#almost as if I made her like that tehe

[leviiackrman]

JODY MORSE - Marvel [full colour]

more art || character page || commissions

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[stevebabey]

love, meteors, and clark kent's accidental flight

a/n: this was purely inspired by the fact i totally interpreted that final kiss in the film as clark just being so enraptured he didn't even notice he was flying tehe

Working at the Daily Planet, you - like everyone with eyes - are particularly enamoured with Clark Kent. A meteor and a spilled secret later, he shows you just how enamoured with you he is. spoiler-free, fem!reader, 7k, all fluff babey <3

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You always hear him before you see him—though the ding of the elevator is a dead giveaway.

A glance at the clock tells you it’s 9:07am. Not the latest he's been, but it's definitely getting there.

"You're late, Kent."

"Sorry, sorry."

There's a smattering of murmured apologies being given out behind you, soft, fast footsteps, and then something is placed beside you. An iced latte rings the beginnings of a water-mark on your desk.

You look up, already smiling. "Please don't tell me you were late because you were getting me this."

Clark, ruffled and clutching his briefcase in one hand, balancing a tray of coffees in the other, pauses in his hurried motions. He looks down at you guiltily.

His mouth twists, a poor attempt to hold back a smile. You're thankful, if only for the fact you're particularly prone to your most foolish moments when Clark Kent smiles at you.

"Alright," he says. "I won't tell you."

Your eyes track him as he rounds the desk, slanting up his briefcase to deposit it. His response has only made you smile harder. You hide it behind a sip of your coffee.

Upon first taste, a pleased sigh escapes you. The drink is perfectly sweetened, creamy and icy-sweet. You have to force yourself not to chug half of it in one go.

The logo, forest green, printed across the front catches your attention.

Just to check, you glimpse at the other cups in Clark’s tray. He delivers one to Jimmy, his head buried in his laptop, and one to Lois, who hums her thanks. Another to Cat and one to Ron.

Each of their cups are a boring beige - which he’s gone out of his way for you specifically.

“You shouldn’t have,” You say, as Clark sits down opposite you at his desk, his hands finally free. He looks up, expression innocent, and his glasses slide an inch down his nose.

You twist the cup to face him, the only coffee from a different store than the others. “Really.”

Clark shrugs, nudging his glasses back up almost sheepishly. You can almost convince yourself that his ears are a shade pinker.

“It’s the one you like, isn’t it?” He gestures with a pen.

“That’s beside the point.”

“Is it?”

He’s being unbelievably genuine. As if, of course he’d go the extra distance for you.

“Yes, Clark,” You say, much less firmly than you’re hoping for. Your smile weakens it even more. “It is.”

A ping on your laptop saves you from having the sputter through your exact reasoning on why it’s beside the point.

You tend to it hastily, pointedly ignoring your hot coworkers expression. It’s not smugness — Clark could never be — but it’s something damn close.

He knows he’s right. You know he’s also sort of right too. He's perfectly allowed to do nice things for you. It’s just…

Clark Kent is a man who is too good to be true.

First of all, he’s nice. Awfully nice. Clark goes out of his way to help others.

He opens doors, is always the one with his arm out, holding the elevator, and he never minds the awkward wait for the last person to catch up.

He offers to carry bags, insisting even, then loads them over his arms like they weigh nothing.

You’ve seen him hail a cab for an old lady. He gets coffee for everyone around your corner of the bullpen. He’s nice.

And he seems to do it for the sake of being nice too.

Then there’s also the fact that… Well, you have eyes.

That is to say, he’s handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair and light eyes. He’s double-take-on-the-street-handsome.

He’s a gentleman too, polite and never overstepping. In fact, sometimes you think he’s loud on purpose, rustling as he moves about so he never accidentally catches you off guard.

That combination— the kindness of his character and his attractive appearance —is killer to a girl like you.

And anyone with eyes and a brain, in your humble opinion.

It’s why you’re also 100% sure, without even asking, that he’s already snatched up and locked down.

A man like that, single? In Metropolis? Ha!

Nevermind that he’s never technically mentioned a partner. Clark’s on the reserved side. You know about the same as everyone else; a small town farm boy from Kansas turned big city journalist.

Though, he did mention he was looking after his cousin’s dog to you the other week—after he caught you scrolling the SPCA’s page. You wonder how many people he’s told that to.

Wordlessly, you glance up, peering over the dividers between desks.

Clark’s engaged in his work, as you should be, a furrow between his brows. Despite all that you’ve just outlined, despite him being your coworker, there’s still a tug. You can’t resist the daydream.

Besides, there’s no real harm in a sweet and secret work crush.

No harm other than to perhaps your own ego—which happens every time you catch yourself mooning over him like a muppet.

Nose twitching, you force your eyes down. A new email slides onto your screen, blinking its high priority at you. You sigh, resisting the urge to look back up. It’s a fun daydream, but you have work to do.

You take another sip of your coffee — and in doing so, miss the gaze that lingers on your lips.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Living in Metropolis, two things are a given for all citizens.

1. Some part of your life has been interrupted by intergalactic aliens and 2. You have an opinion on Superman.

These two things usually go hand-in-hand, often when the first thing crashes into your life, forcing the second.

Though, in your experience, most Metropolitans have a handful of words prepared on whether the metahuman is more menace or hero.

As a journalist yourself, you’re surprisingly middle of the road.

Alien attacks suck. Superman does his best to intervene, saving people first, buildings second. Fallout is mitigated, but ultimately inevitable.

You see more of it than usual. You’re the Daily Planet’s man on the ground — out in the fray, it’s generally your notes that veto whatever else is circulating around the news hubbub; Superman action included.

Of course, you’ve not quite managed to snag an interview with the man himself.

That is a Clark Kent exclusive, which infuriates you just a smidge. You suppose it’s good for Superman that Clark favours painting him in a good light.

Today, you’re not even out for a Superman-esque story — your tape-recorder, an old-school thing, whirs loudly on the table to get a quote from the Mayor’s office — but as you track the meteor heading straight for a skyscraper, you figure it’s just one of those days.

“Please excuse me,” You say, reaching out to pause your tape.

The man before you, focus stolen and solely on the incoming meteor through the window, doesn’t respond. His mouth has opened a fraction, in surprise.

You figure he’ll understand you stepping out.

The door chime announces your exit and you get a closer look at today’s threat.

The meteor is a concerning flaming purple colour. A trail, dark and murky, traces its path in the sky. If you strain your ears, you can hear it—a faint whistle, like a shriek picking up volume as it approaches.

You don’t bother taking notes. There’ll be footage streamed online within the minute.

Pocketing your tape-recorder, you straighten your jacket and try to map the trajectory. You squint.

If you had to bet money, you’d guess it’s heading straight for the Harmony block apartments on 7th St - if it’s not intercepted, that is.

Sniffing for the story, you tuck your hands in your pockets and begin to head in that direction.

Dotted throughout the street, people have begun to stop and stare, their worried mutters paired with pointed fingers. Cars screech to a halt and impatient drivers honk their unhappiness.

An odd apprehension tinges the air. A nervous hush settles down amongst the streets.

You wind through the crowds of people easily, keeping a close eye on the violet-coloured projectile. You don’t want to get too close. You’re not stupid — you just need to get close enough to scrape together the important details.

Regular ol’ meteor? Intergalactic version of a catapult flung towards Earth with intent to harm?

Your brows furrow in thought, mind whirring, as you sidestep a halted couple, murmuring your excuse me’s.

Without taking your eyes off the meteor, you fumble around to find your notepad in your bag, You hand bangs against your tape-recorder in your pocket, hitting record.

“Well, what is it?” An older lady remarks.

She’s too blind to see it properly you’d guess, evidenced by her thick-glasses and heavy squint. “Some sort of bird?”

“It’s definitely not a plane,” Someone else in the crowd mutters.

The shriek of the meteor gets louder, its burn transforming to an auburn colour as it tears through the atmosphere. You’re just a couple blocks away from Harmony apartments when you hear it, a familiar sonic boom! that sets you stumbling for a moment.

Something has taken flight.

Just in time as well. An awful crackling noise has pierced through the shrieking of the meteor. Shimmers of light, brighter than the flaming auburn, begin to reach out from within the rock like stretched out fingers.

It’s at this point you have the sense to stop walking toward it.

And as if on cue, the meteor fractures with a loud burst.

The structure crumbles, torn into a handful of pieces and they quickly careen out in various directions. They’re faster now, propelled by the delayed blast.

“Shit.” you say astutely.

There’s a funny thing about things falling right in your line of vision; they can appear to stop moving completely.

You watch, perplexed, as a large chunk of the meteor seems to hover in place, then rise up, then slowly, slowly it dawns on you that it’s rapidly growing in size. You realise with a spike of horror that it’s heading right for you.

“Shit.” you say again, more panicked this time.

This is not what you meant when you said you’re out in the fray. Feet backtracking, you stumble over yourself before realising going backward isn’t your best bet.

You course-correct, before finally realising you aren’t the only one in the crosshairs of this rogue rock.

Your head whips around, left to right. People are staring at the incoming meteor, but not enough have realised what you already had.

“Move,” you say, too quietly. People can’t seem to break their horrified stares. The strange roar of the meteor deafens as it gets closer.

“Move! Everybody move!”

Something in your voice overrides their frozen instincts. A frantic energy surges through the crowd around you, people beginning to move with haste, bleating their fear.

You swallow your relief as the space begins to clear out and you follow them closely, casting another glance around.

Your gaze catches.

A lone child stands in the middle of the rapidly clearing street, a little girl swathed in maroon and confusion. Her little face searches for the reason for the obvious distress washing over the street, despair beginning to sink in.

Limbs freezing, your eyes comb through the crowd desperately, hoping to spot a parent fighting their way back to them - to no avail.

Horror shoves up your throat at the thought of her alone, waiting, unaware of the danger. You move without thinking.

You manage all of one step, then there’s a blur of blue that stops you. Suddenly, the girl is right before you - and so is Superman.

“Hello.” He says politely.

“Hi.” you breathe.

He’s got one hand on the shoulder of the kid, who’s torn between the shock of travelling at super-speed and seeing Superman himself. Her distress has been wiped away by awe.

Superman looks down, smiling kindly, “You’re safe now.”

He looks back up at you. “I trust I can leave this little one with you til the danger is past?”

“Hi.” you say again, foolishly. Your face flames. “I mean- yes, you can.”

When you look back on this interaction, you’ll undoubtedly be beyond embarrassed. Sue you, you’ve never seen Superman up close before.

Superman smiles again, this time his perfect grin on display. He scans the street around you diligently, sweeping for danger.

“You did a terrific job clearing out the street.”

His focus locks onto the now much closer threat with a more serious expression. You secretly take the moment to appreciate the sharp line of his jaw.

“Now, I’ll be right back,” He assures, looking first at the kid, then up to you. You wonder if his curl just does that. “And then we can find this one’s parents together.”

And with a final friendly squeeze on the kid’s shoulder, he turns and launches into flight, heading right for the incoming meteor.

The next few minutes are a bit of daze after that. You snatch moments of the chaos in the sky as Superman juggles between the pieces of the meteor.

It’s unclear if the plan is to let them ground, but given their hideous continued shrieks, you’re rather relieved when he bats them back up into the atmosphere.

Huh, you think, almost amusedly; it’s almost like superpowered baseball.

Just as they had arrived, the pieces streak back up into the sky, their awful shrieks fading as they disappear from view. You spot a familiar blur tracing their paths. Keeping them out of airspace, no doubt.

The girl, who had taken your hand the moment you offered it, still holds it tightly.

“Is he coming back?”

You turn and smile down at her, stooping down to match her height. Truth is, you’re not sure - but Superman seems like a man of his word.

“He said he would be.” You hope that’s assurance enough. “What’s your name?”

“Maisie.” She tells you, smiling enough to show off a slight snaggle-tooth. Adorable.

“That’s a wonderful name,” You say genuinely. “Who were you with today? Who might be looking for you, hm?”

Somewhere across the city, an ambulance siren wails its cry. The crowds are dispersing from their panic, people getting back on track with the danger now averted. This is Metropolis, after all.

Maisie rattles off how she had been with her aunt, ‘cos it’s Tuesday and she spends every Tuesday with her aunt Tess, and they were on their way to get lunch at Alma’s, ‘cos they always get Alma’s on a Tuesday.

It’s a sandwich store only 2 blocks away. She points with a finger in the general direction.

“Hmm,” You hum, following her finger. “I bet if I was your aunt Tess, I would’ve gone to Alma’s to see if you were there. Do you think we should go see if she’s there?”

Maisie nods, her loose pigtails flying with the motion.

“But what about Superman?” She says before you can straighten up.

“Right here.”

You jump a little, having not heard his arrival. Superman at least has the decency to offer you a sheepish look as he steps up on the other side of Maisie, already offering her a hand.

“Alright there, Miss?” He asks her seriously. She openly gawps up at him and nods faintly, her mouth open.

He smiles. “Great.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours intently. “And you, Miss? I think I can handle getting Maisie here back to where she belongs, if you have somewhere else you need to be.”

Maisie’s petite head swings around to face you. She hasn’t let go of your hand. Or closed her mouth. You think she’s even more starstruck that Superman knows her name.

“Y’know, I think I’d like to see her back into safe hands if that’s alright?”

Something flits across Superman’s expression, but he still only smiles and nods. “Two chaperones are certainly better than one.”

So, the three of you walk the two blocks to Alma’s, with both of Maisie’s hands held the whole way. Aunt Tess is tearfully relieved at her safe return and when she blubbers her thank-you’s, you’re surprised when Superman redirects them to you.

“I had help today,” he says.

Between the sincere thankfulness from Aunt Tess and the warm look from Superman, it’s a challenge not to fluster too much.

Maisie waves goodbye to both of you, her little hands still going wildly as she rounds the corner out of sight — and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Thank you for taking good care of her,” says Superman.

You turn and blink, half-surprised he’s still here.

He surely must be busy with, like, …hero stuff, right? But still, he’s taking the time to thank you.

“Of course.” You say. The words stammer a bit as you’re taken aback by his sincerity.

You find he has a very intense gaze when it’s fixed solely on you.

“Not everyone would have stayed with her the whole time. Or stepped in to begin with.” He commends. “It was brave of you to put yourself in danger to help her, so thank you.”

Now you’re really stunned. You flounder for words and end up biting your tongue so nothing stupid comes out.

In the end, you just say, “Of course.” again.

That makes him smile again. Dimples press into his cheeks. It’s enough to threaten to make you swoon.

“Take care of yourself, y/n.” He nods to you, then steps back and readies himself to fly once more.

“Wait,” The sound of your name pulls you up short. “How do you know my name?”

“It’s, uh, on your case.” He nods to it.

Any other questions are swallowed up by the howl of the wind, air tunnelling around him loudly as he abruptly takes flight. He turns to a blur and you watch the sky, even when there’s nothing left to watch.

The street around you dims, softened, and then its noise filters back in slowly. Cars droning, traffic lights flicking, the murmur of conversation. You hadn’t realised how much all of that had quietened with Superman’s attention on you.

For a long moment, you’re simply stumped on how to feel.

If one’s things for sure, you have a much more concrete opinion on Superman than you did this morning — though nothing you can quite put a finger on.

Admiration? Maybe.

Something else twinges in there, unbidden.

You slip your hands into your pockets to mull it over, surprised when your hand bumps into something unexpected. Curling your fingers around it, you pull it out.

Still whirring away, your tape-recorder sits in the palm of your hand, record button blinking.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Take care of yourself, y/n.”

The tape clicks as it pauses, then revolves back with a scribbling sound.

“Take care of yourself, y/n.”

You hit pause, then hit rewind. Your finger hovers over the play button, contemplating if you’re really going to listen to this part of the tape over and over like a lovesick teenage girl.

You certainly feel like one. The tape must be wearing thin by this point.

Eyes screwing shut, you hit play.

“Take care of yourself, y/n.”

Hitting pause, you groan. You chuck the tape softly to the other end of the couch you’re draped across so you can’t be tempted to play it once more. Then you bury your face in your hands.

“This is getting pathetic.” you mumble to yourself.

The rogue meteor and your subsequent brush with Superman had occurred two whole days ago.

You’re rather thankful it had all gone down on a Friday. It has certainly given you ample time to waste. All of yesterday and today has been spent on that god forsaken tape and the graininess of Superman’s voice.

The audio was a little muffled, given the device had been pocketed away. There’s lots of rustling, louder than anything else, when you’d been running.

But your whole easy conversation with Maisie as she dawdled her way to Alma’s had been captured — including her a million questions for Superman, that he’d dutifully answered.

That’s not quite the part you’re stuck on though.

Sighing, you deflate into the couch. The image of his dimples, his smile, floats in. You have to mentally bat it away.

Man, why do you feel almost like you’re betraying your crush on Clark right now?

You drag your hands away and huff again at your own dramatics. There’s no betraying. Those crushes fall into the exact same box: unfathomable and impossible.

Sitting up, your eyes fall on the tape recorder. You regard it thoughtfully for a moment.

Beyond the selfish reasons you’ve been abusing the tape, there’s also the question of using it for an article. The idea has been circling your mind since Friday, since your first listen.

There’s a reason you’re the man on the ground. Sure, you can write but, well, you’re not quite top quality like Jimmy or Clark or Lois.

This one though, this tape, has you particularly inspired.

Plus, you’re not exactly jazzed at the idea of passing off the recording to one of your coworkers.

Jimmy? He’d probably latch onto your part in it all, some Superman-inspires-citizen-to-do-good angle. The thought makes your nose wrinkle - you don’t want to be the focal point.

Clark? Who already got Superman interviews? It’s hardly worth his time.

And Lois? No chance you’d turn the tape over to her. She’s so sharp, she’d probably notice the scratch in the audio from where you’ve paused and rewound — and then you’d never know peace.

Given your choices, or lack thereof, it really only leaves you with one last option.

Feeling more set than you have all weekend, you push up off the couch and retrieve your laptop. You settle it in your lap and get comfy, folding the screen up.

After a moment, you lean across and grab the tape recorder too, rewinding once more — this time from the very beginning.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

If someone were to describe you, you bet they'd say that today, you have a pep in your step. And screw it, maybe you do!

It's not every day that you get an article published in the Daily Planet, not with your more lackey-level job on the ground.

But it's more than that too. Not only is it published, but it's on the second page.

For some, that's all in a day's work. For you? It's nothing to sneeze at.

It's your most prolific article published to date in your whole year of working at the Daily Planet. You suppose you have some great inspiration to thank for that

And some of your coworkers are kind enough to take notice of your milestone.

Cat had squealed excitedly her congrats in the elevator earlier, whilst Jimmy had given you a nod of approval from across the bullpen. You're practically walking on air as you drop down into your seat.

For a change, Clark isn't late today.

Glimpsing the time, you watch him subtly out the corner of your eye as he spends the last few free minutes dropping a round of coffee.

The crush in you aches. You bury your yearning beneath your best attempt at looking busy, studying your computer screen.

It's broken instantly when Clark sits across from you and your eyes flit up at the movement.

He's already looking at you. With both hands on the cup, he holds your regular iced latte and presents it forward like a precious gift.

To you, it is. You wonder if it's written on your face, with how you can't bite back your smile.

"I'm sorry I can't get something better to celebrate with." He says as you relieve him of the cup. The condensation clings to your fingers, but you can only focus on the brush of his fingers.

"Celebrate?"

Clark's brow furrows. He regards you with a look that says you know what.

"It's only second page." You downplay.

Like you hadn't done a little dance when you got the email that Perry had greenlit it for the second page.

"Only?" Clark exclaims. If you didn't know better, you'd have no idea he'd copped multiple front page articles for the Planet. "C'mon, you must have some plans for a celebration."

If you're being honest, said plans included curling up on your couch and gorging yourself on Chinese food. Not quite a celebration, but still a treat for you.

"Not really." You admit honestly. The attention from him is making you bashful - and truthful.

Clark shakes his head at that. He plants his hands on the desk and leans forward, looking at you seriously over the rim of his glasses. "That just won't do. Let's do dinner."

After a moment, he seems to realise how pushy that might seem. Clearly (and thankfully), your glee is well-hidden as he retracts in a bit, sitting a bit straighter.

"I mean, that is- if you'd like. Would you?" He clears his throat. "Like to go to dinner?"

You have to wrestle to keep the grin from splitting on your face. Magically, you muster the calm to take a sip of your coffee, pretending to mull it over.

Across the desk, Clark pushes his glasses up his nose - almost nervously.

You get struck with the sudden thought that perhaps, crazily, your crush might not be as one-sided as you once thought.

"I meeean," You drag out the word as if you're still tossing it up. "I was pretty set on the #4 combo from Mr. Go's on my block."

Screw being a journalist, you should be an actor given the little twitch of Clark's brow. You don't let him stew for more than a moment.

"So, you could maybe join?" You offer, nearly holding your breath. "Come to mine?"

Your heart threatens to turn itself inside out from nerves. Somehow, Clark manages to sit up even straighter. He huffs out a breath, then he's grinning, dimples on show. He nods severely.

"To celebrate." He tacks on.

One of his hands has drifted up to fiddle with his tie, but you can't tell if it's tighten or loosen it.

"To celebrate." You agree with a nod. You have to press your lips together to contain your grin. It's a battle you're happy to lose.

And if you spend the rest of the day catching each other's eyes across the desk? That's your own damn business.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"I can't believe I've never heard of this place before!"

You laugh around your forkful of noodles at Clark's earnest excitement. He's had his first bite of food, and it's quickly been followed by his second, third, and fourth.

He looks up at you from the other side of your couch, eyes wide. "This has gotta be, like, Metropolis' best kept secret."

You laugh again and press a finger to your lips. That makes Clark laugh and the sound makes you feel a bit drunk.

He looks devastatingly at home on your couch. His suit jacket had been shed during your walk from the Planet, his tie loosened and stashed in his bag when you sat down to tuck into your food.

Now he sits, his sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up. The top button or two of his dress shirt have been undone.

You're nearly undone with it.

This is nothing like the Clark you've gotten to know at work, proper and kept. Sitting in your space, he's casual. Relaxed. Domestic.

It's not a stretch to imagine doing this every night.

It's a particularly nice evening too — even the sunset had tinted the colour of love on your walk back to your apartment, reds fading to a blush pink. Clark had held all the food at his own insistence.

The evening is darker now. A coolness blankets your apartment, amber streetlights reaching through the windows. There's some show playing on your television, but it's on low, barely a murmur.

"Last wonton?" Clark says, holding out the box. "It is your celebration night, after all."

Right. It hasn't felt much like a celebration— mainly because it's been feeling like a date.

It occurs to you that that feeling might not be mutual. You spear the wonton with your fork to give you something to swallow the bad feeling that thought gives you.

You've barely started chewing when Clark starts moving, gathering the plates from your coffee table.

"You don't have tuh—" You protest through your mouthful before you think the better of it.

Clark's already waving you off. The plates quickly form a tall stack and he scoops them up with one hand with remarkable ease.

"Please," He smiles. "I’ve left you with your share.”

He nods to the one plate and one fork still in use in your lap. Then he’s winding his way through the doorway to your kitchen before you can protest further — as if he owns the place!

You chew furiously through your wonton. "Don't do them all before I can help!"

No response beyond a laugh that makes you feel a bit melty. You slow your jaw, enjoying the food, and savouring the swallow.

You sit for a moment, soaking in the moment built around you. He’s here, in your space, and he’s taking care of you - seemingly quite happy to do so.

You’re reaching dangerous levels of hope now.

The plate clinks as you stack the fork atop it, climbing to your feet. You trace Clark’s footsteps to the kitchen.

He’s running the sink, bubbles foaming up in little tufts. He’s already rolled his sleeves back further, exposing the strong muscles in his forearm. His hands hidden are beneath the water, soaking your blue sponge and when he wrings it out, it manages to look extra tiny in his grip.

You take a moment to send a prayer for strength. Or luck. Insane luck. You’ll take either.

Adding your plate to the pile beside the sink, you grab the Garfield tea-towel hanging over the rail and sidle up to take the place next to him.

Wordlessly, Clark lets the suds run off the first plate and then hands it over.

You steal a glimpse at his face. This close you could count his lashes. They kiss together at the end, courtesy of his warm smile.

Side by side, the two of you work in comfortable silence. When passing the next plate, his elbow bumps up your arm and he leaves it there, pressed up lightly against you.

“You know,” Clark says idly, speaking as he scrubs at a pair of forks. “I’ve actually wanted to, uh,” He clears his throat. “Find a way to ask you out to dinner for, well, a long time.”

It’s a miracle you manage not to drop the plate in your hands. That prayer worked fast. Somehow, you recover enough to tease.

“You mean to tell me you hijacked my celebration night for your own gain?”

Without missing a beat, Clark says, “Maybe I did.”

He's completely sincere, nudging his arm against yours again. He rinses off the last plate and this time, instead of handing it over, he plucks the tea-towel out of your hands and starts drying.

With nothing to do with your hands, you’re left to deal with the conversation. You do your best to grasp your courage tightly. You wonder if he'll notice if you pinch yourself, to check if this is real.

“A long time, huh?”

Leaning your hip up against the kitchen counter, you echo his earlier words. Clark’s watching you, something that looks an awful lot like hope in his eyes.

“I…” You start. Your voice is getting quieter as your courage slips away and you can’t quite meet his gaze anymore. “I mean, I- me too.”

You hope he won’t make you spell it out — that he knows what you mean with just those words.

But Clark has never been cruel and he isn’t now. He places the final plate down gently, the tea-towel beside it.

Then he steps closer to you, bracketing you against the counter. It forces your eyes up, because staring at the hollow of his throat is almost as maddening as meeting his expression.

Clark’s smiling, a warmness in his blue eyes you haven’t realised is reserved just for you, til right this moment. His dimples, you bemoan silently. He’s beyond handsome.

He has no right to look like that - to look at you like that.

“Would it be improper of me then,” He begins. “To hope we might do this again?”

You have the sudden urge to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him stupid. Your hands, which have moved to hold the bench for support, are shaking just a bit.

“Not improper at all.” It’s barely a whisper.

His eyes drop to your mouth and that alone makes you feel dizzy.

“Great,” Clark grins, matching your tone with a low murmur. “Because there’s this woman I work with…”

Slowly, he reaches up and gently tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. The warmth of his hand feels like it’s scorching the side of your face. Your heart is in your throat - and in your head, your stomach, pulsing at the end of every fingertip.

“She’s incredible at what she does,” He continues, hand still hovering. “Beautiful too. And whip-smart—though, I’m beginning to question that, given she said yes to going out with the likes of me.”

That laugh startles out of you and it breaks Clark into a grin too. His eyes roam your face, as if he’s drinking in your joy.

He’s entirely too gorgeous. You have to grip the counter tighter to remain upright.

“Shut up.” you say weakly.

Clark’s eyebrows raise. “And a bit bossy too—”

“Shut up,” you say again, a little more breathlessly. “And kiss me, Clark.”

To his credit, Clark doesn’t waste a second.

The hand that had been hovering finds your neck, burying into your hair, while the other finds the edge of your waist.

He tugs you forward, lightly, but even so it’s enough to make you laugh in surprise - so when he presses his mouth to yours, you’re already smiling.

It makes the first kiss clumsy. You’re too smiley to kiss back properly. That apparently makes Clark smile too, his glasses pressing into the bridge of your nose before you break apart.

“That-” He breathes. “Gosh, sorry, I meant- that is, for it to be less,"

He struggles to pick the correct word. You guess for him.

"Improper?"

Clark laughs at that, his eyes shining with an ardent affection. It's enough to make you shiver in his hold. God, those eyes, that mouth.

"Yes, improper." He says, though he sounds utterly pleased. "Will you let me redeem myself?"

In answer, you finally let yourself give in to the urge that's been building. Fingers curling into the collar of his dress shirt, you have to press up on your toes, but Clark's already there, meeting you halfway.

He's tugging you in again, the hand on your waist tighter as he sweeps you up in a kiss that you'll be dreaming of for years.

Clark is an infuriatingly good kisser you're learning.

Plush lips against yours, your head spins. Through an impossible series of events, in your little kitchenette, you're being kissed by Clark Kent like there's no sweeter taste than your mouth.

Your hands slide up, arms winding around his neck, feeling as though you're floating on literal air.

And it's with that thought that the abrupt realisation that your feet are off the ground comes.

Perplexed, you draw back, blinking in your confusion. Has he lifted you up-?

It takes one glance to realise that yes, not only are your feet off the ground—but so are Clark's.

It gives you a violent shock, but instinct has you clinging closer to Clark as a startled yelp escapes you. Then you're on the ground again, so quick you'd think you imagined it, if not for the shock in your legs.

You scramble back in bewilderment, hands clambering for purchase on the counter.

"I-! That-! You can fly!" You exclaim, pointing at the ground where you had just levitated.

Clark starts to stammer. "I-I, it's not- listen, I can explain."

You stare at him, waiting, but Clark only smothers a hand over his mouth. He still looks terribly blushed from the kiss, cheeks pink and mouth undoubtedly the same. His glasses are askew.

Somehow, you know you're staring at a huge puzzle piece.

Screwing your eyes shut, you attempt to process the rolling rampage of thoughts streaming through your mind.

Clark Kent can fly!

Clark Kent kissed you! (Less important, but still a thought.)

Clark Kent is... not human?

Your eyes open again and Clark's still there, his hands now hanging off his neck. He looks terribly stressed, his own eyes screwed shut in thought.

"Okay, listen-" He says abruptly, eyes still closed.

"—No, wait," You interrupt, holding a hand up. You're nearly there, you know it. The realisation is so close you can almost taste it.

Who else do you know who can fly? Technically, there's more than a handful of meta-humans with the capability of flight — but squinting at your hot coworker crush, a particular one is coming to mind.

The moment you consider it, you know it to be true. You straighten up with an incredulous look - and Clark knows that you know.

Clark Kent is Superman! You kissed Clark Kent! You've kissed Superman!

"Oh, man." you say dazedly. Something compels your feet to move and mindlessly, you're walking to the couch. It sinks under you as you flop onto it, still reeling in your disbelief.

That would certainly explains the absences at work. Knowing your name, that day on the street. The same dimples you go crazy for. Now you've figured out the puzzle piece, you can't stop marvelling at how well it fits.

"y/n?" Clark has followed you from the kitchen, a wary look on his face, unsure what to make of your silence.

You blink, taking in the sight of him perched nervously on the other end of your second-hand couch and a delighted laugh is tickled out of you. "Of course, it's you."

Clark tenses up momentarily before he shifts to sit closer to you. "Okay, but, really, you have to listen—" He's pushing a hand across his face, knocking his glasses. Without thinking, he plucks them off his face.

Woah. So, that's why you hadn't picked it - given how when you look at Clark's face clearly, without his glasses, it's obviously Superman staring back at you.

Without much thought, you're clambering forward across the couch, closer, and taking his face between your palms. Clark watches you closely, still distracted with speaking - "—you can't tell anyone, I'm serious- What're you doing?"

You're tilting his face from side to side is what you're doing. "Of course," You say again, this time sounding a little more awed. "I mean, I wouldn't have picked it— it's the glasses, right? They have some sort of—"

Your sentence is cut off, Clark's hands reaching up to encircle your wrists. He holds your hands still and says you name once more, softer.

"You don't seem to be hearing me. Or," His eyes roam your face, searching for something. "You aren't really... responding how I thought you would. You can’t tell anyone."

His worry finally reaches you. You stop your near-frantic moment of revelations and breathe, feeling the concern in his words, shown on his face.

His brow is furrowed, eyes stormy. You can't stop looking at him. It's like you've never seen his face before.

"Do you really think I would?" You ask quietly.

Clark swallows, throat bobbing. After a moment, he answers honestly. "No. I don't think you would."

The truth of his statement sits in the air, blanketing the pair of you in something warmer, tasting of trust. You're looking at Superman —looking at Clark — and all you can think of is how it all makes sense. This, him, you—all of it.

Somewhere within you, the baby crush from Friday’s brush with Superman merges with your feelings for Clark. It fizzles in you, rushing through your veins. God, you like him so much.

"So,” You breathe. “What now?"

"What now?" Clark echoes. He's still holding your wrists, but his grip has softened. As if he's holding them to keep you close this time round. "I mean, I- well, if you still—that is to say... Dinner?"

He sputters through the sentence, landing clumsily on the last word. You're grinning before he's even finished.

"Dinner would be—" You pause for effect. "Super."

"Alright," Clark declares, shaking his head dramatically. "Date invitation revoked for that one. Are you kidding me? Already?"

He's released your wrists, getting to his feet and making a big show of it. Still, he's grinning and you're laughing, hopelessly enamoured. The laughter threads through your words.

"No take backsies."

“Alright, fine,” Clark huffs, crossing his arms. The bulge of his biceps draws your eye and this time, you let yourself look. You think you’ve earned it.

An unexplained question piques your mind.

“You didn’t mean to tell me.” You comment, tilting your head slightly. “Why did you fly?”

Whatever reaction you're expecting, it's not the glorious one that unfolds before your eyes. A blush paints Clark’s cheeks, but it doesn’t stop there. You can see it crawling down his neck, beneath his shirt. His ears are tinted red.

He scratches the back of his neck bashfully, avoiding eye contact. His voice has dropped in volume. “That’s… I… it happenswhenIgetexcited.”

“What?”

“It hasn’t happened for years!” The words suddenly burst out, Clark's hands held out. “It was more, like, when I was younger, yeah, if I got, like,” He begins to stammer. “Too excited, or- or happy, it would- just, oh gosh.”

He buries his face in his hands. You take a moment to process his words, brows rising to your hairline.

“Oh,” You sound pleased as punch. “Oh, okay, that’s just adorable.”

Clark straightens up, dragging his hands from his face and placing them on his hips. His face is still pinker than you’ve ever seen. He seems to accept his fate. “Thank you. I think?”

If he was still beside you on the couch, you think you wouldn't be able to resist kissing him once more. Instead, you lose the fight against your grin. You tuck up one leg and drape your arm across it, pressing your smile into your skin.

“You gonna have that under control in time for our next dinner?” You say.

Clark perks up at you words, as though he assumed the reason for his accidental flight might’ve scared you off. Like being excited could ever be bad.

“Yes.” He nods seriously. "Absolutely."

"Then," you say lightly, as though your heart isn’t pumping molten lava right now. You give a little shrug, aiming for nonchalant and fooling no-one. "It's a date."

Clark nods again, straightening up. He folds his arms, his posture serious, but you can still see it in his face - the joy. The excitement.

"It's a date." He agrees - and it sounds like the promise of much, much more than that.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

tagging sum lovelies i think might be interested <3 but no pressure @spideystevie @sanguineterrain @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @aarchimedes

[wandaslittleweirdo]

A/N: she’s so sweet and momma I can’t :(((. I want to do a part 2 of this with some more smutty stuff or lactation kink, tehe . — masterlist.

tw: age gap > reader is 20 wanda is 36, pet names (sweet girl, dear, angel), a lot of fluffs & wanda spoiling reader !1!1!1!!!!!1!

milfy!librarian!wanda ༝༝ fem!reader

ೀ “You finding everything okay, dear?” She asked softly.

Her eyes had found you from the far side of the room, where you were looking through the reference and special collections section, a notebook and mechanical pencil clutched tightly in your hands.

You wandered back and forth in that same category for almost an hour searching for something of interest. Each time you paused to pull out a book or crouched down to examine the titles on the lower shelves, Wanda’s gaze followed you. When you finally found a book you liked and went to check out, you saw her behind the counter, already watching with small smile on her face.

You had never seen a woman so beautiful in your entire life, and when she offered a little finger wave, the book slipped right out of your hands and hit the floor with a loud thud.

Upon first meeting, you were shy and couldn’t understand why this sophisticated and incredibly attractive older woman would be drawn to a somewhat directionless twenty-year-old girl like yourself. But despite your initial hesitation, her gentle demeanor and effortless charm put you at ease, even as you struggled to speak and stand up properly.

She always made time to ask about your school life, wondering how you were progressing with your studies. She loved the days when you burst through the library doors just as she was about to close up, watching as you would leap into the room with such enthusiasm, practically bouncing on your feet as you proudly announced your latest achievement—an A on a difficult test or a perfect score of 100% on an assignment. Her praises filled the air, and she would beam with pride, celebrating your success as if it were her own.

You could hardly contain your excitement as the soft creak of the library doors would mark your arrival, your heart swelling at the sight of Wanda behind the counter, bathed in the warm, dim glow of a single reading lamp. The library would be empty, and soon you'd hear her sweet, soft voice calling you over, a warm smile on both your faces, knowing a small treat awaited you.

With a twinkle in her eye, she’d reach into her pocket and pull out a small, shiny wrapper that glimmered under the light—a crinkled piece of gold foil. Inside lay a special chocolate, the fancy ones with an intricate swirl design and a tangy raspberry center. It was a little reward for your dedication to studying, calling you ‘her good girl’ as she stroked your cheek or your hair.

She would lean in, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she motioned for you to come behind the counter. "Come here and open your mouth nice and wide for me, sweet girl,"

You never hesitated, eager to hear Wanda hum softly in satisfaction as you obeyed her orders without a second thought. She’d place the chocolate on your tongue, her fingers grazing your lips.

When you would dress up all nice, you would discreetly glance out of the corner of your eye and watch as she left her spot behind the counter, completely forgetting about her duties just to come over and compliment you.

“You look even more beautiful than usual, angel. Did you do something to your hair?”

“Yes! I just styled it a bit.” You said, voice shaking slightly as she reached out to pick up a few of the soft strands.

“Who exactly are you dressing up for, then?” she asked, the words almost biting as they left her lips.

“…You.”

A mix of surprise and delight flashed across her face as she processed your answer. That was the first time you had said something even slightly bold towards her. She let out a soft, nervous chuckle, her cheeks tinged with a delicate blush.

“Oh, that’s great then! I was worried that you had plans for a date after this or something,” she confessed, and your smile grew.

“I promise, I’m only going home after this. I just wanted to look nice for you…”

She would keep the library doors open long into the evening just for you, took a genuine interest in the projects you did on the library computers and often stopped by with encouragement and guidance. She even took the time to understand your reading preferences, carefully selecting books that matched your interests. Whenever new titles arrived, she’d set aside the ones she knew you'd enjoy, creating a special collection just for you.

You once mentioned that you didn’t have your own computer—the second reason you spent so much time at the library. You barely had enough money for college; affording a personal computer was out of the question when the library computers were free and accessible to anyone. In that same conversation, you had also mentioned that your birthday was tomorrow.

The next day, she stopped you with a knowing grin. “I left something for you upstairs,” she said, gesturing toward the far corner of the second floor—your favorite study spot.

When you arrived, your usual table was overflowing with balloons, confetti, and piled with surprises: a brand-new computer wrapped perfectly with a ribbon, a letter stuffed with cash, and three rare, expensive books you’d been wanting for years. And perched at the very top of it all was a single cupcake.

Beside it sat a small note. You took it between your fingers, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. And then, as your eyes moved over the elegant curves of her handwriting, your heart nearly melted.

“…and a little treat for my favourite girl. Happy birthday—W.M. ♡”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[stevesgother]

https://www.tumblr.com/stevesgother/780437608598732800/httpswwwtumblrcomslutforpumpkins780377308353?source=share

this is me officially requesting this! imagine steve going to get abby to meet the new baby he’d be so gentle with her 🥺

oh anon i've been thinking about this since i saw you asked it, TEHE chalkboard hearts series masterlist steve harrington x fem!reader cw: depictions of labor & delivery, language, non-sexual nudity, pregnancy, fluids

"Steeeeeeve!" Abbey shouts sing-songily from the bathroom, "Mommy peed her pants!"

Steve's alarmed initially, though after everything you'd endured during this pregnancy, he wouldn't exactly be surprised if you had. His concern slowly morphs into puzzlement as he speed-walks towards the bathroom.

"I did not--ahh!" You wince at the sharp jolt of pain radiating just below your navel, "My water broke,"

"You what?" The blood drains from Steve's face so quickly that he feels light-headed. You feel mildly annoyed at his dramatics before remembering he's never had a baby before.

"It's not a big deal yet, we just need to call the doctor," You reassure your paler-than-a-ghost husband. He's taken a wide-legged stance in the bathroom doorway, his hands uselessly stiff at his sides.

"Does this mean the baby is coming?" Abbey, the least bothered of all of you, asks in a tone that's almost bored.

"Soon, babe, but not right this second," the feeling of amniotic fluid sticking to your sleepshirt and legs is frankly disgusting, "Steve, dear, could you please grab me a change of clothes," you ask through slightly gritted teeth. You don't mean to be frustrated with him, but you're wet and sticky and in a steadily increasing amount of pain.

"Yes-- yeah, of course. Just stay there--"

As if you had some sort of escape plan. You could barely waddle; your ankles were so swollen.

"Abbey, do you think you can pick out your own outfit for school today?"

Her lips twitch with an impending frown, "I thought I was gonna come to the hospital with you and Steve..."

"You'll come to the hospital after the baby's born. The waiting part is boring," you make a bleh face to really sell it. If only it really was as 'boring' as you're making it out to be.

Steve returns with your comfiest pair of lounge clothes, and any aggravation you might've felt dissipates instantaneously, replacing itself with a fond gratitude.

"C'mon, Ab, let's go get dressed, huh?" Steve asks a still skeptical Abbey, "I bet you can't beat me to your room..."

She's up in an instant, "Nuh-uh!"

"Three, two, one...go!" Steve counts and gives a false start. Abbey races out of the bathroom and down the hall, paying no mind that he's not hot on her tail. He almost feels guilty for tricking her.

"Where's the number for the OB?" He asks once you're finally left alone.

"It's-- mphh-- it's on the fridge, the paper under the dolphin magnet."

"Okay," he says, already turning on his heel.

"Steve, wait-- she's going to ask how far apart my contractions are, tell her nine minutes."

"Is that bad?"

"Steve."

"Right-- sorry. Be right back. Love you."

'Five minutes apart-- that's when you should head to the hospital.'

The advice of your obstetrician echos in your ears. You have time. You still have time. From the kitchen, you can hear Steve rambling to Doctor Sara over the landline, 'Okay...right...yes, we do...okay...see you soon...'

You grab a bath towel to attempt at soaking up the mess you've made all over the bathroom floor. If only you'd been on the toilet, or hell, even the shower would've been acceptable. You squat at a snail's pace, sucking in a harsh breath as you do. It feels more like an unpleasant pressure right now than true pain, but you're uncomfortable regardless.

"Hey--woah there hotshot," Steve admonishes when he returns and sees you doubled over and wiping the floor, "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning up my gross baby fluid so we don't get water damage?"

"Are you crazy?" He asks as he pulls you by the elbows to stand and ushers you to the bed, "Go sit down, would you? Jesus..."

You crack a subtle, shit-eating grin with your back turned to him. It's fun to raise his blood pressure a little sometimes-- keeps him quick on his feet.

The bed does feel heavenly once you're laying down though, all that pressure off your back. You try to stay cognizant of the speed at which your contractions are coming, but the duvet is so soft. And you've barely slept the last four nights. And your fan is humming a blissful white noise right by your ear. And--

"Mommy?"

Shit.

"Mommyyyyy?" Abbey shakes your shoulders lightly, "I wanna give you a kiss goodbye!"

"Okay," you grunt, "I'm up."

Abbey's little lips plant a kiss to your cheek, her arms wrapping around your swollen belly, "Will I be able to see the baby when I get out of school?"

God, you think, I hope so.

"Mhm, grandma will bring you right from school, okay?"

She bounces on her heels with an excited giggle in one of her adorable, albeit rare displays of affection for her soon-to-be sibling.

"See you later, love bug. Be good for your teachers today."

"I will!" She calls on her way out. Steve had been perched behind her throughout your exchange, waiting to give you a kiss of his own, "I'll be quick. Don't give birth while I'm gone, please?"

"I will try my very best." You smile wearily up at him from your place resting drearily against your pillows.

--

Steve walks with an arm protectively wrapped around your waist and your bag thrown over his shoulder as you waddle toward the non-emergency entrance to the hospital, "You got your heating pad?"

"Yep,"

"Okay," he snaps his fingers like he's trying to recall something, "Oh-- what about the swaddle thing?"

"Got that, too." You swallow a groan.

"And the adult diapers--"

You clear your throat abruptly, "It's a little late to be asking about all this now, isn't it?"

Steve makes a face as if to say 'touché'.

The glass doors slide open, immediately washing you in a sterile scent; but at least it's cooler inside the lobby. The air conditioning dries the beads of labored sweat beginning to form on your hairline.

"Last name is Harrington," Steve says as he approaches the front desk where a receptionist no older than twenty-three smacks her gum and flips through a magazine, "My wife is in labor; we see Doctor Sara?"

"A nurse will be out for you shortly." The receptionist tells you flatly, barely sparing you a glance.

A particularly sharp contraction ripples through your abdomen and you hiss, clutching your swollen belly. Your hand grips Steve's shoulder where you're using him to balance, your knuckles turning a pale white.

"How 'shortly'?" Steve presses, a tad frustratedly. Rarely do you see him this high strung, but even still, he has the patience of a saint.

"Harrington?" A short, stubby nurse calls from the triage doors, clipboard in hand. The receptionist only nods her head in the direction the voice came from before resuming her browsing of the latest Cosmo issue.

The nurse brought a wheelchair, thank God. Steve drops your duffle in an instant to help you lower into it, insistent on pushing it despite the woman assuring him that it's really no trouble. He reluctantly picks up your bag, settling on holding your hand instead.

--

Maybe you simply don't remember Abbey's birth, but you really don't recall it being this harrowing.

You've tried everything: bouncing on a yoga ball, taking laps around the hospital, a hot bath. Doctor Sara had administered Pitocin over two hours ago to try and stimulate contractions and therefore dilation. Nada.

You were back on the yoga ball now, head resting exhaustedly on Steve's shoulder. Despite how uncomfortable the crouching position must've been for him, he hadn't made a single complaint since you'd arrived. Doctor Sara emerged through your suite's door for what felt like the fiftieth time this evening.

"Alright, girlfriend," she only called you this when she had unsavory news, "I don't mean to alarm you, but baby's vitals are beginning to look abnormal." You felt your heart kick behind your ribs, "I know I'm not the first to tell you that this labor isn't progressing normally-- that being said, I'm officially suggesting we proceed with a c-section."

"No--"

"Sweetheart--" Steve attempts to reason, but it's futile.

"I had Abbey naturally, I want to have this baby the same way."

Steve's eyebrows furrow when he looks at you, turning to the hospital staff, he says, "Can you just... give us a moment?"

"Of course," Doctor Sara said, "I'll stop back in ten."

He nods in acknowledgement, an expression of gratitude on his face, as the rest of the nurses funnel out of the room. "I know this isn't how you pictured it--"

"Steve." You had blown past your limit hours ago. Anything he said to you at this point would be closely akin to poking a scared, incredibly bloated bear.

"Listen to me," he says, firm but not unkind, "We've waited hours. And if the baby's health wasn't in jeopardy, I would sit here with you for another six of them."

"I'm scared, Steve." Your voice wobbles, resigning to the reality of your current situation.

He brushes his knuckles across the damp expanse of your forehead, "I know, honey. I know."

--

You can't feel a thing from your chest down, but you can practically hear the blood rushing through your vascular system. White florescent lights buzz above your head. They make your eyes feel exceptionally heavy.

"You still with me?" Your husband asks where he's perched on a stool next to your head, holding your hand in a tight, reassuring grip. He squeezes twice; you nod. He'd been reading you the second Lord of the Rings book for some entertainment as well as a distraction. Admittedly not your first choice for literature, but you love him, so you let him continue.

"Almost there, baby. Then we'll get to meet our girl." He'd take the liberty of kissing your forehead if there weren't a KN95 mask covering the large majority of his face. For that matter, Steve was almost entirely covered in hospital PPE.

Your view of the gory scene you know is taking place just below your breasts is obstructed by a huge expanse of blue linen. Having lost track of time by now, you could've been laying there for another five minutes or another five hours.

That train of thought is abruptly interrupted by the shrill cry of an infant. Your infant.

"Congratulations," Doctor Sara says as she comes into view with the squirming baby in her arms-- she's holding it like a footlong sub, you think, against your better judgement. "You've got yourselves a healthy baby boy!"

"What?"

It takes every cell in your body not to laugh at the deer-in-headlights expression contorting Steve's features. 'Call it father's intuition,' his ass.

Every excruciating hour of labor, every bout of nausea, every mood swing, every sleepless night; it all felt worth it when they place your son on your bare chest.

--

"He's so tiny," Steve observes later that night as he cradles your boy to his chest. You watch from your place on the uncomfortably firm hospital bed, "What if I-- I don't know-- what if I drop him? Or something?"

"Steve," you giggle, despite the soreness of the healing incision on your stomach, "Don't say that. You're not going to drop him."

He's silent for a long, long moment, "What do we do now?"

Isn't that the question of the century?

"Well, we have to name him. For starters."

"Yeah, there's that." He ponders for a minute, "How about Gabe?"

"Ugh, no. I dated a kid in high school named Gabe," your face sours at the memory, "I was thinking... maybe Michael?"

"That's my dad's name." Steve deadpans.

"Oh, shit-- that's right."

Knock Knock.

Your mother's face peers around the slightly ajar door before pushing it open the rest of the way, letting herself and a bright-eyed Abbey into the room. For the first time maybe ever, your daughter doesn't barrel into the room like a bull in a China shop. She takes quiet, deliberate steps towards you, Steve and her baby brother.

Her hands twitch at her sides when she approaches Steve, like she itches to touch his little button nose or have him wrap his tiny hand around one of her fingers.

"Ab, this is your little brother." Steve tells her in a whisper.

"Can I hold him?"

"For sure-- go sit with mom and I'll give him to you,"

Abbey climbs cautiously into bed next to you, taking extra care not to shuffle you around too much. You would've started having babies a long time ago if it meant your daughter being this calm. You wrap an arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to her temple. Oh, how you missed her while you were away.

Abbey, seemingly also wanting to know, asks, "What's his name?"

"We're not sure yet," you tell her as Steve gently sets her brother in her arms; she cradles him like he's the most precious baby doll she's ever laid eyes on.

She stares down at his face in awe, while you and Steve stare at each other. Tired, but so content. Your mom strokes the downy hairs on the top of his head, tears staining her cheeks.

"Maybe Lucas?" Abbey suggests after a few moments of precarious silence.

"Why Lucas?" You inquire.

"That's the boy's name in my favorite book," she says simply. Maybe naming your child didn't need to be so complicated.

"Would we call him Luke for short?" Steve interjects, grinning.

"Only I would," she declares. Your heart swells twice it's size.

"I think that's a beautiful name, Ab." You tell her, kissing the crown of her head tenderly.

And so he was: Lucas Theodore Harrington. His middle name to honor your late grandfather, and a first name picked by his very first and very best friend.

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383 @i-love-gfv @the-fairy-anon

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Nypmh

Media - EPIC The Musical Saga Character - Prince Telemachus Of Ithaca Couple - Telemachus X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 17+ Word Count - 1008

Not 100% on who made the Telemachus art I used this time, if someone knows please let me know cause I am not sure.

Telemachus stood on the small ship's deck watching as the island came into view. It was only a short trip to have a diplomatic meeting with the king of a neighbouring island, but it still made him feel rather guilty. He never liked to leave his mother alone in the palace, but he had left his best men to guard it. Nor did he like leaving Argos, but he knew the older dog could take care of himself. In years past kings and lords knew the situation of Ithaca, so when discussions were needed they all visited Ithaca. But the older Telemachus had gotten, and the more responsibilities he had to take on, the more of these trips he had to do.

The ship soon came to the stone docks and there Telemachus was met by a commander, who stood by the docks in a long purple robe, with his sword at his side.

“Prince Telemachus Of Ithaca,” He greeted arms open as he stepped closer, “A pleasure to see you again,”

Telemachus shook the man’s hand, “Greetings Lord Commander.”

“I trust your journey was fast and eventless?”

“Yes, by the gods.” He nodded, “Do you know what it is the king wishes to discuss?”

“You’re guess is as good as mine,”

The lord commander led Telemachus through the imposing gates of the palace. They arrived at a small guest suite. With a fire burning, a bed made ready and a balcony with views across the vast water. The curtain’s softly billowing in the breeze.

“The king will summon you when he is ready,”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Lord Commander.”

“You are welcome, My prince.” He bowed before leaving the suite to attend to other business.

Telemachus sighed and ran a hand through his hair, he had some food and wine to clear his mind. He wanted to sleep but he knew the king had a habit of demanding meetings at strange times and getting angry when the summons didn’t immediately appear to his audience. So he just took a seat on the bed to try and clear his mind.

“Tehe he he he…” A little giggle caught his attention,

He raised an eyebrow and looked around the room trying to find the source of the sound.

“Hee he he he…” Another little giggle came from the balcony,

Telemachus slowly went out onto the balcony glancing around the pillars, until he caught the mysterious giggler.

A girl had her head poked around the pillar but when she saw him she hid behind the pillar,

He couldn’t help but smile as he took a step closer, “Hello? You can come out… Come on? I won’t bite,” he chuckled,

She slowly leaned her head out, a long bubble braid of hair held with silver jewellery hung down almost to her feet,

He smiled and leant on the stone, “Hi,”

“Hi.” she giggled,

“And who might you be?”

“Y/n.” she giggled,

“Y/n?” He smirked, “And why are you doing on my balcony, Miss Y/n?”

“I wanted to see if the prince was handsome,”

“Oh?” He laughed, “And is he?”

She nodded excitedly,

“You’re sweet,” he smiled, “But come on, you need to let me see you so I can tell if you’re beautiful too?”

y/n giggled and happily came out from behind the pillar revealing her body draped by a thin blue and lilac dress with silver jewellery,

Telemachus couldn’t help but smile, admiring her. “I was right, very beautiful,” he softly took her hand to help her down with him where he slowly wrapped his arms around her,

She giggled and happily pushed her body up against his,

“You are very sweet, very beautiful too… and trouble,” he smirked his eyes running over her and slowly his hands slid across her dress,

She giggled and nuzzled her head under his chin,

“Ohh you’re definitely trouble,” He smirked as he tightened his arms around her and picked her up,

She playfully squealed and giggled as he carried her inside and sat down on the bed pulling her onto his lap,

He tightened his grip on her to keep her close running his hands slowly across her body through her thin dress peppering her skin with little kisses, “Humm, such a sweet little nymph.” he smirked his hands sliding down to her thighs, his hand squeezing her thigh hard, inhaling her sweet scent, making little effort to hide the excitement she was causing below his Chlamys, “What’s the matter my little nymph? Aren’t you used to men having this effect on you?”

“Most boys don’t get to see me.” she giggled,

“No? I must be very lucky then,” he smirked massaging her thighs as he pushed up her dress, “Or all the men here are fools not to see how perfect you are,”

Y/n squealed playfully but wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him into a deep kiss,

Telemachus returned the kiss pulling her hard against his body as they kissed, their hands exploring one another impatiently,

But just before he could begin unlacing her dress-

“Prince Telemachus, Our king is ready for his audience with you!” A man called from beyond the door,

Telemachus groaned as he pulled back enough to speak, “Ughh- Yes! Thank you. I’ll be there in a moment,” He softly pushed Y/n off his lap and onto the bed, he got to his feet and adjusted himself so it was less obvious he was so hard below his clothes, “Duty calls my sweet,”

She playfully pouted as she lay on the bed purposely tormenting him,

He chuckled, “Do not be cruel to your poor prince,” He told her leaning down to kiss her again, “I won’t be long. Stay out of trouble till I get back, my little nymph,” He said before he headed for the door, but he had to turn back and look at her one more time,

She playfully waved and blew him a kiss,

He chuckled back and blew her a kiss too, “Wait there for me Y/n.” He winked before he left to go and meet with the king.

[notartisticdraw]

URGGG I FEEL SO CRINGE YOU GUYS IM CRINGE IM CRINGE!!!!

anyways i don't often do this, but I made a ship kid (kinda??????) for retrorock // freshgrease. its name is goulash. its design is still a work in progess, so don't take anything as absolute here

it was created during a freak accident between fresh and greaser when fresh's host body was dying, and he needed to move into another host body before it died, so greaser allowed fresh to infiltrate his. some real nasty work happened (I haven't worked out the exact details yet lolol), and a piece of greaser's soul and fresh's parasite fused or whatever and escaped. that was goulash. and straight after it slipped into some unfortunate AU and took a host body, though very violently, creating a huge star-shaped fracture around the left eye. goulash does this with every host body it steals.

this also means goulash was never a child at any point (unlike literally all the other ship kids). it'll always steal adult host bodies since kid hosts are too weak (and totally lame)

uh anyway. I've been working on his personality and design more than his origins, and all you need to know currently is that he's really really stupid and designed off of old rockstars

though i feel really cringy for adding him with the other ship children (bc I feel like I'm almost forcing him in there when it feels like he doesn't belong bc nobody knows him), I have quite a few comics and pieces featuring him so people better understand his character since I genuinely think he'd be a lot of fun (and hey if people are interested in him, then later I'll officially flesh out everything and make his origins public)

anyway upset i didn't add lux :( I love her sm, but she came to mind afterward. also don't look into the logistics of both pj and cray being here. it's better not to think about it

Goulash - me (unfortunately)

Palette Roller - @lasseutblogo

Paperjam (tehe i love drawing him sm) - @7goodangel

Spray Cray - @spraycray

Goth Reaper - @nekophy

[livfastdieyoung69]

hi pooks I NEED some post rumble soothing ARARRA

just reader having to comfort a pissed off punk who or drew.. or both tehe *kicks feet*

(CM Punk x kinda bratty!reader x Drew Mcintyre)

so…i accidentally made drew & punk comforting reader n didn’t realize until i finished :)) sorry pooks love u im a dummy

The Truest Love

The rumble had been…rough. Both of your boys were upset, especially Punk, and honestly, so were you. You had all been in the rumble, and every single one of you had faced a rough exit. Drew was pissed about all of the drama with Priest, and stormed out of the arena, Phil had just been eliminated by Logan Paul of all people, which said enough, and you had accidentally been eliminated to early. Considering you weren’t expecting it, you almost fell head first into the stairs and just about killed yourself. You weren’t able to make it out without a concussion, though.

With Drew no where in sight (you were hoping he’d just gone back to the hotel or something), and Phil currently walking up the ramp absolutely devastated, you couldn’t find it in you to do anything but dissociate and stare off at the floor of the hallway. In your concussed and very much distressed state, it seemed like a better idea to sit on the cold floor than…well, anywhere with an actual place to sit, apparently.

“You okay down there?” A wrestling boot nudges your thigh, Pink and Black with the Chicago stars. You don’t really feel like looking up, and Phil’s shoes gave him away so you just grasp at the shiny pink and black, resting your head on his knee with a sigh. “Is that a yes or a no?” You groan. “Alright, a no.”

He shuffles down a little, grabbing your hand from his boot, and sits down next to you.

“What the hell are we on the floor for, honey?” His voice is that little bit of soft that makes you melt against his shoulder, the ice pack between the back of your head and the wall slipping out, his hand patting against your knee before he moves to grab it and shove it between your head and his shoulder instead.

“Gotta concussion.” You mumble, pulling his hand into yours when he’s done. “N’ Drew left.”

“He left?”

“Got mad ‘bout somethin’.” The two of you fall back into silence for a moment until Roxanne Perez walks by (she had to step over your feet) and asks, very concerned, if you’re okay. Phil stands back up to assure her everything’s fine, and eventually she leaves, albeit, still pretty worried.

“Is it a reasonable ask of me to want you off the floor?” Your eyes fall close in another groan, but he interrupts. “I don’t care where you go, as long as it’s a real seat. I gotta stay for the press conference but-“

“Noooo!” You pout. As much as the boys called you a brat, they never failed to cave from one glance of the puppy dog eyes.

“I’m tryin’ my best here, hun’, there isn’t much I can do. I guess I can call Drew, and we can hope he answers.” He’d left his phone in the locker room, but luckily it was just around the corner. He rushes to grab it and flies back over to where he’d left you with the phone already pressed to his ear. It rings for a while before you can hear the Scottish accent mumbled through the phone. You pull yourself up the best you can with the help of one of the travel crates.

“Yeah, they’re concussed to all hell, it’s-“ You yank the phone from his hand. He calls your name, exasperated, but you ignore it.

“D, come pick me up.” He’s quiet on the other side, just sighs at you with a similar tone to Phil.

“Now, please.” Punk manages to pry the phone from your fingers, and tugs you closer to rub your back when you start whining some more. He hangs up after a bit, and turns his attention back to you.

“He’s on his way. We’re going to go over to the Guerrilla, so you can stay with other people and not hurt yourself any more-” You scoff, and try to roll your eyes but it makes your head throb a little extra. “yeah, just like that, don’t do that- and I’m going to grab your shit so you can get out of here. Alright?”

“Mmh.” You lay your head back on his shoulder, and the hand rubbing your back settles on your waist, pushing you to move forward with him.

“Alright.” Punk confirms to himself. The walk to Guerrilla is blurry to you, and honestly, so is the wait. It wasn’t long, but Roxanne was attempting to have a full conversation with you (it wasn’t going well). You can’t really remember the walk to Drew’s rental either, only Punk’s calloused hands helping you up from the chair, grabbing your bag from where he’d plopped it down, and hovering over you while you stumbled your way through the arena. When Drew steps out of the rental, your fuzzy mind clears a little.

“Drewww,” You tumble towards him, wrapping around his waist. “You left me!” He tuts at you, hand cupping the back of your head.

“Jesus,” He starts, looking over to Punk behind you, and pulling you just a little closer. “Didn’t think it’d be this bad.” Phil nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, this is their second concussion, it’s actually better than the last. First time, wouldn’t stop cryin’ all over the place and it just made everything hurt more.” He sighs it out, then moves to throw your bag in the back seat. Seeing you, all pouty and stuck onto Drew, Phil can’t help but dote on you a little before he has to go back.

“Ready to get out of here, honey? Go take a bath or somethin’?” His hand rubs up and down your back again, the warmth seeping through (his) your shirt. You start nodding against Drew before realizing that meant you’d have to leave Punk. You start turning towards him, and the look on your face, eyes gleaming and lips frowning, brings him even further back into the memories of your first concussion back in AEW.

“I want you to come,” Your hand reaches out to him, splaying across his tummy. “Please?” Christ almighty, you were absolutely gone. A real please? Punk wasn’t sure he’d ever heard one of those from you. His hand moves to hold yours against his midsection instead of continuing to rub your back.

“I’ll be real quick. Promise, okay?” He tilts his head down at you, his little bangs falling with it, before continuing. “I’ll ask Paul to have me be the first one out there, you won’t even notice i’m gone.”

Finally he gets you to relent with little to no tears fallen, and the both of them lead you into the passenger seat with big, gentle hands. You did grab onto Phil and refuse to let go for quite some time, but eventually, with the help of Drew, forehead kisses, and lots of sweet words, he manages to pry you off and basically runs back into the arena.

“Alright,” Drew plops down into the drivers seat, shutting the door and turning the car on, quick to get on the move. “Let’s get on with this, Lover, yeah?” He pats your thigh, keeping one hand on you for the rest of the drive.

What a way to start the year. The three of you only hoped for a better Wrestlemania.

happy day 1 of wrestlemania hoes 😛 mostly everything went swimmingly for me today, w my girl tiffy & mr rollins comin out on top

ignore that this is three months late, hoping to get another out before tuesday! i got monday off too:)))

title is the kublai khan tx song i couldn’t help myself

there’s prolly so many mistakes in this i’m sorry i broke my glasses (i stepped on them) and i have to blue tac them together as a last resort im also just rlly tired and finished this on my phone

[damn-stark]

Chapter 15 I was born something

Chapter 15 of Moonlight

A/N- Soulmatism is both being called to power at the same time, one shrouded by darkness and the other illuminated by bright flames.

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy and sexual harassment, ser gwayne (not bad I just want to say he's in this chapter tehe) angst!!, fluff!!, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x05-and the very beginning of 2x06

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

He listened to your breaths as they came and went. They’re calm, and the most sweetest song.

Worry once plagued him, it clashed into him the moment he saw you falling under that fainting spell, he was lucky to have been so close otherwise, you would have hit the ground. Yet he didn't take that as a sign of luck at that moment. His worry brought out the worst of his anger he is willing to admit, but why shouldn’t he be upset?

He saw you fall, you could have been dying, and there’s nothing that he could’ve done to prevent death from taking you away from him, so all he knew how to be was desperate. There was no other emotion that would’ve felt right, not even as the maester was checking you.

Did it help in that situation? No, you would have told him that, his mother would have told him that, but he didn’t care, he was terrified until the exact moment the maester revealed you were with child with twins. He felt a bliss wash over him at that moment, like the sun breaking through dark clouds made by a raging storm.

Yet his worry was all but gone, it lingers even still, like sprinkling rain after the worst of the storm. He admires you as you sleep, he admires the way the sun kisses your soft skin making you illuminate even more divine than you already are. He takes note of the way your eyelashes kiss your skin, and the way your lips gently rest on each other. He could watch you for hours on end, his peace in the chaos of the world, his way of life; without you, life would be dull, lifeless, bleak, black and white, boring, and almost pointless.

How could other people find a way to love someone else? Sure he seeked company in someone, it’s his greatest sin and he will never commit it again. Not even if you die. If it was his responsibility to have more children to secure his succession then he would do his duty, but he wouldn’t love her, he would think of you, your smile, your laugh, your beauty, your touch, and your enchanting song because he knows no one would ever love him like you love him.

It’s pretty foolish of you to love him after what he’s done to break your heart, but for some reason, you keep clinging onto him like when you were young. You had a chance to escape, to laugh and point with the others, but you never did, and you never have. It’s perhaps the only weakness in you, but he’s grateful, blessed, and glad that you continue to love him unconditionally.

It’s why he has to protect you. You and your son—your children.

“Aemond.”

He hears the call and looks at the intruder who barged in without warning; seeing his mother walking in with worry filtered in her big brown eyes.

“How is she?” She asks.

Aemond returns his attention to you in hopes you’ll wake soon and continues to stroke your knuckles with his thumb as he refuses to let your hand go.

“The maester said she will be fine,” Aemond shares. “It was her grief and the fact that she did not eat.”

Alicent walks down the two steps that lead to the bed and watches her son and his refusal to miss a single breath that escapes you.

“How did you tell her?” She asks with a hint of judgment clinging onto her. “I hope you did not just blurt it. She may be on our side, but the others are still her family that she loves, you need to be careful when you share such dark words.”

Aemond huffs and turns his head to pass her a brief glare that she misses as she watches you.

“Did you know?” He asks and chooses not to comment on the fact that he knows how to talk to you, he’s no imbecile. “She’s with child.”

Alicent’s brown eyes find him and he quickly looks back at you. “Yes, Helaena told me last night. She just found out, which is why I warn you that you need to be—”

“I know,” he cuts his mother off impatiently. “I know how to talk to her. I’m no fool. I’m not…mhm,” he chooses to leave Aegon out of the conversation.

“Twins, Helaena says,” Alicent chooses to ignore what was at the tip of his tongue and reaches the foot of the bed to watch Aemond and his short-lived bliss. “Congratulations. You must be happy.”

Aemond tilts his head, making his hair cascade over his shoulder and hide the faint smile that tugs on his lips, and stays while he reaches his hand over to caress your belly with a feathered touch.

Before he can express his joy, or give any positive reaction at all, he takes a deep breath as if the next words that are coming out of him are going to hurt to say, causing his happiness to dimishness as worry makes itself plain to see.

“One…twin is smaller than the other the maester says,” he says in a voice that’s so rare for Alicent to hear nowadays. “What does that mean?”

He looks over at his mother for help, for reassurance that it will be fine. As if her words were the salvation.

“Just that,” she tries to comfort Aemond’s worry that begins to ache her own heart even if she tries hard to fight it. “Sometimes it tends to happen with twins, one takes more than the other, but,” she breathes out deeply and looks at you with more worry than she offered her son. “It’s still early, it will resolve.”

Aemond’s eye stays on his mother to take in more comfort but when he finds none his eyes return to you and tries to believe the little help his mother offered with a faint smile—No, he smirks now and this time Alicent doesn’t miss it.

“This war will take a lot from us, but my children will be the future of my house. I will make sure of it,” he says, making Alicent’s lips twitch to a frown while her eyebrows knit together with conflict brought by his choice of words.

A gleam proceeds to catch her eyes and when she locates where it comes from, she sees Aegon’s Valyrian steel dagger strapped to his belt as if it was a trophy he won and needed to show off to everyone who had eyes.

“Be easy on her,” Alicent musters as she breathes out her conflict. “And don’t involve her in your warpath, Aemond.”

He scoffs but doesn’t counter, he instead interjects softly. “She won’t be happy about it.”

Alicent chuckles breathlessly. “No, she will not, it seems she inherited her ferocity from both parts of her family.”

He hums and slides his hand away from your belly to cup your hand with both of his large hands to be able to bring your hand up and kiss your knuckles.

“She won’t wake,” Aemond mutters ever so softly with a hint of desperation that escapes as if asking for help without outright expressing it at this moment where it’s just her and him.

“Give her time,” she offers him some console. “The maester said she will be fine, so she shall. She’s lost a lot in a short time…it’s not easy. “

Aemond answers with silence whilst he brings your hand down to rest it on the bed without letting it actually escape from the security of his hold.

“My Prince,” a third visitor interjects in the silence and steals the attention of both Aemond and Alicent. “King Aegon’s carriage is approaching the city.”

At the mention, Aemond sits up straight, and that softness that his features were cast under slowly hardens just as he gives the guard a response. “Let me know when he’s reached the Red Keep.”

Alicent watches the guard take in Aemond’s demand without hesitance before he takes off, leaving her troubled by her conflict as she watches her son act too unbothered by what befell his brother.

He should be furious, but his rage is missing. He should be overcome with worry that his King and older brother was wounded in battle, but his worry is just placed on you and you alone.

——

*YOU*

She was there, the day you touched the clouds for the first time. She was there when you knew nothing was better than being a part of the never-ending sky. She was there because the first dragon you ever rode was Meleys.

“My mother was seven years old when she first took to the skies,” you remember pointing out with disappointment because you just turned seven and you could not mount your dragon yet. You were too young, your mother said.

You never realized then that she was just protecting you, after all the sickness that plagued you since you were a babe had barely been expelled from your body, she just wanted to make sure that nothing took you from her just as she was assured you would live a long life after all.

Nevertheless, that disappointment was short-lived, your grandmother had made sure of that.

“Actually I talked to your mother and guess what?” She began to tease you while you caressed Meleys’ snout much to your dragon's jealousy.

“What is it?” You’re too impatient to play.

A smile brightens her face before she gives you the answer. “You can fly with me. I know it’s not the same as flying your own dragon, but that time will come soon. As for now, we can mount Meleys together and we can take to the skies together as a name day present from me.”

You remember the joy that overcame you at that moment. Sure you still wanted to mount your own dragon, but her offer did satisfy that desire. It is like having a snack when you’re hungry, it does not fulfill you but it does keep you satisfied for a while. That’s how it was. You were satisfied at that moment, you were happy to be in the sky. It was the best moment of your life, you knew you would die happy if death had chosen to take you that day.

It was an exaggeration, of course, you realized that not long after, but you were only seven then and you were in the clouds for the first time. You could finally stop imagining how they felt because you could feel the moistness soak your fingertips as you tried to reach them while Meleys ascended higher. And when she was lost within the fluffy white clouds, the water soaked your face, but you did not care. You were carefree.

Nothing occupied your mind at that moment, nothing worried you. You felt as weightless as the clouds, and you beamed as bright as the sun in the sky. Your dreams hadn’t come true yet, you needed to take to the skies on the back of your own dragon, but the gift of flying for the first time was all thanks to her. She gave you that experience, she made you happy at that moment and never failed to make you happy as you got older. She never stopped protecting you…but…you did fail her.

You’re in King’s Landing for a reason, aren’t you? To report to your family the war plans, the comings and goings of the most valuable members in the Green faction, the decisions that are made around the council table, and any other plans that the Green council may have. You’re here to warn your family so they can get an advantage, so they can get closer to the throne, so they don’t run such a high risk of getting wounded or dying. But your grandmother died regardless.

You failed her, you failed them. You failed at the one thing you were supposed to do and now you lost someone else you love. And the crazy thing is that you don’t hate or blame Aemond for what happened, you blame yourself.

The weight of guilt lies on you because you couldn’t do the one thing you were supposed to do. Because no matter how hard you try you can’t be something valuable. That’s all you wanted, that’s why you left in the first place, to prove to your mother that you could be reliable, that you can be a fierce warrior, that you aren’t just a princess in a castle, and that you can be so much more. You wanted to be so much more, prove to her that you can be important, valuable, and fierce. That part of you is there, you wanted to show her that, but your grandmother died, and with her lies that fight. You feel like nothing now…

Daemon would be so mad…and you shouldn't care what he has to think about you, but how can you not after you failed so miserably? After your grandmother died and her dragon along with her?

You’re mad at yourself—no, you’re furious at yourself. If you had been better perhaps she would still be alive.

“Ready?” You tug yourself away from your train of thought and focus on Aerion before you grab a raw piece of meat from the bowl beside you, and place it down in front of his hatchling.

“Shrykos, <Dracarys>,” you command.

Shrykos tilts her little head before blinking and glancing at Aerion as if waiting for the okay. But your son can’t answer, he just watches Shrykos, and the hatchling watches him.

“Shrykos, <Dracarys>,” you repeat the command, making the hatchling now look at the piece of meat in front of her before she opens her mouth and lets out a small blast of fire.

Aerion watches the fire engulf the small piece of meat, the way the flames come out of his dragon's mouth to cook the meat and he can’t help but giggle and wave his fat little arms.

“<Good job, Shrykos,>” you praise the hatchling.

Aerion’s head turns to you and he coos, making a smile spread on your mournful face. “Shrykos,” you repeat to your son, making him study you before he coos after you as if trying to say his dragon's name too.

“Yes!” You clap. “She’s your dragon. Shrykos.”

Aerion coos the same way again and his dragon this time scurries over to him to sit in between his legs.

“Your mother would be delighted to see the way he interacts with his dragon,” Vanessa comments, making you smile wider.

“She would,” you muse and reach over to try and caress your son's head, but you must have reached out to him too quickly because suddenly Shrykos snaps her head towards you and shrieks out at you.

“<Whoa,>” you gasp in surprise yet also awe because she’s grown to be so protective in such a short time. Jacaerys was right, having Aerion bond with a dragon can protect him in ways some guards can’t.

“<It's okay. Calm down, girl.>” You try to ease her worry. “<Calm.>”

The dragon’s eyes don’t leave you for a solid minute, she watches you carefully until Aerion starts to cry.

“She meant no harm,” you assure him as you’re able to grab him now and bring him up with you as you stand to your given height, causing the hatchling to flap her delicate wings to perch herself on your shoulder and remain close to Aerion.

“It’s okay,” you continue to try to console him before you wipe away his tears and press a kiss on his cheek.

Shrykos watches the interaction and stretches her neck out to coo softly at Aerion as if trying to mimic you in calming him down.

“See? She’s just worried about you,” you tell Aerion, and he sniffles just seconds before his attention focuses on the pendant that you found around your neck after you woke up.

“Of course,” you mutter with an amused smile and watch him grab your pendant before he yanks it back towards him, pulling a gasp out of your mouth. “Gods.”

Aerion pulls the pendant to his mouth but you grab his hand and shake your head. Yet before you can pull the pendant away, the doors open and snatch your attention to your husband walking in and coming to an immediate halt when he sees you on your feet.

“Aemond,” you greet him with a faint smile.

Said man takes a step forward and his eye studies you hard as if making sure you’re really there, that you’re not some ghost set out to bid a last goodbye; while also trying to figure out if your smile directed at him is real or feigned. After all, you both know who brought down Meleys and your grandmother. It wasn’t Aegon you both knew that.

Yet no matter how hard or how long his eye remains fixated on you, that sweet smile doesn’t falter or fade, that smile on your face turns to a grin actually.

“What is it?” You break him from his stupor whilst also trying to tug your pendant away from Aerion’s mouth.

“You…” Aemond trails off and finally breaks away from the cast your mere presence put him under to close the distance that keeps you apart. “You should be abed. Not on your feet.”

You roll your eyes and approach Vanessa to hand Aerion to her, causing the little hatchling to disembark your shoulder and instead fly over to Vanessa’s.

“I’m fine,” you direct at Aemond as you turn to face him and find your body moving toward him. “I ate, I—”

“Vanessa,” Aemond snaps at your handmaiden with a glower that you get in between.

“Stop, don’t snap at her, talk to me,” you ease the worry you see weighing down on him.

Aemond’s eye flickers to you, but he also wants to scold Vanessa for not keeping you abed where you’ll be safe so he parts his lips to argue, but you finally meet him halfway and grab his arm, focusing all his attention back to you as if you were the center of the universe.

“Leave her be. I stood up, you know that. I am not an invalid, I just should've been more careful,” you add to your case. “But I ate. I’m feeling stronger already.”

His chest rises high as he takes in a deep frustrated breath before he lets it all go and is left with worry.

Before you can continue to address the matter at hand though, you turn your attention to Vanessa. “Take him to Helaena and Jaehaera, she has Morghul out too, he and Shrykos can bond.”

Vanessa nods and doesn’t linger behind, she leaves your quarters rather quickly, leaving you to face your husband and slide your hand down his arm to grab his hand.

“I’m fine,” you tell him one more. “The news just didn’t settle well, plus I was on an empty stomach, it all just overwhelmed me, but I’m fine…we’re fine,” you finish in a whisper and pull his hand toward you to press his palm against your belly.

“I’m sure the maester broke the news,” you continue with a proud smile that he misses because he watches your intertwined hands caressing the spot where your twins are growing.

“Twins,” he whispers with no worry clinging to his voice, it's soft and full of awe just like his eye.

“That’s why I haven’t been feeling hungry, and why I’ve been uncomfortable,” you address the matter. “They’re the reason.”

Aemond’s eye goes to you and now endearment also accompanies the already sweet feelings his eye expresses. You want to follow up with more, but your lips part, and a single breath escapes past your lips as you stand there feeling seen, appreciated, and loved under his gaze, but also feeling worry and guilt strike your heart as he looks at you.

You want to share it, you want to spill out what troubles you, but your words get caught in your throat when Aemond goes down on one knee and presses a gentle kiss on your belly before he rests his forehead against it.

Now at this very moment, the tension of war is forgotten completely. You exist only in your bliss.

“I wanted to tell you. I had half the mind to fly to Rook’s Rest the moment I found out to tell you, but I resisted my urge,” you share as you swing your arm around his head to caress it gently as he keeps his forehead pressed against your belly. “So can you just pretend I told you and that the maester didn’t ruin it?”

He chuckles softly and tilts his head up to meet your gaze as he remains on one knee. “He also told me about one of them being smaller than the other.” He brings up and the blissful paradise comes crumbling down as the guilt and the worry return.

“Yes, he told me too…” you trail off and gulp. “I-I don’t know what that means. He said he’ll monitor me, but…I’m scared.”

Aemond pushes himself up to tower over you again and grabs your face with a gentle touch as if he's afraid he’ll break you if he's too rough.

“My mother said it happens,” he now comes to your aid even if he doesn’t really know either. “They’ll get stronger and be equal after a while.”

You don’t find comfort in Alicent’s words, you need to hear them from your mother or read her own words to feel completely comforted.

“Ok,” your voice trembles. “Aemond,” you say and grab his hands. “I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows pinch together so you quickly respond to his confusion. “If being with child is an inconvenience right now. Everything is so chaotic, I’m sorry if I have become a burden—”

“Quiet,” he cuts you off and pulls you to him. “Shut up. You are the furthest thing from a burden or an inconvenience. Don’t apologize. Don’t torment yourself. We are blessed. That’s all. The risks you’ll take are just fewer now, but it seems you and Helaena have found more comfort in each other so you won’t be bored here.”

You blink and that worry falls, he helped resolve it. The guilt has diminished as well, but now you’re completely baffled by what he says.

You won’t just sit by the fire, you may be with child, but you will not just sit idly by while he risks his life, while your brother is out there, and while your family still needs you too. Just because you’re expecting doesn’t mean you have to sit and wait like a trapped princess in distress!

“No,” you spat and let his hands go. He sees the fire already engulfing your eyes so he pouts in annoyance whilst he lets your face go too.

“I will not—”

“I will not sit here and wait for you to come back,” you cut him off lividly. “I have a dragon, I have skill! Just because I’m with child—”

“That’s exactly why!” He argues back with quick-growing frustration. “Do you really expect me to send you to fight while you’re expecting?! Do you really think I can just watch you in the sky knowing your state?! It’s like you said…”

You shake your head and turn away as he continues.

“…it takes one arrow, a dragon's jaw, or fire…”

Your eyes shift at the last mention and you almost want to rebuttal with the truth of your…fire resistance, but that would take you down a rabbit hole that you don’t want to fall into at this very moment. You need to make a point and win.

“I would never forgive myself if something happened to you or the twins,” he tries to lure you into the trap using sweet words that usually work. “I would not feel comfortable sending you out to battle now.”

“That’s the difference between me and you,” you counter right away and twist around to face him. “I will wear armor! I had armor made for me, I can protect myself! My dragon will protect me! I will not sit here and do nothing while you are out there! While Sunfyre and Aegon are now indisposed!”

Aemond strides to you, and you stand your ground and challenge him with your enraged glare alone.

“I don’t care what you want or don’t want, you are not going to fight on dragonback or on the ground,” he counters back spitefully with his nose flared and his glare piercing right back at you. “If you try I will lock you in here with a hundred guards. Or I will take you to a tower where you can’t reach your dragon and you’ll be miles away.”

You part your lips but you can’t argue back, you’re caught in disbelief because you know he would be capable of doing that. You’re also too enraged that your words turn to ashes in your mouth by the stupid tears that come to your eyes. Thus instead you snap around to give him your back as you approach the hearth keeping the room warm, and watch the dancing flames with your arms crossed over your chest.

Aemond sighs deeply and leaves the room silent for a moment as he lets his frustration and impatience leave his body before he approaches you from behind.

At first, he breaks the silence with the soft utter of your name before he makes the mistake of brushing his fingertips on your hip, causing you to flinch away out of fear that it was someone else.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters in confusion to your sudden jolt.

You realize what you did and take a deep breath, realizing that your rage gets snuffed out like dying fire.

At first, you did not think you wanted to tell Aemond what Aegon did, but he’s here now, you look at him now; the confusion on his face. You look at your best friend, your husband, and the man that you love, and the words crawl up your throat like bile.

“Aemond,” you whimper and his confusion is lost and replaced by concern once again.

The sound of your lips parting fills your chambers, but a breath is all that comes out. You can’t be outward with it, you’re too afraid, too ashamed, so you close the distance and bring your lips to his ear.

He does look at you completely puzzled albeit that soon diminishes and slowly transforms into livid rage as you whisper the words in his ear. After that, you only pull back when you try to plead your case as if he didn’t believe you right away. He did, you just need him to know desperately.

“I told him to stop, I did, I promise, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. You have to believe me, Aemond.” You cry and he sighs, but that anger doesn’t die, he just musters the softness he can to gently cup your face before he slides his hand down to stroke your chin.

“I believe you,” he whispers so you can hear, and presses his forehead against yours.

“I wanted to fight back,” you keep trying to tell him. “I promise. I…I.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos and brings his hand back up to cradle your cheek and use his thumb to stroke it. “You will be okay.”

He suddenly rips himself away from you and stomps away. You turn to not miss a step and notice him grab his sword while he gets away in a rage, thus you interfere because you know he’s letting his anger steer his thoughts. “Aemond stop!”

He doesn’t falter in his pace, he keeps storming away.

“Aemond!” You cry out. “Stop! Aemond! Please,” you beg and it’s that quiver in your voice that stops him.

“Do you really expect me to stay here knowing what—”

“Stay with me,” you cut him off to tell him what you need the most. “Please don’t go. Just stay.”

Aemond slowly turns around and when he faces you he sees how hard you’re pleading with your teary eyes, and how much you need just his company. Not his rage, not his revenge, just his comfort. His anger does want to get the best of him, but he beats it down with a deep breath and rests his blade against the wall to go to you and immediately wrap you in an embrace.

When you’re surrounded by nothing but the security of his warm arms you let yourself melt in his embrace because you know that nothing and no one can hurt you there.

“Let’s take a bath, hm?” He suggests as he kisses the top of your head. “Me and you.”

You nod softly and after depleting him of all the comfort you need, as the sun leaves the earth and lets the moon and the stars shine, you have a bath drawn where hundreds of candles enlighten the room with their soft glow. Where a soothing incense fills the room, and the warm flames from the hearth near your bath is a warm third body that keeps you company while you relax against Aemond.

“And that one is my favorite song, there’s a certain eeriness to it, but also an enchanting melody that I love,” you muse as you cross one leg over the other.

Aemond hums. “Those have always been my favorite for you to sing,” he muses.

You smile widely, and slither your fingers over his gently caressing your knee, welcoming a silence to the room that causes Aemond to grow uncomfortable yet bold enough to ask one question he’s been holding back out of fear that you will admit that you hate him now, or that you’re only here because of Aerion.

He doesn’t want to hear rejection or see you turn your back on him. He still needs you and he doesn’t want to face potential abandonment. But he also can’t sleep peacefully not knowing how you feel after what he did.

“Can I ask you something?” Aemond brings up quietly before saying your name as if there were more people in this chamber. But there isn’t, it’s just you and him.

“Mhm,” you let him continue and lay your head back on his shoulder to look at him from the corner of your eyes.

“You know it was not Sunfyre or Aegon who brought down Rhaenys or Meleys,” he hesitates to say but he does speak it out loud, and right away he feels how stiff you grow.

“I…know,” you breathe out and slowly sit up, losing contact with his fingers, and causing his fingers on your knee to slip off. “I could read it off you. You weren’t so discreet you know? Maybe you should be a little less smug if you’re going to let Aegon take the win.”

He hums and sits up to press his hand on your back before gently wrapping his arm around your neck to speak by your ear. “Do you…hate me?”

How could you hate him when it’s yourself that you hate for failing her?

There’s no point in thinking. No debate needs to be had, it’s an easy answer that comes from the depths of your wounded heart.

“No,” you whisper, leaving no time for him to doubt your response. “Should I?”

You turn to face him with sincerity bringing tears to your eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

Aemond’s arm slips off you and his eye falls on the water, but rather than trying hard to find his gaze, you actually find his reflection in the water and see a frown on his face; one brought by sorrow and torment over your response.

It’s like he almost wants you to hate him.

“It’s different this time,” you try to explain without bringing up the real reason behind your logic. “She wasn’t a messenger, she wasn’t trying to get away, it was a battle. Death is never fair for people like her, she did not deserve to die, but her death was different because I know that she wouldn’t want to go out any other way. She went out like a dragon warrior. I know she fought hard until her last breath.”

Aemond’s eye climbs up your body and finds your attentive gaze, letting you see his eye clouded with tears and that weight not ease off his body, so you drag yourself in between his legs to cup his cheek and offer him a faint assuring smile.

“I do not hate you,” you assure him and hold his gaze so he can read that you’re being sincere.

When he has the confirmation his heart needs he lets out a deep breath that makes that tension lift off his chest.

“Now,” you change the subject before you start crying, and slide your hand down to hold his knee and gently shake his leg. “You are going to be Prince Regent.”

His lips tug to a faint flustered smile and his eye once again falls on the water.

“Grin, my love, all your hard work will pay off,” you flatter him with a beaming grin. “All that time spent in books, learning from great minds, and working tirelessly will be rewarded.”

Do you really think he has the mind to rule?

Maybe if he hadn't gotten his eye taken out, or if he had seen his father care for him after being maimed then he would be the ruler the Greens need to win, that the kingdoms need, but he’s fueled with anger. His ego is inflated because he never got told that he’s so much more than he knows, so he had to rely on his large dragon for power.

It’s not to say you aren’t proud of him, because you are. He’s worked hard, he’s leaned into his books to gain knowledge. He has a military mind and good swordsman skills. He's the one keeping his family alive, and he has much more logic than Aegon, but a good ruler needs to be more than that.

A good ruler needs to listen to his people, they need to be just but also need to know when to put their foot down. They need to control their emotions even if sometimes they get tested by idiots or people being too daring. They need to know when to pull their blade out to fight, and when to use harsh words instead. Can he do that?

You can’t be sure. To be honest, you are not sure he can, but it’s why he can be the key to getting your mother on the throne.

Is he something important, something so much more that people don’t see? Yes, a hundred times yes. You don’t doubt that, you genuinely are happy that he’s being seen, that he gets to finally prove himself because you know that there’s so much more to him that people don’t see, that they ignore because he’s a second son, and he’s more quiet, like a shadow.

He’s not scary or just intimidating like he lets people believe, he’s smart, he's gentle, he’s so much more than people see and you have always known that. You have always supported that. And that’s what you’re praising, because after all this waiting he’s no longer in the shadows. A light is shining on him. He deserves it.

“Maybe,” Aemond mutters with his smile faltering. “There’s also my mother. She’s Queen Dowager.”

You sit back on your legs and your confusion is clear. “But,” you genuinely argue. “Your mother ruled in a time of peace, and she has no military mind. They couldn’t really consider her. It’s you they’ll pick.”

Aemond meets your gaze and sighs deeply. “I cannot be sure until the morrow.”

You hum and avert your gaze to think if the men around the table will really pick Alicent over the next heir in Aegon's line of succession. It would be pretty stupid to pick Alicent when they’re working hard to remove your mother.

“Well, I'm sure they’ll pick you,” you express your genuine opinion. “They’ll be stupid not to. And you have an heir, maybe more on the way. Perfect choice I’ll say.”

His lips tug up to a soft smile, and your more negative opinions falter at the sight of that smile alone.

“And you,” he piques your interest whilst he leans over to capture your chin in between his thumb and his pointer finger. “You’ll be Princess Regent.”

You gulp nervously and shake your head. “Helaena is alive and healthy, I couldn’t be Princess Regent.” You contradict him, but he continues to press his side.

“My sister is sweet and good, but,” he sighs. “We all know she has no mind to be Queen, she’d rather be outside with her bugs than be anywhere near court, but you…you’re smart, fierce, attentive, and you have the mind to be a good Queen. The people love you and you care for them for some reason. You’ll be good.”

And there it is, your foundations shake at the sound of those sweet words that work like bait like magic to enchant you.

He would consider you, and that makes you consider a change of thought…

Like getting drunk, slowly your mind and your body start to lose yourself to its rich power.

“You think so?” You mumble softly with your eyes full of desperation to be told you can be so much more.

“I know it. You and I would be a powerhouse everyone would respect,” he doesn’t take back his opinion and it’s a dangerous thing. He needs to stop.

Stop.

Stop…

But you can’t help but smile like an idiot as your heart gets fed more of that addicting honey it can never get enough of. It’s all you ever wanted deep down. it’s a dream you even shared with Cregan and Arra…

But…no!

No! No…

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

“They will name you regent,” you try to reassure him as you fix the collar of his leather vest. “I know it. So head up high and deep breath.”

He holds your gaze as he lets out a deep breath, making you giggle as you slide your hands down to pat his chest.

“I love you,” you don’t fret to send him off with sweet words that make his heart swoon.

“I love you too,” he doesn’t hesitate to return before he leans in and presses a kiss on your lips.

Before he can back away you steal one more kiss from his thin lips, causing him to leave with a faint smile.

After a few minutes of lingering in the spot where he left you, you scurry out the secret door and trudge through the secret tunnels to reach the shadows of the Small council room and be part of the big debate that will change the Green fraction one way or the other.

“The armor was Valyrian steel,” Maester Orwyle shares with the council. “But his Grace suffered grievous burns over much of his body. He has many broken bones. I fear there are more injuries within, injuries we cannot see.”

He can die for all you care.

“We are grateful for your works, Grand Maester,” Alicent interjects after you catch her take in a deep breath. “Has he woken?”

“No,” the maester doesn’t try to be assuring, he’s bold so no one gets any hope he might survive. “I must admit, I’m not sure he will ever wake. I have piled my crafts to their fullest extents. Our king's fate lies with the gods now.”

And may the gods be ever so merciful to give him death.

“A king cannot rule in his sleep,” you hear Alicent say after a few seconds of silence. “The realm will have noticed his absence. Let them hear of his great deeds at Rook’s Rest. But now we must name a regent to take his place until he recovers…or does not.”

You lean your ear closer to the gaps on the wall and wait to see if Aemond is right.

“A wise strategy, Your Grace,” you recognize Lord Larys’ pestering voice. “A regency will assure the people of the stability of the crown.”

A silence follows and you wonder why it’s so awkward in there when the choice is plain to see.

“Did you have a candidate in mind, Your Grace?” Ser Tyland asks.

“I myself served in this role for my husband, I am well-prepared to do it again,” she proves Aemond right, and if you would have bet you would have lost.

“You played your part admirably in a time of peace, Your Grace,” Lord Jasper weighs in. “But circumstances have changed.”

“And here I had forgotten,” you catch the sarcasm in Alicent’s voice which does amuse you.

“The King does not lack for heirs,” Lord Jasper continues to argue against Alicent. “The obvious choice is his immediate successor, Prince Aemond, who has his own heir in his son, strengthening the line of succession.”

“Agreed,” Ser Tyland comments, making your heart skip a beat for Aemond.

“Aemond is young,” Alicent immediately rebuttals, causing your eyebrows to furrow because you all know there’s been younger Kings. “And his lack of restraint has already cost us dearly.”

A third silence follows and you suspect it’s because she wants people to agree with her, but it doesn’t seem like anyone does. Which is awkward, you can feel that tension from where you are.

“It is an experience that offers the surest path to security,” you hear the maester give his opinion. “Queen Alicent ably shouldered the duties of the realm when her husband's health failed him.”

Once again in a time of peace, it doesn’t seem like she has a military mind. And someone could argue that your mother doesn’t either, but you know her, she’s smart and leans on her books. She doesn’t need her father like Alicent needed hers.

“Experience is valuable, yes,” Lord Jasper interjects. “But the Dowager Queen is a woman.”

You almost have to laugh but you hold it in. It’s so poetic really.

“I’m no stranger to rule or to sitting at this council,” Alicent argues. “Aemond is a fearsome dragonrider. His skill is best employed in the field, but my experience is needed here, at this table—”

“No offense was meant, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland cuts her off as she’s growing frustrated. “But at a time when we must show strength.”

“Lord Larys,” she tries to garner the man’s support.

“I agree, Your Grace, it must be Prince Aemond,” he contradicts her. “What would it say if, in response to Rhaenyra’s crowning, we raised up a woman of our own?”

Oh sweet, sweet karma.

“But, um…the Hand speaks for the King’s voice, Ser Criston what say you?”

You start to fiddle with your hands as a smirk tugs on your face.

“Aemond is the next in line,” he adds salt to the injury. “It must be him.”

You can’t help it, you grin.

“It’s agreed then,” Aemond finally breaks his silence before you hear the sound of him rising from his chair and his heels clicking around the table.

And just like that he is now regent, Alicent has now been treated the way she treated your mother. The Green fraction has changed to a more Ironfist rule. You can be certain of that.

“What is our standing in the Riverlands?” Aemond jumps right into business, proving already to possess a better mind than Aegon ever did.

“Uh, the banners of House Tully are in disarray, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland is the one who gives Aemond the answer he sought, and the first one to call him your Grace, which brings a chill down your spine. “Prince Daemon has little hope of fielding an army or any, for now.”

Why do they doubt Daemon so much? Is it just that they hope that their negativity will help him fail?

You don’t like him, and you know he has the power to gain that army, you know he will.

“We would do well to send word to young Oscar Tully,” Lord Larys follows up with his comment. “It’s only a matter of time before he inherits his grandsire’s mantle.”

“Tell me, Lord Strong, how I can trust the counsel of a man who leaves the jewel of the Riverlands to be plucked by our enemy?”

You wait for the response from the Lord, but he gives none, and you couldn’t be more smug that he didn’t and that he’s most likely intimidated by Aemond.

“Your brother's host can meet Daemon,” Aemond changes the subject to now speak to Ser Tyland. “He should quicken its pace and check the Rivermen while their banners are in disarray.”

No matter what you can’t help but be proud of Aemond. Command suits him.

“I shall send Lord Jason encouragement,” Ser Tyland assures Aemond.

“What else?” Aemond probes.

“We might turn our attention to the smallfolk here in King’s Landing,” Maester Orweyle says. “They have grown weary of the Sea Snake’s blockade.”

“So have we all,” Aemond says nonchalantly.

“Many are fleeing the city,” the maester continues. “Spreading word of their fear and unrest.”

“Mm, then let the gates be closed,” Aemond picks the wrong choice which proves you right too. “No one is to leave or enter, save with our consent. Merchants, so forth.”

And that’s how you get the smallfolk to hate you. He’s supposed to assure them, feed them, and give them something to hope for, not fear and disdain. Hopefully, your mother can work that in her favor.

“Ser Criston,” Aemond calls out. “I need you to pick three of your best and most trusted men. I shall have two guarding my son and heir, and a second guard protecting my wife. She’s with child, I don’t wish to leave her vulnerable.”

Your breath catches and your heart skips a beat.

It is going to be harder to just be around the Red Keep, but you are happy he didn’t forget about you or Aerion.

“Go to your tasks,” Aemond then abruptly ends the meeting. “We shall meet again at first light. Oh, and someone cut down the fucking ratcatchers.”

Finally! You thought it was never going to be taken down, it’s such a nasty display.

Nevertheless, now to report to your mother. And since Aemond did mention he was going to be busy after the Small council meeting, you have time to take the message to Astraea so she can go take it right away. Plus there’s another matter you need to entrust your mother about because she's the only one you trust to give you comfort.

Which is why in the second letter you write, you make sure to direct to your mother.

“Dear Rhaenyra,

As you know I am with child. The maester assured me of that not long ago, but he also told me something else. He said that one twin is smaller than the other, and honestly, that frightens me. Alicent said it could be fixed in time, but I don’t trust her, and I don’t know what it really means. I just want to know if they’ll be okay. I need them to be okay.”

You don’t sign your name, but there’s no one else who would write to her so there’s no need to really sign your name. Hopefully, this time they write back though, or send anything in return so you’re not left worried. You made sure to point that out so hopefully they listen.

And! Hopefully, Jacaerys’ nosy ass doesn’t read your personal letter to your mother!

He would dare, he would be so protective about it, like, “come home now!” It’s a surprise he didn’t fly after you when he found out you left! Sure you feel bad for leaving him behind, but he has Baela, he won’t be alone. He’ll just be worried about you, annoying too because he wants to hear any news from you, and he will also probably be attentive to any sighting of Astraea in hopes to hear any news from you, so maybe you should write a warning to keep him out.

You should, but you don’t, just like you don’t take the secret tunnels to the cove where Astraea is resting. You’re simply going to the cove behind the castle to visit your dragon, that's all! If there’s eyes on you they won’t find you suspicious, you’re not flaunting the letters; you have them hidden, and you have your sworn protector trailing behind you. There’s no need for alarm or whispers to be spread or given to Aemond, it’s a simple visit…

You just need to secure something on her horn.

Yet as you’re trying to secure the letters, she suddenly slips her head away and starts to growl at your sworn protector in the shadows.

“<Astraea, calm girl,” you assure her. “He’s a friend. He’s my sworn protector. It’s alright.>”

Astraea doesn’t listen; she pushes herself closer to the man, making sure to block your path with her large neck.

“<Astraea,>” you warn her. “<Stop.>”

Her growling gets louder and you see her opening her jaw, pushing Ser Jason against the wall with panicked breaths.

“It’s alright Ser,” you try to assure him. “She won’t harm you. She’s just wary, but <he’s a friend>,” you address the last comment to Astraea, but she has a mind of her own. She corners the man and you watch her nostrils flare as she sniffs him.

“Astraea,” you call out and try to inch closer, but the moment she hears your feet shift she moves her neck against you and starts to snarl until she then suddenly grows quiet, and her neck starts to move away from you, letting you see her close her mouth, and blink as her pupils dilate while she looks at the panicked man before her.

Instead of calling her to back away, you watch with growing curiosity as she then begins to coo at him.

Ser Jason notices the hostility slip away so between pants and with wide eyes he slowly raises his hand and carefully reaches out for her scaled nostril.

You expect your dragon to move, but she remains where she is and lets the man pet her, pulling a surprised breath out of you.

“You,” you huff with relief that she didn’t kill him. “Must be special.”

Ser Jason’s blue eyes snap to you and his eyes almost pop out of his skull before he shakes his head. “No—I mean I am a—”

“She likes you,” you cut off his nervous rambling with a sweet smile. “Funny way of showing it, but she does. She let you pet her. There’s only a few people who aren’t of Valyrian descent that she lets pet her.”

Ser Jason’s eyes slowly drift away as his hand slips off Astraea, letting her back away and turn her head towards you to focus on you.

“<You naughty girl,>” you taunt her and watch her lips spread up as if she’s responding to your comment and smile with a smirk. “Sorry,” you direct at Ser Jason. “For the fright.”

The knight lets out a deep breath to relieve himself of that fear that he was just hit with, and with a breathless laugh, retorts, “I can finally say I have touched a dragon. It’s fine.”

You hum softly in return and once and for all attach the letters to your dragon's horn before you throw your arms around her in an attempt to embrace her. But she’s too big now, your arms don’t go around her anymore, they're just spread out against her in an attempt.

“<You know what you must do, my girl. Remember just my mother, Jace, Baela, or my grandfather can grab the letters. No one else. Don’t delay and be careful.>”

Lady Arra Norrey always poked fun at you for talking to your dragon like you talk to a person, but dragons understand more than commoners know, and Astraea understands you at a deep level.

“<Now go.>” You send her off and don’t move away, you approach the shore to watch her ascend the skies.

It’s once she’s high in the clouds that you return inside, and this time rather than having a clear path, you’re interrupted just at the last courtyard before you can reach the doors. Thankfully it’s on your way back to your quarters though and not the other way around.

“Princess,” Ser Gwayne Hightower brings you to a stop, making you take a deep and annoyed breath before you turn to face him with a plastered smile.

“Ser,” you greet and watch him bow his head at you before he finishes approaching you to be closer. “You returned.”

That’s all, you’re not glad he did, you’re not surprised either, he just returned, it’s that simple.

“Thanks to your favor,” he retorts smugly, making you scoff.

“Me or a few other pretty ladies?” You remark, making him flash you a charming grin before he chuckles and nods.

“Oh yes many did give me their favors,” he doesn’t remain modest, he’s blunt and that makes an amused smile twitch on your lips unwillingly. “But only one worked in my favor. The only one close to the gods, yours, my Princess.”

You hold his gaze as you nod in comprehension before you hide your flattered smile by looking at the ground.

“I heard you are quite a spectacular singer,” he continues trying to work his charm on you. “The Siren of Driftmark. I have wanted to hear if it’s true that your voice is as enchanting as they say.”

You draw in a deep breath and clasp your hands together before you roll your eyes up to look at him with a mischievous smirk that he starts to take in his favor. Yet…

“Was it your idea to parade around the head of my grandmother's dragon throughout the city?” You bring a cold end to his flattery and make that ever-so-charming smile fall.

“No,” he clears his throat and shifts back, making your own smirk deepen. “It was Ser Criston Cole’s.”

“Our good Lord Hand,” you both say in sync and with the same level of sarcasm, bringing a silence where you both share a teasing smile as if you were friends sharing gossip.

“He may have a good military mind,” he shares with you after a small genuine smile. “But may the gods help him with political matters.”

You hum and nod. “It seems the realm was in better hands with your father as hand and Ser Criston as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“I’ll say.” He doesn’t shy away from agreeing. “Uh, I heard of your accident, I do hope you are okay.” He changes the subject smoothly, causing you to blink in surprise and find yourself answering without disdain.

“Quite, being with child just takes a toll. Thank you, Ser.”

He bows his head and just as he parts his lips to add more, a third voice cuts in. “Uncle.”

You both look at the incomer and notice Aemond with his eye locked on his uncle.

“Nephew,” Ser Gwayne greets Aemond with a smile, unlike Aemond who seems bothered—“I was just talking to the Princess. You have quite the pretty pearl here.”

You swallow back nervously and watch Aemond’s chest rise whilst the corner of his lips twitch to a forced smile.

“And you are expecting!” Ser Gwayne brings up and leans toward Aemond to pat his arm. “Congratulations, nephew.”

Aemond offers him a stiff nod of his head so you cut in. “Thank you, Ser. He is the most delighted.”

Aemond hums and remains cold and bothered so you cut this conversation short before you’re swallowed by the awkwardness that begins to build. “I hope we get to see more of you before you’re off again, maybe you can meet our son, Aerion.”

“Ah, yes I would be delighted, my sister speaks fondly of her grandchildren. I will have to see them for myself,” Ser Gwayne says in return, letting you offer him the first genuine smile before you turn and head inside with Aemond who keeps his jaw clenched and his eye narrowed.

“What…were you talking about?” Aemond tries to hide how jealous he is, but it's a futile attempt considering it’s written all over his face; in his flared nostrils, in the darkness in his eye that is brought up by annoyance and anger, and in his raised chest in attempts to try and insert his dominance over you.

Any other time you would find it amusing, it's his uncle and he can’t help but be jealous, but right now you’re bothered by something else entirely that you won’t let go unheard of.

“<The nasty parade that took place while I was abed,>” you take your opportunity to bring up without actually deflecting because it’s true, the topic was brought up.

But of course, he doesn’t answer, do you let it go though? No, you don't back off even if you see him wanting to avoid the topic, you press the matter with growing frustration.

“<When do people stop fearing gods, Aemond?>” You ask rhetorically. “<When they see gods bleed. They saw that dragon's head being paraded around the city and saw that they’re just like every other animal.>”

“<They're not,” Aemond scoffs back in High Valyrian, just like you. “<They can test it if they like, let’s see what fate awaits from them then.>”

You share a dry chuckle and only counter when you’re past the doors and inside the Red Keep. “<Don't underestimate the power of the people, Aemond. They can find power in rage if you give them the right spark. And that display…>” you trail off but don’t ease off him, you don’t use your anger either, you let it go with a deep exhale and instead, try to work this in your favor with the simple power of your enchanting voice.

“<No qualified Hand would have allowed that to happen, or even given it any thought. Dragons are the power of our house, they are sacred creatures. You know that. He doesn’t understand; he did something stupidly foolish that could cost us a lot.>”

Aemond finally looks over at you as if captured by your words, or as if he agrees too.

“<He’s our Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,>” he brings up, but that doesn’t work in anyone's defense. You use that.

“Exactly.”

Aemond studies you to try and get in your mind and read your running thoughts, finding that the words you just sang are haunting his mind instead, like a melody one can’t forget.

“I’m not saying he’s not a qualified man,” you add softly as you climb up flights of stairs to head to your room. “He may not be my favorite, he may have quite a reputation, but he still has a good mind for battle. That I can say. Maybe his skills will be best displayed trying to take Harrenhal, hm? The longer that gets left alone, the more time Daemon has to gain power there.”

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Aemond brings up and glances ahead.

“No,” you scoff. “I don’t, but,” you sigh. “He’s smart. He has experience. I can admit that. We have to admit that to ourselves.”

Aemond hums and you look at him as he looks ahead. And after knowing you said all you needed to say on the matter without being pushy or suspicious, you finally shift over to a matter that brings a bright grin to your face.

“So?! Tell me, are you Regent?”

Aemond’s eye falls and a soft smile slowly starts to grow on his face before he lifts his head and meets your gaze, showing off that smile that gives you your answer and makes you squeal before you bring the both of you to a stop atop the stairs when you throw your arms around him.

“I told you! Congratulations, my love,” you praise him genuinely since you know how much he wants to prove himself. “I knew you’d get it.”

He can’t help it, he wants to grow smug, but he grows flustered instead and only makes that smile grow warm.

“You deserve it,” you whisper so only he can hear.

Aemond wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss on the top of your head, keeping his lips and nose pressed against you as he takes in the praise that you alone have given him.

“Thank you,” he mutters against you.

You hum and pull your head back to meet his eye. “Really, I’m proud of you,” you whisper with no sign of deceit, your words come from the bottom of your heart because now people can see what you see, what you have always seen; that he’s so much more, that he is something.

“I…” he trails off and his eye turns glossy, while a breath catches in his throat and a fondness and awe paints his face. “I love you.”

You bring one hand up to caress his cheek, making him lean towards your touch right away as if instinct to seek your warmth and comfort.

“I love you too,” you redirect softly and press a gentle kiss against his lips.

“You are my Princess Regent,” he whispers against your lips, making you scoff and gently smack his chest before you pull away from his grasp to continue to your shared quarters.

Aemond of course doesn’t hesitate to follow at your side and presses what he said. “I can make you that if you want. You and me.”

You shake your head. “It can’t happen. Helaena is Queen, and,” you hesitate and he knows that so he uses it in his favor.

“You don’t want it?”

You want to say no, but you part your lips and you can’t bring yourself to counter or deny. Instead, once again there’s something dark and hungry that plagues you…

And it doesn’t let you answer

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you retort and flash him a feigned smile. He wants to counter, but you leave him no room to answer because you pick up your pace to finally get off the stairs.

Once you reach your quarters you find Vanessa with Aerion and Shrykos. You see Aerion happy with his little hatchling, you see him get even happier when he sees his father and you can’t help it, all your mind focuses on is spending time with your family. You watch as Aemond interacts with Aerion and his little hatchling. You see how much Aerion loves spending time with Aemond and vice versa. You cherish the moment, you live in it because of what lurks outside your safety walls.

Even when you see Astraea return to the city, you don’t let your attention drift away. This stolen moment is where you find joy, where you find awe as you see how easy Aerion falls asleep when he’s laying on Aemond’s chest as the three of you just spend time on the bed with Aemond’s head on your lap, your fingers messaging his temple, and your eyes interlocked as if sharing hundreds of words in the silence.

Soon there will hopefully be more of you, you and Aemond will be outnumbered, but nothing will ever lessen the love you give your son. You may love each other selfishly, and Aemond may put you over everything, but that will never impact how much you love your children because he doesn’t want them to feel lonely like the way he felt when you were gone from his life and no longer there to be the hopeful light in the darkness. He knows that for certain, just like you know for certain that you would not mind living in this peaceful moment forever.

Yet the peace gets interrupted by Ser Criston requiring Aemond’s attention to take a look at the men he chose to protect you and your son. And since the moment was already interrupted you find your chance to go to Astraea and check for any notes.

And this time there is a note from your mother that you read in the safety of your room since Aemond will be gone for a while.

“I hope you find yourself well. I thank you for your sacrifices, it must not be easy having to sneak about the Red Keep, so thank you, my Sweet. Astraea will grow impatient, and someone will suspect if she’s gone too long so I will get to the point. With the help of the Mysaria, I have sent Elinda to King’s Landing to help with a secret plan to gain the favor of the smallfolk. By the time you get this, she should be at the west city gates by nightfall, she will stay with a friend. I hope you can send someone you trust to see her in the city, she will share what we have planned—”

You pull your eyes off the paper and glance over at Vanessa as she’s the only one you can trust to do what your mother wants of you.

“—As to you. I would really like it if you came home now, I would feel more comfortable with you being taken care of by a maester I can trust. Please come home, leave Vanessa there to help Elinda, and relay any plans the greens have, just come home.

Love, your mother.”

Come home?

It's true that you would feel more comfortable there regarding your twins, but when you go home what will you do? Just sit around the table and listen? Sit and do nothing while a war rages around you?

You already failed her, failed them all once, you need to prove yourself. That’s why you’re here because you wanted to prove to your mother that you can be useful, that you can be something. You can do that here, not there trapped like a bird.

You can’t go home. No matter how much she wants you back, no matter how much you do ache to return, you can’t leave yet. Thus you stride towards the hearth and throw the letter in the fire so it’s not discovered.

Once the paper and all the words are ash you lift your nose in the air and call out to your handmaiden. “Vanessa could you let Ser Jason in, I need to speak to the both of you.”

Vanessa doesn’t wait or question you, she beckons your sworn protector, and once he’s inside and they both stand a few feet behind you, you slowly turn to face them with confidence so they feel it too.

“I need you, Vanessa to go into the city,” you share without dragging it out just in case Aemond does come soon. “Elinda is on her way to the city and I need you to help her inside. I need you to help her for me. Be my ears, my voice with what she needs.”

Vanessa’s dark eyes slowly drift down as many thoughts cross her mind. Many doubts you’re sure. The city is dangerous nowadays, and there’s no guarantee that her whereabouts won’t be caught, but you need her to run the risk because you can’t. She has a higher chance of being in the city undetected, you not so much.

“I know I'm asking a lot, but you are the only one I trust with this,” you try to make her feel comfortable. “My mother does too, if you don’t feel comfortable helping, just let Elinda in the city and walk her to where she’ll stay, okay?”

Vanessa lets out a deep breath and after a few seconds her eyes slowly scale up and she finds you, letting you see the sense of determination painting her pretty face. “I will do it, I’ll help you, the Queen, and Elinda. With whatever they need.” She assures you with a nod and a gentle smile, making you flash her a grin before you now address your sworn protector.

“As for you Ser, I need you to accompany Vanessa, protect her like you do me while she’s out in the city. She is my dearest friend and I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Ser Jason glances at the woman beside him and swallows thickly before he looks back at you and doesn’t hesitate, he nods in agreement.

“I will protect her as I do you, my Princess,” he says with a sense of confidence that strikes him too. “I am also friends with the Gold Cloaks, I can convince them to let your friend in.”

You sigh with relief and nod in comprehension. “Good, I’m glad. Now go before Aemond gets here. And ser, don’t walk so tense, pretend you’re…taking the lady out to the city, hm?” You suggest, making his cheeks grow furiously red. “I’m being serious.”

Vanessa glances at the timid man and snickers before she approaches you and looks at you with concern and sorrow. “And you? Will you light the pyre alone?”

Your eyes flicker down, but you quickly blink and look back at her with a faint assuring smile so she doesn’t have to worry. “I’m no stranger to grieving alone. I will be fine, I know how to build a pyre.”

“It is raining,” Vanessa argues in an attempt to have you wait for her to light your grandmother's funeral pyre. “Maybe tomorrow—”

“I will be fine, I already know which courtyard to use. Go, I will be fine.” You interrupt her so she can stop worrying. “I’ll see you on the morrow hm?”

She hesitates now for the first time, and as if she was a caring older sister she pats your cheek and offers you a sweet smile.

Before she can go you grab ahold of her hand and welcome her comfort for a lingering moment before you let her go.

Once you’re alone, and Aerion’s wetnurse arrives to take care of him, you put on a beautiful blue velvet cloak and direct yourself to the courtyard you told Vanessa about; one close to the throne room, one with a spiral roof that welcomes the thick drops of rain through the gaps that usually welcome the sunlight on a clear day, or the moonlight on a cloudless night, but not today.

Today the rain is like music against the stone ground, the rain is a mess and puddles around your feet, soaking the ends of your gown and cloak. Lighting and thunder accompany the sheets of rain today, which would add an ominous feeling in the darkness of the night, but the bright fire that lights the shitty pyre you built, burns away the menacing presence of the lightning and thunder.

Now one would wonder how a pyre is still lit with how hard the rain hits the earth, but the center of the courtyard offers a roof that protects the fire and keeps most of you dry. That’s where you stand, that’s where the fire eats away at the wood in peace, and where it’s allowed to glow ragefully; basking the entire courtyard in its red and orange hue as if it was like a wildfire with the power of a thousand suns, and engulfing you with its illuminating hue that makes the grief and sorrow on your face look angelic.

Or that’s what poets would write, what bypassers would think as they watched how the raging light kisses your face and makes those tears on your cheeks glimmer like shining crystals, but you feel anything but divine, you’re grieving alone again. Just like how you grieved your father six years ago.

You shouldn’t be a stranger to grieving alone, but here you are again, away from your cousins, brother, mother, and grandfather who loved your grandmother and Meleys. You’re alone again in front of a funeral pyre bidding a last goodbye to someone you love, and no one is here to hold your hand or embrace your shaking shoulders. You’re alone grieving a grandmother you failed.

Maybe if you had written that letter faster, or sent that warning before, then she would still be alive. If you could’ve done what you were sent to do right she would be victorious or perhaps left with her life, but you failed her, you failed your Queen; your mother, and those who loved your grandmother. You amounted to nothing, but maybe that’s what you’ve been all along?

A simple girl with a luxurious title who dreamt too big and wanted too much. A selfish girl who thought she could get the world, but can’t get a scrap because no matter how hard you try you can’t reach those stars to amount to anything. You can’t feed the hunger inside you. You can’t be anything…

But…

As you stand there in the silence of solace, as you hear the fire crackle, the rain patter, and the thunderclap in the sky, there’s something that you feel calling you, something in the fire.

Something that has always called out to you since you could remember, but something that you have ignored, that you want to ignore now as you mourn your grandmother.

Yet the hot flames dry your tears and its heat embraces you tighter, but like every other time, its embrace, its kiss, and its touch is not uncomfortable like it is to everyone else. It’s welcoming, it’s nice like a friend…that’s been with you since you can recall.

No matter how hard you try, its whispers grow louder, but never desperate, it’s calling is charming, and like many other times, it entrances you.

The longer you stare at its beauty, the more it promises, swears that it’s empowering but only if you embrace it back.

You try to look away regardless of what calls for you, but how can you turn your back on what’s feeding your starving soul?

Fire kills the girl and awakens the dragon.

You can’t look away. You can’t ignore it. Not anymore.

Thus you mindlessly shrug your cloak off and let it drown in the puddle around your feet. You kick your shoes off because you are mindful of how much you love your shoes, and get closer, but it almost feels like you aren't the one controlling your body, it’s being controlled by the power of the trance. It moves you and you let it.

You raise your hand from your side and reach for the flames as if reaching out for an inviting hand.

You don’t show hesitation or fear, a malicious smirk tugs on your lips and the confidence, pride, and malice that washes over you gleams in your eyes like the illuminating fire because there’s never been anything to fear about the fire. It's why you don’t think of pulling away, you embrace the fire like securing your grip on an inviting hand.

Yet just as you raise your foot to step inside the calling flames, a hand suddenly grabs a hold of your wrist and you’re yanked back harshly under the rain.

When you look at the intruder you meet the gaze of your husband, your Aemond looking at you with horror. Yet that emotion slowly fades away as he lifts your hand and sees that you’re unharmed.

Now instead of fearing that you were going to jump in the fire to hurt yourself, he’s left flabbergasted and confused. You could explain it to him with words, but at that moment you can’t muster a single syllable, so instead you pull away and show him.

Aemond wants to stop you again. It’s an instinct, but when you put your hand in the fire and don’t wince, or make a sound of pain, as he sees that the fire doesn’t hurt a single perimeter of your flesh he’s struck with awe that leaves him paralyzed where he stands. It’s not horror or disgust. You walk under the rain again and study him closely to make sure, to know if you should be ashamed, but no matter how much you search his face or dig your gaze in his, there’s nothing you see but awe, admiration, a bit of confusion, and more adoration for you.

He sees you with the opposite of what you feared, with love and fascination, and you feel seen.

There in the darkness you are cast in is your light and you feel…like…you can be something important under his eye, with him because he sees you.

Sure you could have shown your mother, your brother, or even Cregan that the fire doesn’t hurt you. It’s your friend, you're immune to its violence and that’s your gift, but you didn’t share that with them and they didn’t see, but Aemond does. He sees you now, he looks at you like you are something more than you thought you could be and you’re relieved

You have yet to fully be embraced by the flames, but at last, someone knows and someone loves you for it. Someone sees your value and your power. Then again in some ways he always has, now he just sees all of you.

“Come with me,” he whispers, and thunder cuts in from the distant sky.

He offers you his hand and you don’t hesitate, you place your hand over his, and secure his grasp. Before you leave though you slip your shoes back on and pick up your cloak drenched with water.

At first, you expect to be taken well anywhere else but the throne room. Yet much to your surprise, you’re now embraced by the darkness of the glorious hall with only the night's hue casting in a natural light, and the occasional shots of bright lightning flashing an ominous light.

“They would love you,” his voice oozes out like honey. “I know that. Even now they love you, but imagine then, hm?” His words travel in your ear and they make a chill crawl down your spine.

“We—even before we married, when we were just kids…” he says and walks around you, making sure to bring his hand up to press his palm down on the back of your neck, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and those goosebumps to spread as he brings his lips close to your ear and lets his breath unfurl over your skin.

“…we were a lot more than my sister and Aegon. We valued our traditions, we value them even now. We are what all Targaryens rulers should be because we always wanted it.”

…he…

“Can’t you see it? Can’t you see us?” He whispers against your flesh, tempting you to tilt your head to try and meet his lips.

“Be Regent with me,” he offers again, but this time in a soft and almost pleading voice that makes your body move so you can be face to face and interlock gazes.

“I hear your protests,” he adds and glances at your lips only inches away from his. “But Helaena has never wanted what she has, you have…”

He…

“You and I will be the best of them,” he continues and continues to grow this realization. That’s what it is, a realization in the darkness of the room.

No matter how much you have tried to deny it, how hard you have pushed it down and brushed it off, it’s always been there. And it was never a darkness, and that hunger for more was never a plague. That’s a lie.

There was this desire, this need always within you. He knows that he sees that like no one else has. And just like the fascination he had for you when he saw you unhurt by the fire, now you return that fascination for him and his offer.

“You and me,” you whisper and those silent words travel over the sound of thunder because you can feel the warmth of his lips basically embrace yours.

And instead of answering with words, a malicious smirk tugs on his lips, and his awe only heightens for you, drawing him to smash his lips over yours just as you lean in at the same time, and bringing you both to forget where you are.

The rain patters harshly against the windows, against the roof, the thunder booms, and the lightning strikes the earth and flashes its bright light, but neither of you give it a second thought or any thought at all. It’s just you and him, basking in the passion brought by your selfish desires come to life. Because that's what it is, selfish on your part. It’s not selfless, you did not accept his offer for her, you accepted because you wanted to.

But Daemon pushed you here, didn’t he?

And Aemond sees you, he sees something in you. You can be something with him. That’s all you want, that’s all you have wanted.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“He dares to summon me!” Aemond barks with rage after reading a demand from Lord Jason Lannister. “With haste?”

He throws the crumbled letter to the side and leans over the table to glare at the brother sitting at your right side.

“Are the Lannisters so diminished that they cannot march from the Tooth to Harrenhal without an escort?”

You clasp your hands over the table and slowly drift your gaze to the blond man avoiding Aemond’s seething glare.

“There is a large dragon in the Riverlands, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland defends his brother's choice, which makes sense, but also sounds a bit like an excuse. A pretty pathetic excuse. “My brother's army is strong, but it does seem—”

“I am the Prince Regent,” Aemond reminds the man. “Not a dog to be called to heel. Tell your brother that if he does not deliver his host to Harrenhal, with ‘haste’,” he mocks. “Daemon’s dragon will become the least of his worries.”

A smirk tugs on your lips that you can't hide, that you can’t shame either. Aemond is right to be angry, and right to project his anger in that way, or else they won’t listen. Besides, you do have to admit you like it when he’s angry, and this new role of command suits him well.

Yet not everyone agrees, especially not his mother. She glances over at you in search of aid, but you just meet her gaze and flash her your smirk as you lift your nose in the air and sit back; because now you too carry this sense of cockiness, this rise in your ego that comes with your new title that the Lords around the table had to oblige to out of fear of Aemond.

If it were up to them they wouldn’t have allowed the daughter of Rhaenyra to sit amongst them and listen to their war plans, but you are now the Princess Regent in a time of war, you are needed around the table to listen mostly. And yes that bugs you, you still want to do more, and you hope now that Aemond discovered your immunity he’ll let you do more, that he’ll let you fight like you wanted to, but you don’t know. You haven’t talked about that night and the fact that he saw that the fire is not harmful or deadly to you, you haven’t had time, and even if you know you saw the love and awe in his eyes you still fear what he has to say on the matter, so that also why you haven’t really tried to talk about it.

You’ll talk about it soon, you have to, right now you’re just relishing in the fact that you’re around the table and that you have a more important title. You find pride in it, and more power than you’ve had before.

It’s intoxicating.

“Your irritations are justified, Aemond,” Alicent tries to do what she wanted you to do. “But it does seem—”

“I have a task for you, as well,” Aemond cuts Alicent off as he begins to stalk around the table. “Ser Tyland.”

Alicent’s brown eyes once again find you and pass her confusion for her son's sudden cold shoulder towards her, and even if you know what brought this on, you don’t offer her sympathy or pity, you look at her blankly before following Aemond with your eyes and watch him land behind Ser Tyland, like a predator scaring its prey.

“We will make an alliance with the Triarchy,” Aemond continues. “I've had enough of this cursed blockade.”

“My Prince,” Ser Tyland tries to bring up an argument. “You cannot mean to treat with the Free Cities. The captains of their ships are dangerous mercenaries, little more than pirates—”

“They are a stone's throw away across the Narrow Sea,” Aemond cuts the man's argument off as he steals a glance at you to let his gaze linger on you before he drops his eye on the man under him. “Lannister and Hightower ships will take months to arrive. The Triarchy will delight in the chance to terrorize the Sea Snake again. Let them weaken his blockade while our true allies make their long journey east.”

“The Triarchy may play at accepting terms but they are not to be trusted,” Alicent tries to reason with Aemond. “Your father knew this. What has come of our letters to the Greyjoys?” She drifts to a different matter in the same territory.

“They have been to no avail,” maester Orwyle gives the Dowager Queen the answer she seeked.

“The Red Kraken waits,” Lord Jasper interjects. “Seeking his best advantage. Though we may draw him in with honey. If it comes to it. An offer of marriage, perhaps to the Dowager Queen?”

You snicker in amusement and Alicent glances at you as she protests. “Out of the question.”

“You’ll have better luck breaking the Ice Wall,” you break your silence with knowledge you harbor from your past in the North. “When I was ward to Lady Karstark, the Greyjoys would send raid parties to Stony Shores, so to make them stop Lord Bennard Stark sent a proposal, one of his sons to one of Lord Greyjoy's many daughters,” you scoff and slowly lean forward.

“Lord Greyjoy sent back a nasty and bloody reply to deny the proposal. The raids did not stop until Lord Cregan Stark became lord because the Greyjoys’s answer with violence. I would suggest letting them sack some town close to their shores to gain their favor.”

“A bloody proposal but it might work,” Lord Larys actually says in your favor.

Alas Lord Jasper counters with discreet disagreement.

“We would have to think about it, and think of which shores they can attack.”

And that’s another way of saying no. You’ll tell your mother then, or Daemon, they’ll listen and gain their favor instead.

“The Dowager Queen spoke wisely, Your Grace,” Ser Criston cuts in. “Even if the blockade could be broken, are we to invite these alien raiders into our waters, so close to King’s Landing?”

“It’s time you set out for Harrenhal, I think,” Aemond pays his thought no mind and actually does as you told him. Which only works to feed that already heightened cockiness.

“Your Grace, if Daemon prevails in the Riverlands I no longer have the numbers to challenge him,” Ser Criston rebuttals, making you bite back your smug smile as you sit back and instead let your cockiness be shown in the way you sit, and the way your nose is slightly perked to touch the air, welcoming the sunlight to kiss your face just perfectly and only make you look that more regal.

“We lost much at Rook’s Rest,” Ser Criston makes sure to share while his eyes follow Aemond as he sits on the edge of the table beside him. “As you well know.”

“The longer we wait, the more chance he will prevail,” Aemond rebuttals using a variation of what you told him not long ago. “Lannister will march from the west. Take what strength we have and force Daemon and his Riverlords to fight on two fronts.”

You fiddle with one of your many rings on your fingers and watch the man seem almost hesitant to do as he’s told.

“His Grace speaks wisely,” Lord Larys says, but Ser Criston argues.

“We would do better to await the Hightower host and set out in good time.”

Aemond’s gaze drifts to you and you lock eyes but say or motion for nothing. You remain as prideful and smug and just hold his gaze until he returns his attention to the man beside him.

“There is no time,” Aemond counters. “It’s a fortnight's march to Harrenhal. We must strike before his army is raised.”

“And you yourself?”

Aemond tilts his head up and once again shares his smugness on the Daemon matter. “I will fly out to meet you when the time is ripe. My uncle is a challenge I welcome…if he dares face me.”

You could laugh at that. You could laugh at the many things Aemond says about Daemon because he thinks that Daemon is somehow scared, or at his level, and sure Aemond is threatening with Vhagar and his swordsman’s skills, but Aemond doesn’t have Daemon’s experience yet, once he does then you can say they could see eye to eye.

“I have some concerning news to share,” Lord Larys interjects and earns everyone’s attention. “I have just heard that Lord Cregan Stark leads an army of two thousand older men.”

You blink and that overpowering arrogance falters at the mention of Cregan, at the mention that he’s on his way to fight for his Queen after he said he couldn’t march so soon himself.

He’s actually coming down and that thought excites you more than it should. It makes your heart swoon more than it should. Yet you don’t display the smile that threatens to spread on your lips, you don’t let your heart show your pride or joy through your eyes, you remain nonchalant and ignore the attentive eyes of Lord Larys as he tries to catch any reaction, but you don’t give him the satisfaction.

“A measly army of old men that will be brought down quickly,” Aemond brushes Lord Larys off, but that's what the Lord expected, he just wanted to see how you would react, but you don’t fall for his trap.

“Now, I see we’re all agreed,” Aemond brings an end to the meeting after a moment's silence whilst he returns to his seat across from you.

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston says after he stands up.

The other bodies around the table don’t linger behind, they rise from their seats and walk out, you do the same but rather than walking out right away, you make yourself around the table to press a kiss on Aemond’s cheek that he welcomes by leaning over to meet your lips.

“My love,” you offer him sweet words before stepping back to walk around his seat with your fingers brushing over his shoulders.

Before you can lose touch, he captures your hand and brings you to a stop.

“Mother…a word,” he calls out before Alicent can leave the perimeters, all while he never once breaks your connection, and sparks this quick-growing tension that makes your heart begin to race with excitement.

“You,” he directs at you. “Eat. Don’t think you went unnoticed when we broke fast.”

You sigh. “I have found it more difficult this morning, they did not like what I ate,” you refer to the twins inside you. “Even now the thought of any food makes me want to vomit.”

Aemond hums and lets your hand go to caress your belly. “I’ll talk to the maester. You talk to Vanessa, have her make you some tea.”

You offer him a soft smile and give his mind some peace by nodding in agreement.

Aemond caresses your belly one more time with a faint smile before he grabs your hand and sends you off with a kiss on your knuckles.

As you walk away you don’t leave in silence, you pass Alicent and give her your last word. “Mother.”

Her eyes follow you and you can feel them on your back as you stride out with a teasing smirk because you both know that you meant that mockingly.

Now to the Godswood, where you won’t be alone, no, now rather than one guard there’s two watching over you now; Ser Jason, and Ser Cane Clegane; The Blood Hound as he’s popularly known, a thirty-something-year-old man who is rather stoic, with broad shoulders, built like an ox, and carries a deep and almost rocky voice. You are wary mostly because of your own indiscretions, but from what little time you have had with him he does look rather trustworthy.

Then again Aemond did personally inspect him and even tested his worth, so he is reliable if your life is ever threatened.

You hope you’ll have to wait and see.

Regardless, no one interrupts the peace you instantly find in the Godswood. You find comfort in the smell of the red leaves that swirl in your nose thanks to the gentle wind that howls in your ear. You feel bliss as the warm sunlight peeking through the gaps between the red leaves kisses your face. And not counting the shadows lurking in the distance, you don’t feel alone as you lose your eyes on the weeping face carved on the weirwood tree.

Eyes stare back at you, but it’s not a piercing gaze, it’s not judgmental, or heavy with intimidation, they’re gentle eyes, caring, and attentive. They admire your smile as you can’t help but think of Cregan marching down with his men to fight.

You shouldn’t be so happy, you need to knock your joy and pride down a peg or two after all, it’s unlikely you’ll see him, but you can’t help but feel…happy at the thought after you were certain that he would not dare come so soon.

And it’s not that you want to hop on your dragon and meet him halfway, no, the thought doesn’t cross your mind. You’re just happy to hear he’s coming with his army of men.

“Princess.”

And just like that your peace is broken, and by no other than Alicent who seems quite distressed when you turn to face her.

Why? What could she want?

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Abbey by Mitski is yours and Aemond's anthem period in this story period.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan

[nxuvillette]

thoughts on best friends brother!hanma? how he’d act with the sneaking around to avoid your best friend? 🥺

❥- note : hi nonnie <3 this made me go kinda crazy because i love something secretive with shuji :> !! i hope you enjoyed this tehe.

content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, reader is best friends with hanma’s sister, mentions of hookups, brief car sex mention, teasing, secret relationship, use of pet names (babydoll , doll), praising, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, multiple orgasms.

hanma never imagined that he’d end up messing around with his little sister’s best friend.

you and hanma had met after your best friend took you over to her house. she mentioned him many times before, but you weren’t expecting him to be so fucking hot. hanma was six foot four with these delicious tattoos on his hands that made him seem intimidating from the naked eye. he was charming, too. he had this sultry tone in his voice that would make it difficult for you to even look at him and his honey eyes.

there would be lingering glances between you two, and there were even a few instances where you would both end up alone with each other. there was always something in the air whenever you two were in the same room. thankfully, your best friend never noticed. you would hate for her to get the wrong idea about your friendship. 

hanma eventually caved into his desires for you and messaged you one night. despite it being almost two in the morning, you decided to go and see him. you both ended up hooking up in the backseat of his car. it was some of the best sex you had ever had. it was like hanma knew your body already. he touched, fucked, licked, all of the right places that made you melt in his fingers. it was clear that this wouldn’t be a one time thing, judging by hanma’s behavior towards you after your first initial hookup.

it was difficult to hide your secret from your best friend. that was her older brother. it would mean lots of betrayal if she were to discover what was going on. 

but, you just couldn’t stop.

whenever she was working, hanma would have you come over and you would both fuck for hours. he would put you in all kinds of positions and leave your cunt stuffed with his cum. it was just the way he liked it. 

sometimes, he’d play a dangerous game and touch you whenever she was in the room. he’d brush his fingertips along your waist or get a little too close to your ass whenever he was walking by. he’d just smirk and give you that look that said it all. he loved to see how much he could work you up until you were a needy slut for him in bed the next time you met up.

it was risky, but that’s why he loved it so damn much. 

it was later in the night. your best friend had gone to some frat party that was about an hour away, and you were lying in hanma’s sheets with your legs on his shoulders. his cock was drilling into your pussy, creating sloppy noises with every rut of his hips. your cunt was always crying for him. he loved to see how wet it could get. 

“like that, babydoll? fuck.. look at you.. taking me so fucking well..” his thumb tugged at your bottom lip, revealing some of your teeth. 

you whined when hanma’s cock reached your g-spot. the tip was relentlessly pressing against that button, making your vision become hazy. you were so lost in bliss. any stress you had could be taken away by him. “yes, h-hanma! i love it so much!” you cried, your eyes becoming glassy from the tears that formed at your lash line.

he changed his angle so he was now reaching further into your hole. hanma caught your lips and began to kiss you slowly. god, his kisses were just too fucking good. your fingernails then threaded through the strands of his dual colored hair, bringing him closer to you. you were already on your third orgasm, and your body was reaching its limit. hanma didn’t show any signs of halting, though. he needed you so badly. he hated that he couldn’t see you as often as he wanted.

the kiss was broken between you as hanma pressed his forehead against yours. his golden eyes that were like the sun stared into your own. “can’t get enough of you, doll.” he mumbled against your puffy lips. “i’m gonna fuck you till you’re pregnant.. with my baby..” 

the thought alone made your pussy squeeze his cock, which hanma gladly took note of. you were a bit surprised to hear such a proposal, but nonetheless did it turn you on. “yes.. please!” you put your arms around his neck, leaving sloppy kisses on his lips.

he smirked, then began fucking you at a brutal pace. his balls smacked against your clit from how quick his thrusts were. hanma could only think about fucking his cum into you. he wouldn’t care if his sister was pissed. he wanted you.

sin wrapped around your throat. hanma clenched his teeth as he finally released into you. thick ropes of cum filled your womb. he practically emptied his balls inside of you, and he fucking loved it. he loved how great it felt. no other guy would ever dare to do such a thing to you, so he felt proud of himself for doing so. you deserved it all from him. 

he leaned forward to kiss you passionately. you felt so full. there was a mess, but neither of you cared at all. “what do you say.. round four?” he chuckled.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[mirrorball-leclerc]

karma - part five

series masterlist

charles_leclerc and natalia_leclerc posted new stories

je vous aimerai pour toujours (i'll love you forever)

"bébé, tu es l'amour de ma vie" (baby, you are the love of my life)

siempre te amare (i'll always love you)

tehe, that's my husband 🥰

hey siri, play slut! (taylor's version)

charles_leclerc posted new stories

how did i get so lucky?

😘😍

liked by gracieabrams, sukiwaterhouse, kellypiquet and others

natalia_leclerc no words to describe what it has meant to me to go on this journey with people i love. daisyjonesandthesix  has been the greatest, most fulfilling gift. it’s surreal that it has come to an end, but i have made friends for life, and memories that will bring a smile to my face forever. i could’ve never anticipated exactly how much love this show would get and how my life would change. it has just exceeded all of our dreams. i’m so proud of how far we’ve come. congratulations to all of the winners and nominees 💙 thank you televisionacad for this recognition. oh baby, look at us now 🎶

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user1 charles leclerc, you lucky son of a gun

user2 so cunty of her to be wearing red to the emmys. she owns that color.

landonorris DID YOU MEET TAYLOR SWIFT??

natalia_leclerc maybe. maybe not? charles_leclerc she almost cried. natalia_leclerc traitor landonorris and? i would too, she isn't special.

user3 can charles fight??

user4 red bull may be falling apart but charles will still simp over his wife.

sukiwaterhouse oh baby you looked gorgeous 😘

natalia_leclerc it was all you corazon charles_leclerc please stop flirting with my wife. sukiwaterhouse never you french man. charles_leclerc MONÉGASQUE!! I'M MONÉGASQUE!! sukiwaterhouse french adjacent 🤷🏼‍♀️

francesca.cgomes what a beautiful girl 💙

natalia_leclerc aww baby 💙 user5 praying for my man charles. everyone loves his wife.

user6 you're telling me lightning mcqueen pulled her?? how??

alex_albon believe me, we've been asking ourselves that same question since 2018. landonorris it's a miracle really pierregasly she is the sally to his mcqueen natalia_leclerc and pierre is the mater to his mcqueen

kellypiquet you look amazing red is definitely your color 💙

natalia_leclerc thank you kelly!

max verstappen so does anyone know who our new team principal is going to be??

charles leclerc i'm still trying to wrap my head around daniel not driving this season. sebastian vettel i haven't been told anything yet. natalia leclerc as if they're going to tell me. i only know everything because charles tells me everything.

max verstappen i was hoping someone would know something. i think the anticipation will slowly kill me.

charles leclerc good, then i can become champion. sebastian vettel not that he needs you to be dead to beat you.

max verstappen i guess we'll see won't we?

charles leclerc we will, won't we? natalia leclerc men 🙄

sebastian vettel i think if we don't know anything it's because they haven't found a replacement.

max verstappen then that's stupid, why are they going to announce it when they haven't found someone to replace him?

natalia leclerc because even now we can't get away from spanish papers. someone leaked this shit.

sebastian vettel i have a crazy idea.

charles leclerc how crazy are we talking here?

sebastian vettel i'll be back in like 40 minutes.

max verstappen way to leave us hanging seb

40 minutes later

sebastian vettel i don't know how successful i was but i think they'll think about it.

natalia leclerc seb, what did you do?

sebastian vettel hopefully something worthy of younger seb's chaos.

max verstappen we're fucked

charles leclerc don't be mean. as long as it's not another multi-21 we'll be fine.

sebastian vettel oh my god. let it go. charles leclerc as long as people still hold the inchident against me. i will hold multi-21 against you.

natalia leclerc i don't know why anyone thinks you three are serious people. you're all children.

max verstappen says the woman who's been thiristing over her husband on social media.

"how long did it take you to convince him?" natalia asked. sebastian huffed, "i almost got down on my knees to beg."

"it would not have come to that," kimi replied.

sebastian rolled his eyes, "he was enjoying it. i had to ask his wife to help me convince him. they gave me a deadline to get him on board."

"was there any other option?" max questioned.

"jenson," seb answered at the same time kimi said, "mark."

charles laughed, "oh, would it not have been great to see seb and mark on the same team again?"

"they would've killed each other," max realized.

"no, we wouldn't," sebastian argued. natalia gave him a shit-eating grin, "you still have to see him at the paddock, like every week. he's oscar's manager."

"the mini-me?" kimi quizzed, looking up from his ice cream, because nothing would stop him from enjoying ice cream. everyone at the table looked at him confused, kimi shrugged, "i read what people say. sometimes."

the conversation was stopped by kelly's arrival, "sorry, i'm late. daniil was running late and- nevermind. did you order yet?"

max shook his head, "just kimi, said he needed his ice cream."

"it's very good," kimi replied, "but i don't share."

sebastian huffed again, "i made a huge mistake."

"too late."

taglist: @janeholt3 @vroomvroommuppett @charlesgirl16 @someoneintheworld @iconicbookstore @evans-dejong @minmira95 @leanneg97 @asparklysoul @d3kstar @lollie0024 @magical-spit @gemnetjournal @rockyhayzkid @weekendlusting @ironspdy @namgification @moonyzsworld @Fall-bambi @emilyval1 @lorenakaspersen @spilled-coffee-cup @butterfly-lover @blushmimi @mgmoore @lovely-blackinnon @six-call @bingewatche @vroomvroom95 @lesliiieeeee @itscrzy @alymeddar @fletchingarcher @casperlikej @minmira95

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¡leclerc-s speaks! hope i didn't let anyone down with the kimi reveal, which due to popular demand, i just had to go with him. trust when i say i would've gone with seb if i didn't already have plans for him. listen, i love ollie, he is a baby, and i just had to include him somehow. so i took creative liberties. realistically this couldn't happen but oh well, poaching him and arthur was definitely seb's idea. also, please don't hate me for the daniel thing but liam lawson deserves an f1 seat and he's getting one in this story. at least i didn't get rid of him completely.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[whxre4hange]

the hargreeves vs zombie apocalypse - my headcanons!

op's note: hihi so i finished watching sweet home (monster apocalypse) and thought hey i know i have 2 assignments going on BUT ima make some tua hc's instead :D ....sigh i need to get a life...and a bf/gf...if u look like aidan gallagher hmu i cook clean and cry. anyways. lmk what u think tehe...here we goooo

luther: immediately declared himself "commander of survival operations" and made everyone vote on it, even though no one else ran. thinks he’s giving inspiring speeches, but they always just turn into long-winded monologues about "the importance of teamwork" while everyone else loots the area. sweats even more than usual because the apocalypse is stressful and deodorant is a thing of the past. so he stinks. really. bad. once tried to punch a zombie with his bare hands because “they’re technically just slow-moving people,” and almost got bitten. keeps a detailed survival journal but it’s mostly doodles and passive-aggressive notes about diego ignoring orders.

diego: treats the zombie apocalypse like it’s an elaborate training montage just for him. dual-wields knives at all times, even when eating. thinks guns are for "amateurs" but once tried to throw a knife at a zombie and accidentally hit five (who then spent 30 minutes cursing him and his entire bloodline while bandaging himself up). keeps sneaking off alone to "clear out infestations" but always ends up running back covered in blood (his) and pretending it was part of the plan. has an actual kill count scoreboard going against five, but no one else cares. tried to roundhouse kick a zombie’s head off, tripped and fell on his face. five still hasn’t let him forget it.

klaus: thriving, honestly. claims he’s "always been a post-apocalypse kind of guy." wears a fur coat, cargo shorts, and mismatched crocs because "fashion is still important." talks to zombie ghosts just to see what they have to say—turns out, it’s mostly just "braaaains" and regrets. keeps making bets with ben on who will be the first to get bitten (ben doesn’t find it funny). once used an old ouija board to ask the undead for directions—accidentally summoned a ghost horde instead. somehow still has a never-ending supply of alcohol despite no one ever seeing him loot anything. tried to convince the others to start a zombie wrestling league for entertainment; diego almost agreed.

allison: has fully leaned into her "mom friend in the apocalypse" role. keeps a clipboard with laminated pages to track supplies and rationing. still does her makeup every morning, even if the world is ending—calls it "a small act of self-care," but five thinks she’s just flexing. uses her rumor power only when absolutely necessary, except for the one time she got sick of diego and five fighting and just went, "i heard you both shut up for five minutes." once convinced a zombie to walk off a bridge just to test if it would listen to her (it did). pretends to be chill but secretly writes everything in a tattered notebook titled "this is why we’re all gonna die."

ben: still dead, still annoyed. sticks around out of sheer spite, even though he’s not affected by the apocalypse at all. the only one who doesn’t have to fight for survival, but complains the most. keeps pointing out everyone’s bad decisions, but no one can hear him except klaus, who either ignores him or deliberately misinterprets everything he says. once tried to warn them about an ambush but klaus was too busy trying to do a handstand to listen. occasionally poltergeists objects to mess with people. once whispered "behind you" to diego in a creepy voice during a supply run—diego screamed and nearly stabbed luther. absolutely haunts reginald out of spite. keeps track of all the dumb ways klaus has nearly died (current count: 14).

five: convinced the apocalypse is everyone else’s fault. keeps muttering about how "if i had just been in charge, none of this would have happened!" goes feral on zombies like it’s personal, but still somehow has perfectly combed hair. does not believe in rations, refuses to eat canned food, and once teleported into an abandoned café just to make himself an actual cappuccino (he was chased out by a zombie horde but it was worth it). has a whole mental flowchart for survival scenarios but refuses to share it because "you wouldn’t understand." yells at everyone for being inefficient but nearly died once because he was too busy monologuing about quantum theory to notice a zombie sneaking up behind him.

viktor: quietly the most terrifying person in the group. has turned emotionally repressing his rage into a tactical advantage. never panics, never runs—just stares at approaching zombies like he’s thinking about it. could and would clear an entire street of zombies in one dramatic violin solo but refuses to use his powers for anything practical, like opening cans. once casually mentioned that he "has a plan" if any of them get bitten—has not and will not elaborated. writes in a notebook constantly, but no one knows if it’s for strategy, revenge fantasies, or fanfiction about the group. keeps making unsettlingly specific comments like, "if we had to eat someone to survive, i know exactly who it would be."

lila: showed up unannounced in the middle of a supply raid, eating an apple and acting like she’d been there the whole time. refuses to explain how she’s survived alone this long. mocks diego for being dramatic but absolutely eggs him on whenever he gets in a fight. regularly disappears for days and comes back with a suspiciously good haul—won’t say where it came from. keeps threatening to start her own rival group just to mess with luther. once convinced klaus to let her yeet him over a fence for fun (it did not go well, but at least ben's "klaus kill count" went up alot). absolutely the kind of person who’d trip you to escape faster but would feel kinda bad about it later.

reginald: still an absolute bastard, even in the apocalypse. probably knew this was going to happen but didn’t bother to warn anyone. survived longer than anyone expected by somehow manipulating the zombies into ignoring him—no one knows how, and he refuses to explain. still demands perfection from the siblings, even though they’re all just trying to stay alive. once built an elaborate fortified bunker but only let himself inside, forcing the others to fend for themselves. keeps making cryptic remarks like, "this was inevitable," and "you should have been prepared," despite offering zero helpful advice. has a secret spot filled with supplies, food, showers but refuses to let the others in because they "need to learn resilience." probably caused the zombie outbreak but won’t confirm or deny. treats the apocalypse like a science experiment and keeps making notes on who’s "adapting" best (spoiler: he thinks they’re all disappointments). will absolutely sacrifice someone "for the greater good" and won’t even pretend to feel bad about it. somehow never looks dirty, despite wandering through the same zombie-infested wastelands as everyone else. if anyone asks him for actual survival advice, he just gives cryptic nonsense like, "the key to survival lies within the absence of fear" while nodding wisely (he has no idea what he's doing either)

[itsnathateasy]

Natt your headcannons are so cute and I desperately need comfort right now🙏 of course you write best with Armin... but can I beg you to write hcs for Erwin and a child/child-figure reader? maybe the rest of the veterans too, I love them so much</3

(although, honestly, Armin is so clearly Erwin's favorite lolol. hed be the kind of dad to very non-subtly talk to Armin about his kid who just so happens to be around the same age like a grandma trying to get her grandkid a partner...)

hi lydia! right into the hormones with this ask! i’m not apologising for wanting an Erwin daddy (for myself tehe😈) (i'm so glad you're enjoying the hcs so far!🫂 thanks for taking the time to read them!)

sorry for taking ages to write this, i've been all over the place lately and these headcanons have been my sole consolation!

warnings: mentions of pregnant reader in the beginning, otherwise mostly fluff! also, this is in a canonverse!

word count: 1,9k

So if you and Erwin had a kid, you’ve literally nothing to worry about. He’s a good daddy (to the both of you😈). He’s the best paternal figure for your kid and an amazing partner.

The moment you told Erwin you’re pregnant, you felt as if your entire world had collapsed. He literally couldn’t have appeared any more disinterested. Sure, he was tired from his mission, but… Didn’t you deserve some attention? All you got was a “That’s amazing sweetheart, I’m so proud of you” and a peck on the temple, before he returned to his newspaper. You were so upset and decided to get some sleep because, if you didn’t, he wouldn’t make it out of the house alive. Truth be told, he was probably trying to conceal his panic. He was going to be a dad!

To your surprise, you woke up to Erwin emptying your laundry room, measuring the walls, windows, door etc. “Just making sure this is a proper room for an infant. Won’t you take a look at those colour and fabric catalogues? I’ve marked a few choices I liked” you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. A man of action, indeed!

The first time Erwin saw your baby he was so conscious with his actions, scared to death that he might hurt them unintentionally. “Just support their head and torso and… You’re doing great!” you said as you fully let go of your baby in his strong arms. “This is so… God, y/n… This is the best day of my entire life!” This was the only time you ever witnessed the commander sobbing.

(This is genderless of course BUT I feel that Erwin would KILL for a son, but then he gets a daughter and goes all “I’ll make you a strong, independent woman”, you feel me? Back to the genderless kid now!)

Erwin is a tough love kind of person. While this still applies to him as a dad, you’ve seen tremendous change in him. He’s so caring and giving to your child, you almost don’t recognise him at first. (Although as the kid grows up, he kinda goes back to being more of a tough love type of guy, but mostly to teach them the value of hard work or something) (the type of dad to teach them a bunch of things, whether the kid likes it or not!)

I mean, if your kid isn’t doing their homework, Erwin will of course try to get to the bottom of things. “Why don’t you want to study today? Is something wrong at school?” but he’s also the dad to “Listen, I can plant the knowledge in your head, but I can’t make it sprout for you. You have to study on your own as well and you need to pay attention to your teachers. I’ll be in the living room if you’ve more questions”.

Erwin is the dad to plan Sundays in nature. Although he adores the sound of you and your kid playing indoors, while he’s reading his paper, he does love to actively spend time with you. He believes every outdoor activity is a great chance to teach you both some new skills, so do expect him to show you (and your toddler) how to chop wood. “Erwin, they’re three years old” “They need to know about these things, y/n. When I was their age, my dad made me carry the logs all the way home too” “You’re not making our three-year old carry logs Erwin” you protested with a slight glare. “I’m not making our three-year old carry logs, sweetheart”, surrendering with a smile.

While Erwin is more of a traditional dad, I don’t think this applies to how he sees you or his participation in housework and childcare. He’s traditional because he wants to teach your kid values and nurture them into a decent human being. That’s why he makes extra sure to help you fold clothes, clear the dining table etc. Especially if your kid is watching you. He’s trying to set the best possible example. If your kid is old enough to participate in chores, Erwin makes sure they do. “Chores are something we share. It’s like when dad’s on a mission with his team. Every team member has an important role to play. Our role inside the house is to make sure that the chores are completed.” It’s a good thing he was so attentive to the kid as he spoke, because you were on the verge of tears. Where did you even get this man?

He’s also traditional in the sense that he wants to be the provider. He’s the man to make a fuss when you say you want to get back to work, but he also respects you enough to recognise that you have to make your own choices on these matters.

Erwin is so big on rules, it’s almost annoying sometimes. “Why are you still in your pyjamas?” (even on a Saturday!) type of rules. Also, “There’s no dessert, if you don’t finish your lunch. Do you think your mother is obligated to cook for you? We should support mum, show her we’re grateful for all she does for us, not make her life miserable. Eat your peas, then we can all enjoy some pudding”.

“Same goes for mum. Mum has to finish her plate AND her pudding, so she can get some rest.” He gave you a playful smirk, knowing how you were desperate for a nap after your long day.

I KNOW IT IN MY BONES that Erwin is a sucker for activities he considers “smart”. Playing chess, reading books, solving puzzles and crosswords, that kind of games. He also tries to make up his own mind games. He thinks this is the best way to keep your kid’s mind as sharp as possible.

(He also makes them ACTUALLY strategise with him smh… He says that “a fresh, unbiased mind can share a fresh, unbiased perspective”. He’s always super impressed by the comments your child shares with him and how complex those comments become as they mature).

“Dad, how did you and mum meet?” You and Erwin exchange a look at the unexpected question. “Let me demonstrate...” he walked closer to you and held your hand in his. “Erwin we can’t really… Demonstrate this...” You admitted shyly, cheeks blushing, recalling one of your very first dates. “We’ll only demonstrate the suitable for work details, such as...” you inhaled sharply as he slammed you on his torso “How I asked you to dance with me and you didn’t know how to, so you kept stepping on my toes” “It’s not true Erwin! Don’t perpetuate the lie!” You couldn’t hold back your laughter at the sweet memory. “Dad, dad! Did mum go like this on your toes?” then proceeded to give him the worst toe-stepping experience of his life, as they stepped down on him with all of their force.

“The little devil almost threw my nails out! Can you believe how strong they are already?” He said rubbing his sore toes. “That was karma, Erwin, delivered to you in the best way possible!”

“When can I go out on my own dad?” “When you’re tall enough to reach things from the top shelf for your mother. Now go back to your studying.”

When your kid is sick, Erwin kinda loses it. Not in a hectic or panicky way. Mostly, he doesn’t know how to care for a sick person. He’s used to taking the sick or injured people to the infirmary, but how do care for a tiny person?

“Calm down, Erwin! It’s just a cold! Think of yourself. What do YOU do when you’re sick?” “I- Uhm...” He considered this for a while, deep in thought, his fist supporting his chin. “I don’t do anything, y/n. I’ve only ever been to the infirmary due to injuries” “You’re insufferable Erwin” you giggled as you showed him to your medicine cabinet. “They still weigh around sixty pounds. You pop one of these bad boys” you pointed to the painkillers, making the pills jiggle inside their paper box as you continued, “and you have to make sure they’ve eaten beforehand. It helps to drink some water as they swallow the pill. Take their temperature every few hours, make them drink some water, and that’s it!” All this time, his eyes were glued on yours, taking in every single thing you said. “Am I a bad father for not having attending to my sick kid before?” he questioned, eyes still deep in thought, obviously upset by his absence from your kid’s life. “You provide for us. And you risk your life for our entire community, every single day you’re not with us.” You said and touched your arm to his shoulder. “It’s no easy task. Besides, you’re here now and you’re here as often as you’re able too. You’re here for what’s important, trust me.” You explained earnestly. “You still do most of the work though, y/n. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t be doing this on your own.” “I’m not on my own now, am I?”

He really questions himself when it comes to finding a balance between work and family. I know it in my heart that he's doing his best for his precious family!

Erwin intervenes. A whole lot. “What is this book you’re reading?” “Do you have your eyes on any special lady/gentleman?” “Why didn’t you get the highest score in your class?”. Sometimes, he really puts too much pressure on your child. You have to pull him aside and explain that “You can’t control what another person does. Let them be themselves. They’re doing so well already, they’re just… Not as obsessed with succeeding in everything as you” you said and smirked at him. “I’m not obsessed, I’m just the best, y/n! Did you think I became the commander on accident?” He protested, in an almost defensive way, his hand on his chest. “I’m only saying, they don’t have to be as successful as you. They’re good enough and they’re doing their own thing. Let them be and don’t project on them.” He gave you a look as if he saw you for the first time. “Do you think I’m acting like my father, y/n?” (THE PANIC IN HIS VOICE!!)

When your kid receives a medal or does well in whatever they’re interested in, Erwin is the most proud dad to ever exist on the planet. His face is actually glowing and he’s boasting way more than the kid themselves. “I think they took after my sense of discipline. Look how far they’ve come y/n!” “Of course they take after you, Erwin! You’ve taught them so much!” “They wouldn’t be who they are without you, sweetheart.”

BONUS (when the child is 16+)

I do agree that Erwin is the type of person to try and introduce his kid to his favourite scouts. It’s also no secret that Erwin has a liking to Armin. A first, he’s not so sure that Armin is a good candidate for his offspring, as he used to be this timid, small boy. But as time passes, Erwin sees the brilliant mind and strategist that is Armin, he’s got to secure him, you know??

He’d make sure the offspring attends any formal ceremonies as an attempt to get these two to interact. Once he’s finally introduced them to one another, he tries so desperately to put in a good word here and there. It’s funny, because neither Armin or your kid has realised Erwin is doing this on purpose. “Can you not play match maker Erwin? Aren’t you a bit old for this?” “You don’t understand sweetheart. Armin’s a real catch! He’s going to be a commander after I retire, I’m sure! We just need to keep a close eye on him!”

[itsyagurlchip]

Hihi! ^w^ saw your requests were open annnd i was wondering if you could do a husk x reader [romantic + established relationship] where reader is his lucky charm. Like he just has such good luck when they’re around him (especially when he’s gambling). Just make it super cute n fluffy :3

☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･The Best Gamble Love Can Give☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings: super fluff attack(!) cussing(!) gambling/alcohol addiction(!) wife-coded reader(!)

ᯓᡣ𐭩Guys I swear to God if y'all don't correct my grammar imma find y'all houses and eat your waffle fries/j. This one is super cute anon! Thank you for requesting <33 I want to make some hearts explode with this one. Would you be fine if I made you Husk's spouse? (tehe)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Even if he didn't win, he still has you. And that's more than luck could ever grant.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 !!For those who don't play, Speed is a game where you have 20 cards to discard, and two discard piles. You have to place down each card (one by one) as fast as you can, in order, and whoever runs out of cards first wins. If there are no more cards to place, you grab from the piles on the sides to continue the game. All while keeping 5 cards in your hand at a time. While you don't need to know this in order to read the story- it will be helpful to know bc I'm not that good at explaining card games.!!

Husk kept on losing, and it was starting to piss him off. Today's redemption exercise was to practice to eliminate the need for gambling; ironically, Husk was chosen to lead the rounds of games. The current game was Speed, with Hellish versions of playing cards.

And he was losing. So. Bad.

Everyone was sitting in the main area, with the usual furniture switched out for tables and chairs. Husk growled, but kept his composure.

"Where's the serenity at, dear Husker? Getting 'chaff' now are we? I guess the cat does lose it's skill, after getting too curious of course." Alastor said, antagonizing him further. Husk banged his fist on the table, making the sinner in front of him jump a bit.

"Fuck!" He grumbles out. The first 5 were won easily, but for some reason these past 30 something games have been no luck.

At first, the goal of the exercise was to play a few games, and quit. You know, to discourage bad behavior but still have fun. But right now, even without a genuine bet, he was setting a bad example. He knows. The sinner in front of him was playing swiftly and skillfully. His wing twitched and he grimaced as his mind stuttered.

But he just had to win. He has to keep going.

Charlie was getting concerned, but he waved her off. Everyone else was finished with their rounds of games, it was time for a new activity. But Husk wasn't gonna allow himself to lose like this.

Not to a damned practice game.

Then you walked next to him. One by one, he rapidly placed down cards in order. His partner did as well, speed was the game afterall. His ear twitched as your heels softly clacked against the floor.

"Hey Husk, baby. You doin' any good?" You said, your voice dripping like honey over his ears. But then he remembered the game. You were worried, Vaggie told you he's been going on like this for hours non-stop. It's almost nighttime.

"Yea, don' worry. Imma win this game in just a minute." He responded, gruffly as he missed the chance to place his ace. He put down a 4 over the five in the second discard pile then. 2 cards left in his deck, but none that followed the order of the discard pile. Fuck.

His partner had 1 card left, probably a king considering the cards that were already placed down.

You kissed his fluffy forehead, relishing in the near silent purr he let out.

"Alright sweetheart, finish up the game so everyone can go to sleep." You fidgeted with his ears in your hands for a bit, before letting go and sitting at the bar.

Watching from afar, you saw that he won. But he wanted to play again. This time though, you didn't allow it. Vaggie saw that you had it handled, so she went up to the elevator. Probably to her room with Charlie, you guessed.

You stood up, walking towards him again with a glass of whiskey, swished with chocolate hints. You placed it in front of him while he was shuffling the cards, not before taking a sip.

The affectionate way it is then.

"Hey, you." You said, slowly rubbing up and down on his fur. You could feel it bristle in shivers before relaxing. Your chin rested on top of his head, lifting a bit to see what he was doing.

"Hey? You just talked to me a few minutes ago." He began to set the cards up, so you pluck them up and stacked them away into a withered box. His wing flapped in annoyance.

"I know," you chuckled. "I just knew you wouldn't last long without a drink. Nothin' too sweet of course." You finished, pushing the drink towards him.

While you couldn't eliminate his addictions, you could switch them for others in small amounts, enough to distract him to bed. You can't fix him, he can only help himself when he chooses to. You both know that.

"You know me too well, Sugarpie." Husk smiled, before talking a gulp of the glass you gave him. Half of it was gone. "No cherry?"

You laughed a bit, placing the box in your pocket to put away later. No one was in the room, no one you could see anyway.

"Naw." You rested your chin back down on his head, wrapping your arms around him neck a bit. "You would just swing it away. No appreciation for its flavor-" You scoffed amusedly at the thought.

He was now distracted away from the cards and now on you, good. You could hear Alastor snicker before walking away.

"Ready to go to bed?"

ᯓᡣ𐭩

In the dark room, you slept. Husk didn't.

He was wide awake, in a way that still made him feel tired, but not sleep. On his back, he looked up at the ceiling in mindless thought.

Husk didn't mind though, as long as it didn't affect your sleep. He looked at you. Your breaths were soft, and slow. His eyes dilated, though one could never really prove it.

Grabbing onto your waist, he cuddles into your side just a bit more, and relaxes with a deep sigh.

You, in your half asleep state, reach for him. In which you succeed, running your fingers through the tuffs of his ears in an unknown rhythm. Husk purred freely now, he loved it when this happened.

How lucky was he, of all people in this shitty hell, to still have his wife in the afterlife? Sure, you may not have done great things, but he was afraid that the two of you would forever be separated by heaven.

How lucky was he, in all of his shitty problems and mental shit, to be able to still have you around? To have you want him around?

That thought had brought a soft smile to his face. In all of his gambles, this was the best one he's ever made.

I think I remember who asked this, but then again I'm answering this one late. soooo, if I tag you incorrectly I'm so sorry (@kltira )

I think imma call this place the "debriefing space" bc I always wanna ramble, but I'm never sure where. Also, so people won't have to read this before the oneshot/fic. Nothing here will be specific, maybe things I'm thinking while writing, or things that I sorta wanna discuss.

Rather than being a lucky charm, I was thinking reader to be more of a saving grace for Husk. Which he already finds lucky enough. While you are motivation to win, it doesn't always secure his place for it.

I know this trope is kinds overused, but you and Husk were married during life (yippee!!). You guys are just two old people who want to spend time with each other lmao. I sorta headcannon that when he starts to get too into his addiction, you kind of save him (BUT NOT FROM ALASTOR LMAO/hj) and that was one of the reasons why he married you. Not only to keep himself in control, but to see you guys thrive together <33

you are quite literally his only silence from this hellhole.

{Can we just talk about how when Angel Dust nonconsensually touches Husk ppl call it "cute" and "aww", but when Valentino nonconsensually touches Angel it's now bad? likkke. we love the show but we gotta get some new writers for season 2 and fans who don't mischaracterize everything they see.

I'm now only really starting to think about this- and the double standard is starting to be more noticeable to me. Like when Sir Pentious was saying "no" but those demons still dragged him into the sex room. But that scene was used for entertainment rather than "Hey this is a serious moment" like Valentino was.

I'm all for HuskerDust, but you gotta realize when a character does something bad and does nothing to redeem from it, no matter if they're a part of the main cast or not. (isn't that what the show is supposed to be about- redemption? y'all do understand how destructive this behavior is and how it can easily make HuskerDust toxic right?). }

we need the option for another 'keep reading' thingy bc I talk too much. ignore my yapping.

૮₍˶• .•⑅₎ა tags: @kittykittyanon @bonefanatic @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl

૮₍˶• .•⑅₎ა@ziipzeepzop-eez @wheezdostuff @spongejuice @cyb3r-st4r @matteo-hamato

@clown-froggi

if you would like to be added, check my blog. if you would like to be added, check my blog. SEE? I SAID IT TWICE!!

[paigeswiftsea]

ok this is the first time I've written content this spicy so don't judge me pls and thank you

anyway i hope you guys enjoy this bc i was blushing and giggling while writing it tehe

summary: you follow up with sabine after letting the pigs out and it leads to something unexpected (;

cw: mentioned/implied sex. no explicit wording

wc: 5.2k

That night, you found her in the stable brushing Khaan’s lengthy mane.

You didn’t announce yourself at first—just stood in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame, trying to breathe through the ache in your legs and the sharp weight of guilt tucked under your ribs.

Sabine hadn’t seen you yet. Or maybe she had and was just pretending not to.

Her strokes were slow and methodical, almost gentle. Khaan stood like a statue beneath her hands, tail swishing idly. The faint light from the overhead lamp painted both of them in soft golds and shadows. There was something oddly domestic about it—this brutal girl, this warhorse, this quiet.

You hated how your heart twisted.

“You have a strange way of celebrating a successful mission,” you said finally, voice raw from smoke and dust and running. “Shouldn’t you be out gloating somewhere?”

Sabine didn’t look up.

“I could ask the same,” she replied. “But here you are. Lurking.”

You stepped inside, wincing as your boot scuffed the floor. “I wasn’t lurking. I was… thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime.”

She finally turned toward you, brushing a strand of black hair behind her ear, her face unreadable. “You did well today. I was impressed.”

“I let out a bunch of pigs, Sabine,” you said flatly. “I didn’t assassinate a king.”

She smiled, but it was faint. “No. You made a choice. A messy one. You don’t do that often.”

You took a breath, bracing yourself. “Is that what this all is to you? Just… testing me? Pushing until I break something?”

Sabine’s eyes flicked to yours—and this time, something flickered behind them. Guilt? No. Recognition, maybe. A quiet understanding that twisted deeper than either of you wanted to admit.

She looked back to Khaan and resumed brushing. “You’re not broken. If you were, you wouldn’t be here.”

You crossed your arms tightly. “And what am I now? Complicit? A little Dark Rider puppet?”

Sabine shrugged. “Not mine to define.”

You stood there in silence, throat tight. Outside, the wind kicked up, whispering through the trees. Inside, all you could hear was the steady rasp of the brush through Khaan’s mane.

“I didn’t like how it felt,” you said quietly. “Doing something wrong. Even if no one got hurt.”

Sabine finally paused. Her fingers stilled on Khaan’s neck. “But you did it.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means,” she said, turning fully to face you now, “that you’re more like me than you want to admit.”

Your breath caught.

“And if you hate that,” she added, stepping closer, “you’re going to have to decide what you’re really fighting for.”

She stopped just inches away, voice low and dangerous. “Is it them? Is it you? Or is it just whatever keeps you close enough to touch and far enough to blame?”

Your mouth went dry. You wanted to argue. To shove her. To kiss her.

Instead, you said nothing.

And Sabine—Sabine just looked at you with that half-pained, half-predatory expression that made your stomach twist into knots.

“You don’t have to answer tonight,” she whispered.

Then she turned away again, brushing down her horse like the conversation never happened.

You stayed there in the stall, unsure if your legs would even work if you tried to leave.

Sabine didn’t say anything else for a moment, just kept brushing Khaan with slow, practiced movements. But the silence between you wasn’t cold. It was… buzzing. Tight. Like the air right before a summer storm—heavy, electric, full of things waiting to be said.

“You always sneak around like that?” she asked eventually, without looking at you. “Or is it just me who gets the ghost routine?”

You huffed, stepping further into the stable, arms still crossed. “I wasn’t sneaking. I was watching.”

“Oh, much better,” she murmured, glancing at you from beneath thick lashes. “Very normal. Very well-adjusted.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was either this or pacing around my stall for another hour trying to figure out why I’m not more pissed at you.”

That caught her attention.

She turned slowly, letting the brush fall to her side. “And? Come to any brilliant conclusions?”

You shrugged, suddenly too aware of how warm the stable was. Or maybe that was just her. “I’m concussed.”

Sabine smirked. “Or maybe I’m charming.”

“Oh please.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

Sabine took a step closer, just a bit of weight in her stance that made your pulse kick up a notch. “But fascinating.”

“That’s not the word I’d use.”

“No?” she asked, voice soft now, almost teasing. “Then tell me—why are you here? You finished the test. You could’ve ridden back, cleaned yourself up, curled up with a mug of tea and a deeply judgmental Soul Rider.”

You shifted your weight, gaze flicking down to her boots before dragging back up to her face. “I don’t know. I guess I just…”

She waited.

“…wanted to see you,” you finished, almost too quietly.

Sabine didn’t move for a heartbeat. Two.

Then—“Say that again.”

You blinked. “What?”

Her voice dipped, warm and dark. “Say it again. Like you mean it.”

You swallowed. Hard. “I wanted to see you.”

She was in front of you now. Really in front of you. Close enough that you could see every detail—the faint freckle at the edge of her lip, the gold flecks in her eyes, the place on her collarbone where the moonlight hit and made her look unreal.

Her hand lifted—slow, not assuming, not demanding—and brushed a bit of hair away from your face. “You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

You stared at her, breath caught. “I thought I was the one being ruined.”

Sabine’s smile curved, lazy and wicked. “Maybe we’re both just a little broken.”

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was both of you. But then her mouth was on yours—slow at first, cautious, like she didn’t expect you to stay. Like she’d bolt the second you pulled away.

But you didn’t.

You leaned in.

Your hand found her shoulder, then the back of her neck. Her fingers curled into your jacket. The kiss deepened—still slow, still aching—but messier now, breathier. Her lips tasted like salt and fire and something sharp underneath. She kissed like she fought—relentless, knowing exactly where to press, where to pause.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, her breath warm against your cheek.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

“…If I get in trouble for this,” you whispered, “I’m blaming you.”

Sabine grinned, voice thick with heat. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Her smile hadn’t faded—not fully. It lingered in the corners of her mouth like the taste of something forbidden, and when her eyes flicked down to your lips again, it felt less like a glance and more like gravity.

You didn’t think. You just leaned in.

This time, there was no hesitation.

Sabine met you halfway, one hand curling firmly around your waist, pulling you in like she was daring you to stay. Her lips found yours again, more insistent now—less of a question, more of a claim. The kiss deepened in an instant, like a spark dropped onto dry grass. Hungry. Consuming.

You felt her smile against your mouth, that same infuriating, arrogant confidence—but it softened when your fingers threaded into her hair. When you tilted your head and pressed in closer, catching her lower lip between yours like a challenge of your own.

She groaned quietly—very quietly—but you heard it. Felt it. Fuckkk.

Then she pushed you back a step, only so your spine met the stable wall with a quiet thud. Her hand braced beside your head. “You should stop me,” she whispered, breath warm against your neck.

You tilted your chin just slightly, giving her more space, not backing down. “You don’t want me to.”

She chuckled, low and rich, right against your skin. “No. I really don’t.”

And then her mouth was on yours again, hotter now, with purpose. She kissed like she was making a point, like she wanted to leave a memory on your lips that would echo every time you tried to forget her. Your hands slid to her sides, then up—beneath her jacket, over the firm line of her back. She responded in kind, pulling you flush against her, until there wasn’t room to breathe between you.

When you finally broke apart—barely—you were both flushed and panting, eyes dark, lips kiss-bitten.

Sabine pressed her forehead to yours. “You’re such a bad idea.”

You grinned, breathless. “You started it.”

Her fingers brushed your cheek. “Yeah. And I’m not finished.”

She kissed you again—slower now, like a secret—and for a while, the world beyond the stable didn’t matter.

You didn’t hear the door creak open.

Too wrapped up in Sabine—her mouth, her warmth, the way her fingers curled just under the hem of your shirt like she was trying to memorize the way your skin felt in this exact moment. The stable smelled like hay and horse and something new, something electric.

It wasn’t until Sabine stilled—really stilled—that you sensed something was off.

Her eyes flicked beside you. She blinked once.

You turned.

Linda stood in the open stable door.

Her book was still in her hand, clutched mid-chapter like she’d meant to drop off something casual, maybe a message or a schedule. She had that same composed, clinical expression she always wore when she was thinking too hard—except now it was frozen in place, like she had walked into a crime scene and hadn’t quite processed the body yet.

The silence was excruciating.

Sabine, of course, was the first to recover.

She didn’t even look embarrassed. Didn’t flinch. She just leaned a fraction closer to you and smirked—smirked, the absolute menace—and said, very softly, “Well. That’s awkward.”

You didn’t even have it in you to speak. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs, your lips tingling with the aftermath of way too many choices you couldn’t undo.

Linda looked between the two of you. Once. Slowly.

Then, without a single word, she turned around and walked back out of the stable, closing the door very gently behind her.

You stood there, stunned, the air gone from your lungs.

Sabine let out a low whistle. “She’s good. I give her points for the silent exit.”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “I am never hearing the end of this.”

Sabine just grinned and tugged you back toward her by the belt loop. “Good. Then you better make it worth it.”

Sabine's voice was low, velvet and smoke, curling around your thoughts like a snare.

“I should probably—” you started, the flush still high on your cheeks, breath shallow, heart sprinting.

“Mm… no.” Her hands curled tighter into your belt loops, pulling you flush against her. “Let her speculate.”

You stared at her, half-struck by the boldness in her eyes—half-struck by how badly you didn’t want to leave either.

“Sabine,” you warned, though your voice came out softer than intended.

Her grin deepened, slow and shameless. “What? She’s the clever one, isn’t she? She’ll figure it out.” She tilted her head slightly, brushing her nose against yours, not quite a kiss—teasing, infuriating, perfect. “Let her wonder what kind of hold I have on you.”

Your breath caught.

“You don’t have a hold on me.”

Sabine's lips hovered just shy of yours. “No?”

You hated how much she made you want to lie. Or maybe you didn’t.

You felt her smirk before you saw it.

“Thought so,” she whispered.

Then she kissed you again—slow and deliberate this time, like she was branding the moment into you, claiming it. Claiming you.

And you—idiotically, willingly—let her.

Let Linda speculate. Let the world guess. Right now, all that existed was the heat of Sabine’s mouth, the rough press of her jacket against your hands, and the dizzy feeling that maybe, just maybe, you were in way over your head.

“Spend… the night… with me,” Sabine murmured between kisses, each word barely audible, her breath warm against your lips.

Your hands stilled where they rested against her waist, heart stuttering like your brain hadn’t fully caught up with your body. Her voice—low, coaxing, almost too casual—sounded nothing like a request. It sounded like a dare. Like a challenge she already knew you wouldn’t refuse.

You pulled back just slightly, trying to gather what scraps of reason you had left. Her grip stayed firm on your belt loops, anchoring you in place. “Sabine…”

“What?” she whispered, nipping softly at your bottom lip before leaning her forehead against yours. “Scared of getting caught again?”

You didn’t answer.

She tilted her head, brushing her nose along your jawline in a touch that was almost sweet—almost. “You’ve already ruined your reputation, darling. Might as well enjoy it.”

You exhaled a sharp breath, still not sure how this had gone from storming off after a fight to… this. Your hands slid up the curve of her jacket to rest lightly on her collar.

“This isn’t smart,” you murmured.

“No,” she agreed, voice smug. “But tell me it’s not what you want.”

The silence stretched, and she leaned in again, but this time slower—testing the space between you, waiting for you to close it.

And you did.

You kissed her again, deeper this time, and she made a low, satisfied sound in her throat, hands sliding up your back like she couldn’t get you close enough.

“Say yes,” she whispered against your lips.

You hesitated—then nodded once, breathless. “Okay.”

Sabine grinned like the devil, triumphant and too beautiful for your own good. “Good,” she said. “Because I wasn’t going to let you leave anyway.”

The air between you and Sabine thickens as her smile lingers, as if she already knows what you’re about to do. Her eyes glint with an almost predatory satisfaction, that same dangerous gleam that has haunted every encounter. You take a shaky breath, trying to pull your thoughts together, but the way her hands keep moving over your body, the way her lips graze your neck like she’s tasting you—it's almost impossible.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Sabine pulls away just enough to look at you, her fingers tracing the edge of your jawline as if she’s memorizing the feel of your skin. You shiver. “Are you sure you want to leave this place?” she asks, her voice thick with an unspoken promise.

“Right now? No.” You blink at her, still caught up in the hazy blur of her touch. “But what if we get caught?”

She leans in, lips brushing over yours with a softness that contrasts the intensity in her gaze. “Let them try,” she whispers, her breath warm on your lips. “I don’t care about anyone else right now.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands rising to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer still as the world outside the stable faded away. It was just the two of you now, the only thing that mattered was the way her lips moved against yours, the way her hands explored your body with the same fire that sparked between you every time you two collided.

Finally, she pulled away, breathing heavily, a smug grin on her lips. “You’re staying with me tonight,” she said, the words not a question, but a fact. “Come on, we’ll take the back way. I don’t want anyone knowing I’ve got you wrapped around my finger just yet.”

She tugged you toward the side of the stables, away from the open yard, leading you down a narrow path you hadn’t noticed before. Her steps were confident, purposeful, and you had no choice but to follow, unable to stop yourself from glancing over at her—her dark hair catching the moonlight, her figure effortlessly pulling you in.

The town of Jarlaheim was quieter now, the usual bustle of festival-goers tucked away in their tents and booths. The quiet streets seemed to swallow you both as you walked in sync, the faint sounds of your footsteps and your racing heart the only thing to break the silence. Sabine didn’t speak again, but her hand brushed against yours as you walked, fingers lingering in a subtle, intimate way. She didn’t need to say a word; the air between you was charged with anticipation, the promise of something neither of you were willing to acknowledge fully.

Before long, you found yourself standing at the door of her apartment—a cozy little place tucked in a quieter part of Jarlaheim, the kind of spot that felt like a hidden secret. The dim light spilling from behind the door only made the whole situation feel more illicit, more exciting.

“After you,” Sabine said, her voice low and thick with unspoken meaning, as she unlocked the door.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” she teased, voice laced with a teasing edge. She crossed the room, her boots clicking softly against the floor. “Most people would’ve run off by now.”

You weren’t most people. And for whatever reason, despite the chaos swirling in your chest, you weren’t leaving—not yet, at least. You stood, walking towards her slowly. "I’m not afraid of you."

Sabine’s eyes glinted, a predatory smirk spreading across her lips. “Really?” she purred, stepping closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Then let’s see how long you can resist.”

Before you could react, she cupped your chin, pulling you in for a kiss that was sudden and unrelenting—her lips claiming yours with a hunger that left you breathless. You tried to match her intensity, hands reaching up to grasp her shoulders, feeling the firmness of her body beneath the fabric of her jacket.

Her tongue flicked against yours, teasing, pulling back only to dive back in. It was a dance you hadn’t asked for but had no problem losing yourself in.

Sabine pulled away just slightly, leaving you dazed and wanting more. “See? Told you.” Her voice was a low murmur, seductive and almost satisfied, as though she’d already won.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but everything about her was pulling at you like a magnet. "You really think you can break me that easily?"

She laughed softly, a husky sound that slid down your spine like velvet. “Oh, darling, I’m not trying to break you. I just want to see what happens when you finally stop resisting.” She stepped back, her gaze roaming over you, her eyes dark and assessing. “Come here.”

She didn’t need to say it twice. You were already moving, the desire thick in your blood as you closed the gap between you. Sabine met you halfway, her hands sliding down your back, pulling you into her like you belonged there, like she owned you—and in that moment, she did.

Without breaking the kiss, she guided you towards the low, plush couch that dominated the room, her hands roaming over the soft fabric as she pushed you down gently, until you were sprawled beneath her. Her body caged you in, the weight of her pressing down on you, making it impossible to escape, not that you wanted to. Her lips trailed down your jaw, to your neck, where she left a heated kiss that had you gasping.

“You’re driving me crazy,” you mutter, breathless, not sure where to put your hands—on her hips? Her back? Her hair?

Sabine pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes darker now, heavy with something both dangerous and enticing. She tugs at the hem of your shirt, her fingers brushing against your skin like she’s memorizing every inch of you.

“That’s the idea,” she murmurs, her voice low and seductive as she presses a soft kiss to your neck, lingering there just a moment too long.

Your hands find her waist, pulling her closer. Everything about this—her, the way she’s making you feel, the way her body moves against yours—feels like something you shouldn’t be doing. But in the best, most reckless way, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You still haven’t answered me,” Sabine says, pulling back just enough to stare at you, her fingers lightly tracing over the edge of your jaw. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

You can feel the heat pooling between your legs, the undeniable pull of her presence, her energy. Everything about her makes your heart race, makes you want to give in, to let her lead you wherever this goes.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, but it carries the weight of your decision. "I want this. All of it."

A satisfied smile crosses Sabine’s lips as she leans down again, kissing you with a hunger that matches your own, the rest of the world fading away completely.

The tension between you and Sabine is electric, sparking in the air like static before a storm. She pulls back for just a moment, giving you a wicked look that’s all challenge and invitation. Her hands are hot on your skin as she trails them over your chest, her touch slow and deliberate as if she wants to savor every inch of you.

“You know,” she murmurs, voice hushed, “I don’t let anyone get this close.”

You feel a smirk tug at your lips, a flicker of defiance. “Then I guess I’m lucky.”

Sabine’s eyes darken, and her lips curl into a knowing, predatory smile. Without warning, she presses her body against yours again, her weight solid and undeniable, as she kisses you with a renewed intensity. This kiss is different, deeper, like she’s claiming you, like she can’t get enough. Her hands slide down your sides, pushing you back into the soft cushions beneath you, her lips trailing down to your neck.

You gasp as she nips at the sensitive skin of your throat, her teeth grazing just lightly enough to send a shiver of pleasure straight through your body. The sensation is almost too much, but you can’t pull away—not when she’s this close, not when she’s giving you everything you’ve been craving since you first laid eyes on her.

You let your hands roam, pulling her closer, sliding beneath the edge of her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin as you trace the contours of her body. The way she moans softly as you touch her only makes you want more, makes the fire in your chest burn hotter.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” you whisper against her lips, your voice thick with need.

Sabine pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, her pupils blown wide with lust. She doesn’t say anything, just shifts slightly, straddling you as she lowers her body against yours, letting you feel the heat of her where you’re both aching for more. She grinds down on you once, slow and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of her.

A sharp breath escapes you, and you dig your hands into her hips, pulling her closer, desperate for more. She grins at your reaction, leaning in to kiss you again, harder this time, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a hunger that matches your own.

As the kiss deepens, Sabine’s hands move expertly, tugging at the hem of your shirt, peeling it off you until your chest is exposed to the cool air, contrasting with the heat of her body pressed against yours. Her touch is relentless now, hot hands skimming over your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The slow, teasing build-up has turned into something urgent, and you can’t help but meet her movements with the same hunger, the same desire to get closer.

You hear her voice again, low and teasing as she pulls away just enough to whisper against your ear. “You wanted this. Now, prove it.”

Her words send a shudder through you, and before you can respond, she’s pushing you back against the couch again, lips trailing down your neck and shoulder, her hands working to undo your pants. The feel of her fingers against your skin, the way she’s touching you like she owns you—it drives you to the edge of madness.

Sabine pulls back one last time, standing up to give you a moment to catch your breath as she undoes her own clothes. The sight of her body revealed piece by piece makes your pulse race. She’s never looked more dangerous, more desirable. The air between you is thick with anticipation, both of you knowing exactly what’s about to happen.

When she’s finally bare before you, she leans down to kiss you again, hard and urgent, her body hovering above yours. The moment her lips meet yours, you feel that same, relentless need rushing back. She’s relentless, not giving you a moment to think as she slides back down on top of you, her body fitting perfectly against yours as she presses you into the couch.

Everything else falls away as she takes control—guiding you, kissing you like she’s trying to consume you, her hands everywhere, pulling you closer until it’s just the two of you and nothing else matters.

Sabine moves against you again, this time with more intensity, her pace quickening as her body presses against yours, the heat building between you both. Her breath comes in quick gasps, and each one makes your heart beat faster, stronger. The sounds filling the room are a mix of moans, sharp breaths, and the soft thud of your heartbeats—everything but the world outside.

She feels too good, too perfect, and with every move she makes, every kiss, you’re pulled deeper into this dizzying, heady feeling of being lost in her.

But even as you feel yourself slipping, even as the world narrows to just her—her lips, her touch, her voice—you know there’s no turning back now. You’re already tangled in something too dangerous to escape, and you don’t think you even would want too.

The soft glow of the morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm golden hue across the room. You blink slowly, your body still heavy with the sleep that clings to you like a comfortable fog. For a moment, you just let yourself breathe, savoring the peacefulness of the moment.

Then, you feel her. Sabine.

Her arm is wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and the weight of her body behind you feels both grounding and comforting. Her fingers are gentle in your hair, brushing through the strands with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the intensity of last night. You don’t move immediately. You just stay there, nestled against her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of her breath.

It feels like you’ve been here before, in this exact moment. That sense of familiarity, like waking up in a place that’s always been yours, like you belong here. It's warm, soft, safe. Almost nostalgic.

But it’s also so confusing.

You tilt your head slightly, glancing at her face. Sabine is still asleep, her features relaxed in a way you rarely see. She’s stunning like this, her beauty somehow more untouchable in the light of day, when she’s not in control of the situation. Her dark hair spills messily across the pillow, and her lips, slightly parted, carry the remnants of that dangerous, teasing smile from last night.

You smile faintly, watching her for a moment. Part of you wants to stay here forever, to pretend that this is all it is. That you’re just two people who happened to share the same bed, no strings, no complications. But you know it’s not that simple. Not with her. Not with the way she makes you feel.

Her fingers shift in your hair, a soft touch that seems almost instinctive. It’s as though she’s already awake in her own way, aware of your presence even while her eyes are closed. Her touch becomes more deliberate, sliding down to your neck and then back to your shoulders, her fingertips light but possessive. It’s gentle, comforting, but the undercurrent of intensity never quite fades.

You bite your lip, unsure whether to move or stay still. You’re torn between the desire to stay wrapped up in her arms and the urge to pull away, to protect yourself from whatever this is becoming. Because even if it feels like nostalgia, it doesn’t make it any less dangerous. And deep down, you know it’s only a matter of time before everything crashes down again.

Sabine stirs beside you, her movements slow and deliberate as she pulls you even closer, the soft press of her body against yours sending a ripple of heat through you. Her lips graze your ear, her voice low and lazy. “You’re awake,” she murmurs, her words thick with sleep.

“Mm-hmm,” you answer, your voice rougher than you intended. You swallow hard, your throat dry. You can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You’re here. With her. And it’s so easy to stay. Too easy.

She hums in acknowledgment, her hand sliding down your arm, her fingers brushing lightly over the skin. It feels like a promise, like she’s not letting go of you just yet, like you’re not done with whatever this is.

You take a slow breath, turning slightly so that you can face her. Your heart beats faster now, and you can’t tell if it’s from the way she’s looking at you with that glint in her eyes or the way her hand lingers on your skin. The connection is almost tangible, a thread of tension woven between the two of you.

“Sabine,” you whisper, the name slipping from your lips without thinking. Your voice comes out softer than you expect, like you’re afraid to break the silence between you.

She tilts her head, her eyes half-lidded as she looks down at you. Her lips curve into a teasing smile, though her touch stays gentle, slow, as if she’s savoring every moment. “What is it, darling?” she murmurs, her voice still husky from sleep.

Your mind races, your thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and desire, but you don’t have the words to express it all. So instead, you lean in, your lips brushing against her collarbone, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your mouth. Sabine’s breath catches, and you feel her muscles tense slightly before she relaxes again, giving you the freedom to kiss her.

It’s slow at first, soft and almost tentative, but it doesn’t take long for that hunger to creep back in. Her hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, her lips pressing harder against yours, taking control of the kiss with a fierceness that matches the passion she always holds back when she’s not in the heat of the moment.

You respond in kind, your hands moving to her back, pulling her tighter against you, as if you can’t get close enough. There’s no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing. All you feel is the warmth of her body, the softness of her lips, the way she makes you forget everything but her.

But even as your heart races and your mind drowns in the kiss, a small part of you knows you’ll have to face reality soon. The world will call you back—Alex, Linda, the Soul Riders, the tests, the life you left behind for this moment.

But right now, there’s only Sabine. And for once, you’re not thinking about tomorrow. You’re just here, in this bed, in this moment.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Here’s the request I promised hehe

Can I please request a Tangerine x fem!reader where that a few days before, they had been walking down down hand in hand, and every single thing that Y/n had even just the slightest bit of interest in, Tan made a mental note to come back and get it for her. Now, present day, when Tangerine is just coming back from a mission, he had stopped by down town and bought all of the things she was interested in, and nonchalantly presents them to her like, “Oh I was just passing by the stores and thought, why not, it’s no big deal…” as Y/n is like, “Omgggg!!!”

hii angel!! tehe yay I love it!! thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 just realised now, I forgot to include the dialogue you wanted, my bad !!

GIFTS.

tangerine x fem!reader

word count. 467

It was no secret that Tangerine was observant, often picking up on things you deem discreet. Whenever you were together, he'd notice things about you, things not many do. 

A few days prior, you and Tan were looking around the shops, seeing if anything tickled your fancy. Many things caught your eye, and you would say easy, throwaway comments about things you liked. You thought nothing of it, just making casual notes about the stuff that took your interest. 

Though, you forgot who you were shopping with. 

At the time, you were oblivious to the mental plans Tangerine was taking as you flicked through the clothes on the racks and browsed the homeware. None the wiser of what he was doing.

-

Blissfully unaware, you finish up in the shower, dressing in comfy loungewear before heading downstairs for a hot drink and a snack. 

You notice your boyfriend's car parked out front, his fancy vehicle in his usual spot. You rush down the stairs, excitedly calling out for him as you try to locate him from within the many rooms of the house. 

He calls your name from the closed door of the living room - his voice muffled behind the large slab of walnut. 

You swing open the door. A wide grin on your face when you spot Tangerine by the window. "You're back early?" you gush, darting over to him. "When did you get back? Why didn't you say anything?" you ask, smothering his face in welcome-home kisses.

"Not long ago," he grins, pulling apart to look down at you. "Wanted to surprise you. Did I?"

You nod eagerly. "Mhm-hm."

"You not noticed the stuff on the floor, then. No?" Tan asks, nodding to the almost mountain of bags and boxes behind you. 

You smile, shaking your head. "No, I was looking at you."

He returns a grin, slipping his hand in yours. "Park your arse there," he sweetly instructs, gesturing to the sofa. 

You take a seat. Brows knitted in confusion, watching your boyfriend.

He picks up a box from the floor and sits at the edge of the coffee table to face you, his expression sneaky and playful as he hands it to you. 

You open it, your face immediately lighting up when you realise what you have just received. It was those pair of shoes you were eyeing up the other day. "You didn't?" you grin, nose cutely scrunching, head tilting to the side. 

"I did," he nods, watching you intently.

"You remembered?" you murmur, pulling the shoes from their box - admiring them. "I love them. Thank you."

"Of course, darlin'," he boyishly smiles, eyes softening. "You ready for another one?"

"Another what?" 

He twists around to pick up a bag from the floor - designer logo on the bag. "Gift."

tan taglist: @tangerinesgf @kpopgirlbtssvt @earth-elemental18 @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @thewinterv @navs-bhat @ilovetangerinewithallmyheart @theredvelvetbitch @randomawesomeperson102 @lov3lypeaches7 @princess-pebbles-things @astermath @dynamitehacke @boldlyimportantface @charmedkim @fruitlovertangerine @psiiconic @bubblezuku @soradiccherryblossom @landryslove @daenerys-supremacy @dontknownameauthor @honestly-who-even-is-this @simplyreflected @apxtowiris

[judasgot-it]

Hiii! I suddenly had an idea like a vision or something tehee

imagine after a party (idk, hunting dogs celebrating another victory) and s/o’s feet hurt for her heels so tecchou noticing, carries her on his back. sorry if it was simple

btw Can i call you Judy and be 🪻anon?

You've gifted me a nickname and all I did was ignore you. I think the best thing that should be done is that I write your ask and that you beat me (jk please don't I'm just a writer. but ily flower anon that nickname is so sweet u have full use to call me it <3)

Scenario: Husband! Tecchou carries fem! reader around while at a party (TW for reader being a little drunk at some parts lol)

1 k words

Kiss Me - Sixpence None The Wiser

1:15 AM

The work party was still raging on.

Fukuchi and Teruko were screaming a duet into the karaoke machine, some sort of anime intro that Tachihara complained only old people would know.

Jouno was surprisingly still in the room, forcing some poor chef to make another batch of some overly complicated dish that apparently only Jouno could appreciate. There was a gun on the table, although surprisingly it wasn't pointed at anyone yet.

You could breathe a sigh of relief at that.

All you were looking for now was Tecchou. He had gone missing around half an hour ago, doing who knew what. He was the one thing keeping you alive at this party, considering how you were one or two drinks away from either passing out on the floor or just trying to take yourself home.

Your feet hurt, what else could you say? Maybe you were a little bit too drunk right now since you were sad over where you had placed your shoes. They were somewhere in the room, you were sure of it.

It was a really emotional endeavor, enough that you felt tears start to come to your eyes thinking about where you placed them. You tried to wipe them away the best you could, trying to not hit your face with the pair of shoes you were holding in your hands.

You walked across the room, hoping to find your husband in the crowd of very important government people whose names had lost you at that moment. Thankfully no one approached you, although maybe it was because they were all as messy as you were.

Tecchou was one of the tallest people there, and even on your tippy toes, you couldn't find his messy chestnut hair in the sea of heads. The feeling of panic started to settle quickly, your heart almost beating outside of your chest - your husband could be almost anywhere.

You turned around, feeling your tongue fall into your throat as you still couldn't locate your man. Wiping your wet eyes, you watched as a man approached you - tall, with messy chestnut hair.

Swallowing deeply, you tried to compose yourself as you saw his eyes land directly onto yours. Against your will, your eyes began to well up with tears once again.

Your feet guided you, rushing towards him like a bullet.

There was no thought as you wrapped your arms around him, your face buried down inside of his red suit. You sighed with relief as you felt your cold nose start to warm up against his body, the air you breathed our fanning against the cold skin on your cheeks as you nuzzled deeper onto him.

“Oh, there you are Angel.”

Two hands pulled at your arms, their warmth shocking your cold skin into goosebumps. His fingertips danced along your skin, callouses massaging your skin all the way up to your shoulders.

“I was looking for you. I was starting to think you got lost.”

You looked up as you said this, blinking innocently up into his honey eyes. He leaned his head a little bit away to stare at you, the tattoos on his cheek blending in with his long eyelashes.

Watching them twitch made your lips curve up, how they perfectly melted in together. You took one of your hands and pulled his face to look down at you properly, his brows pinching as he took in the full sight of you.

“You're so pretty Tecchou. Do you ever hear that?”

He smiled at those words, leaning closer into your hand.

“You told me that on our wedding night, actually.”

His brows pinched again, his gaze looking downward once again.

“Angel, why aren't you wearing your shoes?”

His words took a little to sink in, you still too busy watching how his beautiful face pulled apart as he said those words - the tattoos underneath his eye moving just underneath the small creases from his smile.

“Hmm… My feet hurt.”

You other hand lowered itself, cradling his waist as you swayed to the music that played throughout the room. It was easy to ignore the horrible singing that accomidated it, as you instead focused on the strong muscles that were barely consealed underneath Tecchou's suit.

He barely budges, only swaying slightly as he let you have your moment - watching you with hooded eyes. His steps were small, his heels clicking lightly against the tile of the dance floor.

“You know, if your feet hurt I can just carry you around.”

Stopping, you looked up at him, looking at his face carefully. His eyes held no lie, seeing as he was always a truthful man.

“Are you sure about that?” It was always polite to ask in your mind, even when you were challenging one of the strongest men you knew.

“I can lift twice your weight, you know that angel.“

A small smirk spread on his face as he said this, his eyes poring through your figure. His hands traveled down to your waist, squeezing you gently.

”I wouldn't break a sweat at all, if that's what you're worried about.“

You didn't have time to react as you stomach did twists, Tecchou manhandling you into a bride carry with ease.

”Oh my god, Tecchou!”

It was impossible to hide the joy in your words as he carried you, continuing the dance you had started earlier with ease. He hummed along softly to the song that still played, ignoring whatever wailing words were coming out of a horribly drunk Fukuchi's mouth at that moment.

It wouldn't ruin yours at the very least.

“What? I'm not going to let you walk around while your feet hurt.”

He danced with ease, completing a lazy waltz with you in his arms. His soft locks were lit up by the chandelier above, turned into a soft caramel from the light that shone through the strands. They stuck up in all sorts of directions, forming a creme brulee halo around his face.

You brought one of your arms to wrap around his neck, bringing your fingers to sift through the longer strangs of his hair. It was soft, almost an estactic feeling to have something so ethereal under your hand.

“You're so gorgeous.”

His face was closer to yours, his nose nearly brushing against yours. You giggled, stealing his air as you did so.

“I think you said that to me on our wedding night, handsome.“

His lips were pressed against yours, his handsome face blocking your vision for the rest of that night.