#GIVE ME STRENGTH... (haggard)

[azolitmin]

[moonselune]

BG3 Crew reacting to runaway parent trying to get back in your child's life

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The quiet of the night was shattered by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jolted awake, heart pounding, as the noise continued with an almost frantic urgency. Glancing at the clock, you realized it was well past midnight. Your child, already asleep in their room, was oblivious to the commotion. You hurriedly dressed and made your way to the door, the unease in your chest growing with every step.

When you finally opened the door, your breath caught in your throat. There stood your child's absent father, a man whose presence had long been a source of pain and disappointment. His disheveled appearance and haggard expression were a stark contrast to the composed demeanor you remembered from the past.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s the middle of the night. My child is asleep.”

He pushed past you, ignoring your protest. “I’m here to see my child,” he said gruffly. “I’ve come to make things right.”

You stepped in his way, blocking his advance. “No. You don’t get to waltz back into their life whenever you please. You had your chance, and you squandered it. Now, you need to leave.”

His face reddened with anger, and he sneered at you. “So, you think you can just keep me away? You’re nothing but a petty little obstacle. It’s my right as a father to see my child.”

Before you could respond, you heard the heavy tread of footsteps behind you. Karlach, ever vigilant and protective, had come to investigate the commotion. Her presence was like a storm rolling in, radiating an aura of fierce, unyielding strength. Her eyes locked onto the intruder with a look that could melt steel. Karlach stepped forward, her voice low and menacing.

“You’re in no position to make demands, buddy” she said, her tone cold and dangerous. “This is a warning. Leave now, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a veteran’s wrath.”

The father’s eyes widened in shock as he took in Karlach’s formidable presence. She was a force to be reckoned with, her imposing frame and battle-hardened demeanor making her a terrifying figure. He took an involuntary step back, clearly unnerved by her.

Karlach continued, her voice like gravel. “I fought in the Blood War. I’ve faced demons and horrors you can’t even imagine. Do you really think you want to test me now?”

His bravado crumbled under the weight of her words. He stared at Karlach, then at you, and finally, with a defeated sigh, he turned on his heel and stumbled away into the night, leaving you with a mix of relief and lingering anxiety.

You closed the door with a trembling hand, your heart still racing. The fear that had gripped you was slowly giving way to a profound sense of gratitude. Karlach’s fierce protection had ensured that your child remained safe from harm, and her presence had been a steadying force in a moment of distress. Turning to Karlach, you took a deep breath and let out a shaky sigh.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice filled with both relief and admiration. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Karlach’s expression softened, though her fierce demeanor remained. She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “I’d do anything to keep both you and the little one safe. You don’t have to face this alone.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of appreciation for her unwavering support. “I know,” you said softly. “And I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. Truly.”

Karlach’s lips curled into a mile. “Well, then,” she said with a hint of her usual fire, “let’s make sure that anyone who tries to come near you both knows that they’ll have to go through me first.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her resolute tone, feeling the last of your tension dissolve. As you made your way back to your child’s room, Karlach followed close behind, her presence a comforting shield against the uncertainties of the night.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The night was calm and still, the kind that promised peaceful rest, but that illusion was abruptly shattered by the sound of frantic yelling. You jolted awake, heart pounding, and glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. The cries and shouts came from your daughter’s room, and your immediate concern propelled you out of bed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you shook Minthara awake. Her eyes snapped open, her expression shifting from drowsy confusion to alert determination quicker than light. Together, you raced down the hallway, the sounds of the confrontation growing louder with each step.

Bursting into your daughter’s room, you were met with a sight that filled you with dread. Your daughter, barely able to contain her fear and anger, stood her ground against her father, who had somehow managed to infiltrate the sanctuary of her room. His imposing figure loomed over her, and his presence was both unsettling and unwelcome.

“Leave me alone!” your daughter shouted, her small voice trembling but filled with determination. “I don’t want you here!”

Her father, a grizzled mercenary with a hardened demeanor, looked down at her with a mixture of annoyance and condescension.

“You’re not in a position to make demands,” he sneered. “I’m your father, and you will listen to me.”

As you and Minthara entered the room, your daughter’s eyes met yours, and she bolted towards you. You wrapped her in a comforting embrace, holding her tightly and whispering reassurances. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” you murmured. “I’m here.”

Minthara’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the intruder. Without a word, she strode purposefully towards him, her demeanor cold and menacing. With a swift, practiced motion, she grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with a strength that left no room for argument. The mercenary struggled, but Minthara’s grip was unyielding. He attempted to boast about his exploits, his voice full of bravado.

“I’ve fought in countless battles,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I’ve taken lives, dealt with worse than you—”

Minthara interrupted him with a harsh, mocking laugh. “Please. You’re nothing can even compare to me,” she said, her voice laced with disdain.

Your daughter, still clinging to you, looked up with wide, fearful eyes. “Can you make him leave?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You looked over to Minthara and gave her a slight nod, the type that Minthara takes as nothing is off limits. Minthara glanced at your daughter with a reassuring nod, then turned her gaze back to the mercenary.

“You heard the child,” she said, her tone cold and final. “It’s time for you to leave.”

As the mercenary started to raise his voice again, Minthara’s patience snapped. With a swift, decisive blow, she knocked him out cold. His body slumped to the floor, and she turned to your daughter with a gentle, reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’ll deal with him.”

Your daughter’s face brightened with relief as she held onto you tightly, nodding her head eagerly at Minthara. Minthara gave you a curt nod before she dragged the unconscious mercenary outside, her expression a mixture of determination and satisfaction. As she left, you held your daughter close, whispering soothing words of comfort.

When Minthara returned, she found you and your daughter in your shared bed, your daughter nestled against you, her tiny frame trembling slightly from the recent ordeal. Without a word, Minthara climbed into bed beside you after, of course, washing off the grime from her... excursion. Your daughter, still shaken but comforted, immediately latched onto Minthara and snuggled into her, finding solace in her presence.

You watched as Minthara, despite her usually stoic demeanor, gently stroked your daughter’s hair, her expression softening as she comforted the child.

“There, there,” Minthara murmured softly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Your daughter looked up at Minthara, her eyes heavy with sleep but filled with trust. “Goodnight, Mother,” she whispered, before closing her eyes and curling up closer.

You smiled softly at the sight, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and warmth. Minthara’s actions had been more than protective; they had been a testament to her unwavering dedication and love for both you and your daughter. You reached over, careful not to disturb your daughter and took Minthara's hand, giving it a soft squeeze in thanks, forever grateful for her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

At home, Lae'zel had been adjusting to her role as caretaker, the initial discomfort giving way to a surprising degree of warmth. Your son, now peacefully napping in his room, was nestled under a soft blanket, completely unaware of the impending danger.

The tranquility of the house was abruptly shattered by a soft but deliberate creaking of the door. The estranged father of your child, driven by a mixture of unresolved feelings and a twisted sense of entitlement, had managed to break into your home unnoticed. His presence a dark shadow against the peaceful setting as he made his way to the child’s room.

With a furtive glance around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped inside. The sight of your sleeping son stirred a pang of something akin to remorse in his eyes, but it was quickly overridden by a sense of possession. He reached down and scooped up the toddler, cradling him in his arms. The action was abrupt and rough, causing your child to stir and awaken with a frightened whimper.

The sudden disturbance woke Lae'zel from her own moment of repose. Her heightened senses detected the commotion in the room, and her instincts immediately went on high alert. She could tell immediately that this was not your son's ordinairy fussing, she moved swiftly to the source of the noise, pushing open the door with a forceful shove. Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw the man holding your son against his chest.

Lae'zel’s expression hardened into a fierce scowl as she took in the situation. Her hand moved to the weapon at her side, and with a practiced flick, she drew it. The blade glinted ominously in the light.

“Put the child down!” she commanded, her voice a growl filled with righteous fury. The man’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and defiance.

“This is my son,” he declared with a scoff, his tone dripping with contempt. “I have every right to him.”

But the reality of the situation was starkly different. Your son, still half-asleep and disoriented, immediately began to fuss and whimper, reaching out with tiny, pleading hands towards Lae'zel. The distress in his voice was unmistakable as he called out, “Mama! Mama’zel!”

Seeing the child’s evident fear and his desperate need for Lae'zel, the warrior’s resolve hardened. She took a step forward, her weapon poised with deadly precision. “You are not taking him. He needs to be with someone who cares for him, that is not you.”

It seemed the father had suddenly realised that danger he was in now he was at the blade's end of a Githyanki silver sword. In a panic and with a final, reckless gesture of defiance, the man threw your son into the air. The sudden action was shocking, and Lae'zel’s heart raced as she watched in horror. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dropped her sword and leaped forward, catching your child with a protective embrace as he fell. Her fierce determination was evident as she cradled him close, her blade still held firmly in her other hand.

The man, seizing the opportunity bolted for the door. Lae'zel’s focus was on your son, and as she made sure he was safe, she allowed the man to escape. She did not let her guard down, but her priority was to protect the child, and the man’s escape was a calculated risk she was willing to take.

Outside, the commotion had drawn attention. As Lae'zel made her way to the front of the house, her eyes fell on the scene unfolding before her. You stood over the unconscious form of your estranged partner, your knuckles bruised and bloodied from the confrontation. There was relief in your expression as you looked up to see Lae'zel, your son safely and happily in her arms. Lae'zel approached you with a careful but determined stride, holding out your son to you.

“He is safe now,” she said, her voice steady but laced with concern. “He was frightened, but I kept him close.”

“Thank you, Lae'zel,” you said softly, your voice filled with emotion after pressing a kiss to Lae'zel's cheek “You saved him.”

Lae'zel nodded, her face a mix of weariness and satisfaction. “It was my duty,” she replied simply. “I will always protect him.”

You took your child into your arms, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude. As you held him tightly, Lae'zel’s eyes softened with a rare gentleness, she had faced a thousand horrors but nothing was as terrifying as the thought of your child, her son, getting hurt.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the farm, where Shadowheart and your young daughter were enjoying a peaceful afternoon. The fields were alive with the joyful sounds of chirping birds and playful animals. Your daughter, her face alight with happiness, was darting around the farmyard, feeding the animals and laughing at their antics. Shadowheart, her demeanor relaxed and gentle, followed closely behind, occasionally helping with tasks and sharing in your daughter’s exuberant joy.

The scene was idyllic: cows mooed softly, chickens pecked at the ground, and your daughter’s gleeful giggles blended harmoniously with the sounds of the farm. Shadowheart’s protective nature shone through as she tended to the animals alongside your daughter, clearly enjoying the role of caretaker.

But this serene moment was abruptly interrupted when a familiar figure emerged from the edge of the farm. Your daughter’s father—who had been absent from her life—appeared with a look of determination on his face. His eyes scanned the farmyard until they landed on your daughter. Relief washed over his features as he strode forward, his expression a mix of desperation and authority.

“There you are!” he called out, his voice carrying across the open fields. “I’ve finally found you. Come here!”

Your daughter’s face went pale as she spotted her father. She immediately bolted behind Shadowheart, clutching at her skirts. Her small voice quivered as she looked up at Shadowheart with wide, frightened eyes. “Mama, make him go away! I don’t want him here!”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, her protective instincts kicking in immediately. She placed herself between your daughter and her father, her stance firm and resolute.

“You need to leave,” Shadowheart said, her voice steady and commanding. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

Your daughter’s father scoffed, clearly irritated by the interruption. “Oh, come now. She’s my daughter. She needs to come with me, I want to spend time with her.”

"She doesn't need to do anything." Shadowheart’s jaw tightened. “No. I will not allow you to upset her further. Leave, now.”

The father’s eyes flickered with annoyance, but he disregarded Shadowheart’s command. He took a step closer, his intent clear—he was determined to take your daughter regardless of Shadowheart’s interference. As he reached out a hand toward your daughter, Shadowheart’s reaction was swift and decisive.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Shadowheart drew upon her time spent as a Sharran. Her movements were a blur as she executed a series of precise and powerful strikes. Your daughter’s father barely had time to react before he was struck down, collapsing to the ground in a heap, unconscious and defeated. Face first in the mud.

Shadowheart stood over him, her breath coming in measured gasps as she surveyed the scene. She turned to your daughter, concern etched across her face.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently. Your daughter’s initial shock quickly transformed into awe. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Shadowheart, a mixture of admiration and excitement shining through her fear.

“That was amazing!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. “Can you teach me how to do that? Please? Pretty please!”

Shadowheart’s concern softened into a smile as she saw the spark of admiration in your daughter’s eyes. She knelt down, placing a comforting hand on your daughter’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said softly. “But learning how to fight and defend yourself is not something to take lightly. You have to practice lots and lots.”

"I don't care!" Your daughter’s enthusiasm remained undiminished. “I want to learn! I want to be strong like you! That was so cool!”

Shadowheart’s smile broadened, touched by the girl’s resolve. "Okay, okay, little fighter, let's go ask your mother about it and see what she says, okay?"

Your daughter sprinted off, bellowing your name, the previous incident seemingly forgotton. Shadowheart couldn't help but chuckle and then sighed as she looked at the father's crumpled form. With a hand on her hip and a snap of her fingers a portal opened. Shadowheart was sure that he would have a much better time in the neighbouring farm's fertiliser tub. Maneure was so good for crops this time of year.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Your daughter’s school fete was abuzz with excitement, the large open park filled with the chatter and laughter of parents and children. The annual talent show was in full swing, and each performance was met with enthusiastic applause. It was a time for the students to showcase how far their wizarding skills had developed. You couldn't tell who was more excited, your daughter or Gale.

You and Gale stood near the front, eagerly awaiting your daughter's turn to showcase her magic. The weeks of practice and preparation between Gale and your daughter had culminated in this moment, and both of you were a mix of pride and nerves.

Gale was showing signs of his own anxiety—fidgeting slightly, his eyes darting to the stage and then back to you. It was clear that he cared deeply about how this would go for your daughter.

Just as your daughter's name was called out to get ready to go on, she began making her way to the backstage area to prepare, until her face suddenly fell. You turned to see what had caused the abrupt change in her demeanor, and then you heard the unmistakable voice of your ex—her estranged father—cutting through the ambient noise of the school fete.

“Hey there, little one! Where’s my hug?” he called out, his tone laced with a mixture of familiarity and condescension.

Your daughter hesitated, her small frame visibly tensing as she reluctantly approached her father. With a forced, apprehensive smile, she gave him a quick hug. The look of discomfort on her face was evident as she pulled away, and with a quick look of worry to you, she darted to the backstage entrance where she began to prepare to perform with the other kids.

Confident your daughter was out of sight and earshot, you felt a surge of irritation and disbelief. You hadn’t expected him to show up here, let alone disrupt your daughter’s big moment. Turning sharply, you confronted your ex, your voice edged with frustration.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, crossing your arms. “Why show up now?”

His face remained a mask of faux innocence. “I’m here to support my little girl, of course,” he replied with a shrug, but his eyes betrayed a glint of something darker as he glanced at Gale. “Had to make sure that new boytoy of yours isn’t a bad influence.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you were about to launch into an argument when your daughter's teacher approached, her expression soft but serious.

“Excuse me,” the teacher said, addressing you and Gale. “Your daughter has developed a case of stage fright, bless her, and has asked for her father.”

Your ex immediately stepped forward, a smirk spreading across his face as he assumed the teacher was referring to him. But the teacher’s next words made it clear they were talking about Gale.

“I'm sorry, but I’m actually referring to Mr. Dekarios,” the teacher clarified, gesturing toward Gale. Gale’s face brightened, and flashed your ex a smug smirk, only for it to fade into concern as he followed the teacher, catching sight of your teary daughter waiting nervously backstage. She ran over to him, looking up at him with a mix of hope and distress.

“Gale!” she said, her voice trembling, “I need your magic!"

Gale knelt down to her level, his expression softening. “Sweetheart, I can’t help you with the performance,” he said gently. "I promise you will do amazing, you've been working so hard and-"

"-No, I need your magic to make him disappear!" Your daughter sniffed and Gale realised what she had meant.

"Ah, well that I can do," Gale whispered with a smile and your daughter’s face lit up with relief, and she threw herself into a hug with Gale.

“Thank you, dad!” she said, her voice now full of gratitude, those tears gone and a smile plastered on her face. With a renewed sense of determination, she ran back to the stage, her earlier anxiety replaced by a brighter, more confident demeanor. Gale watched her go, then returned to your side, where you will still arguing with your ex in hushed whispers. At the sight of him, you both quietened, keen to hear what had happened.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “But there's something I have to do.”

With a subtle flick of his fingers and a murmur of arcane words, Gale cast a spell. Moments later, your ex’s face appeared puzzled as he was enveloped in a shimmering aura, his protestations fading as he was magically transported away. Gale turned back to you, his face reflecting a blend of satisfaction and affection.

“One less distraction for her,” he said, giving you a warm smile.

You felt a surge of gratitude and admiration for Gale and without warning grabbed him, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I adore you, you know that".

"Not as much as I adore the both you," Gale assured you, “Now, let’s enjoy the show.”

You both watched your daughter take the stage with a confident smile was a moment of pure joy, made even more meaningful by the support and love surrounding her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The schoolyard buzzed with the end-of-day excitement as children and parents alike gathered to leave. Astarion, impeccably dressed as always, stood near the gate, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of aloof interest one might expect from him. Today, he was tasked with picking up your daughter from school as you ran an errand.

As Astarion waited, he noticed a commotion near the gate. Your daughter, spotting him through the throng of people, waved frantically and beckoned him over with an urgency that immediately set off alarm bells in his mind. His instincts, honed by years of surviving in a dangerous world, quickly jumped to the worst-case scenario.

With an exaggerated flourish, Astarion swept toward the commotion, his cloak billowing behind him like a cape of night. He shoved parents and children alike out of the way, his expression shifting to one of fierce determination as he approached the source of the disturbance.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Astarion demanded, his voice carrying an edge of authority that was both commanding and melodramatic. His gaze fell upon a man who was arguing heatedly with one of the teachers. The man’s expression was a mix of frustration and entitlement.

The teacher looked visibly relieved upon seeing Astarion. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! This man claims to be your daughter’s father, but he’s not on the approved pickup list.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed in disdain as he took in the man’s appearance. “Really now? And just who do you think you are, daring to disrupt the well-being of a child? My child.”

The estranged father, clearly unperturbed by Astarion's theatrics, argued back. “I will have you know that, I am her father! And I have every right to pick her up.”

Before Astarion could retort, your daughter bounded over, her face lighting up with joy at the sight of her Papa. She launched herself into Astarion’s arms, who caught her with practiced ease.

Astarion beamed down at her and gave her a subtle wink before pretending to hear something you had said and then looked on to growing crowd with feigned surprise and distress. “Oh dearest, what have you told me, my little one? Did he say he was going to do something terrible?”

Your daughter, catching onto the game, nodded vigorously, a playful glint in her eyes. “Yes, Papa! He said he was going to kidnap me!”

Astarion’s eyes widened in exaggerated horror, and he tightened his hold on your daughter, pulling her close to his chest. There was a concerned murmur among the other parents as they looked at your daughter's father accusingly. “Oh, my gods! We mustn’t let him near you then. Neither should you fellow parents! Come, we’ll have to leave immediately!"

The father, growing increasingly agitated, protested loudly. “This is absurd! I’m her father! I am not trying to kidnap her.”

With a smirk, Astarion began walking away, your daughter securely perched on his hip. However the father began to follow the two of them. At this Astarion called out over his shoulder with a dramatic flair, “Help! Someone call the authorities! This man is stalking us!”

Your daughter, struggling to suppress a giggle, chimed in, her voice a high-pitched wail. “He’s following us! Help!”

Astarion shot her a playful but stern look. “Shush, darling. We mustn’t blow our cover!”

Despite her best efforts, your daughter couldn’t entirely suppress her laughter, and Astarion had to shush her with a gentle but firm hand on her mouth.

As they made their way towards the school gate, Flaming Fist had arrived, drawn in by the commotion. They quickly assessed the situation, and the paretns quickly took Astarion's side. He was the one afterall who would pick her up from school, he was the one who would begrudgingly sew the costumes for the school play - even when no one asked him to. He was the one your daughter called papa, not this stranger.

Astarion, still holding your daughter close, offered a graceful nod to the Flaming Fist as they dealt with the situation. With the father now in custody, Astarion made a clean getaway, carrying your daughter away from the scene. Once they were safely out of the school’s vicinity, Astarion finally allowed himself a genuine smile as he set your daughter back down on your feet. “Well, that went rather splendidly, didn’t it?”

Your daughter looked up at him with adoration, her earlier anxiety completely forgotten. “Thank you, Papa!”

Astarion’s expression softened as he looked at her, . “You’re welcome, my dear. Just remember, I’ll always be here to keep you safe.”

As they walked hand in hand away from the school, the sunset painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, a perfect backdrop for a day’s adventure turned into a cherished memory.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of spices and simmering sauce as you and Wyll busied yourselves preparing dinner. Your son sat at the kitchen table, deeply engrossed in his coloring book, his small tongue sticking out in concentration. The evening was shaping up to be a peaceful, if ordinary, family affair.

The pleasant hum of conversation and the clinking of pots and pans were suddenly interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Before anyone could move, the door swung open, and your ex, carrying an impressive stack of brightly wrapped presents, barged into the kitchen. His arrival was as abrupt as it was unwelcome, and his presence brought a palpable tension into the room. You braced yourself, a tight smile forced onto your face as you faced him.

"What are you doing here?" you asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. The birthday for your son had been last month, and you had hoped that was the last of these unscheduled visits.

“Better late than never,” your ex replied with a nonchalant shrug, as if the delay of several weeks was an afterthought.

Wyll, standing by the stove, appeared taken aback but quickly regained his composure. He extended a hand, offering a polite greeting. “Hello, I’m Wyll. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Your ex ignored Wyll’s outstretched hand completely, his focus solely on your son, who looked up from his coloring with a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Hey little man look what I've got for you! From your good ol' papa!"

“Thanks for the gifts,” your son said, his small voice full of genuine appreciation. “But I have a new dad now.”

Wyll’s face brightened with a mix of pride and relief and he placed a proud hand on your son's shoulder. “That’s right!... I’m his new dad now.”

Your ex’s face darkened, and he tensed visibly. “Wyll isn’t your real dad, kid. I’m your real dad.”

Your son, still focused on his coloring, paused to think. “Nope, Wyll is my dad. He picks me up from school, reads me bedtime stories, and he loves me. That’s what a dad does.”

Your ex’s face flushed with anger, and he started to call your son ungrateful. However, before things could escalate further, Wyll stepped in, his tone firm but calm.

“Let’s settle this outside,” Wyll proposed, his expression resolute.

Your ex, who was taller and bulkier than Wyll, agreed with a snort of disdain. You watched with a mix of apprehension and curiosity as Wyll winked at you before stepping outside with your ex.

You followed them to the door, your heart racing as you anticipated the confrontation. As the door closed behind them, you heard a sudden, odd sound—a poof of magic followed by the unmistakable bleating of a sheep.

Confused, you stepped outside to see Wyll standing there, looking smug and decidedly pleased, while your ex was transformed into a sheep, bleating in protest. Wyll turned to you with a grin, clearly proud of his handiwork.

“I knew I held onto that polymorph scroll for a reason,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your tension dissolving into mirth. “What am I supposed to do with a sheep now?”

Wyll’s grin widened. “Well, you could always sell him to a butcher, if you’re feeling particularly adventurous.”

Your laughter rang out freely now, the absurdity of the situation breaking through any lingering stress. The evening’s peace was restored, and as Wyll and the transformed sheep made their way inside, you felt a renewed sense of warmth and relief. The family dinner would go on as planned, now with one less complication and a story for the ages.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. You and your son had spent a pleasant day foraging among the underbrush. Your son, his spirit as free as the woodland creatures around him, had been frequently shifting in and out of his wildshape, delighting in the thrill of his magical transformations. You watched with a fond smile as he scampered around, shifting effortlessly between human and animal forms, the laughter and joy in his eyes brightening the entire forest.

As you crouched to inspect a patch of herbs, the distant sound of wheels on a forest path reached your ears. Your heart skipped a beat, a gnawing sense of unease creeping up your spine. The sound grew louder, and you recognized the unmistakable clatter of a carriage—a carriage that seemed all too familiar. Your pulse quickened as you straightened and scanned the surrounding trees.

You spotted the carriage as it emerged from a narrow forest trail, its ornate design and gilded trimmings unmistakable. The insignia on the side confirmed your worst fear: it was indeed from your ex’s noble family. The wheels crunched over the fallen leaves, and you felt a cold wave of apprehension wash over you.

With a determined, but calm demeanor, you called out to your son. "Sweetheart, you need to go back to the grove right now. Run to Halsin and stay with him, okay? Mama has someone she needs to talk to."

Your son’s face, still flushed from his wildshaping fun, looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes. "Mama, what’s wrong?"

"Just go quickly," you urged, kneeling to meet his gaze. "I’ll explain later. Go, now."

Hesitantly, he nodded and bolted down the forest path, his small figure quickly disappearing among the trees. As your son sprinted, his tiny feet pounding against the earth, the distant sound of the carriage faded into the background. The urgency in his heart spurred him on faster, each step propelled by a mix of fear and determination. His breath came in quick gasps, the forest blurring by as he made his way back to the grove.

The grove came into view, and your son’s eyes scanned the area frantically. He spotted Halsin, who was tending to a small group of the squirrels, and ran up to him, his face flushed and eyes wide with panic.

“Papa! Papa!” your son called out, his voice trembling as he urged himself forward. “Mama needs help! My evil papa is here!”

Halsin’s expression shifted from calm to concerned in an instant. He dropped what he was doing and knelt down to your son’s level, his eyes searching your son's face. “What happened? Where is your mother?”

Your son, barely able to contain his anxiety or catch his breath, explained hurriedly. “This big carriage came, and-and Mama told me to run back here and-and she said she needed to talk to someone, but-but I know it’s my evil papa who’s come. 'Cause I only see Mama that upset when- when he’s around.”

"Take a breath, little one, it will be okay. Stay here and stay safe, go play with the other children” he instructed firmly, giving your son's shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“No!” your son protested, his small fists clenched. “I’m coming with you!”

And as if to make a point you son clung onto Halsin's leg, Halsin looked down at him with uncertainty, he knew he would get an earful from you later, but your son really cared. Your son’s determination had won out. Halsin let out a sigh and nodded. “Very well. Hold on tight.”

Meanwhile, you continued to argue with your ex.

"So, here you are," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "I must say, I didn't expect to find you in such... rustic surroundings."

You squared your shoulders, fighting back the rising tide of frustration. "What are you doing here?" you demanded, your voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath.

A haughty smile curled on your ex’s lips. "My family is pressing me for an heir. The pressure is mounting, and I’ve come to collect my son. It’s time he fulfilled his role in our family’s legacy."

The words felt like a physical blow, each syllable carrying the weight of his disregard for your family and your son's well-being. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "You can’t just waltz in here and demand him like he’s some sort of accessory. You’ve been absent for years. You have no right to claim him now."

Your ex’s gaze hardened. "I have every right. I am his father, after all."

"You have no understanding of what it means to be a parent," you said sharply, taking a step closer. "You think you can just come and take him after all this time? You’ve done nothing but make his life more difficult."

Your ex’s face twisted into a sneer. "And you’ve done a remarkable job of corrupting him with your… unconventional lifestyle."

The words stung, but you refused to let them show. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "If you think you can just come in and take him away, you’re mistaken. He has a family here who loves him and a home where he belongs."

Your ex’s face twisted with disdain. "You think your little forest dwelling and its inhabitants can replace what I can offer him? He needs to be in a proper environment, one befitting his heritage."

The sharpness of his words cut through you, but before you could respond, the situation took a dramatic turn. The footmen who had been idly standing by suddenly turned aggressive, encircling you with threatening movements. Just as you prepared to defend yourself, a small, but fierce bear cub you recognised skidded into the clearing. It growled and snapped at the footmen, causing them to flinch and hesitate.

"It's only a cub! Kill the little beastie!" your ex barked, his arrogance masking his growing anxiety. He turned to retreat, but was abruptly met with a much larger, imposing figure.

A massive grizzly bear roared ferociously in your ex’s face, its powerful form blocking his escape route. The footmen, their bravery crumbling in the face of the beast, fled into the forest with cries of terror, leaving your ex isolated and vulnerable.

You let out a relieved laugh as you scooped your son up in your arms. He had shifted back to his human form, his face alight with mischievous joy.

"You’re safe now," you murmured, holding him close as he giggled.

The massive bear continued to roar, rising up on its hind legs in an intimidating display. Your ex, panicked and covering his face, braced himself for an attack that never came. Instead, the bear suddenly shimmered with a golden light and, in a swirl of magic, Halsin emerged from the transformation, his human form standing tall and resolute. His stance, however, was no less aggressive. Halsin’s eyes locked onto your ex with a steely, unyielding glare.

“You’re not welcome here,” Halsin’s voice rumbled, each word measured and threatening. “You are not taking my son. I suggest you leave before something unfortunate happens.”

Your ex, shaking with a mix of fear and anger, attempted to regain his composure. “This is outrageous! I have every right to take him. I am his father!”

Halsin stepped closer, his presence radiating a potent blend of authority and menace. “You have no right to disrupt his life after being absent for so long. He is my son, and you are trying to take him from his home, from the family who loves and cares for him. You have no claim here.”

Your ex’s bravado faltered as he looked around at the animals—deer, wolves, and other woodland creatures—gathering once more, their eyes fixed on him with a watchful, protective intensity. The forest itself seemed to close in around him, adding to his sense of encroaching dread.

“You can’t do this!” he shouted, his voice rising with desperation. “This is a matter of family legacy and honor!”

Halsin’s gaze remained unyielding. “No, this is a matter of what is best for my son. You are an intruder here, and if you do not leave immediately, you will face consequences beyond your understanding.”

Your ex’s gaze darted around, his composure crumbling as he realized the gravity of his situation. The animals’ eyes glinted with an unspoken threat, and Halsin’s unrelenting stance made it clear that he would not back down. With a final, resentful glare, your ex backed away, his movements hurried and clumsy.

“This isn’t over,” he spat, before turning and stumbling back to his carriage. He climbed in hastily, his footmen still cowering in the forest, and the carriage lurched away with a trail of dust.

As the carriage disappeared from view, Halsin let out a long, slow breath, his form relaxing as the immediate threat passed. He turned to you and your son, his face softening with concern.

“Are you both alright?” he asked, his voice gentle now, though still laced with the remnants of his earlier fury.

You nodded, your heart still racing but calming with each passing moment. “We’re okay. Thank you, Halsin. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

Halsin reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “No need to thank me. We are a family, and we protect each other.”

As you all made your way back through the forest, the weight of the day’s events began to lift, replaced by a profound sense of relief and solidarity.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Rolan:

The market was a bustling tapestry of colors and sounds, a vibrant mosaic of stalls and vendors peddling everything from fresh produce to handcrafted trinkets. You, Rolan, and your young toddler son meandered through the market, enjoying the lively atmosphere. Your son, perched on Rolan’s shoulders, was giggling and pointing at the various sights and sounds, his eyes wide with wonder.

Rolan had a firm but gentle hand on your child’s legs, ensuring he was secure while still allowing him to enjoy the view. You walked beside them, occasionally glancing at the stalls, picking out small treats or intriguing items. The air was filled with the delightful aroma of fresh bread and spices, mingling with the cheerful chatter of vendors and patrons.

As you approached a stall selling brightly colored fabrics, a familiar yet unwelcome figure emerged from the crowd. It was your ex, looking disheveled and distraught. His clothes were tattered, and he seemed to be making his way through the market with an air of desperation.

“Please!” he cried out, dropping to his knees in front of you. His voice was choked with emotion, a stark contrast to the authoritative tone he had once used. “Please, I’m begging you. I want to be a part of our child’s life. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m ready to make things right. Just give me a chance.”

You stopped in your tracks, your heart hardening at the sight of him. The memories of his absence and the pain he had caused surged up, making it difficult to maintain your composure. You took a deep breath, summoning all the resolve you could muster.

“You had your chance when our child was born,” you said firmly. “You walked away, leaving us behind. You don’t get to waltz back into our lives now just because it suits you.”

Rolan, standing close by with your son, nodded in agreement. His face was set in a serious expression, his eyes reflecting the protective nature he had come to embody.

“You had no part in his life before,” Rolan said, his voice calm but unwavering. “And you’ve shown no effort to make amends until now. It’s not fair to our family to let you back in on a whim.”

Your ex’s face twisted with a mix of desperation and anger. “I’ve changed,” he pleaded, his voice rising with frustration. “You can’t just shut me out like this. I’m his father!”

Without warning, he lunged towards you, a sudden movement fueled by desperation. The instinct to protect surged within Rolan. His eyes narrowed, and with a decisive flick of his wrist, he cast a thunderblast. The crackling burst of energy erupted with a deafening roar, sending your ex stumbling backward.

Your ex’s eyes widened in shock and fear as the spell hurled him through the air. He landed with a splash in the nearby fountain, the water erupting around him in a frothy surge. The sight of him floundering in the fountain, soaked and sputtering, was both dramatic and almost comical.

Amid the chaos, your toddler, who had been watching the scene unfold from Rolan’s shoulders, burst into fits of uncontrollable giggles. His laughter was a bright, musical sound that cut through the tense atmosphere, his tiny hands clapping with glee at the sight of the man he had only heard about but never seen in such a state.

You couldn’t help but smile at your son’s reaction, the tension of the moment dissolving into a shared moment of levity. Rolan, still standing tall and composed, watched as your ex scrambled out of the fountain, his dignity as drenched as his clothes. The crowd that had gathered looked on with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, whispering among themselves.

With a final glance at your ex, who was now pulling himself out of the fountain with an air of defeat, you turned to leave.

You and Rolan guided your son away from the market, his laughter still echoing in the cool evening air. The market’s lively bustle continued around you, but you walked with a renewed sense of security and unity.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Raphael:

The weight of the day’s stress seemed to settle heavily on your shoulders as you sat in the study of the grand estate, trying to focus on the papers spread before you. Your ex had reappeared in your life with a demand that rattled you to your core: he wanted to see your daughter more often, and, worse, he was insistent on having a greater role in her life. The mere thought of him attempting to insert himself into her world again filled you with a sense of dread and frustration.

Raphael, who had been surprisingly supportive of your emotional turmoil, took it upon himself to reassure you. Despite his usual aloofness, he had shown an unexpected level of concern. Yet, as you talked through your frustrations with him, you noticed a shift in his demeanor—a subtle, almost imperceptible pang of hurt hidden behind his devilish exterior. The notion of your daughter potentially calling another man "papa" seemed to strike a chord with him, even if he refused to vocalize it.

Of course he had to do something about it, somebody had to save your wretched little souls and why shouldn't it be the devil that loved you both?

One night as you held your daughter close to your chest, worst case scenarios tearing through your mind like a nightmare on repeat, Raphael took a seat necxt to you and placed a hand on your thigh.

“It's been dealt with, dearest,” Raphael said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “You needn’t worry about him any longer. He’s been… persuaded to leave you and your daughter alone.”

His words were confident, but you sensed an undercurrent of something more complex, though Raphael’s expression remained inscrutable. You chose not to press further, trusting that he had the situation in hand. Days passed, and true to Raphael’s word, your ex disappeared from the scene, making no further attempts to contact you or interfere in your life.

You couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and unease. The problem had been resolved with unsettling speed, leaving you feeling as though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. One evening, as you and Raphael relaxed together, you finally broached the subject of your ex’s sudden disappearance.

“What exactly did you do to get him to leave us alone, my love?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, though a thread of curiosity laced your voice.

Raphael’s smirk was back in place, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. I made a deal with him.”

His casual response did little to quell your lingering curiosity. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

Raphael’s expression remained carefully neutral, his voice maintaining its smooth, unaffected tone. “Just a little something to ensure his cooperation. You know me, darling. I always have my methods.”

You couldn’t pry further, and Raphael’s words left you with more questions than answers. You did notice, however, that your ex was no longer a problem—an outcome that seemed almost too convenient.

Unbeknownst to you, the deal Raphael had struck was far from ordinary. Raphael had promised your ex immortality—a promise that seemed generous at first glance. In reality, Raphael’s “gift” trapped your ex’s soul in a form of eternal confinement, bound within the House of Hope—a luxurious prison within the estate.

In the House of Hope, your ex found himself a mere spectator, condemned to watch as Raphael embraced the role of father to your daughter. He was forced to endure the sight of Raphael’s effortless integration into your family, witnessing the tenderness and affection Raphael showed to your daughter, which he could never again claim for himself. The once-dreaded presence had become a ghostly observer, unable to interfere but ever-present in the periphery of your life.

Raphael’s decision, though cloaked in his usual bravado, was driven by a complex mix of feelings. The thought of another man being a father figure to your daughter stirred a pain he struggled to admit even to himself. Yet, by ensuring your ex’s permanent removal from your lives, Raphael had also managed to secure his own place in your family, albeit in a way you would never fully comprehend.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Oof this was a big one, I have been binge watching dexter which definitely inspired this. I hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy IX

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) ->chapter map

IX.

-While you’re waiting in the empty classroom you're staring at the drawings pinned up on the wall. Each student was asked to display their first drawing in class, and their last one. The improvement between Matt’s two is staggering. Composition, form, shape, line, contrast, fucking everything–he’s come so far, and you cannot fathom what John could find to dislike about the latest one. The longer you look at it, the more you boil inside, to the point when Professor Wick returns to his desk you are ready to explode.

“Y/n,” he greets stiffly, setting his briefcase down. He looks tired, a little haggard even, his raven black beard grown bushy like it hasn't seen a razor in quite a few days. You wonder what makes John Wick lose sleep. For a moment you can't help but feel sorry for him, which in turn only frustrates you more. 

You don’t say anything, just glower, before turning back to the wall. 

“Is something wrong?” You nearly jump out of your skin, his voice coming from right behind you, and you did not hear him move.

“Yeah. What the hell is your problem with Matt?”

You sound brave, but you don’t actually have the courage to turn to look at him. 

“I don’t have a problem with Matt.” You scoff, biting down on your first three rude replies, grinding them between your teeth. “Are you upset that I picked on your boyfriend?” 

There’s an edge of taunting to his words, and finally you do whirl. You regret it instantly–Wick is very tall, and very looming, and you have to swallow your heart back down your throat. 

“He is not my boyfriend, and you are being an ass.”  

He frowns at this, not angry yet, but you have definitely crossed a line. 

You’re getting fired today. 

You’re so certain of it that you decide you may as well say what’s exactly on your mind. “Look at the difference between these! Would it kill you to give him some encouragement?”

You know you have a misplaced savior complex, but Matt doesn't have a mother who will stick up for him. Someone should. You ignore the chuckling Palpatine voice in your head. Yesss, the ‘I can fix him!’ is strong in this one…

“He won’t learn that way, y/n. He has improved. But this study is still trash. Even with the extra time he spent on it.” He fixes you with a gimlet stare, and suddenly you know he must know all about your extra session. He must have excellent hearing from across the classroom. “How is that fair? I didn’t hear you offering anyone else extra time. Why not Josh? He could use the extra help.” 

Josh is very sweet. He also strongly resembles Mr. Toad, and you know Wick is calling you out for playing favorites– with your vagina. 

“That’s not the point,” you grumble.

“No? You just think you’re qualified to tell me how to run my class?”  

You know you’re on thin ice–but you lift your chin anyway. “Just calling it like I see it.” 

“Yeah? Let’s play that game.” Suddenly he is turning you brusquely by your shoulders, his long fingers gripping you firmly. 

Outside of that first handshake, he’s never touched you before–you should be scared, but the strength you feel in his hands just makes you weak. He speaks low by your ear, the resonance of his deep voice raising every hair on your body. “How many vertebrae are in your neck?” 

“I…don’t know.” 

“Oh. So you didn’t read your textbook either?” He sweeps your hair aside, running one finger lightly over the knobs of your spine. The back of your neck is your Kryptonite, and you cannot stop the shudder that runs through your frame.“The answer is seven. Though to judge from his shading, you’d think the answer was nine.”

“I…” He withdraws, though you still feel the blistering line of his body heat from him standing so close behind you. 

“The bottoms of your scapulae are here.” He touches your back lightly with just two fingers, but it sends a delicious thrill down your spine. There is only the thin fabric of your robe between his hands and your skin; It feels so good, and in that moment you wish you could die.  “They are not, as our young friend suggests, here.” 

His fingers move two inches down, feather light, and as you look at the drawing again…maybe he has a point. You’re not sure, because it is impossible to focus while his hands are on your body, even if barely. How is it possible to put so much aggression in a featherlight touch? You don’t know, but you fancy you can feel that he is seething through his very fingertips.  

“Unless she’s starving, individual ribs are not typically visible on a woman’s body in this position, merely the suggestion of the ribcage cased in flesh. He’s given you…” His fingertips press lightly into your sides, and it takes every iota of self control the gods ever gave you not to squirm as he spiderwalks down your ribcage, counting, “One, two, three, four…”

For a handful of seconds you cannot breathe.

“John…” 

He ignores your plaintive entreaty; you don’t even know what you’re asking for. You’re not sure you even want him to stop, yet you don’t think you can survive if he continues. 

“They’re tangible, but not visible.” 

All you can take are shallow breaths; you start to feel light headed, and you wonder if you’re about to pass out–or cum, just from him touching your back. The ache between your thighs is pure agony. 

Next a single finger traces down the inward curve of your spine, and damn you if you don’t stand up straighter. “These are your lumbar vertebrae,” he says low in your ear. “There are five of them. Who the fuck knows what’s going on there.” Hearing him curse feels like he’s plucked a string directly tied to your center. Your breasts have tightened to unbearably sharp peaks, sliding against the silky fabric of your robe with every treacherous breath you take. The flood of moisture between your thighs is mortifying. You’re going to need a shower before you model today. An ice cold one. 

He’s barely touched you, and yet somehow you can’t decide if this is wonderful, or obscene. 

“And finally…” Somehow you know he only uses one hand to span your lower back, pressing at two points with his thumb and pinky just above your buttocks. You hold your breath, helpless under his touch, entranced by his low voice as he leans in to lecture, “The Dimples of Venus, arguably the loveliest feature of the female backside. I know you have them, yet he has left them out completely. What a crime. What do you say to that, Miss y/n?” 

You let your breath out with a shuddering exhale, so filled with desire and adrenaline that you fear you might pop a brain vessel. “I might…see your point,” you finally manage to get out in a whisper. 

“Good girl.” He practically growls it in your ear, and fuck you if your pussy doesn’t pulse and flutter for those two words alone. 

You have lost your goddamn mind. Or, he has.  

Suddenly he steps away; without thinking you hug yourself, cold without his furnace of a body at your back. Perhaps you’re in shock; with wide eyes you turn to face him again, mouth hanging, all words turned to ash on your tongue. 

He returns your gaze with a challenge of his own, those dark orbs black as a coal fire.

You feel as though he can see into your very soul–yet you cannot read him.

If he is angry, or smug, or vindicated, or even horny…nothing shows upon that handsome visage. He is like a statue carved of alabaster and onyx, unmoving all but for his stare burning through you. 

Before either of you can dig this hole any deeper, the students start pouring in, and you have to excuse yourself to the bathroom.  

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[thunderingwisdom]

morning daze

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Rating: Mature/Minors DNI

Pairing: Jing Yuan/Reader

Word Count: 1340

Summary: You're used to your partner coming home late, and you're used to him lavishing his attention on you. It never gets old, and your love for him only grows.

a/n: mom I LOVE him!!! also I tried to keep this one as gender-neutral as possible, I think it worked out?

honestly i just have jing yuan brainrot-wrote this in a rush might edit later?

tags: mature themes, implications of nsfw themes, cuddling, toothache

Consciousness beckons, curling around you, pulling you closer. The morning light tries to reach you through the thin barrier of the linen curtains as you cling to the last vestiges of sleep. 

An arm tightens around your waist. 

Perking up, but fighting to keep your eyes shut, you try not to react to the warm breath ghosting over your neck, to the smile pressing into your skin. 

“You got in late,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep. It was nothing out of the ordinary–he would either come to bed really late or not at all. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

His mouth doesn’t leave your shoulder; a long inhale is his first response, followed by a sound of laughter low in his throat. 

“With such a beauty in my arms, sleep itself insisted on postponing our meeting,” he tells you, hand ghosting across your ribs. There’s not a hint of sleep in his voice. He laughs when you squirm and moves to press it low on your belly, moving the sheets aside. 

“Flatterer,” you accuse sleepily. “Even an accomplished general needs sleep.” 

“Maybe this general needs the warmth of his beloved more.” An edge of possessiveness underlines his touch, his hand continuing its journey over your hips, leaving a trail of warmth that you swear you feel down to your bones. 

“…you have to go back soon, don’t you,” you ask resignedly, fingers reaching for his bicep, dancing over his skin. Old scars littered throughout, a story you quite enjoy following with your mouth. “Jing Yuan..”

“In a few hours,” he reassures you, nipping at the delicate skin below your neck, chuckling at the way your shoulders jerk. “Preparations for the Wardance are about to commence.”

“Perhaps these few hours would be better spent asleep, regaining your strength?” You grumble, knowing he would be fine but unable to help it.

“My dear, you severely underestimate the influence your affections have on this haggard soldier.” 

“And what kind of affections are on your mind?” You ask, amused, as his hand creeps lower; you turn your head to brush soft kisses where you can reach, readily meeting his mouth when he leans in. 

A rush of warmth low in your belly, familiar–it never fails to find you when you feel him smiling into your kisses. Which is almost always. A soft curve to his mouth, gentle eyes, leaning into your touch–a side only you get to see. 

“Whatever my beloved sees fit to bestow upon me,” he murmurs, the lightest of sighs leaving him at the butterfly kisses you leave on the corners of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw. “Although, if you keep this up, my simple mind will surely be lured down wicked paths…” 

“Simple,” you muse out loud, turning over in his arms to see him properly. Jing Yuan meets your eyes steadily, giving you a moment to search his face. Tired, but in good spirits. “If our general’s mind is rendered such, what would become of the rest of us?”

“There are people more than capable of taking over. And we get to live out the rest of our lives in this bed, of course,” he responds easily, both his hands teaming up to stroke up and down your back. “I’m sure we could scrounge up a meal or two.” His palms slide lower, curving over your rear to press you closer. 

You laugh into his skin, sliding your arms around his neck. Questing fingers sneak into his wild hair, gentle as they rake across his scalp. He groans into the crown of your head, melting in your arms. “I don’t think I could live with starving you.” 

“A life spent between your legs is a life without regrets,” he says promptly, if a little dazedly. “Truly, that would be the one thing I couldn’t regret even upon pain of torture.” 

You roll your eyes, fondly yet exasperatedly, hands gliding down to knead gently at the nape of his neck. A burst of affection has you kissing him deeply, a foot sneaking up his calf. 

He’s not one to turn his brain off easily, but you know after all this time spent together that kissing him long enough will get you close. Whether it’s fierce, fueled by a need to be as close as possible—or slow, gentle, pulling you in with the desire to just feel. You’ve worked hard to give him this, a place to feel safe and shed his armour. 

“One of these days, I’m going to keep you here for days, coaxing you to sleep and filling your belly until you grow round,” you inform him, the hint of a playful growl in your tone. And yet, it’s your heartbeat that quickens at the darkness that shades his eyes. 

“Filling my belly? Not with food, I hope?” He purrs, teeth sinking into the soft flesh below your jaw. His hands dig into your skin at the sounds that escape your mouth. 

You long to pamper him more, kneading away the knots in his muscles and chasing away the shadows in his eyes. When you get the occasional evening together, you’re eager to spend it lounging in the tub, exchanging lazy kisses and tales of your lives before each other. Or you cook together, finding new dishes to adore or experiments to laugh at. 

The first time he let you sit him down and work a brush through his hair, he fell asleep in the chair. It relaxes him in a way nothing else can, even if it often leaves you giggling at the way he paws at you, pressing his face into your stomach. The claws of self-consciousness had long faded, with each worshipful touch of his hands, and his greedy mouth. 

That was another thing that came as a surprise. 

“You leave me unable to form a coherent thought, and yet I can nearly hear you thinking,” Jing Yuan comments, nuzzling your hair. “Rather cruel of you, darling.” 

Once he let himself settle into your life tougher, you began to see glimpses of it. He’s greedy–for your gaze, for your thoughts, for your hands on him, and the taste of your skin. 

“Would it help to know you’re the one in my thoughts?” 

“But of course. If it were someone else, I’m afraid I would have to put in extra work to eradicate the very thought,” Jing Yuan declares. A shudder climbs up your spine at the thought of him doing more work, although you being the focus of it might not be a bad deal. “Hmm, actually…”

“Who could ever find the space to slip into my mind with this greedy general occupying every inch?” 

It makes him laugh, eyes curving at you. “Now who’s the flatterer? And if you spoil a starved beast too much, it’s only natural for it to become greedy.” You feel his breath against your mouth—hovering, teasing. The intent in his gaze is clear as his prowling comes to a close.

“You’re right. I should’ve trained you better,” you lament. “Is it too late now?” 

“I’m afraid it is,” he tells you somberly, a twinkle in his eyes. “The hunger is ever-present, and it feels endless.” 

“I have food in the fridge,” you suggest innocently, fighting a grin as you tap his chin. Jing Yuan snaps at it playfully, and your laughter leaves you in sputters. 

“Good. You’ll need it,” he nods decisively, before turning you over onto your back, climbing over you with more grace than is truly fair. You want to sigh at the way your legs fall open, accepting his place between them. “I hope you won’t mind if I eat first?” 

He leans in for a kiss, then another. You want to tell him to get more rest, and he waits, watching you with a smile. But you love giving him what he wants and know you’ll get to hold him after, when he’s sated and dozing against your chest.

You’ll try your luck then, to keep him close a little longer. 

[softwiingz]

MY FIANCÉ’S REACTION TO MY NEW PERFUME GONE WRONG?

cw: pheromone perfume, messy head (both receiving), you n bo are engaged, 69, you’re picked up by bo, reader is wearing make up, minors n ageless blogs dni 🦋 sorry if bo is ooc this is just my interpretation of his reaction:3 enjoy!

♡ ༘*.ﾟ

“f-fuck! tarou wait!”

you’re not quite sure how you expected your fiancé to react to your new little perfume, but him being nose deep in your pussy wasn’t one of them. you placed a few, maybe two drops of the infamous scent into your palms and massaged them into the places bokuto loved to kiss most. you were pleased with the aroma, notes of a warm sugary vanilla that left you smelling delicious. however you were sure the reactions were faked and far from genuine, you had to see for yourself if this little pink vile would drive your man up the wall.

and that it did, you were thrown over his broad shoulders in an instant as he practically sprinted to your shared bedroom.

now you’re here, back arched and ass in the air as bokuto devours what’s his. your fists are balled into the satin sheets and you can feel his hot tongue delve deep into your drooly cunt, lapping up everything you have to offer him. “you keep teasin me,” he groans through gritted teeth, his voice haggard “wearin my jersey and skimpy panties around the house, sending me gym pics of that ass and now this shit? be glad i haven’t fucked your brains out yet.”

he lands a heavy smack to your ass, lapping at your sweetness as if his life depended on it. and even through your protests and whiny pleas for him to slow down, your hips betrayed you, squirming in an effort to feel his fat tongue drag up and down the crevices of your soaked pussy. “kou, baby- shiit! we’re gonna be late!” your honey laced moans fall on deaf ears, bokuto too entranced in his pleasure and yours. when he finally pulls away you can see your juices glistening and dripping down his chin, his tongue licking it off his slightly swollen lips.

you’re left with your face buried into the sweat slicked sheets, mascara left clumpy and smeared in your under lash line. you may think you’re done but bokuto hasn’t had his fix, his hand focused at the base of his heavy cock, pearly beads of pre leaking at his tip before it’s smeared along his pulsing shaft. “we aren’t going anywhere. now sit that pretty pussy on my face, and let me stuff that mouth full…”

strong forearms wrap around your thighs, your fiancés hand pushing you down to his lips before he’s at it again, his muffled hunger filled groans vibrating off the walls along with your moans. you lay on his toned thigh and mouth at his throbbing length until you work up the strength to take his leaky tip into your mouth. his hips buck up at the feel of the velvety textures of the inside of your mouth.

your hips and your mouth work in unison , both swiveling in a rhythm that has your soon to be husband left writhing underneath you and cursing his desires into your soaked cunt. “when we get married i’m gonna give you the fuckin’ world! treat you like the d-diamond you are, just please keep suckin’ me off like that!” and you return the same sentiments, whining and mewling with his dick in your mouth “mhm, anything you want baby! anythin’!” you pop him out of your mouth and lick at his sack, suckling him into your mouth as your hand focuses on his overly sensitive tip.

bokuto is about ready to blow his load, his core tightening and calves tensing up. he continues to slurp at your folds, saliva and your arousal dripping down his chin as his thumb rubs at your clit vigorously. “fuck! fuck! w-wait!” you squeal, thighs shaking thunderously around his head as you take him back into your mouth, tongue dragging along his shaft.

you can feel him throb, soon thick ropes of milky white fill your mouth, some of it leaking from the corners of your gloss smeared lips. you take it all in, swallowing his load as you ride his face feverishly. you’re so close and he knows it, continuing to strum at you clit while your nails dig into his calves and you cry “c-cumming! koutarou!!”

it’s safe to say the pheromone perfume everyone has been hyping up deserved it’s praise, leaving you more than satisfied.

“let’s just say the before and after pics of my make up say it all….” ★★★★★

[g00seg1rl]

Worry

Pairing: Azriel x Eris Vanserra

Part One, 1.1k words; Part Two, 2.8k words

Summary: Rhysand calls Azriel away the last day of Eris’s visit to their private, infrequently used cabin in the Steppes. Eris’s, his mate, and his own stress over not making it back in time leads Azriel to lose sight of his target. By the time he returned, just two hours before his mate would leave for his father’s table, he was fuming at himself, Eris’s lack of availability and their shitty circumstances.

Ok this has/is angst, I promise I haven’t been hacked and they’ll have makeup sex in part two of two 🤭💗

“How dare you frolic around my heart as if there’s space!?”

“How dare you not make room for me? All the claims of love and devotion, but no sacrifice.”

Eris’s audacity snatched the meager reserves of Azriel’s lungs, taking him aback and raising his voice by a decibel. “What the fuck do you want from me? Do I have to give up everything? Do I have to be nothing for you to let me in? I shoulder your burdens and you neglect me? Is that what we are? Is that what you want?” Azriel demanded.

Darkness filled the corners of the room, solidifying the undercurrent to their questionings. The shades whispered a barrage of concerns and panicked observations, as if Azriel couldn’t see the scarlet droplets dripping horrifically from Eris’s fists or the tears falling off his face. His gorgeous, hurt face.

“I don’t neglect… no, it’s… I just can’t handle anything else right now, can’t you see that?” A fresh flood of steaming cries spilled as Eris squeezed his eyes shut in defeated anger, fists shaking.

“Don’t turn it on me for not seeing what you should’ve just been clear about,” Azriel sneered, “You’re a selfish fucking prick who will never get what he wants because he can’t make the sacrifices necessary to ask.” His chest heaved, his breath short by the end of his yells; by the time his lungs fully expanded, the breath was pitiful. A wheezy, pained sound as he took in the reddened, teary eyed Eris who looked two seconds from decimating all the Steppes surrounding this cabin- this fucking cabin-

Oh how he wished Eris would. How he wished it would take him with. It was awful. This was awful, not them. They weren’t awful. This wasn’t them.

“Selfish?” Eris sobbed, “SELFISH!?” Eris, eyes aflame, continued brokenly, “I can’t make the sacrifices!? I’m risking my life here and you claim I’ve sacrificed nothing!?”

“Fuck. Eris-”

“No- don’t you dare come near me right now- SELFISH!? AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE GIVEN UP!? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, AZRIEL!?” Azriel didn’t have to near, his outstretched, shaking hand fell slack as Eris stormed forward, accusatory finger held aloft.

Shit shit shit shit shit-

“Eris, I took it too far, please-”

“PLEASE WHAT?! NOW WHAT!?”

Fuck fuck fuck no no no-

“Baby, please, just take a breathe, I’m sorry-”

The deafening slice of Eris’s hand whipping through the air as he backhanded his lover of centuries—an echo, a reverberating sense of failure filled the room, held and kept by the shadows.

Azriel couldn’t muster the strength to face him. His head dropped, eyes closed, sad rivulets escaping his lashes and glossing his grim-lined lips. The hot, stinging residual pain felt like it was pantomiming the hit, repeatedly striking him over and over and over again until reality could break through the dizzying whirring of his mind.

But Azriel craved the pillowing sound as he was plunged into heartbreaking silence as the ringing settled.

Eris’s familiar syrupy, dulcet voice was wrecked- panicked as he brokenly whispered, “Azriel-”

“It’s- it’s okay-” Azriel rasped.

This needed to be over, Azriel needed to hold, to be held, he shouldn’t have come straight here—should’ve pummeled Cass or Rhys or a tree or fucking anything. His brain shuffled through his ever-ringing thoughts, the only grounding sensations being the radiating pain and haggard breaths.

Eris’s warm hand rested gingerly on his chest, accusations falling away, the anger along with it.

“No, I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have hit you, I’m sorry,” Eris tried but Azriel already knew it was his fault. He lost his target because of clouded concentration and came here to vent and shirk the ire onto Eris instead of coming here to spend the meager time they had together before the eventual next.

Azriel swallowed hard. He opened his eyes as his throat cleared, lump rooted still but he nodded his head down, casting his hazy gaze around the middle of Eris’s silk loungewear set Az had left him in at stupid o’ clock in the morning.

He deserved it.

He said as such.

“I should hit you again,” Eris huffed.

Azriel snorted at the bluntness, “I’d deserve that too,” he said with a shy grin, appreciating the tension sapping out of the room.

He looked up to Eris’s gorgeous, energy-zapped face, eyes red and slightly quivering lips and knew he’d take far too many brutal beatings before ever admitting he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve Eris either. He’d do whatever it took to keep the sliver of the Heir he had to himself.

Eris blew a forceful breath through pursed lips, his eyes still glassy, but a smidgen of hope shimmered, igniting a much needed calming of their bond. He felt his chest, his heart, his love soothe. “No you wouldn’t have, Azriel.” He assured, his voice still thick but clear.

“I’m sorry,” Az nodded, agreeing solemnly. It wasn’t okay but Az had escalated, it still felt karmic.

“Stop, I'm sorry,” Eris exasperated.

“What? Only one of us can be sorry?” He huffed, “Now you’re really being selfish.”

Eris tutted, “Oh you play too much.”

Azriel topped the hand on his chest with his right, his left hand reaching for Eris’s unfurled fist; he fought the impulse to cringe when Eris winced as their palms brushed.

“I fucked up at work, kept feeling your stress and I couldn’t focus, I’m sorry,” Azriel admitted shamefully, earnestly, raising Eris’s knuckles to his lips for a small kiss, letting all of their hands fall between their close chests.

Eris laughed, a wet and sweet melodic sound Azriel was delightedly confused to hear.

“You’re always so vague about the missions,” Eris explained, stealing a hand to tap his temple, referring to Rhysand’s endless bullshit. “I have to return before dinner and I was worried you wouldn’t be back in time to… well to have time… together,” he finished awkwardly, a peachy blush eclipsing his golden freckled cheeks. ”I’m so sorry for hurting you,” he finished, resting his hand gently on Azriel’s cheek.

“It’s okay, my heart. I didn’t mean to worry you, I was just trying to get back here as soon as I could,” he promised.

The cabin and Az had a love/hate relationship; He loved being inside its unnaturally warm and cozily decorated rooms, but only with Eris—so only whenever fate allowed. Only rarely. And so he despised the existence of this house when it couldn’t be a home.

“It’s not,” Eris urged.

“Okay it’s not,” he concurred with a slight shrug, “but it’s over and I’ve already wasted too much of this visit.”

“Make it up to me?” Eris proposed, a copper brow arched hopefully. “We have a bit over two hours left,” he added, nibbling at his bottom lip.

Fuck.

“For every minute.” Azriel leaned in, moving his hands to Eris’s waist, the cool silk running underneath his palms as he caressed Eris's hips, bringing him closer, sandwiching Eris’s hand between their hearts.

I know I know, feelings have been hurt but they’ll have makeup sex and a not-goodbye soon 🤧💗

Thank you so, SO much @the-darkestminds for beta reading day of (you brilliant being, I love youuu), thank youuu @jules-writes-stories for helping me iron out details and offer lovely feedback (mwah mwah my love) and @astro-h0e-4azris and @nus4y, you two are an amazing hype crew, love you entirely 💗

Thank you and credit to @strangergraphics for the dividers 💗

I swear so much fluff is coming 🤭 @chunkypossum @iftheshoef1tz @fourteentrout @makinglongwordsslutty @mistandmemories @pippsmcgee @queercontrarian @mudandmire @brunetterebel010 @fingerpoppingood @talibunny30 @neciebee @icey--stars @molcat07 @missblackstar @sunstar-drabbles @3xolara @irithiadourden @wovendreamscapes I know it’s not my typical nonsense so I hope you still enjoyed/look forward to a lil more 🫂💗

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and The Raven Chapter 12: Funeral Pyre and New Beginnings

Chapter Summary: As the Targaryen, Velayrons, and Blackwoods say goodbye to Prince Jacaerys, a new life begins. A baby for House Blackwood and Targaryen. A new rider for Seasmoke.

Tags: Child birth, funeral

Word count: 3.8k

Taglist: @callsignwidow @whimsicalmystic02 @mercedesdecorazon @rhaenyrathecruelwithteats @ithilwen-blackwood @poppyflower-22 @alastorhazbin

(please let me know if I missed someone)

Keep track of the story: Masterlist

Wails of pain rang out throughout the halls of Dragonstone. Maids and servants go in and out of Princess Aemma's birthing chamber. The princess lay on the bed, sweating, her hair messy and knotted. As she took haggard breaths in between sobs, she tried her best to push her child out of her body, but no matter how much she did, they would not come. Her Grandmother, Princess Rhaenys, with tears running down her face, tried as best she could to comfort her sea dragon, but to no avail. 

“Please…please… I want him…please,” begged Aemma, reaching her hand out for the person she was looking desperately looking for. 

Elinda sobs as she turns away, memories of Rhaenyra’s tragic birth of Visneya coming back to her mind. Her Queen and Princess, history repeating itself. She could only pray that the gods would be merciful this time to help the princess give birth to her child. 

“My princess, he will come soon. You must push for your son,” the midwife pleaded, unsure if she was talking about her child or her husband. Poor child, the midwife thought. 

Aemma just sobbed more, trying her best to be strong, and gave another weak push before the midwives made her stop, telling her to rest for a while. All were getting worried; it had been nearly ten hours and nothing. As Rhaenys moved the hair from her granddaughter's face, Aemma turned to her; her heart broke even more from seeing her in such a state. 

Rhaenys turned and quietly asked a servant if she knew where the queen was. The servant girl answered, saying the queen was still with the prince’s body. Rhaenys exhaled through her nose. She could not imagine being Rhaenyra and choosing where to be with her daughter or son. She nodded to the girl and focused again on Aemma, leaning in to hear what the princess was whispering. 

Aemma turned to her grandmother, grasping at her hand when another wave of pain hit her, trying her best not to push since the midwives told her to hold in. She quietly began to whisper.

“Please, bring him to me…” pleaded Aemma, her brows creasing from the pain. 

“Who sweet, girl… who are you asking for…” Pondered Rhaenys, looking for answers as the princess gave a loud groan of pain. 

Groaning, Aemma raised her voice into a scream: " Him… jace… Luke… BEN… I WANT THEM HERE……AH!” 

Aemma could no longer hold it; she needed to push. Raising her body, she pushed with all her might, pleading for her babe to get out. Still, nothing came as the princess flopped herself to the bed, exhausted. Rhaenys, feeling helpless, began to shout to the midwives and the maesters to find something, a drink, an herb, or a technique to help the princess. 

In the corner, she silently stood, Baela, watching her step-sister struggle to bring life into the world. She could not help but feel in awe of Aemma’s strength she was displaying given the circumstances. Even if it didn’t look like it, to keep pushing and not giving up, she didn’t know if she would have been able to if she was in her position. Seeing Aemma plead again, Baela decided she needed to help, and the only way she could think about was to bring Benjicot faster to Dragonstone. Baela pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests as she leaned into Aemma’s ear, whispering her plan. Aemma panted, looking at her, and with a weary smile, she nodded, encouraging Balea to run out of the room. 

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Rhaenyra was silent, crying on her son’s cold chest. Jacaerys’ body was moved to his chambers, and a few maids volunteered to prepare the prince’s body for his funeral pyre. As Rhaenyra mourned, her heart clenched with every wail she heard coming from Aemma’s birthing chamber. She was torn; she wanted to be there for her little girl, but her body would not move. As she took another shaky breath, a servant came in quietly. She whispered to her Queen that the maesters were becoming worried for Princess Aemma’s health. She was getting weaker and weaker as the hours progressed, with no sign of her babe coming out. They wanted to consult with the queen for the next course of action. 

This made Rhaenyra's blood freeze; surely they wouldn’t dare to advise her… she would never do what her father did to her mother…Never. Becoming angry, Rhaenyra asked the maids to prepare her son as she hurried down the hall into Aemma’s chambers. Rhaenyra recoiled at the scent of blood coming out of the room.  She nearly sobbed, seeing her darling girl suffering, pushing her way to her daughter’s side. She quickly kissed her brow, letting her know she was finally here for her daughter. 

Aemma whimpered as her mother kissed her brow; she was terrified. 

“Muna…please…I can’t do it anymore…I… I don’t want to die…” cried Aemma, closing her eyes in despair as her mother hushed her. 

“Don’t speak like that, my pearl, you will not die… you are the blood of the dragon…you are fierce and strong.” comforted Rhaenyra, sorrowful as she saw her daughter shake her head. 

“I heard the maesters… they fear…my babe could die…please help me, Muna,” slurred the princess, her chest falling up and down heavily. 

Rhaenys and Rhaenyra glared at the maester, who started sweating at the sight of the intensity of the purple eyes. 

Rhaenyra kissed her daughter’s crown, turning her face as she spoke, “Yes, you can. You are Crown Princess Aemma Velayron of Houses Targaryen and Velayron. You have the Blood of Old Valyria. You do not hide from battle but go headfirst to protect those you love. This is a different battle, but nonetheless, this is a battlefield we women face at one point in our lives. You must track through this battle with the confidence and strength of a dragon. Your babe is ready to come into this world. They felt your sorrow and wanted to comfort you. I will be here, and I know I am not who you wish to be on your side right now, but when your babe finally enters, I will gladly place them in your arms. You both will survive this battle, so when I say go, you will take a great inhale and push with all your might.” 

Aemma nodded at her mother, feeling a new strength come over her. As Rhaenyra commanded her, she inhaled, pressing all her might, letting out a gruntle yell, and began pushing again. 

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Benjicot was anxious, but he couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. He just woke up with the sensation. He felt that maybe Harrenhal was starting to affect him, but he also thought it might be that he had yet to receive a raven back from Aemma. It was not like her to wait too long to reply to his ravens. Aly tried to calm him, claiming that Aemma might have been busy or too tired to respond as quickly as before. As he tried to convince himself, he couldn't help but let his mind wander. Benji was breaking his fast with his good father, Cregan, and his aunt. He thought he heard dragon wings in the distance as he pushed his food around. When a servant came running in, holding a raven for Daemon. Demon slowly raised his head, looking tired again, and opened the letter. Before the Rouge Prince could start reading, Baela burst into the hall, causing everyone to stiffen. 

Daemon stood shocked, “Daughter, why are-”

Baela shook her head, tears streaming down her face; she turned to Benjioct, whose heart dropped to his stomach. Did something happen to Aemma? 

“Ben, you need to come with me quick, Aemma… she is struggling to give birth, and Jace-” Baela couldn’t finish her sentence as a sob ripped out of her throat. 

Benjicot stood with such force, his chair banging on the floor, that he ran to Baela, grabbed her arms, and shook her. 

“What happened? Aemma is not due yet, so why does Jacaerys have to do with her giving birth?”

“Benjicot, unhand her!” cried Aly as she ran and separated her nephew from the lady. 

She understood him and was worried for the princess, but getting upset at Lady Baela would not answer anything. 

Daemon looks at the scene in front of him, nearly wanting to slice the Blackwood lord for roughing handling his daughter. When he glanced at the letter that burned to be opened and read, it was from Dragonstone; quickly, he opened the letter, his blood running cold as he read. Jace was dead, and Aemma, in her anguish, began her births early. His son was dead, and his daughter was fighting for her and her child’s life. His dragons… Daemon shouted angrily as he slammed his fist on the table, causing everyone to pause, looking at the King Consort in fear. 

Swirling, he faces his daughter with grief-stricken disbelief. Baela sucked in a short breath, knowing that her father now knew what was happening to their family. She nodded in confirmation to her father. 

Daemon was conflicted about leaving Harrenhal and possibly giving the greens the advantage over the Riverlands or going to his family in their most dire need. Baela saw her father’s internal battle, but she did not care; if he wanted to contemplate what he believed was more important, he could stay, but Aemma needed her husband. 

“Please, Ben, just come. I’ll explain everything on the way; you just need to go to Dragonstone.” beseeched Baela, hoping he would quickly follow. 

Benjicot nodded as he turned to his aunt, who wordlessly confirmed she would stay and take charge of House Blackwood until his return. His wife and child came first. As Balea and Ben ran out of the hall, ignoring the concerned looks of the men, Baela walked to Moondancer, asking her dragon for this once to allow a second passenger. As the dragon gazed at the lord, Benji stood cautiously. He wanted to get to his wife fast, but he knew better than to rush to a dragon unless he wanted to risk being decapitated. Moondancer crawled his body to the lord, analyzing Benji and sniffing, judging if he should be allowed. After a moment, Moondancer lowered his body, permitting Baela and Benjicot to climb him. Quickly, the two sat themselves, Baela noticing Caraxes going to the entrance of the ruined fortress, with a figure running towards the long-necked dragon. Giving the command, Moondancer soared into the air, flying as fast as he could to Dragonstone. 

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Back at the castle, Rhaenyra and Rhaenys grinded their teeth through the pain in their hands. Aemma had a death grip on them as she continued to push. Both women guided her breathing to ensure she placed the correct energy in her pushing. The midwives started expressing joy to the Targaryen women; the babe's head was out, and two more pushes should be enough to bring the child out of the princess's body. 

Rhaenyra sobbed in relief. She turned to Aemma, “You are so close ñuha prūmia, nearly there, two more pushes.” 

Aemma nodded as she breathed in; she raised her body again and gave a push, feeling some tension slowly releasing, everyone around her expressing joy; her babe was almost here. As she prepared for her final push, she began to hear Sliverwing, Syrax, Vermithor, and Seasmoke singing. All dragons were feeling the emotions of their riders. With one final yell, the tension was released. The midwives' relieved cheers resounded through the air as a small whimper leading into a wail lifted the hearts of those in the room. 

“A boy, my princess! A beautiful boy!” celebrated Elinda Massey, who handed the baby to Rhaenyra. 

Rhaenyra let tears flow down her cheeks; she was a grandmother. Her heart broke slightly as she took in the baby’s features. He looked so much like Lucerys, Jacaerys, and Joffrey when they were born. She kissed the babe’s crown, turning to her tired daughter. 

Aemma was leaning on pillows stacked behind her back, and seeing her mother’s tears also made her emotional. Her boy was here, but not his father. She felt guilty that Benji missed their son's birth, but as the baby was placed in her arms, she thought it was worth it. He was perfect; he had lighter skin than hers, and Ben’s beautiful dark hair seemed to want to curl like hers and her brother’s. As she caressed his face, her baby opened his eyes, purple staring at purple. Aemma grinned as she kissed her son's forehead, causing the baby to sigh and snuggle to his mother’s chest. 

Outside the window, Seasmoke passed the room, chirping and singing. The dragon knew his rider was finally in the world. Aemma tearily grinned, hearing her father’s now son’s dragon coming to greet her son. As she let Rhaneys take him to the window for Seasmoke to see. Aemma finally let herself grieve. Yes, she was happy her son was alive and in her arms, but her brother was gone. Her brother, who, as a child, expressed how he wanted their children to have a close bond like siblings. Her brother, who confessed to her a moon ago, would petition to marry Baela quickly because he and Baela wanted to give a cousin to her son. 

She barely accepted that Luke wouldn’t be here, and now she had to admit that Jace wouldn’t either. She cried for her sweet brothers. The world was too cruel for them. They could not help the circumstances of their birth or their hair color. She knew the rumors about Ser Harwin and her mother but did not care. Jacaerys and Lucerys were her brothers; Laenor raised both. That was all that should have mattered, but a bitter green queen ruined everything. Now, because of her and her poisoned words, her brothers were gone. 

Rheanyra, seeing her daughter’s tears, hugged her, hushing and comforting her.

“I know, sweet girl, I wish they were here too,” she whispered as she kissed her cheek. 

Aemma weakly smiled at her mother, taking her baby back from her grandmother. As she began to feed him, she turned back to them. 

“I wish to see him…” Aemma muttered. 

Rhaenyra and Rhaenys share a look. They knew she would want to see Jace, but she should not put too much strain on herself, not after such hard labor. 

Rhaenys sighed, “I know, but you will need to wait. You had a difficult labor, and your body is still weak. Let your body rest and bond with your boy. Then we will help you see your brother. Nothing will be done until Baela returns,” Rhaenys assured her as she combed her granddaughter's hair. 

Aemma sighed, knowing they were right. Feeling tired, she asked her mother to keep her son safe. Laying down, while closing her eyes, she wished Ben was here. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a day, two dragons arrived in Dragonstone, with three people jumping off and running to the castle. As Ben burst into the castle, making a maid jump in fright, he quickly apologized, asking her where Princess Aemma was. The maid answered that the whole family was in Prince Jacaerys chambers. Nodding, he followed his good father and Baela to Jace’s room. As the guard opened the door, they saw a melancholy sight. Aemma was sitting to Jace’s right, holding a red and black bundle in her arms. Rhaenyra is behind her daughter, leaning on the wall with her eyes closed. To the left were Corlys and Rhaenys, with Rhaneys humming a lullaby, staring at Jace.  In the foot of the bed stood Addam and Alyn Velayron with their heads bowed.

 Hearing the chambers open, Aemma raised her sight, gasping at the people. Everyone turned and nodded at the three. Ben first moved to his wife, stopping to bow to his good mother before turning to Aemma, kneeling in front of her. Aemma smiled at him, looking at him with love and grief. 

“You’re finally here…” whispered Aemma, leaning into her husband’s kiss, making sure not to squish their son. 

Benji gave another kiss and apologized for not being at her side sooner, which Aemma waved off; he couldn’t have known. As she moved slightly back, she rose from her seat, telling her mother she would take a walk with Benjicot. As the queen nodded, Ben took hold of his wife and left the Prince’s room. As they walked out to the courtyard, Ben stared at his son. He had a son; looking at him, he couldn’t tell if he looked more like him or Aemma. 

Aemma, seeing his gaze, smiled and kissed her son’s cheek, making the baby stretch and open his eyes. The baby stared at his father for the first time. As Ben took in his son’s eyes, he rejoiced; he had hoped their children would inherit Aemma’s eye color. Expressing his thoughts, Aemma let out a quiet giggle. 

“He may have my eyes, but he is pure Blackwood, just like his father,” Aemma explained happily. She loved how, every day, her son looked more and more like Ben. Of course, there were a few differences, mainly in his hair texture; her son was graced with her curls. 

As the princess handed her son to Ben, Seasmoke sang again, landing in the quiet courtyard with as much grace as a dragon could have. Crawling to the small family, he sniffed Benjioct briefly before turning his head to their son. The babe turned his purple eyes to the grey dragon, his face scrunching as he yawned, snuggling further into his father’s arms. 

Aemma smiled, “I fear we will never be able to separate them once he is older.” 

Benji smiled; he did not mind if it meant his boy would always be protected. As the family and dragon stood in tranquility, Aemma turned to Benji. 

“He needs a name; I did not want to give him one without your input.” 

Benjicot smiled at her, touched by how much she thought of him. He hummed while looking at his son; he would once ask for him to be named after his twin, Davos, but looking at him now. His son did not seem like a Davos. As he suggested Jacaerys or Lucerys, Aemma teared up, shaking her head. 

“No, he doesn’t look like a Jace or Luke…I don’t think I could name my child after my brothers, at least not yet… it's too soon.” 

Benji smirked slightly, teasing his wife, “But maybe one day if we have more children.” 

Aemma flushed at her husband’s teasing, “I will have all the children you wish to give me, my love. I will proudly carry them as long as my body permits me to.” 

Benji groaned at his princess's words, kissing her lips. If only she knew how much power she had over him. He would give every babe she desired from him. Smiling into his kiss, the dragon princess separated herself, returning to the question of names. 

Trying to remember the names he briefly read from a Valyrian book here, he remembered one that he felt could still honor Jace. 

“What about Jaesys… it still a unique name while honoring your brother?” said Benji, looking at his wife’s reaction. 

Aemma’s eyes widened to her son, Jaesys; she liked the name. Touched by Ben's always-considerate nature, she smiled and agreed. Jaesys Blackwood, first of his name, heir to House Blackwood and the scion of houses Velayron and Targaryen. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Aemma and Benjicot left, everyone else besides the queen departed to prepare for the Prince’s funeral. Walking to his son, seeing his ghostly color and closed eyes, Daemon wanted to rage; another of his boys was lost to those greens. In the background, Rhaenyra stared at her husband, wishing she could understand his thoughts. She was upset with him yes, but it did not mean she stopped loving him. Walking to sit next to her son, she saw Daemon walk closer to her. He kneeled infront of her as he took Jace’s hand, crying at the loss. 

Here was another reason she loved him: even if he did not sire them, Daemon loved every single one of her children from her first marriage, taking them as his own and loving them as fiercely as he did with his daughters from Laena. Both parents closed their eyes, mourning their dutiful and caring son. 

Rising, he gazed at his wife. Daemon stood, kissing her on her cheek, making Rhaenyra look at him. 

“I love you…” he stated, taking a loose strain in his hands. 

Rhaenyra tearfully smiled at her husband, “I love you.” she assured him. 

She did love him; she was just upset at his actions. He was rash, doing things he meant to show as a sign of his love and protection without seeing the more immense consequences. Nevertheless, she loved him; he was her blood-bonded husband and twin flame, always burning for each other. 

“They will pay for this… the greens-” 

“Shh…” interrupted Rhaenyra, taking her husband’s head to her chest as they both began to cry again. She knew this was his way of grieving, but they would not talk about revenge, not today. Today was just about saying goodbye to their son. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Houses Blackwood, Targaryen, and Velayron stood by the cliff, looking at the pyre holding Prince Jacaerys’ body. Daemon and Rhaenyra were at the front, with Aemma, Baela, Jaesys, and Benjicot at the queen’s side. Ben was holding the babe as Aemma and Balea leaned onto each other. Corlys, Rhaneys, Addam, and Alyn at Daemon’s side. All were looking at the prince with sadness. Corlys looked to his family, clearing his throat; he would be the one to give the speech before someone lit the pyre. 

“Prince Jacaerys was a true prince. He knew the hardships of duty and never faltered from them. He knew what he needed to do to support his family, fighting bravely for them. But he was more than that; he loved fiercely. His duty was based on love. Everyone here was touched by his love in some shape and form. We mourn the kind, respectful, honorable, loving, and fierce prince. We hope his family that has passed will greet him in the Realm of Balerion. May his soul rest.” 

Everyone bowed their heads with tears streaming down their faces. As they turned to Rhaenyra, she sobbed, closing her eyes. She couldn’t do it… she could not light this pyre had she not done it enough times already. As they all saw her struggle, Aemma walked forward, her eyes red from crying. She looked at all the dragons present: Sliverwing, Vermithor, Grey Ghost, Caraxes, Syrax, Seasmoke, and Moondancer. All dragons stared at her, gulping at their power; she turned back to her brother’s body, Whispering the words Dracarys. 

A beat passed, and then all gasped as Seasmoke walked up first, blowing a short flame to the pyre. Leanor’s dragon said goodbye, and as Seasmoke stepped back, each dragon took turns stepping up and breathing more fire into the pyre, ending with Syrax. As the golden lady finished sending her flames, she screeched, leading the other dragons to screech, all seemingly mourning like their riders for the Dragon Prince. 

Daemon stared at the flames as he whispered, “He was a true dragon.”

[ninibeingdelulu]

You're my home

synopsis-> Exhausted after a mission, high school!Geto find comfort in your arms.

The tranquil quiet of your dorm is disturbed by a sudden dull thud against wood - the unmistakable sound of the front door swinging inwards.

You glance up with a small smile curving your lips, already anticipating the heavy footfalls soon to follow.

Right on cue, Suguru's tall silhouette appears in the doorway moments later, shoulders slumped beneath visible fatigue from his latest mission.

You watch with a tender fondness blossoming in your chest as he forgoes even removing his dusty traveling cloak before making a beeline straight for the bed...and more importantly, you.

A breathless chuckle slips free at the unceremonious fashion in which your stoic lover simply collapses face-first across your lap in an uncharacteristic heap.

You card your fingers through his sweat-damp raven locks, gently working out the knots and tangles from an no-doubt arduous trek back home.

"….Hey, baby" you murmur with unabashed adoration coloring every syllable.

"Looks like the great Suguru Geto is dealing with a serious case of travel weariness today..."

Suguru simply groans in response, the sound muffled against the plush warmth of your thighs.

But there's no mistaking the way his entire frame steadily liquefies while surrendering fully to your tender ministrations.

With each rhythmic pass of your nimble digits working loose the tension knotting his scalp, a fresh wave of hard-earned tranquility visibly washes over Suguru’s striking features.

You make a considering hum low in your throat while raking your nails over his nape in slow, firm strokes - instantly pleased by the full-body shudder it elicits from your blissed-out partner.

"Hmm, that's what I suspected...just another day's work of you keeping our world safe, huh my handsome hero?"

One onyx eye cracks open a bare slit to pin you with that signature half-lidded glower positively dripping with dark bedroom promises despite his haggard state.

That look never fails to set your pulse racing no matter the scenario, a reminder of all the deliciously wicked ways Suguru can unravel you completely while using little more than a single darkly heated glance.

A rough, calloused palm finds purchase over your bare knee as he angles himself enough to nuzzle into your abdomen with an overplayed grunt of effort meant solely to tug an amused giggle from you.

There's that childishly roguish side reserved only for you that always manages sneaking out sooner or later.

You can't resist leaning down until your smile presses directly to the crown of his sweat-dampened hairline.

"A man of very few words today, I see..."

You tease while finally easing those questing fingers down over the bunched ropes of tension in his shoulders and back.

"How about we simply stay like this for a while longer, hon ? Allow me to give you a nice deep muscle massage to show how much I missed you while away keeping everyone safe all this time."

The responding groan that rumbles straight from his chest and outwards vibrates against your very core - a sound you know all too well as Suguru's unique language of sinful pleasure.

More words are unnecessary between the two of you in these stolen peaceful interludes.

As you continue kneading the residual stress from his battle-worn frame with devoted tenderness, Suguru nuzzles imperceptibly deeper into your welcoming space while draping one full leaden arm across your lap in a possessive half-embrace.

With not a single utterance required, his actions speak louder than any poetry regarding just how smitten your fierce protector remains with his sole source of softness and serenity no matter what storms batter against him daily.

And for those few blessed hours at least, you find the roles beautifully reversed as Suguru slips fully into repose - safe, shielded and completely at peace while ensconced within the comforting circle of your indomitable strength and nurturing embrace wrapping protectively around him like the sanctuary he'll always call home.

[lisenberry]

Thinking about soap accidentally impregnating reader and how they’re both terrified but he’s secretly excited and just finding out he has a breeding kink

I haven't written for Soap yet, but I can already tell this ask has changed life. Thank you!

As you can guess, there's smut, pregnancy, and breeding kink. Oh my!

NSFW/MDNI

“Oh, shit, Johnny.”  Your moan turned into a whine as he hammered the gate of your cervix like a battering ram.  The pleasure-pain pressure of being rearranged had your thoughts reeling and your strength drained.

Slack-limbed and useless but for the sloppy wetness of your pussy, and the incoherent drabble of sounds seeping from your mouth. 

If the first orgasm he wrung from you with his fingers to your clit hadn’t knocked you senseless, the third one that he’d bullied from your g-spot with his cock alone had sent you to the afterlife. 

The lights were on, but no one was home.

“Just a wee bit more, mo chridhe.”  He always shifted into Gaelic when he was ready to come.  Mumbled sweet endearments as he reverted to some primal version of himself.  My love, my heart, my darling.  “Ya feel so perfect against me all bare like this.  I don’t want it to end.”

You had been seeing each other for a few months.  Nothing exclusive yet, but you’d gotten to know him enough to chance a fuck without the safety of a condom.  The thought of feeling every vein, every bump, and the slow drag of his bare skin had made you crazy.  It was worth a round of antibiotics to feel him come all hot and messy, and fill you up with his completion. 

He was leaving on a mission the next day, and you didn’t want to say goodbye not knowing what he felt like without the cool, unnatural glide of latex between you.

He’d gone wild when you told him, stripping you down before you even finished saying, “It’s okay, I’m on birth control.” 

You had no idea that he’d edge himself to the brink and draw it out for what seemed like hours.  You’d long since been able to clench around him, to give any resistance at all to his mindless barrage.

“You still with me, hen?”  There was a wicked smile on his lips as he slowed to a stop, tugging himself out fully, teetering just as he was about to finish.

For a split second you were afraid he was pulling out.  That he wasn’t going to give you what you needed. 

“No!  Please,” you screeched like a baby bird in protest, and found the strength to hook your legs around his waist.  Your fingers dug into his shoulders to bring him back down to you.

“Ah, I’m only teasing you, pet.  Look at you, so beautiful.  So needy.  So patient.  So good.”  Words and phrases broken by his panting breaths as he hitched himself back in.  “I’ll give you what you want.”

His big, blue, earnest eyes found yours, as you brought him into focus. Insatiable with lust. 

You thought he’d renew his attack on that deepest, tenderest part of you, but he found your g-spot again instead.  Your mind was gone, but your body had enough for one more, and he stole a final fiery blast from your haggard, overwrought nerves.

And he kept his promise, of course, filling you generously with his own burning release.

It was almost three months later, when he’d returned from the job in South America, that you built up the nerve to take a test.  To prove once and for all what you’d suspected all along. 

“My birth control is supposed to be 99.9999 percent effective.  How did this happen?”  You wanted to cry, as a pit of anxiety settled into your stomach at the news.

“My wee swimmers are one in a million, I guess.”  He crooked a lopsided grin as he nervously scratched the back of his head.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” 

He was a genius at chemistry and physics, but he must’ve been busy daydreaming about blowing something up during reproductive biology.  You were pretty sure it was more about your hormones not cooperating than his super virile sperm. 

You didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble as the smirk spread wider with pride across his face.  When Johnny put his mind to something, it was bound to be an adventure. 

Was his fearlessness and good humor a trait he’d pass on to his bairns? You'd find out soon enough.

“Well, the damage’s been done, eh?  Can’t knock you up twice.  Not yet, anyway.”  His eyes darkened as he reached for the waist of your pants and pulled you across his lap.  “Seems we’ve been given a gift.  Might as well earn it.”

[irisfixation]

knights getting mindbroken. you agree. enjoy

"She's just ahead. Let's get ready." It wasn't difficult to make it this far. The palace was left in ruins decades ago, and the few guards still under her spell were little more than shambling corpses, easily dispatched by your party. You expected a little more, to be honest: some final bastion of opulence at the place's heart, as it were. But no - here it is, the throne room of the "empress of ruins"'. Once a feared tyrant, now little more than prey to be put upon your sword. If she's anything like her guards, you doubt it'll be harder than any other job.

She doesn't look like the stories. Once, she might have been adorned in all her fineries, hair tied back and dress magnificent. Now, though, she's little more than a haggard, scrawny wretch. You can see the bags under her eyes all the way from the boss door, let alone the rags and stolen traveler's attire she's wearing. One of your party members can barely stifle a giggle.

"Hold it," another commands. "She'll see us if we draw any closer. We should prepare." A tedious task, really, given how easy the journey thus far has been. Still, you acquiesce. One hireling takes a detour in search of something that piqued her interest, another sets about marking spell-circles into the earth beneath, a third makes camp and begins preparing your rations, and so on, and so forth.

You - you scout out at the thresholds of the gate, watching the once-empress as she lays unmoving. You rehearse battle stratagems in your head, reflect on the research conducted by previous adventuring parties, the whole nine yards. "She'll get desperate when she's wounded enough-" you recall, "so conserve your strength until then". You'll cover for the rest of the party to start, and then-

Her glare snaps you back to the here and now. Oh, shit. The tip of your boot has crossed the ruined threshold; you can just make out where the microfilament runes across its border intersect with your foot. She knows you're here.

That's fine, you reassure to yourself. The rest of the party should be ready soon enough - and besides, you're the best of the bunch. You'll hold her down until then. Your armaments gleam in stark contrast to her sorry state as you step forwards.

She lurches forwards, a slow and dreary movement. Fine by you. You take your stance, and call out with sheer heroic might in your voice. "Give it up, would-be empress! Today, your feeble reign finally comes to an en-"

In a blink, she is upon you, barreling with the speed of a starving and maddened wolf. You barely have time to call to your allies and attempt to swing your sword before-

A single outstretched finger presses upon your forehead. Her hand is gnarled and dust-caked, but the point of the nail is pristine as crystal. You watch as the frantic charge of your allies slows to a crawl, then freezes entirely. Time magic? No, it's more like your mind's been trapped within a single moment - like the compressed moment of time spent trying to catch something in mid-fall, magnified hundredfold.

You recoil. And as you do, you feel something worm its way out of you, plucked from your skull. It twists and gravitates towards her, gossamer-thin filament of gold and scarlet, wrapping around her finger like a ring or snake.

The shock of the moment ceases. She's barely two feet from you, and as frail as the dust upon her kingdom - your hands clench upon cold steel, your blade moves to seek her head -

"Stop."

Your body seizes up, arms and muscles pulling to a taut rictus. You can't even bring yourself to fall over in defiance - you feel your limbs pull into the closest approximation of a bow they can manage. She looks at you with icy eyes, and you realize your comrades aren't doing anything. Are they even there? You cannot hear their breaths, cannot turn to look-

"Kneel. Goodness, you were easier than I expected."

"What in hell's name did you- take from me-"

"Your ability to disobey orders," she says, her voice low and measured. She's clearly enjoying hearing herself talk, which sickens you all the more. "The only thing keeping the 'self' from being consumed by the 'other' - your soul. Your free will. You really didn't even expect this much?" "The kingdom," you sputter, "will have your head for this-"

"Silence." Your tongue is stilled in your own mouth; your own breath feels too there, too physical upon your throat and lips, like breathing and swallowing smog.

"The -kingdom- will arrive here too late, if at all," she rebuts. "I never needed anything more than a singular doll to rewrite, after all." She lifts your head to meet her gaze; her smirk does not reach their depths. "And would you look at that - a cocky, self-assured knight, delivered right into my lap. But of course, I only let you down here in the first place because of your incompetence."

Fuck. No wonder the journey had felt so easy, that all the actual moments of drama and risk just happened to work out in your favor. Had she engineered every last one of them? Just for - what, this?

"If I was -actually- worried, I would have vanished before you even arrived here. Unlike you, I actually take my position -seriously.- Now! Beg for me, please."

"of course my goddess please i am yours i am yours forever i'll serve you to the day i die please use me however you wish" The words spill from your mouth before your conscious mind has a say in the matter. "my life is yours it always has been nothing else matters" You try and bite them back, to deny them, but they sear something into you: your mind conjures images of a parasite tunneling down through brain matter.

"Exactly. And I'll keep doing this, one pitiful would-be hero at a time."

She looks down at you again, and you witness her wreathed in a halo of eyes; each reflecting a vision of your life, your loved ones, your family, your life, your memories. A million different reflections of how they could be snuffed out if you dared disobey your new Empress - of how much you possibly have to lose, more than you could ever truly understand-

"There's nothing your little 'kingdom' can do about it. Certainly nothing you could."

She's right. Of course she is.

"Now, please go to sleep for now-"

---------

(the end! for now, anyhow)

[persephone-writes]

A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Daily Prophet

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Chapter Twenty-Nine ☆ Series Masterlist

Description: You are going to have to start getting used to more attention, and fast.

Word Count: 5.2k

“Are you tired?” 

You shook your head despite the darkened sky, though it wasn’t an entirely truthful answer. Selfishly, you didn’t want to push James out of the Hospital Wing before he was forced to leave, clinging to his presence beside you in the stiff wooden chair. No matter how many times you offered, he wouldn’t share the bed with you, insisting you be solely blessed with its comfort. Instead, he shifted and bounced his legs, standing every so often to pace before coming back, always speaking in a whisper. 

You reached out to touch his hair, soft in the light of the torch. “No,” you answered, smiling when he bent into your hand. 

He took it away and kissed your palm, still holding it as he placed it back onto the bed. “Poppy’s gonna make me leave in a few minutes, but I’ll come back under the robe. Do you want anyone else, or just me?”

You smiled a different kind of smile at the unintended double-meaning, closed-lipped and impish. “Didn’t know you were content with sharing.”

His eyes narrowed, letting go of your hand to touch your knee, bent up towards him where you reclined. 

“I’m not,” he said under his breath, though soon his own smile peeked out. “I hate when you do that. It reminds me too much of Padfoot.”

“If only he were here. He’d be proud of me.”

For most of the evening after your meeting with Dumbledore, your friends (mostly James and Lily) had been in and out. James was forced to leave for a time, though he was mostly able to talk his way into being the one to stay with you. You weren’t sure if the word was out to every single professor that you and James were a couple, though it was very likely McGonagall knew on account of her mercy. Sirius was coradled back into Gryffindor Tower not long before dinner, with Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, and Peter barred from ever leaving the common room the entire rest of the day, along with every other student. You were just lucky your boyfriend and best friend were Head Boy and Girl, you supposed. 

Thankfully, James somehow found the strength within himself to rip himself away from you long enough to change out of his quidditch uniform. However, he seemed to have picked up what you could only assume was the first thing he found lying on the floor of his room, since it was Sirius’s T. Rex band shirt he now wore. His trousers, at the very least, were his. 

“James, I think you ought to just come back in the morning. You need to sleep, you know,” you laughed. He pressed his lips in obvious disagreement, his fingers still rubbing along the curve of your knee. “Give the cloak to someone else, if you’d like,” you continued. “I’ll really be fine on my own for a few hours.” 

“I don’t like leaving you,” he muttered, a recollection of the past day flashing across his eyes. You could almost see the fire, feel the heat in his irises. 

“It’s all right,” you said, the words dragging out in a long pattern of tenderness, your chest twisting at the tense strain of his neck. “I’ll still be here in the morning, I promise.”

Begrudgingly, James stood, his hand lingering on your leg, his fingers just brushing against you before they fell away and left you cold. His eyes were cast down, drifting up until they met yours again. You could see his adams apple bob, something brewing under the surface of his weary expression. 

When he didn’t speak you slid off the bed to stand in front of him. “What?” you asked, reaching for his shoulder. 

His chest rose, then fell, uneasy and haggard. “Do you really think it’s all over?” 

You knew he didn’t mean the war— no one could possibly think that was all over. No, he was speaking about your omens. 

You told him about the crow and the fish you saw earlier that day, how you believed it to mean your omen had truly come to fruition. Now, you were almost certain you knew the full nature of the signs, confident they had been seen through. James had been joy, the same as you thought before. Your worries over Lily, you believed, were surely agonizing enough to constitute heartache. Your duel with Mulciber yesterday, the fiendfyre, the terror that gripped your every nerve, was your loss of innocence, a complete change in worldview, a shift in your being. 

You had already come to the conclusion that you had been wrong about Mulciber’s first plan being your red and purple fish, though it was blatantly incorrect in the wake of yesterday's events. Before yesterday, even though the war outside the castle seemed to be growing ever nearer, it still felt as if it was a distance away. It crept on the outskirts of the grounds, though it never permeated the walls, never crawled under the nose of Dumbledore and the other professors, resisting detection. It made the prospect of joining the underground fight less terrifying, more reasonable. Now, you were quite sure you understood the gravity of it all, what it would mean to fight, to put your life at stake. Nothing could stop you, not even James, though your feeble hope of shielding yourself of the true horrors had burned up in the mouth of the fiery serpent. Horror, you recognized, would become a part of your life, but hope would always remain. Your world was irrevocably changed, and the omen had been fulfilled. 

“Yeah, I do,” you answered with a sullen smile.

Instantly, he wrapped arm around your upper back, bringing you into his chest. You felt his nose bump against you, his cheek pressed to the side of your head as he breathed you in. His hand held your waist, tighter than he normally would have, as if you might float away. You thought of the pair of you before, when you used to wonder if he could never love you— perhaps in another universe, another timeline where the cards fell perfectly. But he had always been yours, your James, the entire time. The cards had fallen nicely in this life, even if they weren’t perfect. 

“Enjoy the peace and quiet,” you whispered. Tomorrow will be chaos, July will be maddening. 

“Peace is not my forte,” he said with a low, bitter laugh, adding after a moment, “not without you.”

“Are you wired every second you’re not with me?” you teased, smiling at the way he pulled you closer. You could feel his pulse where your thumb brushed along the side of his throat, your fingers inching towards his hair. 

“Yes,” he grumbled, craning down to nestle himself against your shoulder, kissing your neck once and speaking into your skin, “You don’t know the half of it.”

You’d think he was prematurely lamenting the tortuous fate of having to return to his dormitory, as if it were some awful, undeserved punishment. You moved away enough for him to pick up his head and meet your eyes. He was, as you predicted, being dramatic for the sake of it, smiling at his own histrionics. In the flickering light of the torch you could see his cheeks rising with color like camellia petals crushed upon his skin, fading all the way down to his jaw. You kissed his blush and then his lips, your mouth moving slowly for the sake of being as quiet as possible. When you pulled away he chased you, kissing you one more time. 

“Don’t want Pomfrey catching us,” you said, supremely thankful for the divider between you and her office door. “Two in one day would make a pretty shite record.”

He sighed, knowing you were right. “Get back into bed, then,” he said, though he still had yet to let you go. 

You broke away first, sitting back down on the mattress and looking up at him. You said his name, still unsure what you meant to ask. “Who are we keeping this from—you and me, I mean? Are we still going to keep it from ‘the public’,” you quoted, laughing a bit at how ridiculous the phrase sounded out loud. 

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it.” He ran a finger in the neck of his shirt, pulling at the fabric. “You said Mulciber said something about us?”

You nodded, chewing your lip. “Yeah. He still thinks we’re a couple.”

“That means Wiles and Zephyr do too, along with the rest of the gang,” he said with no shortage of disgust. “Wherever they are, the pricks are probably telling that to whoever they’re with. They’ll also know that us and Sirius are the reason Mulciber is gonna rot in Azkaban for a while—-maybe forever, since he’s over seventeen.” 

His words hit you straight in your chest, the significance of Mulciber’s capture making itself present to you for the first time. We’re the reason Mulciber was caught, a fresh recruit. 

“So we’re fucked six ways to Sunday,” you said with a bitter laugh, a little louder than you intended. You corrected your voice, glancing at the divider in preparation for Pomfrey to appear, though she never came. 

“They don’t know about Frank and Alice, or Dumbledore,” James whispered, leaning in closer. He placed his hands on your shoulders, his expression one of great resolve. “What they do know is that you’re not as easy of a target as Mulciber thought you were, and that the Ministry knows our names. It’ll be harder for them to get a leg up when the Ministry already recognizes us as possible targets. This might play in our favor.”

You swallowed, your eyes closing for a moment, letting yourself be taken by the black as you thought. At the present, three facts were most crucial: Death Eaters have unsubstantiated claims that you and James are romantically involved; you, James, and Sirius were skilled duelers for mere students; and that the three of you are the reason Mulciber was detained by the Ministry, who will most certainly obtain a conviction. Would proof of yours and James’s relationship make any real difference to the effects these facts had, or had the damage caused within the past day been so severe that nothing could make your situations worse? You knew James was pondering this very same question, though it was unclear whether he had any more of an answer than you did. 

“In the morning,” he began again, your eyes opening at the sound of his voice. “We can worry about it then. Don’t think about it any more tonight, all right?”

You nodded, your heart aching as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Don’t come back tonight,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm when he took his hands from your shoulders. “I want you to get some sleep, and I’ll probably be asleep myself. There's no use having anyone here when I’m unconscious.”

He still seemed unhappy by this suggestion, taking a step away from the bed as you each heard the sound of a creaking door. Pomfrey walked over around the curtain, looking between the pair of you. 

“I’m afraid it’s curfew,” she said, much of her strict demeanor stripped away, though it was abundantly clear she was still unwilling to bend the rules. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” you said to him, smiling in a way that you hoped would convince him you’d be all right on your own for eight hours. 

He continued to stare at you, his gaze bouncing across your face as if he were going on a long trip, trying to memorize your features. 

“Mister Potter,” said Pomfrey, urging him to leave. 

“I love you,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back in the morning. Madam Pomfrey, I can bring Y/N her breakfast. I know what she likes.”

“Yes, that will be all right,” Pomfrey said, shooing him towards the door. “Go along, now. Professor McGonagall will have my head.”

 ─────────•°•❀•°•─────────

You were up and dressed when James waltzed into the Hospital Wing, his tie hanging loose under his collar and two steaming mugs following behind him. 

“Morning, darling,” he said, walking as quickly as he could without sending the contents of the two plates in his hand tumbling onto the floor in a heap of sausage and pastries. 

“Good morning,” you laughed, watching as he set them each on the tray Pomfrey had brought you earlier, taking the mugs from the air and doing the same before he threw his bag onto the floor. He nearly jumped onto the bed, sending your book bouncing out of your hand. “James!” 

He was still grinning, brushing the side of your face. “How’re you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

“I was feeling excellent until you made me lose my place,” you laughed, picking up your book again. You thumbed through the pages, putting in your bookmark when you found your spot. 

“Is it good?” he asked, buzzing where he sat in front of you. It was as if he hadn’t seen you in years.

You shook your head at his energy, supposing you should have expected as much. “Yeah, it is. You can read it after me, if you want.”

“Me and fiction…” he said hesitantly, bobbing his head back and forth. “I’ll let you read it to me.”

“Well, if we’re gonna do that, it’s not going to be this. Maybe Three Men in a Boat,” you chuckled.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Nothing,” you said, still smiling like a fool. “Now, did you bring me the entire selection?” you asked, raising your brows as you looked behind him at the plates. Each was so filled you hadn’t much clue which one was meant for you and which was meant for him. They were piled with everything you might want and more, fit with two sets of silverware. 

He shrugged, hopping off the bed. “I got your favorites, but I didn’t know how hungry you’d be. I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starving.”

He rolled the tray so it sat above the middle of the bed, sitting by the foot with your little table between you, smiling at his ingenuity. 

“I’m very proud of you, you know,” you said, taking a sip of your tea. He gave you a puzzled look, his mouth too full to speak. “You actually got some sleep, rather than coming here.”

He swallowed, nearly grimacing. “It was awful. Never make me do it again.”

You could only laugh. 

You were already finished eating when the double doors flew open, a rush of footsteps scurrying inside the Hospital Wing. It was everyone, Remus lingering in the back of the frenzied group with deep bags under his eyes and a look that told you he felt sorry for the fact that you’d soon be subject to a bombardment of excitement. Lily was much the same, chuckling warily at the havoc. 

“Poppy’s going to kill you,” Remus chided, though no one seemed to listen to his advice. 

Marlene said your name in a gasp, bolting towards you as fast as her legs would take her, throwing her arms around you with such force you were nearly knocked off the bed. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked hurriedly, letting you go to look at your face. “It’s been torture, they wouldn’t let us go anywhere. You look so much better though, just like yourself. I probably look a wreck, don’t I?”

“I feel fine, and you look lovely,” you said, glancing around at the others. “James says everything’s back to normal?”

“Just about,” Lily answered. “We’re resuming classes, but everyone’s still pretty on edge, especially the first years.”

Marlene huffed. “It’s total bollocks. We should get the day off, at least. There’s a man-hunt going on, for Godric’s sake.”

An awful feeling ran through you, quick to come and quick to leave. You had yet to think about Wilkes and Zephyr today, though you assumed this meant they hadn’t yet been found. You had also forgotten about the conversation you had with James last night, wondering if he told the others not to say a word about you two until you could decide on a game plan. 

Still, those problems could wait for the time being. What concerned you most now was the fact that it seemed as though Marlene would never be able to get away from the memory of Zephyr, something you knew she was still mildly humiliated over. 

“Marlene,” you said carefully, not quite knowing how to broach the subject of her ex, “are you all right?”

She shrugged, more peeved than anything. “If it didn’t potentially put millions of people in danger, I’d be happy the twa— twit was gone.”

Lily rolled her eyes at her clunky efforts to soften her language, looking even more exasperated when James and Peter snickered. Sirius, on the other hand, seemed distracted, his earlier liveliness upon seeing you all but drained as he drummed his fingers on the metal footboard. You thought of Regulus, who must have been what was occupying his mind, wondering if he’d spoken with his brother since the last time you two talked.  

“I guess that means they haven’t found them?” you asked, recovering your train of thought.

“Not that I’ve heard,” Lily said. 

James met your eyes, his smile faint, weightier than before. “The Ministry’s on it,” he began. “No one’s ever gotten into Hogwarts before, and they’d be mad to try now.”

You supposed the absence of Wilkes, Zephyr, and soon Mulciber from the premises was a much needed relief for James almost as much as it was for you. The sense of ease that came with their being gone was slightly soured by the fact that the rest of the world would now have to deal with their villany, though you were sure that was the furthest thing from his mind at the present. 

“I’m not that worried,” you said. “They’re not that daft, nor do I think anyone else is, either.”

There came a lull in the conversation, long enough for Dorcas to look between you and James, raising her brows. “So,” she drawled, her smirk far too sly for your comfort. 

“Don’t start with it, Meadowes,” James warned, though there wasn’t much more behind it than his quidditch captain orders. 

You rubbed your temple, feeling your cheeks begin to burn. You hadn’t even thought to ask James about the fallout of your secret coming to light, though you were sure he hadn’t heard the end of it once he got back to the common room last night. You could only imagine what Dorcas had been saying to him, or what Marlene and Sirius had been revealing. They were probably having a field day. 

“I’m just happy you took my advice,” Remus said to you, his smile small, somewhere between kind and teasing. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always right,” you said in a vain attempt to take some heat off of yourself. 

Peter, shuffling his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets. “Congratulations on the Barnabus Finkley Prize.”

Peter, you thought, my knight in shining armor. 

“Thanks, Pete.”

Marlene gasped again, grabbing your shoulder. “Oh, how could I forget! It’s so brilliant, Y/N. You deserve it.”

“It’s wicked,” said Dorcas, grinning. “And we’re a shoe-in for the house cup.”

“When the Ravenclaws saw the hourglasses they nearly fainted,” Marlene said, her smile just as waggish as Dorcas’. “It was fantastic.” 

“Seraphina looked like she was about to be sick. I’m surprised she’s not here right now,” Dorcas continued. Sirius hung his thumbs in the pockets of his trousers, clearly displeased that her name had been brought up. 

“When are you getting out of here?” Lily asked. 

“Pomfrey never said, but sometime today, I think. She only mentioned keeping me for the night.”

“She will,” said James, mindlessly tearing off a piece of pastry. “She only kept me for a night when I broke my leg.”

“Speak of the angel,” Sirius said, standing up straight from where he had been leaning on the footboard, smiling at Pomfrey as she walked out of her office. Whatever had been bothering him, most likely his brother, had been wiped from his outward expression.

“Your entourage has grown,” she noted, surveying the group. 

“Morning, Madam Pomfrey,” Remus said, which was followed closely by greetings from James, Sirius, and Peter. 

“I hope it’s not too many visitors,” Lily said, fiddling with her sleeve. 

Pomfrey didn’t seem happy with the size of the crowd, picking up the clipboard hanging on your bed with pressed lips. “Well, it may not matter in a bit. You are free to leave any time you’d like, Y/N. Professor McGonagall would also like me to let you know that your parents have been notified in-person by herself and by an official with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I’d expect they’d like to hear from you.”

You nodded, not quite sure what you’d even say to them. Going over the whole affair another time seemed exhausting, though you knew you’d have to do it at least twice: once for your parents and once for your friends, who’d surely want to hear the whole story from your lips. 

“Did she say anything else about the Ministry?” you asked. 

“No, just that,” Pomfrey said, sympathetic to your curiosity. “I’m sure Professor McGonagall will tell you everything she knows today. But, in the meantime, get your rest. No worrying about schoolwork today, either.”

“Don’t worry,” said Sirius, his smile too sweet to be sincere, “we’ll take good care of her.”

Pomfrey gave him a blank look before checking off something on the clipboard. “Mister Black, I’d kindly advise you never to pursue a career in healing.”

She walked away, your entire group, bar Sirius, erupting in a fit of hysterics when you heard the office door shut behind her. Sirius scoffed, crossing his arms and pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

James got rid of the dishes as you grabbed your book, though not before Dorcas and Remus picked off a few more things like teenage vultures. When you were ready to leave, you looked up to see the latter rocking back on his feet as he ate a piece of bacon, his eyes drifting around in a strange, hesitant manner. He met Lily’s, sharing with her a private exchange which you could not decode. 

“What?” you asked, hating being out of the loop more than usual. You guessed it had something to do with being in the Hospital Wing while everyone else was up in the common room, the entire school likely talking about you. The very idea made your heart pick up in the most awful way, dread instead of excitement. 

Marlene began to pull at her fingers with a nervous twitch of her mouth, Peter looking equally as anxious. James was the only one who seemed to have no idea what was going on, just as perplexed as yourself. 

“There’s something we should tell you before you leave,” Lily said, her gaze darting back to Remus. 

He sighed, reaching into his bag and pulling out the Daily Prophet. He handed it over to you tentatively as if the action took great pains, the others studying you with a similar apprehension as you opened to the front page. 

DARK MAGIC AT HOGWARTS, STUDENT ATTACKED

Your stomach dropped. Below the headline was a photo of Mulciber, posing for a mugshot. His lip was curled, his eyes dark as they stared into the camera, begrudgingly turning for a shot of his profile. You nearly dropped it, your eyes shooting up to look at your friends. James grabbed the paper from your hands, staring down at it silently

“How did they find out so soon?” you asked, your breath all but taken from your lungs. 

“Someone from the Ministry must have come and gotten him sometime last night,” Lily said, her expression filled with pity. “Once they book him, it’s public information. I’m not sure there was anything anyone could do about it.”

James threw the paper down onto the bed, making a harsh noise before spinning around, his head hung. His hand was pulling at the back of his neck, fingers digging into his spine. 

“What is it?” you asked quietly, scared of what he might say. 

He faced you again, fuming. “They know your name.”

Your eyes went wide. “How?” 

“We don’t know,” Sirius said, his teeth gritting. You hated to see his smile gone—all your smiles gone—in what felt like an instant. 

“It’s okay,” you said, trying to make yourself believe it. “I knew they’d find out who I was eventually. A student could’ve written to them before they forced everyone back into the common room, or maybe someone has a quicker way to contact someone outside of Hogwarts, like your mirrors.” 

Before anyone could offer their own theories you picked up the paper again, skimming the article. They had yours and Mulciber’s names, knowledge that he had attacked you and used fiendfyre, though that was it. James and Sirius were notably absent, as well as any information of his earlier plan to poison you. You snorted when you read of your “miraculous survival”, feeling slightly better with the knowledge that you were the only one in the spotlight, not that James and Sirius would’ve minded half as much as you did. In actuality, if you weren’t so upset, you were sure Sirius would be complaining about the omission of his contributions to the event. 

“It’s not bad,” you continued, handing the Prophet back to Remus. “I was expecting worse.”

“They couldn’t give you a few days,” James spat, his jaw clenched as he stared a hole into the white Hospital Wing blanket. 

The air around him seemed to hum like a swarm of angry bees, all performing a synchronized dance of indignation. You reached through the invisible pandemonium, touching him in an effort to get him to look at you. He did, his features still distorted in aggravation. 

“Look at me, James,” you said, smiling weakly. “I’m fine, okay? They can write whatever they want. I don’t care.”

“It’s not right,” he said, his voice strained and brittle.

“I’m an adult—legally, at least. There aren’t any rules against printing my name,” your tone had dropped to something more worn, though you were not allowing yourself to give in to your annoyance at the indifference of the editors who seemed more than comfortable sharing the name of a student who recently went through a near death experience. You couldn’t take any more stress, especially over something that wouldn’t begin to truly affect you until July. “Everyone in Hogwarts already knows everything that they printed,” you went on. “Actually, they know more. I can’t imagine it’s made the gossip any worse than it already was.”

“We could feed them false information,” Sirius offered, hitting Remus’s chest with the back of his hand. “Monny’ll write ‘em and say you were born in Nepal and tame dragons.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “It’s impossible to tame a dragon.”

“That’s what makes it perfect,” Sirius said, waving her off. 

“If we’re making up lies about me, can I at least be descended from Merlin or something?”

Sirius grinned wickedly, leaning over the bed. “Better: Godric Gryffindor.”

“Your delinquency can wait,” Lily said, picking up her bag. “We’ll be late for Charms if we don’t leave now.” She looked to you, her eyes softened. “Are you sure you want to leave? Promfrey will let you stay—”

“Yes,” you answered immediately. “I’ll go mad being locked up here any longer.”

Instead of having a house elf bring it for you, you charmed the trunk to follow behind as you headed towards the staircase in the northeast corridor, hoping to avoid the heavy foot traffic near the Great Hall. Despite your insistence that they needn’t all come, everyone was set on escorting you to the common room, surrounding you in what seemed to be an unplanned circle of social protection. Even so, students still stared and whispered as you passed, their curious eyes following you down the corridor. Someone would always try to distract you, saying how happy Mary would be to see you, or that Lily and Remus had to comfort a flock of panicked first years last night, though it hardly worked. Their efforts, however, were much appreciated. 

The seventh floor was far less populated, leaving you in relative peace until you turned towards Gryffindor Tower, the Fat Lady pressing a hand to her chest when she saw you. 

“Y/N, my dear! I’ve heard all about it. Such a harrowing tale! But you look quite well, quite well indeed. Oh, but you’ve always been fetching, haven’t you?”

You were startled for a moment, taking a second to regain your bearings. “Uh— thank you.”

“Sir Nicolas says you were immaculate,” she continued, her voice fluttering as she made long, flowing gestures with her hand. “Oh, and you too, Mister Potter. Always such a gentleman.”

“I was there, too,” Sirius said, pointing at himself with an offended glare towards the Fat Lady. 

Peter, Dorcas, and Marlene snickered behind him, clamping their mouths shut with childish smirks when he turned around to shoot them a look. James was still on edge, uncharacteristically silent in the face of an inadvertent dig towards his friend.

“We’ll tell you all about it later,” James said, his voice clipped. “Fortiter et fideliter.”

There were a handful of sixth years in the common room, mostly gathered around the red sofa. You tried not to look their way as you went towards the staircase to the dormitories, imagining it was just another day, that your name hadn’t been printed in a paper being read by nearly every witch and wizard over their morning cup of tea.

Lily hesitated, her mouth twisting as you stood beside the steps. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like one of us to stay with you? I’m sure Professor Flitwick wouldn’t give us any trouble about it.”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Remus cleared his throat, pushing Peter’s shoulder as he turned away. “Lily and I will see you after Ancient Runes.”

“Yeah, and we’ll all be back right after Charms,” Marlene said, making a vague motion around to the others. 

You nodded, not quite knowing what to do with your hands, clasping them behind your back before releasing them at your sides. It was plainly obvious Remus was corralling everyone away, everyone except James, that is. Lily followed his lead, saying goodbye and heading back towards the portrait hole, the rest trailing behind. 

James nearly went to touch your face, his hand falling back down when he seemed to recall where he was. Through the dejection in his expression, he was staring at you with an indescribable affection, as warm as the color of his eyes. 

“I’ll be back in an hour and a half— not even. An hour and fifteen,” he said quietly. 

“I know,” you said, your voice the same as his. “Don’t get in trouble running in the corridors.”

He smiled lamely, taking a reluctant step back. “Impossible. I’m Head Boy, remember?”

“You never let me forget,” you said, glancing behind him to see that the others had already gone. “Go, before you’re tardy.”

He looked at you for a second longer before spinning around, jogging to the portrait hole. Before he pushed it open he stole one last glance, caught like a feather between blades of grass. 

Notes: Sorry for such a short chapter this week! The holidays put me behind schedule, so I just wanted to get something out rather than nothing. Next chapter will have actual stuff happen lol

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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Tag List: @floverisland @ilovejamespottersomuch @googie-jeon @tvnile @eli-com @lovelyteenagebeard @letssee2468 @abhootghiihii @iamawkwardandshy

[aayakashii]

Can I have a 11❤️ and 12❤️ fluffy fic for Ed please?

Also a 40❤️ and 41❤️ smutty fix for Leo?

Thank you! 😊

I had to choose between the Ed or Leo drabble, and since I had other similar Leo requests, I chose him, sorry 😭 I promise I'll write some fluff for Ed eventually (๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑) and thank you for liking my writing!! It means the world to me <3

35❤️ A kiss against a wall

40❤️ An impulsive kiss

41❤️ A kiss out of spite

Warning: spicy and kinda dubcon (?) Nothing that explicit, but still: MDNI.

Leo was sucking on a blueberry lollipop. Loudly. His lips puckered as he pulled it out of his mouth with a loud and aggravating pop. He then held it right in front of your lips.

“Lick it” he said, flatly, his face portraying no emotion. You could see how his tongue was stained blue and so were the insides of his lips.

You glared at him.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” you hissed, wishing you could throw daggers through your eyes and into his acid yellow irises.

He had you uncomfortably pinned against the wall of his room, his thigh forcefully shoved between your legs and one arm planted right beside your head.

He was close. Way too close for comfort. You could smell his designer cologne and look into the pores on his face – all perfectly closed and moisturized. His sweet breath fanned your own cheeks and you knew you looked like his absolute opposite: sweaty, flustered and haggard. Your heart beat fast inside your ribcage, but at least you knew it wasn't because you were excited at this development.

No. You just were fucking angry.

Leo shrugged.

“You've been avoiding me all day on purpose. Like, ignoring my dms and all. I had to grab your attention somehow, duh.” he wiggled the lollipop in front of you again “Come ooon. Lick it.”

You shifted in your position, but Leo barely budged. Goddamn the stupid strength of these ghouls, you thought.

You tried turning your head away from him, but he followed your movement anyway, head tilting to the side as he forced himself to stay under your gaze. He batted his eyelashes as he managed to make eye contact with you again.

You groaned.

“Of course I'm ignoring you. I'm not a masochist that's going to accept all your insults.”

He pouted, putting the lollipop inside his mouth again to give it a harsh suck – purposefully making an extremely grating and embarrassing sound.

You knew what he was doing, but you refused to let him have the satisfaction of flustering you.

“You used to be such a good pet, you know” he shook his head, feigning hurt “You used to accept everything I said with a nod and an ‘okay’. Where's my old and nicer Honor Roll?”

You laughed bitterly.

“Even I have my limits, Leo. I'm not going to give all my time and energy to some wannabe playboy influencer who can't do anything but be fake and mean.”

That seemed to have peeved him a bit more than you were expecting. You swallowed hard as you watched his gaze become bitterly cold. He pushed his thigh further against you.

“I said. Fucking lick it.” he murmured through gritted teeth, pushing the lollipop inside your mouth once you gasped at the friction of his thigh between your legs.

You hesitantly closed your lips, the artificial blueberry taste quickly coating your mouth as he rubbed it against your tongue.

“Suck it.” he began pushing the candy further into your mouth and you quickly complied, afraid he'd push too far just to make you gag.

You sucked the lollipop and a smirk slowly tugged the corner of Leo's mouth upwards. He patted your head once the hard candy was out of your mouth with a pop as well.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, breathlessly, while he stuck out his tongue, making a show of putting the candy, now coated with your saliva, back inside his mouth.

You grimaced when he hummed loudly. It was awful, having to admit to yourself that this little stunt of his was arousing you, as you felt an uncomfortable heat pool in your groin.

However, as you looked down, you realized how Leo was anything but unaffected as well – the tent in his pants was very much visible, and you gasped.

He grinned maniacally, extremely pleased at how you had noticed the bulge in his pants. Quickly, he pressed his hips against yours and grinded shamelessly, moaning pornographically right next to your ear.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to ground yourself so you wouldn't fall straight into his trap just because you got excited, of all things. You wouldn't allow this humiliation.

“Open your eyes” he mumbled breathlessly with the candy still inside his mouth “I have to have your eyes on me, otherwise none of this will be worth it” he completed, and you had a feeling he wasn't just talking about humping you like some horny teenager.

You breathed deeply as he kept on grinding against your core slowly, further awakening an unwanted pleasure in you.

“You hate me, Leo” you whispered against his cheek while he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

He giggled.

“And I love hating you” he raised his head, mumbling his words against the corner of your lips before taking the lollipop out of his mouth to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Fuck you.” you growled.

“I would like you to help me do that.” Leo moaned, as if your hatred towards him brought him great pleasure.

Without actually putting much thought into your actions, you snatched the lollipop out of his hand, placing it against your lips and pushing it against his.

Leo's eyes widened as your tongue swirled against the candy and prodded against his own lips. A satisfied chuckle resounded inside his chest once he understood what you were doing, and he quickly followed your movements.

You felt filthy as you kissed Leo, sharing the lollipop between your tongue and his. You two sucked and licked the candy, drool stained blue running down to your chins, and Leo whined against your mouth.

Like a whore, you thought.

You broke the kiss first, eyeing how his lips were fully stained blue, and you thought that yours probably looked the same. As you threw the accursed lollipop in the trash nearby, the realization finally hit you.

Brilliant. Now that both of you had blueberry coloring all over your mouths, anyone who looked at you would probably guess something might have happened between you two.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, slapping your hand against your forehead as you realized you, indeed, ended up falling straight into his trap, no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

He smiled devilishly, grabbing your hand and placing it against his painfully hard bulge. You bit your lip, stifling whatever aggravating noise could come out of your mouth.

“Now that it's come to this, you could just stay and fuck me like you said you would, hm?” he pleaded, all brightly doe eyed and feigned innocence.

“I never said that.” you spat.

“No?” he placed a finger on his chin, pensive “Funny, I could swear you said ‘Fuck you’.”

You widened your eyes at his nonsensical words. You opened your mouth to protest, but then immediately closed it, with a sigh.

There was simply no way to go against Leo when he wanted something and he knew that, if the wicked grin plastered on his face was anything but a sign.

He grabbed your hands and pulled you towards his bed.

“Next time, Honor Roll, you better think twice before ignoring me.” he declared, and you begrudgingly agreed. You had learned it the hardest way.

[misdeliria]

what's up, babe? k. bakugo This is something I wrote for class, and I'll be changing the names ofc

“What’s up, Dynamight?” 

Marion flashed her toothy, condescending smile at him from where she hovered five feet off the ground. 

Katsuki, too busy catching his breath, flipped her off. 

The young woman laughs, holding her stomach and falling back as a massive robot destroys a block of windows. 

“You need some help, tough guy?” Marion jeers, still beaming with her smug expression. 

“I have it handled,” he says gruffly with his haggard posture and torn uniform. The damn thing threw him through a building. 

“Yeah. It sure looks like it.” Marion flies over to him, and when she does, she twists and moves like she’s gliding through water. “Don’t worry about it. Leave the job to a real hero.” She flies off with a wink, leaving Katsuki shaking with rage. 

Who the fuck does she think she is? Talking to me like that? I’ll put her in her fucking place.

Japan’s favorite American, Marion Beaumont, was touring the country as a friendly gesture from the States—uncaring if they stepped on a few toes to allow it. 

He watched Marion soar through the sky, swing her leg around, and land a devastating blow to the robot’s side. The colossus tipped over, losing its balance and shaking the Earth as it impacted the ground.

Katsuki ground his teeth as cheers erupted from the onlooking civilians. 

It was without question that Japan’s populace would fall in love with Marion. Jet black hair and fair skin with an exceptional quirk: Invincibility. It was without question. 

Marion’s quirk gifted her with flight, super strength, and—

“Watch out, Grandiosa!” Someone screamed from the streets. 

The robot attacked Marion with mechanics shooting out from its torso, but she didn’t flinch. Red beams of power flashed from her glimmering blue eyes, breaking each mechanic like twigs. 

“No need to fear everyone!” Marion announced, waving down at the onlookers. 

“Grandiosa will save us!” A relieved man shouts, further irritating Katsuki. 

Marion laughs, eyes closed and careless, not noticing the robot’s hand winding back to swing. 

It wasn’t until a woman screamed, too late, that Marion finally turned to see the impending hit. Just as he practiced, it only took a second for Katsuki to launch himself two blocks up to where the invincible hero braced for the attack. 

“No!” Marion shrieks as Katsuki shoves her out of the way. The heavy assault sends Katsuki through an adjacent building, but witnessing it is enough to piss Marion off. 

Putting Katsuki off for after, she cocks her arm back and throws her fist into the robot’s chest, punching a hole through its armor. As the robot twitches, malfunctioning, Marion shoots beams from her eyes at the arm’s connection to the body. Despite the arm extending nearly as long as four cars, she rips it clean from the robot before tossing it to the side. 

Her last stop is at the head, where its glowing eyes seem to look past her. Ripping its head off and holding it up for the growing crowd offers Marion relief until she sees Katsuki staggering out of the building wreckage. 

“You alright, tough guy?” She asks with a short laugh. 

“Fuck off,” Katsuki growls, stretching his arm and scratching the rubble out of his hair. 

“That was quite a hit you took for me,” Marion continues, floating after him as he walks off. “I take back what I said before. That was such a beautiful act of heroism.”

Her words are dripping with sarcasm, and the enchanted eyes she’s giving Katsuki make his stomach roll. 

“I don’t care what you think,” he snaps back. Marion giggles behind her hand. 

“If not for me, that robot would have thrown you through buildings until sunset,” Marion says with such certainty that Katsuki’s almost convinced. 

“I would’ve worked something out.” Why does he keep responding to her? Just ignore her and walk away. 

“I don’t think so,” Marion coos. She flies in his path, and suddenly, Katsuki is face to face with the American. “At least thank me for stepping in.”

“Thank you?” Katsuki roars, eyes bulging out of his head. 

Marion smiles like she has the cream. “You’re welcome, Dynamight!”

“NO! No,” he quickly retracts. “Why should I thank you? You should be thanking me for saving your stupid ass.”

Marion holds Katsuki’s gaze momentarily, keeping that permanent smile across her lips. “Thank you, Katsuki.”

His name spilled from her lips so rashly that heat flooded his ears. He’s stunned.

“Don’t call me that when we’re in uniform,” is his only retort. His weakest comeback, in his opinion. Katsuki will regret it late at night as he’s getting ready for sleep. 

“So, you’re saying I can call you that when we’re out of uniform,” Marion takes away, drifting closer. “Then, we should find time to see each other outside work soon.”

[hopeforkitten]

the plot where Raphael hides / saves us from the ascended Astarion is already classic, but what about the plot where we find ourselves between the devil Raphael and the god Gale?

The ending of the game is with Gale's novel, where he ascends and we signed a contract with Raphael. A dialogue with the two of them, but Raphael snaps his fingers and takes his debtor to the house of hope, as befits the devil.

So Gale, I have your sweetheart, and I will gladly exchange her for the crown she promised me.

Raphael, of course, could torment us in a sophisticated way, but it is also possible to leave us in the painful expectation of our beloved, who will not come.

(I love Gale, but I really doubt that he would give up the desired divinity and first of all I'm Raphael's girl so I need this development heh)

We settled in the archive, dutifully waiting for our savior, and being completely sure that he would come. Raphael rarely comes to us, and we ignore him with our nose in the air, because in our head we are already free from this captivity.

Raphael smiles rapaciously, watching the changes in our behavior. A bored lady first hides behind books, then throws them aside and looks more tense, her hair and clothes are in more and more disarray. She starts wandering around the archive and does not notice the rest of its inhabitants, she mumbles non-stop, "He will come back. He'll be back. He will definitely come back for me."

The mouse's strength in the cage is running out and she gets discouraged. He's just sitting on the floor hugging his legs.

Raphael gives orders to the archivist and approaches the little prisoner. There is triumph on his face.

"You know, you're the first guest I've had who gives me so much pleasure just by being there, little mouse." The girl continues to stare into the void, not reacting to him. Raphael's emotions deteriorate, he frowns.

"But you're not being funny anymore, honey. I don't think your lover is getting discouraged right now. He has admirers and confidants. He follows the destinies of people and supports their wildest desires. To some extent, it's like me." Raphael praises himself and looks dreamily around.

"I can help fulfill any ambitions. The only question is, do you still have them?" He looks down at the girl, who finally raises her haggard gaze to him.

"I don't think so. All of them remained in your dizzying journey to my crown. You gave up everything for him, didn't you? He promised to share divinity with you. You paved his way to Celestia, but he chose to go up there alone."

"Is that fair, little mouse?" He tries to find the answer, peering into her pale eyes, but does not find it.

"Well, no, you're not funny at all." Raphael gently claps his hands, awakening her attention and obedience.

"Follow me"

The way to the boudoir is not long, the debtor quietly drags her feet behind him. And she remains standing by the pool while Raphael walks to the back of the room.

Haarlep perks up on the red sheets noticing the guest. But he is somewhat upset to distinguish a battered debtor in her.

"Take care of our guest." Raphael gives a brief command.

"Um, it's not for me to lecture you, I thought you liked more... sensible specimens."

"I assure you, her brilliant mind will quickly return to normal. Make her look decent, talk to her, refresh the dying embers of her soul. I'm sure you'll like her."

"Well, if you think so."

Raphael leaves, and Haarlep remains to bring the mouse back to normal. The incubus washes her body and hair, asks questions and, without receiving answers, criticizes her apathetic state.

Later, the little mouse, clean and smelling good, sits on the bed while Haarlep smears her roughened elbows with cream, simultaneously lamenting to Raphael.

"Of course I'm thrilled with what a wreck you've turned God's beloved into, but it's up to me to put her in order."

We are definitely fine, we accept all their words, but we are silent out of resentment until Raphael uses his diabolical conviction.

"Tell me, little mouse, who's to blame for you being here?"

It's my fault, because I made a deal with the devil."

"Wow, she's really talking," Haarlep comments,

"Wrong answer, mouse, you can get out of here, but someone just doesn't want to get you out of here."

Raphael will use us to set up our resentment against Gale, whitewashing himself and forcing us to work for the good of his future kingdom.

• How do you like the moment that Gale lovingly taught us the magic of a wizard, so when we now return this knowledge, his image also returns: his face, his soft voice, his hands guiding ours. This depresses the soul of the captive and awakens unnecessary emotions, therefore, on the part of Raphael's strategy, it is worth changing the nature of our magic and making us his warlock, thus getting under the skin of the most intimate memories and replacing Gale with himself.

Well... I guess his final goal is to take the crown with our hands. It's quite beautiful. yes

[vickyvicarious]

Quincey Morris said nothing about his intention, but I knew that all night long he patrolled round and round the house.

Joining the ranks of the blood- and sleep-deprived, Quincey Morris!

As always, I love the way he jumps right into taking action. He's reminded of vampire bats, he thinks the blood must go somewhere... so he patrols to keep an eye out for vampires, bats, people who are taking blood, whatever. Doing his best to guard her.

I do wonder about how much blood each man has given, though. It kind of feels like increasingly less, at least based on their activity levels afterward. Part of that may be due to circumstance; Arthur could afford to give more because he didn't have any urgent need to be doing anything else. Both Jack and Van Helsing had to be able to stay awake afterwards. And it's possible they are just getting more reckless with their own behavior as we go down the line. But still, Quincey being able to patrol around all night is a step up from resting first here and then at home (Art), resting for a while then going back to more sedentary work (Jack), resting for a bit then staying up at night sitting still (Van Helsing). He still gets some rest first, but then he is up and about and sleep-deprived. I don't feel like we can put all of that down to his manliness, royal lot of it or no.

A part of me wonders if Van Helsing saw that it wasn't going to be enough to save her, and cut off the flow a little earlier. Like, Quincey definitely still gave a lot, but maybe not as much as they'd otherwise have taken? Thinking of this line in particular: "Lucy had got a terrible shock and it told on her more than before, for though plenty of blood went into her veins, her body did not respond to the treatment as well as on the other occasions."

Perhaps Van Helsing just wanted to ensure that she didn't die right then of blood loss, because he believed that would mean she'd turn into a vampire. He's clearly doing his utmost to save her when he can, of course... but also, earlier that day, he told Jack ""If [death] were all, I would stop here where we are now, and let her fade away into peace, for I see no light in life over her horizon.""

So it's possible that at this point he expected her to die no matter what, and just took the minimum amount of blood to hopefully ensure it is a human death. The possibility that one type of death will lead to vampirisim and another will simply be a human death certainly could be supported in today's entry:

At times she slept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference in her, between sleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she looked stronger, although more haggard, and her breathing was softer; her open mouth showed the pale gums drawn back from the teeth, which thus looked positively longer and sharper than usual; when she woke the softness of her eyes evidently changed the expression, for she looked her own self, although a dying one.

The difference seems to be between sleeping and waking here. But maybe that's only possible thanks to Quincey's blood in her. Or maybe it always would have been, but without Quincey's blood, she wouldn't have regained the strength necessary to wake up in the first place, let alone die awake/in a more human state.

[snapeaddict]

Snapetober Day 25 - Mask

Everything was a blur. He could barely hear; his vision was hazy, its corners were suspiciously dark and white spots danced at its centre. He felt numb, and could not tell if he was in pain, or not. Yet he kept bringing his hand back to his neck, where Fawkes had shed a copious amount of tears: the area was particularly sensitive.

He walked, and he kept walking. He made his way back to the castle without once clearly formulating to himself where it was that he was going; he could not think, and found himself incapable of devising even a slightly coherent response to the world around him.

So he walked, first to the castle's entrance, then inside the castle he found deserted, and finally to the Great Hall where all had assembled. He entered, and then only did the realisation of where he was and in front of whom he stood struck him: even with the buzz in his ears, he was vaguely aware that most conversations in the hall had ceased instantly, save for whimpers and cries.

He blinked, attempting to focus on what was in front of him. Minerva was there; so was Potter, who had been talking to her. She turned towards him and froze at his sight. He halted.

They gazed at one another. Instinctively and without his knowledge, an expression of overt indifference supplanted the haggard one on his face: all his muscles turned into stone to avoid any emotion from betraying him, to conceal even the most volatile, foolish sentiment. He gazed at her with terrible tranquillity, and so did she, for she did not move, she did not stir, she looked neither shocked nor surprised. Her upper lip moved slightly, in a manner characteristic to her, to express disdain.

There was no helping it. After a year, neither of them could put down the masks easily: Minerva to protect herself, Severus to protect her.

And there was silence, a heavy, prolonged silence.

"Professor", Potter finally said in a toneless voice, breaking the spell.

Minerva took a step forward, then another, and with each one her face came back to life, her marble expression slowly replaced by one of utter grief and worry.

"Is that true, Severus?" she whispered to him, shivering at the sight of his bloody robes.

He could not reply, he could not use his voice, so he nodded, and as he did he understood her question and his heart missed a beat. Lowering his eyes, he rolled down his left sleeve with a trembling hand: he gasped as he discovered the dark mark almost gone, only barely visible.

He did not have time to look up. Strong arms wrapped him in a warm embrace - he heard Minerva sob against his shoulder, she was clinging on to him with disproportionate strength.

When she raised her eyes to meet his, her face was tear-streaked and she looked utterly desperate. Yet she was smiling; he wrapped his arms around her too.

It was a good thing he could not think properly, for all eyes were on them and it did not even cross his mind.

But in the safety of her embrace, he felt himself begin to smile too. Confusedly he wanted to apologise to her, to tell her that she would soil her robes, to inquire about what happened, but all these thoughts passed him by without ever giving him the chance to act upon them.

It was for the better.

"Are you going to faint on me?" he heard her murmur, and he realised he was now the one clinging on to her.

He nodded slowly, and she pulled her wand out, still holding him tightly.

"Do not worry, I am here now", she whispered.

And he smiled again and closed his eyes.