#((I have this on my list and vividly remember the ask (as vividly as I remember anything) but I must have deleted it))

[sleepanonymous]

About your tags about those known collabs with other artists, what are all the known collabs hes done? Id heard he did piano for bfmv before but i havent been able to find out which songs

Hello Anon 🖤 Thanks for the ask, I actually had fun typing all of this up and doing research. Spoiler alert: I am now sus of every and any song that George Lever and Carl Bown have produced that contain synth/keys 😅

Also, side note, listening to all of these songs while fact checking really cemented how unique Vessel is as a pianist. It’s like he’s playing in his own language, if that makes sense? It’s truly beautiful.

For Bullet For My Valentine, Vessel did the Piano Versions on the deluxe Gravity album: Breathe Under Water, The Very Last Time, and Under Again. I’ve heard a couple of times that he also did synths for the standard version of the album, but there’s no absolute confirmation of it, since he was only initially credited in the three songs I mentioned. He did have the credits changed to Vessel1 before they were removed altogether from the songs. The album Gravity was supposedly recorded between 2016/2017, so around the same time that the One and Two EPs dropped. I’m not 100% positive how he got that gig, but that is supposedly how he met Carl Bown (the producer for Take Me Back to Eden). It could also be the other way around, and Carl and Vessel already knew each other and he brought Vessel in to do the piano versions.

He is credited as a composer (ie he played piano) for Holding Absence’s song Purge. Their self-titled album was recorded in 2018, so around the time Sleep Token released the singles Jaws and The Way That You Were. Fun fact about this collab: the band most likely met Ves through George Lever, since he produced Holding Absence’s album, and that’s how the Loathe/Holding Absence/Sleep Token tour came about.

In 2019, he collaborated with The Hell on their song Jump the Fuck Up. This one I have the least information on, since the band is also anonymous and seems to have revolving members. The only credits on the song are the band name and the composer/lyricist Stephen Sears. I haven’t done too much digging, but I would not be surprised if the band had ties to George, Carl, or even both producers.

In summer 2020, during lockdown, he did a piano cover of Type O Negative’s Love You To Death with the vocalist of Forlorn, Megan Jenkins. Her band has previously worked with George Lever. I do have to warn anyone who looks up this song on YouTube, since you’ll see him in the music video that was filmed (hands, arms, chin, hair/hair color, back). He was uncredited, but the mv is proof of his involvement.

The band Malevolence stated in a podcast interview that he played keys on the acoustic version of Higher Place, but was not credited (at least one band member didn’t even realize this). The song was produced by Carl Bown, and since the album/song was released in 2022, I’m assuming it was recorded sometime in 2021, so between recording TPWBYT and TMBTE.

[theyre-gay-because-i-say-so]

Today's LGBT+ Headcanon is;

Toshiro Kasukabe from Persona 5 Tactica-Transfeminine

Species: Human

Requested by @meowsticmarvels

Status: Alive

[arieslost]

talk | op81

summary: oscar loves to talk your ear off.

word count: 1,276

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

everyone who had told you that oscar piastri wasn’t much of a talker was a bold-faced liar.

that, or maybe they just never got to see that side of him.

before you started dating oscar, you totally believed it. the first few interactions the two of you had were awkward and brief, usually ending in you thinking that he actually hated you and only engaged in small talk to be nice.

the oscar you know now is nothing like the oscar you first met, and even though you’ve been with him for the better part of two years, his ability to talk for hours is still as shocking to you as it was in the beginning.

it started out innocently enough. the first time you hadn’t been able to attend a race, oscar called you the moment he was back in his hotel room. you’d only been dating for five months at that point, and you vividly remember your shock when you accepted the facetime call and he started talking at a mile a minute. you’d barely gotten out a “hello” before he started recapping his entire day in precise detail. he didn’t even stop to take a drink of water in his enthusiasm.

that turned into the two of you developing a routine. every time you couldn’t make it to a race, oscar would call you at the end of the day and tell you everything he’d been dying to tell you.

“you could text me some of this stuff, you know,” you told him once, and he had wrinkled his nose cutely.

“why would i text it to you when i can just tell you about it on the phone?” he’d responded, like your suggestion was completely outlandish.

it’s endearing, really, the way he’s always so excited every time you pick up the phone. like he is right now.

“hi, honey!” he says brightly the moment the call connects and you can see each other’s faces.

“hey, oz,” you smile, your mood immediately lifting at the sound of his voice. “how was your day?”

“oh, i have so much to tell you,” he leans forward, his hair obscuring the camera for a moment before he leans back with a piece of paper in his hand.

“what is that?” you ask, watching as he unfolds it.

“this, my love, is my list.” he says, turning it around so you can see the way the page is full of his writing, not only on the lines but in the margins, too. “if i can read my own handwriting.”

“busy day?” you pull the hood of your sweatshirt further over your head so it covers more of your screen.

“you have no idea. i don’t even know where to start.” he sighs, eyes scanning the paper before he looks back up at the camera. “but i want to hear about your day first.”

“ah, it was okay. boring. i got so used to traveling around with you that i don’t know what to do now that i’m home all by myself.” it’s a lie, of course.

you wouldn’t miss oscar’s birthday for the world, and that was why you’d been so believable when you told him that you were so sorry, but you couldn’t make it to japan for the next race. even thinking about not being with him for his birthday was enough to upset you, so he bought it easily. conspiring with mark and lando, you’d gotten your hands on a plane ticket and formed a plan to get to the hotel with oscar being none the wiser.

which is how you’re here, at the end of the hallway on his hotel floor, waiting for the perfect time to interject.

“oh, i have to tell you about how free practice went, the second session, not the first,” he’s saying, squinting a little at the paper. “i wrote it over something else and i can’t see what it says. whatever. anyway, it’s raining here, and, like, half the cars didn’t end up going out for the second session. i was just trying to do my best for the session but i ended up setting the fastest lap! i didn’t even know until i got out of the car. did you watch? i don’t know if you did, i forgot to ask you, but i think it was a 1:34 or something like that. i could’ve been faster, obviously, but it was raining. its still raining right now actually which kind of sucks. i wouldn’t mind if you were here, but it’s just miserable and cold.” he pauses to take a breath. “wait, where are you?”

well that you weren’t expecting. “at home… where else would i be?” you reply, hoping that your confusion looks genuine.

“your background looks… i dunno.” he presses his lips together. “doesn’t look the same.”

“well, i’m at home,” you repeat, trying to come up with something on the fly. “pretending that i’m talking to you face to face instead of through the phone, like always.”

“ah, yeah. i do that all the time,” he admits, giving up on his scrutinization of what little he can see behind your hood.

“i miss you,” he says then, and its absolute hell knowing you can’t knock on his door just yet.

“i miss you too, oz.” you whisper. “keep telling me about your day?”

“sure, honey.” he gives you a soft smile, once again consulting his piece of paper. “so after the second session, i went and got dinner— oh wait, i forgot to tell you what happened earlier! i left the hotel room—”

you were hoping to let him tire himself out a bit from talking so much before approaching the door, but with every little detail of his day he shares you wish more and more that he was saying it directly to you and not through the phone, so you give up on being patient and knock three times.

“hold on, baby. someone’s at the door.” he says on the other end of the call, getting up from where he’s sitting on the bed and leaving his phone behind, so you end the call to free both of your hands.

the look on his face when he opens the door is priceless. “you’re joking.”

“i figured you should tell me the rest in person,” you say. “besides, i’d be damned if i missed your birthday.”

“you’re joking,” he repeats, pulling you and your suitcase into the room and wrapping you into a tight hug. “you’re actually here.”

“of course i’m here.” you laugh, kissing his shoulder through the loose material of his worn out t-shirt. “i don’t want to be anywhere else but here.”

“i’m so happy,” is all your enthusiastic, talkative boyfriend says before kissing you, smiling against your lips the whole time.

“you hung up on me?” its the first thing he says once the two of you are cuddled up in bed, and your jaw drops.

“seriously? i’m right here, and you’re gonna come for me for hanging up on you?”

“i would never hang up on you, but whatever,” he rolls his eyes, but cuddles you closer all the same. “okay, you have to know what lando told me last night about this one thing he did over winter break. it doesn’t sound bad at first, but i promise you it gets so much worse.”

you sigh in content, happier than anything to be in oscar’s arms and listening to him talk your ear off for the foreseeable future. you would never lie about it— you don’t want to be anywhere else but here, with him.

note: happy oscar dayyy!! wishing my fellow aries the best birthday ever and i hope you all enjoyed this 🫶🏼 i low key hate it but hopefully that’s just me lolz

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever @likedbygaslyy @lightsoutletsgo

[lovebugism]

hello sweetheart, i read your prompt list and saw this one "hug?” “clingy, much?……” but hugs them anyway and my heart melted, i don't know if you already did this, but can we have something like that with our sweet but grumpy eddie? 🤍

ty for requesting! — eddie doesn't know why you're avoiding him (fluff, ditzy!reader, 0.9k)

Eddie lost sight of you ten minutes ago. 

You were squished between Robin and Steve on the loveseat last he saw you, giggling into your solo cup while they belted Total Eclipse of the Heart to you — at you — over the music and in their best Muppet impressions. 

He only remembers it so vividly ‘cause he was jealous. Not jealous because you were subjected to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum’s drunken antics, of course, but jealous because you were with them. And so, so far away. 

Now you’re gone, and he misses you like a stray dog — aggressive and hungry and hurt. He walks up to Steve in the kitchen just the same. Hair wild. Button eyes glittering. Slightly reluctant. 

“Where’d she go?!” he shouts over the music, half-muffled into his drink. He uses the plastic cup like a shield ‘cause he doesn’t want people to know he’s missing you. The metalhead freak from the wrong side of town isn’t supposed to need the ball of sunshine from the suburbs. 

But alas.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Steve slurs, half-distracted as he pours himself a drink. He doesn’t need Eddie to tell him who she is. There’s only one person in the whole world he’d go looking for. “She went outside with Robin, I think—”

Eddie spins on the worn heel of his sneaker before the words can properly leave his mouth. He ducks through the bustling, drunken crowd and finds you sitting lonesome on the porch outside. Prettier than the full moon and all the stars in the velvet black sky combined. 

He walks to stand beside you, shoes thunking heavy on the wooden deck. You tilt your chin to smile brightly up at him while he slips a cig into his mouth. He cups the stick as he lights it. Pretends that’s what he came out here for. Not to see you, of course. 

Definitely not.

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he mumbles beneath the cigarette in his mouth.

“Robin just left,” you answer plainly, half-shy.

“Why didn’t you come find me?” he asks with an air of nonchalance, still trying to play it cool. ‘Cause there’s nothing less metal than yearning.

You shrug. “‘Cause you were busy?”

It’s easier than telling him that you thought he wanted the space. Or that you actually spent the whole night aching to hang on his side — too scared of embarrassing him in front of all his friends to act on it. 

You know who you are just like you know who he is. Bubblegum pink doesn’t always go well with black. It gets in your hair. Makes everything go all sticky. It’s an acquired taste you know Eddie’s still getting used to — too much of it, and his stomach will start to hurt. So you figure it’s best to keep your distance.

You just didn’t think he was as grieved by it all as you were.

Eddie scoffs. I’m never too busy for you, he wants to say. He might’ve if he wasn’t such a coward. Instead, he blows smoke from his lungs and jokes, “I wouldn’t call keeping Argyle from crowd-surfing in the living room busy, sweetheart.”

A laugh tumbles from his plush lips. The golden sound falls over your skin like stars. You smile absentmindedly back at him as you rise from the creaking rocking chair. You plant your feet ahead of his and smooth your palms beneath his leather jacket, over his warm sides.

Eddie meets your twinkling eyes with narrowed chocolate ones. “What?”

“Hug?” you ask in a mousy voice.

The boy laughs like he’s too cool for affection, though he’d be lying if he said your offer doesn’t have his chest sparkling something fierce. He flicks the cig to the ground — sheepish gaze going with it — before snuffing it out beneath his sneaker.

“Clingy much?” he scoffs.

You nod with a proud smile. 

Eddie’s chest swirls with an unfamiliar feeling. You’re strangely brave about all this — affection and love and all things sweet enough to make him gag. 

It makes him feel like he can feel brave, too.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds you with all the intensity of someone wanting to swallow you whole. You hug him back just the same. “I missed you,” you murmur with your cheek squished against his chest.

“Then what’re you avoidin’ me for, huh?” he teases, chin bobbing against your head.

You pull slightly back to squint at him. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“You’ve been hangin’ out with Steve and Robin the whole night,” he grieves, hiding his sincerity behind boyish theatrics. With a feigned pout that feels totally real, he says, “And you didn’t even sit next to me when we played Never Have I Ever.”

“I thought you wanted the space,” you confess in a hushed voice.

His face screws up like he’s tasted something sour. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “You always talk about how much you like being alone and stuff, so—”

“Well, yeah! I like my space— just not from you!”

It’s likely the least metal thing he’s ever said.

“Oh,” you hum, mouth contorting into a sheepish beam. “Well… Sorry.”

“Yeah. You should be,” he scoffs, mostly joking. He pouts softly and pulls you back into him again, nosing at your hair until his chapped lips brush your temple. “Just don’t let it happen again, alright?”

[flamingpudding]

I have a theory!

Duke groaned, his head tumping against his desk on his side of the room. He had heard these words often enough by now to know that his roommate was going to start ranting about something strange but weirdly fascinating again.

The last time his roommate started with that, he went on a rant how all rich people have a secret basement below their homes or some secretly identities with a bulletpoint list of what to look out for as a warning. Which Duke had a hard time not laughing about as he thought about Bruce, who ended up checking a lot of the bulletpoints.

"Danny what is it now?" Duke ended up asking after all. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop his roommate. No one aside from his sister apparently could, Danny even gave her number to Duke as an emergency number in case Danny ever gets so caught up in his own thoughts that even he himself couldn't stop himself anymore. Yeah that was weird to watch Danny trying to stop himself, but it was fascinating that his sister only needed to say his name twice over the speaker.

"Duke hear me out!" Okay of to a good start, so this meant Danny wasn't a hundred percent behind his own theory.

"Red Hood is a ghost or part ghost!"

If Duke had been drinking something, he would have taken a spit take here. For some reasons he had the image of Jason wearing a bed sheet saying the most deadpan 'Boo' in his head when Danny said that. He coughed, trying to hide that amusement. "What makes you say that?"

"You know how you 'saw' that I am a 'Meta'?" Danny ask him in return and Duke nodded still feeling a but weird with how Danny sounded when he refred to himself as Meta but also vividly remembering how his roommate pretty much blinded him on the day he moved into the dorms. "I can kind of see something similar. Like I explained how I have a ghost sense and all that, right?"

"Yea, you did." Duke nodded along, he new his roommate became a Meta through a lab accident. Once Duke had asked him and they had the cleared the air about both of them being Metas, Danny had somewhat opened up a bit on his whole weird family and Duke thought his family wasn't normal but compared to the Fentons the Batfamily might as well could be.

"Well last night I ran into him when I went scrap collecting for my engineering project!"

"DANNY!" Duke couldn't help but scowl. One the school was providing materials, Danny didn't need to do that and two, if he met Red Hood aka Jason that meant Danny wandered far enough to end up near or in Crime Alley! He would need to bug Jason later to find out more about that.

"I know, I know." His roommate waved him off. "Anyway, my ghost sense tingled. Soooo Red Hood got to be a ghost or part ghost, considering he hit a wall instead of phasing through it when he chased me..."

"Danny!" Duke scowled him again, hidding his amusement behind it. Now, he really had to get THAT story out of Jason later, plus he wanted to see if there maybe was possible video proof of Jason running into a wall chasing after Danny.

"Anyway! I got more than just that! Listen here, you know how I told you about some of my parents' inventions..." Danny instead continued finally starting his rant.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter Four

A/N: Hello friends! This chapter is one of my favorites, full of angst and longing (my favorite things to write). I got to write from Rhaenyra's perspective, too, which was a new challenge. Please let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged! Thank you for all your support of my writing! It's been so long since I've been invested in a story and part of that is due to your encouragements. <3

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 3.8k Synopsis: Things come to a head, as a tense argument breaks out in the Dragonpit. Jace reaches out to his mother for help.

Tag List: @rinisfruity14, @gaiaea, @rexorangecounty

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The next few days pass in a blur. Jace is embarrassed; you rejected him. But more than anything he is frustrated. You didn’t reject him because you don’t share the same feelings, you did so because there is not a chance for the two of you to be together. Jace can’t change the fact that he is a prince, and even if he wasn’t betrothed to Baela, you are still titleless.

The truth of what you said in the gardens settles within him. So few got to marry for love. But his intentions have still not changed. He will keep fighting for you, he will find a way to change the current situation.

He spends the next few days staying away from you, shielding his pride, and coming up with a plan.

When he arrives at his mother’s door, a few nights after the garden, he doesn’t even realize he has come there, until he is knocking on the door. He is let in right away, and he finds his mother dining alone, smiling at something Elinda says.

“Mother,” he says. He cannot remember the last time he came to his mother’s chambers like this, upset and unexpected. His mother looks up with a smile, at the sound of his voice, but it falls when she sees his face.

“Jace?” she asks, standing up, “What is it?”

“I request an audience with the queen,” he says, straightening his spine, hoping to emphasize the severity of his arrival. A hesitant smile breaks across his mother’s face, and she lets out a chuckle.

“What is this?” she asks.

“Please,” he says. Something in her face changes at his look. She gives a curt nod to the maids, and they scurry out of the room. Once they are gone, Rhaenyra leans against her dining table, looking at him with curious eyes.

“You have the floor, Jace,” she says. He takes a breath, giving himself one second before he throws his entire life into disarray.

“I want to end my betrothal with Baela,” he says.

Rhaeynra knows Jace completely. He is part of her, after all. Her first son, her rock in so many ways during the war. But sitting at the head of her table the next day, watching her son speak with Baela, she is seeing someone new.

Jace has had a hard life. He’s seen so much heartbreak – chief among them, the loss of his brother. But through it all, he has always been a prince. Strong when he needs to be, with a kind heart, and a devotion to duty. She has never known him to bock at responsibility, in fact, he often seeks out more. He is the example of a perfect prince, a perfect son.

She chides herself for not realizing sooner that something has changed with him.

She remembers vividly the day he came back from the North, so many years ago. Just that short trip had made him grow up so much. She had foolishly assumed it was only due to the loss of his brother, that had flung him into adulthood. But he had grown on that trip, excelled with the lords and ladies he met with, brokered deals for her, and apparently, had fallen in love.

There were thralls of guests at her table, but Rhaenyra didn’t pay them any mind. She barely even looked at Daemon next to her, or Joffrey on her right. All night, her eyes were on Jace, and his were on you.

Rhaenyra didn’t know much about you. You arrived in King’s Landing about two months back. When Jeyne Arryn had requested you to take ward here, Rhaenyra had thought little of it, so entrenched in the war. Even when you had arrived, she didn’t think much of it. There were so many faces coming and going in the Red Keep, you were just another one, albeit a beautiful one.

She knew that you were close with her younger boys, and Rhanea, too. She had seen Jace spending time with you, but she hadn’t noticed his feelings. She sees them now, though.

You are a beacon for Jace. Every move you make, whether it’s to laugh at your tablemates, or simply flicking your long hair over your shoulder, Jace’s eyes follow. And to Rhaenyra’s surprise, your eyes search for him just as often. A few times, your gazes collide, and a blush forms on your cheeks.

She thinks back to Jace’s words in her chambers. She had been completely blindsided. They had grown apart, now that he was older, and the war was over. They had begun to explore separate paths. But she thinks, even if they had been as close as they used to be, she still might have missedthe change.

“I want to end my betrothal to Baela,” he says. Rhaenyra looks at him, speechlessly, shaking her head to make sure she heard him correctly.

“What?” she asks.

“I want to end my betrothal.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I have fallen in love,” he answers. She studies his face, as if she hasn’t seen him until now.

“With whom?” she asks quietly.

“Y/N Arryn.”

She believes him now. She had been worried, when he told her, that he was being compelled by lust. But watching him now, it was true love in his eyes. And beneath that, lay a sadness she knew all too well.

Rhaenyra wants him to have everything. He deserves everything. But he is a prince, and he has a duty to his country to marry well and produce noble heirs.

If it had been another highborn lady he was betrothed to, the choice might have been easier. But this was Baela. Rhaenyra loves her, and she knows Jace does, too. Just – not in the way he feels for you.

“What would we tell Baela?” she asks.

“I- I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “But it’s killing me, not to be with Y/N.” Rhaenyra frowns at her son, cupping his cheek gently with her hand.

“I made a promise to Rhaenys years ago, that I would wed our families together.”

“I know,” Jace says, his voice hollow.

She searchs his face for a long moment. She wants to tell him no. There is no way it would work out, but he had already seen so much heartbreak in his life. And she knew the pain of an arranged marriage.

So, she hadn’t told him no. She told him she had to think about it. But she saw, it wasn’t going to be an easy answer, either way.

The next morning, Jace finds you reading in a corner of the castle, alone. It is the first morning you’ve spent in so long without Rhaena at your side, talking over suitors, or meeting with those suitors themselves.

Seeing Jace, at first, makes you blush, remembering the night in the garden. But then you settle when you realize how much you’ve missed him. He has become one of your closest friends here, regardless of the feelings you have grown for him, and not seeing him the last few days had hurt.

“Good morning, My Prince,” you say as he sits across from you.

“No one is here,” he says with a frown, “You can call me Jace.”

“Why are you up so early, Jace?” you ask. He gives you a soft smile and sighs, hopefully letting out the tension in his shoulders.

“I couldn’t sleep. I thought I might see Vermax, go for a ride,” he says.

“Is it tiring to ride a dragon?” you ask.

“It can be, I suppose. Although Vermax is gentle, when he wants to be.” His eyes flick to yours, and for some reason, you get the sense you aren’t just talking about his dragon anymore.

“It’s hard to imagine a creature of that size being gentle,” you say, closing your book.

“You should come see for yourself,” he says simply.

“What?”

“Come with me to the dragon pit. I’m sure Vermax would love to meet you,” he says with a smile.

“I don’t desire being burnt alive,” you say quietly, leaning in conspiratorially. Jace laughs softly, the dimple in his cheek prominent.

“Vermax would never hurt you if you’re with me,” he says. “I promise.”

“Well, I did come to King’s Landing to further my education. Feels wrong to come all this way and not see its dragons up close.”

The entire walk down to the pit, you are anxious. Your heart thuds and your breathing is shallow. You are starting to regret your agreement in coming down when Jace grabs your hand for one second and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re safe, Y/N,” he says as he guides you into the entrance of the Dragonpit. The look in his eyes makes it easier to believe him.

The pit is dark, even at the first light of morning. The temperature is at least ten degrees warmer, and there are sounds you can’t begin to distinguish coming from somewhere deep. Jace leads you to a long platform that looks over a slope. Glancing down at it, you see the tread of giant clawed feet. You take in a quivering breath as Jace greets one of the dragon handlers and requests that Vermax be brought out.

“Doing alright?” he asks, coming to your side.

“Yes,” you say, in an unconvincing manner.

“Vermax is on the smaller size,” he says lowly, “Although I wouldn’t repeat that to him.”

“Even small dragons are massive,” you say. Jace looks at you with a smile, opening his mouth to say something, when you hear a sound coming from the dark entrance to the pit. You move behind Jace out of instinct, as a very large green dragon walks towards you. Jace laughs to himself.

“You’re alright,” he says softly as the beast comes to a stop. Vermax turns his attention to Jace and lets out a breath of steam. You grasp onto Jace’s shoulders, momentarily terrified.

“Hello to you, too,” Jace says with a laugh. You sigh when you realize the steam must have been a sign of affection.

Vermax moves his massive head closer to the two of you, close enough that Jace can pat his snout. You want to shrink behind Jace, want to run, but you know that quick movements around a dragon are not wise.

With his other hand, Jace reaches behind himself, and grabs hold of yours. He doesn’t let it go.

“Do you want to say hello?” he asks, and you aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or the dragon. Vermax’s eyes look to you then, and a shiver of fear races over you. “I promise, he’s scarier than he looks.” Vermax chuffs in response to Jace.

Slowly, you move to Jace’s side, dropping his hand for only a moment to switch which one you’re holding. You give yourself a moment to relax before meeting Vermax’s eyeline.

“Okay, now slowly raise out your hand,” he says. You do as he says, your limb shaking at the movement. Vermax’s snout, which is a good five times larger than your hand, sniffs at the palm. You wait with bated breath, until he nudges against it, and lets you rest your hand on him. You let out a sigh, relaxing as Jace smiles.

Now that you’re this close and settled, you realize that Vermax isn’t entirely green. There are spikes of orange-red that run down his neck. The contrast is striking.

“Oh,” you say with a sigh, “He is beautiful.”

“I’m in love with you,” Jace says in response. You whip your head to him so quickly, something in Vermax’s demeanor changes. Jace tenses and puts out a hand to the creature, at the same moment, pulling you back a step. It’s only a second, and then Vermax eases. Jace turns back to you and reads your wide, sad eyes.

“Whatever you’re going to say,” he says, “Don’t. It’s going to hurt me, and Vermax won’t like that.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you say, whisper soft. Jace shrugs.

“I don’t either.”

“We talked about this in the garden, it’s not something—” You stop when Vermax shifts again. Another breath of steam washes over the two of you, but this one somehow feels warmer, deadlier. Jace sweeps you behind him, holding you close to his back.

“Y/N is our friend,” he says to the beast, his words firm. “Our friend,” he says, and this time, chances a glance back at you at the word, friend.

“Maybe I should go,” you say. You realize you are still holding onto him, and then how much you don’t want to let go.

“He’ll settle,” Jace says, his hand covering yours, resting on his shoulder.

“Yes, but will I?” you ask, making him let out a tut of laughter.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says to Vermax. The dragon trills in response. Jace takes your hand and guides you back towards the Keep. “Don’t worry, everyone feels like this when they meet a dragon for the first time.”

“He really is beautiful,” you say, “In the most terrifying way possible.”

“Vermax is well tempered,” he says, “Be grateful you never saw Vhagar.”

“The stories were horrifying enough,” you say as you come to a stop outside the door to the castle. Your hand is still in Jace’s, the Dragonpit far behind you. You drop it, trying to do so indiscreetly, but Jace notices the absence and sighs.

“You were going to kiss me, you know. Back in your chambers,” he says. You stutter over a response, shaking your head in disbelief.

“There was one moment, yes,” you say, “But then I came to my senses.”

“No, Brigitta walked in,” he says, stepping closer to you. “That’s why you didn’t. And now, you can't even hold my hand.” He gestures around the empty space. “No one else is here!” he shouts. Below, Vermax calls out in response.

“You don’t get it,” you say softly, trying to keep your frustrations at bay.

“What don’t I get?” he asks.

“Do you know what I risk, just being alone with you? You are our crown prince, Jace, there is very little you can do to damage your reputation. If one person gets the wrong impression about us, if we give in to this feeling—” You stop when he moves closer still, his eyes alighting. 

“I would be ruined,” you say. “It wouldn’t matter that you are the prince. I would be tainted goods.” He snarls at the description.

“Y/N,” he starts, but you reach for his hand, stopping him.

“Jace,” you say breathlessly. “I wish there was a way but—”

“What if there was?”

“There’s not.”

“I asked my mother to end my engagement.”

“You what?!” you ask much too loudly, stepping back from him.

“I assumed you’d be pleased,” he says, hurt etched into his features.

“What did she say?”

“She is considering it,” he says. You sigh, leaning against the rocky cave wall. “There are a lot of moving pieces.”

“Of course there are. You and your family just went through so much grief to assure your mother’s claim to the throne. Why risk any of it again?”

“Because I love you,” he says plainly.

“We shouldn’t even be discussing this. We need to forget this; you need to forget me.”

“You act like it is so easy,” he says, approaching you again, “Tell me, have I confused your feelings for my own?”

“No,” you say quietly. “It’s not easy, at all. But what makes it harder is the fact that you keep bringing it up. You keep giving me hope,” you say, meeting his eyes. His are wide and nearly pull you in with the affection you find there.

“But there is hope.”

“Your mother is not going to cut Baela out like that,” you say, “And even if she did, I am no queen.” He looks at you sadly, like he wants to argue.

“You would make a good queen, Y/N,” he says delicately. You scoff. “Don’t you think I’ll be a good king?” he asks.

“Of course I do.”

“Then you know that I wouldn’t make the wrong woman queen.” He moves closer, taking your hands in his. He studies the way your hands fit into his, before speaking. “But even if my mother doesn’t agree, who is to say we have to be married? That we have to fight our feelings?”

“You’re suggesting I become your whore,” you say, face paling as you pull away from him.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says, reaching for your hand. You stay just out of his reach. “You would be taken care of—”

“Think of what you are saying,” you spit, “I would be an outcast. I would be your whore, and Baela your lady wife. Any children I bore you would be bastards. Is that what you want?” you ask. You think there might be tears forming in his eyes.

“Of course not,” he says firmly.

“As much as I wish things could be different, Jace, I just don’t foresee them changing. But you wound me, every time you get my hopes up.”

“You are not the only injured party, Y/N” he says. “What would you have me do?”

“Let me find someone else,” you say quietly. “Let me do what I came here to do and then I’ll be gone.”

“And I’ll just have to watch you with someone else?” he asks in disgust.

“Is that not what you just suggested I do with Baela?” you ask. He groans, gripping the railing along the walkway tightly.

“So, let’s say I agree to let you find someone else.”

“Let me?” you ask incredulously.

“That I stop fighting for you,” he corrects with a roll of his eyes, facing you again. “What if my mother changes her mind?”

“She won’t.”

“What if she does?”

“By then, it won’t matter to you anymore!” you exclaim.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“These feelings will die, if we let them. You’ve had this crush for so long, you think that our story must end with us together, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Y/N,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Let’s just call this what it is – an attraction that we danced around for too long.”

“Do you think me so foolhardy? That I would confuse lust with love?” he asks, taking your face in his hands, so you can’t turn away from him. “I am not that boy you met in the Vale years ago.”

“I know,” you say, putting your hands around his wrists.

“I have laid with women before.”

“Jace.”

“I have even thought I was in love,’ he says. “But never, did I feel anything close to this.” You close your eyes with a sigh, leaning into his palm. His thumb brushes your cheek as he frowns at you. You are speechless. You believe him, want to believe that his hopes can come true, too, but the logical part inside of you is more insistent than your heart.

“I just—” you start, sighing when his face falls. “Jace,” you say smally. He pulls away from you, retreating. “I think we need some time apart, to figure things out.” You are certain there are tears in his eyes now. He bites the inside of his lip and nods.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be,” he says.

“Jace,” you say, “We have to try.”

“Okay,” he says with a shrug. He looks so broken, you don’t want to leave him there, but you know there is nothing you can say right now to make him whole. You slip out the entrance, and it’s not until you get to your chambers that you let your own tears fall.

You are filled with so much anger. Anger at your father for fucking up your life in the first place. Anger at Lord Yorbert for arranging your initial betrothal. Anger that Lord Blacktyde left you so cautious about your next match. And anger that no matter how much you know you need to stay away from Jace, you can’t seem to.

You think you know the reason why, but you aren’t ready to face it yet.

Jace spends most of the day flying. The fresh air and altitude seem to clear his head a little. The moment in the Dragonpit never fully leaves his mind. He wants to do what you ask, because of the pain on your face, the pain he could practically feel himself.

But he loves you and doesn’t want to be apart from you. He thinks he might go see his mother when he lands, plea to her again. He needs advice at least on how to navigate this next bit.

When he gets to the Dragonpit, though, his mother is already waiting for him. He dismounts and moves hurriedly towards her.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, breathlessly.

“There is trouble in the Iron Islands,” she says. “It seems skirmishes have been breaking out since my ascendence.”

“Ser Tyland?”

“He’s there now, fighting for what he claims is Lannister territory.”

“You want me to go lend our assistance?” he asks. She searches his face, a sad smile on her own.

“It will be dangerous.”

“I assume so,” he jokes, making her laugh to herself. “I’ll be careful,” he adds.

“I know you will.”

“I’ll leave tonight,” he says, “There’s just something I need to do first.” She examines his eyes, like she knows what he has to do, but she doesn’t argue. She just nods and leans in to kiss his forehead.

“Thank you, Jace.”

Night has fallen over the keep, and it is improper for him to go to your chambers this late, but he wants to see you before he goes. He must. The hallway is empty, save for one guard posted at your door.

“Your Highness,” he says, standing up straight. Jace knocks on the door and your maid, Brigitta, comes to answer it a full two minutes later. She does not look surprised to see him.

“Your Highness,” she says in greeting, curtseying as the door shuts behind her.

“I need to speak with Y/N,” he says. The color drains from Brigitta’s face.

“I’m sorry, My Prince, Lady Y/N does not wish to see you,” she says, whisper soft. Embarrassment floods his cheeks at the uncomfortable looks the guard and Brigitta give him. He isn’t sure why he is shocked at this answer, you had said that you needed space.

For one horrible second, he thinks about ignoring your request and ordering his way into the room. But he knows that would just make you angry.

“Very well,” he says with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Brigitta says again.

“Don’t be. Can I request a favor?”

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Wolf & The Wildling

Part 2 to The Woman Beyond the Wall, last part.

masterlist

Summary: One year after Cregan’s near death experience with the wildling woman he met, he returns beyond the wall to find and recruit her in hopes of fighting alongside him for Rhaenyra Targaryen at the start of the Dance of Dragons.

cw; smut af come on you know me, really rough cregan, overstimulation, bit of angst but a happy ending :3, talks of SA, childbirth, no use of Y/N but an x reader,

stop not me getting emotional at my own story bc i imagined the end of scott street by PB playing at the ending😭am i a cornball?? anyways, thank you to the anons in my asks for the inspo, i wasn’t even really sure how to continue this story, although i knew i wanted more for cregan and his wildling, you guys gave me the inspiration i needed to give them their ending! tag list: @rebeccawinters

Every day Cregan hadn’t gone back out there felt like another day wasted.

He struggled to do his duties, struggled to sleep, fight, listen, do anything that required attention from him.

And yet despite their rather harsh separation, Cregan still thought of her with every free moment he had. It didn’t help many lords were also insisting the Warden of the North marry a noble daughter. He knew he had to do his duty, but couldn’t find the strength to do it.

It had been so long since he’d seen her that he’d begun to forget his favorite parts about her. It felt as if her strange laugh no longer echoed in his mind, as if he could no longer envision her scarred yet still smoothed skin.

He had the dagger with him always. It was like keeping a piece of her with him. He remembered the pain so vividly, could still feel the throb in his shoulder if he thought about it too hard.

Yet, the ache was nothing compared to the painful thought that always seemed to stay in his mind.

Would he ever see her again?

He couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods had greater plans for them. He prayed that they did.

“My Lord.” A voice interrupted Cregan from his thoughts. He stood, turning to face the person. “A raven has arrived from Dragonstone.”

Cregan took the scroll from the maester, quickly opening it to reveal its contents. It was a letter from Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was sending her son in hopes of gaining the support of the North, and requested Cregan have an audience with her heir, Jacaerys.

He would have to return to the Wall.

He hadn’t returned, much to the dismay of the Nights Watch, since he had nearly died from his wildling’s arrows. Even the thought of going near the Wall made his heart skip a beat. She would be so close, yet so far. He knew he could no longer avoid the wall. His duty to the men there was dire, and he had let his own fears get in the way of that.

As for his lover, he wasn’t even sure she still wanted him. As far as he knew, she hated him; she wanted to put an arrow through his eye, his dagger through his chest. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to see her again. No lady had ever compared to her. He had found his other half, and now felt empty without her.

If he did find her, what would he even do? They were bonded by love, yet separated by more than a Wall.

The separation would soon not matter anymore.

Winter is coming.

———

A fortnight later

Castle Black

Cregan had welcomed the prince to Winterfell, then accompanied him to the Wall.

The young men walked, discussing terms of Cregan’s service.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing. I need my men here.” Cregan says to his prince.

“Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather,” Cregan twitched at the word wildling. “the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. If my mother is to defend her claim to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming, to the whole of the realm my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North.”

Jacaerys trails off, standing against the guard that overlooked the entire outside of the Wall.

“My father brought King Jahaerys and Queen Alyssane to see the wall. His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross… Do you think my ancestors built a 700 foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?”

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan finally looks beyond the Wall for the first time in a year, his mind thinking of her for a brief moment, and then the darkness that lies beyond it. “Death.”

“I have thousands of graybeards who have already seen too many winters. They are… wellhoned. I can ready them to march at once.”

“If your graybeards can fight, the queen will have them.”

“They’ll fight hard.” Cregan says, his mind once again thinking of his love as he says his next words. “Like Northerners.”

Jacaerys senses something; more words that the Warden of the North wished to speak.

“Is there something else you can offer us, My Lord?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan hesitates. “There is a woman…” He looks. beyond the wall again. “She is fierce, deadly with a bow. If I can find her… I can ask her to lead the graybeards into war.”

“Should she accept, my mother will be more than pleased to have her.” Jacaerys asks.

“My Lord!” Cregan turns, “A raven has arrived… Urgent news from Dragstone.”

Cregan looks at the man holding the scroll, who holds a sight of worry on his face. Cregan quickly opens the scroll, reading its contents.

Cregan looks at the prince, and Jacaerys tries reading the man’s stoic features.

All Cregan can do is hand Jacaerys the scroll, and let him read for himself.

———

Another fortnight passed following the news of the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Jacaerys had left the Wall at once to return to Dragonstone, whilst Cregan began to prepare his graybeards to march.

“My Lord, why must you go back beyond the Wall? The graybeards do not need a leader. I do not think it wise to let them be lead by a woman beyond the Wall, let alone the one who killed the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.” His maester tells him, worried of how the people of Winterfell and the men on the Wall will react.

“They will not know she’s a wildling. Tis’ not important information. All they need to know is she will lead them well into battle. I trust you’ll keep this information I’ve shared with you private, Maester Windell.”

“Of course, My Lord. You can count on my discretion, always, but I fear wonder if this journey is for more than a leader.”

Cregan stops his packing, not wanting to share more information than he already has with his maester. “No, maester. I only am going to help the Queen. I will be back shortly, with or without the wildling. Winter is coming, and I will not get lost beyond the Wall.”

The maester didn’t argue, so Cregan made his fortnight journey back to the Wall, and then beyond it.

He felt fear when his horse took its first steps onto the icy tundra outside the Wall’s gate. He feared he would not find her, feared she may have died, feared she would kill him before he got to kiss her one last time.

The late summer snow was not too harsh yet, but Cregan knew he did not have long to find her before Winter came.

He searched for days for her.

He returned to the spot where he first set up camp, finding the bark where he had carved a dire wolf had been completely torn and shredded by a knife.

When he returned to the cave it was dark, and no trace of her had been left behind. It made it feel like the moments they shared in there never happened.

He felt lost. He set up his camp in the cave, but she had not snuck to it during the night like last time. If she had, she truly left no trace. But, he knew he hadn’t felt her yet. She wasn’t there.

2 weeks into the journey, he had dreamt of her.

He dreamt he was a wolf, hunting, when he finally saw her.

She was sleeping, ever so soundly, beneath a bright red weirwood. He growled at her, and she awoke quickly, immediately grabbing and aiming her bow at him.

She gasped quickly, catching her breath as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

She released the arrow into his eye, and he awoke.

He was sweating despite the cold, and the burning feeling in his eye was lingering.

He rubbed it softly, but then directed his attention back to her in the dream. It was really her. She looked different. She looked stronger somehow, and her hair had grown greatly. She had it in a long, thick braid. There were bags under her eyes, like she had been exhausted from something.

He stood and exited the cave. The sun was slowly rising, but there was a blue hue that made the snow on the ground glisten. He closed his eyes, stretched, and yawned when he heard a sound.

It was a familiar sound… the sound of a bow string being pulled tightly.

He lowered his arms from his stretch, and opened his eyes.

There she was.

There she was.

She knelt on one knee, aiming her arrow at his eye. Her eyes burnt with a fire that he’d never seen, her breathing was quick and angry, her lips turned in a sad scowl, she was fueled with adrenaline.

He smiled, laughing softly. He couldn’t believe she was here. She pulled the string tighter at his sweet smile, her heart breaking at seeing him truly here.

He took a hesitant step towards her, but stopped.

A soft whining sound came from her back.

His smile faded.

She lowered her bow slowly, eventually dropping it completely. She had a fabric diagonal across her body. She moved it underneath her arm, and then twisted it around her body.

Her hands gently found and cradled the babe.

Cregan gasped. He couldn’t believe it.

She softly hushed the babe, tracing her fingers over its face. She whispered soft, comforting words to it. The babe made gentle little noises.

“Is that…” His voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at him solemnly. His hand covered his mouth.

“This is your son, Cregan.” She finally spoke. Her voice was smooth and melodic, different from how he heard her last time. He stepped towards her, falling to his knees. His whole body was shaking, and not from the cold.

“Does he have a name?” He asks, holding his arms out, hoping she’d trust him enough to hold his son.

She nervously hands him his child, fearful he might take her little babe, her only piece of Cregan, and never return again.

“No.” She says. “I only birthed him a moon ago.”

Cregan can’t hold it in anymore, and begins sobbing. All of his emotions pent up from the last year pour out. He holds the babe close to his chest, sobbing relentlessly.

He’d missed her so greatly this past year and now seeing her here, alone with this little babe, he’d realized how badly he erred. He wasn’t there to comfort her, hold her, help her. She had suffered it all alone.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs.

She stares at him, her face unwavering. She was so angry. She wanted to kill him so bad, to take back her babe and cut his throat.

But, she couldn’t.

He’d broken her heart in such an unimaginable way. She’d cried over him for weeks, and when her blood hadn’t came she knew the worst had happened. But now he was here, holding their babe and sobbing like a child. She didn’t even know Cregan was capable of such emotions. She didn’t truly know him, and he didn’t truly know her.

Her hand found its way to his broad shoulder to try to comfort him. Her other hand moved to cradle his cheek. He rested his face into her hand, spilling wet tears on her.

“Oh, Cregan.” She whispered, wiping the never ending tears from his cheek. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, hushing him like she did their babe. She wrapped her other arm around him, bringing her warm body against his while still being careful of their infant.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats. “I should not have left you. I should have killed those men and brought you home-“

“Sh, sh, Cregan.” She whispers again. “I’m yours, as you are mine.”

Her words send him back into tears. She presses soft kisses to the tears on his cheek, weaving her fingers in his curls that she desperately missed.

“Where have you been?” He asks, minutes after calming down. “I’ve searched these whole damn woods for you.”

She smiles softly, “You think I don’t know that?” He smiles. “Why did you come back here, Cregan?”

He looks down at their sleeping babe, then back at her. “I’ve wanted to come back every day since I have been apart from you… But, I couldn’t find the strength. I regret it more than anything. I regret leaving you, I regret not coming sooner, I-“

She cuts him off, placing her warm lips onto his. Not breaking the kiss, her hands take the babe from him, setting him aside next to them.

“What are you-“

She slaps him across the face, with such a strong hand that he can’t help but stop and look back at her in total shock. She pulls his lips back into her, confusing him with her back and forth attitude. “If you ever leave me again, I really will put an arrow through your eye.”

He smirks, pulling her back into him with his strength. “Now we’re even.” She whispers.

“We were even when you nearly killed me last year.” He says, she growls at him, but they continue kissing. “I wear these scars with honor.”

She tears into his soft clothes, “Take him inside, and then come back out here and make me yours again.”

He pulls away with haste, grabbing his babe gently and walking back into the cave. She follows, right on his heels. He finds a safe spot for their babe, setting the sleeping child down.

He turns, grabbing her by the neck and kissing her, pushing her backwards out to the cold.

“Be gentle with me.” She whispers into his lips.

“No.” Cregan says, ripping off her furs and throwing them on the ground. She smirks, not wanting him to anyway.

He grabs her by her hair and she shrieks. He pushes her down to her knees, and she sits in the cold snow once again. He unlaces his breeches, and she quickly tugs them down with his soft clothes.

She presses her cold fingers onto his pelvis, and she places gentle kisses along his length. She looks up at him with her big, doe eyes. He pulls her head back by her hair again and she gasps. He pushes himself into her mouth, immediately groaning at her warm tongue. She moans around him, placing her hand at what she can’t fit in her mouth. He grabs both sides of her face, thrusting his hips into her mouth, not realizing his roughness. He had missed her so much, and he was so lost in the pleasure of her mouth.

She gagged repeatedly, her eyes flowing with tears. Her free hand rested on his toned stomach for balance, and she scratched her nails into him from time to time.

He pulled her head back with a pop of her lips, and looked down at the little mess before him. Her cheeks were stained with tears, drool spilling from her lips, her thighs rubbing together to relieve the tension between her legs.

He pushed her back into the snow and got on his knees, placing himself between her legs. He wrapped his hand around her throat again, rubbing his fingers at the wetness between her legs.

“You’ve missed me?” He asks.

“I’ve missed that cock.” She teases.

“Don’t worry. There won’t be much to miss soon.” He presses a harsh kiss to her lips, sliding himself into her. She gasps into his lips, trying to pull away to cry out, but he refuses to let her go. He pulls one of her legs to his chest to give him a deeper angle and she whines into his lips. He starts thrusting, fast and harsh, into her healing cunt. His hand moves from her throat to her breast, now round and large with milk than the last time he’d had her.

“Cregan!” She cries out loudly, finally breaking free from his lips. She throws her head back into ecstasy, her hair becoming wet from the snow. Cregan moans loudly, his thrusts sloppy and quick.

“I’m putting another babe in you.” He moans, forgetting why he was there to retrieve her in the first place.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” She says, slapping him across the face. He looks at her angrily, a wolf awakening inside him. He grabs her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks as he fucks her harshly and angrily.

“I’m gonna cum.” She whines, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Don’t.” He says. She gasps, begging and pleading for her release. He slows his thrust, leaving her in agony. She bucks her hips towards him, but he pushes them down, locking her in place with his strong arm.

“I fucking hate you.” She moans.

“Cum for me then, and we can see if that is how you feel for me after.” His thrusts go back to their fast, sloppy pace, and she moans. Her hands grab his wrist, clawing her nails into his forearm.

She hits her peak and moans his name repeatedly. Her fingers dig into the snow again, the other hand digging into his arm. He growls, not stopping and continuing to thrust.

“Stop it.” She whispers, her body shaking at the sensitivity. Cregan doesn’t listen, only maintaining his harsh pace. He lifts both of her legs to his chest, his length touching her womb. “Please, Cregan, fuck!” She whines, tears spilling from her eyes at the overstimulation.

Her fists hit his chest, and yet he continues. She slaps him across the face, over and over again, and he still continues, his face stoic, desperate for nothing more than to see her writhing beneath him.

She sobs as she cums on him again, slapping and hitting him harshly. Her body is a trembling mess, peaking with pleasure and pain. Finally satisfied, he lets his own peak wash over him, filling her to the brim with his seed again, right against her womb. He rests over her, moaning and biting her neck, despite her nails scratching and drawing blood against his neck.

“Cunt.” She moans into his shoulder, holding him tightly against her shaking body. He pulls out, gently, allowing her to rest before he carries her back into the cave, stepping into the hot spring with her in his arms.

She rests against him, and it’s as if they had never been apart. He looks over at their sleeping babe on the ground, smiling gently. He looks back down at his love, his smile fading.

“There is a war brewing in Westeros.” He finally tells her.

“What for this time?” She asks, drawing little shapes on his chest, not seeming to really care about his answer.

He decides to wait to tell her, instead wanting to enjoy the moment with her.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you… before I left.” He says. She sighs.

“Cregan… Do you wish to know why I killed the Lord Commander?”

He looks down at her, confused. He assumed her only reason was she hated crows. She looks up at him.

“Why?” He asks.

She waits before explaining. “He’d come out there before with some of his men. They often hunted wildlings for fun. They’d tell the men back at the wall it was for a hunting exhibition, but really… They were tired of the women from some place called Mole’s Town.”

Cregan was still confused.

“That was years ago, when I was in a tribe… But, the crows just kept coming back… And our tribe refused to leave, because our ancestors had settled there hundreds of years before.” She pauses, “The Lord Commander always said I was his favorite… I left eventually. Turns out I’m safer alone. That’s when I started killing crows.”

Cregan realized he was gripping her arm too tightly, and loosened his hold. What she said changed everything. Men were coming beyond the Wall to force themselves on wildling women. He wanted to be sick. Cregan’s last words to her before he left… that he would kill her for what she did.

Anger ignited inside him, but there was nothing he could do. The Lord Commander was dead, she got her revenge. But, the thought of that happening to her, the words he spoke before he left her alone. It was too much.

She noticed his tension, and placed her hand on his cheek. “My wolf.” She whispered. He closed his eyes and turned away from her touch.

“I’ve failed you… Again, and again, and again.” He says, tears spilling from his eyes.

She straddles him, forcing him to look at her. “Aye. You have.” He looks at her, not expecting brr bluntness. She wipes his tears. “But you’re still mine, Cregan Stark… and I’m not perfect either.”

He presses a soft kiss to her lips, wrapping his arms around her.

“So, what were you saying about the war?” She asks, resting her head on his shoulder.

“There is a war forming between the dragons. It is growing more and more dire.”

“Dragons?” She asked. “Like in the stories?”

“Aye, my lady. Except these are no stories. The dragons are dancing, and the North must stand ready to fight with the true Queen.”

“Queen?” She asks. “Aren’t you King in the North?”

“No, my love. Starks bent the knee over a century ago.”

She leans back to look at him. “Bend the knee to me.”

“I do every time I stick my cock in you.” She laughs, a sweet and gentle laugh, no longer the chaotic one she used to do.

“You’re different.” He says, a smile on his face.

“I am a mother now. My child has softened my witch heart.” She jests.

Mother. The mother to his child, specifically. He couldn’t ask her to lead the gray beards no longer. She needed to return to Winterfell with him to raise their son. His smile fades and she notices.

“You’re different.” She repeats his words. “Why did you come? Truly?”

“You are a warrior… and the North must stand ready.” He looks at her, his eyes worried.

“You… You want me to fight?” She asks, stepping off him and standing. The water stops at her hips, and he tries hard to keep his attention focused on her face. “Just a moon after I nearly died pushing out your fat little babe?”

“No, no, my lady. I do not want you fighting no longer.” He looks at her, taking her hands in his. “I want you to come home… with me. To Winterfell.”

“My home is the North.” She says, taking her hand away.

“No, no.” He stands, resting his hands on her arms. He looks over at their sleeping son. “He changes everything.”

His son would be considered a bastard, by all traits, but he was his son nonetheless. He would raise him as a Stark… as his heir to Winterfell.

“Home is not a place.” Cregan says. “A home is what you make it… My place may be in Winterfell, but it is not my home if you and my son are not with me.”

She sighs. “I’m no lady, Cregan.”

“I know… and I don’t care.”

“I will not watch you marry a noble while I am your whore that you force to work in your castle and fuck at night.”

“I would never ask that of you.” Cregan says, putting his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. “Starks are honorable men. You will be my wife, and my son will be my heir. I will kill any man who ever dares harm you again.”

She stares at him as he continues. “I needed an excuse to come back out here… If I told them I came out here to get you to lead the Northern army, then it raised less suspicion. But, I care no longer. I only care about you.”

“What if I say no? That I won’t join you?” She asks.

“Then I would accept.” He looks at his son. “All I ask is you let me bring him.”

She looks at their son. Cregan continues. “He will never know a cold night, he will learn to fight among men, he’ll have a full belly every time he goes to sleep, he’ll be respected by all those around him… and if you came, so would you.”

She looks back at Cregan. “He will join you.”

Cregan closes his eyes, her hand resting against his cheeks.

“As will I.” He opens them to look at her again.

“Truly?” She nods. He laughs, breathlessly, pulling her in for a deep hug. His fingers weave into her hair, holding her tightly against his chest.

“I will fight for you as well.” He pulled away to look at her.

“No.” He says. “No, I need you with me at Winterfell.”

“Cregan… A queen! You honor me, choosing me to lead your Northern army.”

“I don’t want you to.” He says. “What of our son? You could be gone for years… You could not return.”

She laughs, “My Lord Stark… You’d be a bloody fool to think any man could kill me.”

“This is hardly a war between men, my girl. This is a war between dragons, and none will ever be so bloody.”

“Cregan… I am of the free folk, which means I will always be free. Being free means I have the choice to fight for you… and for a Queen.”

———

Cregan returned to Winterfell a week later, carrying his babe in his arms on his horse, with a wilding woman behind him.

His maester was bewildered at the sight before him. “My Lord… Who is this babe you carry?”

“Maester, this is my son and this woman here is his mother… and my betrothed. She will be leading the graybeards in the war. Call upon wet nurses and maids to help foster our son while she is gone.”

“A-At once, My Lord.” The maester stumbled over his words, giving the wildling one last look before going to do his task.

Later that night, her and Cregan sat in his chambers. His lover couldn’t help but explore and ask questions about everything in the castle.

“What is this?”

“A pen and paper.”

“What does it do?”

“Well, you tell the maester a message and then he writes it down and gives it to a raven to send off.”

“And this?”

“A tub.”

“What does it do?”

“Bathes you.” It went on like this for hours, but he didn’t care. He was glad to share with her his way of life. Her naiveness at noble life was sweet.

When they cuddled up in his furs in their now shared bed, she laughed with giddiness. “Ask them to bring more.”

“My love, you’re under four bear pelts and the hearth is at full flame, you’re going to get hot.”

“Hot?”

“Warm, my girl. Too warm.”

“I don’t care. This is all so exquisite. You should’ve brought me here much sooner, you know.”

Cregan simply smiled, looking down at their son in his arms. “Did you have any names in mind for him?”

She hums, resting on her elbow to face them. “Cregan is quite a handsome name.”

“We can name give him a Stark name if you like mine.”

“Like what?”

“How about… Benjen Stark.”

“Benjen.” She whispered, sitting up and touching her son’s dark locks. “I love it.”

Her and Cregan locked eyes, staring at each other in silence. “You don’t have to go, my love.”

“I do.” She says, cradling Cregan’s cheek.

“I wish to marry you, make you Lady Stark of Winterfell.”

“I will be your… Lady… when I return.” She says, unsure of the proper term to use.

He laughs, “Wife. You will be my wife. I can have the maester teach you to read and write upon your return.”

“Truly?” She asks. “Like stories?”

“Stories, history, anything my betrothed wishes to read she can.”

“Betrothed?”

“It means we’re to be wed, at some point.”

She presses her forehead to Cregan’s. “I can’t believe I am here.”

“Neither can I, my love.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her lips, and they fell asleep like that, Benjen full and warm in his father’s arms.

Cregan and his love were only able to share a few nights together before it was time for her to march with the graybeards.

“You are strong, my lady. Command these men like you did me, and they’ll follow you anywhere.”

Cregan lifted her onto her horse, and she nervously settled into the saddle. He stepped onto his own, Benjen tightly secured to his chest as the babe was to his mother when Cregan stumbled back upon them.

She took her hand in his, and he pressed a gentle kiss to it. “Come back safe to me, my girl.”

She smirked, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to kill some Southerners.”

“Goodbye, my sweet boy.” She says, touching Benjen’s hair one last time.

“Take care of our son, Cregan.” He nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

“I have a gift for you before you go.”

His master at arms came to him, handing him the freshly made dire wolf crest. He pinned it on her chest, and she looked down, tracing her fingers over the craftsman ship.

“You are a Stark… from this day, until your last day.” He said. She looked at Cregan, pride in her face.

“I’ll make you proud, my Lord Stark.”

He handed her the dagger, the very thing that brought them together. “I know you will.”

With that, she turned and slowly began to leave with her horse.

She turned to look back at them. “By the way, I killed your horse last year.”

Cregan’s smile faded, but then she laughed, and he couldn’t help but laugh too. She turned back around, and he looked down at his son, his beautiful little pup. The babe’s big gray eyes staring back at the ones he inherited from his father.

Cregan rode the opposite direction from her. He turned again to look at her one last time, and she turned to look at him too.

He smiled at her, letting the tears fall. She smiled back. He watched her ride the opposite way, and she watched him as he rode back to Winterfell until they could no longer see each other.

He would miss her greatly, but he knew she would return. This parting would not be forever, for they knew that they were bonded by love, seperated by only distance this time. No wall, no duty, no pain would ever come between them again.

He couldn’t wait for her to get back to them so they could start their life together.

Forever.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

EPILOGUE: SATURN

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ Welcome to your happy ever after. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: implied/brief sexual content wc: 2.9k

“What if they don’t like me?”

“Their opinion of us is pointless, Jon.”

“Are you talking about my friends, or the society as a whole?”

“Saying ‘society’ makes it sound like a cult. But, everyone.”

You sigh fondly at Jon. “Jon, there are, like, hundreds of us. You won’t even get to meet all of them.” Your hands brushes back his curls from his face. His head rests on your chest, looking up at you. “And my friends will like you. I promise.”

“This is scarier than meeting your dad,” he grumbles, closing his eyes at your touch.

It was only recently that Tony asked to meet your special someones. At first, he was quite against the idea of you spending time in the other universe when he had just got you back, but when you explained the situation (vaguely) he reluctantly let you go.

You jumped between universes for a couple of weeks before he finally asked to meet the two. You never thought you’d see Tony Stark give your boyfriends the shovel talk because of you, but you’ve lived through stranger things. To be fair, he only kept up the charade for a moment before leaning back and giving a casual smile.

“I trust [Name]’s judgment,” he had said. “If they see something in you two, then I guess that’s how it is.”

Damian, while having not said much the entire ordeal, had instantly and subtly relaxed at Tony’s words. Jon on the other hand, had obviously brightened up, feeling validated by Tony's acceptance. You remember that moment vividly—the relief and warmth that spread through you as Tony, in his own way, acknowledged and accepted your relationships with Jon and Damian. Not that you really had any doubt he would.

“Just wait till you meet Natasha. That’s the real final boss.” Maybe it was a little mean, but the way he gulped was cute. You turn over to Damian, taking in a moment to admire him. His bare skin glows under the rising sun. He’s on his side, head holding his arm up as he looks at you and Jon. You want to take the blanket covering him and pull it off.

“She’s actually a bit of an assassin. Maybe you’ll bond over that,” you tease.

Damian arches an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes despite his attempt to maintain a stoic demeanor. "Bonding over our own techniques, how charming," he remarks dryly, though there's a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, betraying his amusement.

You chuckle softly, running your hand through Jon’s hair. “If anyone gives you trouble,” you say, referring back to the previous subject. “I'll swoop in and rescue you." You give him a reassuring smile.

“I’m Superboy,” he says haughtily. “And Damian’s Robin. We’re already awesome.”

"Or, you could just be yourselves," you reassured him. "That's all I ever ask."

His expression softens, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss on your lips. "I know, baby," he murmurs, a soft smile spreading across his face. You smile against Jon's lips, feeling a rush of affection for both him and Damian. Damian shifts beside you, breaking the moment as he stretches lazily. You and Jon break apart to google at the way his muscles shift under the blanket.

He gives you both a knowing look, as if he's aware of the effect he has on you. He gives you both a knowing look, as if he's aware of the effect he has on you. "I trust your judgment, [Name]," Damian says quietly, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "And I appreciate your reassurance." He sits up, the blanket pooling around his waist.

You smile, feeling a surge of warmth at Damian's words. His trust means a lot to you, especially given his typically guarded nature. You reach out to gently squeeze his hand before turning back to Jon, who's now grinning mischievously.

He shifts, moving his legs further between yours. Your thighs fall open around his hips, allowing him closer. “Jon,” you chuckle, feeling a familiar spark light up in your stomach. He grins as he tucks his face into your neck, nipping and kissing.

“We have a couple of hours,” he mutters.

“That last time we had a couple of hours, you two broke the bed,” deadpans Damian.

You chuckle softly at Damian's deadpan remark, recalling the somewhat eventful aftermath of your last encounter. Jon lifts his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You should've bought a better one," he protests with a grin, leaning in to kiss Damian.

Damian rolls his eyes good-naturedly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Perhaps this time we should aim for a more durable surface," he suggests, his tone dry yet hinting at a subtle invitation.

You raise an eyebrow at him, a playful challenge in your eyes. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting, Damian Wayne?" Your voice is low, teasing.

“Counter sex?” pipes up Jon excitedly.

Damian inclines his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm merely considering practicalities," he replies, his gaze flickering between you and Jon.

“Counter sex,” confirms Jon to himself, hopping off of the bed and picking you up. Your legs wrap around his waist as he takes you out of the bedroom.

Damian follows suit. “Lay a towel down. We still cook there,” he mutters. “There’s some in the bottom cabinet.”

You raise a brow at him over Jon’s shoulder. Damian smirks slightly, a glint of playful challenge in his eyes. "I'm always prepared," he quips, his tone light but tinged with a hint of suggestion.

Jon laughs, throwing an arm around Damian's shoulders. "He's not kidding," Jon says with a grin, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Damian's cheek.

You shake your head fondly at them, feeling a rush of affection for both of them. "Alright, you two," you say with mock seriousness, "let's not break anything this time, okay?"

Damian raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a grin. "No promises," he replies, his gaze flickering mischievously.

Jon chuckles, leaning in to kiss you again, his touch warm and reassuring. "We'll be good," he murmurs against your lips, his tone playful yet sincere.

As Jon sets you down on the counter (towel under you), you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close for a lingering kiss. Damian joins in, his hands sliding around your waist, his touch both confident and gentle. The moment is charged with anticipation and affection, a comfortable closeness that speaks of trust and shared intimacy.

You hope they don’t leave too many marks.

The expressions on Jon and Damian’s faces mirror the ones they wore when they first saw the portal. Awe and apprehension. You grab their hands and pull them in, letting the swirl of hue pull you in.

Nueva York is as beautiful as it is bountiful in technology. The cityscape sprawls before them, a blend of futuristic marvels and bustling streets. Jon's eyes widen in wonder, while Damian's gaze sharpens, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with a mix of curiosity and caution.

As you lead them through the bustling crowds, Jon leans in closer to you, his excitement palpable. "This place is incredible," he breathes, his eyes darting around to take in every detail.

Damian remains more reserved, his instincts on alert despite his outward calm. "It's... different," he remarks, his tone measured yet intrigued.

Many Spiders spare them a small glance before moving on. Your boys aren’t in their uniform, per your request. A good majority of them will have DC content in their universe, and you figure Jon and Damian will appreciate less attention on them.

“Come along now, my dears,” you tease, pulling them into an elevator. You, of course, take your place upside down, sticking to the ceiling. You watch as their eyes take in the view from the large window. As the elevator ascends, Jon and Damian remain in awe of the breathtaking view of Nueva York, their eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. The blend of futuristic skyscrapers and bustling streets below creates a vibrant tapestry of colors and lights, a stark contrast to the familiar landscapes of their own universe.

“Right here,” you say, hopping down to walk out of the elevator. The doors opens to reveal many Spiders, mingling and lingering about. You guide them down the hall, exchanging some light greetings.

“This is crazy,” breathes Jon.

“This is the lobby,” you smile. You gesture out to the intermingling hallways and walkways, designed for only Spider’s to navigate with efficiency.

“Welcome to Spider-Society,” you sing. The sight of countless Spiders swinging through the air and conversing in their unique way seems to leave Jon momentarily speechless, while Damian's eyes sharpen, cataloging every detail.

As you approach a large, open area, you see a familiar face approaching. Jessica Drew, one of the senior members of Spider-Society, gives you a warm smile and nods to Jon and Damian.

"[Name], good to see you," she says, her voice friendly. "And these must be your guests from the other universe?"

“Hi, Jess,” you smile. “This is Jon,” you point at the smiling boy. “And this is Damian,” you point at the stiff boy. “Jon and Damian, this is Jessica Drew, AKA, Spider-Woman.”

Jon smiles brightly and extends his hand to Jessica. "It's nice to meet you, Jessica," he says warmly.

Damian nods politely, his posture still a bit guarded. "A pleasure," he adds, though his tone is more reserved.

Jessica shakes Jon's hand and nods to Damian. "Welcome to Spider-Society," she says. "We've heard a lot about you two. [Name] speaks very highly of you both."

“Where’s Miguel?” you ask.

Jess rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Brooding in his lair, where else?”

You chuckle at Jessica's remark, shaking your head. "Of course he is," you say with a hint of fondness. "Well, I'd like to give them a small tour before we dive into any serious business."

Jessica nods, a knowing smile on her face. "Take your time. I'll let Miguel know you're here." She gives Jon and Damian one last friendly nod before heading off.

“And that’s where I come in!” chimes LYLA, materializing next to you. Jon jumps slightly at LYLA's sudden appearance, while Damian's eyes narrow in curiosity, studying the holographic AI. LYLA smiles brightly, her avatar flickering slightly.

“This is LYLA,” you smile, watching her wave. “She’s the AI assistant Miguel created. She helps us all out.”

“What is it with you and AI’s?” mutters Jon as you’re led through the containment tunnel.

You shrug. “It’s less of a Spider thing and more of a genius thing.” The self flattery is not subtle. “Though, Spider’s and geniusness are kind of one in the same.”

“And these are…?” prompts Damian, eyeing the holographic cages.

“Anomalies,” you chime. LYLA glitches next to you. “The ones that ended up in the wrong place, like I said before.”

“That’s a straight up rhino,” points out Jon, looking at a straight up rhino.

“That’s like, the third one I’ve seen end up here,” you hum in acknowledgment. You spot a blue avatar humming away near the system. “That’s Margo.” You wave at her. “That’s her avatar. Her body is back at her home dimension.”

“And that’s–” you point at the Go-Home machine, “–the Go-Home machine.”

“Great name,” murmurs Damian, crossing his arms.

You feel the need to clarify. “I didn’t get to vote on it.”

“It detects what universe you're from using your DNA and sends you there,” hums LYLA. Jon and Damian follow you and LYLA through the dimly lit corridor, their curiosity piqued by the unusual surroundings.

“Good luck,” sings LYLA, disappearing from view as you stop in front of a door. It opens revealing Miguel’s little set up. Thankfully, his platform is already on the floor, so you don’t have to sit through it lowering to the ground.

Miguel looks over his shoulder, holographic screens surrounding him. “[Name].”

“Miguel,” you greet, raising an eyebrow at his attempt to remain mysterious. “This is Jon and Damian. The ones I told you about.”

He hums, turning back to the screens. Jon rocks back and forth on his feet awkwardly. Damian narrows his eyes. You sigh.

“He’s still just a little bit pissy about the whole ‘multiverse collapsing’ thing,” you stage whisper.

“The what thing.”

Miguel shakes his head. “I’m not pissy–”

“No, they’re right. You’re pissy,” comes a voice, steadily getting closer. A familiar pink fluffy robe comes into view, a high pitched laugh following.

“Peter!” you greet with a grin.

“Hey, [Name],” he smiles, Mayday in his arms. He turns to Jon and Damian. “Hey, [Name]’s boyfriends.”

“Hey, Spider with a baby,” greets Jon, raising an arm.

“That's Peter, and that’s Peter’s daughter, Mayday.” You point at each person accordingly.

“Nice to meet you, Peter,” Jon says warmly, his smile genuine as he greets Peter and his daughter.

Damian nods politely, his demeanor still reserved but respectful. "Peter," he acknowledges with a nod.

“Oh, you kids are so polite. I hope Mayday grows up to be as nice as you,” he quickly turns his attention to Miguel. “Don’t worry about Miguel, he just looks scary. No bite at all.”

“Peter,” Miguel grumbles as a greeting.

“He’s the only Spider-Man that isn’t funny. We’re supposed to be funny.”

“Well he is funny,” you hum. “Just not on purpose.”

“Anyway,” Peter waves his hands, “Miguel was wrong, the multiverse isn’t gonna collapse–”

“Is anyone gonna tell me what that’s about or–”

“–And we are happy to have you here,” he smiles. Jon and Damian exchange a glance, seemingly trying to process the whirlwind of introductions and banter. Peter looks at you. “The other kids are in the lounge. You know the one.”

“Thanks, Pete,” you nod, grabbing your boys’ hands and leading them out of the room. “Stop brooding, Miguel! It’s not good for your age.”

“I’m not brooding–” The door closes on your way out.

“You know, Miguel actually reminds me of Batman,” you chuckle. Jon smirks at the way Damian’s nose wrinkles at the comparison.

“Are we gonna talk about the whole multiverse collasping thing?”

“Maybe later, sweetie.”

You lead them to a familiar door. Behind it is the lounge you and the other ‘Lings dubbed your own, filled with personal comforts and commodities. The door opens, and you loudly announce your presence. “What’s up, bitches?”

Hobie raises an arm from his place on the couch. Pav drops down from a web-hammock and Gwen and Miles poke their heads out from the mini kitchenette. 

“Ooh, is that who I think it is?” smiles Pav.

“Spiderlings,” you call, motioning to your boyfriends once again today, “Meet my boyfriends.”

Hobie gets up from his position, arranging his lanky limbs to walk over to your group. “These the youngin’s that are givin’ Miguel grays?”

“That’s Hobie. Hobie Brown.” you smile, fist bumping him. “He’s not a hero because calling yourself a hero–”

“–Makes you a self mythologizing narcissistic autocrat,” nods Hobie. “You get it.”

Jon and Damian exchange glances, their expressions a mix of amusement and curiosity. Jon's eyes light up with excitement, while Damian's remain guarded but intrigued.

“Nice to meet you, Hobie,” Jon says, extending his hand.

Hobie gives Jon's hand a firm shake, his grin wide and genuine. “You too, mate. Anyone who can handle [Name] must be somethin' special.”

Damian nods politely, his posture still tense. “Likewise,” he says, his tone measured.

“Hi, new guys!” grins Pav, waving. “Pavitr Prabhakar. Everybody calls me Pav.”

You point. “Gwen Stacy.” She waves. “Miles Morales.” He raises a hand.

“Robin. Superboy,” Miles states, pointing at each of them.

You suck in a breath, looking at your boyfriends. “Yeah, you also exist as comics in his universe.”

Jon chuckles nervously, exchanging a glance with Damian. "This is... surreal," he admits, his voice tinged with both amusement and disbelief.

“Go easy on them,” you warn your friends.

Hobie smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “No promises, [Name]. But we’ll try.”

The lounge is filled with chatter and laughter as your friends and boyfriends exchange stories and get to know each other. The initial awkwardness melts away, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. You watch as Jon and Damian slowly start to relax, their genuine interest and curiosity shining through.

After a while, Gwen gestures towards the large windows overlooking Nueva York. “Come on, let’s show you guys the view. It’s really pretty.”

Jon and Damian follow your group to the windows, their eyes widening in awe as they take in the sprawling cityscape. The blend of futuristic architecture and bustling streets creates a mesmerizing sight.

“It’s like something out of a sci-fi movie,” Jon breathes, his voice filled with wonder.

Damian nods, his gaze sweeping over the city. “It’s... remarkable,” he agrees.

You join them at the windows, slipping your arms around their waists. “I’m glad you like it. There’s so many beautiful universes I want to show you.”

As the sun begins to set, you bid goodbye to your friends. It’s time to go home. Jon and Damian seem to share the sentiment.

The comfort of your shared home invites you in as you settle into bed with your boys. You smile, “Thank you. You both mean a lot to me, and I wanted you to see this part of my life.”

“Thank you for sharing it with us,” mutters Damian, face tucked into your neck.

Jon leans in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. “We love you, [Name].”

“We do,” promises Damian.

You close your eyes, savoring the moment. “I love you both, too.”

notes: hey uh. dont know what to say LOL

thank you to everyone who stopped by and gave this fic a chance, and a special thank you if you've been here since day one! y'all invested fr lol

i know i don't always respond to comments BUT i do see them! and i appreciate everyone who leaves one :D and this goes for all of my works

ok bye!!! see you on the next work!!!!

[inklore]

put on a show

premise: you like people watching you turn into a pitiful mess of need and desire, and hobie likes being the cause and effect of it.

pairing: hobie brown x (f)reader

word count: 2.3k

contents: established relationship, they’re both camstars, badly written british talk probably, unprotected p in v, coming inside, dirty talk, light choking, hobie has tongue and nipple rings because i said so, oh and tattoos, praise.

note: finally putting this out into the world instead of in my head, enjoy, eat it up, and thank my bby sil for sending in this request that made my brain short circuit.

You had seen Hobie first. 

Or rather, that’s the story he insists be told when your friends ask how you two met.

That it was you who was bored after your own stream one night and scrolled through the lives and found him. Stumbled upon him by luck, and your tongue heavy and dry in your mouth when you saw his tattooed chest, body leaning back against a deep purple sofa. The sheer-ish look of the velvet made his body look ethereal with him perched on it—knees spread as his fist lazily stroked himself. 

As if it were nothing. As if the piercings on his face and nipples, his thick hair, and the black studded collar around his neck didn’t make him look like a fallen angel. Like the users commenting on how hot he looked or how beautiful his cock was, it meant nothing over the comments of people cracking jokes with him and making the corner of his lips pull up in a smirk as he held a teasing conversation with them. 

A conversation you would have with a friend. Fully clothed. Maybe around a slice of pizza.

Not completely nude with your hand around your cock. 

And maybe that’s when you first fell in love with him. 

When you stayed for his quick quips and banter with his fans rather than watching him get off.

Of course, until you actually watched him get off. 

Watched the way his bottom lip hung open, brows furrowed, heels digging into the cushions of the couch as his hips bucked up into his fist. As his breath and words became heavier, more incoherent, and harder to understand with his accent, the closer he got. The harder he fucked up into his hand. 

The noise he made when he came, spurts of his come decorating his tattooed skin, was all you needed to see to know Hobie had pushed his way to the top of your—possible—favorite things to get off to list; your fingers typing out the only word you could think of into the chat: beautiful. 

“Looks like we've gotta celebrity in the room with us.” He smirked while reading your username. Thanking his tippers before giving everyone a salute and signing off. 

His words indicated that Hobie had seen you first.

That the story you tell is missing the prelude of it where Hobie tells them how he’d watched your streams before you’d ever watched his. Something he keeps between the two of you when he’s between your legs murmuring against your thighs about how he loved watching the men in your chat section be at your mercy from even a flash of your pretty pussy. 

And while you remember vividly the first time your eyes set on Hobie, it’s harder for you to fully comprehend how the two of you got here. 

Together. 

Streaming together. 

A couple. 

Who fucks for all to see on the internet. 

Strangers begging Hobie to leave his teeth marks in the globes of your ass, and within those same seconds, others are begging you to edge him with your mouth until he’s a swearing, groaning mess. 

You’d never tell your friends the nitty gritty details of it all. A simple “yeah, I found his stream first and the rest is history” is better than “yeah, I found his stream first and now he fucks me into the mattress of our shared bed and turns my ass towards the camera to show everyone his come dripping from my pussy”. 

So you keep it simple if anyone asks.

And give the rest away to strangers. 

To people who want both you and Hobie equally. 

Who send in tip after tip that one would think is the reason the two of you do this. Why you keep coming back and giving them what they want. 

You’d asked Hobie once why he likes to stream, among his other decently paid jobs—modeling, gigs with his band—that he could be doing steadily rather than this. He had told you that some scout manager for some big modeling agency tried to sign him after a show he did. Talked a big game about money and getting him in the clothes of real designers, the ones that mattered, only to end the conversation by saying how ‘his body, his rules’ only worked when you were with an agency that mattered. 

So Hobie, being Hobie, proved him wrong. 

Stuck it to every fake body positive agency out there by putting himself—his full self—on display on the internet, only for sales of the upcoming designers he was modeling for to be trending worldwide before the clock struck midnight. 

It made your reason for streaming a little less proactive. 

“You like it when people watch you make a total mess out of ya self don’t you, love?” He asks, his accent thick and deeper when you have his cock in your mouth like this. With your back splayed across the bed, your head hangs from the edge as Hobie uses your throat. As his hips create a pattern of thrusting slowly, then hard. The slow strokes move the underside of his dick against your tongue in a languid way that makes you moan around him as you savor its weight. The hard strokes burn your throat and make tears stream down into your hairline as spit and precome mix at the sides of your mouth and chin. 

All you can do is nod around him. Eyes blurry and doe like as you look up at him from upside down. See the lopsided grin he’s giving you. See his stomach muscles tighten and move each time he hits deeper in your throat than the last, your throat constricting around him, unwilling to take him any further until he repeats the stroke and it grows accustomed to him being there, welcoming him with a whimper and your hips canting down against the bedspread. 

And he was right. 

You loved people watching you look totally consumed. Fucked out and raw with pleasure and need. 

It was your favorite part of it all—before Hobie.

Watching the chat come alive with praises and degradations, from how you fucked yourself into exhaustion and delirium with a vibrator or the slow grind you would do against your pillow that always turned you into a whimpering mess. 

You wanted people to see you in that weakened state. To be in awe of how badly you wanted to come or be fucked. 

And Hobie loved watching you almost as much as he loved being the one to make you enter that state of delirium with just a swipe of his thumb across your bottom lip or a bite of your nipples. He loved doing the little things that would work you up to the point of your pretty eyes begging him for more—to be rougher, to go faster. 

It’s why the two of you made the perfect team. 

The perfect show. 

He loved someone who was addicted to what he had to give, and you loved everyone watching you take whatever he was willing to give you. 

And you both loved how heady the sight of each other's pleasure made you. How good Hobie looked with his head back between his shoulders, a hard swallow making his throat bob, groans slipping from his wet lips as you sucked on the tip of his cock as he pulled it out of your throat. Your tongue laced with the taste of his precome. 

Hobie's eyes light up as he runs his thumb along your wet bottom lip, leaving a trail of your mixed saliva down your chin and up to your neck, where his fingers splay across the column of it. His rings warm against your heated skin. The involuntary intake of breath your lungs make when he adds the slightest bit of pressure makes his cock twitch. 

Makes him want to fuck your throat with his hands right here so he can feel himself, feel how you fight back your body's survival need to struggle with something being that deep past your tongue. How you ignore it and do the opposite by moaning around him. 

You look messy, dazed, and all his.

As much as he craves to paint your tongue with his come tonight, with one sidelong glance at the screen, he can see that your fans want to see his come somewhere else. Somewhere that’s already wet and making you squirm when he reaches over your body and cups your pussy against his palm. 

Two fingers slip past your lips, making you mewl and squirm as your thighs clamp around his wrist. Your clit swollen and sensitive from his earlier abuse of it; his mouth attached to your pussy, the metal in his mouth aids in the friction of your hips to get him to where you were greedy to have him, and the metal nicking your clit in just the right way to make your back bow. 

“Should we show’em how soaked this pretty pussy is?” He hums against your chest as his pierced tongue runs along the mounds of your boobs before rolling against a nipple. Your body contorting against him; a whine the only answer you can give. Hobie grins against your skin, “thought so.” 

The embarrassment someone might feel to be now on their knees, chest to the bed, ass in the air, and Hobie’s fingers running through their wetness, has long since left your body. Embarrassment didn’t belong in this line of work or in your relationship with him. The two of you were like open books read and reread, pages torn out and dogged eared. He knew your dark parts just as well as you knew his light parts. 

So with the squelch of his fingers fucking into you, your entire bottom half facing the camera and giving everyone the perfect view and show of your arousal, of just how wet you had gotten from Hobie down your throat, makes you moan into the bed. Makes you beg him to fuck you. 

“Has she earned it, do ya think? Should we fuck this desperate pussy?” Hobie laughs at something, something you can’t see or even be jealous of not seeing because you’re too busy pushing back on his fingers. Too busy looking just as desperate as he describes. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” You feel his lips press against one of your cheeks before his teeth bite into the muscle, making you squeal. 

And with one quick movement, you're pulled in the other direction, your ass flush against his pelvis as he thrusts into you. 

The noise you make sounds more like a wounded animal meeting its end than something graphically sexy. But you know they’re eating it up. That Hobie loves it. If the way he starts out at a hardened pace is any indication of the matter. His fingers and rings dig into your hips as he fucks you; he doesn’t even have to pull your hips to him because your body is doing the work for him. Pushing back on him. Meeting him halfway and making his cock drive harder and deeper into your pussy. 

“Sounds so fuckin pretty, doesn’she?” Hobie leans over your ass and presses a few kisses to your spine before reaching up to grip your shoulder. One of his legs bent up at the knee, giving him more leverage as he pounds into you. “She feels fuckin’ amazing, mates.” He groans, “god. The way she grips my cock like her pussy is tryna pull me in further, and further,” his thrusts accentuate his words as his hips snap harder and at a new angle now. Making you sob into the bed. Your fingers are messing up the fabric of Hobie’s comforter. “Such a greedy pussy.” An airy laugh falls against your skin as his mouth bites at your shoulder.

Making your stomach flutter and your body hang at that precipice. 

It only takes a few more strokes and his thumb against your clit and you’re coming. Crying out as your body finally crashes down from that pleasurable high. That need finally being sedated and brought to a place of calming satisfaction. Like a wound being licked clean. Taken care of by the one thing, the one person, who could make the ache bearable. 

“Good girl,” Hobie grunts into your ear. “S’fuckin good,” he says in that deep octave that makes your body swoon. Makes those sparks of arousal hang on longer and longer as he continues to fuck you. As his hips snap and fingers pull you back onto his cock until he’s coming undone. Until curses are mixed with your name and he’s praising you and your pretty pussy for taking him.

And when he turns you around again, your ass back in view of your fans—the people you’re sure are going crazy in the chat right now. Their praises, their jealousy, and their tips all ping ponging through the chat. 

God she’s such a good little slut isn’t she

Fuck you filled her up nice 

Make her choke on it next time 

$100 pounds if you eat it out of her mate 

Ya’ll are amazing!

Your body shudders when you feel Hobie’s fingers run through your sensitive lips, the squelch of his pointer and index pushing into you—the smallest hisses breathed out from your lungs from the sting of your swollen hole—gathering the remnants of his come on his fingers.

“Look at the camera, love.” Hobie says softly, soothes a hand at the back of your neck to give your head a more comfortable position as you move yourself, but keep your ass in the air. He doesn’t even have to tell you to open your mouth for him; no need for silent orders. You just do it. Happily. His fingers press down onto your tongue as you wrap your lips around them and suck off his come.

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

w.count: 2k - he who is the most patient also yearns the most

zhongli met you for the first time when you came to the harbor on a extensive, work-related trip. some sort of negotiation at the port with certain shipment partners and possible trade opportunities. you had come from port ormos in sumeru, so he imagined you would get moving onto inazuma for the same thing before long. as luck would have it, you never made it that far before the nation of electro closed its borders. so, at that point, you were now essentially stuck in land of geo for the foreseeable future.

he had run into you when you were appraising some goods that had come in with a group of merchants ; those specific good were on your list to inspect to see if they would offer anything worth decent mora. perhaps it was fate that when he had passed behind your back, he heard you murmuring something about not knowing enough about a certain vase's story painted it on with aged, chipped paint. zhongli was the walking know-it-all of liyue, so of course without prompting, he flit over to your side and explained what you were looking at for you (after scaring you since you didn't hear him walk up beside you and instead of a proper 'hello' he just jumped straight into the explanation).

from then, he would often see you at the docks. clipboard in hand or a ledger of some sort that you would be reviewing. on the rare occasion, he would just see you strolling around with nothing on your hands so he took it upon himself to occupy the free time you seemed to use by relishing in the sea breeze.

you had been in liyue for over a year when zhongli's heart dropped deep into his stomach. his very core filled with dread as you inform him that since inazuma had finally lifted their restrictions, your work would soon resume as usual. you would soon be relocated to the far-off islands of electro. the tea he had been delightfully sharing with you previously now tasted too bitter on his tongue to continue drinking at the news.

"will you ever return?" his voice was quiet, not nearly as confident and proud as he usually was. it resembled a child asking if their best friend who was due to move away would ever visit them again.

the relationship you grew into with zhongli was special to both of you. he treated you so well and educated you in things you were clueless about. you confided in him and when liyue was at risk of drowning, you were the one who he ran to first when all was settled. you still remember that night so vividly.

you were at the harbor- as usual- but instead of working, you were helping pull stranded milieth out of the sea or helping people getting further inland as the waves violently warned you of doom. when the ocean calmed and the storm clouds that plagued the sky dissipated, you felt a weight off your chest. as you checked around to make sure people were alright, you were quickly snatched away by your wrist. being dragged off to a more secluded corner of the harbor docks behind a stack of, now storm weathered, crates.

zhongli had never understood the phrase 'word vomiting', but what he told you behind those damaged and rain-soaked crates was most definitely so. his gnosis had just been traded, no longer in his possession, and he could finally, finally tell you everything. it definitely wasn't how it was supposed to happen. his whole identity spilled in the span of a several ramble while shakily holding onto your wrists like you'd float off to sea if he didn't anchor you down next to him.

"of course i'll come back." you reassure him. his hand releases it's soft grip around his teacup and lays the back of it on the table like it had given up on keep any sort of grip on anything. you understand his silent offer and place your palm on top of his. "i promise. as soon as my work in inazuma is finished and i get everything completed in sumeru, i'll come and visit you as often as i can."

feeling your pulse on the junction under the heel of your hand, he knew you were being truthful. of course, you hadn't lied to him before so he would believe anything you said regardless of the circumstances; though perhaps that was his own personal bias in a way. you could tell him you were the reason the sun rose every morning and he'd believe you- you shone so brightly in his eyes, so naturally that must be why.

you chuckle from across the table and he looks at your quizzically. you tap your fingers rhythmically across his wrist that's covered in brown fabric. your opposite arm comes to rest its elbow on the table and your palm supports your cheek.

"what me to make a contract just so you feel better?" zhongli blinks before he's craking a smile back towards yours.

"you jest too much."

"do i?"

"it's endearing."

your 'contract' is just sealed as an earnest promise he'd keep in his chest until you come back to him. on the day of your parting, zhongli kisses the back of your hand, your knuckles, and your cheek.

"for safe travels, swift work, and my sincerities," he had justified. you returned his affection with a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"for no reason other than i want to." zhongli kisses your lips for the very same reason before you board your ship that takes you far, far away from him. he doesn't account the time he spent watching your ship sail further away with his hands behind his folded ever so neatly back until it was completely out of sight. he stares at the horizon and almost wishes that it would bring you back.

it doesn't.

it doesn't.

so, zhongli waits.

the lord of geo has been alive for millennia, so the passage of time was something inane to him now. a few years is attuned to that of a blink in the grand scheme of his long, long lifetime. however, those years he spent without you at his side or in his shadow felt like centuries.

mortals squander their time, fleeting at it is, and they know they will never live forever. they will fill it with new things every day because it could be their last- they would never know when their time would come.

"it's been a long year" or month or day; all those phrases zhongli hears and agrees to in mundane conversations- but mostly just so he can identify and align with the masses as an unquestionable human. he never understood those phrases. yesterday was as long as today and will be as long as tomorrow and so forth.

the years you spent gone with only letters sent back and forth between the both of you made him feel closer to morality than anything else before. the days did feel longer. the years felt dragging. the months felt stretched. it felt like time was slowing down, dawdling and twiddling its thumbs while he was stuck suffering in its demanding sluggish waves.

it made him feel human. the terrible impatience for something or someone to come back home. the agony of the wait and the suspense on if it would happen at all. and while he wishes to feel closer to mortal life and connect to his people in such ways- this way- this game of time just made him irritated.

zhongli didn't remember the last time he had felt impatience so thick, but it began gnawing at his insides with the last letter he had received.

'my work has finally concluded, so i'll be coming back to liyue as soon as i send this letter out to you!'

those were your final remarks penned by your hand before it made it into his. when did you send this? a week ago? two? he didn't know. you neglected to date it. every day he goes to the harbor, checking morning, noon and evening to see what ships have sailed in and if you'd be on one. or perhaps you would be coming from sumeru by means of the west by the chasm, coming on foot and would simply waltz into the city.

zhongli didn't know and each day felt longer and longer.

it turns out, the horizon did bring you back to him. it just took it's sweet time in doing so.

out on the harbor once again, a ship was docking, and he saw you before you saw him. the back of your head moving as you help people unload their cargo and help them off the ship before you dismount yourself. it had been years since he had seen you, but he would never forget what you looked like. the features that wouldn't change.

walking- gaiting- down to the harbor's lowest levels was the giddiest he had probably felt in his whole life. antsy. his chest was a mess, it felt like farmers were tilling into his insides. as he stood off to the side of the dock, mindful not to block anyone's path into the harbor. his foot tapping, and hands opening and closing in repetition just for something to do with all his antsy jitters.

you must've spotted him when he was lost in his own mind since it was his name coming from the voice he memorized years ago that turned his head. you were leaning over a stack of crates that you were previously helping unload, waving so enthusiastically he was afraid you'd swing your arm into someone's head.

zhongli is someone who is very aware of affection in public areas with lots of eyes darting around. he was reserved in a way that he feels his affections were best left to the privacy of him and his choice partner. this day was an exception since the moment you were within his reach, you were crashing into his chest, and he was holding you prisoner there.

he could feel your pulse under his hand that held behind your neck to keep your head pushed against his chest. your warmth from the sun that had bathed you the morning voyage back to him. the smell of the sea breeze against your clothes and skin.

it was evident that you had changed over the years- an evitable happen stance he expected. you were only human after all. but you were still the same as he remembered. you were comfortable and warm and safe and here.

when zhongli finally returned some freedom to your range, which wasn't very far since his hands still settled comfortably on your hips, he mapped out exactly how you changed in comparison to his memories with his roaming gaze.

"how long will you be staying?" he asks.

"how long can liyue put up with me?" you answer and you feel his chest rumble in a chuckle under your palms that rest there. "i'm not sure yet. i plan on staying at wangshuu inn for the time though."

"nonsense." zhongli shakes his head and one of his hands leave your hip to brush the back of his knuckle against your cheek down to the corner of your mouth. "my home has more than enough space to accommodate your presence."

"i was going to ask," you pout and feel your face get hotter, but it wasn't because of the sun, "but i didn't want to feel like i was imposing."

"please do. you're more than welcome to 'impose' on me anytime you wish." you give in quickly much to his delight. you hoist your bags up, which he promptly takes from you without so much as breaking a sweat, and offers you his other arm. "we have much to catch up on."

when hu tao hears that you had come back to liyue, she suddenly isn't so upset that zhongli never returned to work that day.

[tedwardremus]

For the compliment drabble game...#46, Hinny!

Thank you for sending a prompt from this list

#46 "I can't imagine my life without you."

(Send me a number and a pairing and I’ll write a drabble)

"You look drunk."

"I feel drunk."

"You should get some sleep."

"Shouldn't I be telling you that? You're the one who gave birth less than a day ago, if you don't remember."

Ginny wrinkled her nose a bit as she stared down at the bundle she was holding. "I remember it vividly, thanks."

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, careful—so very careful he wasn’t sure if he was breathing—not to disturb Ginny and the very new, very small baby she was feeding in her arms.

James.

Harry felt like his head was going to crack open he was smiling so wide. He hadn’t stopped smiling since 5:03 in the morning. He was delirious. If someone were to ask him to conjure a Patronus charm, he felt like it would be brighter than the sun and larger than their house. That’s how unbelievably, extraordinarily happy he was feeling.

The room was dark and quiet. They were the only ones in the house after Molly finally left, stocking the cold cupboard with enough food to last a month at least and fussing over Ginny and the baby. A panic had settled into Harry’s chest when Molly disappeared into the fireplace. A childish urge to run after her and say, wait, we aren’t ready. What are we supposed to do now? What do you mean they just let us have a baby with no supervision?

But then Harry made his way to the bedroom and saw Ginny shining brightly through the dim light of the night, radiantly looking down at their son. The sight filled Harry with endless warmth. It was perfect. For once in his life, this was exactly how things were supposed to be.

Harry felt Ginny nudge him with her foot.

“What are you thinking about with that stupid look on your face?”

“Oh, that I can’t imagine my life without you, I suppose.”

“You talking about me or the baby?”

“Both.” Harry leaned across the bed and gave Ginny a tender kiss before running a finger lightly across James's soft baby head. “Definitely both.”

[stvrni0lo]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

matt sturniolo x reader (fluff)

summary: everybody knows that they like each other, so matt decides to finally do something about it

warnings/notes: kissing? one use of Y/N, pining (sort of), happy ending

requested?: yes! number 19 “c’mere…” and number 29 “them being in denial but everyone else knows they are in love” from my dialogue and actions prompt list

also requested by others ↴

- matt and the reader being really good friends who clearly have feelings for each other and are always flirty towards each other, and after he goes on tour he realizes how much he needs her and just kisses her once hes back

- friends to lovers with Matt where they share secret kisses and affection and when his brothers ask whats going on he just realizes he needs to confess to her? :)

> > >

It’s always been painfully obvious how much you and Matt liked each other. Chris and Nick knew it, Madi and Nate knew it - hell, even the viewers could tell there was something more to your friendship than meets the eye.

The more you two hung out, the more the tension grew. It got to the point where Nick and Chris had began avoiding being alone with you two - unless the other was there to prevent them from being a third wheel. All of this was so evident to everybody. Everybody except, of course, you and Matt.

The triplets were on tour for the past few weeks.

Matt had been face-timing you pretty much any time he could - he would tell you about his day, you’d tell him about yours and remind him just how much you missed him, to which he would reply “I miss you too. I’ll be back soon”.

Almost every single call ended with an “I love you”.

Chris and Nick would just look at each other and shake their heads. Your obliviousness was cute, but becoming increasingly annoying to both of them.

How could you guys not realize that you liked each other?

Matt hung up another call from you, setting it down with a giddy smile on his face. He made eye contact with his brothers, only to blush immediately upon seeing their faces. They knew. Of course they did - everybody did.

“What?” he asked.

Chris just raised his eyebrow at him as if to say ‘seriously?’

“You both are so stupid,” said Nick before turning around and entering the hotel bathroom to shower.

This only made Matt’s face grow hotter as he looked at his younger brother for an explanation. Chris only shook his head as he looked at the ceiling for a moment.

He came up and patted Matt on the shoulder, giving him a pitiful look. “You gotta tell her, dude.”

And in that moment, Matt knew he was right.

It felt like everything in him just clicked. Like all the hidden, longing glances he’d send your way, and the small kisses of adoration he’d place on your forehead - finally made sense. He wondered how he held off for this long. Maybe he enjoyed having you to himself, keeping your secret and private conversations about the future close to his heart. They felt special - you were special to him.

But it was high time that he told you that instead of keeping it behind closed doors where only your tired, sleepy ears would hear. Where you would forget his declaration of love come morning. He needed you tell you, to make you hear it, to make you remember.

Matt fell asleep with a jumble of anxiety and excitement - or maybe they were the same thing.

That night, he dreamt of you.

- - -

He remembered it so vividly. It was practically engraved in his head forever.

You were sitting on the docks, staring out onto the water. Your skin glowed beautifully in the sun, your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the water. Something about the afternoon sun complemented you so perfectly.

He recalled wanting to stare at you forever.

“What’s going on up there?” your gentle voice called.

He appeared beside you then, sitting right by you, his shoulder brushing yours. Everything in your body was yelling at you to scoot closer, to press your arm against his. And so you did.

Matt could sometimes still feel your fingertips brushing his hair out of his eyes, even to this day. He could never get enough of how soft you were around him - how much fragility you treated him with. It was almost as if he was special; and to you, he was.

“Just thinking…” he replied, his words trailing off as he looked down at your hands. Your hands which were dangerously close to his.

His finger twitched needily, their desire to entwine with yours becoming unbearable.

“About?”

Your smile was infectious, and he could’ve help but join in soon after.

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular,” he responded.

Yet you both knew. You knew there was something in the air that day - something electric; intoxicating. He wanted to be closer to you, not that it was possible. Your elbows were glued together, and your eyes never left each other’s for even one second. Somehow, he still wanted more. He wanted you to be his, and him yours.

But he never got the chance to say it then.

- - -

Yawning, you checked the time on your phone. 11AM. Usually you would call Matt in the mornings. He would tell you how cute you looked all sleepy and grumpy, and you’d tell him to shut up before brushing your teeth together on face-time.

Today though, he didn’t answer.

You tried to suppress your disappointment as you brushed your teeth alone, the sound of the water being the only thing to keep your mind occupied.

Matt was always a constant in your life. No matter the time or day, he was there with open arms, beckoning you to him. There was never a moment where you were alone - both figuratively and literally.

He was your home. Only yours.

Some days you would use your spare key to get into the triplet’s apartment just so you could sleep in Matt’s bed, enveloped in his scent.

It’s not like it was the first time you’ve slept there. You and him shared a bed many times.

Today was one of those days. Walking out of Matt’s bathroom, your teeth feeling fresh, you began to make your way to his room.

You smiled as you were reminded of a vivid memory with him.

- - -

It was a week before he was set to go on tour. You were sitting at the edge of his bed, waiting for him to show you the new clothes he bought.

Kicking your legs back and forth, you playfully groaned at him to hurry up. His laugh reverberated throughout your chest, traveling from the bathroom straight into your soul, your heart clenching at the sound.

You could listen to it forever.

“Alright, alright. Whatd’ya think?” he said as he emerged from behind the closed door.

Your eyes dropped to his arms and chest, admiring his new sweater. The clothing hugged his body perfectly, engulfing him in what looked to be a really comfortable fabric.

Admiring how well the color matched his eyes, you almost didn’t notice his hand waving in your face.

“Hello? Anybody home?” he joked.

Eyes meeting his once again, you smiled. Somewhere in between there though, your gaze managed to fall on his lips for a split moment - a split moment that he did not miss.

Matt swallowed harshly, suddenly feeling self-conscious under your stare. To you, he looked like the most handsome thing in the world. The way his hair fell in front of his eyes, obscuring his view - the way his fingers twiddled with the sleeve of his new jumper - everything. It made him look all the more beautiful to you.

“You look pretty,” you said, eyes never leaving his.

He blushed before mumbling a quick thank you - making sure to add in the fact that he wasn’t pretty; he was a boy.

But in your eyes, he was the prettiest.

- - -

Your trip down memory lane was interrupted by the sound of keys jingling. The boys weren’t supposed to be home for another 2 days.

The thought made you worry. Had something happened? Was there an emergency? All of a sudden all you could think of was Matt. Had he gotten hurt?

Rushing down the hallway, you were met with a pair of frightened blue eyes. He hadn’t expected you to be here. He wanted to mentally prepare before he came to see you - but apparently he had no choice. This was happening now.

Your heart stopped in it’s tracks, breath hitching at the sight of him. He was absolutely breathtaking.

“Matt?” you breathed out.

Seeing him in the flesh made your head feel fuzzy. You hadn’t seen him in weeks - to be honest, it felt more like forever. You almost forgot how nervous he made you, how your legs turned to jelly around him - how your stomach erupted in butterflies every time he gave you that signature smirk.

You knew you missed him, but it surprised you just how much.

Noticing that his cheeks were dusted a rosy pink, you presumed it was from the heat - or perhaps from the tension in the room.

Matt dropped his bags onto the floor, his keys clashing down straight after. Footsteps advancing towards you, he began to make his way to you, a newfound confidence coursing through his veins.

Before you had a chance to speak, his hands were on either side of your face, pulling you in. It felt like he was a magnet, and you were a piece of metal being drawn to him.

Lips meeting in a flurry of desperation, you sighed in relief.

It’s as if him kissing you made you realize that he was real; and that he came home to you.

You ignored the scratch of his stubble as your hands flew to the back of his neck, the other one burying itself in his brown curls. This was better than you could’ve ever imagined.

Matt pulled away first, his breathing uneven and quick. His hands remained on your cheeks, thumb rubbing across your jaw momentarily.

Your eyes were still closed, relishing in the excitement of the moment.

Once you opened them, you were met with a dopey smile and an adorably blushed face.

“That was-“ you said, taking a breath.

“Yeah,” Matt finished, resting his forehead onto yours. His breathing was still rapid, but it was calming down, as well as his racing heart.

Your hands gently tugged his palms away from your face, holding them in yours instead. His wish came true as he finally laced your fingers with his. He felt like he could explode right about now.

Matt lifted his head so that he could look at you.

“Where did that come from?” you said as you giggled.

Matt simply smiled at you. “It was a long time coming. I should’ve done it sooner.”

It felt like you two stood there for hours, just longingly gazing at each other. Matt bit his lip in thought, his eyebrows creasing.

“Y/N?” he said.

You hummed in response, your eyes drooping at how content you felt.

“I love you.”

He had said it before, of course - but this time, you knew what he really meant. All the emotions he had been bottling up came flowing out with every syllable that left his mouth. You could see it in the way his brows were knitted together, in the way his hands squeezed yours, rubbing circles into your skin shamelessly.

“I know,” you said. “I love you too.”

You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck before pulling him in. This was all you had wanted for the past two weeks. Just him.

“C’mere,” you said, hugging him tightly.

His arms found refuge around your waist, tugging you unimaginably closer. He breathed in your scent, finally feeling at home. God, he was hopeless.

Fingers wrapping around your waist and hips, he practically squeezed the life out of you as he held you to him. He never wanted to let go, and he was starting to think that maybe he wouldn’t.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against the crook of your neck. His voice was muffled, but you could still make it out.

“I missed you too.”

At last, he got what he wanted. He was yours, and you were his.

- - -

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@lollibumblebee

@dwntwn-strnlo

@gracietaylorsversions

@20nugs

@thetriplets3

@sunshinewwx

@gwenlore

@gabbylovesreading

@ssturniolo

@opheliaofficial07

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

kinda part 2 of the suicidal yuu thing, uhhhh that is a request?? kinda??? i really want to here your thoughts about it and one of the reasons why i sent it to you is because i think you have something amazing to add. (also because i love sad yuu)

Missing Yuu

How they mourn over the loss of their best friend— I kinda inspired/off topic sorry

TWs: GN Yuu. Mostly platonic Some have romantic subtexts like pining and such. In Vils, Jamils, and Idia’s it is implied more explicitly that Yuu took their own life. There are references to songs and movies from Yuus world, specifically Ponyo Time/Space +Mary by Alex G and BaBopByeYa by Janelle Monae. Game refernced but theyre listed in Idias section. (Also for any nerds ik that isnt how MKW’s ghost data works but shhh imagine the angst,

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul thought he was done mourning. It’s been years since you died, he actually remembers that entire month vividly to this day. How he was in his office, sorting through some papers and awaiting his tea from Jade. It took longer than expected. He would surely accept this from Floyd, but Jade of all mer? Disgruntledly, Azul gets off and goes out to look for the eel. He was only a few steps out of his office when he hears some faint sobbing. Oh dear, that's not good for business…

“Yer lying!” Floyd sobs as Jade holds onto his brother with a particularly grim expression, everyone in the lounge gone silent, each patron not daring to disturb the conversation unfolding out of pity. “Floyd, there is no reason to be mad at Deuce, he’s only the messenger.” “What’s going on here?” Azul asked sternly, getting ready to shoo out the Heartslabyul member. “Ah, there you are Azul.” The spade said, with defeat in his voice.

Nothing Deuce said registered in his head the minute he heard ‘Yuu is dead’. The words strung together were incomprehensible to him. Yuu? Gone? As if! That little prefect was always in everyone’s business! They went up against blots for the sevens sake! They couldn't be dead! But as Deuce continued to speak, the reality started to set in as they handed Azul a small box. “They wanted you to have this.”

The Lounge was closed for a few weeks afterward, the entire school seemed to be in shock. That entire month he couldn't even think right, his mind seemingly blocking out the existence of the prefect he grew to adore. It was only when he saw the twins mourning in their own ways, did it remind him. How Floyd would always keep the handmade eel plush Yuu made on his person, keeping it in the best condition possible despite his messy personality. Jade had a new accessory on his person as well, a small bag shaped like a Fly Agaric mushroom, it went with him everywhere even if it wasn't the most practical. In the gardens, Azul found himself wandering over to your small plot, where you kept your own crops, sitting next to Jade as he continued to care for your plants after your passing.

It was because of you, did he and the tweels he worked alongside closely become friends after all these years. A few years ago he couldn't even imagine seeing them as such, they were merely business partners, a means to an end. Yet now the three of them actually hang out or just… talk.

When he is alone at night does his mind wander as he opens the beat-up box to look at his own gift, memories flooding in from the device in hand…

You were in the VIP room, he doesn’t even remember why, when he heard you reference a few movies from your world. “It was good I ended up being summoned with some of my things, I honestly don't know what I’d do without anything from my world, especially my comfort shows.” They mentioned offhand, chopping it up with Floyd.

“Though we don't have mermaids in my world, we do have a lot of TV shows about them. I wonder how they hold up here?” Azul continued to scribble on his papers as he eavesdropped. “Oh, I know! What if we have a sleepover and binge-watch some of them, maybe you guys can rate how accurate or offensive they are!” Floyd practically squealed with glee at the idea, and he knew he had no choice in the matter.

It was the end of senior year now, and he was packing his things to head to his home in the Coral Sea. He also never thought he would go back there too, but he supposed spending some time with his family should do some good. As he packed everything out of his safe, he examined the box that he was given on that fateful day, old and torn up, and he opened it up again.

An alien laptop attached to a projector was inside. On a piece of paper were the password and log in. It was also ironically one of his best projects to demonstrate his magic comprehension. One of his finals was to prove he knew how to do a proper protection spell, and what better to protect than one of his most prized possessions, more valuable than the coins he loved to collect?

Azul remembers the praise he was given by one of the professors that visited NRC. The spell was one of the most powerful he’s ever seen! Not even a fingerprint could be left on the thing, and it was completely waterproof as well! But what was he wasn't expecting to be praised for was the device itself. “Now did you make this thing, Mr.Ashengrotto? I must say it is quite impressive! I have never seen this sort of technology before!”

The mage was blindsided by the praise, not even knowing how to react. He wanted to stop the professor, correct him, say that his friend was the one who made it, but the words seemed to die on his tongue. If he talks about you right now, he would cry, and if he cries that means you mattered to him, and he still doesn’t know how to feel about that. He didn’t even call you his friend when you were alive, calling such a term now seemed unfair. And yet you were. You are arguably the first friend he ever had. The first friend the trio even had, and he didn't even have the courage to consider you one until you died.

Azul held onto the box as he and his friends pass through the mirror, promising to all meetup and hang out again soon as they made their way home. His mother was the first to greet him in a tight hug as she rambled on about how much she missed him and how proud she was of him, how she made his favorite, and how she can't wait to celebrate his graduation. His grandmother greeted him from the kitchen as he and his stepfather carried in the few boxes he took with him back to his room.

His mother soon came in to help him unpack, and she stumbled across the old torn box from earlier. Azul didn't even realize she opened it until he heard it open and a familiar tune played.

Ponyo, Ponyo, Ponyo, Little fishie in the sea~

Tiny little fishie, who could you really be?~

Ponyo, Ponyo, Ponyo, magic sets you free~

“Ahahaha! Is this some sort of kid's show, shrimpy?” “Hey! Ponyo is for all ages, firstly! Secondly, it's my favorite movie and it's mermaid themed!” The prefect defended themselves from Floyd's teasing. Azul chuckled in agreement with Floyd's words as he made himself comfortable on the couch with Jade. “Well so far there is nothing offensive in this movie, however, I do find it offensive that you see us as children, Yuu.”

“I don’t! Im just trying to show you my favorite movie first!” Yuu bit back at Jade's snark as the tune plays, the prefect messing with the computer and the projector attached to it to project it onto the white curtains of their dorm. Azul never expected to even care about some stupid kid's movie, yet as it drew out he was completely invested. The brightly colored film even manages to keep Floyd enraptured until the end. Jade commented on how much of a delight it was.

They continued into the night, watching show after show, some corny, some fun. “This is far from accurate!” Azul huffs, “People actually watch this where you're from?” “H2O Just Add Water was a big deal for a while actually!” “I’m curious prefect, is this how you thought mers were?” Jade teased, leading to another mini-argument.

“Haha! Imagine if we actually turned into mermaids if we touch water though! That would be funny~” Floyd chuckled, reaching onto the table filled with food and snacks and shoving a handful of candy into his mouth. The atmosphere was lively, and the night was perfect, he had never been so relaxed before, especially around his dormmates, it felt almost domestic in a way— was this what it was like to have friends?

The very next day it was back to normal, but that stupid little movie kept playing in his mind. He would rather die than admit it was his new favorite movie, however, but it seems Yuu always knew. Their gift proved that.

Azul seemed to freeze in place as the sound from the laptop continued. “Son?” His stepfather asked as he watch the mer shake. He thought he was done mourning. A sudden sob of anguish escaped his throat as he nearly screamed, years of guilt and sadness coming out all at once. Azul sobbed into his parent's arms, choking back sobs as he apologized, stuttering out gibberish as he inked. He never told them about you, he never even told him about his overblot, but tonight, he will, you would have wanted him to heal.

Ponyo, Ponyo, Ponyo, Little fishie in the sea~

Tiny little fishie, who could you really be?~

Ponyo, Ponyo, Ponyo, magic sets you free~

Oh pretty fishie, will you swim back to me?~

Jamil Viper

His parents never gave him the time to mourn, even when Kalim told them it was okay. “You need to watch over him!” His mother scolded. “He is our employer's son! If anything happens to him—“ Jamil blanked out at the rest, his mind immediately shutting when he was getting yelled at for the sin of grief. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he would have probably yelled at them. Actually, he wished he did, it’s what you would have wanted for him.

Jamil never expected to be so close to you of all people, and he especially never expected you to understand him. But, you did. In fact, you stood up for him. He remembers how you would often distract Kalim for his sake, allowing him to get some much-needed rest from being at his beck and call 24/7. You helped him with his chores as well. He doesn’t even remember when you officially became his friend, it just felt so natural.

Finally, after all of these years, he had someone that cared about him, that listened to him, that understood him. He could never confide in anyone until you came around. He remembers vividly talking about his parents off-hand while you were in his room. He didn’t mean to vent about them, you just asked how they were doing since they sent him a letter and it all came out.

They barely even wrote to him, they only asked about Kalim, it's like he doesn't even exist! They don’t do this to Namja, not that they should, he loves his sister, but it is just so… frustrating. It’s just like he's just an extension of someone else!

He didn’t even realize he was crying until you put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m… I’m sorry.” Jamil whispered. “Don’t be.” You smiled at him, a warm, genuine understanding smile. You didn’t speak as he vented, and you didn’t try to offer solutions or pity, you just listened and validated him, the very first and only person who has ever done that. The topic soon changed to music, he thinks it's because you brought up some of the headphones he had in his room, and you both exchanged your opinions on the subject.

“The music here is so similar yet so different from my world, it's good don't get me wrong, it's just… strange.” “What is the music from your world like?” He asked as you swung your legs on the edge of your bed. “Uhh, what's genre you like? I’ll try to find something similar on here.” You held up your phone as Jamil started describing music he listened to.

After a moment, a song played from your phone. Beautifully unique instrumental unlike anything he's ever heard started playing. He started to understand what you mean by similar but different. The singer began to vocalize, but the words were utterly incomprehensible, the language unlike anything he has heard.

“Oh right, I forgot, language barrier, different dimensions, hold on!” The student took off the enchanted necklace given to them at the beginning of the year and handed it to him. Jamil hesitantly took it, clasping it around his neck. The minute it clasped around him, the lyrics suddenly started making sense.

I hear echoes of your laughter

In the corners of my mind

As I memorize each detail of your intricate design

In your hair, there is symphony

Your lips, a string quartet

They tell stories of the neon valley street where we first met

Now somewhere time pursues us

As we love in technicolor

But I dwell in silence of your words that move me like none other

This time I shall be unafraid

And violence will not move me

This time we will relax

This time we will stay in our movie

“Woah…” Jamil whispers. “I know trippy right?” You asked the interdimensional gibberish from their lips suddenly making sense. “Hearing you speak my language sounds so surreal, it suits you though!” You smile. “Oh if you like this song, I know another one you're gonna love!”

You were such a great friend, you still did everything you could for him despite your own situation, so he reciprocated. You couldn’t eat today because Crowley had you run all his errands? Good thing he made an extra lunch today, for no reason of course. No time to study because of that overblot that happened? Oh no, it sure would be a shame if his old graded assignments with the correct answers written on them got mixed up in your stuff.

He didn’t explicitly state his intentions, it would take him a while for him to truly open up and say what he meant because of his upbringing, but you didn't care. You understood. And he was here for you the same way you were there for him. When you complained about your master's most recent demands, he was there to listen the same you did when he complained about his.

He was devastated when he heard the news of your death. If it wasn’t for years of keeping his composure, he would have fallen apart then and there. He felt sick, the earth was suddenly spinning around him. Everything Crowley announced after was a blur, Jamil didn’t even realize Crowley was talking to him until he said his name for the third time. A small box was held out to him, note attached to it in Yuu’s handwriting.

Jamil took the box and continued to stare off into space until the announcements came to a close. Kalim was inconsolable as they walked back to the dorm. Kalim wiped his tears holding onto his own box, and both wordlessly went into their rooms, needing time for themselves. The minute the door shut behind him, Jamil let out a cry of pure agony, collapsing onto his bed as he wept.

For the next few weeks, Kalim tried his best to not rely on Jamil, even ordering him to take a vacation though he didn't have the power to do so, it was ultimately up to his family. Still, Jamil appreciated the sentiment. Kalim would try to cook for himself and do his own makeup, even if it wasn't the best. It was ironic that even in death you continued to help with Kalim, your death making Kalim more independent, and mending their relationship by proxy

Jamil hadn’t opened the box yet, nor read the note. He hasn't had the courage to, but tonight was different. He opened the small box, peering at the device inside. It was an MP3 player of sorts, he assumed, along with a pair of high-quality earbuds. His eyes watered too much to read the note properly, but he did see the password to the device. Pulling out the device, he noticed that the necklace Yuu used was also in the box.

Jamil clipped the necklace onto himself and entered the password. He placed the earbuds into his ears and swiped through the device. He paused as he saw the albums you created for yourself with all sorts of names. Study Playlist, Rock, Love Songs and Pining, and one simply titled For Jamil.

He shakily tapped on it. More tears rolled down his cheeks as he scrolled through all of the songs you put in it, all of them songs of genres or vibes you thought he would have loved. It would be too much to listen to it right now. He tapped back to the list of albums and kept scrolling though, abruptly stopping at one album.

This Time I’m Really Gonna Do It, it was titled. He tapped on it and immediately started the playlist. Most songs were about loneliness, homesickness, derealization, self-harm. Jamil sat, hunched over, laser-focused on the lyrics of each song.

Mary is the one that leaves you to rot.

She says I am real and you are not.

She says

I am real

And you are not…

Jamil began to sob again as he listened as it all sunk in for him. You were gone, and for the entire time you were here, this is how you felt. You were always there for him. You always comforted him. And he couldn’t do the same for you. If he was just there a little more, if he just truly asked and truly listened would you still be here? If he asked about your family and your home, would you have been able to find it easier here? If he were more honest…. As he sobbed another song started playing, lyrics resonating deep within him as it played.

Hold on tight to this time this place,

Cause everything you know will be erased.

You were born inside your head.

And that is where you’ll go when you are dead.

Vil Shoenheit

When he received the news of your passing, he decided to take a break from the spotlight, announcing his hiatus to his manager and his social media. He was less strict in ruling dorm, and much more forgiving of Epel's outburst of rage, knowing that he was mourning in his own way. Rook was a blessing with how much he understood and stepped up to give Vil a break, an unspoken thank you between the two of them.

Vil kept you in his mind while doing everything for a while. Even as he applied his skincare he found his mind explaining it to himself as if it was his first time. He imagined explaining the process to the overworked prefect who seemed to never have enough time to care for their skin, or afford it. “Now exfoliate gently in circles like so,” his mind would say, and he would close his eyes and pretend he was doing it to you. He never even got the chance to gift you the cleanser he made for you.

As he prepares his salads, he finds himself making an extra one on the side. He remembers how you would occasionally complain about skipping meals because of Crowley, and he would imagine that if you were still here, he would have given the meal to you while lightly scolding you.

When he applies his makeup, he experiments slightly in the way you would. You seldom wore makeup with how busy your schedule was. The few times he saw you with it, he remembered you mentioning that one of your friends did it for you. If you were given the materials and time, how would you have applied it? Would you use a brush or sponge for your foundation? Perhaps your eyeliner would follow the trends from your world?

As he led his club, he remembered what you would mention about the shows from your world and how you viewed magic from an Outlander's perspective. He found himself looking at some of the graphic novels and manga from your world that you lent him before you passed. You said they were made into movies, some good but most bad. As he flipped the pages he saw the sticky notes you wrote on each one, translating the foreign language for him. Your handwriting was comforting.

He wondered which one of these were your favorite as he read, admiring the storylines. How did movies work where you were from? Did you miss them? This comics would make for a good one, maybe he can direct one based on them…

Vil didn’t want to use social media, but he opened it up to go and find yours. Going onto some of the freshman’s socials, he found you in their followers. You were a private account, and he couldn’t see any of your posts. He mindlessly requested a follow, not expecting to be let in immediately— you must have already been following him, and he couldn't help but go through your entire account.

You didn’t follow a lot of people, and only your friends along with a few bots followed you. Most of the posts were of photos around NRC or of friends along with some inside jokes. Some posts consisted of memes or images that weren’t like anything of that of his world, captions talking about how much you miss home. The horrible realization of you being an Outlander seemed to sink in even more at the caption. No one here truly knew you, you had very few to remember you. Your family will never even know what happened to you, that you died. Vil shut off his phone, regretting his decision to reopen Magicam.

The Dormleader even found himself eating a bit unhealthily, in moderation of course. He remembered how you would practically shove everything down your throat before having to go off and do your next task without any etiquette whatsoever. He even remembers Epel saving up to buy junk food and sweets to give to you as gifts. Apparently, you couldn't afford them or had nothing like them in your world. He even remembers the captions of you complaining of only eating one thing all day and such.

He requested Epel to tell him some of your favorite desserts you enjoyed or the ones he planned on getting for you, perhaps he could understand you more if he ate them, or perhaps consume them for you since you never got the opportunity to enjoy them. Epel had no use for his gifts anymore, so he shoved most of them into the communal fridge.

In one of his runs, Vil noticed that the freshman’s mood seemed to sour more as his phone continued to ping. “Epel. Your phone. Either turn it on silent or respond.” Vil reprimanded. “Ugh, I can't! They keep finding me on everythin’! Even harrasin’ my folks at home!” Vils brows knitted together, “What are you talking about?”

“Ever since you followed Yuu or something like that I’ve been getting a buncha DMs and stuff asking if I knew anything about you or who Yuu is to you, seriously it’s driving me insane! It's happening to Ace and the others too! Assholes doxxed me and even got my number so I can't just block em.” Epel wiped away a tear that threatened to fall. “Can't even be left alone to mourn…”

“Let me see them.” Vil opened Epel's social phone, seeing notification after notification pop up. Opening his social media, he saw that even with the restricted access and privating of his account, almost all of the comments were about him.

>Hey! Hey! Hey! Do you know Vil???

>Please DM me for an interview!

>Hello there Mr.Epel, do you know a person named Yuu?

>Do you know who Yuu is to Vil??? Are they like together or something???

The sight made Vil feel sick as he turned off the phone and handed it back to Epel. “I’ll take care of this Epel, I’m sorry you have to put up with this.” Vil knew making a simple announcement wouldn’t be enough. He sighs as he sends a message to his manager, requesting her to get him an interview.

***

Vil sits up straight on the seat across from the interviewer, going over introductions and greetings as the camera rolls, broadcasting everything live. The interview goes smoothly. Vil already has his answers to simple questions about his career memorized. “So, Vil, I’m sure you are aware of the recent news going on about who you followed.” Vil nods, throat suddenly going dry. “Yes, I didn’t know that it would blow up if I’m being honest.”

The interviewer laughs for a moment. “So who’s this ‘Yuu’ person now? It’s not every day you follow a private personal account, they anyone special?” Yes, yes they are Vil thinks. Vil takes a deep breath. “I actually want to address the recent drama regarding them,” Vil pauses to hold back a stutter, it was strange, why was he being so emotional now of all times?

“Yuu is…” There were so many ways to describe them, but nothing came out. “They are no longer with us. They have passed away recently and…” Vil wiped away tears forming in his eyes. “I want to ask everyone to please stop harassing everyone, they are all— we are all mourning their loss and…” Vil suddenly chokes back a sob, and the weight of it all suddenly starts to sink as grief envelops him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m going to have to stop this interview here, I need… I need some time for myself…”

Vil stands up and goes off-screen, covering his mouth with his fist as he walks off. On the car ride back to NRC he hesitantly turns on his phone, looking at the notifications that pop up. Opening his Magicam, he looks through some of his comments, most of which are now apologies from overbearing fans and inquiries about his mental state. One notification stands out from the rest, a small red dot near his messages. Tapping on it he sees a DM from no other than Neige LeBlanche himself asking if he was alright and that he was always here for him.

“How could you forgive everyone around you for mistreating you?” The blond asked the prefect in front of them. “Everyone here has treated you horribly.” The prefect merely shrugged, “It’s much better to make a friend out of an enemy than to destroy them, after all my first meeting with Ace and Grim was far from perfect.” They chuckled before sipping on their drink as they sat across from the model. “If I started shutting out everyone because of a few bad experiences, I would have never met you. Besides, I can't let things get to me that easily!” The last part is now ironic as Vil reminisces.

Vil wiped another tear, before pressing accept on the DM request.

Idia Shroud

It was like it never happened. You were just offline, the Shroud reasoned upon seeing your profiles on everything no longer active. To an outsider, it was like Idia didn’t care, he continued on his computer without a tear shed.

To Ortho, however, it was obvious that everything he was doing was to preserve what was left of you. You were summoned with a few items, one of them being some portable gaming device that was now his. Idia remembers when you first showed it to him when he was curious about how games were from your world. He remembered you were a bit upset that you couldn't play a majority of the games together as it required two devices, and Idia being as tech savvy as he was merely snickered before hooking up the device to his computer and copying the files.

A bit of coding and emulating later, the young man now had an entire library of interdimensional games on his pc for him to enjoy, and now he can join your sessions online. From farming sims to FPS, he thoroughly enjoyed all of it, fascinated at how similar yet different everything is. Certain buttons are mixed up, common gaming terminology from his world wasn’t used.

He would often join you in all sorts of random games. Even games he never thought he would enjoy like that weird ‘Skate 3’, ‘Power Washing Simulator’, ‘Raft’, ‘Animal Crossing’ or even ‘Stardew Valley’. It was fun to visit your farm or island, or to skate with you, or even to power wash things. There were so many fun and unique games that your world had, and since your passing, he wanted to try and share it with everyone. He didn’t have time to mourn with how busy he was!

The games you brought over made him happy, and now he wanted to share that feeling with everyone else in a way to honor you. The media wondered why STYX of all companies started releasing a bunch of free games to download. The only thing they charged money for was the soundtrack, where all of the proceeds went to mental health and suicide prevention programs.

All the time he spent on his computer was him testing every game you had and adjusting them to work on these world’s devices with ease. Occasionally when he got to a game you especially adored, he would add a few features that he remembered you mentioning wishing were in it before uploading them. Each game's credits had you listed in them as one of the creators as well.

When he wanted to take a break, he ended up playing his new favorite game, Skate 3. He didn’t necessarily care about the gameplay however, rather it was a feature he learned about only after you died. Even when your friends were offline, their character would occasionally appear and skate with you. It was the only way he could ever hope of playing with you again, and every time he finds your character, he pretends that for a moment you are in your dorm on your couch hopping on with him.

He still on occasion opens your other games and cares for your Animal Crossing island, your Minecraft dog, or crops in Stardew Valley. Ortho would also occasionally play one of those multiplayer games with him too like Mario Party, Halo, Terraria, or Smash Bros. Ortho was mourning you as well, you were like another big sibling to them. He would still play the Minecraft world you all shared and visit your house, adding decorations to it as he progresses to include you in a way.

The kid hated whenever someone misinterpreted his brother's actions, often passionately correcting before getting emotional over the thought of what he was doing. He's preserving them, but why did he have to do so already? They were so young.

Idia was on the last few games he needed to upload. He looked over at one of the first games you introduced him to, an emulation of Mario Kart Wii.

“Yeah it’s pretty old but it’s pretty nostalgic to me. I used to play it with my family all the time! It’s one of my favorites! I managed to move all my ghost data onto here too! Still, hold the record!” You beamed proudly as you showed the two brothers. “Ah, you appreciate oldies too huh?” Yuu nods. “If only I downloaded more before I came here. I think you would have loved some of the classic games we had.”

Idia loaded up the game with you, hooking up your device to the big screen in his room so you could all play. Ortho grabbed his favorite controller, and you all chose your characters to race as. Sure, you had the home-field advantage, but he’s played tons of racing games before! He has this in the bag.

The pair never stood a chance. With every map, you seemed to know a perfect shortcut, a perfect glitch, a perfect setup to always come out in first place. Even when the two said you had to play fair and you complied, you still easily beat them both while humming the music under your breath. Yet despite the frustration, it was still fun, especially since you included Ortho in everything as well.

Idia loaded up the game again, for old time's sake. He didn’t put much thought into the map or character he chose, he was too busy imagining that day you all were together, laughing and exchanging the things you loved. Rainbow Road was loaded up, the hardest track in the game and your favorite one, he remembered how much you laughed at his misery when he played on it. A few extra carts appear in the track that weren't the bots he was playing against, they were translucent much like ghosts, and had names over each one.

One of them he recognized as yours. As he began, he saw the ghost carts glided across the road. It was then he realized that these were the previous top three records that were saved. Idia wasn’t thinking, as his competitive streak overtook him. In the very first round, he beat the one in third place, putting in his name ‘Gloomurai’. He played a few more times, each time optimizing his route and techniques to get faster with each run. He’d even watch your racer’s techniques so he could copy.

After what felt like hours, he finally beat your character's time, and mentally celebrated when the option to put in his name popped up. The small smile on his face suddenly faded for a moment as he thought back to what you said. “I used to play with my family all the time!” You said. “It’s one of my favorites!”

Idia’s hands shook. When you showed him this game, it was obvious you adored it. He even caught you playing it by yourself a lot. Those other names, were they your family? Your friends? The realization hit him. This wasn’t your favorite game just because of nostalgia, it was because you still play with your family.

All those other ghosts he beat, they drove the exact same route, the exact same way your loved ones did and he overwrote them, and now, he overwrote you on your favorite route. Not only did he get rid of you, but he got rid of the only trace you had of your old life. Panicking, Idia dove into the files of the game, looking through everything he could see if there was any way he could save your data, frantically scanning each line of code. He knew the answer in his head though, the minute that box popped up, it was deleted instantly.

Idia suddenly stopped, clenching his fists. He didn’t care that your ghost was probably on other tracks. That one was your favorite one. He got rid of you. He got rid of you on your favorite game. The sadness finally caught up to him, he was too exhausted to keep coding at this point.

“Idia?” Ortho called into his shared room with his brother. “Idia? Your heart rate is acting up on my scanner—“ Ortho creaked open the door to see his brother with his head in his hands, violently sobbing. “They’re gone.” He mutters. “They’re gone.” Ortho shut the door behind him, floating over to where his brother was, and pulls him down to hug him. “It's okay,” the boy soothes. “They still live in you.”

[ageingfangirl2]

Surprise Me! Mihawk (OPLA)

y/n is a new assassin who catches the eye of Mihawk. She thinks her past is private but the warlord knows a lot about her and wants to talk. Part 2 to Fight Someone Your Own Size.

Part 1

Y/N

After your encounter with the warlord Dracule Mihawk, you decided to skip town. He had an infamous reputation and it wasn't wise to get on his radar for good or bad reasons. You had a past, a bloody past that led you to skip from town to town until you landed in the last town and actually felt safe until those stupid guys had to attack you in the alley. You were a trained killer, a fresh one at that, which is how you garnered a leave me alone kind of reputation. The reason you never settled down was the fear of being hunted down for what you did.

You were an orphan, a scrappy one at that, fast and light-fingered, which is how you gained the attention of your former master. He took you in when you were ten, housed and fed you, training you to kill those who wronged others while giving you an education you wouldn't have gotten on the streets. You owed him everything, but you couldn't give him everything he wanted.

If anyone did come looking for you those men from the alley knew your face, it was a rookie move leaving them alive, you had to go back. They wouldn't sell out Mihawk, no one would believe them but they would throw you under a cart to save their own skin.

You return to town at night, grabbing your knives and scouting each of the men's homes. It was simple after that, breaking in and killing each of them with a single sliced throat. Now you could leave town without fear of being exposed.

However, that was really short-lived as you're stopped in your tracks by a familiar voice that sent shivers down your spine, 'huh...'

You gulp and dare to look up from his bare chest to meet his piercing eyes, '...what?'

He watches you intensely, like a rabbit he had caught in a trap and wasn't sure what to do with it next, 'nothing, I just didn't know you had that in you. You also don't seem like the type to come back to the same town twice y/n.'

This makes you laugh, 'the fact you think you know anything about me at all, is genuinely hilarious.'

You go to step around him but he continues to block your path, 'your real name is y/n l/n, your parents died in a house fire when you were five but it wasn't an accident. Your father abused your mother and she snapped when he forced himself onto you so set the fire. You lived on the streets for five years before being taken in at age ten by a man calling himself David. And for the next eight years, he made you into a killer. But now he's dead and you're all alone again,' he lists off your life story blankly.

Your hand goes for a knife, 'you knew David? Are you going to kill me because I killed him?'

'You think you killed him y/n? What do you remember?' Mihawk asks, intrigued by you.

'Before you saved me in that alley I've seen your face before but I can't remember where. Do I know you?' you answer his question with your own question.

Mihawk inhales loudly, clearly annoyed that you weren't answering him, 'I like people to follow my orders. When I ask you a question you'll answer. But I'll let it slip just this once y/n, now tell me about that night.'

You click your tongue and bow your head, 'not much, it's all a bit of a blur. He tried to come onto me and I must have snapped remembering my father because next thing I know he's dead.'

You shudder, remembering vividly the night David put his hands on you and got angry when you refused. If you didn't submit to him he was going to kill you, so you had to fight back.

MIHAWK

I do the unthinkable and pull y/n into me watching the wheels turn in their head, 'we met briefly when you were eleven, I was curious what David saw in you. We then met for a second time when you were eighteen. I believe men should show honour and respect women, so when I saw him on top of you I killed him, you passed out and I left.'

y/n looks up at me, and through their emotions, I see further, I see hunger and drive, 'what happens now Mihawk?'

'You're still not ready to be out on your own so you're coming with me and I'll finish your training. You don't have any say in the matter because now you owe me your life,' I state, and y/n nods.

y/n then motions around them, 'any more loose ends to tie up?'

I shake my head, 'All taken care of, now let's go.'

I place my hand on y/n's back and guide them into the shadows. They continued to surprise me, and with my training, everyone was going to fear them.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 11: I Know This Hurts, It Was Meant To]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), lots and lots of death and destruction, literally nothing good happens in this chapter don't even read it, a Wolfman sighting, a wild Alys-Whent theory appears, more witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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Only 2 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Why isn’t Aemond back yet?”

You’re standing in the Dragonstone rookery with your arms crossed, brow furrowed, ravens pacing through straw and flapping their dark captive wings inside the cages. Through the window, you are watching the waves break against rocks where the Narrow Sea meets the shoreline. Outside it is overcast, misty, grey, cold. When you stepped into the gardens this morning—while Aegon was still sleeping, something he does with ever-increasing frequency, though you aren’t sure if it is more of a physical necessity or mental escape—frost crunched beneath your boots. Lord Larys Strong has shuffled into the room, his cane tapping on the stone floor; that is why you have spoken.

“Perhaps my sister was wrong about Daemon being at the Gods Eye,” he offers demurely. He is trying to be helpful; he is trying to comfort you. But you remember how vividly Alys showed you Everett being murdered by a mob in King’s Landing. You remember his screams, his flailing arms, men ripping the rings off his fingers and women stabbing the blades of their rusty kitchen knives into his eyes. Alys has never met Everett; she could not possibly have known what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, without gifts beyond what you once believed to be possible. Her sight is true and terrible.

“No,” you reply softly, still gazing at the iron-grey ocean. Any minute I’ll hear Vhagar flying over again. I’ll see her vast, reptilian shadow and know that Aemond has won and the war is all but over.

“Perhaps Aemond felt compelled to go south immediately after defeating Daemon and Caraxes. Perhaps he’s with Prince Daeron now, and they’re burning Northmen in the Reach. Perhaps he wants to return with Cregan Stark’s severed head.”

There’s no logical reason why this can’t be the case; but in place of relief, what you feel instead is a heaviness like stones being piled up, like ships filling with seawater. You turn to Larys. “If the king asks about Aemond, I want you to reassure him the same way you’re speaking to me right now.”

He bows his head. “Of course.”

“But I want you to do it more convincingly.”

Larys startles a bit, then regains his composure. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Is Aegon awake yet?”

“He was just getting out of bed when I checked on him.”

And that’s what you’re always doing now, you and Larys and the maesters and the guards: always looking in on Aegon, always making sure he’s not in too much pain, reminding him to eat, distracting him, soothing him, lifting his spirits. “Good. Have the cooks make something that will give him strength.”

“Not crab?”

“No. Something heavier. Beef, venison.” You recall the feast in King’s Landing to celebrate Rhaenyra’s taking of the city, slabs of rare meat glistening with blooddrops like rubies. Red like war, red like the banner of the house you were born to. “Boar, if the kitchens have any.”

In his bedchamber, the king is gazing out of his own window, but slumped in a velvet-cushioned chair instead of standing. He’s sipping a cup of red wine languidly, glazed eyes and slow blinks. There’s a dagger on the table beside him, the one he uses to cut his hair when it starts to grow too long. There are locks of white-blond hair scattered around him on the floor like a thin dusting of snow. Outside, grey clouds churn and waves shatter when they meet jagged boulders and cliffsides, the earth’s own bones.

Aegon glances over at you and says thoughtfully: “Where’s Aemond?”

“He’ll be back soon. I know he will.” He has to be. We can’t win without him. You go to Aegon and kneel down on the floor beside his chair. You lay a palm on his thigh, light as a feather, like you’re just a ghost or a memory. He places a hand over yours. Seconds tick by, late-autumn wind rattles the glass of the window.

“Aemond used to talk about us not being real Targaryens,” Aegon tells you. His voice is faint and dreamy. His eyes are still cast outside—miles away, years away—where he is willing Vhagar’s monstrous shadow to appear. “When we were very young. The Hightowers don’t have any Valyrian blood, they’ve been here in Westeros forever, since men lived in caves and worshiped…” He gestures flippantly with his wine cup, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t care, sticks or rocks or whatever. That bothered Aemond. He felt that made us less than Rhaenyra and Daemon. Our father rejected us, he ignored us, he broke every precedent to keep us from the throne. Being a Targaryen…it didn’t matter to me.” He smirks wryly and looks down at the flurry of silver hair around his chair. “I didn’t want it anyway. Sunfyre was the only part of my inheritance I didn’t think was a curse. But Aemond needed that legacy. He always wanted to be a hero. He was willing to put in the work, he had the discipline, he had the skill. It meant so much to him, and I…” Aegon shakes his head, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have said those things before he left.”

“He didn’t think you meant it. He knew you were speaking out of pain and frustration.”

“I have to be able to apologize to him.”

“You’ll get the chance. He’ll be back soon.”

And Aegon’s eyes—huge and shimmering and a tumultuous blue like the ocean—drift to yours. The words are there, though you don’t hear them aloud: Will he really?

You have to divert him. You have to make him smile. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll bring your favorite swamp witch with him.”

Aegon laughs; crinkles spring up around his eyes, pink rushes into his pale cheeks. “Oh, seven hells. He better not expect us to host her here while he flies south to roast the Stark men.”

“You don’t enjoy her company?” you tease.

“I’d throw crab shells at her. I’d make her sleep in a tree.” He sighs. “Borros Baratheon is going to be furious.”

“I suppose we don’t always get much of a choice in who we fall in love with.”

“No,” Aegon agrees. “We certainly don’t.” He sets his wine cup on the table, leans down to cradle your face with both hands, draws you in close to him and kisses you, deep and tender and slow. He tastes like wine, and weakness, and heat that he is fighting desperately to keep kindling. Everything he does now is full of effort, even just speaking, even just love. He moves like his arms weigh a thousand pounds, like his jaw is iron and his spine is lead. But he lifts it all for you, for you.

Your palm skates to the apex of his thighs. He is hard, he is hungry for you; but he breaks the kiss and covers his face with both hands, moaning. “Aegon?” You thread your fingers through his choppy hair, tuck his braid behind his ear, bring your lips to his forehead. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He chokes out: “I’m so fucking pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m just this scarred, crippled, useless man. And everyone I touch is ruined by me. I can’t let anything bad happen to you. I don’t understand how you could still want me.”

“I do want you,” you swear, taking his hands from his face: the tears glistening there, the rough red burn on his right cheek. “You and no one else.”

Aegon stares at you with his wet, wounded eyes. “You can’t just give in because you think it’s something you owe me. We can’t allow this to become something that’s poisoned.”

Poison. You think of the tea you brewed Baela, of the milk of the poppy in the glass bottle on Aegon’s bedside table across the room. You think of the night you surrendered to Aemond for nothing, no gain, no strategy, no heir, just treason that grows heavy and unmistakable within you like a child would. “It’s not poison with you, Aegon. It’s the only time I feel pure.”

Aegon staggers to his feet and kisses you again as the wind howls outside. His tongue darts between your lips; his arms circle around your waist to help him keep his balance. He follows you to the bed, a moon chasing its planet, and helps you shed your gown of emerald green velvet, just one of your many skins. He’s lying beside you, he’s touching you everywhere, he’s nipping ravenously at your throat, your breasts, down to your belly, your hips. He’s parting your thighs like pages in a book. He’s dragging his tongue through your drenched folds. And then it flashes in your skull like lightning: memories of Aemond, of betrayal, shame and nausea and scalding blood rushing into your face.

“Come back,” you murmur, and Aegon obeys. But then he does something strange. He heaves himself up with great effort, repositions himself behind you, kisses the bumps of vertebrae down the back of your neck as the scars that riddle his chest scratch against your shoulder blades. When you try to roll towards him again, Aegon stops you.

“No,” he pleads in a whisper, hushed and desperate through your hair. “Don’t turn around. Don’t look at me.”

And before you can protest, his fingertips have skimmed over your hip to stroke you where you are warm and slick and aching, and you are gasping helplessly, begging for more, and his cock slips into you with slow, powerful thrusts that he battles not to break the rhythm of until you’ve come. But in the midst of the pleasure, you are aware that just like the moon in its withering phases, Aegon is somehow less, and so are you, and so is everyone, and so is the world itself.

When it’s over, Aegon doesn’t hold you like he usually does. He doesn’t sink into sleep like deep water. He rolls over, fumbles for his bedside table, pours himself a cup of milk of the poppy with shaking hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the bottom steps of the stone staircase, your bare feet in cool wet sand. Your gown is scarlet velvet, a bear fur cloak clutched around your shoulders. You are reading a book from the castle library about the medicinal uses of berries. Across the beach, Aegon is trying to coax Sunfyre into eating a goat that the guards have brought for him. The dragon is sluggish and flightless, and his own blood stains his muzzle; but he peers at Aegon with pained golden eyes like he wants so desperately to please him. And for the first time, you are at last able to see dragons as something more than animate destruction. You see intelligence in them; you see what might even be love.

There are distinct footsteps approaching as Larys descends the staircase, his cane tapping ever-closer. News of Aemond? News of his victory? You twist around to greet the Master of Whisperers. “Do you bring something to lift our spirts, Lord Larys…?”

But no; his face is grim, and he’s holding a bundle of fabric under one arm. He lowers himself down onto the step where you are perched, sets his cane aside, and grasps the bundle with both hands. He stalls for a moment before he speaks. He is in shock, he is terrified. “I’m afraid, Your Grace, that I must inflict great heartache upon the king.” His eyes flick to you. “Perhaps you could help me. I don’t even know how to begin.”

Your veins feel icy; your pulse is thundering in your ears. Aemond? Vhagar? “What’s happened? Is it…about the Gods Eye…?”

“No.” Larys gives you the fabric, folded into a neat square. You pull it apart to examine it.

“What is this…?” But then you know. It is a cape. It is not a regal emerald color, nor a deep envious viridescence; it is a vibrant seafoam green, bright and bold and showy. The clasp is still attached, a gold that glints like the dragon ring on Aegon’s left hand. And the cape is riddled with dark maroon smudges and places where the fabric was singed away, leaving only a gash like the puncture mark of a fang. It smells like smoke and the coppery sickness of blood. Soot rubs off on your palms. “Daeron,” you breathe.

Larys nods gravely. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“How? How did you get this?”

“I have informants in the Reach. After the battle, one ensured that this made its way to me. It should be preserved. It should be given to his mother when we are reunited with her, I believe. Perhaps it will bring her some small consolation. It is the only relic of him she will have to bury.”

“Daeron,” you say again, and you can see him like he’s standing in front of you: daring, arrogant, brave, capable far beyond his years, cunning blue eyes, a shock of silver hair that he was so proud of. Alicent has lost two children. Can she survive this? Will she want to? “I don’t understand, what battle…?”

“Cregan Stark and his men met the Hightower army at Tumbleton,” Larys explains. “Addam Velaryon returned on Seasmoke to join the Blacks and prove his enduring loyalty to Rhaenyra. Perhaps the bastard was genuine, perhaps he only wanted to convince Rhaenyra to free poor Corlys from the Red Keep’s dungeons. It doesn’t matter which now. The boy is dead.”

“Dead,” you repeat. Addam Velaryon may have been a boy, but he fought for Rhaenyra. He fought for Cregan Stark. And you say before you can stop yourself: “Good.”

“Daeron on Tessarion, Hugh Hammer on Vermithor, and the Velaryon bastard on Seasmoke tangled in the sky above the battle. Vermithor was killed by a scorpion bolt fired by the Northmen. Seasmoke was killed by Tessarion. Daeron fell from his dragon in the midst of the clash. Once the Blacks emerged victorious, Tessarion was found alive but mortally injured, and she was shot to death by Stark’s archers.”

“And Cregan Stark, he’s…he survived?”

“Yes. He is unharmed. But the Hightower army was devastated.”

“What about the other Betrayer? Ulf the White? Could he and Silverwing—?”

“Ulf slept through the battle. Drunk to the point of unconsciousness, I’ve heard. He was slain afterwards. The riderless Silverwing has vanished.”

No Tessarion. No Vermithor or Silverwing. Sunfyre is dying. The only Green dragon left is Vhagar. You can’t believe it. You won’t believe it. “But…but Aemond was supposed to fly south after the Gods Eye, he and Daeron were supposed to fight together, and if Vhagar was there this never would have happened—”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Larys concurs somberly. “But evidently, Aemond has not yet left the Riverlands.”

You study the cape, this ash-and-blood tapestry of the youngest Targaryen brother’s demise, the fifteen-year-old boy who was so much like Aegon. Where is Aemond? Still waiting for Daemon and Caraxes? Holed up inside the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with Alys? Where the hell is he? We need him. We need him. We can’t win without him.

“Your Grace,” Larys says gingerly, like trying not to creak floorboards. “I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable.”

If the Greens lose, Aegon will be executed. You shake your head. “No.”

“I don’t say this to cause you distress. I do it to save your life if that time ever comes. The king would want you to survive, and so would Alicent.”

You hug the mangled cape to your chest, your throat full of embers and your eyes blurring with tears. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“To Claw Isle?” Larys suggests. “The Blacks believe you to be innocent. Your family would take you back.”

“Clement is the head of my house now. He idolizes Cregan Stark, I think he loves him more than he ever loved me. If Cregan is still alive when the war is over, Clement will give me to him. How can I marry a man who fought against Aegon’s cause? Who murdered Greens?” Who is, at least in part, responsible for his death?

Larys scrambles for another solution. “I could try to send you somewhere far away. Dorne, Essos.”

“And then what?” you demand; and Larys cannot answer. You do it for him. “I’d be a woman alone in the world. I would be vulnerable and friendless. I have no idea how to fend for myself. Autumn knew it.” And you remember what she told you before she accompanied you to Dragonstone, a journey that feels like a lifetime ago: I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.

“You read, you write, you study medicine,” Larys says, rather frantic now. “Perhaps I could arrange to have you taken to the Citadel and you could train under the maesters there…I could try to contact some who are sympathetic to the Greens, and if they agree you should depart immediately—”

“I won’t leave Aegon.”

“Your Grace, if the Greens lose this war…I fear the king will not survive. He is already weak. He is already ailing. There is very little you can do for him now.”

“I won’t leave him,” you hiss fiercely. “As long as he breathes, I belong where he is.” He’s risked his life to save mine. He’s taught me the joy that can be found in marriage. I will never stop repaying that debt.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys concedes. Then you refold the cape and walk barefoot across the beach to meet Aegon.

Sunfyre has at last appeased the king by setting the goat ablaze with a sickly gasp of flames. Now he is gnawing listlessly at the corpse. His golden eyes catch on you and track your steps as you approach, dully curiosity but with no malice. Aegon takes his leave of the dragon with a gentle pat of his angular face, struggles to his feet, and joins you under the bleak grey sky. Once he could not step into the sunlight without it burning him; now the sun rarely shines at all. He knows there’s something wrong. He can read it on you like clandestine letters.

“Angel?” Then he sees the cape that you’re holding. “What is that, a banner? A blanket? My bitch half-sister’s funeral shroud, I hope.”

You give it to him. Aegon shakes the cape open, surveys it, then gasps, a sharp inhale like the whistle of a blade through the air. His knees buckle; the fabric flutters to the wet sand. You drop down beside Aegon and embrace him, shelter him, shield him. He grabs at you desperately, like a drowning man clawing for scraps of buoyant wreckage in the waves.

“It was quick,” you murmur as you hold him. “He fell from Tessarion. He didn’t suffer.” You don’t know that, you have no idea what Daeron’s final moments were like. “The battle happened at Tumbleton. The Northmen are in the Reach.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Aegon rasps. “I don’t want to be the king. I never wanted it. I want to go back to before everything happened. I want to give Rhaenyra the throne. She can have it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it. Can we go back to when my father died? I’ll let Rhaenyra have the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t care what Otto and Mother and Criston say. They wouldn’t fight for it either if they knew what would happen. All of us are dead or broken. It’s not worth it. Nothing could be worth it. I don’t want to be the king. I don’t need the Iron Throne. I need everyone I’ve lost back. And I need you.”

“I’m so sorry, Aegon.” Your fingers are snared in his windswept silver hair; your heartbeat is thudding against his. There’s salt on your cheeks: his tears, your tears, the spray of the ocean. “It’s not your fault. Rhaenyra had the chance to end the war. She was offered terms and she refused them over and over again. Daeron’s blood is on her hands. She will pay the debt.”

And a tiny voice inside you says: Hasn’t she already lost four children? Hasn’t she paid enough?

The answer is dark and resounding. No. Nothing will ever be enough. But her life is a start.

“Where was Aemond?” Aegon sobs. “Where the fuck was he? Daeron wasn’t supposed to face the Northmen without him. He was a kid…just a goddamn kid…”

“I don’t know.”

“Are Daemon and Caraxes still alive? Is Aemond at Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know, Aegon. We haven’t heard anything.”

“I should have been there.”

“You would have been if it was possible. But you’re not able to fight. Sunfyre isn’t either.”

“I’m useless,” he weeps bitterly. “I can’t win the war. I can’t save anyone.”

And you brush his hair back from his face and feel his forehead for fever as you say: “You saved me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s she like?” Lord Bolton asks as he and Cregan Stark warm their large, weathered hands by the fire, their breath foggy in the wind and the stars glimmering in a cold cloudless sky.

The Northmen are still clearing dead and wounded from the battlefield at Tumbleton. Split bones must be forced back into place, infected limbs amputated, gouges scrubbed and stitched, burns treated, corpses buried, soldiers who cannot continue evacuated back to Winterfell via the Kingsroad. All of this must be attended to; Cregan Stark is a man of honor, and honor demands that he care for those who have pledged their lives to him. When the task is done, the Northmen will begin their assault on King’s Landing. The riots must be put down, the rightful queen must be protected, the succession must be secured. And Cregan must find and claim the woman he has been promised and yet denied by the wickedness of the grotesque, amoral, soulless Usurper.

“She’s beautiful, of course,” Cregan says. He speaks in subterranean rumbles, dark and rolling like thunder, booms and quakes, always a little louder than he means to be. He takes up space; he bends the light and gulps down the air. He smiles wistfully, remembering. “But that’s not the important thing. She’s clever, she’s tough. She’s not afraid of gore. I’ve seen her help set a compound fracture that pierced straight through the skin. She had blood all over her hands.” He grins and holds up his own, stained with earth and ash and half-dried maroon that looks as black as ink in the firelight. “We are made for each other.”

Lord Bolton whistles admiringly, his breath like mist. “She is a rarity.”

“Like treasure, like gemstones.” Cregan lays his blade across his knees, a longsword taller than some men and with a hilt carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. He cleans it, he tends to it, it is a part of him as immutable as his spine or his heart. “But she is not prideful. She behaves like a true noblewoman. She is quiet and modest. She defers to her father, to her brother, to me. She obeys.”

“That is essential,” Lord Bolton notes. “Nothing breeds discontentment like a willful wife.”

“She will give me sons with Valyrian blood. She is fertile, surely. Her mother bore six children.” Cregan polishes his blade, his unruly dark hair blowing in the night wind. Now he is pensive. “Her maidenhood was entrusted to me. It was a great honor, a great responsibility. It was something only I ever should have had. It is not her error, but she is less now.”

“You are a good man to still take her, the way she is now. The very best of men.”

“I cannot seem to forget her,” Cregan muses, quiet in a way that is rare for him. “I dream of when I first met her at Winterfell, snow in her hair and pages of books rustling beneath her fingers.”

“What will you do when you capture the Usurper?” Lord Bolton asks; this is the part that most interests him. “Burn him? Gut him? My men have brought their flaying knifes with them from the Dreadfort. They are eager to use them.”

“No,” Cregan says firmly. “No flaying. It is against the laws of war.”

“What use are laws to animals like Alicent Hightower’s children?”

“They preserve us. They safeguard our own humanity, our own honor.” Cregan holds his longsword aloft and scrutinizes it, gazing at his own reflection in the glinting blade. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“So you will do it yourself,” Lord Bolton says with grudging awe. His own flaying knives are suddenly very heavy in his pockets; his fingers itch to use them.

Cregan Stark—the Warden of the North, the new Kingmaker—nods under the starlight. “Yes. I will end the Usurper. It can’t be anyone but me.” He sheaths his longsword, gliding it into its leather scabbard, thinking of his long-awaited wedding night with the woman whose purity was stolen from him like pieces of gold thieved from a vault. “And I will enjoy it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In bed, surrounded by candles that flicker when cold drafts blow in through the crevices of the castle, you read to Aegon from a book cataloging all the bones of the human body. He doesn’t care about the content, you know that; he just likes to hear your voice. As you read, Aegon—his arms linked around your waist, his chin resting in the dip of your clavicle—interjects with drowsy commentary. “I’ve broken that bone,” he says. “Oh yeah. That one too.” “Grandsire almost cracked my radius in half when I was ten and I replaced his beard cream with cake frosting. He put it on just before going to sleep and woke up assailed by stray cats.”

You chuckle, a lightness that lasts mere seconds. Now Lord Larys Strong has appeared in the doorway, the orange-gold glow like dusk on his face. He rests both hands on the handle of his cane like he often does, but his expression is one you have never seen before. He is not just mournful. He is paralyzed, he is shattered. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, blank. He swallows noisily. He opens his mouth, but no words escape. He closes it again.

“Don’t tell me that,” Aegon says, deathly quiet, winter still. He pulls away from you. You shut the book and place it on the bedside table beside his glass bottle of pearlescent milk of the poppy. Then you watch Larys.

The Master of Whisperers takes a deep, tremulous breath. “I have received word that both dragons disappeared into the skies above the Gods Eye, and then—”

“No,” Aegon whispers. “No, he’s coming back.”

“Your Grace…”

“No, he’s coming back!” the king roars. “He has to, he has to, you know we can’t win without him!”

Aemond? you think, terror-stricken.

“I have three separate reports. They all agree. Caraxes and Vhagar destroyed each other. They plummeted into the lake and sank, along with their riders.”

“No—”

“Both of their riders,” Larys says.

Aemond??

“The reports are wrong,” Aegon counters. “They have to be.”

You can picture Aemond: smirking, teasing, bitter, brilliant, thoughtful, visionary, blind. How can he be at the bottom of the Gods Eye, eternally chained to Vhagar’s saddle, fish nibbling at his fingers and lips and the gristle between his ribs? “Aegon,” you begin, reaching for his hands; but he flinches away from you.

“No, no, he’s coming back!”

Larys says gently: “Your Grace, I am so profoundly sorry for your loss.” But of course, it is every Green’s loss. Who is left to stand between them and Cregan Stark’s army of archers, cavalry, Boltons with their flaying knives? The Baratheon men? And does anyone truly believe they can defeat the Northmen, assuming they arrive to wage war at all?

“He’s coming back.” Aegon is hysterical. His murky blue eyes stream like riptides. “He has to. We need him, Larys, you know how much we need him. It’s a mistake. Aemond is okay, he’s coming back, he’s coming back, we can’t win without him!”

You try to take his hands again. “Aegon, it’s not over yet, we’ll—”

“Don’t touch me!” he cries, breaking down in breathless sobs. Then he covers his face, ashamed, broken. “Everyone I touch dies. I’m a curse, I’m a monster. I ruin people.”

Larys rushes to comfort the king. You retreat from the bed, watching Aegon as he howls and moans, feeling that although there is one of Alicent’s children left alive, all of them have already been taken from you.

The witch, you think, poisonous, venomous, bloodthirsty. She led Aemond to the Gods Eye, and now he’s gone. He’s dead, he’s nowhere, he’s doomed us all.

What had Alys said before she returned with Aemond to Harrenhal? I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.

You dart to the table beside Aegon’s favorite chair, cushioned with deep red velvet, and snatch the dagger he uses to cut his hair. Clutching the hilt of the weapon, tears searing in your eyes, you bolt from the room and out into hallway. Dragons of stone and steel, fire crackling in their gaping jaws, watch as you flee past them towards the bedchamber Aemond always used when he visited the castle. You can’t fathom that you will never see him again. He was a weed that grew into you and put down roots, he became a part of your landscape. He was dandelions, he was clovers, he was ivy, and now he is earth scorched to ash.

I’ll never speak to him again. I’ll never see him again. How is that possible?

Blood. You need blood. Would there be any in the kitchens? Should you have a goat or a boar butchered?

No, no. Your mind is a maelstrom of storms and rage, fire and blood. I can’t wait.

You go to the closed door of the room that was once claimed by Aemond. He never owned anything; he only took things and penned his name to them in void-black ink. You take the blade of the dagger and rip it down the length of your left palm. Then you write on the wood of the door two words in a rust-colored scrawl, one on top of the other: Alys Rivers.

You ball up your bloodied fist and knock on the door three times. Then you throw it open. And in a black mist, there she stands: onyx gown, obsidian hair, black moonstone eyes, tears of blood that fall in a torrent down her alabaster cheeks. She is grief-stricken. But you have no compassion left for her; your mercy was once an ocean and has now receded to a creek, a puddle, sparse raindrops that people pray for during droughts.

“You told Aemond that Daemon and Caraxes would be waiting for him at the Gods Eye. You encouraged him to go.”

Alys shakes her head, an inhumanly slow motion. Her voice is deep and echoing, like a shout through a long tunnel. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“You see things, don’t you?!”

“Not everything,” Alys sobs. “I saw him take flight. I didn’t see the rest of it. I didn’t know. I never would have let him go if I’d known.”

“And you killed him. You murdered him, you ruined him, you might as well have driven a blade into his heart.”

“Aemond went of his own volition,” Alys says. “I told him the truth of what I saw. He was certain that Caraxes could not meet Vhagar in battle and emerge unbroken. And he was right. Caraxes did not survive. But neither did Vhagar.” Her blood-streaked face crumbles again. “He was stabbed through the eye. His beautiful sapphire eye…”

“You’ve doomed us. Vhagar was our last adult dragon, Aemond was our best warrior after Criston died. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed us.”

Her glare turns hateful. “You are not such a stranger to killing.”

“Careful, witch,” you warn. “Or when Aegon sits the Iron Throne, we will send men to the rubble of Harrenhal to burn you alive.”

“No. My son and I will live. And I’ve seen your children, too,” Alys says, and for all the times she did not intend to be cruel, now she is grinning with savage madness.

Panic rises in you; you try to conceal it. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have children.”

“Oh, you will,” Alys insists gleefully. “You will. I’ve seen it. Snow in your hair, furs around your shoulders, children who are dark and rugged, wolf pups with dirt and ash on their faces.”

The North. The Starks. “No,” you say, horrified. I can’t marry Cregan Stark. If I’m given to him, that means Aegon is dead. “No, no, you’re lying. You’re lying!”

“You are not a woman who motherhood will come easily to. It will take time to conceive, but you will give the Warden of the North heirs. He will enjoy putting them in you. He will have to try often.”

Your voice is hoarse and helpless. “You’re just trying to hurt me, it’s not real—”

“Wolf pups,” she says again, insistent. “After Aemond died, I saw them all in a row. And my son,” Alys continues dreamily, tracing her belly with one palm, not showing yet but full of potential like blue-white lightning flashing from inside a storm cloud. “My son will be a knight of House Whent.”

“There is no House Whent, you lunatic.”

“No.” Alys smiles, leers, gloats. “But there will be. I will be driven from Harrenhal, but they will reclaim it. And a Whent will marry into Tully, and a Tully will marry into Stark, and your blood will mix with Aemond’s after all. Isn’t there a certain poetry in that?”

Your hands have flown up to cover your ears. Aegon can’t die. I won’t survive it. “No, no, no!”

“The blood of wolves will always sing to dragons. And that is because of you, I think. The mind forgets, if it ever knew at all…but the bones remember. Pieces of you threaded into the marrow. Murmurs of your voice in their dreams. Do not attempt to resist it. This is your fate, and it could be far worse. The wheel goes around and around, and we all take our turn being crushed. Be grateful you’ll still be alive. Be thankful you had the time you did with your broken king.”

“No!” You slam the door shut. The blood on your palm is drying; the slit you cut there burns.

She’s lying. She’s mistaken. She’s a witch and a madwoman and I don’t believe a word she says.

And before you can dwell on how little comfort this brings you, you hurry to return to Aegon’s bedchamber.

“Borros Baratheon will expect you to take his daughter as your wife,” Larys is telling Aegon. “He was promised a royal marriage. With Aemond and Daeron both gone, you are the only suitable Targaryen left.”

“I won’t do it,” Aegon says quietly. He looks bloodless and haunted; he looks half-dead.

“Your Grace…please…failure to appease him might inspire Borros to withhold his military support from us. His army is the only substantial force the Greens still possess. It is not a personal decision. It is a strategic one. And without having an heir with the queen, her political utility is minimal…”

“No,” Aegon snaps. “I will not be parted from her. Do not ask me again.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys yields, bowing deeply. You know he does not act out of ill-will towards you. He is an advisor, and he is trying to advise. You are not the logical choice. And if Aegon loses, you will reap no rewards because he chose to call you his queen. The world will end for you as well.

“What is that?” you ask, and they both jolt to see you in the doorway; but you aren’t looking at Aegon or Larys. You are peering out the nearest window at pinpricks of firelight that dance over the waves. Larys shuffles to the window, his cane rapping against the floor. With agonizing effort—though he refuses your help—Aegon crawls out of bed and stumbles across the bedchamber to join you and Larys.

“It’s her,” Aegon says; and you can hear the vicious satisfaction in his voice like glistening strands of saliva dripping from the jaws of a ravenous animal, a wolf or a bear or a dragon. The fire is from the glass lanterns they carry. There are no signs of Syrax or Sheepstealer, not even little Tyraxes, no squeals or shrieks or shadows that pass over the moonlight.

Stepping off a tiny boat moored at the end of the pier—attended by only a handful of servants and tugging her white-haired son along behind her—is Rhaenyra Targaryen.

[the-desilittle-bird]

Hi,

do you still take Gellert Grindelwald requests? If you do, could you please write a fanfic, where the reader is Newt‘s best friend (a bit younger than him) and is also relativly close with Dumbledore. She meets Grindelwald during his escape, with her being one of the aurors. (At the beginning of the 2nd film) At first she despises him, but slowly starts warming up. Newt and Dumbledore often try to save her (she also tried to escape in the beginning), but in the end (after FB 2) she chooses Grindelwald over them. Smut in the end?If you are comfortable with it.

Thank you for considering

AN - Yep! I still love that old and beautiful man and god knows how long I have not been on this platform. I forgot my password and what not so sorry for the dead silence. Hope you like this.

Enjoy your Read and Thank You!

Requests are Open!!!

Be By My Side

Gellert Grindelwald x Fem!Reader

Summary - What happens when Y/N finds herself on a crossroad and needs to decide between her best friend and the ultimate love of her life?

Warnings - You asked for smut, and you will get it (please pardon me if it's bad, its my first or second time) (Breeding Kink and Dirty Talk). Gellert Grindelwald (He requires his own warning).

Tag List - @lady-athanasia, @littlesatanicassholebitch, @eudximoniakr, @hyacinthus007, @shopping, @choccocake, @andlizeth, @lady-juliettes, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @killing-gremlin, @narcy, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad

GIF Credit goes to @grindeldore-is-real

Y/N FOUND HERSELF STARING AT THE BLUE FLAMES WITH WIDE EYES AND A RACING HEART. This was it, she thought to herself as she watched the loyal followers of the blonde man step through the circle of fire and disappear. Perhaps to Nurmengard, she assumed.

The past few weeks raced through her mind, memories turning her mind dizzy as she was overwhelmed by the burden of the choice that weighed her down; turning her body to stone.

Months ago, had she been told that she would need to choose between Newt, her best and probably the only friend who had ever stood by her side, and Gellert Grindelwald, the dark wizard she was supposed to catch. She would have chosen her best friend and had allowed her former professor's words to sink deep into her. But now, she felt her mind and heart conflicting.

Don't choose a man who is capable of destroying you, Dumbledore had said on the day she had graduated from Hogwarts and started her job as an Auror. Probably he knew that she had a liking for questionably type of men, or perhaps he could see future; Y/N doesn't know.

"Y/N/N." Newt's scream fell on deaf ears as the young girl remained locked in her own memories. Remembering the first argument she had with the Master of Elder Wand, having pointed her own wand to his face while he had not even flinched. Perhaps he knew that she would never harm him or kill him. She was not allowed to.

The young Auror could remember the day vividly when she had tried to escape her prison, caught only due to the cold winds and the snow. I do not wish to harm you, I never will, he had said, carefully placing his wand on the snow, disarming himself to comfort her. You are a liar, she had argued only to earn a smile and a deep chuckle.

If I had lied to you, then I can assure you that this moment would have never happened. He was right, she knew in her heart. Gellert Grindelwald was a master of words; had he truly ever wished to trap her, he would have already.

The gentle brush of his lips against her was still fresh in her mind. A deep hum from his throat, a moan from hers. One hand sliding down her sides to hold her against himself while the other pursued its way into her hair.

The electric tinge she had felt was unique, something she had never heard of. The same could have been said for her heart skipping a beat or the butterflies in her stomach, but was it really unheard of? No. Those were all indications to a revelation she wished not to see. But how long could she run away from the truth?

"Y/N," the rumble of Gellert's deep voice made her open her closed eyes, inhaling sharply as she felt every pair of eyes present watching her. But above all, the mismatched eyes of her lover watched her with a tilt of his head.

He took a step, and again, and again. He approached her, never letting go of her eyes as he walked up the stairs. His hand was outstretched, empty; waiting for hers patiently.

"Come join me, beloved," he whispered, making the girl gulp as her eyes trailed off to her best friend who watched her with desperation. 'Don't,' she saw him mouthing, but her mind could no longer register anything, frozen in a single place.

Gellert's lips brushed against the outer shell of her ear, eliciting a deep moan which made him chuckle. His hand cupped the side of her face while he whispered: "Be by my side. Be my Queen."

All the thoughts vanished from her mind, leaving behind only a single man in focus. One who had platinum locks and mismatched eyes which resembled so much like his own personality. The man who stood in front of her, waiting for her to say the word, to give him the consent.

"Yes."

Silk sheets covered her bare body from the preying eyes of her lover, whose fingers drew patterns on her back while she slept peacefully. The soft glow of the first sunlight entered the bedroom, filling it with a golden glow.

Y/N hummed to herself, snuggling deep into the arms of Gellert who smiled down at her; a smile reserved specially for her. His fingers deliberately moved south, running along her spine before they moved to touch her thighs.

His fingers were calloused, rough, against her skin. Creating the perfect sensation that had her moaning prettily into his shoulder. A light flush painted the skin of her neck and cheeks, touching the tips of her ear as she tried to hide herself in the crook of his neck.

"How pure," he whispered with a smirk, his fingers teasing her folds, gathering the moisture that had coated her lips. Another moan left her lips involuntarily as the pad of his thumb came in contact with her clit, rubbing a slow circle that had her withering.

"Yet so desperate," he growled, retrieving his hand as he flipped them. His eyes watched with amusement as the girl underneath him flustered pink at his words.

She leaned up, chasing his lips into a shy kiss that had Gellert groaning as his hips snapped against her. His hand moved eagerly, intertwining with her hair before tugging her back, baring her neck. The sight of purple bruises and bites had him grow harder as he nipped on the skin on her collarbone.

"Gellert," she moaned, hands shooting off to tug at his disheveled hair. "Please," she mewled, moving her hips desperately. With a smirk plastered on his angular face, the wizard taunted, "what do you want, rabbit?"

The cry that left her satisfied him enough as he slowly settled inside her, grunting at the feel of her insides squeezing him. A broken moan left Y/N as a single tear rolled down her cheek, her nails digging into his back as she forced herself to relax around his length.

Moments after, the entire room was filled with loud sound of moans and grunts and the peculiar sound of skin slapping against skin. Filthy words escaped Gellert's mouth as he praised her while pounding deep into her.

"Such an obedient little girl. A perfect slut. So tight, so pure, so innocent. The perfect little wife. Should I make you a mother? Would you like that? Carrying my child. I feel you clinging around me, seems that you like that idea."

The sunshine filled the entire room in a holy glow as Gellert and Y/N cummed on the same time. Breath labored, both of them slumped against each other, foreheads pressed together as they came down from their peaks.

"I love you," she whispered, the words almost lost between the heavy pants. But Gellert heard them anyway, and with a smile and a light heart, he whispered the words back.

"I love you too, beloved."