#and i like seeing him doubt and worry and fear and express these things without the narrative shutting him down

[vultures-and-scavengers]

she has the coin but fuck me if i don't like the anxious dialogue option better. love that between the two of them, the soldier and the diplomat, she's the one headed to the final battle, but OF COURSE she's terrified. she's not a fighter, she avoided as much of the fighting as she could during inquisition, and she has to go fight a blighted dragon and a darkspawn magister?

and i like this dialogue option more just because like. then both of them are confessing their fears, both of them afraid of whats coming, and both seeking comfort from each other.

and cullen's like... he's the bystander. he's present for all the major events, but rarely has any influence on them, rarely has a role to play. and now when supposedly he would have the power to influence things, as the commander of the inquisition, he has no army. they're still in transit from the arbor wilds, and so once again, he's helpless.

[cece693]

Just something short I thought of—sad Bucky because he thinks reader is planning on leaving him or just doesn't love him anymore. Like, you're ignoring him (not on purpose), but that makes the man go down a spiral of doubts which leads to comfort. It's definitely shorter than my other works, but I hope you enjoy it!

Did I Do Something Wrong?

pairing: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader tags: sad bucky, misunderstandings, reader is just busy, I promise, comfort, fluff all the way, short little fic, might even be considered an imagine

Bucky tried not to let the little things get to him. The first time you brushed his hand aside, you’d been running on only a couple hours of sleep. After returning from a week-long mission, you were bone-tired—so you mumbled a distracted “Sorry,” shut your eyes, and promptly drifted off. Bucky told himself not to worry. You were exhausted, that was all.

But days passed, and the pattern persisted.

The next time he reached for you—lightly resting his palm on your waist while you scrolled through mission logs—you shrugged him off without a second glance. Then there were the mornings he woke up alone, the bed already cooling on your side by the time he blinked blearily at the clock. You were usually a late riser, but now? You were gone before the sun had fully climbed the sky. Sure, you’d told him you liked to get a head start on the day, to train or do paperwork, but it still left Bucky feeling abandoned.

And then there was Natasha.

Bucky had caught you and Nat in a quiet corner of the common room, laughing together, your heads bent in conspiratorial whispers. From a distance, it looked so intimate. He tried not to imagine the worst—he trusted you, he knew Nat was a close friend—but old insecurities, the remnants of a lifetime of trust issues, began to creep up. If you were distant from him, but so playful and close with Natasha…maybe your feelings had changed.

It all came to a head late one night when you finally tumbled into bed after a punishing day. Bucky was waiting for you, eyes filled with longing, an unspoken plea hidden in the furrow of his brow. You settled under the covers, practically collapsing into the pillows. You felt Bucky shift closer, his arms trying to wrap around your waist—but you were so groggy you hardly registered it. Without meaning to, you scooted away, giving yourself room to breathe.

It was enough to break him.

“Do I—” Bucky started, then swallowed hard, heart pounding. “Do I disgust you now?”

The sheer pain in his voice made you crack open your eyes. You squinted at him, your exhaustion making things blurry for a moment. His expression was drenched in equal parts hurt and fear. The exhaustion clinging to your brain cleared in an instant as alarm and confusion set in.

“Bucky,” you murmured, voice heavy with fatigue, “why would you say that?”

“I don’t know.” He let out a rough exhale and ran his metal hand through his hair. “You never let me touch you anymore, you brush me off, you’re gone before I wake up. Half the time, I see you with Natasha instead. I just—I can’t figure out what I did, and it’s killing me.”

Your heart twisted as you finally registered the desperation in his eyes. He looked so lost, like a man expecting the worst. Pushing yourself upright, you shifted closer until your knees bumped against his hip, your gaze locked on his.

“Bucky,” you said softly, leaning in to brush a thumb over his cheek. “I’m not—I would never want to push you away. I haven’t been avoiding you on purpose.”

“But you are,” he insisted, voice small. It cracked a little on the last word. “You keep brushing me off, you don’t let me hold you. I…I don���t understand.”

You inhaled, guilt gnawing at your stomach as you realized how it must have looked from his perspective. “I’m so sorry,” you breathed. “I’ve just been so worn down. Between missions, late-night meetings, and a sleepless schedule, I’ve been running on fumes.” Your hand cupped his jaw, urging him to look right at you.

“I wake up early because…well, I know how important rest is for you. With the nightmares and everything, you don’t always sleep that well, and I didn’t want to risk waking you. So I figured if I slipped out quietly, you could stay under for a few more hours, maybe get some real rest.”

He blinked, startled. “You—You left so I could sleep better?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft with apology. “You’re not disgusting to me. Far from it. I’m just so drained that half the time I don’t even realize I’m brushing you off. I’m on autopilot.” You sighed, pressing your palm against the place where his flesh arm met his shoulder. “As for Nat, we’re just close, like you and Steve. She’s been checking in on me, and I’ve been venting to her about mission stress. That’s all.”

Bucky’s posture loosened. You could see the confusion in his eyes giving way to fragile relief. Still, the ache in his voice lingered as he asked, “So, you’re not fed up with me? You’re not looking for a reason to leave?”

“No,” you vowed. “I love you. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I’ve just been overwhelmed—no excuse, I know, but I promise, it’s not you.” You gently pulled him closer, letting him lean against you. “I’ll always need you, Bucky. Never doubt that.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling the breath he seemed to have been holding for days. Quietly, he brought a tentative hand to your waist, as if checking if it was really okay to hold you. Instead of moving away, you leaned your weight into him, letting your body mold to his.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m still tired, but not too tired to show you how much I care.” Wrapping your arms around him, you rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades, hoping to soothe his lingering fears. “Just let me make it up to you, okay?”

Bucky managed a small, wobbly smile, eyes burning with unshed tears of relief. “You don’t have to make up anything,” he murmured. “Just let me know what going on. Even if you have to leave in the morning, wake me up first. Tell me, so I know it’s not because you don’t want me around.”

A rush of warmth spread through your chest. “Deal,” you agreed, brushing your nose lightly against his.

With that reassurance hanging like a comforting blanket between you, Bucky allowed himself to settle into the bed, your arms wound safely around him. Soon enough, your shared warmth and the quiet of the night eased the frantic anxiety in his chest. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling that familiar scent that reminded him you were his—and that no amount of exhaustion or misunderstandings could ever truly sever the bond you two shared.

In the morning, you did wake him up, gently this time. You had a briefing in a few hours, but before you left, you let him know—forehead pressed to his, your heart full of affection. Bucky watched you go with a subdued smile, heart so much lighter than it had been before.

[itsnesss]

𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | lee myung-gi (player 333) × fem!reader

summary | the night before entering the squid game, Myung-gi shares a passionate evening with his girlfriend, hiding the truth about his impending departure

warnings | angst, smut, explicit content, p in v, implied abandonment

word count | 1.2 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

You are sitting on the bed, watching Myung-gi as he takes off his jacket and carefully places it on the back of the chair. He has that serious expression that has been accompanying him lately, as if he were carrying an invisible weight that he doesn't dare to share with you.

"Are you okay?" you ask, breaking the silence.

He pauses for a moment, as if considering lying to you, but finally nods.

"Yes. Just... I've been thinking about a lot of things".

"Like what?" you insist, searching for his gaze.

He approaches the bed and sits down beside you. His fingers brush against yours, and his touch makes you forget, even if just for a second, the worry that has been growing in your chest.

"In us. In what I want for you, for me".

You frown, feeling how vague words only feed your doubts.

"Why do you speak as if it were a farewell?"

"It's not". Her voice trembles slightly, and for the first time, you see a glimmer of something in her eyes: fear. He leans towards you, taking your face in his hands with a gentleness that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze.

"I just want you to know how much I love you.

You don't respond. Instead, you close your eyes when his lips meet yours, warm and urgent, as if he were trying to imprint this moment in his memory. His kiss is different this time, full of a passion that disarms you and a sadness you don't quite understand.

When his lips leave yours, you barely have time to breathe before he comes back for you, this time with more fervor. You lie back on the bed, feeling his hands glide over your body, each caress laden with a desire that seems intent on erasing any distance between you.

"I need you," he murmurs against your neck, his voice hoarse, vulnerable.

Your hands roam his back, clinging to him as if you feared he would vanish at any moment.

"I'm always here for you," you reply, not knowing that those words will be the ones he repeats to himself over and over in the days to come. You unbutton your blouse and take off his shirt, savoring the sensation of his skin against yours. You bring his lips to your chest, and he kisses them with an uncontrollable passion that makes you arch your back in search of more.

"I want to see you," you murmur, not caring if it sounds like a request, as if touch and passion weren't enough.

He looks up at you with a restrained smile.

"What do you want to see?".

"Everything. Everything about you." You look at him intently, noticing how his pupils dilate as he understands your words.

He nods, a brief gesture that does not hide the surprise in his eyes. His hands approach your skirt, and slowly and deliberately, he begins to move his hands up your thighs. Your fingers grip the sheets, trying to hold your breath as his fingers brush the edge of your underwear.

"Is this what you want?"

"No" you say, without breaking eye contact. "It's not enough".

"It's fine" he replies, as if he already knew the answer. He kisses your thighs and steps back to remove your skirt and thong. His gaze travels over every inch of your body, without noticing his own clothes and how they slip off your shoulders.

"Say it". He keeps his gaze on your curves. "If you don't, I won't be able to..."

"I want to see you". Your eyes stop at his belt, which is halfway down his left hip. All of you. "You just uttered the last word when his fingers begin to unfasten the belt buckles."

The sound of metal is the only music in the room. Myung-gi leans back to take off his pants, and your eyes widen when you see he is only wearing his gray underwear.

"Don't stop," you encourage him. "I want to see you".

His eyes look at you with the same passion with which they used to look at you all.

"Just say it again."

"I want to see you," you repeat. "All of you".

He caresses the bulge that protrudes from his pants. His fingers slide lightly over his erection, a caress that makes your thighs tense without you being able to help it. He seems to read your mind, because his fingers move to the waistband of his underwear to remove them.

"Whatever you want" he says, and you need nothing more to understand the meaning behind his words.

It's as if a part of him were granting you a great concession.

His cock is long and thick, protruding from his pelvis like an arrow. Myung-gi doesn't take long to caress it, holding it with his fingers with surprising gentleness and looking into your eyes with a mischievous glint in his gaze. He slides his thumb over her pink bud, as if it were a challenge for you.

"Is this how you like it?" he asks with a smirk, as he starts to move his hand so that his erection glistens with saliva and his own secretions.

"I like you" you respond, trying to remind yourself to keep your composure. "That's what I like".

You put a finger on her lips, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.

He quickly takes it, sucking your finger provocatively. He sucks at an increasingly faster pace, and your nipples harden as you remember the times you've let him do the same with your breasts, surrounding your nipples with his lips and sucking them so hard it felt like your body was on the verge of orgasm without having any idea why.

"Remember this," he says as he releases your finger. Remember me.

"I would never forget you," you reply. Unless you want something else. You looked into his eyes, your heart racing. "Do you want anything else?".

"Just you. Just this.." He tilts his head back and kisses you, with a furious and desire-filled passion.

You slide your hand over his cock, stroking it from the tip to the balls and back up slowly but surely, as if you felt in control of his pleasure. He moans in your mouth, a sensation as thrilling as it is terrifying.

"Fuck..." whispers. "Fuck".

"Do you like it?" you ask, kissing him briefly. "Is this what you want?".

He nods, without stopping the caresses on your breasts. Your nipples harden more with his caresses, and you can't help but arch your back a little to feel his fingers better on your breasts.

"That's it... that's what..." It seems like I can barely speak. "That's perfect". He steps away from you for just a moment to remove your panties. His gaze stops at your legs and his eyes widen.

"Do you see it?" he says, showing you his fingers. "Do you see it? You have some kind of fluids in your panties".

"I see it," you respond, blushing a little. Don't worry about it.

"That excites me more," he says with a smile. "I love that you like it". He caresses your thighs with his hands, with a softness in his fingers that makes your breasts harden no matter how much you try to breathe. "Do you want me to caress you there?"

"Where?"you say, pretending not to understand. "Where do you want to touch me?" You also have your hands on his erection, and the sound of his moans makes you wish he could hold out longer.

"There". He caresses your legs, moving his fingers up, towards your panties, before stopping at your se "I want to put my fingers here, feel you wet... and hot".

"It's one of your favorite fantasies" you say, smiling a little. You don't need to ask about that. You caress it with a slow movement of your fingers, knowing that you want more than that for him, but not quite knowing what.

"Do you want more?" you ask him. "What do you really want from me?".

"Just... just you" he repeats, without stopping kissing you. "That's all I've ever wanted". His fingers press against your sex, moving down with an increasingly intense softness. "This is just for us".

"Yes," you nod, kissing him. "All of this is ours". You took her hand with yours and brought it to your sex. Her fingers need no further invitation to move up and enter you.

"Ah..." You sigh, feeling the pressure of his fingers inside you.

"Oh, Myung-gi..." You can't help but moan, you can't help but feel lost in his eyes and in his caresses.

"Is this what you like?" he asks me, with his fingers on your sex and his erection pressing against your thighs. "Is that what you like?"

"Yes" you respond, feeling the pleasure grow in your belly. "Oh my God...!" Your fingers seek his shoulders, clinging as if you couldn't bear to let him go.

He keeps caressing you, his fingers moving in an increasingly intense rhythm. Your sex throbs to the rhythm of his caresses, as if trying to tell him something you can't say out loud.

"Do you want anything else?" he murmurs into your neck, with his cock pressing against your sex. Do you want to feel me there?

"Yes" you respond, feeling the pleasure like a wave growing inside you. "Yes... yes..." Your sex closes around his fingers, as if trying to keep them there, to have his hand inside you forever. "Myung-gi!"

He pulls out of you a moment later, his fingers slippery and stained with your fluids.

"Remember me like this," he says, as if words were the only thing he could do. "Remember me here". He takes your sex firmly, without delicacy, and thrusts it into you with a deep caress.

"Myung-gi!" Your legs close around him, feeling his cock so hard against your walls. "Oh... oh my God...".

"Yes" he gasps, pulling out a little before thrusting back in, deeper. "Like this. That's it... just like that..." He kisses you a moment later, his cock moving inside you with a rhythm that soon brings you to the edge of pleasure. "That's right. Only you".

"Oh, Myung-gi" you repeat, feeling the orgasm as a growing wave that will soon make you explode.

"Only you. Just for you". Your nails dig into his back with the effort to keep the rhythm and endure his movements.

"Just..." You can no longer keep talking. His erection inside you makes the pleasure so intense that you can't do anything but feel, you can't do anything but feel it inside you, each caress like a flame igniting in your body.

"Myung-gi..." The waves of pleasure begin to take over your body, making your thighs tremble and your fingers dig into his skin. "... Myung-gi, don't stop..." Your walls close around his cock with the orgasm, feeling your fluids spill over his erection.

"Fuck," he says, quickening his movements. "Fuck... I can feel you..."

You can't respond to him. The orgasm has you as a prisoner, you can do nothing but feel yourself coming on his erection with a muffled scream.

"Myung-gi" you repeat, feeling his fingers on your sex.

Myung-gi pulls out of you a moment after your waves of pleasure pass. His cock is covered in your fluids, and his fingers are as sticky as his thighs.

"I love you," he says, with a voice full of emotion, as if it were his last words. I will always love you.

"I love you too," you respond, feeling something inside you break with their words. I love you too.

He has just spoken them when he lies down beside you, wrapping his arms around you as if he thinks you might escape at any moment. His fingers caress your breasts slowly, with a softness as if he were incapable of touching you any other way. Your eyes slowly close, leaving you deeply asleep in his arms.

The next morning, you wake up alone. There is a note in its place, written in her hurried handwriting:

"Forgive me." Everything I do is for us. I love you."

[with-my-calamitous-love]

meet me in the afterglow ✧.

s. todoroki x reader. y/a shouto

more boyfriend thoughts, nsfw below the divider, f! reader for that portion. for his birthday 🫧

inspired by afterglow

shouto todoroki, who isn’t the greatest at feelings. who expresses himself largely through actions, rather than words. who is scared that if he opens his mouth he’ll blow things out of proportion and colour you blue. who has grown up always on survival mode, never really knowing when he’s safe, seeing the people who we’re supposed to love him hurt him. who at first, jails you for things you don’t do, thinking he has reason to attack, before realizing you’re one of the few people he can confide in. from there, he’s stuck to you like glue.

shouto todoroki, who doesn’t want to break what he loves so much. who is smart, able to read you and the looks on your face. who comes across as cold and unexpressive, a bit of an asshole. but who is actually very observant, and a great listener, tilting his head and urging you to go on. who doesn’t ask “how was your day?” but instead says “tell me about your day”, wanting to know every detail. who listens with a content smile, forgetting everything else in the world but you.

shouto todoroki, who isn’t really terrified of losing what you have. who constantly self-sabotages, sometimes without realizing it, because he’d rather be alone than be left behind. who has to face the truth that he’s the one burning you down, getting into his own head about his fears. who melts like ice when you finally confront him, calling him out for the idiot he is, knowing that deep down? he doesn’t wanna do this to you. who doesn’t want you to go.

shouto todoroki, who is a gentleman in a world of boys. who calls you beautiful, darling, love, or anything that graces your face with a rose coloured hue. who is the king of romantic dates, backhugs, and forehead kisses. who wants nothing more than to lift you up and never let you go, learning that this kind of love is worth the fight.

shouto todoroki, who some nights, needs you to tell him that it’ll be fine, that he’s still yours. who sometimes loses his mind, wondering if he is good enough, if he’ll ever fully escape his past. who looks at you and sees his future, and for the first time, sees something so much bigger than just him. he sees happiness, marriage, maybe even being a father himself, never repeating the same mistakes. who knows he’s broken your heart, and wonders how he can still be the one you want in the end, but chooses not to question it.

shouto todoroki, who never fully stops doubting, but lets you kiss away his anxieties. who loves you like the moon loves the sun- wondering if its okay, if its meant to be- and doing it anyway. who melts like ice when he sees you smile, kissing you like afterglow shining on his skin. who is the only name on your lips, your future, your forever. who promises to give you everything he is and so much more.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

shouto todoroki, who kisses you until your out of breath. who constantly asks “do you feel good, love?” or “you like it when i touch you here?” who will take you anywhere- in bed, on the couch, on counters, in the shower, his car. who couldn’t care less if you’re on your period, or if you haven’t shaved, or if you’re worried he won’t like what he sees. he loves you, every inch of you, and does good in proving that.

shouto todoroki, who loves going down on you. who gets you so wet just from kissing you, trailing his lips down your body, his hands slowly removing your clothes. whose eyes look up at you when he’s in between your legs, thighs hooked over his shoulders, asking for permission. who loves to eat you out with your panties on, smirking against your clit when you whine for him to take them off. who swirls his tongue around you, eating like he’s starved, making you cum the moment he tugs your underwear off, eating you out with no barrier.

shouto todoroki, who puts your pleasure first, always. who’ll makes sure you cum 2-3 times before he even thinks about releasing for himself. who turns your brain to mush, a slow, deep, gentle lover who knows where to kiss and where to thrust. who’ll lean down to whisper in your ear, asking “do you like this position, baby?” or “how do you want me to take you, love?” who almost laughs to himself when he sees you unable to form coherent sentences.

shouto todoroki, who’ll start slow, teasing you with the tip of his cock until he sees you tear up. who kisses those tears away, pushing himself inside, letting you fully adjust before moving. who whispers praises in your ear, feeling you clench around him every time he says something. “so good, love, making me feel like this. ah, cumming already? so cute.”

shouto todoroki, who specifically asks you where you want to cum. he has to resist the urge right there when you cry out, telling him to do it in you. whose bi-coloured eyes fill with a hint of concern, double checking with you, but nearly unable to resist the way you take him. drags it out for as long as he can, playing with your tits, biting your skin, slamming his cock into you with reckless abandon before finally spilling his seed deep into your pussy. who stays there, wrapping your leg around his waist. “don’t waste a single drop, love.”

shouto todoroki, who stays there for a few more moments before sliding out with a kiss to your forehead. who is the best at aftercare, icing any sore spots, keeping you warm next to him. who is blissfully satisfied in the afterglow of sex, able to let his guard down, able to simply love you. <3

[hisfavegirl]

Eternal Flame - Aegon Targaryen x Niece!Reader.

Summary : Your love for Aegon is enough to make you a bridge between the differences of your family, you are also a valuable asset that your family has in this peace.

Aegon Masterlist.

You stood silently in front of your mother’s chambers, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. From within, you could hear the familiar sound of raised voices—your mother, Rhaenyra, and your father, Daemon, locked in yet another argument. It wasn’t the first time, and you doubted it would be the last. Their words were muffled by the thick wooden door, but you didn’t need to strain to know what they were fighting about.

The topic was you.

More specifically, your mother’s decision to marry you to Aegon—a decision you had agreed to without hesitation because, despite everything, you and Aegon loved each other. But your father did not see it that way. To him, it was a betrayal, a dangerous political move that tied you to the Hightowers—a family he had no trust or love for.

“Do you not see what you’ve done?” you heard your father’s voice, sharp and accusing. “Marrying her to him binds her to them, to Alicent, to everything that divides us!”

“She loves him,” your mother’s voice countered, firm and resolute. “And he loves her. I will not stand in the way of their happiness because of your hatred, Daemon.”

There was a pause, heavy and tense, and then your father’s voice cut through again, quieter but no less furious. “It is not hatred—it is survival. Do you think love will matter when war comes? When the Hightowers seek to take everything from us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at his words. You knew your father’s concerns were not without merit. The tension between your family and the Hightowers had long before you're born. But your love for Aegon wasn’t about politics, about alliances or power plays. It was real, and it was yours.

Gathering your courage, you raised your hand and knocked on the door. The voices inside immediately went silent, and a moment later, your mother called out, “Come in.”

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. Both your parents turned to look at you, their expressions tense and conflicted.

“I can hear you from the hallway,” you said softly, meeting their gazes. “And I know what you’re arguing about.”

Rhaenyra’s face softened, guilt flickering in her eyes. “My love, I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupted gently but firmly. “You don’t need to apologize. I know why Father is angry, and I understand his reasons. But this is my choice. I love Aegon, and he loves me. That should be enough.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Love is a fleeting thing, daughter. It cannot protect you from what is to come.”

“And neither can fear,” you replied, your voice steady. “I am not afraid of loving him, just as I am not afraid of standing by my family. I am a Targaryen, and I will not be divided by anyone.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then, slowly, Rhaenyra stepped forward and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“You are stronger than I ever was,” she said quietly, her voice filled with pride.

Daemon said nothing, but the flicker of approval in his gaze was enough. You knew he would never stop worrying, never stop protecting you in his own way. But for now, at least, the storm had passed.

You strolled through the garden, the soft rustle of leaves and the sweet scent of blooming flowers surrounding you. The tranquility of the moment was soothing, a brief escape from the weight of palace life. Yet, as you rounded a corner, the sound of familiar laughter reached your ears—a voice you knew better than your own.

Aegon.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned your head toward the source of the sound. There he was, leaning casually against a tree, his silver hair catching the sunlight like molten silver. He looked at ease, a rare sight for someone so often burdened by expectation and excess.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, lost in conversation with a servant or perhaps just musing aloud. But when his eyes finally met yours, his expression softened, a genuine smile curving his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile back, warmth spreading through you like a gentle flame. Despite everything—the politics, the whispers, the shadows that lingered over your family—he had always had this effect on you. He made the world feel smaller, simpler, as though nothing else mattered when he was near.

“Aegon,” you called softly, stepping closer.

His smile widened as he straightened, his arms opening slightly in an unspoken invitation. “Wandering the gardens alone, my love? Were you looking for me, or have I just been blessed with your presence by chance?”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Perhaps a bit of both.”

Aegon chuckled, the sound rich and full of life. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, and his gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

“In a garden full of beauty, you are still the most captivating thing here,” he murmured, his tone teasing yet sincere.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics but couldn’t suppress the blush that crept to your cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he quipped, his grin mischievous.

As the two of you stood there, surrounded by the vibrant colors of the garden, the world seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of you, and nothing else mattered.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden hues over the garden as you and Aegon shared quiet laughter. His jokes, though often ridiculous, always had a way of lightening your heart. It was moments like these—free from the weight of duty and expectation—that you cherished the most.

Now, the two of you sat beneath the shade of a sprawling tree, the soft grass cushioning your seat. Aegon had decided, in his typical fashion, to make himself comfortable by resting his head in your lap. His silver hair spilled across your dress like threads of moonlight, and he looked up at you with a lazy grin.

“You spoil me, you know,” he said, his voice light with amusement.

“And how exactly do I do that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow but smiling down at him.

“By letting me lie here,” he teased, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the moment. “By laughing at my jokes, even when they’re terrible. By not scolding me when I steal too many sweets from the kitchens.”

You laughed, gently brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re impossible, Aegon.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replied, opening one eye to look at you.

You didn’t answer right away, instead letting your fingers trace absentmindedly through his hair. The truth of his words was unspoken but undeniable. Despite everything—the chaos, the complications—you loved him deeply.

“You’re right,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he reached up to take your free hand in his, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I know I don’t deserve it,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter, more serious. “But I’ll do my best to be worthy of it.”

Your heart ached at his vulnerability, and you squeezed his hand gently. “You don’t have to be perfect, Aegon. You just have to be you.”

He closed his eyes again, a content sigh escaping him as he relaxed into your touch. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you beneath the tree, wrapped in a moment of peace and love that felt as though it could last forever.

Your fingers continued to glide through Aegon’s silver hair, occasionally brushing against his cheek. His soft, relaxed expression made you smile—a rare sight from someone so often burdened by the expectations of his title and lineage.

He was calm, even content, as his head rested on your lap. You felt a sense of peace that you had been longing for amidst the chaos of your family’s complicated world. But that peace was shattered when you heard voices nearby.

You turned your head, your heart sinking as you recognized the approaching figures—your mother, Rhaenyra, and Aegon’s mother, Alicent. The two mother walked side by side, their expressions calm but tense. It was clear from their determined strides and hushed conversation that they were coming with a purpose.

Aegon, noticing your distraction, opened his eyes and followed your gaze. His relaxed demeanor shifted slightly, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he muttered, “And here come the dragons.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, though you quickly composed yourself as they approached. When they reached you, Alicent’s gaze flickered between you and Aegon, her expression disapproving but restrained. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, softened slightly when her eyes landed on you, though there was a firmness in her stance that told you this was no casual visit.

“Aegon,” Alicent said, her tone sharp but quiet, “is this how you choose to spend your time? Lounging in the gardens while matters of your marriage remain unresolved?”

Aegon sighed, sitting up but remaining close to you. “Mother,” he replied lazily, “can’t a man enjoy a moment of peace with his wife-to-be?”

“A moment, perhaps,” Rhaenyra interjected, her tone gentler than Alicent’s but no less serious. “But there are matters that must be addressed. The wedding is fast approaching, and there are arrangements to finalize.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Aegon, who rolled his eyes slightly before standing and helping you to your feet. “Very well,” he said, brushing off his tunic. “Let’s discuss this ‘urgent matter’ of a wedding that we’re already committed to.”

Alicent’s lips thinned, clearly unimpressed with his attitude, while Rhaenyra gave you a small, reassuring smile. You felt torn between the two women—your mother’s quiet encouragement and Alicent’s intense scrutiny—but you nodded and stepped forward.

“Shall we sit and discuss everything here in the garden?” you suggested, hoping to keep the conversation calm.

Rhaenyra nodded, gesturing for everyone to settle under the shade of the tree. As Aegon plopped back down beside you, his hand finding yours, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anxiety. The two most formidable women in your life were about to negotiate the details of your future—a future you hoped would bring peace, not more division.

The four of you sat at the far end of the garden under the shade of a large tree. The servants moved swiftly and quietly, setting down trays of small pastries, fruits, steaming tea, and wine. The atmosphere was pleasant enough, though there was a certain tension lingering in the air.

Alicent was the first to speak, her voice steady and deliberate. “The gown,” she began, glancing at you briefly before shifting her gaze to Rhaenyra. “It must be fitting of her station. The finest Myrish silk, perhaps trimmed with gold or silver. Something elegant, yet modest.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at the word “modest,” a faint smile tugging at her lips. “My daughter will shine on her wedding day,” she replied calmly. “Aegon deserves nothing less than a bride befitting a queen. If silver and gold are what you wish, then so be it. But I will ensure the gown captures her strength as well as her beauty.”

Aegon, lounging casually beside you, took a sip of his wine and murmured, “I think she looks perfect in anything.”

The comment made you smile, though Alicent shot him a quick, disapproving glance. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, seemed faintly amused.

“The gown can be decided later,” Rhaenyra said, waving her hand slightly. “Let us discuss the ceremony. I suggest the Great Sept—though I imagine you, Alicent, may have a different opinion.”

Alicent’s posture stiffened slightly, but she kept her tone measured. “The Great Sept is a fine choice, but the royal wedding of my son and your daughter must also honor the traditions of the Faith. The ceremony should reflect the values of both our houses.”

Aegon sighed dramatically, setting his goblet down. “The Faith, the dragons, the banners… Must we weigh down our wedding with every tradition imaginable?”

“You speak as though tradition is a burden,” Alicent said sharply, her gaze narrowing. “It is what binds us together as a people, Aegon.”

Rhaenyra interjected smoothly, her tone almost playful. “Perhaps we can find a compromise. A traditional ceremony in the Sept, but with elements that honor House Targaryen’s roots. Fire and blood, as they say.”

Alicent hesitated, clearly uneasy with the idea, but she gave a curt nod. “As long as it does not overshadow the sanctity of the Faith, I will agree.”

The conversation continued, moving from the guest list to the feast and even the matter of who would speak during the ceremony. You sat quietly for much of it, feeling like a spectator at times, though Aegon occasionally squeezed your hand under the table, a silent reassurance that you were in this together.

Despite the occasional clash of opinions, both Alicent and Rhaenyra seemed determined to ensure the wedding went smoothly. Their mutual efforts, however reluctant, gave you a glimmer of hope that this union might bring some measure of peace to your fractured family.

Aegon let out a low growl of frustration, setting his goblet down with a sharp clink against the table. His usually laid-back demeanor shifted as he straightened in his seat, his expression a mix of defiance and determination.

“If we are to discuss the ceremony yet again,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of irritation, “then let me make one thing clear: I want our wedding to honor our heritage—Old Valyria. That is our blood, our legacy, and I won’t have it drowned in customs that mean little to us.”

The air grew tense, and Alicent’s eyes widened slightly as she regarded her son. “Aegon,” she began, her tone cautious but firm, “the traditions of Old Valyria are… not aligned with the Faith. Such a ceremony could be seen as—”

“Blasphemy?” Aegon interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “We are Targaryens, Mother. Our house was forged in fire and blood long before we ever set foot in Westeros. Why should we not honor that?”

Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a faint smile, clearly intrigued by Aegon’s rare display of conviction. “I agree with Aegon,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “A union of fire and blood—a traditional Valyrian ceremony—would be fitting for our houses, wouldn’t you say, Alicent?”

Alicent’s hands tightened around her goblet, her lips pressing into a thin line. “The people of the realm will not understand such a ceremony,” she said carefully. “It will sow doubt and unease among those who already question the Targaryen legacy.”

“The people will understand what I tell them to understand,” Aegon retorted, his tone sharp. “I am their prince, am I not?”

You glanced at him, surprised by his sudden assertiveness, but there was a fire in his eyes that you rarely saw. He turned to you then, his expression softening.

“What do you think, my love?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “This is your wedding too. Would you stand with me beneath the fire of our ancestors, as it was always meant to be?”

All eyes turned to you, the weight of the decision suddenly resting on your shoulders. You hesitated, glancing between your mother and Alicent. Rhaenyra’s gaze was steady, encouraging, while Alicent’s held a flicker of concern.

Finally, you looked back at Aegon and nodded. “Yes,” you said softly but firmly. “A Valyrian ceremony. It feels… right.”

Aegon’s face lit up with a rare, genuine smile, and he reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Then it’s decided,” he said, looking back at the two mothers. “Our wedding will honor the blood of the dragon.”

Alicent sighed deeply, clearly displeased but knowing she would not win this argument. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, looked almost triumphant, a glint of pride in her eyes as she raised her goblet.

“To fire and blood,” she said, her voice ringing with finality.

Alicent took a deep breath, her face calm but resolute as she placed her goblet gently on the table. “If this is how it must be,” she began, her voice even, though there was an edge of determination, “then I propose a compromise. You will have your Valyrian ceremony, Aegon. But there will also be a traditional ceremony under the Faith of the Seven. Two ceremonies, as a symbol of unity—between the past and the present, between our heritage and the realm.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening at the suggestion. “Two ceremonies?” he repeated, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Why should we need to cater to the Faith when this is our wedding?”

“It is not just your wedding, Aegon,” Alicent countered sharply, her gaze unwavering. “You are the Prince. This union is as much about the realm as it is about the two of you. The lords and people will look to this wedding as a reflection of the crown commitment to the Faith.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the exchange. “Aegon is right, Alicent,” she said smoothly, the title slipping from her lips with faint sarcasm. “This is their day. Why weigh it down with obligations to the Faith?”

Alicent’s gaze flicked to Rhaenyra, her calm demeanor barely concealing her irritation. “Because the Faith holds great power in this realm, Rhaenyra. Alienating them by favoring Valyrian customs alone would be foolish.”

Aegon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache. Then he turned to you, his expression softening. “What do you think?” he asked, his tone gentler now. “Do you truly want two ceremonies?”

You hesitated, glancing between your husband-to-be, your mother, and Alicent. The weight of expectation pressed down on you, but you knew your decision could shape not just your wedding day but the fragile peace between these two powerful women.

“I think…” you began carefully, your voice steady but thoughtful. “If having two ceremonies will ease the tensions and unite both sides, then so be it. We can honor both our Valyrian heritage and the Faith of the Seven.”

Aegon’s brows furrowed, a trace of disappointment crossing his face, but he said nothing. Rhaenyra’s expression grew thoughtful, her lips pressing together in a thin line, while Alicent gave a small, satisfied nod.

“Then it is settled,” Alicent said firmly. “The first ceremony will take place under the Faith of the Seven, in the Great Sept. The second will be the Valyrian ceremony you both desire. A compromise.”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. “A compromise,” he repeated with a hint of sarcasm. He turned to you, his lips curving into a faint smile. “As long as you’re happy, I’ll endure it.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you reached out to take his hand, squeezing it gently. Though the path ahead seemed complicated, you knew that with Aegon by your side, you could face whatever challenges came your way.

The discussion about your wedding had finally come to an end, though traces of tension still lingered in the air. You stood, smoothing your dress as you exchanged a final glance with Aegon, his reassuring smile giving you a small sense of comfort. Your mother gestured for you to follow her, and together, you began walking toward her private solar.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet, save for the soft echo of your footsteps. Rhaenyra glanced at you occasionally, her expression thoughtful. She finally broke the silence as you neared the solar.

“You handled yourself well back there,” she said, her tone both proud and encouraging. “Navigating between Alicent and Aegon is no small feat. You showed strength and wisdom.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you replied, though a part of you felt the weight of the decisions that had been made.

When you entered her solar, the warm glow of the fireplace illuminated the familiar space. Your father, Daemon, was seated near the hearth, his ever-present smirk hinting at his mood. Your brothers, Jace and Luke, were standing nearby, their postures casual yet attentive.

Daemon’s sharp eyes flicked to you as you entered. “So,” he began, his voice low and edged with curiosity, “has the Queen finally finished her sermon about the Faith?”

“Father,” Jace murmured with a faint laugh, though his expression was still serious.

Rhaenyra shot her husband a warning look before addressing him. “The matter has been resolved. There will be two ceremonies—one for the Faith, and one for Old Valyria.”

Daemon’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair. “Two ceremonies? How… diplomatic of you.” His gaze shifted to you, his tone softening slightly. “And what do you think of all this, daughter?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I think it’s the best way to honor both our traditions and keep the peace.”

Daemon’s expression darkened slightly, but he nodded. “Aegon is lucky you are the one keeping the peace for him. Without you, he’d likely stumble his way into chaos.”

Jace stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Do you trust him?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Aegon, I mean.”

You looked at your brother, sensing his worry. “I do,” you said firmly, though the question lingered in your mind. “He has flaws, but I believe we understand each other.”

Luke grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s hope he doesn’t drink too much before either ceremony.”

Daemon chuckled at that, but Rhaenyra silenced him with a sharp look. “Enough,” she said firmly. “This is an important moment for our house. We must remain united.”

Her words carried weight, and you nodded, feeling a sense of purpose despite the challenges ahead. With your family’s support, you felt ready to face whatever lay before you.

The conversation shifted, the clinking of silverware and soft murmurs of your family creating a quiet hum in the room. Your mother’s gaze, which had often flickered to your younger brother, now settled on you, her expression contemplative. For a moment, she said nothing, merely observing you with an unreadable look.

Then, breaking the silence, Rhaenyra’s voice was soft but clear. “You know, after your wedding… I think you will be the one to carry on our house’s legacy,” she said, her gaze steady as she met your eyes. “Perhaps soon, you’ll give me a grandchild.”

Her words were gentle but direct, and they landed on you like a heavy weight. You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, the thought of children so soon after marriage feeling overwhelming, yet somehow inevitable. The idea of becoming a mother was something you had imagined, but now that it was spoken aloud, it felt like the future was suddenly pressing in on you.

You flushed, unable to form an immediate response, unsure of how to handle the sudden shift in the conversation. Your mind raced with the thought of what marriage and the responsibility it would bring meant for you, for Aegon, and for your family.

But before you could gather your thoughts, the sound of Daemon’s voice cut through the moment. He had been sipping his wine, but the mention of grandchildren clearly took him by surprise. He sputtered slightly, quickly coughing and sitting up straighter in his chair, trying to regain composure. “Seven hells, Rhaenyra,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and mild horror, “I do not want my daughter to be… used for such purposes so soon.”

His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the warmth of the earlier conversation. Rhaenyra’s expression softened slightly, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes, as if she had expected such a reaction.

“You misunderstand, Daemon,” she said with a smile, but her voice was firm. “It’s natural, of course. Aegon will take care of her as his wife, and they will fulfill their duties. A grandchild would be a blessing, not something to fear.”

Daemon gave a dismissive grunt but did not argue further, though his disapproval was evident. His intense gaze shifted back to you, and there was a rare softness in his eyes. “Just… be careful, daughter,” he muttered, his voice a little more gravelly now. “Marriage is not all it seems. The world does not turn easily for women.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of both your parents’ concerns. Your mother’s desire for grandchildren and your father’s protective instincts blended into something that left you feeling uncertain about your own desires. You were caught between these expectations and the life you were about to begin with Aegon—an uncertain future where love, responsibility, and family would collide.

For a brief moment, you found yourself lost in thought, the heavy gaze of both your parents weighing on you. You wondered what the future would truly hold, and if you were truly ready for it.

The day of your wedding finally arrived, and the preparations seemed endless. Your chambers were filled with the soft rustle of silk and the quiet murmurs of your mother’s attendants as they adjusted the delicate wedding gown that clung to your frame. The fabric was exquisite, crafted from the finest silk in Westeros, its ivory hue shimmering under the warm glow of the room’s candles.

You stood before the tall mirror, staring at your reflection. The gown hugged your figure perfectly, its intricate embroidery glinting like stars scattered across the heavens. You tilted your head slightly, taking in every detail—the flowing train, the delicate lace sleeves, and the silver-threaded accents that reflected your Targaryen heritage.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood behind you, her hands gently smoothing the fabric over your shoulders. Her eyes, filled with a rare softness, met yours in the mirror. “You look perfect,” she said quietly, her voice steady but filled with pride. “You carry our legacy with grace, my daughter. This day will mark the beginning of a new chapter for you.”

Before you could respond, the door to your chambers opened. The sudden sound drew your attention, and you turned to see Alicent standing in the doorway. Her green dress, elegant yet simple, contrasted sharply against the pale tones of your gown. Her expression was carefully composed, though there was a flicker of something—perhaps nostalgia or longing—in her eyes as she looked at you.

“You’ll be a vision,” Alicent said, stepping further into the room. “The Realm will marvel at you."

Her words, though kind, carried a weight that was hard to ignore. You felt the tension between your mother and Alicent rise, subtle but palpable, as they exchanged brief glances. Alicent’s gaze then softened as it shifted to you, and she took a step closer.

“You remind me of myself on my wedding day,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost wistful. “So full of hope and dreams for the future.”

Your mother, standing protectively by your side, raised her chin slightly. “My daughter is stronger than you think,” she said evenly, her tone calm but firm. “She will make her own way, just as I have.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, choosing instead to step closer to examine the embroidery on your gown. “It’s a beautiful piece,” she remarked, her voice neutral once more. “It suits you.”

You nodded politely, feeling the subtle clash between the two women like a current in the air. Yet, in that moment, all you could focus on was the weight of the gown, the weight of their expectations, and the life that awaited you after this day.

As the attendants continued their careful adjustments to your gown, the door to your chambers opened once more. This time, it was your father, Daemon, who entered. His presence was commanding as always, though his expression was unusually soft. His violet eyes swept over you, taking in the sight of you in your wedding dress.

For a moment, he said nothing, simply standing there, his gaze lingering. Then, he stepped closer, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. “My little girl,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, but filled with emotion. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman… and now, you’re about to marry.”

His words caught you off guard, and your heart tightened at the emotion behind them. Daemon was rarely one to openly express his feelings, but now, there was no mistaking the pride—and the melancholy—in his tone.

He approached slowly, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he looked at you in the mirror. “It feels like just yesterday you were running around the Red Keep, challenging everyone with your fiery spirit,” he continued, his voice laced with a touch of wistfulness. “And now… you stand here, ready to step into a new chapter of your life.”

You turned slightly to face him, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “Father…” you began, your voice soft.

Daemon shook his head gently, as if to stop you from saying anything that might break the fragile moment. “You’ll make a formidable wife,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of his usual confidence returning. “And gods help Aegon if he doesn’t realize how lucky he is to have you.”

Behind you, your mother, Rhaenyra, watched the exchange with a quiet smile, though there was a glimmer of emotion in her eyes. Even Alicent, standing nearby, seemed to sense the gravity of the moment, her hands clasped before her as she watched father and daughter.

Daemon leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’ll always be my little girl,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection. “No matter how much the world changes.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, nodding as you met his gaze. “Thank you, Father,” you said quietly.

He straightened, his usual composure returning, and he stepped back with a small, approving nod. “Now,” he said, his tone lighter, “let’s ensure the Realm remembers this wedding for years to come.”

His words brought a faint smile to your lips, and you turned back to the mirror, feeling a mix of emotions—love, pride, and the bittersweet realization that your life was about to change forever.

The final touches had been made. The maids carefully adjusted the veil cascading over your hair, ensuring every detail was perfect. The soft fabric framed your face beautifully, the delicate embroidery glinting faintly in the sunlight streaming through the window.

You took a steadying breath as you turned to the door. Standing there, waiting patiently, was your father, Daemon. His silver hair gleamed, and his expression was a mix of pride and bittersweet emotion.

As you stepped toward him, he took a moment to look at you, his violet eyes sweeping over your appearance. A rare, genuine smile curved his lips. “You look radiant,” he said quietly, his voice filled with warmth.

“Thank you, Father,” you replied softly, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Daemon extended his arm to you, and you slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow. His grip was reassuring, grounding you as you began the walk toward the front courtyard where the carriage awaited.

The sun was bright in the clear sky as you emerged into the open air, the sounds of the castle bustling with preparations. The ornate carriage stood ready, its silver and black accents bearing the unmistakable marks of House Targaryen. The dragons emblazoned on its side seemed to gleam in the sunlight.

Daemon paused before helping you into the carriage, his hand lingering on yours. “This is the beginning of a new chapter,” he said, his voice lower now, meant just for you. “But remember, no matter what lies ahead, you are a Targaryen. You are my daughter. And you are strong.”

His words filled you with a sense of purpose, and you nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I won’t forget, Father.”

He smiled once more, helping you step into the carriage before following to take his seat beside you. The horses snorted, their hooves clattering against the cobblestones as the driver signaled for the procession to begin.

As the carriage began to roll toward the Great Sept, you felt the weight of the moment settle upon you. This was your wedding day, the day you would pledge yourself to Aegon in the sight of the Seven—and the beginning of a future you had long awaited.

The carriage came to a gentle stop, and the door was opened by one of the attendants. Your father stepped out first, his regal posture commanding attention as always. He turned to you, extending his hand to help you descend. His grip was firm yet tender as he steadied you.

The Great Sept loomed ahead, its grand arches and towering spires radiating sanctity and significance. The air was thick with the murmur of gathered nobles and the faint scent of incense.

Daemon tucked your hand securely into the crook of his arm, guiding you toward the altar. The grand doors of the Sept swung open, revealing the interior bathed in golden light from the towering stained glass windows. The faint melody of a harp accompanied your steps as you began your walk down the aisle.

Your heart raced as your gaze met Aegon’s. He stood at the altar, dressed in his finest, the golden crown of the Targaryens resting on his head. His expression was uncharacteristically solemn, though his eyes softened as they found yours.

The walk felt both eternal and fleeting, each step bringing you closer to him, to your future. When you reached the altar, Daemon paused, turning to face you fully.

With a rare gentleness, he lifted the veil from your face, letting it fall back over your shoulders. His violet eyes, so similar to your own, searched your face for a moment, and then he smiled—a small, genuine smile filled with pride and love.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering just a moment. “You’ll always be my little girl,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but carrying the weight of his emotion.

He stepped back, placing your hand in Aegon’s. His touch lingered for a brief moment, a silent reminder that no matter what, he would always be there for you.

Daemon gave Aegon a pointed look, a silent but clear warning: take care of her. Then, with a nod, he stepped aside, leaving you standing beside your soon-to-be husband as the ceremony began.

The Septon’s voice echoed through the grand hall, steady and solemn, as he began reciting the sacred vows of the Seven. The gathered lords and ladies fell silent, their gazes fixed on you and Aegon as the moment unfolded.

You stood across from Aegon, your hands joined as the Septon laid a length of braided ribbon across them, symbolizing the binding of your lives. The golden light streaming through the stained glass illuminated his face, softening the usual sharpness of his features.

As the Septon’s voice continued, you lifted your eyes to meet Aegon’s. His violet gaze held yours, filled with an unspoken mix of emotions—nervousness, tenderness, and something that resembled quiet determination.

The world seemed to fade away, the grandeur of the Sept and the weight of the audience blurring into the background. In that moment, it was just the two of you, bound by the vows you were about to take.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..." your voices carried the weight of conviction and devotion.

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," Aegon vowed, his voice filled with unwavering commitment.

"I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," your voice echoed. your voices intertwined, your souls merging in that sacred space.

The ribbon was removed as the Septon pronounced the union blessed by the Seven. Aegon’s smile was small but genuine as he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips to seal the vows.

The hall erupted into applause and cheers, but all you could hear was the soft echo of your heartbeat as you looked into his eyes, knowing this was the start of your shared journey.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets. The celebration of your marriage was in full swing, the lords and ladies of Westeros gathered to honor the union. The throne room had been transformed, the usual solemnity replaced with joy and grandeur.

You sat beside Aegon at the high table, your hand resting lightly on his arm. He leaned closer occasionally, his voice low as he murmured words only meant for you. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, though your attention was soon pulled away when your father, Daemon, stood from his seat.

His sharp, commanding presence drew the attention of the room. He stepped forward, his violet eyes locking onto you. A faint smirk played on his lips as he extended his hand toward you.

“Come, my daughter,” Daemon said, his voice smooth and confident, “Let us show them how a Targaryen dances.”

The room fell silent for a brief moment, anticipation crackling in the air. You glanced at Aegon, who gave you a small nod, and then you took your father’s hand. He helped you rise, leading you toward the center of the hall where the musicians struck up a lively tune.

Daemon’s hand settled on your waist as the two of you began to move, your steps graceful and in perfect sync with his. The rhythm of the music swirled around you, the eyes of the court watching in awe.

“You look radiant tonight,” Daemon said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Thank you, Father,” you replied, a touch of warmth in your tone.

As the music picked up, Daemon twirled you effortlessly, the hem of your gown sweeping across the polished floor. The crowd clapped in time with the music, their cheers rising as you moved with an elegance befitting a Targaryen princess.

When the dance came to an end, Daemon bowed to you with exaggerated flourish, drawing laughter from the crowd. You curtsied in return, your cheeks flushed from the exhilaration.

Daemon led you back to Aegon, placing your hand in his. “Your turn, boy,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes before retreating to the sidelines.

Aegon stood and took your hand, pulling you close as the music shifted to a softer melody. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Shall we show them how it’s really done?”

With a smile, you nodded, letting him lead you onto the floor, the crowd parting to give you both space. Together, you danced, the bond between you growing with every step.

The music swirled around you, the rhythm pulsing through your body as Aegon led you across the floor. The eyes of the court were upon you, but in that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had faded away. All that existed was you and him, dancing in perfect harmony. His smile, his eyes—there was a lightness in his gaze that made your heart flutter with every glance.

Aegon leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered playful words, his breath warm against your skin. Each whisper sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile at the intimacy of the moment. The laughter from his jokes echoed softly in your mind as the music seemed to slow, the final notes drawing nearer.

As the music reached its peak, Aegon twirled you, the fabric of your gown swirling around you as he spun you gracefully. The world seemed to blur for a moment, the movement so fluid, so natural, until he pulled you back into his arms with a gentle yet firm grip. Your heart raced as his hands settled on your waist, and in that moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Aegon looked at you with a softness that contrasted the strength in his stance. The distance between you closed, and without a word, he kissed you—slow and deep, a kiss that carried the weight of the vows you had just made, of the journey ahead of you. The kiss lingered for a moment, soft yet filled with a promise of everything to come.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, the room erupted into applause, the cheers mingling with the fading notes of the music. But all you could hear, all you could feel, was Aegon’s presence, his touch, the steady beat of your hearts in sync.

The night was still young, and you knew that this was only the beginning.

As the music continued to fade, a loud voice rang out from one of the guests, calling for a bedding ceremony to be held. The declaration echoed through the hall, a moment of awkward silence hanging in the air. The traditional custom was infamous for its brazen display of intimacy, something that, under the wrong circumstances, could become a source of embarrassment rather than celebration.

Your heart sank at the mention of it, but before you could react, Daemon, stood tall and imposing, his voice cutting through the room. “That will not be happening,” he said, his tone firm and resolute, a hint of annoyance lacing his words. “My daughter is not an animal to be put on display for your amusement.”

There was a tense moment of stillness as the room waited for the next move. Aegon, standing beside you, immediately took your hand with a reassuring squeeze, his voice calm but equally firm. “I agree with Daemon,” he said, his eyes scanning the crowd, filled with a quiet, dangerous intensity. “The bedding ceremony is a disgrace, and it has no place at our wedding. You will not demand it here.”

The crowd fell silent, the tension palpable. It was clear that both Daemon and Aegon stood united in rejecting the idea, their authority and influence silencing any further protests. Aegon’s hand tightened around yours, the bond between you both growing stronger in the face of such a ridiculous demand.

Your father glanced at you, a silent gesture of protection in his eyes, and then turned to the rest of the guests with a final, imperious look. “The night is to celebrate their union, not to satisfy your vulgar curiosities,” he declared. The room, now aware of the boundaries being set, fell into a respectful quiet, some guests murmuring but ultimately understanding the stance.

The tension began to dissipate, and the focus shifted back to you and Aegon, your hands still joined. The weight of the moment lifted as you stood there together, united not just in vows, but also in defiance of the petty customs that had no place in your lives.

Aegon leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Let them gossip,” he whispered with a grin. “We have each other, and that’s all that matters.”

The evening air was cool as you and Aegon walked back to your chambers, the sounds of the celebration fading behind you. You could still feel the warmth of the dance and the weight of the guests’ gaze, but now, with the room finally quiet, you could let the tension slip away.

As you entered your chamber, the door closing softly behind you, the two of you exchanged a glance. The weight of the upcoming journey to Dragonstone loomed, but there was a strange sense of peace now that the night’s events had passed. The quiet was a welcome respite before the next steps, before the second ceremony, which would take place with the traditions of Old Valyria, a world away from the pomp and ceremony you’d just endured.

Aegon moved to the window, looking out toward the horizon where the sun would soon set, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink. He turned to you, his gaze softer now, the earlier intensity replaced with something quieter. “I know you’ve had enough for today,” he said, his voice low, “But I think we both need to rest before we face what comes next.”

You nodded, your tired eyes meeting his. The day had been full of emotion, and there was something calming about being in this space, just the two of you. You moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Aegon joined you, his presence always warm and grounding.

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the peaceful stillness of your shared space allowing the chaos of the day to slowly fade away. The wedding on Dragonstone would be different, more intimate, yet filled with its own expectations. You would both face that challenge together, but for now, you could simply be.

Aegon reached out to gently take your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “After Dragonstone,” he murmured, “We will make this marriage our own. All the traditions, the customs… they won’t define us. Only what we choose to build together will.”

You squeezed his hand in return, a quiet agreement passing between you both. There would be more ceremonies, more battles with tradition, but what mattered most was the life you would create together—united by your love, not the expectations of others.

With a soft sigh, you leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the day finally begin to lift. The journey ahead was uncertain, but as long as you had Aegon by your side, you knew you could face whatever came next. And for now, that was enough.

The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and freedom as the ship gently docked at Dragonstone. The journey had felt swift, perhaps because your mind had been preoccupied with the thought of the second ceremony—the one that truly mattered to both you and Aegon. His hand remained firmly in yours as you stepped off the ship, the volcanic island’s jagged cliffs and ancient castle rising before you.

Aegon’s grip tightened slightly, a silent reassurance as you descended the gangplank. The two of you exchanged a brief smile, the bond between you strong and unspoken. Alicent was already waiting, her expression calm but watchful, while your mother, Rhaenyra, stood with a regal air beside her. The contrast between the two women was stark, but for once, they seemed united in purpose: ensuring the ceremony later that evening would be perfect.

“Come,” Rhaenyra said with a small smile, motioning for you to follow. “There is much to do before the sun sets.”

Alicent nodded, stepping forward. “We’ll have you ready in time,” she added, her tone softer than usual, though her hands betrayed her tension as they clasped tightly before her.

You glanced back at Aegon as your mother and Alicent ushered you toward the castle, his reassuring smile lingering even as the distance between you grew. The ancient halls of Dragonstone felt almost alive, the walls whispering secrets of the Targaryen legacy. It was fitting, you thought, that the Valyrian ceremony would take place here, surrounded by the echoes of your ancestors.

Inside the castle, you were taken to a chamber overlooking the sea. The sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting golden hues over the intricate gown that awaited you. The fabric shimmered like dragon scales, the traditional marital robes of Valyria which is a pale white with red dyed edges. The deep red of House Targaryen woven into the design. It was a stark contrast to the Seven Kingdoms’ traditional wedding attire but felt infinitely more like home.

As the maids began to help you prepare, your mother stood by, her gaze soft yet proud. “This is how it should be,” she said, her voice carrying a sense of finality. “A union bound not just by words, but by blood, fire, and history.”

Alicent, standing beside her, added, “It may not be my tradition, but I see its beauty. And I see how much this means to both of you.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with anticipation. This ceremony wasn’t just for tradition—it was for you and Aegon, a chance to start your lives together in a way that truly reflected who you were. As the preparations continued, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below seemed to echo your growing excitement.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you stood with Aegon again, this time to pledge yourselves to each other in the ancient Valyrian way.

The cool wind of Dragonstone whipped around you as you stood on the edge of the cliff, the sea roaring below, a testament to the raw, untamed power of this sacred place. The setting sun cast hues of gold and crimson across the sky, mirroring the colors of House Targaryen, as you faced Aegon. His violet eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of reverence and love, a stark contrast to the usual playful smirk he wore.

Daemon, ever the keeper of tradition, had brought a septon who was well-versed in the ancient rites of Old Valyria. The man stood between you and Aegon, his presence almost dwarfed by the magnitude of the ceremony about to unfold. Around you, your family bore witness, their faces solemn and proud. Rhaenyra stood with Alicent, an unspoken truce in their shared pride. Your father’s piercing gaze watched every movement, while your siblings looked on, their expressions ranging from awe to curiosity.

The septon began to chant in High Valyrian, the ancient words flowing like a song. He held a chalice of Valyrian steel, filled with dragonbone ash and seawater, symbols of your shared heritage and the unbreakable bond you were about to forge.

Aegon stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours, steady and unwavering. The septon handed you both small daggers, their blades gleaming in the fading light. “With blood, we bind,” he intoned, his voice carrying over the waves.

You felt the weight of the dagger in your hand as you pressed the blade against your palm, mirroring Aegon. A sharp sting, and then the warmth of blood pooled in your hand. Aegon extended his hand to you, his blood mingling with yours as you clasped hands, sealing your union in the way of your ancestors.

The septon’s chant grew louder, his words resonating with the power of the old ways. “Fire and blood unite, unbroken by time, unyielding as stone.”

Aegon leaned in, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “From this moment, you are mine, as I am yours. Always.”

The flames from nearby torches danced in his eyes, and you could feel the truth in his words, the promise that bound you to him in body, mind, and soul.

The septon poured the ash and seawater mixture over your joined hands, finalizing the ritual. “May the blood of the dragon burn bright and eternal,” he declared, his voice a proclamation to the gods and the world.

As the ceremony concluded, Aegon cupped your face with his free hand, pulling you into a kiss that felt as fiery and unyielding as the bond you had just forged. The cheers of your family echoed around you, but in that moment, there was only the two of you, standing united against the world.

A year had passed since your union with Aegon, and the days had grown into a steady rhythm of love and understanding. The tension that once lingered in the air had dissolved, replaced by a calm happiness that surrounded you both like a warm embrace.

As you stood before the mirror in your chambers, your hand instinctively rested on your growing belly. The sight filled you with a sense of pride and anticipation. This was the fruit of your love, a child born not just of duty but of genuine affection. You smiled softly, feeling the faint flutter of movement beneath your hand, a gentle reminder that the little life inside you was almost ready to meet the world.

Behind you, Aegon approached, his reflection appearing in the mirror as he stepped closer. His hands slid around your waist, resting protectively over yours on your belly. “You look radiant,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and adoration.

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze, your smile widening. “And you look nervous,” you teased lightly, though you could see the excitement in his eyes.

“I am,” he admitted with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “But I’m also ready. I’ve been ready since the day you told me.”

The memory brought warmth to your chest. You had been hesitant to share the news at first, unsure of how he would react. But the way he had embraced you, his joy uncontainable, had reassured you in ways words never could.

Aegon gently turned you to face him, his hands still cradling your growing belly. “You’ve given me more than I could ever ask for,” he said softly. “This child, this family… You’ve made me better, stronger.”

You placed a hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin. “And you’ve given me a home, Aegon. A place where I belong, with you.”

The moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. One of the maids entered cautiously, bowing her head. “The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra have arrived to see you, Your Graces.”

You exchanged a glance with Aegon before nodding. “Let them in,” you said, your tone warm.

As the two women entered, Alicent’s expression softened at the sight of you, her eyes lingering on your belly. Rhaenyra, too, smiled, her gaze filled with a mixture of pride and nostalgia.

“It won’t be long now,” Alicent said gently, stepping closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Eager,” you admitted, glancing at Aegon. “We both are.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly. “The waiting is always the hardest part. But trust me, it’s worth it.”

As the four of you spoke, the weight of history and tradition seemed to fade into the background. In its place was a shared hope for the future, a future shaped by love, family, and the new life soon to join your world.

The warm sun bathed the gardens in golden light as you strolled alongside your mothers, Rhaenyra and Alicent. The cool breeze brought the scent of blooming flowers, a welcome reprieve from the walls of the Red Keep. Your hand rested lightly on your rounded belly, a small smile gracing your lips as you relished the freedom of walking on your own—something you had fought hard to reclaim.

Aegon walked just a step behind you, his protective gaze following your every move. Ever since the announcement of your pregnancy, he had taken it upon himself to ensure your safety at all costs. It was endearing, but at times, overwhelming. Your father, Daemon, had been no better, his fierce protectiveness rivaling even Aegon’s. Between the two of them, you had scarcely been allowed to lift a finger, let alone take a step without someone hovering nearby.

It had taken both Rhaenyra and Alicent to intervene on your behalf, convincing the men to allow you some independence. “She is carrying a child, not a dragon egg,” Rhaenyra had remarked with a smirk, while Alicent’s soothing words had managed to calm their protests.

“You see, I’m perfectly fine,” you said over your shoulder to Aegon, your tone teasing. “No need to hover.”

Aegon huffed, crossing his arms but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “You say that now, but if anything happens—”

“Nothing will happen,” Alicent interjected gently, placing a hand on Aegon’s arm. “Let her enjoy this moment. She deserves it.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, her arm looping through yours as she guided you toward a shaded bench beneath a sprawling tree. “You’ve been walking for all of five minutes, and he’s already ready to carry you back inside,” she teased, earning a glare from Aegon.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, it’s not as though I’m running laps around the courtyard.”

As you settled onto the bench, Aegon took a seat beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours. Despite his overprotectiveness, you couldn’t deny the comfort his presence brought.

“I just want you to be safe,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“And I will be,” you reassured him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “But you have to let me breathe, Aegon. I’m not as fragile as you think.”

Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged a knowing glance, their smiles soft. As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. For the first time in weeks, you were surrounded by the people who mattered most, their love and support enveloping you like a warm embrace.

The sound of your father’s voice calling your name startled you, drawing your attention toward him as he strode purposefully into the garden. His sharp eyes immediately fixed on you, narrowing as they took in your relaxed posture on the bench.

“Why are you out of your chambers?” Daemon asked, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern. His hand rested on the hilt of Dark Sister, as though he expected danger to leap out of the bushes at any moment.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his protectiveness settle heavily over you once again. Turning your gaze to your mother, Rhaenyra, you silently pleaded with her to step in. She met your eyes with an amused smirk, clearly enjoying your predicament, but eventually, she relented.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra began, her voice calm yet firm, “she’s perfectly fine. The maesters have assured us that walking is good for her and the child. Let her breathe, for the gods’ sake.”

Daemon’s lips thinned as he looked between the two of you. “I don’t trust maesters or their assurances,” he muttered. “She’s carrying my grandchild, and I won’t risk anything happening to either of them.”

Alicent, ever the diplomat, stepped forward with a soft smile. “Daemon, she’s surrounded by her family and has been careful. Surely, you can see there’s no harm in her enjoying the fresh air for a short while?”

Daemon huffed, crossing his arms but not arguing further. Instead, he turned his attention back to you. “If you feel even the slightest discomfort, you’re to return to your chambers immediately,” he said sternly.

You smiled at his concern, even if it was overbearing. “Yes, Father,” you replied, your tone laced with gentle amusement. “But I promise, I’m fine.”

Aegon, who had remained quiet until now, chuckled softly. “You see, my prince, your daughter is as stubborn as you are. There’s no point in arguing with her.”

Daemon shot him a pointed look but said nothing, instead walking over to place a protective hand on your shoulder. “I only want you safe,” he murmured, his voice softening.

“I know,” you replied, reaching up to squeeze his hand. “And I appreciate it more than you know.”

With that, the tension eased, and the conversation shifted once more, leaving you to enjoy the moment surrounded by those who cared for you deeply—even if they did have a tendency to hover.

As Daemon and Aegon engaged in conversation a few steps away, their tones alternating between casual remarks and the occasional chuckle, your mothers turned their attention fully to you.

Rhaenyra, seated beside you, gently ran her fingers through your hair, her touch soothing. “You’ve always been so strong,” she murmured, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Even now, you handle everything with such grace. I’m proud of you.”

You glanced up at her, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Mother,” you said softly. “It’s not always easy, but having all of you here makes it better.”

Meanwhile, Alicent busied herself with selecting a small plate of fruit from the table nearby. She handed it to you, her eyes filled with motherly concern. “You must eat, dear. The baby needs nourishment, and so do you,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm.

You accepted the plate with a grateful nod, plucking a piece of sweet melon and taking a bite. “Thank you, Mother,” you said with a smile.

Alicent returned your smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “You’re glowing,” she said softly. “This child will be blessed with so much love, I’m sure of it.”

Rhaenyra chuckled lightly, still running her fingers through your hair. “Blessed and spoiled, no doubt,” she teased, her gaze flickering toward Daemon and Aegon. “With those two vying for the title of most protective, this child will have an army of guardians.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “It’s already starting,” you said, glancing toward your husband and father.

As if sensing your gaze, Aegon turned his head, flashing you a smile that made your heart flutter. Daemon, too, glanced your way, his expression softening for a brief moment before he resumed his conversation with Aegon.

Surrounded by the love and care of your family, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Though they could be overbearing at times, their presence was a constant reminder of how deeply they cared for you—and for the life growing within you.

Rhaenyra’s fingers stilled in your hair for a moment as she looked at you, her violet eyes filled with a deep, maternal pride. “You know,” she began softly, her voice steady and filled with emotion, “you’re the one who holds this family together. You’re our bridge, the reason we’ve found peace after so much strife.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her words. “Mother, I’m not sure that’s true…” you murmured, glancing down at your hands resting on your rounded belly.

Rhaenyra leaned closer, cupping your cheek with a hand warm and reassuring. “It is true,” she said firmly. “Without you, this would still be a house divided. You’ve brought us together, made us see what’s most important—family. You are the heart of this house.”

Alicent, seated nearby, nodded in agreement, her green eyes glistening. “She’s right,” Alicent said softly. “You’ve done what I thought was impossible. You’ve made us see past old wounds and find a way forward. And for that, I will always be grateful.”

Your chest tightened with emotion as their words sank in. You glanced toward Daemon and Aegon, who were deep in conversation, their differences seemingly forgotten in the shared joy of the life you were bringing into the world.

“I never set out to do that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… wanted us to be a family.”

“And that’s exactly why it worked,” Rhaenyra said, her voice filled with warmth. “You remind us of what truly matters. You’ve shown us all that love and unity are stronger than any quarrel.”

Alicent placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch light yet filled with affection. “This child will be the symbol of that unity,” she said. “Born of love, surrounded by a family who, despite everything, has come together for you—for all of us.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness. They were from the overwhelming gratitude and pride you felt to be part of something bigger, to know that, in your own way, you had helped mend the rifts that had once torn your family apart.

The golden hues of the setting sun were fading, replaced by the soft glow of torches lining the corridors of the Red Keep. The cool breeze of the evening whispered through the open windows as you walked alongside Aegon, your mothers following close behind.

Viserys’s summons had been clear—he wanted the family to dine together every night, starting from the day of your marriage. It was his way of fostering unity and ensuring the bonds between you all grew stronger.

When you arrived at his private solar, the door was opened by a servant, revealing a cozy and intimate dining space. The table was already set with a feast of roasted meats, fresh bread, and rich wines, the scents wafting invitingly through the room.

Seated at the table were Aemond and Helaena, both turning their heads as you entered. Aemond’s sharp gaze lingered on you briefly before shifting to Aegon, while Helaena offered you a warm smile, her ever-gentle demeanor bringing a sense of calm to the room.

At the head of the table sat Viserys himself, his frailty apparent in his thin frame and tired eyes, but his expression held a warmth reserved only for his family. “Ah, there you are,” he said, his voice rasping yet full of affection. “Come, sit. Let us enjoy this evening together.”

Aegon guided you to your seat beside him, pulling the chair out for you before settling in. Alicent and Rhaenyra took their places on either side of the table, their shared glances a quiet acknowledgment of the fragile peace between them.

As the servants poured wine and began to serve the meal, Viserys’s gaze swept over everyone, a glimmer of satisfaction lighting his weary face. “It brings me joy to see all of you here,” he said, his tone earnest. “This family has endured much, but tonight, let us set aside the past and simply enjoy one another’s company.”

You felt Aegon’s hand brush against yours under the table, a subtle gesture of reassurance. You glanced at him, and he smiled, his usual mischief replaced by something softer, more genuine.

As the evening unfolded, the conversation shifted from light banter to shared stories, laughter occasionally echoing through the room. For a moment, it felt as though the tensions that often loomed over the Targaryen family had dissipated, replaced by a fragile yet comforting sense of unity.

The sharp pangs in your abdomen stirred you from sleep, leaving you breathless for a moment. You instinctively placed a hand on your swollen belly, trying to calm the ache that radiated from within. The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the moon, its light filtering through the window. Aegon lay beside you, his breathing deep and even, completely unaware of your discomfort.

You glanced toward the window, noting the darkness outside; dawn was still far off. Carefully, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet touching the cool stone floor. Each movement was deliberate and quiet as you didn’t want to disturb Aegon.

Once you were standing, you exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against your lower back to ease the tension there. The pain wasn’t constant, but it came in waves, enough to make you restless. You paced the length of your chamber, hoping the movement would help.

As you walked, your mind raced. Was this it? Was the baby coming early? Or was it simply the usual discomfort of pregnancy? You weren’t sure, but you wanted to be certain before raising any alarm.

Leaning against the edge of a chair, you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale. The pain subsided briefly, giving you a moment of relief, but it returned shortly after, sharper this time.

A soft groan escaped your lips, and you stifled it quickly, glancing toward Aegon to ensure he hadn’t woken. His form remained unmoving under the covers, his face peaceful in sleep. You hesitated, wondering if you should wake him or call for the midwives, but the thought of disturbing him unnecessarily held you back.

You clutched the armrest tightly, bracing yourself as another wave of pain hit. Something told you that tonight was going to be a long one.

The night had felt endless, your pacing a desperate attempt to endure the relentless waves of pain that coursed through you. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavily upon you. Sweat dampened your hair, clinging to your skin as you continued to walk, unable to find relief.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the room in a soft glow, you heard the faint rustle of movement from behind. Turning slightly, you saw Aegon stir, his sleepy eyes blinking against the light.

When his gaze landed on you—your disheveled appearance, the sweat on your brow, and the way you clutched your belly—concern instantly replaced the grogginess in his expression.

“Love,” he called out, his voice rough with sleep but heavy with worry. “What’s wrong?”

You paused, gripping the back of a chair to steady yourself, and tried to offer him a reassuring smile, though it faltered under the strain of another sharp pain. “It’s… nothing,” you managed to say between breaths, though the lie was thin.

Aegon was already out of bed, his worry growing as he closed the distance between you. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the strands of damp hair clinging to your forehead. “This isn’t nothing,” he said firmly, his voice laced with panic. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I didn’t want to—” you began, but another wave of pain cut you off, forcing you to clutch his arm for support.

“That’s it,” Aegon declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re calling the maester. Now.”

Before you could protest, Aegon was already moving, shouting orders to the guards outside the door. His protective nature had fully taken over, and for once, you were grateful for his assertiveness. As you sank into the nearest chair, your heart pounded not only from the pain but also from the realization that the moment you had been waiting for was finally here.

The door to your chamber burst open, and the maester entered first, followed closely by several midwives carrying linens and basins. Behind them, your mothers, Alicent and Rhaenyra, hurried in with expressions of alarm and worry etched across their faces. Their hair was slightly disheveled, and their gowns bore the telltale signs of haste, as though they had barely managed to dress before rushing to your side.

Aegon stepped aside to give them space but remained close, his hand gripping yours tightly as the maester approached. Rhaenyra’s gaze darted to you, taking in your pale face and the way you clutched your belly. She knelt beside you instantly, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead.

“My dear,” Rhaenyra murmured softly, her voice trembling with emotion. “You should have sent for us sooner. How long have you been enduring this pain?”

Alicent was not far behind, her sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on you. “You’ll be fine,” she said, though her voice carried a mix of reassurance and command, as if willing you to stay strong. “The maester and midwives are here now.”

The maester stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully before addressing you. “Princess, may I examine you?”

You nodded weakly, leaning back as the midwives helped you into a more comfortable position. Rhaenyra held one of your hands, her face pale but composed, while Alicent stood at your other side, her hand resting gently on your shoulder for support.

Aegon hovered nearby, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on you. “Is she going to be alright?” he demanded, his voice taut with worry.

The maester glanced at Aegon briefly before focusing on his task. “The labor has begun, Your Grace. It’s progressing steadily, though it may take some time.”

Hearing those words, the tension in the room grew. Rhaenyra tightened her grip on your hand, and Alicent exchanged a glance with Aegon. Both women, despite their differences, seemed united in their concern for you.

“You’re strong,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “You’ll get through this, my sweet girl.”

Alicent added, her tone firm, “We’re here. You’re not alone.”

The labor had only just begun, but with your husband and both your mothers at your side, you felt a spark of courage amid the pain.

The door creaked open, and all eyes turned to see your father, Daemon, standing in the doorway. His usual composed and commanding demeanor was absent; instead, his face betrayed something you had never seen before—fear.

He stepped into the room slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. The sight of you, pale and sweating, gripping your belly in pain, seemed to unnerve him in a way no battlefield ever could. For a moment, he hesitated, as though unsure whether to approach, before his gaze softened, and he took a step closer.

“Sweetling,” he said, his voice unusually quiet, almost tentative.

The room fell silent save for your labored breaths. Even Alicent and Rhaenyra glanced at each other, their rivalry momentarily forgotten in the presence of his uncharacteristic vulnerability.

Daemon knelt beside you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to brush the sweat-dampened hair from your face. “Why didn’t anyone wake me sooner?” he asked, his voice strained, barely masking the panic underneath.

You managed a faint smile despite the pain. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Worry me?” he repeated, his tone a mix of disbelief and frustration. “You’re my child. How could I not be worried?” His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat to steady himself.

Aegon stood nearby, watching the exchange closely. He seemed surprised by the raw emotion in Daemon’s voice, as if he, too, had never seen this side of him.

Rhaenyra stepped forward and placed a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, grounding him. “She’s strong,” she said softly, glancing at you. “She’ll get through this, just as I did. You remember.”

Daemon exhaled deeply, his expression conflicted. He nodded, though his hand still lingered near yours, as if afraid to let go. “I’ll stay,” he said firmly, looking at the maester and midwives. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Aegon moved to your other side, taking your hand again. “Neither am I,” he said, his voice steady with determination.

Surrounded by the people who loved you most, you felt a small surge of comfort amidst the pain. Whatever lay ahead, you knew you would face it together.A sharp wave of pain tore through you, and the tears spilled freely down your cheeks. You shook your head, clutching at Aegon’s hand with trembling fingers. “I can’t… I can’t do this,” you gasped, your voice breaking as you tried to steady your breathing.

Aegon leaned closer, his other hand gently brushing your hair back. “Yes, you can,” he said softly, though his voice carried a firm conviction. “You’re the strongest person I know. You can do this.”

Rhaenyra knelt beside you, her hand resting over yours. “Listen to me, sweet girl,” she said, her voice steady and soothing. “I’ve been where you are now, and I know how it feels like it’s impossible, but you’re stronger than you know. Trust yourself.”

Alicent stood just behind her, her hands clasped tightly as if in silent prayer. When she spoke, her voice was gentle but full of encouragement. “You’ve come this far, and soon you’ll hold your child in your arms. Focus on that—on your strength and your love for them.”

Another contraction hit, and you cried out, your body tense with the effort. Daemon stepped closer, his face a mask of both worry and determination. He placed a firm hand on your shoulder, grounding you. “You are my daughter,” he said, his tone unyielding. “There is fire in your blood. You will see this through.”

Surrounded by their words of comfort and unwavering belief in you, something inside you began to shift. You took a deep, shaky breath, leaning into Aegon’s touch as you found a sliver of strength within the storm of pain.

“I’ll try,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute.

“And we’ll be right here with you,” Aegon promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead as another contraction built. Together, they steadied you, their love becoming the anchor you needed to face what was ahead.

The maester’s voice was calm yet firm as he instructed, “It’s time, princess. On the next contraction, you need to push with all your strength.”

You gripped Aegon’s hand tightly, your knuckles white as another wave of pain surged through you. With a deep breath, you pushed, every fiber of your being straining as you fought to bring your child into the world.

“That’s it,” Rhaenyra encouraged, her voice steady by your ear. “You’re doing so well, my love. Just a little more.”

Alicent stood near the maester, her hands clasped tightly together in silent support. “You can do this,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “Stay strong, dear.”

Aegon’s other hand brushed the damp hair from your face as he whispered soothing words, his voice filled with both awe and worry. “I’m here, love. You’re doing amazing.”

Another contraction hit, and you cried out, the effort draining every ounce of strength from you. “I can’t… I can’t…” you gasped, shaking your head as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm you.

“Yes, you can,” Daemon said firmly from where he stood nearby, his eyes fierce yet glistening with emotion. “Keep going, my love. You’re almost there.”

With their encouragement surrounding you like a shield, you drew on reserves of strength you didn’t know you had. You pushed again, and the room filled with the maester’s voice. “I see the head! One more, Princess. One more push.”

Tears streamed down your face as you gave it everything you had, a guttural cry escaping your lips. And then, suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s first cry—a sound so pure and powerful that it seemed to silence everything else.

The maester held up the tiny, wriggling baby, a look of relief and joy on his face. “It’s a boy,” he announced.

Aegon’s breath caught, and his eyes filled with tears as he looked at his son. “You did it,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You did it, love.”

The maester placed the baby in your arms, and all the pain, fear, and exhaustion faded away as you gazed down at him. His tiny fingers curled instinctively, and his cries softened as he felt the warmth of your skin.

Rhaenyra and Alicent both leaned closer, their faces shining with pride and joy. Daemon, for once, was silent, his eyes fixed on you and the child you held.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered, tears streaming as you looked at Aegon, who leaned down to press a kiss to both your forehead and the baby’s. “He’s perfect.”

The peace of holding your son in your arms was short-lived. A sharp, familiar pain tore through you once more, causing you to gasp. Your grip on the baby tightened briefly before Aegon gently took him from your arms, his face etched with concern.

“What is it?” Aegon asked, his voice trembling as he looked between you and the maester.

One of the midwives checked quickly, her hands moving with urgency. “There’s another,” she announced, her voice filled with both surprise and certainty. “There’s another baby.”

Gasps filled the room as the realization settled over everyone. Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hand gripping yours tightly. “Twins,” she whispered, a mixture of awe and worry in her voice.

“No, no,” you whimpered, shaking your head as the pain surged again. “I can’t… I don’t have anything left.”

“Yes, you do,” Alicent said firmly, her voice a soothing command. “You are stronger than this pain. You’ve already done it once—you can do it again.”

Aegon placed your firstborn into Rhaenyra’s arms before kneeling beside you, his face level with yours. “Look at me,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “You’re not alone in this. You can do this. For them, for us.”

The maester’s voice broke through the moment. “The second child is positioned well, my lady. It’s time to push again.”

Summoning every ounce of strength left in your body, you bore down, the pain feeling unbearable, yet you knew you had no choice. Each push was harder than the last, the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm you.

“You’re almost there,” Rhaenyra said, her voice steady with determination. Alicent nodded beside her, offering her own quiet reassurances.

With a final, desperate push, the pain seemed to peak and then suddenly vanish, replaced by the sharp cry of another newborn.

“It’s a girl!” the maester declared, lifting the tiny baby for everyone to see.

Tears poured down your face as the midwife carefully placed your daughter in your arms. She was smaller than her brother but just as perfect, her cries softening as she felt your warmth.

Aegon let out a choked laugh, brushing the hair from your damp forehead. “Twins,” he whispered, his eyes filled with wonder. “Our family has doubled in one night.”

The room was filled with quiet awe as everyone looked down at the two newborns, now swaddled and safe in their parents’ arms. The pain and exhaustion faded into the background as you gazed at them, overwhelmed by the love and pride surging through you.

“They’re ours,” you whispered, looking at Aegon with a tired but radiant smile.

“They’re everything,” he replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips and then to each of his children.

The room had grown quieter after the whirlwind of events, leaving only you, Aegon, and your newborn twins basking in the stillness of the moment. Both babies rested peacefully in your arms, swaddled tightly in soft linens. Aegon sat beside you on the bed, his hand gently tracing the outline of his daughter’s tiny fingers as she grasped at him instinctively.

Your mothers and father had left moments ago, promising to return after freshening up for court, though they had each lingered with soft kisses to your forehead and whispered reassurances of their pride.

“They couldn’t stop fussing over us,” Aegon chuckled softly, his tone filled with warmth.

You gave him a tired smile, leaning back against the cushions for support. “I think they’ll be back the moment they’re presentable. They won’t be able to stay away from the twins.”

Aegon nodded, his eyes never leaving the twins. “And who could blame them?” He shifted closer to you, gently cradling your son from your arms. “Look at them. They’re perfect.”

You watched as Aegon studied your son, the softest smile playing on his lips. The little one stirred in his father’s arms but soon settled again, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily.

“They’ll have your courage,” Aegon murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And your strength.”

“And your determination,” you added, reaching out to brush a strand of his hair from his face.

He laughed lightly. “Let’s hope they inherit the best of us both.”

The weight of exhaustion was still heavy on your body, but the love that filled the room was stronger. As you held your daughter close, Aegon leaned in to kiss her tiny forehead, then yours.

“Rest, love,” he said softly. “I’ll stay here and watch over all three of you.”

You nodded, your eyes growing heavy as you leaned into his shoulder. With your family surrounding you, the world outside could wait a little while longer.

The soft sound of Aegon’s laughter pulled you from your slumber. Slowly, you opened your eyes to find the room aglow with the presence of your family. The sight filled you with warmth: your husband was cradling your daughter in his arms, an expression of pure joy lighting up his face. He looked more at ease than you’d ever seen him, gently rocking her and whispering something only she could hear.

Turning your gaze, you saw your mother, Rhaenyra, tenderly holding your son. She looked down at the little bundle in her arms with such affection, her fingers brushing softly against his tiny silver curls. Her expression was one of pride and love, the same one she often reserved for you when you were younger.

Your room buzzed with quiet conversation and soft laughter. Alicent and Heleana stood nearby, exchanging words in hushed tones as they admired the twins. Daemon and Viserys were engaged in their own discussion, though their eyes kept wandering toward the babies with expressions of pride. Jace and Luke sat at the foot of your bed, eagerly leaning in to get a better look at their newest family members.

You turned back to Aegon, your heart swelling at the sight of him holding your daughter so naturally. He noticed you were awake and smiled down at you, his eyes softening. “Look who’s finally up,” he teased lightly. “I told them you’d need your rest, but no one could resist meeting these two.”

Rhaenyra walked over, carefully bringing your son closer to you. “You’ve given us two miracles,” she said softly, her voice brimming with pride. “They’re perfect.”

Aegon sat beside you, gently handing your daughter into your arms. As you held her close, you felt a surge of love so strong it brought tears to your eyes. “They’re everything,” you whispered, glancing between your children and your husband.

Aegon leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you’re everything to us,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

For a moment, the room seemed to fade away, leaving just the four of you in your own little world. It was a moment you knew you’d cherish forever—a moment that marked the beginning of your life as a family.

Tag list : @danytar @zaldritzosrose @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[gay-dorito-dust]

How about batboys reacting to seeing their lover’s nip piercings through their shirt? like that’s the first time they’ve seen them? (i’m getting mine done soon i’m hyped)

Nipple piercings are so fucking cool dude! Funny enough I have a friend who’s got their nips pierced, all I know it’s a sensitive spot to get pierced but they look really cool. Also I now got snakebites…eating will be a little different but I’ll be okay.

Dick is fighting for his life, gnawing at the bars of his enclosure the moment he got a little peak of your nipple piercings.

He’s trying not to groan aloud at all because nipple piercings are his weakness and of course you have to go get them and turn him with them. They look beautiful, stunning, gorgeous on you even that he can’t help but take sneak peaks now and then at your tits, hoping to catch a glimpse of the metal piercing through your shirt.

He loves your piercings, they’re his favourite things to look at in all honesty and he’ll look at them all day if he could.

‘Looking good babe!’ He’d say upon first seeing them and you couldn’t help but smile, knowing damn well that the moment you got them done that Dick would be all over you like a rash.

‘Thank you sweetie, nice to know you noticed I got them done in the first place.’ You said with a chuckle as you gestured towards your chest and feeling his eyes there immediately it was humorous.

‘I notice everything babe and I must say they’re looking gorgeous.’ Dick replied as he gazes at the metal bars through your shirt with adoration, fascination and a little bit of lust. ‘Need me to give them some aftercare?’ He adds wiggling his eyebrows playfully as you laugh. ‘As much as I would love that but these puppies are fresh and I’ve been given strict rules to follow if I want them to heal correctly.’ You tell him and see his shoulders defeat and a pout crosses his lips, he was so dramatic that even your own nipple piercings weren’t safe.

‘Fine, I’ll wait until they get better and then I’ll give them some tender loving care of my own.’ Dick promises and you didn’t doubt that for a single second, after all nipple piercings were a little weakness of his.

Tim is looking away immediately, he didn’t mean to look at all and felt as though he’s overstepping some boundaries by looking and that’s not what he wants to do.

He’ll twiddle his thumbs or play with his phone so that he doesn’t accidentally look directly at your nipple piercings through your shirt and you catch him doing so by pure coincidence. Tim seriously think he might faint if he saw pierced nipples as it was an sensitive part of your body as well as an intimate area to have done, though that doesn’t mean he won’t compliment your piercing sheepishly.

‘They look wonderful honey.’ He’d say with a flustered expression, the imagine of your pierced nipples now engraved in that photographic mind of his, which was a blessing and a curse. Poor boy just wanted to say you have nice piercings without coming across as weird or creepy for staring there at the first place, regardless of whether he was your partner or not.

‘You can look Tim, I really don’t mind.’ You tell him as you watch him internally struggle with himself and decided to end the conflict for him instead, not wanting to see him so worried like he was right now as he gripped his phone so tight you fear he’d break it.

Tim peaks at the corner of his eye to look at your piercings through your shit and he swallows thickly, a piercing shouldn’t have this much affect over him but here he was finding a simple piercing pretty and enticing. It suited you that was for certain and Tim couldn’t help but admire the way they looked beneath your shirt, it was almost like a little tease of what was there and it would be enough to send anyone mad with want.

However Tim only looked at them and admired your ability to go through with it and getting them pierced, even despite the knowledge that they’ll hurt you went through with it anyway and came out with something, ��beautiful, they look beautiful.’

Jason may look like he’ll stare at your nipple piercings but is actually trying his hardest to not looks at them unless you want him to.

‘Jason! I got my nipples pierced! Look!’ You’d exclaim, lifting your shirt to show him the metal bars that pierced through your now erect nipples with shining pride.

‘You look gorgeous sweetheart.’ Jason would say truthfully as he gazed upon your piercings, before his mind wondered to the pain you endured to get them pierced, seeing as how nipples were notorious sensitive and piercing them only seemed to make Jason wince internally. ‘But that must’ve killed to get done chipmunk.’ He adds and you only smiled as you dropped your shirt, making sure it didn’t catch your piercings and shrug.

‘I mean yeah it did but they look came out looking fantastic don’t you think jay bird?’ You asked as you gestured towards your piercings. Jason swallowed thickly as he was quick to agree with your statement, not wanting to show just how affected he was by your pretty piercings. ‘There’s no doubt about that sweetheart, none at all.’ He says as you walked over and held his face, fingers trailing towards his pulse point that was beating faster than usual, and giggling softly.

‘It’s okay for you to look, look all you want I really don’t mind because at least someone other than myself is going to admire them and who better than my handsome partner.’ You teased as you kissed his lip before pulling away.

‘Sweetheart you’re going to kill me one of these days.’ Jason groaned as he pulled you in close while being careful with your piercings, having read somewhere that torso related piercings can take up to six moths recovering, with nipple related piercings needing a maximum of a month in fresh nursing pads. He just wants your piercings to heal without any problems or worries and so he’ll put aside his desire to get closely acquainted with them.

You smiled as you kissed his cheek. ‘But you love me for it.’

[erenstitanweave]

RUNWAY WALK!

synopsis: rumors quickly began spreading that new york city's hottest model has been spotted seemingly being smitten with spiderman on numerous occasions, little does the public understand, though, the two are far past smitten.

rating: sfw (obviously), two teens in love i fear, kissing, reader is a well known model, reader and miles giggle about an inside joke (will be explained dw), miles is a FLIRT.

a/n: is this extremely self indulgent? absolutely!! do i care? absolutely NOT!! in all seriousness though, i love love love miles so much (no one say i have a type, NO ONE.) so i had to write for him!! this might not even get posted but just in case it does, reblogs and comments are well appreciated, enjoy!!

Headlines were one of two things, a way to spread publicity in a good way, or, more likely, a way for shitty journalists to get a buck. This newest headline about you was unfortunately an instance of the latter.

“NEW YORK’S HOTTEST MODEL SPOTTED WITH SPIDER-MAN YET AGAIN: COINCIDENCE OR SOMETHING MORE?”

You sighed as your eyes glazed over the big bold letters, no doubt you’d be getting an earful from your manager about this later. For now, though, the headline unfortunately took your attention off of the one currently laying on you. Miles groaned in annoyance, snatching your hand back towards him and putting it back in his hair, smirking against your skin once he felt the bliss of your nails gently scratching his scalp. You let out a small laugh and moved the phone away from your face, looking down at him. He peered up at you with a look in his eyes, a mixture of curiosity and what looked to be knowing. “You can't keep stalking me, you know that, right?” You asked, taking your hand out his hair and moving it down to his jaw, rubbing small circles with your thumb into the back of his neck.

He shifted his upper body, taking his face out the crook of your neck and opting to just lie on your chest. “Not stalking..it's called checking on you.” He mumbled, struggling to keep his eyes open as he spoke. The slight ray of sunlight from the window beamed down onto his face, moreso his eyes in particular, his eyes making your heart melt. “You're lucky you're cute, but I can't get fired because you keep ‘bumping’ into me.” You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Just..try to be subtle, my love.” You whispered, feeling his grip slightly tighten around you. He pressed his lips to your collar, sprinkling kisses wherever he could reach without exerting himself too much.

You felt him hum in response against your skin, the sensation making you squirm slightly. His hands moved painstakingly slow up and down your sides, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin. You felt him murmuring against you, something that sounded like "I love you", but you weren't entirely sure. "Why don't you go to sleep? You've been half awake for two hours now." You asked, the sight of him making you giggle lightly. He barely shrugged his shoulders in response, staying still for a few minutes before lifting his head up to look at you. "Is it..really a problem? Me coming to see you, I mean." He clarified, adjusting his body and sitting up on his elbows. You hummed lightly, adjusting with him until you both laid down on your sides facing each other. "Not necessarily, at least, not to me." You said, leaning forward a bit and kissing his cheek. "I think she's just worried, stuff like this isn't usually taken well in the public eye. Plus, last thing you need is this backfiring on you."

Miles nodded slightly, his eyes closing in on your face, seemingly studying your expression. "Last thing you need is another mess on the runway because of me." He said with a laugh, making you giggle in response, shoving him lightly. "Yeah..she's still pissed about that, next time, aim the flowers at me and not at a rookie behind me." Miles groaned and rolled his eyes, laughing under his breath. "It was one time! I didn't do it again, so what's she still mad for?" He said, his lips contorting into that stupidly cute pout he always did. You both just laughed at each other, the laughter slowly dying out as the calm atmosphere consumed you both.

"Well, I guess you could start checking up on me before or after the shows..I mean, if you aren't catching any bank robbers or anything." You sighed, picking up your phone and continuing to scroll through the different news articles once again. Miles silently stared at you for a moment, just letting his eyes wander over your face and then the phone screen. His attention was caught by an article you mindlessly scrolled past, making him lift his hand and scroll upward. "Is that..me?" He asked slowly, the disbelief in his voice evident as you squinted your eyes to read the title.

"SPIDER-MAN: FROM THE EYES OF NEW YORK"

The title was oddly worded, at least, until you clicked on the actual article. The sight before you made you burst out laughing, the phone being dropped onto the bed somehow made it even funnier. The photos under the title were seemingly taken by people watching Miles fight, most of the photos probably even frames of videos made the poses caught by the camera even more hilarious. Miles, on the other hand, did NOT find this amusing in the slightest. The first image was probably the funniest, with him mid flip and his lanky arms dangling in the air. The second, taken mid-fight with a few bank robbers, showed Miles in the air looking as though he was floating above the criminals below him. The third, however, was the funniest one to you. Miles apparently had ordered a pizza for himself, only for a pigeon to take the pizza before he could even get it out of the box.

Between your tears and laughter, you silently thanked whoever took the photo, knowing it'd probably make it's way to your wallpaper once Miles left. Miles just stared at you with a blank expression, making the whole thing even more funny. "None of that was funny, baby." He huffed, snatching the phone and swiping out of the app. You breathed in and out for a moment, giggling to yourself as you tried to reach for the phone. "Wait! Come on, I wasn't even laughing that much!" You said, flopping down onto him and reaching for the phone. Miles kept up though, moving the phone every split second before you could grab it. Suddenly, he drops the phone right behind his head, his hands reaching to cradle the back of your neck and your jawline. His movements made you halt on your own, staying wide-eyed and completely still.

"As much as I love you, you can't beat me." He whispered with that stupid smirk on his face, kissing your cheek and around your mouth, very purposely missing your lips. You groaned lightly, giving his chest a gentle shove with a smile on your face. "Stop playing and kiss me, you dork." You giggled, leaning in and letting him kiss you. You moved upward, resting yourself on your knees on either side of his legs, slowly moving your hand off his chest and onto the bed. You peeked out from one eye, quickly grabbing the phone and gently pulling away, watching Miles realize what you just did. "As much as I love you, you can't beat me." You said with a grin, kissing the side of his mouth and opening the phone once more, ready and eager to find your new wallpaper once again.

[cocobirde]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 | JOHN DORY

request. @Striped_Scheme on wattpad Requesting a JD x Reader where they've been dating since BroZone days but he kinda just left her with no goodbye and tries to reconcile and convince them to come help and save Floyd lol ("Technically we never really broke up"☝🤓) word count. 2.2k warnings. the word fuck lol. timeline. pre-trolls trilogy, pre-trolls band together. song. baby it's cold outside with some slight alterations (tell me he wouldnt. i DAREEE you.) a/n. honestly. idea was good, but my writing was not it so apologies but love u... thanks for reading lolz... probably rushed... (i do that alot in my writing how to not rush help me) no doubt ooc characters, characters will always be ooc.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

"He's gone? What do you mean gone?"

Floyd could sense your distress. Panicked voice squeaking and your eyes darting all over the small backstage area for your boyfriend, on how exactly he could've left without you catching him.

You were in front of the stage, courtesy of being the partner of a band member, which was amazing but also granted limited viewing if they went too far back. From what you did see, the expressions were a solemn mixture of embarrassment, anger, disappointment.

You barely paid attention to the fans, who were also attempting to go in the same direction as you. Getting caught up in them took a whole lot of convincing the security.

But still, you were just at the door, and you heard him through it. Where had he gone? Was he okay? He fell from a very tall place in front of a crowd of fans, which was probably more damaging to him compared to actually getting injured—but not for you.

You watched him stumble backstage, stumble.

Baby Branch hid behind Floyd, wrapping the little leaf-sewn vest around his body, looking from his older brother to you, worried.

Where's the rest of the band?

"He just left. Everyone did. The band's..." Floyd paused, sighing, "BroZone's over."

You stood confused, your brows furrowing at his words. Over? How could they be over? This was just the start of their world tour. The band couldn't just break up over one failure.

"Over?"

They weren't that fragile, were they?

You loved all the brothers; they were like your own family, but your worries were set on only one of them for the time being.

"Did J at least say where he was going?"

Floyd nodded his head but remained unsure of what your thoughts would be on his answer. He glanced down at baby Branch, who was huddled around his leg.

"He was upset, really upset," he explained. "Said he was going to go hiking to the Neverglades... alone."

The change in your face told him everything, and he was quick to extend his hands in front of him. "But John Dory always says crazy things like that, and he never goes through with them. I'm sure he probably just went up to The Point."

That did seem like a logical explanation, and it was. Floyd may not have been the oldest, but he always had reason and logic behind his smart words.

"You're right." You were still stressed, no doubt, but that calmed your fears down. "Are you guys gonna be okay?"

Floyd spared another guilty glance at Branch and nodded, offering a soft smile and urging you to go look for your lover.

▃▃▃▃▃

The troll tree was huge, and even with its large size, it was hard to find any area that wasn't already occupied. Trolls made sure to take advantage of all their space; it was their home, and they made the most of it.

But even with every taken, there was one place that was free from everyone else.

A special spot reserved for you and your lover.

The Point.

Little knew about the spot, and those who did ensured it remained private.

Hidden in the leaves was a branch sticking out high enough to conceal the ugly Bergen town that surrounded them and gave them access to the beautiful night sky.

You and John Dory liked to go there a lot. Whether it be dates or to blow off steam (not like that for the weirdos), if he'd go anywhere after an accident like today, he'd go there.

He was very athletic and made a show of it whenever you'd go together, carrying you up. Bridal style or pulling you up with his strong locks—the point was, you had trouble going up on your own.

It took a while—a hard struggle—but it'd be worth it to see your boy up there and cheer him up.

They couldn't just break up; they just needed their leader to see that.

"John Dory?"

You called upon reaching the top, pushing the heavy leaves out of your way, careful not to slip off the branch.

"Baby, are you here?" Your voice was soft; you didn't want to alarm him. He could be really sensitive sometimes.

That thought brought a faint smile to your face. A smile fell upon the realization that he wasn't up here. If not up here, where could he have gone?

Home?

Knowing JD, you doubted it. If this was as serious as Floyd had put it, as serious as he looked, he wouldn't have just gone home.

And so your search ensued.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

You spent days looking for him. Not a spot in the tree was untouched or unsearched by you. Somehow, the troll had just disappeared. No signs. No letters. No goodbyes.

He left you alone to suffer. Wondering where he'd gone, if he was okay, and if you guys were okay.

It was a coincidence, truly.

How on the day you reminisce when he left you without even a word explaining his sudden disappearance all those years ago was the same day you'd find John Dory on your doorstep.

"Come on, baby, could you let me in?"

"Baby?" you scoffed, remaining with your back slammed against the door in exasperation. "You lost the right to call me that a very long time ago."

One moment you were having a nice day, reading a nice book by your fireplace, enjoying the pitter-patter of rain outside, and the thunder struck, shaking you in the best way possible.

And the next...

"It's cooold..."

He whined, banging on the door desperately.

You couldn't bear to look at him; the second you already spent doing so when you opened the door was enough. He had a face that you'd never forget.

How'd he even find you?

"Go. Away." you growled.

"But it's cold outside."

You clenched your jaw, glaring at the door handle as he shook it. JD used little effort to push at the door; by the weight of it, he could tell you were against it. Not that it mattered.

He was strong; he could easily open it if he wanted to.

"You simply must go."

"Baby, it's cold outside."

If John Dory thinks a little singing is enough to serenade you, he is more of an idiot than you are already aware he is. You weren't a teenager helplessly in love with a silly musician from next door, you were grown.

Mature.

His tricks weren't going to work on you.

"The answer is no."

"But baby, it's cold outside."

He put more pressure, pushing, and you cursed for the lack of a lock on your door.

Trolls don't do locks! They don't have anything to worry about!

Except ex-boyfriend's trying to come in and ruin your life all over again.

"The welcome has been-."

"You should feel so lucky I dropped in."

You rolled your eyes, sarcasm dripping with your words, "So nice and warm."

He pushed the door, slipping a leg in to stop it from shutting completely, peeking a crack. You groaned and peered through it at him.

Sharp glares were directed at him, and gosh, if only looks could kill, he would've dropped dead right now.

He looked stupid.

Stupid puppy eyes with his stupid goggles and a stupid pout on his stupid face. He was soaked from head to toe, the rain falling on him more and more every second he stood outside.

My, did he look pathetic?

BANG!

He shrieked, desperation on his face and voice, jumping at the loud crash of thunder, lighting up the dark sky.

He turned back to you, singing rapidly.

"Look out the window at that storm!"

"Ugh, okay! Come in!"

His face lit up, the door swinging open, and he rushed in, soaking your carpet with rain as you shut the door behind him, slamming it hard enough that the whole house shook with force.

He glanced at you in surprise, getting a glare in return.

JD opened his mouth to speak, obviously nothing nice with the smug look on his face, and you were quick to shut him down.

"Don't."

He clamped his mouth shut, smirking and holding his hands up in defense. "I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Stay."

You urged with a pointed finger, walking off to your bathroom in search of a towel.

"Yes, your majesty."

You hated him with every fiber of your being, but you weren't cruel. He might've been, but you weren't. Any troll would do the same as you; offer him some refuge from the storm outside.

Returning with a towel, you didn't bother passing it to him, tossing it and smacking him right in the face.

Maybe you were a little cruel.

He reacted with a huff, taking it and wrapping it around himself, not bothering to dry himself like ordered, but more like a shelter from the cold.

"Is that how you treat your boyfriend after all these years?"

John Dory tutted, shaking his head in disappointment as he took a single step in your direction.

"Boyfriend?" you scoffed.

"I mean, technically, we never broke up."

Oh, you wanted to punch his little ugly face so bad.

"You disappearing without saying anything was us "technically" breaking up." You did air quotations with another roll of your eyes, speaking before he did, exasperated.

"Why are you even here, John Dory?"

He stayed silent for a few moments, pondering what exactly to say. What could he say? He knew it was stupid of him to even come in the first place. He knew you'd be angry, upset, but not like this.

You didn't look the slightest bit happy to see him.

His smugness dropped along with his shoulders, and he took a breath.

"I need your help."

He looked dead serious. So serious.

You shook your head, your lips curling up in disbelief. "You need my help. Right." your arms crossed, "You leave, disappear off to who knows where, say nothing, suddenly come back after 20 years, and you decide you want my help?"

A short and dry laugh left you.

John Dory really was unbelievable.

"I knew you wouldn't want to see me..."

"I don't want to see you." You cut him off with a grimace, ready to say more-

He had that same desperate look.

Honestly, it brought you back. It brought you back to all those years ago, when both of you were young.

John Dory was always a terrible boyfriend, cocky and arrogant, bossy, too busy with BroZone to give you the time you needed. It hurt you. You loved him so much, and he didn't seem to always reciprocate those feelings. And each time you guys would argue and break up, he would be the first to return with a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

"Leave me alone, John. You can't just come back and expect me to accept you. That's not how life works! If you wanna be in a relationship, you have to commit-..."

"Can you please just listen?"

He stared at you with a small pout, furrowed brows, eyes pleading into yours for you to give him a second chance. His stupid, loving eyes knew exactly how you worked. How exactly to work you.

The only difference right now was that he came empty-handed.

Nevertheless, it effectively shut you up.

"I fucked up all those years ago, I know. I fucked up leaving you. That's the biggest mistake I've ever made. I should've said goodbye, apologized, invited you to come with me- I should've done something!" He ranted, "But I didn't. And I just left..."

John Dory expected you to say something. One of your snarky remarks and cut him off, tell him he's wrong or right, and degrade him on what a terrible person he is because he is well aware of it.

But he's trying.

"Baby, you of all trolls know how terrible I am at apologies," he sighed.

And you didn't bother to correct him on your name; looking at him up and down, eyes still narrowed. You were still angry, you'd probably be angry for a very long time, but for the moment... you'd put it aside.

"What do you need help with?"

His face lit up, beaming at you at your acceptance, not denying him completely, not shunning the troll out, and kicking him back into the rain. You were hearing him out.

You noticed the look and huffed, "Just because I'm asking does not mean I'm going to say yes."

"Floyd's been kidnapped."

Your expression softened, and your mouth fell open in a quiet gasp.

"Kidnapped?"

"I got a letter from him saying he got kidnapped by popstars Velvet and Veneer." He went on and explained the story about how he went to see him and help him escape, only to fail: "-The only way to free him is by singing the perfect family harmony."

You loved Floyd to this day. It'd been years since you'd last talked to him, heard of him at all, but the same amount of affection you felt for the troll remained.

"I need to get the band back together. And... I really can't do it on my own. I'm not sure if they want to see me any more than you did-."

You cut him off a lot.

"I'll help," he grinned. "But not for you. For Floyd. Don't think I've forgiven you yet."

"Yet?"

"Shut up."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

[rei-ismyname]

Teen Cyclops gets hit with EMOTIONS 🫠😭🤩🥹😬🥴

AKA I get emotions too, linking and contrasting theory + my disability experience with Scott's.

Yung Cyke is loving his time away from the X-Men and the freedom it allows him to *loosen up.* Lacking context, The Champions view him as repressed and phlegmatic in the extreme. They're right, but he's not an old man - he's just a kid who went from constant trauma to a life of intense responsibility. I think Seinfeld is cringe, but I'm aware that many many people enjoyed it. Scott liking it is more a sign of his time displacement than anything else, though I do wonder if he identifies with any of the characters. Hints of Costanza, most likely. Not sure any are a great fit - what do you think? Newman?

Anyway, my point is that he is benefiting from his newly expanded social circle but The Champions are not Danger Room kids. They don't know that this IS Slim getting out of his comfort zone. A fake moustache isn't the most complicated costume, but you'd never see 'leader of the X-Men' Scott do it. He probably wouldn't even join them, assuming Chuck let them out for Halloween. Kamala and Miles want to see get inside that brain - let's see how they respond when they get their wish.

The catalyst is this jerkoff - Psycho Man. He's a long story, let's just simplify it by saying that he has a machine that fucks with people's emotions. He's using it nefariously until Scott blasts it to pieces and demands his surrender. He flees instead, but Scott has been affected by it and opens his Pandora's Box of repression.

The Champions know something is off when Scott abandons his indoor voice and starts ... acting up. When he smashed the machine some feedback hit him right in the pineal gland or hippocampus, unlocking his emotions on a primal level. Anger and adrenaline flood through him and everyone realises they're in for some X-Men shit. Well, they don't know that at all actually, but the vibe of a dam about to burst is clear and present.

Peppy would be proud.

They still let him fly the team vehicle, perhaps unwisely. Scott really enjoys the freedom of flying - 'no responsibility, no one complaining or making you feel bad.' I wonder what he's referring to with those awfully specific things. No time to worry about that because Scott leans into it and does a barrel roll, scaring TF out of everyone.

They wisely get him off the stick and Kamala brushes it off as 'goofing.' That really sets him off into a shame spiral, though I don't think they truly internalise that this bit is not exactly exaggerated. 'I'm not allowed to screw up. I can't make a single mistake ever! I can't ever let anybody down. If I do then what good am I?'

None of these people know Charles Xavier very well, but if they did they'd probably slap him. I feel like this is the moment when they connected young Slim to the guy that killed Xavier while possessed by the Phoenix. The fact that he's a nosy telepath who raised Scott exacerbates the Fridge Horror. The unhealthy mantras and the beliefs informing them had to come from somewhere, and Scott himself learning about that 'loss of control' didn't have the same shock as the rest of the O5. My reading is that he was offended and embarrassed by the idea he'd lose control - like it's a failure of character.

After seemingly getting a hold of himself and being quiet for a while, Scott openly expresses fear. The team is confused so he elaborates. He's scared of himself, scared of his eyes, scared of losing control. He's scared of killing anyone let alone his father figure. Pathologically terrified, even, and it occupies his every waking moment. He doubts their friendship while lamenting how people see him, without denying his hypervigilance and how it isolates him.

Scott wants to be social and carefree but he doesn't feel like he's allowed to. I can relate. My disability doesn't have the power to hurt people (except myself through inaction or accident) but it's isolating AF and requires hypervigilance every moment I'm awake. People, even close friends and family, don't take it seriously and that sucks. Blame and pressure exacerbate the difficulty of managing my functionality, and round and round it goes. 'What's stopping you?' is a familiar refrain, no matter how many times I explain it. It's exhausting.

Isolation is one aspect of the disability experience - it informs and intersects with exclusion, often passively. There's rarely anyone directly saying 'you can't do this thing;' it's often the way the world, society is constructed - for the able bodied. Nothing fits, or allows you to fit. I know I grieve my former degree of functionality and the things I simply can't participate in. I became disabled at 28, and I'm sure there's nuance for folks born with disabilities or that get worse over time - but I can't speak to that lived experience. No matter what though, as Scott says, 'it just takes.' His 'unable to cry' statement is one I don't recall hearing before this run, but it casts Scott's decades of emotional clodes-offness in a new light. It's a strong character beat that fits seamlessly with his established behaviour and publication history. I usually don't get so personal in my analysis but woof - this hit me HARD. The combination of resentment and hypervigilance over my body and how it is perceived is particularly close to home. So too is sharing with sympathetic friends - they get it, but they also don't.

Round two with Captain Fucko happens while Scott is still affected, and he dips the fuck out. The action is truncated by Tumblr's image limits but his love and protectiveness kicks into overdrive and manifests violently - nearly killing Psycho-Man. Kamala has to step in with the disability aid assist, though it's nice nobody judges him. After letting out all the emotions and optic blasts he has Scott is tapped and falls unconscious.

Even this act of vulnerability, putting himself in other people's hands, is fraught. I'd find that difficult without a checklist of invisible needs to consider, and that's a lot of labour to expect from someone else. Emotional AND physical. That in turn breeds guilt and resentment, as nobody can be a carer forever and negotiating any period of carer/caree relationship is incredibly challenging. The power dynamics and your needs as labor can poison the closest relationship. Nobody wants to be dependent, or even a burden, but needs are needs. Many go without.

It's a little ambiguous if Scott remembers the events of the day, but it's heavily implied he does. He's not embarrassed, per se, but The Champions didn't opt in to Scott Summers trauma dumping and giving them an out is gracious. It's his feelings and they're valid, but they were forced out of him by an attack.

I daresay the team understands what makes Scott tick a lot better, and nobody gives him shit for being uptight after this. The above panel is supplemental, but I think it fits perfectly. I believe it was an overall cathartic experience for Yung Cyke - it feels good to let out every now and then.

The flipside of never talking about it again is that it really is easier to just not engage with disability whether they're close to you or not. It's labour however you slice it and in my experience the reality of permanent disability is depressing to think about. The reality that you're not going to get better is outside context for most, fortunately. That's part of what makes it labour, work. Personally I have found it hard to not be resentful, frustrated, and jealous of having the privilege of not thinking about it. I work to not make it other people's problem, balancing that with the support that's offered.

The majority of my close friends these days are disabled themselves, and navigating that paradigm with two or more people is exponentially more difficult. Some days I don't have the energy to give and vice versa, so I definitely get it. Putting it into action is another story, but balancing needs and availability is part of any relationship. The well-meaning group conspiracy of silence in the last panel (probably) isn't realistic, but it can certainly feel like it. If you got this far, thanks for reading! This is not the post I set out to make, but sometimes it just flows out of you. I'm glad it did, as I need to apply a disability theory lens to my writing more often. The theory and the personal would ideally be further apart, but I needed to get this out. ❤️

[cinnamonest]

Uhtceare

Yandere Ayato x Reader - "Failed escape attempt" series

(I still cannot publish posts that have people tagged. I don't know why, it just gives me an error popup saying it couldn't be processed. Apologies to those in my taglist.)

Warning: DARK CONTENT, noncon/dubcon, implications of forced/coerced marriage, masturbation voyeurism that’s also kinda forced, manipulative use of mental health and problematic way of addressing it, gaslighting and psychological manipulation, implied future forced drugging, there’s just a lot of my man being awful here

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

“Ah, there you are.”

Of course. He would be right there at the entrance waiting, wouldn’t he.

You were hoping to get a few more seconds to put off the inevitable, but the reality of your situation was not so kind as to grant you that. It was all far too fast — the full events of the night before, the journey of being dragged back here — flanked on all sides by doushin all the while — all went by in a blur, leading up to this very dreaded moment.

You kept your gaze turned to the ground, unable to bring yourself to make eye contact. Your fingers curled, digging into the fabric around your thighs.

Nonetheless, without even hesitating nor willing it, you found your feet moving on their own. Perhaps it was instinct, to get away from the unfamiliar men that made you so uncomfortable and uneasy, and into the arms that, despite everything, were at least familiar, and thereby a comfort at the end of your long trial of distress and misery. Maybe you knew it was expected, and feared some consequence for not acting as you knew you should. Or maybe some of both.

Regardless, your feet shuffled forward, any thoughts muted in favor of instinct as you bounded over towards your husband — as much as you hated to acknowledge it, your one source of comfort. As you grew close, he reached an arm out, hand firmly planting itself on your back and pulling you in. Perhaps out of that same sense of fear at the thought of disobeying expectations, perhaps out of pure exhaustion, you allowed it without struggle coming to stand directly by his side, grasping at his clothes, burying your head against him and squeezing your eyes shut as if it would obscure the others’ view of you.

“I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea how worried I was about her,” he spoke to the arrangement of men now standing a ways away, moving his hand on to rest atop your head. “I apologize for the inconvenience. The poor thing gets a bit irrational from time to time. You know how it is.”

The other men only gave a brief, curt sound of acknowledgement. One, the own standing closest to the two of you based on how close the voice sounded, seemed to deem it appropriate to give at least some response. “Of course, sir.”

Not that that actually made any sense, that such a bizarre thing to say could ever warrant an ‘of course’ as a reply. But they weren’t there to be sensible, to assess the situation and act according to any supposed principles. To help. They were there only to follow through with an assigned task, one that they had not even tried to conceal in their expressions and tones towards you was an unwanted inconvenience, and to turn a blind eye to any conclusions they might draw.

Maybe that too was intentional — the estate lord could have easily sent his private forces to be the ones to escort you back to the estate, yet he chose to allow the public law enforcement to return you. Perhaps he knew you’d grown to resent the family’s private forces, and thereby had no issue inconveniencing them, whereas he knew you’d feel more embarrassment and guilt having strangers be forced to bring you all the way back… yes, the more you thought about it, that certainly seemed like that was his intent.

“I hope she didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Ah, I see, that’s good to hear.”

Your hands balled into fists.

The whole show made of it all was utterly humiliating — that too no doubt the intention — but you had no choice but to stand there. Doing something rash like running off to hide yourself from the embarrassment would only meet a worse consequence later.

The burning, bitter anger only made said embarrassment that much worse. It was consuming, maddening. Everything — this place, these people, their words and their attitudes, their dismissal of you as if you were a child or an animal — it made you so damn mad, and yet, you could do nothing but endure.

Your eyes burned. You blinked a few times in rapid succession. You couldn’t forgive yourself if you actually cried in front of these strangers. The back-and-forth between the two parties continued, but you did your best to tune out the words, knowing that listening would only hurt you further.

It wasn’t until there was movement that you returned your attention to them, pulling your head away from him to look — now they were turning, walking away.

Leaving you alone with him.

You then dared not avert your eyes from the ground, watching the men from your peripheral vision as they made their way down the path, growing smaller and smaller and they moved further away, until their footsteps were no longer audible.

All that remained was a heavy, palpable tension.

Avoidance was the easiest path — a foolish choice, of course, which you knew full well. It wasn't as if you could avoid the present reality forever, but nonetheless, you found yourself clinging to each precious second that ticked by, body growing stiffer as you braced yourself for the inevitable. Perhaps you could trick yourself into believing that if you just kept your gaze turned to the ground, nothing would happen.

But sure enough, you clenched your jaw as his hand moved upwards, and came to rest on your shoulder.

“Come on now. You're certainly tired. Let’s get you to rest for a while.”

His voice only made your stomach twist further. It was calm and gentle, not explosive or infuriated. It would have felt more assuring that way, if your fear could just be easily confirmed, rather than a calculated calm that felt far more dreadful and foreboding than any rage.

His hand moved from your shoulder, coming down to grasp your wrist. It wasn’t a sudden, harsh motion, nor was the grip itself strong enough as to be painful — but it was noticeably firm.

And then, he pulled. A soft tug, pulling you in the direction of the doors.

Your resistance was not a conscious choice, not something you thought about nor had any time to do so; it was only a reflex. Instinctively, your body stiffened, your feet dug into the ground, and thus his pull was met not with the meek obedience that was expected of you, with footsteps that followed where you were guided, but instead a firm resistance.

Your own realization of that resistance, what you’d just done, sent a sharp rush of fear through your veins.

And thus, for the first time since arriving, your gaze tilted upward, and your wide, frightened eyes met his.

His expression shifted. The amiable, pleasant smile half-faded, still present, but only barely.

“…Don't be difficult. Come on.”

Likewise, his voice dropped far lower, a dark and foreboding tone far removed from the one he’d spoken with just moments ago to the other men.

Your mouth opened, instinctively wanting to reply, but you couldn't summon a coherent thought. You were afraid, you were angry, you were so, so embittered and ashamed and wanted nothing more than to run to your room, close your eyes and burrow into the bed.

And for a moment, you considered the compliant option. If you just lowered your head and followed along, apologized and insisted you were just being petty or immature or whatever he would call it this time, and took whatever consequence was handed out, then you could do just that, confine yourself to your bed and try to forget it all.

But the shame only fueled the fury, like gasoline to a fire. It was his fault. As scared of punishment as you were, your pride could not stand for simply bowing your head, and as your mind raced, the sheer fury you’d been stewing in all throughout the night before, all the angry words you’d monologued in your head and vowed to spew at him when you saw him again, all came rushing back.

You swallowed, fingers curling even harder around the fabric around your thighs. Now that it was just the two of you, although you still fought it as best as you could, you couldn’t help that your eyes watered, burning as your vision blurred out of pure frustration and misery.

“I… I know you did all of this on purpose! I only got all the way out there because you let me, a-and…”

The words came out in a trembling, wavering voice, far weaker than intended.

He exhaled a heavy sigh, closing his eyes in frustration. His voice was still characteristically gentle, but you could hear his patience waning. “We can discuss this inside.”

“But I—”

“Inside.”

You stiffened, freezing in place. That was not a tone you heard often in your married life, more firm than normal.

You swallowed, gaze darting to the ground again, unable to summon a reply and not wanting to make eye contact again. With another heavy exhale, he pulled at your arm with a gentle tug, and this time, you followed, feet quickly shuffling behind his.

You didn’t say a word, though, through the full minute or so of walking across the courtyard, through the front doors, down the hall, only dimly lit today due to curtains hanging over the windows lining the walls. It occurred to you with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you were headed straight for your shared bedroom, rather than one of the estate’s many drawing rooms and lounges, which meant the anticipated conversation to come would be one you’d both want kept in privacy. Your stomach felt as if it were turning in knots, your chest compressed by an unseen force, each breath feeling strenuous and weighted.

And then, finally, you both came to a halt as you reached the last room at the end of the hall. You felt helpless, unable to do anything as you watched the handle of the door turn, stumbling in as you were guided forward by the hand that came to gently press on your lower back.

Likewise, equally pitifully, you could do nothing but stand there and wait as you listened for the door to close behind you, clenching your jaw at the trepidation in your chest from the footsteps on the floor behind you, but made sure to not let your fear swallow your fury.

“Now,” he began slowly as he moved around you to the other side of the room, voice now back to its usual tone, but still firm nonetheless, “I can tell you have a great deal you want to get off your chest, but you’ll have to forgive me for a moment… your well-being is my primary concern.” He looked you up and down, and his voice took on a note of concern that admittedly sounded sincere. “You aren’t hurt in any way, are you, dear?”

You bit your lip at the affectionate term, and more importantly, at how unbothered he came across. Granted, you now knew just how much of the past twelve hours or so had been entirely within his control, so it made sense that he was never genuinely distressed, but admittedly, it was also disappointing. Part of you wanted him to have been panicked and worried, to get the satisfaction of knowing you’d successfully gotten under his skin.

Still, you shook your head, keeping your gaze to the ground as you gave a curt, frustrated reply. “No.”

“Good,” his eyes closed for a moment, taking a heavy breath of pause. “Well, in that case…” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. “I believe this would be the best time to give you a moment to explain yourself.”

You couldn’t miss the obvious foreboding in his voice, nor the way it made your body stiffen.

But you had already prepared for that — you knew it would be intimidating, that it would be awkward and shameful, but you had spent the previous few hours trying to preemptively harden your resolve against that. Besides, after it was interrupted earlier, you now had the chance to get back to what was essentially the pre-written script you’d memorized in your head of exactly every little thing you wanted to say to him.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the you that was standing there in front of him was significantly less brave than the ‘you’ in the scenes you’d played out in your head on the journey home.

Still, you clenched your hands into fists, thinking you had to at least force him to acknowledge the one point you’d deemed most important.

“You let me leave.”

In your mind, you’d spoken with a bold voice and looked him directly in the eye… and while the same words came out of your mouth, they were instead said with a weak, shrill attempt at an accusatory tone, pathetically looking to the wall as you found yourself unable to summon the gall to look up, once more lacking the firm accusation and self-assuredness your imaginative self had had.

He tilted his head. “That’s not a very accurate way to put it. I never granted you any such permission… I was simply aware of your intent to run off, and didn’t stop you.”

For a moment, you contemplated asking how he knew — but you had a feeling the answer would only make you more upset. His voice was laden with a faux sincerity, a sort of disingenuousness that made your blood boil, enough to embolden you further as you continued.

“And you… you had people following me the whole time, I know you did!” Your voice began to get louder as you grew bolder, bitter anger strengthening you against any trepidation. “They didn't even do a good job! I started noticing them towards the end of it!”

"Well, that would be because they were specifically told that concealment was not necessary.” He kept up the dry manner of speech, seemingly unbothered by your fury. “They deserve a break from high effort jobs every now and then, surely you understand. Besides, they didn’t directly interfere with your little outing, yes?”

He was so calm in contrast to your visible irritation, no doubt at least in part deliberate. It only served to make you even more mad.

“They told the local doushin to — no, you told them to tell them! There’s no other way that could have happened! I-I, I got," in sheer frustration, you jerked your fists in a sharp downward motion, "arrested!"

“I’m very well aware.”

“They put me in jail!”

“I do believe that is the standard process for an arrest, yes.”

“I was all by myself for hours!”

“Naturally. I couldn’t allow you to be placed with any dangerous persons, that’s why you were put in a solitary space.”

You clenched your fists so hard they trembled. “You, y-you let me get that far in the first place, and, and…” A lump formed in your throat again, which you did your best to suppress. “…Just to make me go through all that… I was there for hours before they came for me…” Your face scrunched up as you fought the urge to cry.

You hung your head, shoulders falling as you let your body relax, the fuse of anger burning out as it turned to a quiet bitterness swelling in your stomach. What was even the point? You knew better than to think your emotions would be given any weight, treated as anything beyond trivial.

A few moments of quiet passed, perhaps to see if you would say anything more, or perhaps just to force you to wait in uncomfortable uncertainty. After a moment, he shifted his posture slightly before unfolding one arm, holding out his hand in a standard gesture of speech.

“And what have we learned?”

You never would have thought one question could send such a spark of fury through your body in a single moment. Everything, from the wording to the timing to his tone, felt utterly mocking, infantilizing in a way that made you seethe.

You swallowed, practically trembling. “That you’ll go to any lengths to humiliate me?”

He returned the extended arm to its former position, exhaling heavily, straightening his stance. “It's rather unfair to assume I had such malicious intent. Stopping you early on in the past has clearly not worked in the long term, so further measures were necessary.” He tilted his head to meet your averted gaze, reflexively turning your attention back to him, eyes connecting with yours. “My only intention was that you would have some time to reflect on your series of decisions… and hopefully return with a change of heart. These episodes of yours are worrisome.” He gave a brief pause before finishing, “claiming I had cruel intent when you know in your heart that I only arranged this because I care for you… that's rather harsh, isn't it?”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to acknowledge the notion that the words were genuine. Admittedly having fallen for the words die a moment, you mentally shook off the momentary feeling of guilt.

These situations always went the same way, you'd be driven to apologize and feel bad about your choices. You had never met anyone else in your life with such a mastery of speech-craft as to be able to control your emotions and actions with words as easily as if it were pushing buttons on a machine. The first few times, you'd actually fallen for it, found yourself completely malleable, psyche bending and shifting to another's whims. At least with time, you'd become more resilient, had learned to notice and recognize the attempts… so you believed.

You opted to avoid answering the quesiton. Instead of acknowledging his own words, you turned to another matter that had come to mind during your escapade.

“Aren’t you abusing your authority? How are you even allowed to do this to begin with?!”

He took another deep breath, as if it were a trivial matter, or one that shouldn’t necessitate explanation.

“It’s… complicated, but the law does fully permit estates to employ local forces to locate any missing property belonging to the estate… people employed or bound to it are a sort of grey area in that regard.” After a moment of pause, he added, “besides, I also made it very clear that you were not in your right mind at the time, so your wellbeing was of immediate concern, and they were happy to help.”

“What?” The anger in your tone only rose. “I was perfectly in my right mind, you, you… a-and I’m not…”

A few moments passed as you trailed off, having to pause to collect yourself, blink away frustrated tears.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but seemed to decide against whatever he'd considered saying, closing his eyes and taking a breath before finally replying in a more exasperated tone.

“You're making yourself upset needlessly. I can only do so much… in the end, I only wanted to keep you safe. You have to be the one to accept the grace you're given. Wouldn't that be easier for you?”

There was still unease to his tone, but the way he said it was nonetheless indicative of a sort of tiredness, as if not wanting to carry on about the matter anymore. It almost sounded like he was saying that you “accepting” his “grace” was all that was required to bury the matter entirely.

You spoke slowly, cautiously.

“You’re not… mad?”

“…I never said that.” He shifted away from leaning against the wall, standing upright. ”Of course, I can’t allow this to go entirely unacknowledged.”

He took a few steps towards you, and you fought the urge to step back, keeping your arms rigidly straight at your side as he continued.

“Normally, a proper form of consequence would be in order… however, after consideration, I realized that this was in large part my own fault, and I owe it to you to take responsibility for that.”

The words took you by surprise. The idea that he was in any way acknowledging that he had any responsibility for what you did was baffling, all things considered. He had never once even acknowledged that refusing to let you leave the estate was essentially holding you prisoner, and usually insisted that everything he did was what was best for you, even if, as he seemed to believe was the case, you did not understand that.

You hesitated before replying. “What… what do you mean?”

He flashed you an amiable smile. “A lesser person would only act on their momentary frustrations, but I’m not the sort of person who acts without understanding the situation. Luckily, I do understand you.” He looked off to the side, holding a hand up to his chin in a pensive pose, before adding in a quieter voice, “I made the mistake of getting too caught up in my work recently. Acting out over feelings of neglect is entirely different from misbehavior out of sheer petulance.”

He turned his head back towards you again before finishing,

“It would be cruel to respond to a cry for attention as if it were ordinary disobedience.”

The words took you aback, and you hesitated in your response, but as it fully registered in your mind, the momentary surprise was replaced with shameful fury. You held your arms firmly at your side, hands balled into fists as you replied.

“What?! I didn't— I didn’t do it for attention!”

You felt foolish for thinking for even a second that he might actually empathize with you, might finally come to enough humility to realize that much of your perceived disobedience was due to the sheer degree of meticulous, total control he held over everything you did. But no, instead, your attempt to run away was being treated as attention-seeking. It felt belittling, degrading.

He took a short breath, as if about to say something, but as his gaze fell upon you again, he simply exhaled, an amused smile forming on his face, replacing the former exasperation — and only infuriating you further, realizing even your anger wouldn't be taken seriously.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He made no effort to hide the dismissive amusement in his voice, either, but cleared his throat before returning to a more neutral tone before you could give any retort. “Regardless, you've been through a lot already. If you can be mature and calm down, make some acknowledgement of the trouble you’ve caused and show some remorse, then, I'm willing to somewhat overlook this.” Making direct contact between your eyes and his, he finished, “Won’t that be easier on us both?”

The obvious dismissal of your statement and implications of what he thought made your face feel hot. The embarrassment that had already been weighing down on you now became suffocating, and the utter arrogance of the presumption of your willingness to comply made you so upset it felt nauseating.

“What does ‘somewhat’ mean?” You tried to suppress the irritation in your voice.

He gave another heavy sigh. “Should you really be asking for specifics? It’s your best course of action regardless.”

You opened your mouth and inhaled as if to speak, holding your closed fists up to your chest, ready to spew every ounce of vitriol you’d been building up, and then, you fell silent as your eyes met.

His expression grew dark, eyes half-lidded and features blank — not contorted with anger nor curiosity, but merely waiting, watching, warning. Anticipating your defiance, prepared to react accordingly.

You looked down, hesitating.

Was it really worth it…? A few moments of lashing out, at what cost? ‘Consequences’ hurt, in one sense or another, they always did, no matter what form that word took.

You swallowed. He was right — one path before you was wiser.

You hung your head.

“…I’m sorry…”

Even with your gaze turned downward, you could see his eyes widen just a bit in your peripheral vision, not having expected such quick compliance — understandably so, based on your past incidents. But after a moment, his expression softened. He took another step, closing the gap between you, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to lift your head back up.

“Mm. I’m glad you understand. You know, you've matured quite a bit recently.”

You almost, almost found yourself feeling happy at the praise, but then pushed that feeling away. It was part of the way he did things, part of the process, so you'd slowly come to recognize, putting the pieces together over and over until you became aware of how he managed to bring you down to submission each time. You refused to be swayed by that. You were only giving it up and apologizing because it was the was the easier, less painful choice… so you reminded yourself. Now, at least, you'd be done with this, could move on and quietly begin plotting again.

But then, as you felt his hand move down to your shoulder, then to your waist, you remembered the ‘somewhat.’

Yes, of course it couldn’t be left at that, wouldn’t be so simple as forcing you into humility just once.

You knew that full well. These checks of obedience after an act of disobedience never came solitary, and the desire for that subservience to be affirmed was not easily satiated. It would only grow deeper, an increasing hunger for your subservience. Pushing your pride further and further down, carving into your personhood and whittling away anything deemed unfitting. It would only go further, debasing you in increasingly violating ways.

You felt a gnawing in your stomach. You hadn’t thought of that part, in the moment, but the realization now made your heartrate begin to accelerate once more.

His eyes drifted downward.

“…Ah, right. The clothes you’re wearing, we need to have a servant wash them for you. Just set them by the door for now.”

You looked down. You hadn’t even bothered to think about it until now, having been so preoccupied with other thoughts, but indeed, the oh-so-nice and expensive clothing you’d been so lovingly lavished with, was now fully coated in grime and dirt.

At the same time, your immediate instinct was to protest the idea, knowing the intent. He wasn’t going to get you a replacement — which he himself would need to do, seeing as all of your clothing was, no doubt deliberately, kept outside the bedroom itself, and it had been established early on that you were to rely on him or servants to fetch whatever he would have you wear that day for you. Was the command too, then, intentional?

The very moment you even asked yourself the question, though, came the immediate answer, making you feel foolish for even questioning it. Of course it was intentional, planned — what wasn’t, anymore, in your life? You remembered looking back, on the day you were brought here, thinking over the past with borderline horror at the realization of how intricately detailed and precise every detail had been in his effort — what you now were certain was a premeditated plan — to get your family to call off the years-long betrothal you’d already been in, and marry you off to him instead. That realization of it all had kept you rightfully afraid of him, knowing he was always one step ahead of whatever you might attempt.

The corners of your mouth pulled taut with embarrassment, and you pulled your hands in towards your chest again, elbows pressed firmly to your sides. “That’s…”

He caught a glimpse of your face, and in turn smiled, an amused sort of expression. “Come on now,” he took a step towards you, reaching out and grasping at your hands, pulling them out of their defensive position, “even now, you’re still so shy over this?”

“I— no, I’m not—” you cut off, teeth clacking together as you snapped your mouth shut when his hands released yours, instead moving around to the binding ties of your outfit, pulling the knot apart.

You held your hands up to the level of your shoulders, bent at the elbow, fingers curled as if preparing to reach forward, to grasp at his hands, to do something.

But you didn’t.

The exchange was itself a means of conversation, communicating something not fully articulable by word alone. Violating your comfort and dignity, baring you to him, those things themselves were an assertion, a statement. To interrupt would be to challenge that assertion, to deny him. And perhaps it was, in part, also a test, a question of whether or not you would dare to deny the unspoken statement.

As the silk strands came undone, the first layer gave way to the second, and pulling apart that knot caused the fabric bound by it to slide apart, exposing your bare skin to the cool air.

An unspoken reminder that your body was not your own, that any right to autonomy and privacy you might have beyond this room, no longer existed within it. Access to you was not a privilege granted by your permission, but an inherent right, provided by the very contract that legally bound you to him.

The casual, unhesitating manner with which you were stripped down only emphasized that that very reality itself was not something to be regarded as of any great significance, but a fact accepted as readily as any other. Exposing you, touching you, exercising that unconditional access to your body was given no greater thought than utilizing any of one’s possessions.

There was nothing he could ever say to you, nor adequate words to even exist, to fully encapsulate the degree to which you were owned — but with that gesture, you understood all the same.

And even though the humiliation of the reminder made your eyes burn, made you bite your lip, you lowered your hands to your side. An admission of defeat, surrender.

It did not go unnoticed. He smiled.

“Very good. You’re behaving much better today than I anticipated.”

Another moment of praise. He was genuinely pleased. You could see it and hear it through his face and voice.

Were it on any other matter, you might have felt proud to be praised in such a sweet, charming voice. If the praise were on something you actually wanted to achieve.

And then, his eyes trailed downward, running over your body, taking in each detail. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze settled on one particular spot.

“You really shouldn't lie to me,” he spoke in a quiet, low voice.

At first, you felt a momentary panic, not quite sure what he even meant, thinking you had somehow made a unintentional transgression. It wasn't until you looked down that you saw the scrape just below your collarbones from your, admittedly unsightly, vigorous resistance upon initial confrontation with the doushin the night prior, having essentially had to have been wrestled down to the concrete street. In hindsight, you were even surprised with yourself for putting up such a fight, but at the time it had just been the instinctive reflex, fueled by desperation.

It all felt distant now, as if further back in time than it was, the memory all blurring together. It was only a very small mark, and had now scabbed up as part of the natural healing process, but as his fingers brushed over the spot, you still tensed at the slight lingering sting.

“It doesn't really hurt,” you replied nonetheless. “It's fine…”

He only straightened back upright, closing his eyes momentarily.

“I suppose I shouldn't have expected common doushin to be able to follow instructions… just so you know, I did specifically say to ensure you weren't hurt in any way.” He turned his gaze downward, hand held to his chin as he added in a low mutter, “I'll be sure to only use private hands in the future, should I need something like this again.”

You shrugged, turning your eyes downward to the floor once more. Really, you wanted to not have to think about the incident any further, the mere memory stirring up embarrassment, which did not combine well with your already vulnerable state. “It's fine. It's not a big deal,” you grumbled. After a moment of hesitation, feeling another urge of spite, you added, “it wouldn't have happened if you didn't… do all that.”

He huffed in exasperation, but was quiet for the moment, seemingly composing his thoughts before replying.

“Don’t be disagreeable. We've discussed this. I care for you dearly, but that does not mean that you are exempt from expectations to behave.”

He always gave you that line — that a behavioral matter of yours had been previously ‘discussed,’ which merely meant he'd told you not to do something, or behave a certain way. That was the end-all-be-all — whatever you were told was set in stone the moment it left his mouth, and transgressing against the standard that was set was often treated as if you’d forgotten, as if it slipped your mind, the idea of intentional and deliberate disobedience being something unthinkable to such a degree that simply having done so by accident were more believable to him — and perhaps you ought be grateful for that.

You clamped your jaw shut, turning your head downward.

His gaze turned back to your body.

“…Your nerves are unsettled.” His hand slid it's way down your side, the feeling of touch lingering in a trail behind as his palm brushed over the curvature of your waist. “See, that's what causes these irrational episodes of yours. Stress, overexcitement. It just… builds naturally for you, over time.” After a moment, taking in your expression, he added, “it's nothing to feel bad about, dear. I don't mind helping you with it at all… I'm glad I can do so, really. I worry about how you'd manage without having me to help.”

You hesitated before giving a response. “What… what do you mean? I'm not… irrational…”

It was as if your words went in one ear and out the other, continuing on without responding to your objection. “But again, I failed to keep it in check this time, so this was ultimately my own fault… I'll have to make a note to be more thorough.”

His hand grasped at your waist, pulling you close. His other hand reached up, cupping your breast. He looked over towards your shared bed.

“Come on. Let's get you in bed.”

“Huh? But—”

His grip tightened. “Don't be difficult.”

Your stomach began to churn. You were still angry. The last thing you wanted was to go through what was essentially a humiliation ritual. There was something about the act itself — at least, between the two of you — that made you feel embarrassed and ashamed. The inherent vulnerability, for one, but moreover, because you knew the intent, you knew the way he viewed it in his mind, could practically feel the sentiment. An act of claiming, an exchange of power in which your loss of dignity became his gain of pride and control. Carving into your very personhood, marking you as something belonging to him.

Your opened your mouth, but whatever you intended to say was cut off by your small noise of surprise as you were pulled forward, in a manner that was somehow so gentle in touch, yet forceful enough to move your whole body towards his. His arm wrapped around your frame, the other positioning itself underneath your thighs before lifting you up and moving down to sit.

You fidgeted, tried to pull away — but his grip tightened, as much to secure you as it was a warning, telling you to hold still.

“It's for your sake. This will help you… you may not realize that yet, but you’ll thank me, I promise.”

His hands moved to your hips and turned you so that your back rested against his chest.

“As I was saying, you simply… build stress and neurosis, naturally. It's not your fault, really. You're just sensitive to changes, stressors... Every individual has at least some… defects in their nature.”

His hands retracted, and there was a brief rustling sound before they returned to your skin, now ungloved, flesh on flesh. The contact sent sparks through your nerves.

“That's why people pair with those they are compatible with. They fill each other's needs, compliment each other’s natures… I’m obligated to take those defects and resolve them.”

He gave you a smile — you couldn't see it, but could feel it as his lips pressed softly against your neck. Warm, full of sincerity and adoration.

“I wouldn’t do that if it weren’t out of care… and you in turn provide me with something that needs care and guidance. I enjoy having that.”

For all his attempts at soothing words and the gentleness of the touch, you knew in your heart that there was no doubt that that was part of the intent — to humble you, to tame you and make you docile, to make you submit. Forcing you to such a vulnerable state and inflicting reactions of pleasure was itself an act of exerting power and control.

It was, in a way, remarkable, that the human spirit could not only be broken by both brutal cruelty, but equally — or, perhaps even more effectively — eroded away with a gentle voice and touch, humiliation so deeply intertwined with affection that they became impossible to distinguish from each other, forming a unique sentiment that was both one and the other.

You were endearing to him, but that affection for you was like a venom that ran through your veins — an affection that diminished you, reduced you to some inhuman possession, a toy to be manipulated in any way he desired.

It made you feel sick. It made you feel angry, it tormented your psyche—

Your thoughts were turned to a haze as his fingers rolled your nipple between them. You inhaled a sharp gasp, back arching forward.

Processing your own reaction, embarrassment took place of the momentary pleasure, and your face felt hot. You reached an arm up instinctively to cover your breasts, pulling away from the touch.

“…We've had this conversation before, haven't we?” He reached up, grasping your jaw with a grip just firm enough to communicate a warning.

You swallowed and, albeit not without just a moment of hesitation, lowered your arm. You looked down, breasts now exposed fully. “I'm… sorry…”

He gave you a hum of approval, returning to the former fondling, fingers playing with the sensitive flesh. You bit your lip, breathing growing labored.

After a few minutes, his hands wandered downward, slowly, softly, down to your thighs, then back up over your hips, where they finally settled.

“Touch yourself.”

The command caught you off-guard. Your eyes widened. “…What?”

“Before I help you,” he murmured, “I want to see what you will do for me. That's only fair, don't you think?” He squeezed at your waist.

“Prove to me…” he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear, “that you know your place. Do as I say.”

You swallowed.

It was in your best interest to obey.

You reached down slowly, shivering as your fingers brushed over your clit. You pressed down, beginning to rub your outstretched fingers back and forth. With your other hand, you reached up, tweaking your nipple just enough to send pleasure through your nerves.

“There you go.” He pulled you a bit closer to him, so your bodies were firmly pressed together. He craned his neck, no doubt catching your abashed, embarrassed expression.

Not that he would give you any words of comfort on that matter, tell you not to feel embarrassed. He only smiled, grasping your hair and forcing your head to turn, pressing your mouth to his. It was only a short contact, parting with the softest of sounds.

His grip on your hip tightened, and you realized why he’d pulled back when he spoke.

“Don’t stop.”

You hadn’t realized you had, too focused on the slight surprise to being kissed. You took a shuddering breath, and resumed the motion. Your eyes closed, heightening your senses — the sensation of each touch and the shockwaves it sent through your core to every nerve in your body.

Your breathing quickly became labored. Even if you were inducing the sensation itself, it was good. You bit your lip as a soft, weak little sound came out of your throat, unable to refrain from vocalizing at the intensity of the feeling.

“Not just like that.” One of his hands reached down to your thigh, hand wrapping around the underside of it and pulling it to the side, spreading you open further. “Go on.”

“Mm…” You couldn’t summon any particular words, overwhelmed by the conflicting sensations — the heat to your face and knot in your stomach at the shameless way your body was so exposed, at the feeling of being watched as if the act were a performance, and the haze of arousal that rapidly began to cloud your judgement, obscuring the feeling of discomfiture, drowning your inhibition.

Even without the pleasure compromising your hesitation, you didn’t want to think about the alternatives if you refused to obey — this was thus far, comparatively, far from the worst consequences you’d ever received for acting out.

You reached down further, pushing two of your fingers past the slick coating your flesh and inside your body, curling them into the spot that made you tense, made your muscles spasm, over and over, each movement sparking a rush that surged throughout your body.

Each breath was a deep gasp. Your toes curled, your muscles went taut and your insides clenched around your own fingers.

But something was missing.

It was pleasurable, but there just wasn’t enough to push you over the edge. The sensations were too weak.

Your body had been conditioned something more, and this was not comparable.

Sweat began to accumulate on your skin as you kept curling your fingers, desperately chasing a high. His arm moved from your hip to wrap around your waist, pressing another kiss to your neck.

You tried. Frustration began to build. Your eyes watered as you curled your fingers as hard as you could, pressed as far in as they would go, down to the knuckle.

It wasn’t deep enough.

It wasn't what you were used to. Your fingers were too short, just short of reaching that one perfect spot that made you lose yourself in pleasure, melting to a mewling mess.

You shuddered. You couldn’t reach a climax, no matter how hard you tried to focus. Even without orgasm, though, your exertion reached a peak you couldn’t carry on further from, and your fingers stopped moving as you went limp, trying to catch your breath, frustration and desperation nearly enough to make you cry. Your head fell back, eyes closed as you panted.

You could feel the corners of his mouth upturn against the flesh of your neck.

“…Is something wrong?”

Your jaw clenched, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

That was the other goal of it, besides proving yourself to him — it was also to prove something to you. Something you didn’t want to admit out loud, something that made your chest swell with bitterness just to admit to yourself, much more so to do so aloud.

“I can’t… I can't do it.”

“Mm.” He pulled you further back against him. “Then, what do you need?”

The tingling sensation, the desperate need, the remnant frustration of lost pleasure, was too much to bear. You swallowed your pride, closing your eyes as you forced the words out.

“…I need you to do it…”

You were expecting him to say something in return, but for a moment, he was only quiet. He began to drum his fingers back and forth against your waist.

“Is that so?”

You nodded again, which seemed to be to his displeasure—

“Use your words.”

“Yes…” You swallowed.

You waited, but no touch came.

“Hm. How odd.” His voice was low and quiet, but unmistakably derisive. “You seemed to think you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself, running off like you did.”

Your eyes welled with tears. You shook your head back and forth, unable to bring yourself to speak.

“No?” His hand trailed downward until it ghosted over your sex, the lightest of touches, borderline torment. “Then, you can't do this for yourself?”

“…No…”

He moved his face even closer, speaking directly into your ear.

“Then what do you say? Tell me exactly what you need. Show me.”

You swallowed. The burning of humiliation in your chest was almost too much to bear. Had your insides not still been alight with the wavering, tight feeling of need, your pride would have outweighed your desire. But in that moment, it did not.

You spread your still-quivering legs wide apart.

“…Please touch me.”

“Mm. And what do you want from that? For how long?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I want to cum.”

Finally — finally — his fingers pressed down against your clit, enough pressure to send waves of pleasure up your spine.

“There, see…” He pressed another kiss to your face. “Aren't things so much easier when you just choose to be honest?”

You nodded. “Yes. I… I’m sorry…”

He gave a low hum of acknowledgement. “This stubbornness is just your nature.” His fingers slid back and forth, gracing the bundle of nerves with friction. “But that can be fixed.”

You bit your lip. “I… I’m not— ah—”

One motion of his hand was particularly firm, the sensation it sent through your nerves so intense it was almost painful. Your hands shot forward, grasping at his wrist.

It was only when the motion stopped that you realized you’d erred — it was a habit of reflexively grabbing at his hands when a sensation was too intense, trying to pry them off — something he very much did not like you doing.

Sure enough, he sighed, frustration blatantly evident. You jerked your hands away, but it was already too late to take back the first offense.

“…Now,” he started, “Can you refrain from doing that again, or do I need to bind them?”

“I…” you paused, realizing you genuinely needed to think it through. You weren’t certain if you could abstain.

You felt him shift back, leaning away from your body.

“Well, that’s enough of an answer itself.”

You heard the rustling of clothes, felt movement behind you, and you turned your head over your shoulder just in time to see as he pulled off first the top layer, then the undershirt over his head and off his body. You made a soft sound as he then pushed down on your back with a firm touch, forcing you to lean forward, grasping at your hands and pulling them behind your back — firmly, enough to be a clear message to not try to dissuade him, but your pride, weak as it was, still couldn't let it happen with no objection at all.

“Wait, wait, I can do it, I don't need—”

“This is for your sake. Hold still.”

“But I—”

“Be still.” He spoke firmly, but softened his voice as he continued, “It’s not your fault for having that reflex… but you have to train yourself against it. You want to be good, don't you?”

You shut your mouth, nodding as you sounded an answer. “Mm-hm…”

Cloth wrapped tightly around your wrists, using one sleeve to bind them together. Not enough of a bind that you couldn’t break out with some effort, but just enough to keep you from reflexively trying to interfere.

“Now where were we…”

You were pulled back once more, perhaps even closer. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

And his hand quickly moved back down, and the bliss of shockwaves of pleasures overcame you once more. You whimpered, biting your lip.

His fingers pressed more firmly, rubbing circles into the nub, and for a moment, your wrists jerked against the bind as the reflex kicked in. It was too much at once, but now, you were prevented from doing anything about it. As he began to rub in circular motions, your body shuddered, and an involuntary moan came out of your throat — a wanton, shameful sound, laced with pleasure and lust.

“There you go.” You could feel him speak, shuddering at the vibration of his chest against your back and the warm breath against your ear. His other hand rolled your nipple between a finger and thumb. “Give into it.”

Your body trembled against his touch, and jolted as his own fingers pressed inside of you. His were longer, and the touches firmer, and the result was a degree of pleasure you were simply incapable of replicating on your own.

As much as you hated it — hated to think it, hated to acknowledge it, hated to try and not acknowledge it as the reality prodded at the back of your mind — he made you feel better than anything you had ever experienced, better than anything you could ever make yourself feel.

You whimpered, toes and fingers curling. Your hips moved, a rolling motion to meet each pressing movement.

A singular motion, and singular sound, both of which you near-immediately caught yourself doing, having been too lost in the feeling to think clearly. You cut off your voice and went still, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t.” He didn’t stop moving his fingers as he spoke, instead pressing down with harsh force, essentially pulling you back closer to him with the hand partially inside you. “Holding yourself back like that is another form of dishonesty.”

You bit your lip, squeezing your eyes shut, but unable to form a response before he continued.

“And you wouldn’t want,” the fingers that had been gently tweaking at your breast pinched down hard, a momentary spark of pain and the lowering of his voice making you go tense, “to make this unpleasant because you couldn’t be good for me, would you?”

You shook your head back and forth with vigor. There were many punishments in your domestic repertoire that were unpleasant, and the thought of any of them made your heart skip a beat. “No, no, I don’t… want that…”

“Then you’re going to be honest, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise…”

“Mm.”

He kept rubbing his thumb against your clit, even in perfectly synched timing to each motion his fingers curled inward inside of you.

It was so pleasurable, so intense, it made you angry. Mad that he was capable of it, mad that his control over your body was greater than your own, and most of all, mad that he did it with such ease, effortless, that making you come undone entirely was something he mastered without ever being taught.

That pleasure began to build and build. You squirmed and whimpered, muscles throughout your body tensing and relaxing over and over. Your hips rolled into his hand. Each movement built the pressure in your body higher and higher, rapidly reaching a peak.

The edge that climax made you quiver, body and legs trembling.

“There it is…” his voice was so soft and gentle, soothing in a way it had no right to be.

The noise that came out of your mouth was nearly animal-like, a whimpering cry as you threw your head back, quivering and spasming. The waves of sensation pulsated throughout your body, reaching a peak and then beginning to ebb away.

You went limp, bodyweight falling back against his chest, heaving with heavy breaths. Your head felt as if it were spinning, and you stared forward in a dull stupor, body trembling with aftershock.

You twitched at the feeling of his fingers sliding out of you, with a wet squelching sound that made you shiver.

“Look at that…”

He spread his fingers apart, clear fluid forming a trail between them. You bit your lip, tilting your head downward in a futile attempt of avoidance of what you knew well came next — but that effort was quickly negated as he grabbed your jaw, turning your head back up and squeezing your face.

“Open.”

The force of the grip as he squeezed down more or less forced your jaw apart anyway. You didn't even get to take a breath before he pushed his fingers into your mouth, salty taste spreading over your tongue.

“Clean them off.”

Maybe it was a way of forcing you to acknowledge your own bodily reaction, even if you tried to deny it to yourself. Maybe it was much simpler than that — just another way to degrade you, or something simply arousing for him because it just was.

You complied nonetheless. Your tongue swirled around each finger, sucking and swallowing the taste of yourself. Even as he pulled his fingers back out, a string of saliva connected them to your tongue.

And then, after wiping his fingers off on the fabric around his thigh, he returned the arm to your waist, pulling you close, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“See… so much more at ease now, aren't you?”

That was one way to put it. You couldn't even bring words to your mind. Even processing what he said felt like a significant effort. Everything felt far away, your mind like a blank slate, numb and empty. Your body was even more exhausted, totally lax aside from involuntary twitches.

You made a soft sound as he turned your body to the side, just enough to look you face-to-face. Looking down at your watery eyes as they met his, the stupor in your expression, even as your brain began to clear, as if a machine turning back on after a few moments of darkness.

And he smiled. It was soft, full of endearment. And belittling. It was not made any better by the small chuckle he gave, patting the top of your head.

It burned in your chest, down into your stomach.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your lower lip quivered, an admittedly petulant pout. Shame formed a knot in your stomach. Disappointment in yourself, ending up like this again after swearing so many times over that this one would be the last, the last time you'd come apart so easily, the last time you'd find yourself spent and susceptible to the touch that seemed as if it were designed for your body.

And he laughed. An amused chuckle, patting your head.

“Mm. I had a feeling that wouldn't be quite enough.”

He leaned in, firmly grasping at your arms as you tried to squirm, bringing his mouth so close to yours, forehead resting against yours.

“But, that does admittedly work out for my sake.”

You grunted in surprise as he hooked his arm under your legs again, this time only lifting you just enough to set you down onto the padding of your bed, gently pushing on your shoulders until you were flat on your back, arched over your hands bound behind you.

“A-ah, I…” You swallowed, grasping at the sheets to the best of your ability. It was nothing you weren't anticipating, but the vulnerability made you tense.

It didn't help that he paused any motion, eyes trailing over your body, before reaching down and running his hands over your flesh, one moving to grip at your waist, the other your opposite hip. You couldn’t reach to cover yourself, forced to lay bare and vulnerable. Instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, but firm hands grabbed at the undersides, pushing them apart and positioning himself between them so you couldn’t close them again.

The former act was not enough. Putting you through the ordeal of being made to wait in jail like a child in time-out was not enough, exposing your body was not enough, toying with your body and forcing an acknowledgement of his own control was not enough.

Your lip trembled.

But anger still pervaded through your negative emotions. It compelled your courage, you felt defiance surging up. You had to look him in the eye, tell him exactly what you felt, tell him you knew what he was doing and push him off, then, maybe then you'd have the satisfaction of some sense of control.

You could do it. You had to.

“You… you're just doing the same thing as before!” Your eyebrows furrowed. “You’re trying to, to—”

“Again with this?” He tilted his head. “I really wish you wouldn’t assume such ill intent. This is how people love each other… you know that.”

You bit your lip. You almost, for just a second, fell for it, almost felt guilty. You shook your head forcefully, clearing your mind of the thought.

“No, I won't let you—”

And with that, there was a rapid shift in expression. His eyes narrowed in a piercing, foreboding look. You went silent.

Your shoulders stiffened. The words came out on impulse, resolve of defiance broken as quickly as it had formed. “I'm— I'm sorry—”

Dammit.

For once, the dark expression did not shift back to pleasant as soon as you apologized — an indicator of having gone too far. His hand slowly reached up, this time not in a loving caress or gentle-but-firm grip, but outright harsh grip on your jaw.

“You…”

He tilted his head forward to more directly look you in the eye. His voice was low and cold, making your heart race further.

“Do not ‘let’ anyone do anything.”

His fingertips pressed into your flesh, squeezing your face between them.

“I know you understand your place. Don’t behave as if you don’t.” Finally, his voice softened as he finished, “I can’t help you if you keep fighting me every step of the way. So… you’ll control yourself, won’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding your head, twitching as the motion made his fingernails dig into your cheeks.

“You know I don’t like being so harsh with you, don’t you?”

You nodded again.

“Good.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Only for a short, chaste moment, but a slow, sensual motion nonetheless. You closed your eyes, tuning out the rustling clothes, heavily breathing with anticipation.

“You’ll have to forgive me for this. This whole ordeal has been stressful for me as well.”

You didn’t get time to ask what he meant — he rammed himself into you all at once, completely stuffing your body in one rough, forceful motion.

You cried out, back arching and body stiffening. You felt your insides clamp down, pulsating against the intrusion.

His hands tightened their grip on your waist, holding you still as the momentary sting ebbed away.

“There you go… calm down.”

You felt him slide out, then push back in, the latter movement sending sparks of sensation running up your spine, causing you to go tense all over again.

Your breathing became ragged, legs twitching and spasming at the sensation. You tried, without thinking, to snap them shut, but it only resulted in effectively squeezing his waist with you thighs.

The intensity of the sensation naturally induced a reflex of strain and exertion to your muscles, a need to channel the feeling through your body, causing your toes to curl, your thighs clamping down harder, quivering at the bare touch of flesh to flesh. You closed your eyes, but couldn't drown out the sound of skin making contact to yours, the sound itself increasingly accompanied by a wet squelching as skin met fluid with each passing second, leaking out of your body.

“You're so much more honest like this.” You could hear just the slightest strain in his voice, otherwise so very composed to perfection. “So meek… it's lovely. Once that resistance in you is fixed… you'll be perfect.”

You could see the corners of his mouth upturn into a look of amusement.

“You should see yourself.”

Your body stiffened, but all you could do was whimper. The words felt like a cold knife to the stomach — and you knew he knew that. Knew that that moment was you at your must vulnerable, the peak of awareness of your own helplessness, the moment you felt the most degraded, and yet, it still wasn't enough.

He leaned in close, speaking directly into your ear, so close you could feel the warmth as he spoke, never ceasing to move all the while.

“Whimpering and drooling like that,” he murmured. “You're trembling… and that expression on your face is so adorable. Like you can't even think straight.” He leaned back up, enough to look you in the eye — now welling with tears.

And again, he only smiled.

“How precious.”

His hands ran down your body, grabbed at your hips, and began to pull you, jerking your body back and forth to meet his own movements.

It was too much. Even with the knot of emotion in your stomach, you felt a hot, tingling pressure build in your body. Your legs quivered, the wanton little sounds from your throat higher and higher.

You didn't want that. It was the final part of this ritual that so demeaned you, one more confirmation of his control of you. You pressed your hands into the mat, trying to push yourself back — but it was only met with a harsh pull, forcing your body back until you practically slammed against his hips.

“Don't fight.”

It was the last thing you heard. You threw your head back as the sensation became overwhelming, back arching and eyes rolling back as the feeling reached a peak. You could only faintly register the high-pitched sound that sounded as if it couldn't be you, a voice you didn't recognize.

And then it began to ebb away. A hazy stupor filled the void as the pleasure dissipated, a feeling of exhaustion. Your weight went limp.

You made a soft sound as he grasped your jaw again, turning your head just enough to place another kiss to your lips.

“There you go. Look at you now… all that stress and in you, totally gone. You can see it in your eyes, even.”

He paused before adding,

“Well, gone for now. I'll have to start monitoring for it more closely.”

You shuddered at the sensation as he slid out of you, fluid spilling out onto the sheets.

You felt him reach behind you, untying your wrists — you brought your arms to the front of your body, but the forearms only laid useless, having fallen asleep from your weight.

He came to rest beside you, upper body slightly propped up on his elbow, head resting in his hand, looking down at you with adoration and endearment.

And you were so, so weak. So much weaker than you wished you were, body, mind and spirit alike. So weak that, in the rush of emotions that followed, you found yourself slowly crawling forward, burying your face against his chest with a pathetic little noise.

“Poor thing. Maybe that was a bit too much for you…”

His arm reached behind your back and pulled you close, and the comfort you felt seemed to melt your mind into nothingness.

“You should rest for a while,” he continued, “then we'll get you cleaned off. We have a few hours before you'll need to be ready.”

After a moment to process the words, you tilted your head up with the softest of inquisitive noises. The cold, creeping dread began to spread through your stomach once more.

He seemed to realize, then, that you didn’t understand.

“Ah, right, you wouldn't have known.” He reached out with the hand he wasn’t leaning on, brushing his fingers over your scalp. “While you were gone, I sent someone to arrange a house visit with a psychiatrist… a private one that works for families such as ours.”

His words certainly didn’t help soothe your nerves. Your mouth felt dry. Your voice came out weak, hesitant, part of you not wanting to ask, lest you learn an unpleasant answer.

“…Why?”

He tilted his head in just the slightest, loose strands of hair shifting and waving with the motion. “Well, keeping your needs in check does help with your condition, but I’ve realized it would do you good to have a secondary means to treat your hysteric tendencies as well.”

“My…” You swallowed. “My what?” The words slowly pieced together in your mind, hitting you with a sense of dread and confusion. You squirmed backwards, shifting just a bit away from him. “There's… nothing wrong with me…”

“Of course, of course, there’s nothing wrong, that’s…” He spoke in a reassuring sort of tone, as if to comfort you. “…A harsh choice of phrasing. You just need some help, is all.” After a moment of pause, he added, “don't worry, it's perfectly normal that you aren't self-aware of it. That's usually how these illnesses work.”

His arm reached out further, pulling you back towards him, pressing your bodies together before he continued.

“He’s just required to see you in-person for a little while before giving you anything. Regulations and all. We’re just going to get you something to make you a little more… docile.”

His arm wrapped around your body, and he pulled his head back just a bit to look you in the eye, smiling with endearment.

“Ah, I can tell by your face that you’re nervous. Don’t worry, I'll be there throughout the whole thing… I'll answer any questions, you just sit there quietly, alright?” He pulled you a bit closer, planting an affectionate, short kiss to the top of your head. “I know that sort of thing is a lot on your nerves.”

If your trembling could be felt, he didn’t say anything about it, only carrying on with his gently-spoken words.

“We won’t have to worry about you having these… irrational escapades anymore. And you’ll be so much happier, too.”

You felt his hand on your back, firmly in place — you were pressed so close together that there was no need to pull you any closer, but perhaps he wanted to be sure you couldn’t pull away.

“So… rest for now, alright?”

Mind and heart alike racing, in your stupor, you let the pause linger for too long. The hand on your back began to close in on itself, fingernails brushing against your skin just enough to send the faintest of pains up your spine.

You had no strength left in you to give anything other than the correct answer.

“Okay...”

He only gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and began to stroke your back up and down, a pattern that should have been comforting and soothing, yet was anything but. Exhaustion wore on your body, but even as you forced yourself to close your eyes, true rest was nowhere to be found.

[eternal-pie]

Stupid Pt.3

Shinso x reader

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

———————

Shinso can’t say he knows much about what dating is like in high school. He had no intention of dating during his time at UA, seeing more value in pursuing his career than getting sad about unrequited feelings. Dating will only distract him from his goals anyway.

Even with his inexperience Shinso doubts this is normal, sure when two people got together people would talk. But he doesn’t ever remember people caring this much.

People had been trying to convince you to ditch him the moment you two spoke for the first time and still did occasionally.

Hitoshi is used to the people around him being “warned” about him by others who didn’t actually know him.

You were just the first person to truly ignore the warnings.

Even as Shinso grew more sure you were comfortable with him, some deep illogical part of him tensed when you had told him people had come to you. Even as you joked about how weird it was, He had seen the same thing happen so many times before, people never know when to mind their own business.

It was weird the first time he witnessed one of these “interventions” for the first time. Intervention was the only thing he could think to call it because that is exactly what it felt like. Warnings about Shinso were always whispered behind his back. So it was entirely unexpected when they were given right in front of him.

The two of you had been eating lunch together, something you did often. When a group of girls descended upon you, They surrounded your table, as if they intended to keep you trapped there until they were sure they had convinced you. Not a single one even acknowledged he was there, his presence seemingly irrelevant to them, or maybe intentional.

Hitoshi can’t say he was fond of the way they spoke to you, like you had some sickness you couldn’t recognize, like you didn’t understand what they were trying to tell you.

It felt like a rehab meeting scene and some shitty American movie. Or what was probably more accurate in their minds, a group trying to help their friend realize they’re an abusive relationship.

The girls made it very clear that they thought that you were not there of your own choice, but maybe you felt you couldn’t leave or didn’t realize how bad things truly were.

Occasionally they’d glare at him, trying to communicate their disdain through expressions alone, never speaking. Too afraid to risk activating his quirk.

Some of them seem to be genuinely concerned, he could commend those few for trying to help a person they thought might have been in danger. Though there were only two of them, they did their best to come off as nonjudgmental as possible, to offer you help without barging it on your personal life or making you feel bad.

Their “intervention” felt more like an offer of help if you ever needed it, instead of something they were forcing on to you.

Though their genuine compassion was drowned out by the other girls with them, more interested in gossiping about him than actually helping you.

They’re every pore oozed judgment, words dripped with condescension.

Didn’t you know who he was? What Toru and Kiro and Hina said he did? What he could do? Did you even understand the position you're in?

And despite Shinso understanding that the fear these people have, their concerns were based on hearsay. Despite how much he hated the way these people acted like they knew anything about either of you. He knew they had a point, so he was surprised watching you brush off their concerns.

Your hang outs never stopped, you never got distant. Occasionally some kid would learn of it and get worried but over time people just got used to the idea of you being friends with Shinso.

He’d guess, most assumed you only spoke to him occasionally, He’s a pretty private person so most of your interactions were left unseen. people probably thought you tolerated him every once in a while.

This belief didn’t hold up well when you started “dating” him. Shinso is a little disappointed about how weird people were about it.

No way is it normal to have random people try and talk to a guy they’ve never spoken to before about his “girlfriend”.

Shinso didn’t know any of these people.

A select few didn’t know him either, to them he only existed in proximity to you. He liked talking with them the most. they only made off hand comments, usually to see if he really was “the guy”. It was still weird but at least there wasn’t any accusation in their tone.

Others did know of him and had already formed strong opinions of him long before ever meeting him.

In his life very few tried to “call Shinso out” to his face. If the things they thought were true, then why on earth would they want to risk triggering his quirk?

But no one can truly anticipate the stupidity of upset hormonal teenagers, especially those who think they're heroes saving someone or have something to prove.

Most, smartly, were subtle. Only ever eyeing him suspiciously while commenting on how great you are and how lucky he is.

The groups were always bad, people were stupid in groups. Usually they were led by one of the boys he had scared off, hopes dashed and ego bruised, they approached him with the intention of settling some unspoken score.

Though all scenarios shared the worst part, trying to explain you weren’t dating to begin with. No matter how bluntly or clearly he stated it, his words seemed to go over their heads.

It was only when he spoke to you about it that he was able to even try and guess at what was going on .

——————

Let me know if you guys are interested in seeing this in your POV :p

——————

@x-reader-reblog-station

[antimatterz]

Reader cuddling Dan Heng's tail and not realizing they feel asleep on it? How does Dan Heng react to this especially Reader seem fine with his Imbibitor Lunae form since reader still sees him as Dan Heng even if he looked different

all of you

dan heng (il) x gn!reader

summary: he might've changed form, but in the end, he is still your beloved dan heng.

cw: fluff, spoilers for dan heng imbibitor lunae

enyo's note: thank you !! this definitely awakened my writing juices. it's just a short drabble but i hope you'll enjoy it still !!

content under the cut | masterlist

something was definitely different about dan heng's entire demeanor ever since he revealed his vidyadhara form. yes, he had always been quiet and distant, but as time passed, he gradually warmed up to you. now, after what happened on the xianzhou luofu, it was as if you were back at square one.

he wasn't shutting you out completely; he still let you be around him and let you do your thing. it was just that he went silent, looking somber and deep in thought. he never was one to open up about his inner struggles, but this time around, it wasn't entirely hard to figure out what was going on behind his pretty eyes.

but you didn't confront him about it. you never did.

instead, you sat curled up against him, your fingertips absentmindedly caressing the scales of his tail. though dan heng had agreed to return to the astral express, he barely left the archive room and didn't participate in anything – not even coming out to eat breakfast together with the crew. you were the only one he let in, hence you spent most of your time in said room alongside him. you were worried about him, yes, but you figured he just needed time to process all that went down. after all, the secret he so long carried upon his heart finally came to the surface, and his true form had showed; imbibitor lunae. now that was quite something.

dan heng didn't return your affection. instead, he stared ahead of him with his hands resting in his lap. you pretended not to mind, but secretly it saddened you a little. yet, you didn't show, and relished in his warmth as you leaned against him, now tiredly wrapping your arms around his tail.

you were slowly dozing off, given how it was already quite late at night. it wouldn't be the first time you'd fall asleep cuddling his tail, and you knew he didn't really mind. it wasn't long before the everlasting silence and the cadence of dan heng's breathing lulled you into a slumber.

now, dan heng finally seemed to wake up from his tense and statue-like state. his solemn gaze fell upon you, earnest grey eyes softening as he took in your sleeping form. he was well aware of how much he distanced himself after revealing his vidyadhara form, as he was scared what the others – and especially you – would think. but you didn't seem to mind, and your behavior around him hadn't changed one bit.

you still smiled at him as brightly as ever, you never looked at him weirdly nor was there any fear present in your eyes as you regarded him. if any, you liked to touch his horns and cuddle his tail and tell him how amazing he looked (before stuttering that he already looked good before the whole imbibitor lunae ordeal). no, you still treated him with the same attention and kindness, and his new form didn't stop you from visiting him in his room and cuddling up against him. something clicked inside his mind; you really didn't regard him any different, did you?

while the others were clearly in awe, treating him with some awkward form of respect, you never changed your act around him. he remembered the words you spoke to him after the hectic events that took place on the xianzhou luofu; "you might look different, but you're still dan heng."

it was okay. it was a big change, but it clearly wasn't that big of a deal for you. the person who was the most important to him accepted imbibitor lunae without a doubt. you were fine with it, and nothing else mattered.

dan heng felt at peace for the first time since. slowly, moving carefully not to wake you, he wrapped an arm around you, using his fingers to delicately move some strands of hair away from your face. he felt so grateful towards you, and he promised himself to show you. he was done distancing himself from you, as it was pointless. you accepted him, no matter what. he was safe with you.

[urlocalfeiner]

i hate you, not | neteyam sully

!requests are open!

pairing: neteyam sully x omaticaya!fem! reader

warnings: swearing, enemies to lovers?, jealous neteyam

!repost!

masterlist!

neteyam sully hated you, he truly did. he couldn't bare you one bit, he hated the fact you made his heart beat so fast that he seemed to be developing cardiac arrhythmia, he hated how his hands sweated whenever you smiled- showing off your bright fangs, and he definitely hated how his body was taken by an uneasy restlessness every time you were next to him

neteyam hated that. he was deeply irritated when, whenever you would touch him or simply brush past him, he had the feeling that his legs were going to fail and collapse in on themselves. he knew he obsessed with control and losing the control of his own body and own emotions was a deep and cutting blow- he was always the one to be calm and collected, but when you were around him, neteyam found himself being washed of any of that.

neteyam would've sworn to the seven seas on pandora and anyone who were to ask him, that he did not like you one single bit. he claimed he did not like the you, but maybe the truth was that he didn't like himself around you. maybe, just maybe, he didn't like that just from one single look from you could tear down all his walls in an instant.

this resulted into neteyam ignoring your very existence, and when the two of you did cross paths- which was almost every day, much to his dismay- he would reply shortly, trying to pay no mind to you at all.

but it never worked, he couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away from you sometimes- why did you have to be so unbelievably breathtakingly gorgeous? neteyam had never seen such beauty that matched yours, and it scared him. because who was neteyam sully, the mighty warrior and future clan leader who did not fear to speak in front of any na'vi who might dare challenged him. who was he, he did not hesitate to fight for the things he loves, he was not scared nor worried about what people thought of him. so why was it that he was scared to speak to you, why was he worried what you thought of him?- why was it that everything came easy to neteyam sully, except you.

"tuk, tuk," you hushed tuk holding her in your arms, brushing away her hair from her face as you cooed her to sleep- which is what she did in a matter of mere seconds.

neteyam stared at you and tuk from the other side of the hut, observing the interaction. he hated it- he hated that his mind started to drift to how good you were with children, how you would be with you own. he wanted to slap himself- he did not want you to have his children. no way. but… you would be a excellent mother with no doubt- no neteyam stopped himself again. “i can put her to sleep, it is fine.” he stood up, moving to where you were with tuk in your arms.

“it’s okay, she’s already asleep.” you were obvious to the angry expression on his face, but as you looked up from tuk and saw how he was looking down at you, your eyebrows furrowed. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing.” he blunted stated, reaching down for tuk in your hands- he picked her up gently, removing her from your hold- which you couldn’t protest about as it was his sister. “you can head back home now.”

you were no doubt confused, why was he so irritated about you putting tuk to sleep? “okay, see you tomorrow.” with that you made your way out of the sullys hut, glancing back to see neteyam already looking at you. the two of your eyes met for a split second before he ripped his gaze from you fast, turning back around to tuk. cursing himself for getting caught staring at you.

but when the day came where his father ordered him to help train you, neteyam had never wanted more than to speak back to his father- but he didn’t. he obliged to teach you. he looked at training you like a chore, one that he had to do without choice- just sucking it up until it is done.

“your back isn’t straight.” neteyam pointed out as you held your bow and arrow in hand trying to straighten your back- you had been like this for 10 minutes straight and your back was begging for a rest.

you had no idea as to why the future oke’leytan didn’t take a liking to you, as long as you had remembered he didn’t particularly like you- even though you were sure you had never done anything against him. you were hoping that maybe you and him would become friends with him teaching you, but it only made you not like him. he was rude and nothing you ever did seemed to be good enough for him, but what pissed you off the most was the fact he was not like that with anyone else- you had observed the way he talked to other na’vi in the clan, he spoke to them with respect and kindness. so why did he not speak to you with the same?

“my back is tired.” your arm was slightly beginning to shake from being in the tiring position for so long. you got no response from neteyam. “can we take a break? please.” you lowered the bow, feeling relieved from the exit of the position putting your back at rest.

but your relief was quickly whipped back away as neteyam spoke. “no.” you groaned frustratingly going back to your previous position with your bow and arrow, “your form is sloppy.”

that was it, you have had enough of training for today- you withdrawled your bow and arrow and began to walk away. "where are you going? you are not done." he grabbed your wrist to stop you from going further- he felt his heart start to pick up its paste from the feeling of you skin on his.

“neteyam, we have been doing this for 3 hours now.” you breathed out, swaying the hand that wasn’t in his hold around in dramatic gestures.

“that is because you,” he emphasised you, “have not been listening.” he narrowed his eyes at you, why couldn’t you just listen to him? he did not want to do it as much as you did.

“i have!” you took a deep breath in, trying to settle your temper down- you didn’t want to yell at the future oke’lotyan. “look, i’m sorry but every muscle in my body is aching right now.” your eyes pleaded with his.

neteyam felt bad, his heart clenched a little in his chest at how tired your voice sounded. “okay,” he breathed out. “we will take a quick break.” your eyes lit up, a grin forming onto your face before he spoke up again. “but, it is only a short one, got it?

“yes, got it.” you nodded, grinning- you couldn’t really believe neteyam sully was letting you take a break, you would’ve never thought. oh, he loved your smile.

you dashed quickly across the large tree branch, leaving neteyam standing there by himself- he stood there for a quick second until he was bolting off right behind you. “hey!- where are you going?!” he shouted out for you as he continued running after you, jumping from tree to tree. until you finally stopped on a branch filled with moss. “i thought you said your muscles hurt?” he glared at you.

your eyes shot widely, snapping your neck to him as you crouched. “uh- they still do?” it wasn’t technically a lie, your body did hurt before. now it just didn’t.

neteyam had finally had enough of you, in that moment his jaw clenched. why did you have to be so beautiful that it distracted him? why did you have to have the most amazing smile? why did you have to be the one he had to train.

you saw the gears twisting in his head, you braced yourself for him to start yelling- and you were right, you started yelling alright.

“eywa!” he cursed, rubbing his temples. “you are so frustrating!” he looked up at you, meeting your eyes. “do you think i want to be here right now?”

he paused, waiting for you to answer- “no-“ before you could he cut you off.

“i could be doing so many things right now!- but no, i am stuck here, trying to train a baby.” it was like he was talking out loud to himself. you furrowed your eyebrows at the name he called you.

“baby?”

“yes!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. “you are a baby.” he pointed right at you, you were offended to say the least.

“right, i am the baby.” you rolled your eyes, which made neteyam even more mad. “i am so the baby here!” you got up, advancing towards him angrily. “you are the only baby here neteyam- you always complain and complain and complain! you’re life is oh, so hard, neteyam. how could you even bare?” you mocked his voice, his jaw clenched tighter at every word you said. “having to train the baby!- i mean you’re totally right! the future oke’loyten should not have to train a baby!” sarcasm dripped from your mouth.

“do not talk to me like that.” he stepped forward to you, looking down at you as he was taller than you- any other na’vi would most definitely run away from neteyam at that moment, even you could admit he was scary when he was mad.

but you didn’t falter, you stood your ground. “what are you going to do about it? you can’t hurt a baby, can you now?” you said whilst glaring daggers at him.

both of you were too prideful to back down at that moment- and both far too angry. if looks could kill, both you and neteyam would be 6 feet under by now- with the way the two of you were glaring at one another.

“huh?” you spoke up again, after there was no reply from the young warrior.

neteyams jaw clenched, his tail swaying angrily behind him- eywa, you got under his skin. “that is no way to speak to your future oke'leytan.”

you knew he was telling the truth, it was in fact not a way to do so. you sucked in a sharp breath and stepped back- backing down. “some future oke’leytan you are.” you mumbled, but neteyam heard it.

he grabbed your wrist in one swift motion, pulling you to meet him again. but as he did so, he regretted it. you were waiting for him to say something but he didn't- because neteyam didn’t know why he had stopped you, he wanted you to go, he really did- then you wouldn’t bother him anymore, so why did he want you to stay with him so bad?

he looked down, his skin burning at the sensation of your touch- neteyam quickly let go off your hand, regaining himself. “go back to the village.”

your ears slowly bent downwards, your gaze locked onto the ground as you turned around and began your way back to the village.

neteyam watched you leave, his eyes not leaving your figure once- as you disappeared from his line of vision he sucked in a sharp breath and hit the closest thing to him, a tree in anger. “stupid.” he muttered, running his hands over his face. he felt stupid, completely stupid. you were just a woman, nothing else and nothing less- but oh, you were so much more than just a simple woman to neteyam.

his parents had always shown so much love to one another whilst he was growing up, he thought that when he found love it would come easy to him like his parents. but, alas it didn’t- it was confusing for him, he didn’t get it one bit.

the way your face twisted with hurt when he called you a baby replayed in his mind, over and over again. how sad you looked when he told you to go. neteyam sully had never felt like more of a skxqwng.

eclipse had fallen over pandora and the people were celebrating the 100th day of the year, it had always been tradition to hold a special celebration at eclipse for it. you were usually excited for these, but not this one. you didn’t want to go because you knew he would be there. neteyam. you didn’t want to see him, how could he be so rude to you? why was it that he was so nice to every na’vi except you- and you were confused why you cared so much of what he thought of you.

you were deep in thought as you sat on a log just outside the skirts of the large campfire that many of the na'vi were dancing around, chanting. until you thoughts were interrupted by a voice. "hello,"

your head snapped up to the male voice, to see who it was. your eyes adjusted around the dimly lit place, narrowing carefully at the tall figure standing in front of you.

it was ateyo, a young warrior in the clan- which you hadn't spoke to much before, only merely seen him pass you or when he was talking to neteyam. "uh- hello." you replied, cringing at how awkward you sounded, because in all honesty you didn't really feel like talking to anyone at that moment.

"do you mind if i join you?" ateyo asked, which took you a bit by surprise- you didn't reply at first which made him grow anxious. "if you want to be alone that is fine." he began to turn around.

you shook your head quickly, "no, no- don't worry," you breathed out making him turn back around to you. "yes, you can join me." he grinned, sitting down on the empty space next to you.

"so, how have you been?" ateyo asked. you were a little confused at why the na'vi had suddenly decided to speak to you, but you didn't really mind.

"yeah, i've been good." you gave him a tight smile, which he returned. "i heard you have nearly completed your iknimaya."

his ears perked up slightly at your statement, he almost seemed happy you had heard of him. "yes, i am close to finishing." he said it proudly, puffing out his chest a bit.

unbeknownst to you a pair of eyes was watching you and ateyo carefully.

neteyam had arrived a bit late to the celebration- which was unlike him but no one questioned it. guilt was eating away at him, the way he treated you was not acceptable and he knew it.

he was in search for you, making his way around the clan that was sitting around and dancing around the large fire- his eyes searching for you in the crowd of na'vi. neteyam had finally spotted you, sitting alone a ways bit away from everyone- you looked sad. a pit formed in his stomach at the sight of you looking hurt. he began to make his way to you.

"neteyam, there you are!" he stopped in his tracks, turning to look at the na'vi who had stopped him- a girl, yo'ila. she had been trying to gain his attention for months now, he wasn't sure if her parents had set her up to it or it was merely herself- but he did not really care, he did not spare once interest for the girl- he didn't spare any interest in any other woman in the clan, besides the one he swore he did not like. "do you want to join me and my friends? we are sharing stories over there." yo'ila pointed to a group of young na'vi who were all engaged in conversation.

neteyam politely shook his head, "sorry, but-" but before he could finish she grabbed him by the wrist and was pulling him towards her friends. as he was getting dragged away he looked to where you were sitting by yourself- but now, you were not. but accompinied by another na'vi, one that neteyam knew and considered one of his friends- he hated it.

he sat down next to the girl who had dragged him away, he did not speak much as the group of teenage na'vi engaged in conversations- he did not want to speak to them, he wanted to talk to you. "would you like some mis'ko?" yo'ila motioned to the cup of liquid in her hand, neteyam nodded gently, taking it out of her hands and sipped on it.

his head turned to your direction again, you were laughing at something ateyo had said. neteyam felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach at the sight of you laughing with another- he knew he couldn't be jealous as you were not his and surely would never be with the way he acted towards you. if looks could kill ateyo would be six feet under by now, neteyam was glaring hard at him- unknowingly gripping the small wooden cup in his hands tightly, his claws digging harshly into it.

you looked beautiful, the small glow of the fire illuminating your face and its perfect features, the way your nose crinkled up as you laughed- it all made neteyams head foggy, as if you had put him under a trance that had no escape- and he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to break free of it.

but as he looked to ateyo his mood changed, the fluttering feeling in his stomach caused by you turned into a pit in his stomach that made him feel sick- he had never experienced the feeling of jealousy before, his mother always told him one should never be jealous of another- but as he saw you and ateyo talking and laughing, neteyam experienced jealousy, and eywa, did he hate it.

he know understood his father when he told him that his mother was promised to another when they met, how he felt as if he could never have her- he now understood exactly what his father must have been feeling.

"are you okay, neteyam?" yo'ila spoke, ripping neteyam out of his thoughts- breaking his gaze away from you and ateyo, his eyebrows furrowed to what the girl meant by the question- but as he gazed down to his hands that were about to break that small cup in he was holding he realised he had been slowly crushing it between his palms.

without an answer he looked back to you and saw ateyo getting up, presumingly to get some food for the two of you. neteyam turned to the girl. "excuse me." he quickly got up, it was his chance now that the na'vi had left you- without another word to anyone he made his way over to you.

as you looked up to see neteyam walking right towards you, your mood suddenly shifted to what it was before- being reminded of what you were sad about in the first place. you now wished you hadn't even attended the celebration in the first place.

neteyam finally reached you, you refused to make eye contact with him- looking to the ground. "may i speak with you?"

you glanced to where ateyo was, seeing he was lost in conversation with an elder- you knew he was not coming back anytime soon. you sucked in a sharp breath, finally meeting neteyams pleading gaze- which was surprising for you as you had never seen the boy look at you so softly. "fine."

neteyam nodded, sitting down where ateyo had sat before- and that is when the all too familiar feeling that he hated oh so much came back. his palms began to form a sweat, his heart beated fast- he was sure you could hear it. he coughed quickly, "uh-"

you beat him to talking, "if you are here to scold me then you can leave." you looked at him, and yet again, neteyam felt at a loss for words under your intense gaze- you huffed annoyedly, rolling your eyes you sat up from your sitting position, ready to leave.

before you could a tight hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in motion with its strong hold. "no, stay." you slowly turned back around, your tail swishing slightly underneath you- and met neteyams eyes again, his tone was soft and angelic- a tone you had yearned to here be directed at you for as long as you could remember.

your mind told you to leave, but your heart- oh, damn that thing. your heart was controlling your body at that moment, and you obliged it- sitting back down next to him. his hold on your wrist never leaving.

"i came to say.." neteyam breathed his words out, taking a deep breath. "i am sorry." your ears perked up, eyes widening- unsure if those words had just left his mouth. had he just apologised- to you?

your heart fluttered as he looked into your eyes, his features soft matching his gaze- your skin touching his which lit a small fire that was sure to burn you at any given moment. "did your father tell you to apologise?" your eyebrows furrowed, you knew he always listened to his father.

neteyams head shook, "no, he did not." the look you were giving him made him realise you didn't believe him. "y/n." your name left his lips and you swore you melted right then and there, you were putty in his hands. "i am sorry for being a skxqwng to you."

you hard expression softened, your gaze ripped away from his. "okay," you breathed out, "i accept your apology."

neteyams eyes widened, a grin forming slowly on his face- he didn't think you would forgive him, but oh, it felt so good.

"i am back- oh, hi neteyam.." ateyo stood there in front of the two of you, two cups in his hand- he glanced down to where neteyams hand was wrapped around your wrist.

neteyams jaw clenched at the na'vi, "hi." his reply was short and laced with venom throughout it. ateyo sensed the tension in the air- any na’vi could from about 5 feet away.

ateyo cleared his throat, “i got you your drink, y/n.” he lifted up the cup he held in his left hand that held liquid in- you smiled gently at him as he handed it to you. “thank you.” you thanked him taking a small sip.

ateyo stood there, admiring you. seemingly forgetting there was a certain na’vi who was death staring him right next to him, neteyam. “ateyo,” neteyam spoke up, ripping the boy from his trance. “i heard nitia’l wished to speak with you.” yes, it was a lie. but neteyam didn’t care, he just wanted for ateyo to be gone.

ateyo nodded, “i will speak to you later y/n.” and began to leave.

you turned to neteyam, who was watching as ateyo left carefully. “that is not very nice.” neteyams head snapped to look at you, confused. “lying.”

“i did not lie.”

you raised an eyebrow, you were not dumb. you had just been talking to nitia’l earlier that evening- she most certainly did not want to talk to ateyo. “you’re not very convincing.”

“i was to him.” he replied. rolling your eyes at him. he kept staring off at ateyos figure leaving behind you. “why was he talking to you?” his eyes focused back on you with a emotionless expression.

“i don’t know.” you shrugged, taking a sip of the liquid the na’vi boy had given to you. “probably had no one else to speak to.”

“or he likes you.” you were a bit taken back by that comment. “no- he does not like me.”

neteyam knew what male na’vi were like, after all- he was one of them. “hm..” he paused. “if he talks to you again, tell me.” and with that neteyam turned his back to you and began walking away leaving you dumbfounded. was he being protective over you? was neteyam sully jealous?

neteyam sully was indeed jealous.

[merbear25]

Vash with no.4 for your valentine day event would be MWAH CHEFS KISS!!!!

This prompt was perfect for him!! I really hope you like it! I adore him... He deserves nothing but good things! (I'm not about to cry YOU are)

No matter where he went or who he met, his greatest fear hit him head on without fail. Undeserving of moving past his mistakes, forcing himself to make up for what he’d done time and time again, but it was never enough, neither for them nor him. How could he accept your affection when he saw the lowest of the low in his reflection? It all starts with trust.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, Vash’s insecurities

Take my hand (Vash)

Despite the walls he threw up to protect you from getting too close to him, caring about him came as easily as opening your eyes, and each time you did you couldn’t deny the warmth that accompanied the sight of him. A gleeful smile, outgoing demeanor, a goofiness that didn’t always fit the circumstances: he tried so hard to keep the grief from showing.

However, the more time you spent together, the more those cracks showed. Sitting in the corner of the room, not saying anything, yet his silence was screaming for the connection he deemed himself unworthy of.

“Vash? How are you doing?” Not wanting to bring up the incident directly, you thought it would be more gentle to avoid specifics. Both of you knew what you were referencing anyway: a town flipping their opinion of him quickly and without remorse for the man who had just helped them moments before.

“I’m great.” He couldn’t even fake the chipper tone.

“Sorry, it was a silly question.” You paused to consider what he must be going through. Having been rejected by damn near everyone who had at one point opened their arms to welcome him must wear one’s spirit down to the point it dragged through the dirt.

“You don’t have to apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” The tone was soft and remorseful for making you think you had to say ‘sorry’. “I’ll be okay, I just need some time alone.”

The thought of him being by himself at a time like this made you worry. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay with you. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’d just like to make sure you’re… That everything is alright.”

No objection was given, although that didn’t mean his mind wasn’t racing. After what felt like hours, he finally brought up what was plaguing him. “I hope you don’t feel obligated to stick around.”

“Why would I feel… I’m here because I care about you.”

A rush of emotions flooded his chest as he processed that last bit. “You shouldn’t though. You’ll just end up getting hurt. That seems to be all I’m good for.” The gentle rocking of his shaking form brought you to your feet.

“You’re worth so much more than what you give yourself credit for.” Without a second thought, you went to his side. “You mean so much to me, you have no idea.” The shake in your voice eluded to the pain you felt seeing him like this and hearing him talk so lowly of himself.

Those affectionate words stayed with him as he desperately tried to get himself to the point he could hold them close and hold onto them forever. “And you’d have me like this? Scars and all?” The hesitation he took in looking at you made that lump in your throat sink deeper. 

“Without a shadow of a doubt.” You scooted closer to him and leaned to the side in hopes of getting a better look at his expression. When that sinking rock in your throat finally plunged into the depths of your heart, you swore you could feel it shattering. 

A man who was worn and defeated contrasted his happy-go-lucky attitude. His emerald eyes were hanging to the floor and those lips that usually held a smile seemed to be struggling not to quiver. He gripped his pant legs and tugged on them, back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just—” He trailed off not wishing to burden you with the turmoil that was ever constant. You leaned in closer, hoping that he wouldn’t shy away from opening up to you again. “I’m not sure that you know what that entails exactly.” The fall in his voice hinted at the emotion rising within, which was carried by the self-loathing he couldn’t escape.

Your eyes held on him; each twitch of his bottom lip, the wetness in his eyes threatening to make his genuine yearn for connection known, none of the subtleties went unnoticed or disregarded. You took a deep breath and spoke in a voice as warm as a summer’s day.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Wanting to say ‘a demon’, he refrained and simply shook his head. “I see a man who is kind, gentle, caring, selfless, one who made a mistake - an accident - a long time ago and has been punishing himself ever since.” 

“How can I forgive myself if that moment still cuts so many so deeply?” The hatred in his words only spat venom inward, hoping the acid would finally sink in.

You treaded lightly, so as to avoid him spiraling into the depths of self-ridicule he so often found himself in. “I’m not saying you ought to take the leap into forgiving yourself, but taking steps away from self-hatred can carry you far.”

He buried his face in his palms, trying to withhold the flow of tears that were now reluctant to stop. “What if I can’t do that?”

Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around him. As he clung to you, you allowed his hot wet face to soak through your shirt. “That’s why you have me, and not just me but also your other friends who care so much about you.” 

You stroked his dirty blond hair, hoping he’d be open to letting you assist him on this trying escape from the iron maiden he’d casted himself into. “Sweet Vash…” 

You couldn’t help but cradle him closer. The large man who was mischaracterized by the masses and internalized it to the point he felt he could never escape: tortured more by himself than anyone else. But, your helping hand out of the tangling thorny vines was taken, leading him towards the long and winding road of healing.

[bt-tarot]

heyyy💖

Can you do a pros and cons of dating ENHYPEN members

Hi! Long post aleeeeert 🦇💞

✨Pros of dating Enhypen 💗

Jungwoon - VI of Pentacles Rev.: Balanced, he will be careful with finances and try his best to make the most of their time together. He will work on him to express his emotions in the best way possible. He will try to makes things equal and help his partner. He might put his partner first, even before himself at times.

Heeseung - IX of Swords: Very protective. He would defend his lover and take the burdens from them. He worries about his partner but also trust that they’re strong as well to overcome any challenge. He would like to teach his partner to be hopeful and ease their fears.

Jay - IX of Wands Rev.: He’s very strong, even when he feels tired or has a bad day at work he keeps putting the effort. He would value the relationship and even the downsides of it because it will make them stronger and he can learn from those to be a good partner. He’s passionate and persistent but he knows when to step aside as well.

Jake - King of Swords: Very disciplined and intelligent. He approaches the conflicts in an objective way or at least tries to. His mind is very focused and structured. He likes strategy. He thinks quick and comes with solutions fast. He will always tell his truth and give his honest opinions about whatever topics he’s discussing.

Sunghoon - VII of Wands Rev.: He will be understanding and accepting of his partner. He won’t be the one to fight, he doesn’t likes arguing and would prefer to have open heart conversations. He will put the effort even after a long times passes because he knows that a relationship should never be taken for granted. He’s a team work guy, he will be open and vulnerable and expects the same.

Sunoo - X of Wands: He will work the extra mile. He will take lots of responsibilities. I see him taking care of his partner, an acts of service and quality time boy. He would like to do lots of activities with his partner, it doesn’t matter if it’s indoor calm dates or outdoor adventurous activities, he will do them all. He will be happy to be there for his partner and prepare special surprises for special events.

Ni-ki - V of Wands: He’s very competitive and adventurous. He likes to challenge himself and his partner to be better. He’s a very active guy and will try to keep the spark alive. He will be praising his partner often and will be protective of them. He likes to talk things out and is very honest about his feelings. If he doesn’t like something or someone, his partner will know.

✨ Cons of dating Enhypen ❤

Jungwoon - The High Priestess: He might not trust his intuition enough or often doubts himself. He may be often on his own thoughts and feelings. He might unconsciously make his partner doubt themselves or their beliefs, which isn’t always bad, but might be uncomfortable.

Heeseung - VI of Wands: A little too proud. He might like to brag and over share. Will be a little careless about the public, either talking too much or not caring about the public opinion in a way that seems reckless. He might take the relationship for granted sometimes or feel too comfortable, which is good, but would also make him a little careless overtime. Clarification here.

Jay - Ace of Swords: Too blunt or straightforward. May be excessively honest and sharp with his words at times. Sometimes his partner might feel a power imbalance. A little detached or might find it hard to empathize with some topics. He might rush into some ideas or move too fast.

Jake - Five of Cups: He might be pessimistic at times or dwell on the past often. He might regret things or live in the past. I think he has unhealed wounds that he can bring to the present even without noticing. He would be a little insecure at times because of this.

Sunghoon - IX of Wands Rev.: He could feel a little imbalanced sometimes, like he can’t control what happens in and out of the relationship and that might be frustrating for him. When his mind wanders too much he might question the relationship and if he doesn’t have enough reassurance that would lead to him feeling insecure or not cared for.

Sunoo - Ace of Wands Rev.: He might lack motivation at times. Maybe he feels emotionally drained from putting a lot of effort at times and that exhaustion impacts the relationship since he would require time to recharge. He could feel burnout often and blocked. He may turn down opportunities or self sabotage because of lack of confidence. If he’s not motivated enough he might get bored quickly.

Ni-ki - Four of Cups: He might feel disappointed if things don’t go his way. Might be reluctant to change and dwell on the past. He has the tendency of getting too much in his own head and might not notice when things are going downhill. Could focus too much on the bad things.♠

[lurkingshan]

Unknown Episode 6

Well, we wanted them to bring the pain, and my god did they do it. If you had any remaining doubt that this show knows exactly what it's doing with this story, this episode surely put it to rest. There were so many excellent scenes this week, and not all of them are strictly from the source material. I'm going to walk through the episode by favorite moments, because there is so much worthy of discussion here.

That first scene between Qian and Yuan, when Qian put his hand on Yuan's face and expressed his worry, was original to the show, and it got me right in the heart. It is exhausting to love someone you know won't love you back in the same way, and Yuan has been crumbling under the burden of trying to restrain his feelings while staying close to Qian. That Qian is both the source of his comfort and his agony makes it all so much harder, and Qian's blinders to Yuan's feelings means he is constantly making it worse for Yuan without meaning to.

I also loved the whole sequence at the H.O.T. party, from Yuan arriving sad and sick and vulnerable only to see Feng Ning getting cozy with his brother, to Qian knowing instantly that something was wrong with Yuan and becoming distracted, to Qian and Feng Ning's chat clearing up their relationship and the show allowing her to be awesome and not at all villainous about it, to Qian following Yuan into the backroom for the confrontation. It was a short sequence but it all built masterfully to the moment we've been waiting for since episode 1.

And what a scene that was. I loved that it began with Qian trying to care for Yuan like he always does. He is at a work event but he cannot focus on anything else until he knows Yuan is okay. But Yuan has hit his limit while his guard was down, and it all finally comes spilling out in the worst way possible. The emotions of this scene were perfect--Qian was truly shocked, deeply upset, and importantly, betrayed by Yuan crossing this boundary and imploding their relationship. And Yuan is also feeling upset and betrayed, because he has always counted on Qian to accept him no matter what, and in this moment, Qian failed him by rejecting him in a way he never has before. They are both clearly devastated to have this relationship ruined because for both of them, it is the most important one in their lives.

It's not surprising that Qian goes into full avoidance mode in the aftermath; he has no idea how to navigate his conflicting instincts. He doesn't want to reject Yuan and in fact it hurts him deeply to do so, but he can't accept him either. He's too shell shocked and angry to return to caretaking, but the guilt is clearly eating at him. So he hides, and finds a way to keep avoiding it by sending Yuan away. And this led to two more fantastic scenes, because this show cares about all its characters and the entire family unit, not just the two leads.

First, San Pang and Yuan. I love that despite making many mistakes and ultimately accelerating the implosion between the brothers, San Pang is not intentionally being malicious here. He is genuinely trying to help because he loves both Qian and Yuan, he doesn't want Qian to be hurt by Yuan's feelings, and he is clearly hoping Yuan can move on from it if he intervenes. Yuan knows this too, which is why he does not hate him despite his interference, and why he feels comfortable pushing San Pang to explain why his love for Qian is such a bad thing. I love that the show went here, and that San Pang couldn't come up with a logical reason why it's wrong. It just feels wrong to him, and isn't that the case with so much cultural taboo?

Second, I love this show so much for not forgetting Lili in all of this. Her increasing anxiety and fear at seeing her brothers' relationship fall apart without understanding why was so heartbreaking. This is her family, and she has had her own very rough childhood and survived parental abandonment too, and suddenly everything is blowing up and no one will explain it to her. Yuan clearly doesn't want to leave her anymore than he does Qian, but at this point he's not being left with much choice. And Qian is not in a headspace to offer her any explanation or comfort. I'm glad her pain was not overlooked.

The way this episode ended, with Yuan setting off for a lonely stint abroad, and Qian not even giving him a proper goodbye, was the final touch of heartbreak. Qian loves his brother so much, and I think he'll regret sending him away so coldly when he is finally able to process what happened here--he may already be starting to regret it, judging by the forlorn look on his face as he leaned in his doorway recalling their memories together. I was glad that at least he left Yuan a token to take with him; he can't face him right now, but he does care. Some time apart will likely do them some good, but in the meantime there will be a lot of loneliness in both their lives. This show hurts so good.