s sunshine, Dennis finds himself somewhat glad that things have changed.

Because tonight, unlike twenty years ago, Mac is his boyfriend.

“Hey.” Dennis greets, standing up to meet him, cheeks uncharacteristically flushed.

Mac grins. “Uh, hi- wow, dude, you look good.”

Despite how much it makes him want to puff out his chest like a proud little robin, Dennis restrains himself and merely smiles back. “So do you, babe.”

Babe. The word feels almost unfamiliar on his tongue when used for Mac, given that they’ve spent much of their adult lives calling each other ‘dude’ or ‘bro.’ Still, Dennis needs to show Mac that he’s serious about all that romance shit. If that means peppering in a few pet names to get him primed, count him in.

They sit down, and after ordering and receiving their food, the conversation flows almost like usual. Dennis tries to forget that he was ever frustrated at Mac for missing the overt gestures he was making, and focuses instead on just how much he’s missed sitting down like this and catching up. It may have only been a few days in reality, but given that Dennis’ mind has been fixed on making plans instead of the recipient of them (his boyfriend), it feels like far longer.

Eventually, they finish their meal, and usually it would be time for them to start getting ready to leave. Tonight, though? Tonight, Dennis holds out a hand when Mac stands up, and bids him sit down a little longer.

“I... I wanted to... to give you something.” He says. “For Valentine’s Day.”

And with this, he removes a piece of paper from his pocket, and hands it to Mac. The contents are still fresh in his mind from the hours he spent agonizing over each word, and he hears them in his head while he glances up every so often at Mac’s eyes gliding along the page.

Mac,

For the last few weeks I’ve been trying to think of what to do for today. I spent hours researching romantic gestures online, and I tried to enact them- but I’d failed to realise that what we have is different from the relationships in tabloids and novels. We’re real, Mac. It’s not always as simple as the movies.

I told Dee about this (I know, but please hear me out) and she reminded me of something we used to do when we were kids, and Mom and Dad wouldn’t let us talk to each other for some punishment or other. We used to write letters. It started as a necessary tactic to skirt around the rules and communicate, but it turned out to be easier expressing things in a letter than saying them out loud, so I thought I’d do the same thing here.

Here goes...

I love you, Mac. There it is in writing, so you can show it to me whenever you piss me off with your Borat impressions and excessive hair gel. Because it’ll still be true. I love you.

It’s not much of a Valentine’s gift, but it’s the one thing I want to give you more than anything, now until the end of time.

Yours always,

Den.

Dennis spends the whole duration of the letter tugging on his earlobe, eyes fixed on the white tablecloth. The prospect of Mac recoiling at this rare expression of vulnerability is terrifying. Even now, Frank’s denunciations of anything that made his son seem like a ‘nancy boy’ echo in his mind, and it takes that repetitive tugging to keep himself from reaching over and setting the evidence of feelings alight by the flame of the candle on the table.

But then Mac reaches over, and slowly, gently, takes Dennis’ free hand. Dennis looks up.

He doesn’t even need to wait to hear Mac say it- it’s written in his eyes just as clearly as on the paper in his hand.

Love.

And Dennis’ lip trembles beneath the weight of it.

#iasip #its always sunny in philadelphia #dennis reynolds #its always sunny #macdennis #valentines day fic #sunny valentines day zine #iasip fic #macdennis fic

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purpleheartskies · 3 months

Text

Robby's role in Hawk's character journey

Robby has been involved in Hawk's character journey in important ways, despite them barely interacting throughout the series.

In s1, Hawk dislocated Robby's shoulder at the avt because Robby taunted him about his "stupid haircut" after he taunted Robby that that would be Robby's last point. This was the first time Hawk showed "no mercy" in the series and marked the real start of Hawk's fall to the dark side. In s2, Johnny chewed out Hawk and never tried to fix that after Hawk found out that Robby is Johnny's son. Hawk became vulnerable to Kreese's manipulation.

Hawk spiraled further into his downfall after his defeat at the mall, which opened him up more to Kreese's manipulation and led to him vandalizing the Miyagi-Do dojo. Hawk later sided with Kreese when he usurped the dojo from Johnny because Miguel "showed mercy to Robby Keene" in the school fight because of Johnny's teachings. Had Robby's action not led to Miguel becoming injured, Hawk probably wouldn't have sided with Kreese.

In s3, Kreese welcomed Robby to Cobra Kai and Kreese later praised Robby over Hawk, saying that Cobra Kai needs champions like Robby, because Robby succeeded in getting the snake. This all had a huge impact on Hawk's realization during the house fight that Kreese isn't loyal to his students and that Hawk's old friends are (seemingly) loyal to Hawk. Although Johnny and Miguel had tried to guilt and shame Hawk into leaving Cobra Kai before this, they only did so because Kreese had taken the dojo from Johnny and now, months later, Johnny needed students for his new dojo. Johnny planted the seed that Kreese doesn't care about his students, but Kreese choosing Robby proved this to Hawk. Hawk later doubted being teammates with Kyler for the first time during the house fight and then switched sides.

In s4, Robby and the Cobras shaved Hawk's mohawk (which of course was wrong). Robby did this because he knew that Hawk relied on the toxic empowerment he felt from his "stupid haircut" to bully and hurt others, and Robby wanted to protect Kenny by taking toxic empowerment from Hawk. After this, Hawk stopped being a bully and started showing some humility. He also quit Eagle Fang, and Johnny and Miguel didn't spare a thought for Hawk, which shows that in s3 they did only want him to join Eagle Fang and didn't really care about how he's been affected by Johnny, Kreese, and Cobra Kai. (tbf Hawk had first become a bully while Johnny was his Cobra Kai sensei.)

When the crowd cheered for them during their avt match, Hawk showed respect to Robby. Robby showed respect back, despite being a Cobra. In s5, at the waterpark, Hawk backed down from a fight because a kid showed that he looked up to Hawk for being the champion and Hawk wanted to set a good example.

At the trials, Robby asked Hawk not to go too hard on Kenny, reminding Hawk that he knows what it's like to be in Cobra Kai and be brainwashed. In s4e1, Johnny didn't go easy on Hawk during training, despite Johnny himself knowing what it's like to be in Cobra Kai and be brainwashed as well as Johnny never putting in any real effort to undo his own negative influence on Hawk. In s4e10, Daniel told Hawk to give all he's got against Robby in the match, despite Robby being in Cobra Kai and Daniel seeing Robby be brainwashed during his match with Kenny. Here at the trials, Robby asked Hawk to be empathetic, despite the goal being the same as that in the avt: stopping Cobra Kai. Hawk listened to Robby and went easy on Kenny, which played a role in Hawk losing (though the Silver Bullet and Silver bribing the ref were the main reasons). Robby had also never shown Hawk any resentment over the championship loss and said that Hawk had won fair and square, stepping aside to allow Hawk to represent the dojo during the trials. During the brawl, when Kyler taunted Hawk about his loss, Hawk was humble and accepting about it and said that that's life: you win some and lose some. Hawk had gone from winning the avt championship against Robby to getting the wind knocked out of him by Kenny and losing the trial match (though the match was rigged anyway).

Although, Robby and Hawk have barely interacted and have limited connection through other characters throughout out the series, many of the intersections in their journeys have been important in Hawk's character journey. Interestingly, Miguel has had minimal positive impact on Hawk's character journey since Hawk joined Cobra Kai. Johnny and Kreese played important roles in influencing Hawk's downfall, whereas Robby has been playing an important role in directly and indirectly influencing Hawk's return from the dark side and his growth in terms of his empathy and humility. Daniel also coached Hawk with a "give him all you got" against Robby in the avt, whereas Robby coached Hawk with a "don't go too hard on him" against Kenny in the trials. In addition to trying to break the cycle of generational trauma for himself, Robby has been directly and indirectly playing a part in undoing the negative influences that the older generations have had on Hawk.

#cobra kai is robby's story #robby keene

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ell-alexanderarnold · 1 year

Text

Escapism.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 (𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭)

A break up mess between Trent and Y/n.

Angst

Warnings! : This fic contains cursing, mentions of light drugs*and cheating+ sad Trent, lots of crying 😀

Note: Last part!! This was my first ever series so I want to say thank you all for your support💌 I hope I did the end justice xx

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Your day at work was exhausting. Too many meetings and annoying co-workers, you couldn’t wait to get home. The traffic was heavy and you started to get more tired minute by minute but finally you approached your home, crashing on the sofa the very second you entered the door.

As you prepared your outfit tomorrow’s work day, you found a familiar sweater. It was that sweater, the one you had on the night you found out.

….

At this point you had been waiting for too long, the hours kept passing and he never came home. You thought that it’s probably best to go to sleep but suddenly you heard the door open and a big sigh came out from the man who entered the living room.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried all night” You wondered as he sat down beside you. He remained silent and just stared down at the floor, you got closer to him and stroke your hands through his locs.

“Talk to me baby” You whispered.

“I’m just tired, that’s all” He answered and gave you a weak smile, he got up from the couch making his way upstairs. After about 5 minutes you heard the shower running, and a notification from his phone that he left on the couch. You picked up the phone wondered who texted him at this hour.

Isabella: You forgot your training top here, can I leave it tomorrow when she’s at work?

Your heart froze, you couldn’t move. You just stared at the name Isabella, who is she?

You heard Trent coming downstairs and you immediately closed his phone and kept your head down, fiddling with your fingers as he sat down beside you.

“Which movie?” He said, usually you get excited when he says that but now you felt nothing, absolutely nothing. You couldn’t help but ask

“Who’s Isabella?”

“What”

“Trent who is Isabella?” You asked him again as you looked at him and your eyes began to water up but you didn’t want to assume the worst but you did, you almost already knew by the look on his face.

“I don’t know” Trent claimed.

”Why are you lying?” You accused.

“Y/n seriously I don’t know!” He bellowed.

“Well, have fun getting your fucking training top back tomorrow” You snapped and your voice cracked. You quickly got up from the couch and ran up the stairs.

“Fuck, Y/n it’s not like that!” He yelled and followed after you but you locked yourself in the bathroom.

….

You stared at the sweater for a minute and the memories flooded back. Of course you stayed with him after he cheated, he was all you knew. But eventually he broke up with you and you was left alone, it began with a loving relationship. Praises, compliments and it developed to a toxic relationship, only talking to each other when there was an argument and he’d make it up by sex. You still miss the relationship you had but not what it became. Could you go back to it? Yet you didn’t know, you had to find out soon.

————

The weekend came closer and you worked until 4pm. You had to get home to get ready for your dinner with Trent. You didn’t expect much happening, just a small talk about your relationship but it was bigger then a small talk. It would decide if it was worth staying with him after everything he’d done. If you two could go back to square one again, you weren’t sure.

You spent about an hour doing your makeup and picked an outfit, something about getting ready was one of your favourite things. At least it was when you were together with Trent. He would sit and watch you in your chair whilst you did your makeup and not saying a single word. He just smiled and afterwards he would tell you that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world and that you would always be his. But now things have changed. A memory came back from the night you met him the first time since your break up. “I’m not yours anymore” You remember saying to him and you remembered that he didn’t respond to it. Maybe you hurt him with those words, maybe not. It seems like he can’t forget what you two had apart from the arguments and that one time he cheated. He cried out to you, said he was sorry that he fucked up the relationship. You had to know more.

Trent: Could you be a little bit slower please?

“Shit” You cursed as you realised that he was outside and you weren’t even ready yet, you panicked and didn’t want him to wait too long, so you texted him back.

You: Sorry I’m late, you can come inside if you want

You didn’t know why you invited him to come inside but you heard the doorbell and you were just applying on mascara so you shouted

“Come in!”

You heard the door open and you saw Trent in the back of your makeup mirror, he looked around your apartment.

“Your apartment huh? It looks nice” He said as he entered your room.

“Thank… you” You struggled as you were still trying to apply mascara with your shaky hand, you didn’t feel nervous but you deeply inside you knew you were.

When you were done with your makeup you went up from your chair and stormed past Trent to go to your bathroom to remove the excess mascara from your eyelids.

”You don’t need to stress, you know” Trent assured, watching you storming around your apartment getting ready.

“I’m not stressing” You replied as you walked into your closet picking some shoes for the night.

By the time you were done, you found Trent sitting on your sofa waiting patiently.

“So I’m ready now” You told him with a smile on your face. He looked up at you and gave you a smile back.

“You look beautiful Y/n” Said Trent but his smile quickly turned to a worried expression and furrowed brows.

“Y/n I thought you stopped?”

“Stopped what?” You implored not knowing what he was talking about until he pointed at the pills laying on the kitchen counter. You turned around and looked at them, you must have forgotten to clean up after last week.

“I’m worried about you” He revealed as he got closer to you.

“I told you not to worry about it Trent, I’m okay” You lied, you felt a lump in your throat, you didn’t want to cry in front of him again but the tears came anyway.

“But I am worried. Please can’t you just talk to me, why are you doing this?” Trent questioned.

“I think you already know the answer Trent” You cried.

“Oh Y/n please don’t start this, I’ve told you a hundred times it was a mistake yet you still fucking bring it up” Trent slammed and now he knew that he fucked up. He knew he was one of the reasons. He held his hands behind his head and tried to prevent the tears from coming, but they streamed down his face like a waterfall.

“Fuck” He cursed and he couldn’t stop crying and you didn’t know what do to either. You let him cry for a moment until you made your way to him and tried to comfort him but he turned away. He needed to be alone you thought so you left him by the sofa and went to your bedroom.

There was no dinner this night. There was only arguing and crying, the same old bullshit. Crazy how it only takes 5 minutes before you two start picking at each other, but it wasn’t always like this, once upon a time there was no arguments, no secrets only your love to each other mattered. How things change or should we say how people change? Trent changed, you changed. Your whole relationship changed, and you couldn’t stop it, you blame yourself for it everyday. There’s no escape from the thought but at the end of the day there is an escape. An escape from reality and you found out, your escape from everything was him, it was Trent.

You were lying in your bed, dress still on and your makeup was already gone from all crying. You felt so miserable and empty. The fact that the one man who one time could take all your pain and anxiety away with just one kiss or a couple of words was in the room next to you and it only made it worse. He couldn’t kiss you or take your pain away because it was him who caused this. The pain, the emptiness, it was all him.

You heard a knock on your bedroom door. He was still here and you really thought he left after the chaos.

“Can I come in?” A familiar voice said, he entered your room and sat down by the edge of the bed.

“I thought you left” You mumbled and rubbed your eyes.

“I couldn’t” Trent said and you turned to face him.

“I hope you know that I still care about you Y/n” He spoke up.

”I know you do Trent” You sighed, meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry I put you trough fucking hell” He uttered, referring to what you said to him last week and it made you laugh.

“Mm” You hummed.

“I’m really sorry for everything I put you through” He whispered.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you T, I really want to but it’s scary and I’m afraid to let you in again” You confessed. You have forgiven him so easy before but you weren’t sure you could forgive him now.

“Please, let me help you Y/n, I miss what we had and I’ve been so lost without you, so lost and I don’t know what to do” Trent blubbered and took your hand in his.

“Can I ask you one thing Trent?” You said.

“Are you still with her?”

“No, she wasn’t you and she’ll never be.”

Your brain was telling one thing and your heart another. It was so complicated, not even a calculator could work this out. You two had to work it out piece by piece and of course it was going to hurt. But maybe it will ease the pain also, by searching for where it went wrong. Mistakes, unsolved conflicts. Perhaps this was the start of something new? Only you and Trent could find out.

“I still love you Y/n and I believe in us” He cried, and you found him not telling the truth.

“B-but you said we weren’t working” You sobbed.

“Yes but I was fucking wrong, can’t you see?” Trent wept.

“Y/n look at me” Trent voiced. You looked at him, his eyes were filled with tears that kept pouring down his cheeks and it hurt you seeing him like this, the fact that he cried because of you made your heart shattered a little more then it already have. You took your hands and dried his tears off his cheeks.

“Can you hold me? Like you used to when there was no arguments, no secrets, just our love” You sighed and he held you in his arms, a hiccup came out from you and it made him chuckle. Immediately it felt like he was the missing piece of puzzle in your heart and that you were home. Trent was home to you and have always been and will always be…

escapism

/ɪˈskeɪpɪz(ə)m/

noun

the tendency to seek distraction and relief from unpleasant realities, especially by seeking entertainment or engaging in fantasy.

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Let me know what you thought about this series 💓

#trentalexanderarnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #liverpool fc #england x reader #football imagine #footballer x reader #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent imagine #trent x reader #taa66 #trent alexander arnold fanfic #trent alexander arnold imagines #trent alexander arnold angst #football fic #football angst

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deadmenandthedivine · 7 months

Text

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter twelve: drowned in insignificant details

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 4593

“The ravens have already been sent so preparations can be made, but we must come to a decision on the official invitations.”

“That is your first matter at hand? What pictures go on which piece of parchment?” Daemon sneered.

“No, my Prince, it is merely the most time sensitive. Perhaps they should have a tower and a dragon? Both strong and formidable sigils to symbolize the strength of the union.” The Queen stated with a cold calmness.

“No towers, no fucking towers!” Daemon snapped.

“What of iron studs or runes? I think towers should be included only if the sigils of House Royce are as well.” Princess Rhaenyra suggested, giving her husband an unwavering warning stare.

Needless to say, Prince Daemon did not like his first late wife’s insignia anywhere near the topic of discussion either. He growled and slammed his goblet on the table much like a child. Lady Rhea and her house were among his sorest subjects. Throughout her entire life, the princess had tiptoed around the subject of her own mother. Careful not to pull an untethered outburst out of her father. To the point where the mere mention of the long dead woman from another party’s innocent mouth was enough to make the princess tense. The Prince was no stranger to a violent outburst or a barrage of verbal assaults. His wife, too, knew it well. Yet Princess Rhaenyra did not seem to cower like Princess Maetilda did. Rhaenyra poked him like a sleeping bear. Without fear of his response. Without tensing for what came next. Unlike his wife, the Rogue Prince’s daughter was still shaken from the night before. Each time she looked at him, she could feel the sting in her cheek. It was still pink that morning and her maids had to use every remedy they could think of to take the swell away. But most pretended they did not see it, that her cheeks had always been two different colors. A few pairs of eyes lingered, but not for long.

“Perhaps you should sell me to the Triarchy while you’re at it.” He grumbled.

“Might I suggest two dragons that meet in the middle? One of them colored green and white, the other red and black.” Aemond piped up.

Maetilda spared a quick glance toward her betrothed. He had a goblet in hand, just like her father, but was not flinging it around or throwing it onto the table. Regardless, the resemblance between the two was growing uncanny, making her stomach churn and flip and knot in a wave of nausea. What if Aemond began to act like him? Would she be as steadfast and fearless as Rhaenyra? She was not sure. And that was a scary thought, a scary possibility. She hoped she was wrong. The two shared a resemblance, yet the King’s second son was far more handsome. Harder to read, but intriguing. He had a face that she wanted to stare at. She could not deny it. His eye, his nose, his chin. He was ethereal, as if he was etched in stone. His shoulders were squared and hunched. His stare was fixed on his uncle as he swirled the contents of his cup. She wondered what thoughts were running through his mind, if they had anything to do with the words he spoke in her chambers. As her husband, he would put her father in his place. Of course, a Hightower would be all too excited to do such a thing. She stewed as she reminded herself that Aemond had likely become just that — a tower wearing a dragon’s skin. He had said it himself the night before, he would not sit and allow her family to further disrespect him. Not after Lucerys took his eye. She wondered if the wound continued to cause him pain to that day. In the time she had seen him again, he had not let on if it had. Instead he sat diligently for a meeting on their wedding and thoughtfully contributed. Seemingly more mentally present in the room than herself. Both Alicent and Rhaenyra smiled and nodded, even Daemon did not grumble at the proposition. He had successfully made a compromise in the span of one suggestion. The Queen gave the artisan who stood before the table an official nod to signify that the decision was final. He smiled and nodded eagerly in return.

“Any florals, your Grace?” The artisan asked respectfully.

“Oh yes, certainly. Aster, myrtle, purple columbine, daffodil, honeysuckle, and iris.” Alicent’s answer was fast, consulting no one.

No one argued. The artisan smiled and nodded eagerly again.

“Perhaps we should let our Queen marry her son in place of my daughter. Her Grace seems to have already planned for it.” Daemon goaded with a sneer.

“Husband!” Rhaenyra scolded before turning to the room, “My apologies. It seems my husband has gotten too lost in his cups this morning. It is quite emotional to see all of our daughters getting married so quickly.”

“Yes, it is a very emotional time.” Alicent agreed.

“How much are these invitations going to cost? Can we not send a pageboy with doves in a box?” Lord Beesbury, the Master of Coin and Lord Treasurer, interjected after looking up from his book full of numbers. “I mean no offense to you, Mister Booker. I only mean to say that the cost of the invitations only increases with the number of great houses invited.”

“With all due respect, Lord Beesbury, this is not only a royal wedding. As my husband has declared, it is the joining of two branches within the great royal house. No expense shall be spared.”

“Make sure there is a seven-pointed star in prominent display at the top. We must not forget to honor those who have given us such a union.” Ser Otto spoke up.

“Then you must also include a symbol from each of the Valyrian gods. We best not forget to honor those that granted us the Throne in the first place.” Rhaenyra added.

“Will there be room left on the invitation for the words?” Lord Jason Lannister laughed at his own joke before he turned to the artisan, “Do you know how to read? Are you in charge of the words?”

“Do not answer that, Mister Booker,” Princess Rhaenyra shot dagger eyes at the Lannister before turning to the artisan, “The Marriage of Prince Aemond & Princess Maetilda Targaryen. By command of the King — followed by each houses’ name — you are directed to be present in King’s Landing promptly before the Equinox of the Flower Moon.”

“How many feasts shall we have before the wedding? We must tell the families to arrive in time.” Lord Jason suggested.

“There shall be exactly six prior. The wedding shall precede the seventh feast.” Otto stated.

“Absolutely not. Thirteen feasts, with the wedding as the fourteenth.” Rhaenyra pushed back.

“Fourteen feasts! My apologies, your Grace, I may need to see the maester after hearing such a number.” Lord Beesbury chortled.

“Fourteen feasts for fourteen flames. A royal wedding never to be forgotten. Nothing less for my eldest daughter.” Daemon pushed farther.

“Absurd!” Otto barked back, “The Seven should curse the union if any such thing took place.”

“Feasts are not sacrilegious, grandfather. If the ceremony should be in that of The Faith, we may honor our heritage in other ways. Fourteen feasts, which require fire in its making, to honor the Fourteen Flames. And we spare no expense, as my mother already stated.” Aemond spoke with finality.

“Can the Red Keep house all those extra lords and ladies for an entire fortnight?” Ser Otto countered.

“There are plenty of rooms! Are there not? We’ve held tourneys that last longer.” Rhaenyra bellowed.

“Yes, your Grace, but the waste. The castle may begin to smell. A situation we best not risk.” Ser Otto explained.

“‘Smell better than you on any given day.” Daemon grumbled, slurring his words.

‘You smell so pretty, ñuha dōna,’ the words echoed in her mind. Spine rigid as she sat up uncomfortably straight. Her cheeks felt hot as she was certain she was the only one plagued by her thoughts.

The Hand’s response was quick and overly pious, “Pardon me, Prince Daemon. But you may be excused if you cannot remain appropriate.”

“I will excuse it this one time, Ser Otto, as I am a man of mercy. But I will remind you that it is not your place to tell me where to be or what behavior is appropriate. Tread carefully.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Only if you make it one.”

“Enough!” Alicent and Rhaenyra snapped simultaneously.

The room fell completely silent. The princess twiddled her thumbs in her lap. Daemon could sustain anger and a grudge longer than anyone the princess had ever known. A single marriage was not about to quell his ages of hatred for Ser Otto. He had hated his brother’s advisor for longer than any of his daughters had been alive. After the night before, she had expected her father’s insults and more. But if what Maetilda and her knight had done that same evening worked, then the arguments might have been a sign. She could not be bound in marriage to anyone if no agreements could be made. If the marriage would prove to do the opposite of its intended purpose. However, Aemond seemed to be in a compromising mood. If his actions of the night prior proved anything, he had to be the culprit behind the stones. At the very least, he had proven that he knew how to sneak into her room. She did not understand him, where his motivations came from. What did he mean when he said they were more alike than she realized? In what ways were they alike? Certainly he was not that motivated from a few commonalities. As she watched, those around them actually seemed to listen to him, value his word. She was expected to remain silent unless spoken to, even in her own wedding plans. It was a rule uniquely hers, never given to her younger sisters or other siblings. Her father hated it when she stuck her neck out around others. In his words, she could never say the right thing or always said too much. Despite how hard she tried, it was always wrong. She could never figure out why. Yet at that moment, the princess did not raise any complaints. Unsure what she would even want to say. The wedding did not feel real in the first place. A feeling in her gut told her that all their planning would be in vain; her father would find a way. He was a man with 10,000 and 1 contingency plans. He would sooner drop dead before he allowed such an event to actually happen. Perhaps she was the only one who saw their planning for the farce it was.

“Shall we talk entertainment then? Each feast should have a different theme!” Daemon smirked, downing another cup.

“Heavens no! I always get the days mixed up.” Lord Beesbury shivered.

“Shall I have them written out for you, Lord Beesbury?” Lord Wydle, Master of Law, interjected genuinely.

“Or would the parchment be too expensive?” Lord Lannister teased.

“There should not be anything that deters attention away from the bride. Themes might allow other ladies to upstage.” Alicent disagreed, “Unless done properly.”

“Is there anything the Crown cannot do?” Daemon countered.

The princess’s skin tingled as their conversation continued. She did not like to imagine lords and ladies from across the Realm all gathered to watch her. To witness her wedding and bedding. She had to fight the grimace that wanted to smear itself across her face. The thought of such attention fixed on her was enough to make her lose her meal, but she kept it swallowed down. She hated to imagine what they would say, the snide whispers about how the princess was only quickly wed to save her good name. To save her from a life of solitude and disgrace in the eyes of the kingdoms. Pathetic, that’s what they would think of her. Pathetic, ugly, lacking any sense of dignity. She would be the joke of the Realm. They would hold their bellies and laugh through the entire fortnight. Through each meal. She could already picture it. And others wondered why Helaena shrunk into herself. It was not fun to be the topic of the whispers, the lady being watched, the butt of the joke. Maetilda wished she could crawl under the table and never come out. Perhaps if she acted completely ridiculous, Ser Otto would convince the King to call it all off. Her reputation would be shattered regardless. It would not matter if it was her fault or theirs, no lord would want her after. She wondered if that would be her fate, marked by the Gods. Inevitable to happen. Cursed to a life of solitude. Once her father died, she would be too old to find another husband. She would return to the unfamiliar castle she was born in as a woman grown, never to leave it for fear of shame. She would wallow and rot in its halls. Perhaps she would find the ghost of her mother.

“There should be a tribute to both of our dragons. The last living ones to be born in Valyria.” Aemond’s voice cut through the hum of them all again, “Would you enjoy that, Princess Maetilda?”

Startled by her sudden inclusion, she blinked a few times before fully realizing she had been asked a question. The princess sat up straighter and adjusted her posture before nodding her head, “Yes. A tribute to the last eyes to see Valyria in all its beauty.”

“Perhaps have a song composed about them? Or a tapestry made? Which would you prefer?” He pressed farther as the room watched them.

“Why not both?” She shrugged, unsure of which option was the correct answer.

“Yes, of course!” Aemond nodded to his mother, “And there should be portraits made, multiple. Both at the ceremony and in the portrait room.”

Portraits, tapestries, songs. All for display. A wedding all for show. The night before, Aemond had been so sure, so certain. But as time took more, Maetilda only felt more unsettled. Like sailing on a ship stalked by a leviathan, her next moments felt numbered. If she did not act, she would be in its belly. What was the purpose of delaying the inevitable? Aemond still looked so fixed, determined, beyond any doubt, a sort of confidence that only a prince could have. She was almost jealous of him, almost. But then she remembered her father again. He lived inside her head. He would not be happy with her for such a submissive agreement.

“Worry not, nephew. I will take it into my own hands to instruct the artists to paint the bride prettier. You must not be troubled with such tasks on your wedding day.”

The princess’s heart sank to her stomach. Her father had insulted her. And for what reason? There were eyes on her, she could feel them. But she kept her stare fixed forward on the wall. Chin up.

“Please do not bother, uncle. We all know you will be far too lost in the festivities to remember.” Aemond threw the rest of his drink down his throat, “She’ll be more than pretty warming my bed.”

The father of the future bride barked with laughter, clapping his hands together and slapping his knee. As the howls droned on, they grew drier and drier. He was the only one that laughed. The princess could feel each change in pitch claw at her skin like talons. She felt her blood pool in her feet as she listened to her father’s very public shaming. It had to be some sort of joke or game. Why else would he speak of her in such a way in front of the Small Council? Why else would he give lords and ladies an invitation to insult them? He was either stupid or plotting. While he was never known to be stupid, she could not see any of the logic.

“Would you like a portrait of that too?”

“Yes, I shall have two made and send the second to you.”

“You’re eager. Aren’t you? Like a dog on a chain. Is that your grandfather holding the other end? Or is it your mama?”

Not a sound was made. The uncle and nephew stared each other down with stern red faces, furrowed brows, and locked jaws. If they were dogs, they would have been growling. The princess could not tear her eyes away, anxious to see what punishment her father would rain down upon her betrothed. Her skin tickled as if spiders scurried all over her. Had the sleeves of her dress not itched at her arms, she would have felt completely naked to the room. She wanted to tell them off, to demand their respect. But it would get her nowhere. They owned her. Through marriage, her father would be handing Aemond the keys to her cell. For Aemond to own. If the Gods gave them children, he would own them too. She could die, and he could do as he wished with them. Just as her father had with her. But the man liked control too much to hand the keys over nicely.

“No matter what the King declares, that will always be my daughter, boy.” Daemon spat, “Those Gods you worship may giveth, but they shall also taketh.”

A threat. In front of everyone, the entire Small Council. He was a bold man, capable of far more than anyone else in the Realm – only second to the King. Able to commit unthinkable acts, say unspeakable things, without fear of losing his head. The most his brother would do is banish him. No assassin would be brave enough to collect any bounty on his head. Not with Ceraxes and Dark Sister at his side. Despite this, the princess had expected more out of the legendary man. Where were the fists? Where were the swords? Where were the consequences? Or were they only reserved for her now? Her chest felt tight as she tried to keep her face from betraying how she felt.

“They give us all what we deserve.” Ser Otto righteously interjected.

“I know what you think I deserve, Lord Asswipe. But are you aware of what you deserve?”

“I will not hear another word of it.” Rhaenyra commanded.

Just as she had declared, all words stopped. All the eyes in the room darted about, anxious to see who made the next move. Maetilda was not the only one on edge. Everyone seemed afraid to speak. All except her father, who only continued to drink. He set his goblet down on the table with a loud echo, causing the princess to jump. He reveled under the supercharged attention of the room. He smiled.

“The privy is more deserving of my presence than this room. Planning may continue tomorrow.” Daemon stated as he gathered himself to leave.

“They must continue now. We will run out of time.” The Queen retorted sharply, “We will proceed with or without you, Prince Daemon.”

“You shall continue without the bride as well then.” Daemon chuckled before setting his hard eyes on his daughter, “Maetilda, come.”

On instinct, the princess nodded her head obediently. She rose out of her chair in a trancelike state, only stopping when she heard Queen Alicent say her name. Her legs froze midstep. Her neck snapped to the side to meet the owlish stare of the Hightower queen. “Come to dinner in my chambers this evening. Just you.” Her brown eyes flickered to her father warningly before nodding to the princess, officially dismissing her from the room.

The three sets of footsteps echoed down the staircase together. Ser Wyllam dutifully followed behind them. His armor would scratch every few steps. It formed an odd rhythm with the pounding of her heart and the pumping of her blood. After a few paces, a rough hand idly gripped the back of her neck. Leading her firmly back in the direction of her chambers. Certainly the servants had heard him behind her doors the evening before. Certainly they had begun to talk. She was still marked from it after all. She wondered what had been said, who all had heard. Would the lords and ladies talk too?

“Rhaenyra knew what she was doing when she demanded we travel by ship.” He stopped himself from speaking farther, Ceraxes’ name on the edge of his lips.

“Ao zālagon se sombāzmion ilagon?” (Would you burn the castle down?)

“Nyke gaomagon skoros iksis bēvilagon. Hae ao kessa gaomagon skori nyke udrāzma hen ao.” (I would do what is necessary. As you shall do when I command of you.)

The walk had been far easier, less painful, but just as tense as it had been the night before. It seemed to be their new tradition, their new way of bonding within the Red Keep – tensely making their way to the princess’s chambers together. She missed his small moments of tenderness. The relaxation in his shoulders while they lived at Dragonstone. If she was wed, would he visit her at the Keep? Where would she go after the King died? Would he ever allow her and Aemond to live at Runestone? Would Aemond hate her castle too? Would she? What of the Royce family that remained there? Would they reject all the Targaryens in their family home? She would not blame them. As much as she longed to return, she found herself worried she would be a foreigner in her own home. Just as she felt at the Red Keep. Although nothing felt as bad as she had felt at the Red Keep. Poor little princess, she thought. When the father and daughter arrived at the same door he had slapped her behind the night before, he gave her a knowing smile. They entered the room silently. Just the same, her father locked the door behind him. But instead of his menacing actions the night before, he gently stepped forward and wrapped her in his embrace. His hugs were always good. He always knew just how much to squeeze. Even when he reeked of alcohol, they brought a strange sense of comfort. Yet the princess could not wipe the memories of the night before from her mind. Her body remained rigid, on edge in close proximity to the man. She would not let her guard down so easily, despite how much she had missed the softer side of him. Where had this father been then? The side of him that cared how she felt. The side of him that dried her tears instead of mocked them. He stood back after he pulled away and held her at arms’ length.

“You seem tense.” He pointed out as he gently squeezed up and down her arms.

She hesitated as she formulated her response, “Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“…When Aemond asked if I liked the tribute, I did not tell him no.”

“Worry not, Maetilda. I am not angry with you for agreeing to tributes for your dragons. It would be an insult to the great kings before us to disagree with such a proposal in Shrykos and Vhagar’s honor.”

“Thank you, father.” She nodded dutifully, glad that he had not nitpicked her for once. Almost wondering if he had heard her thoughts when she had longed for his softer side. But as she continued to stew, it felt more and more wrong. Why had he not nitpicked?

“You did well to remind the council just where she hatched from, where we come from.”

“Yes,” She nodded eagerly, “It would do them good to remember.”

Prince Daemon menacingly held her gaze. She tried to hold back her shaking as she wondered if he would grab her hair and smother her to death in her pillows while her guard was down. Was he trying to play a joke on her? Without question. Anticipation built within her for the punchline. The smell of wine permeated off of him like a foggy cloud even at their slight distance. It made her nose scrunch. The smell and his mood swings seemed to be the only signs of his intoxication. He did not sway or stumble. His hand was firm as he reached upward from her arm and lightly caressed the same cheek he had slapped repeatedly the night before. Brushed his knuckles over the skin. It was still pinker than the other. Yet no one had said a word about it. The only ones whose eyes lingered were enough to count on a single hand. Her father, himself, and Rhaenyra. Queen Alicent, Prince Aemond, and Lord Larys Strong. Three of which had already seen her face before the meeting. Her father and Aemond in the shadows of the night before, and Rhaenyra that morning. Yet not a question about it. The lack of acknowledgment hurt like a bee sting on her heart. Did they not care to know what happened? Did they not care to know she was alright? Aemond had. He had come to check on her. He had heard what her father had said and wanted to make sure she was okay. He had shown her kindness, and she had told him to leave. Guilt began to drip into her blood and spread throughout her veins. In pursuit of her father’s happiness, she had insulted her betrothed. She had hit and slapped him, taken her inner turmoil out on him without hesitation. Was she the one in the wrong? Now she had left the very room where their wedding was being planned, and he had remained. She had listened to the commands of her drunken father, and he had upheld responsibility.

“How many decisions will be made in our absence?” She inquired.

“If they were smart, they would have agreed to meet later.” He replied, shaking his head as if it were a fist at the Gods, “However, if your stepmother stayed, it is hard to say. She likes to play monarch, you know.”

“She is the heir.”

“She is, and I am her husband.”

“Yes, father.”

“And you are the Lady of Runestone, Maetilda. You are in charge of it now. But as soon as you have a husband…”

“How can I be in charge if I have never even been there?”

“You do not need to be there to be in charge.”

“Is that why the King dragged himself to the Throne Room?” She crossed her arms.

“A good ruler knows when their presence is required.”

“And mine has not been for how long now?”

“No one is trying to take the Bronze Throne. There is no need for you to defend the damn thing.”

“The Hightowers are.”

Daemon’s eyebrow hiked up in interest at the princess’s words. He smirked and it filled her chest with warmth. Commendation. She had a point, and he had realized it. His face had given it away. Whether he had wanted to give her such praise or not.

“They are,” He nodded, “And now you must defend your Keep from here.”

“Me? Here? What?”

“While at dinner with the Queen tonight. Make the ugly bat regret her own marriage to begin with.”

“…But how?”

“You are so naturally gifted at angering me, I am certain you do not require my help.”

A/N: lol i heard you guys asking to give Maetilda a break!!! so she got a hug!! but also she got a hug?? i promise there is light at the end of the tunnel!! we just have to be dramatic first. Chapter Thirteen will be posted shortly! (most likely tomorrow)

also, i had a lot of fun with the dialogue in this chapter. hopefully it’s not too cheesy! i was making myself giggle as i wrote it so i hope y’all like it too 0:)

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @imsoshygirl @faesspace

xoxo messy

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond x fem!oc #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #hotd #dad!daemon #dead men and the divine

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destinygoldenstar · 3 months

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My Final Ranking Of The TD2023 Tier List Now That The Season Is Over

I must stress that Season Two REALLY changed some of these for me… mostly for the worse.

I made a post about how I did not like Season Two’s last 5 episodes.

I can safely say Bowie is my favorite of the cast as a result. Cause he had a very consistent story and personality in both, got development, and reached a satisfying end despite not getting far in Season Two.

Julia is a runner up though, but I don’t put her in favorites because of the last 5 episodes. You’re gonna see that a lot.

I originally had Damien a slot higher and was considering putting him in Favorites depending on the last 5 episodes and what they would do with him.

Yeah, that led to absolutely nothing of value, was a slap to the face for all Damien fans, and basically said “Yeah, this character is useless to the story.”

I can’t say Season Two ruined Damien… but it got him a tier lower now that it’s apparent to me. At least Zee DID something that impacted things.

Priya is a case where the last 5 episodes ruined her. I get it’s in character. You’d think she’d have learned something by now. But instead she became really toxic and stupid for no reason. I was digging her story too. Shame.

Wayne is also a tier lower than Raj now. Because at least Raj got something to do outside of Wayne. But Wayne could’ve had the same with some of his qualities in Season 1. But no, none of those were there in Season 2.

In a strategic focused season that’s all about strategies, and how strategy impacts relationships, you’d think someone with those morals learned throughout the season would win. But no. The only thing is that Wayne played fair and hates cheating. Okay. So does Raj. But at least Raj became upfront about the cheating and called it out and was an influence towards such. And it’s a character arc Bowie had about not cheating.

Caleb didn’t cheat technically. He just played the game. There’s a difference.

It just rubs me off the wrong way.

Ooh Millie… she used to be in Love for me. I really liked her character in Season 1. She wasn’t my pick to win, but she was one of my favorites to follow in Season 1. I’ll explain why in another post where I talk about all of these guys in detail.

But basically, I can’t like her character anymore. Season 2 absolutely ruined her.

Let’s just reset her satisfying character development back to square one as though nothing happened. Let’s make her an attempted murderer and then NOT have her see it as a bad thing until she got compared to Ripper. Which makes her whole apology extremely selfish because what’s stopping me from thinking all she cares about is being called good again.

No. You’re a bad person. And you never got better. At least in Season 1 you were realistically a faulty non-self aware being, but not an attempted batterer!

So yeah. It legit made me like Millie’s character a whole lot less. And I’m starting to look back at Season 1 Millie more negatively, KNOWING she never changes as a person. Disappointing.

I wanted to make a post defending you girl. Now I can’t.

Ripper actually got higher on a different note. He wasn’t as annoying this time. That’s always a plus. I know that’s not saying much, but I cant really say I hate Ripper anymore in either season. Cause at least his character is pretty consistent while also just having better jokes.

I’ll make a post where I talk about all of these guys in as much detail as I can.

#total drama #total drama 2023 #td priya #td bowie #td millie #td julia #td emma #td chase #td ripper #td zee #td wayne #td raj #td mk #td damien #td scary girl #td nichelle #td axel #td caleb

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 1 year

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Love, Hate, Love

Word Count: 2494 words

Pairing: Jay White x Reader

Warnings: +18, toxic relationship, mutual physical violence, cursing, mentions of cheating, mentions of murder, smut.

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @letsgivethisonemoreshot , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl

I tried to love you

I thought I could

I tried to own you

I thought I would

I want to peel the skin from your face

Before the real you lays to waste

The streetlights were mostly broken, one of the “perks” of living in that part of town. Most people would be frightened to walk home alone at such late hours of the night, but she was used to it by now. The rough childhood and teenage years had trained her well to deal with the dangers the world offered, besides, there was nothing her pocket knife couldn’t handle for her. She had lost count already of how many times the shiny blade had stood by her side, the only friend one could ever ask for in life. Nothing frightened her, nobody could make her quiver in fear. Not even him.

Her eyes soon found the small, round, orange-burning glow of his Cuban cigar casting a faint, low light on his face. He was sitting on her front porch - as he did so many times before in the past - heavy boots tapping against the old, creaking floorboards. His hair was tied up at the back of his neck in a low bun, his black leather jacket was tossed over his leg and his eyes soon met her frame in the darkness as she approached her house.

“Where the fuck were you?” Was the only greeting she ever received from him. His poison-filled voice was shaky and his eyes held a sharp gleam she became all too familiar with by now.

“Weren’t you supposed to be with some random, ring rat in Japan?” Her mockery tone only served to annoy him even more.

She didn’t even flinch when he quickly stood up as she passed by him to unlock her front door.

“Why are you coming home so late, huh? I’ve been sitting here since 7 p.m! You should've gotten here at 7:30 tops! Why the fuck took you 8 fucking hours to get home?!”

Jay was known for his angry outbursts, he turned into this wild, uncontrolled creature that managed to scare everyone around him. Except for her, it didn’t matter how much he screamed, cursed, or broke things, she never flinched or bowed to his wishes.

An exasperated sigh left her lips “Go home, Jay. I told you I didn’t want you here anymore”

Before she could open the door, Jay grabbed the doorknob and kept the door closed.

“FUCKING ANSWER ME!” He closed the distance between their bodies and she squared up to him. That was when Jay smelled, the scent that was once printed on his bedsheets after one of their fights. The scent makes the psycho inside of him come out.

“You were with him, weren’t you? You fucking bitch!” His hand wrapped around her neck, but as always, she quickly pushed him back, making him take two steps back and let go of her neck.

“Go. Home!” Her voice was monotone as per usual “I don’t want you here”

“Yeah, because you want him? You fucking lying cunt! You know I fucking hate him! But that’s why you went there, wasn’t it? Because you knew that would get a reaction out of me” Jay’s forehead glistened with sweat, his body was on fire, and the animal within was itching to come out. She always does this, the fucking bitch! Always runs towards that fucker whenever she wants to get under Jay’s skin. “You won’t go to him anymore, do you understand me?!”

“Do you say that to all the bitches you fuck in Japan too?” She scoffed before pushing him aside and opening her front door. Her high heels clicked on the floor as she walked to the kitchen, not even bothering to look over her shoulder to know he had followed her inside.

“I didn’t say you could come in” She spoke, once the warmth of his body caressed her back.

“This is my house too”

“Says who?” The scorn upon her voice had Jay’s blood boiling with anger

“The guy who pays the fucking rent!”

“Oh yes,” She turned around to face him “And because you ‘love me so much’ you ‘pay’ my rent in the shittiest and most dangerous part of town while you live in a penthouse in the rich boy's neighborhood?” Her laugh was loud and despicable “Give me a fucking break and get the hell out of my house”.

You told me I'm the only one

Sweet little angel

You should have run

Lying, crying, dying to leave

Innocence creates my hell

“Unfortunately for me yes, I fucking love you, you fucking bitch!”

“Awww, baby” She mocked “It makes me so happy to know that you demonstrate your love by fucking anything that walks. That’s so sweet! You're the best boyfriend in the world!” Her smile turned cold before she spat “Are you done now? Great, now fuck off!”

“Are you really trying to pretend you didn’t just fuck another man a few hours ago?” Jay chuckled “You’re such a fucking hypocrite”

“You stuck the knife in first, Jay. Not me. What do you want me to do? Watch you fuck other women and brag about it as I only sit back and applaud? You knew I would give you a taste of your own medicine” She shrugged “What’s the matter, though? Can’t handle the taste? It’s bitter, isn’t it? Yeah, it clings to your taste buds, and nothing can erase it. You just have to sit there and wait for it to go away. But it never really does, does it? No, it doesn’t matter how much you try to erase that experience, there’s nothing that can make it go away”. She took a step forward with every word, and now she stood mere inches apart from him. Jay suddenly cut their distance by wrapping his fingers around her neck and pulling her closer to him “If you only knew how bad I want to hurt you right now, you wouldn’t keep running your fucking mouth!” His low growl only elicited a faint cackle from her lips “Oh, missing me already I see. What’s wrong? Your weak side bitches from across the sea can’t take it rough? Do you want me to beg for you, daddy?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Uh, he’s getting mad” Her laugh was joyful and loud “You wanna spank me, daddy? Make me regret my choices? I’d be careful if I were you…because now you have some big shoes to fill” The wicked smile on her lips warned Jay of what she was about to say “Because David fucks so incredibly good”.

The loud thump of her back hitting the dinner table followed the sharp pain of the impact on her skin. Jay hovered over her, black pupils now constricted, jaw clenched and teeth gritting as a low, hurtful groan left his lips “YOU.ARE.MINE! Do you understand me?! You belong to me! And if I can’t have you, no one can!” The pressure around her neck tightened as his fingers closed around her soft skin “I’ll kill you before you can ever leave me! Do you think I’m joking? David will never, EVER have you!”

Her hands gripped Jay’s hair, pulling it loose from the bun so she could tug on his hair before he slapped her across the face.

“I mean it, you fucking bitch! You are mine, honeybee! You’ll forever be mine”

Her nails scratched his face and neck and a few of the red, bumpy trails had small drops of blood upon them.

“Get the fuck out! Go back to your whores in Japan”

“But you’re the only whore that I want, though” He smirked

“Bullshit!” She lifted her knees up and tried to put some distance between their bodies as she noticed Jay getting closer to pin her down on the table with his weight. “One of them sent me pictures of her with you! Videos of you two fucking in some random ass hotel, you fucking prick!” both of her knees now rested against his abs. She wouldn’t have the strength to kick him away, but she could kneel him on his stomach in case she needed to put some distance between them.

Cheating myself

Still, you know more

It would be so easy

With a whore

Try to understand me, little girl

My twisted passion to be your world

Jay’s eyes turned dark upon hearing such a statement “I’ll kill her for hurting you like this!” There was a tone of seriousness in his voice, one she’s never heard before, and a part of her was both flattered and frightened of his honesty.

“You’re the one who hurt me by cheating on me, fucking asshole!” She slapped him in the face as hard as she could “I fucking hate you! I swear to God that I hate you! I just want you out of my life!”

Jay cackled before letting go of her neck to cup her cheeks “I’ll never leave you, you know why?”

“I don’t care!” She pushed him away again ”Just get the fuck out!”. Her knees tried to push him away, but Jay only chuckled “Because I fucking love you, you psycho bitch!” His hands pushed her knees apart so he could place himself between her legs. Jay pulled back and slid his black shirt off his body, tossing it around somewhere around the kitchen.

He covered her body with his warm skin, fingers caressed her cheeks before his lips brushed against hers “Why would I bother to fly 12 hours to this shit hole if I didn’t love you?”

“Because you’re a possessive fucker who thinks he can control my life! If you loved me, you wouldn’t cheat on me”

“I told you I needed you in Japan with me. I told you I wanted you there, but what did you do? You kissed my ass goodbye so you could stay in a shitty job where you can’t even make enough money to support yourself”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, David offered me a job as his personal assistant. Which is nice because now I can blow him off and get paid a good amount of money for that” She teased and Jay dug his teeth into her bottom lip until she winced in pain.

His teeth were stained red, and the metallic taste took over his taste buds “I hope David can speak to the dead because that’s the only way you’ll ever work for him”

“You can’t be serious” She chuckled

“Try me” Jay shrugged “I’ll kill you and then I’ll torture him for days and at last, I’ll kill myself so I can follow you to the afterlife while he gets behind without ever getting to see or have you again”

She snorted a laugh before her fingers toyed with his hair “So what? You’ll haunt me even when I’m dead?”

“Yeah” He smiled proudly before pecking her lips in between every word “You’re mine even after we’re dead”.

Lost inside my sick head

I live for you but I'm not alive

Take my hand before I kill

I still love you, but, I still burn

Their lips moved at a frantic pace, tongues dancing to the delirious beat of their feelings. Her hands tugged on his hair forcefully enough for Jay to pull back with a groan.

“You sick fucker” She chuckled “Get the fuck out of my house and never come back, I’m with someone else now”.

“Over my fucking dead body!”

“I’ll gladly kill you if it means I don’t have to look at your face anymore” She spat as Jay’s hands pulled her black jeans down her legs.

“You’re mine!” The sound of his switchblade scratching the surface of the wooden table had her shivering. “And I’ll fucking write my name all over you if you need a daily reminder of who you belong to” The sharp blade scraping her thigh made her slap him across the face.

“Did you fucking think about me when you were fucking your ring rats? I don’t think so. So spare me of your fucking show!”

“Oh, but I was. Otherwise, how could I cum if I didn’t picture you in front of me?”

“You’re disgusting, you make me fucking sick! How could you fuck them?!”

“But I don’t love them, you dumb bitch! They were nothing but a cum dumpster to me. You, on the other hand, are my everything! I fucking love you! I fucking need you! My body fucking craves you, it begs for you!”

“So much so that you fucked others”

“You dumped me! I sent you flight tickets but you never came to see me, I FaceTimed you but you never answered me. If it wasn’t for me coming here every fucking time you wouldn’t even bother to check on me. But you do check on your precious Davey boy, don’t you?” Jay’s hands ripped the teal lace from her mound before unbuttoning his own jeans. “I’ve seen your lovey-dovey texts to him. Why didn’t you do that to me, though?”

“You were the one who said you didn’t want any of the sappy shit! ‘I don’t do flowers or romance, honeybee," wasn't that what you said? Do you think that shit didn’t hurt me? And then all the random sluts and their bullshit. There’s only so much a person can take, Jay”

“I fucking lied! I lied because I was already head over heels for you but knew you didn’t feel the same” Jay spat on his tip before easing it into her.

Love, hate, love

A satisfied moan escaped her lips once he was buried deep in her pussy. “This was the only time you loved me, whenever my cock was inside you I was the man of your life. This is the only reason why you’ve ever wanted me! Because we have chemistry”.

Jay’s hips began to move at a slow pace and his eyes rolled to the back of his head “Fuck, he just fucked you but you’re still so fucking tight for me, my little bee” He moaned loudly before resting his forehead against hers.

“No. I’ve always loved you, Jay. You were the one who killed my love for you, you were the one who turned it into hatred” Her hands cupped his cheeks as his hips began to thrust faster.

“You hate me? It doesn’t matter, because as long as you love the way I fuck you and as long as I love you, I don’t care. While your body still wants me, that means I have a chance to make you love me again” Jay whispered against her lips before slowly kissing her.

“I’ll never love you again” She spat when they broke apart to gasp for air.

“We’ll see about that, honeybee” He smirked before his lips traveled down her neck.

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