#Her brother: You have something on your face

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

Sorry for english mistakes, it is not my first language. Can we have more of what ‘Familial Issues Anon’ was talking about? Requesting for more Brother Aegon but it is not tied to the previous fic? Like Aegon and Little Sister Reader growing up with one another and the ideas of the Anon that requested it? Sorry it is my first tine asking for a fic request!

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ PREQUEL? ]

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: Young! Aegon Targaryen x Little Sis! Reader prompt: Aegon finds himself enable to grasp the thought of losing you forever. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were a pest. No, you were a clingy pest. Like a leech. Aegon's personal leech. You just stuck to him. No matter how many times he tried to get rid of you, you came waddling back to him like a little duckling. You'd stare up at him, big puppy dog eyes and a giddy smile. So pure, so untouched. He wanted to ruin you. To ruin that good you had in you, in hopes it would make you stop clinging onto him. But, it never worked.

He could spout out the cruelest of insults to you, and you'd just stare at him. So innocent that the words did not click in his head. He could push you, and you'd just stand back up unflinching. Still seeing the best in him. He hated it. It was odd. Why could you not see the bad in him? The bad that everyone else saw in him? Why did you have to be so good? So sweet? So loving?

He hated it. Yet, he craved your presence. There was something nice about having you by his side. You weren't like Jace, trying to impress him. Or as much of a follower as Luke, wanting to fit in. You just adored him and everything he did. Like a stupid puppy. It was a battle within him.

"She's a pest." Yes, but she's your little sister.

"She sees too much good in me." Yes, but wasn't that better than hate?

"She was too young." Yes, only eleven and still too naive to understand just how horrid and rotten he was. But, she made him smile with her child-like wonder of the world.

"She loves you." Yes, she was the only one that did. Or at least, the only one that did love him for him. No matter how rotten he was. 

"She's too clingy." Yes, but one day she will grow out of it and suddenly the loneliness will come creeping back in. She won’t be there trailing after him, or hug him, or smile at him. 

"One day she will marry and leave you all alone." Yes, but for now you were his little sister. You were his little duckling. His little shadow. His little pest and he wanted to cling onto that a little longer. 

Watching you trailing after Aemond like a puppy, he scowls deeply, hatred and jealousy bubbling inside of him. You were supposed to be his little shadow. Not Aemond's. Keeping his distance for now, he watches as you give Aemond a big hug and smile, nodding your little head enthusiastically at whatever he says. The scowl on his face grows more and more deep. What could Aemond say that made you so happy? Watching you hand Aemond a linen cloth, he grows even more angry. No, no, no, that was his thing. You were supposed to give him gifts! Not Aemond.

Not being able to hold back any longer, he stalks towards the two of you, a dark glare on his face pointed towards Aemond. There was no way in the Seven hells was he going to allow Aemond to steal you from him. You were his pest. You were his. Not Aemond. Aemond could have Helaena or Jace and Luke for all he cared. You were his. You were meant to cling onto him. Watching you ramble away to Aemond, he straightens out, puffing up his chest to look more bigger. 

"Oh, Y/n.." He calls out, a hint of sing-song tone in his voice.

"Egg!" You cheerfully call out, your words lisping together.

"Aegon. We've been over this. It's Aegon, not Egg." He huffs, rolling his eyes.

“What are you doing here, Egg?” You ask, not catching his annoyance. 

Watching you completely forget about Aemond, he swiftly picks you up, carrying you on his back in a piggy back ride. You were a little heavy and too big to be carried in such a manner, but he didn’t care. If it meant keeping you close to him, he would grit his teeth and do it. Hearing you giggle loudly, he walks away from Aemond, shooting a deadly glare over his shoulder. As if he was a dog pissing on the ground to mark his territory. He wanted to be clear to everyone, you were his.

“Does not matter.” He brushes off, “We are going to the kitchen’s, I heard they are making lemon cakes.”

“Lemon cakes?”

“Yes, I think we can steal a few of them.” He nods, “What do you say, hm? An adventure with your big brother?”

“I would like that.” You smile, making him perk up.

"Good, good, because I wan't going to put you down anyways."

Watching as you dissect the lemon cake, you push the bitter lemon frosting away with your fork, piling it up on the side of the plate. Smiling softly as you turn your plate so he could eat the frosting, his gaze softens ever so slightly, shoulder’s relaxing. You were too kind. Even when eating your food, you still wanted to share with him, knowing that the frosting was always his favorite part. Pushing his uneaten slice closer to you, he had no desire to eat the lemon cake anymore, just wanting to see you smile some more. 

“Aegon?” You mumble, playing with your food with your fork. 

“Yes?” 

“I have a question.” You stare at the plate, “About marriage.”

“Marriage? What in the Seven’s name is making you think of marriage? You’re too young for that.” 

“Grandsire said I will one day make a good wife and mother. That I must follow my studies closely.” You mumble, “Do you think that I will be a good wife and mother one day?”

Furrowing his brows in confusion, he didn’t know why you were asking such a question, you were a long way away before marriage would become a concern. You barely turned ten and one, weeks ago. You should be focused on other matter’s, like embroidery or whatever stupid Court gossip spread around.

Wrinkling his nose up the more he thinks of you getting married, the more he dislikes the thought. You were too young, and too important for him to let you succumb to such a boring fate. If he was King, you would never have to marry. You two would just fly on dragon back and have fun all day. 

“I do. But, that’s like a billion years from now.” He rolls his eyes, exaggerating with his words.

“Do you think so? I know of many other girl’s who are already betrothed.” You mumble, playing with the frosting. 

“Yes, well, those other girls aren’t you. You're a Princess, a Targaryen one. You’re important and different from them. They're dull.” He shakes his head, refusing to compare you to the other girl in Court.

“You think so?” You ask, eyes full of so much hope.

“I know so. We’re Targaryen’s! Everyone wants to be us because we are special and they are dull and common.” He smiles, “There’s a thousand of them, and only one of you. You’re special.”

Watching as a big goofy smile spreads on your face, he perks up at the sight, happy to cause such joy within you. Picking apart the lemon cake with his fork, he watches as your eyes lower down to your plate, shoulder’s slouching for a moment. The smile on your face falters for a moment, almost as if some thought popped in your head and ruined the moment. Furrowing his brows at how quick the joy is gone, he wanted to punch whoever or whatever had popped into your head. 

“What is it?” He asks, slightly concerned by your shift in mood. 

“But, Grandsire said⎯”

“You are barely reaching your ten and two name day. You are too young to be considered a wife or Mother.” He shakes his head dismissively, “Grandsire is a fool. Do not let such things upset you. I won’t let them marry you off. You’ll stay here in the Red Keep with me, for like, forever.” 

Little did either of you know, that just on the other end of the Red Keep.Your marriage had already been arranged, and soon you’d be shipped off.

---

[masonmtxo]

Feels like Summer

Words: 3k

Summary: what started out as a holiday fic turned into girlie getting broody

Notes: please leave feedback, it really means the world and is such a motivator 🩷

•••

You'd never felt more relaxed in your life, the sun beating down on your skin as you laid on the lounger beside the pool, the heat making you sleepy, despite the chaos taking place only a few feet away from you.

A stark contrast from your pure state of bliss, Mason could only describe the fun being had in the pool as absolute bedlam. There were excitable screams from children in all directions, a niece (though he wasn't sure which one) was clinging to his back as she squealed, before her grip loosened and a little pink swimming costume clad body dove onto the unicorn float beside him. Poppy's little face spun to meet him, a huge grin on her face as he playfully grabbed hold of the float she was now sat upon, dragging it through the water behind him as his heart soared at her gleeful screams.

Don't get him wrong, he loved playing football, but the extended period of time he got to spend with his family under the sun during his summer break was his definition of perfection. Nothing could beat the feeling of spending his days being the fun uncle, acting like a big kid with his nieces and nephew, competing with his brother to be their favourite. He was in his element, splashing around the pool and playing games until they were all exhausted, heading inside for a snack and a nap. And in Mason's case, a cuddle and some loving with you. Sometimes you'd get involved in the chaos, his nieces adored you and would beg and beg until you'd jump in with them, sometimes telling Mason it was "girls time" and he wasn't allowed to join in. But for the most part you stayed in the dry, letting Mason and Lewis act as kids entertainers and tire themselves out trying to compete with each other.

You watched from your place beside the pool, eyes covered by sunglasses, exchanging words with Debbie every now and then as she sat on the sun lounger beside you.

You're not sure why you chose to blurt it out so abruptly, but you couldn't help yourself, heart soaring as you watched him interacting with his niece, "he's going to be the best dad."

Debbie took a sharp intake of breath, whipping her head round to look at you and peering over the top of her sunglasses, "are you...?"

Her words drifted off as you quickly stopped her,

"oh no, no, no," you hurried out, not missing the disappointment that washed over her face, "I just can't help but get broody when I see him with kids."

You and Debbie had always been close, she had treated you like her own from the minute you had met and over the years you had formed a close bond. There was something about the way her kind eyes bored into you that always had you opening up to her, something that her son had inherited too.

"He's in his element when he's with them, isn't he?" She smiled softly, her heart clenching as she watched you watching him, overcome with gratitude that her baby had found someone who loved him as much as you did. "He's always been good with kids, even when he was young all the littlens seemed to be drawn to him."

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink before turning to face her, breaking your eyes away from Mason as he began tossing Summer up in the air, "He keeps dropping hints about having a baby. I caught him looking at baby United kits on his phone the other day so I know he's ready."

"So what's stopping you?"

"I dunno, I guess with the move up North and having to re-jig my whole life, I felt quite unsettled for a while and there was no way a baby in the equation would have been practical," you shrugged, unable to avert your gaze from him, not wanting to a miss a second of the sweet display.

Debbie hummed in agreement, sensing you still had more to say.

Sighing, you carried on, "part of me is selfishly happy he didn't play much this season, as bad as it sounds," you were embarrassed to admit it, feeling guilty about the way you felt, but it was the truth, "It meant I had him around a bit more when I was feeling down. Don't get me wrong I'd move anywhere with him if he needed me to, but I don't think I fully comprehended how big of a change it would be for me. I've only just started making friends that aren't other partners of the players, wnd even with them it took me an age before I didnt feel like the new girl."

"Oh sweetheart," she reached across the beds to take hold of your hand, squeezing it in hers, "you know you could have always called, I would have been there in a heartbeat to come and keep you company."

"Mase did keep saying in the beginning that you would be happy to come up and stay for a bit, but I just didn't want to be an inconvenience you know" you paused, taking comfort from her warm hand in yours as you finally opened up about a years worth of turmoil, "he was the one who was getting hammered publically, he was the one who had to start off again at a whole new club. I just wanted him to worry about himself for once, not me."

"He always worries about you, he called me a lot in the first few months as he had a feeling you weren't settled but you were refusing to admit it," Debbie's voice was soft, motherly in a way that made you feel comfortable enough to divulge all your inner thoughts and fears.

"Bless him," you smiled as you turned back to look at him, now teaching the girls how to do star floats on their backs, "I remember one time l'd had a really bad day, a group of the girls who l'd been getting friendly with had met up without me and I was so sensitive, cried about it when I saw them all together on instagram," you laughed, "and he was so sweet, kept asking if I wanted to move back home and he would see if he could commute from London because he could tell I was unhappy."

Debbie laughed, shaking her head with a smile as it was something he had also mentioned to her in one of his panics. She had shut him down instantly, telling him to not be so dramatic and it was just a big adjustment.

"I think he was worried I would break up with him," you spoke softly, admitting something that you hadn't actually vocalised before.

Remembering the way he was on egg shells with you for weeks, doing everything he could to try and make you feel like Manchester was home.

Debbie didn't respond, just gave your hand another squeeze in acknowledgment. She knew it was something he had agonised over, sometimes breaking down into tears as he poured his heart out to his mum over the phone, worried he was making you unhappy by forcing you to leave your life behind for him. Debbie had reassured him repeatedly it wouldn't happen, and she had been right. It was just a bump in the road, and with his recurring injuries and subsequent time off the tearful calls had become less frequent, the extra time you had been allowed to spend together helping you settle into a new normal.

By the time he had gone back to training full time, you'd found your rhythm, making friends through Anouska who had kindly taken you under her wing and introduced you to all the best coffee places and parks to walk Ace in, the puppy Mason had bought to make you feel safer and less lonely when he was away. It had taken time, but you finally saw Manchester as home, loving the city more than you thought you would.

You settled into a comfortable silence for a while before Debbie spoke up again, still holding your hand in hers, "You know when you two were house hunting after moving up there he asked Lewis to find options that were listed as family homes," she smirked, eyebrows raised suggestively as you turned to look at her.

"I knew you'd want to go back to the grandkids topic," you giggled, shaking your head at her lack of subtlety, another trait Mason had taken from her.

"Can you blame me? I'll never say no to more babies in the family," her smile was infectious, making you return her grin.

"We did discuss a bit when we were house hunting. I didn't want to buy something so big to be honest, purely because the amount of cleaning it would need," you groaned, being reminded that you worry had come to fruition, "but he made a good point and said it's going to be the house we have kids in, so may as well buy one that's ready for that step."

"And are you ready for that step?"

"Yeah," you nodded, feeling sure of yourself, "he's been ready for the past few years, it's been me that's always had my foot on the break. But for the last few months the feeling just hasn't gone away, I keep going over to Anouska's just to get my baby fix with Lumie," you laughed, "and every time Stacey hands Honey over for a cuddle I struggle to give her back."

"You better hurry up and tell Mason then," she teased.

"Tell me what?" You both turned to see the man of the hour pulling himself up out of the pool having caught onto the last few words of your conversation.

Releasing her grip on your hand, Debbie shuffled up from her seat, "I'll leave you two to talk."

Watching her go, you would help but roll your eyes affectionately at the little spring in her step as she rushed over to the other side of the pool where Tony was sitting with a beer, clearly excited to fill him in on the prospect that they may soon be getting another grandchild.

Mason was watching you, taking the opportunity to drink in your bikini clad body while you were focused elsewhere, admiring the curves of your body and the glow from the sun on your skin.

"Go on then," he broke the silence, "what have you got to tell me?" His head cocked in question.

"Come here?" You asked, opening your arms to invite him to lay with you, figuring there was no time like the present and if you didn't tell him he would spend the day pestering you until you inevitability broke down to pressure.

"I've just got out of the pool," he warned, glancing down to his wet torso when he noticed you were transfixed on his body, a slight pink dusting over your already flushed cheeks.

"Don't care, want a cuddle," you murmured, smiling as he carefully plopped on top of you, head resting on your chest as his left hand trailed up and down the side of your body. His wet body cooled you instantly from the layer of heat the sun had given you, goosebumps covering your skin from the combined sensations of the cold and his gentle touch.

You sat in silence for a while, gathering your thoughts while enjoying the feeling of having each other close, the last time you had an opportunity to spend time with him had been in bed that morning. You had awoken to day light flooding into the room having forgotten to close them the night before in your desperation to get each other into bed. Your neediness hadn't passed, knowing you had to make the most of your time together before spending the day surrounded by his family. He had fucked into you slowly from behind, whispering how much he loved you into your ear until you were both spent, followed by another quick fumble in the shower before getting ready to meet the others for breakfast.

The kids had stolen him after that, so you made sure to enjoy the moments you had with him during the day, even if they were few and far between sometimes.

“So, you gonna tell me what mum was talking about?” He broke the silence after a while, fingers tracing over your stomach and you couldn't help but smile at the irony.

"I want a baby.”

His head shot up from your chest instantly, wild eyes searching your expression, "Are you serious!?"

"Yeah,” you nodded slowly, “I've been thinking about it for a while, every time I see you with kids I feel like I’m going to explode. But that's only if you're ready too.”

He laughed, the grin on his face probably the biggest you'd ever seen, happiness radiating through his brown eyes, “You know I've always been ready to have kids with you.”

“I know,” you face was apologetic, reaching out to cup his cheek and trace a gentle path across his flushed cheek, “and i'm sorry for making you wait so long, I just felt like bringing a baby into the world when I was feeling a bit all over the place wasn't the best idea.”

“No I get that, it wasn't the right time last year,” he agreed solomley, though a smile was threatening to burst through, “I know we spoke about kids and how we wanted them soon when we moved into the house but I was always happy to wait until you were ready too.”

“I felt ready all along in terms of our relationship, like if it happened accidentally last year I never would've had doubts or felt rushed. I just didn't feel ready to start actively trying you know? Felt like we had a lot going on and the pressure would've got to me I think."

"We don't have to put any pressure on it, even if it takes time," he reassured, "the baby making is the fun bit anyway." His cheeky grin made you giggle, loving the way he always knew exactly what to say to relax you and make you laugh. "And if you have second thoughts and want to wait for a bit before we remove contraception that's fine. We can do everything at your pace.”

You shook your head softly, he was so unbelievably caring you felt your stomach clench with love, "no I don't need anymore time to think," eyes flitting away from him to admire a bird circling the sky above you,

"It's something i've been thinking about for months now. I thought I’d wait and see, to see if the feeling went away once summer started and you were home all the time and I wasn't so lonely. But if anything it has got worse, I've never been so broody in my life.”

"Yeah?" His voice was soft, his eyes a little bit watery as he struggled to contain the love he felt for you in that moment.

"Yeah," you confirmed, mirroring his expression.

He rested his head back on your chest, trying to steady his breathing as his heart hammered in his chest. You were finally saying everything he had been waiting to hear for the past year, excitement pulsing through his entire body at the prospect of getting to become a parent with you.

"I want two, maybe 3 kids I think,” you murmured.

"Oh at least 3 for sure, the more you let me have the better," he grinned teasingly, his chin resting on the valley between your chest so he could look up at you adoringly.

"You're gonna be the best daddy in the world," you hummed, stroking the back of his head through his wet locks.

"And you’ll be the best mum,” he whispered, pressing a series of kisses to your chest, trailing his lips up until he reached your neck, “wanna go practice making a baby?"

"Mason, I just spoke to your mum about wanting a child, I'm not disappearing off with you, she will know exactly what we're doing," you groaned, gently grasping his face and pushing him out from the crook of your neck in an attempt to stop him getting carried away.

Mason barked out a laugh, "Babe, mum knows if she wants another grandchild we're gonna have to be having lots of sex, probably even more than usual," he wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, trying to charm you into letting him have his way with you but you were holding firm.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean hiding away to have a shag while on a family holiday, when all your nieces and nephews are here as well."

"You let me fuck you last night," he grumbled, "and this morning."

"Yes, while everyone was in bed Mason," you chastised.

"Baby they aren't stupid, they know we don't go in our room at night and play scrabble til we fall asleep," his voice was teasing, letting you know he was only playing around with you.

"That's beside the point, Mase. If we disappear now you may as well stand up and make an announcement across the villa we're going for a quick fuck."

"I mean I wouldn't be opposed to doing that," he shrugged, playfully biting at the palm of your hand that was still cupped around his face, "at least we wouldn't be disturbed."

"You're an idiot," you couldn't help but laugh at him, flicking him on the shoulder in jest.

"But you love me and you wanna make loads of babies with me," his smirk was full of teasing, dipping his head to bite gently down on the swell of your breast knowing it would wind you up further.

"Mason, do you remember you said I could decide otherwise at any point?" You asked pointedly.

He nodded, his smile not dropping.

"Don't test me," you countered.

With another sharp laugh, he pulled you in for a kiss, cupping your face in his large hand, his lips sweet and soft against yours before pulling away, "fine, I'll wait until tonight then."

🩷✨☁️

Thank you for reading! Please leave some feedback if you can, it means a lot and motivates me to keep posting!

[apocalypseornaw]

Not Just Dreams

Sam Winchester x Reader

Or maybe it's not just dreams

NSFW happenings

You hummed along to the radio as you cut up the strawberries you'd gotten at the farmer's market a few days before. The fact that Sam hadn't gone with you was still bothering you but hell the three of you lived together, worked together, all of you were due some time to yourself when needed but no matter how much you tried to ignore it you knew it wasn't just that. Sam had been pulling away from you for weeks and you had no idea why.

You heard footsteps behind you and thought for just a minute it may be Sam but your hope was squashed when Dean's hand slipped around you to snatch a few strawberries out of your bowl "Y/N, you seen Sammy?" You shrugged, trying not to seem like something was bothering you "He barely talks to me these days"

You turned to face him and saw the little wrinkle that popped up between his eyebrows when he was thinking hard. "You finally noticed that huh?" You let out a sigh, that meant it wasn't just you. Sam was indeed purposely ignoring you. You nodded, eyeing him carefully "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would ya?"

He shrugged "No clue sweetheart but I'll try to figure him out. We got a hunt so after you eat, get dressed and we'll hit the road. I'm gonna go wake see if he's still asleep or gone on a run" you nodded, watching Dean walk out before you grabbed your strawberries and a bottle of water and headed to your room.

You were everywhere, your scent surrounding him and the taste of your skin heavy on his tongue. "Sam" the whispered gasp of his name from your lips pushed him further towards that edge. Your legs were wrapped around his waist and your top half was laid back against the counter of the kitchen, breasts on full display for his large hands to tease and grip. How it'd gone from making breakfast to him being buried inside of you he couldn't remember and didn't care. You were perfect to him, every damn inch, every little sound you made was music to his ears. "Fuck Sam, that feels so damn good" you cried, clenching around him.

"Sam!" Dean's deep voice mixed with his hand gripping Sam's shoulder had him jolting awake in the impala. Dean chuckled "Easy tiger. Don't think you wanna wake Y/N up"

Sam followed Dean's eyes to the backseat where you lay, peacefully asleep curled up under Dean's jacket. He nodded slowly,rubbing a hand across his face. "What was that dream about anyways man? You were making some noises"

Sam cut his eyes at his older brother who wore a smirk "Shut up Dean" the answer was Dean's laughter filling the car. You started to stir so Sam punched Dean's arm "You're gonna wake her up!"

Dean held up a hand, his laughter dying down "Sorry but man if you're having sex dreams you need to get laid" Sam rolled his eyes "I'm not having this conversation with you"

Dean shrugged "Fine. Your dream woman at least sounds like shes amazing" Sam's eyes barely flicked back towards your sleeping form but just enough that Dean caught the movement but chose not to say anything, a plan forming in his head as he drove to force the two of you to admit the feelings he knew you both had. "She is" Sam admitted in barely a whisper before laying his head back against the seat again.

The hunt had gone easily enough. A small nest was easily put down with no injuries on any of you, so you counted that as a win. The only thing that was left was to find a hotel to crash for a few hours before heading back home.

Dean pulled into the Golden Dove Inn. You groaned at the name but it looked clean enough. He parked near the office and cut his eyes from Sam to you "I'll be right back" when he disappeared inside Sam turned to look back at you "Your shoulder ok?" You nodded considering this was the most Sam had willingly spoken to you "Yeah. The ibuprofen helped so I know it wasn't anything serious" he nodded "Good"

Before you could say anything else Dean walked back out, carrying keys and a grin. When he climbed in the car he announced "You two can share right? I'm headed to that bar down the road and want the option for a little company"

You remained quiet, waiting for Sam's answer which came with him shooting daggers at his brother with his glare before saying "Yeah. That's fine"

After an awkward dinner of silence and Chinese food Dean headed to the bar so you claimed the first shower.

When you walked out the bathroom Sam walked into it without a word. You had no clue what you'd done to fuck up your friendship with him but it was weighing heavy on your heart. He was your best friend and you missed him. Hell he was more than that in your heart if you were being honest but you'd long since decided being his friend was better than risking losing him by admitting anything but now it seemed you were losing him anyways.

A part of you wanted to stay up, push him for answers as to what was wrong but you knew him too well to think that would work. He had to deal wth whatever was plaguing his mind on his own, you just wish you had some idea as to what part you had played in it.

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

Sam hesitaed when he stepped out the bathroom. A part of him hoped you were still awake but he honestly had no idea any more how to be around you without letting the memories of the dreams drift into his head. He'd had feelings for you for so long but he'd thought they were buried or had hoped for the sake of your friendship.

Instead he was met with the sight of you curled up on your side, hugging a pillow to you and fast asleep. Christ, you were beautiful. It made his heart ache.

He tossed his dirty clothes next to his duffle bag, praying for a dreamless night as he laid across his own bed.

You weren't sure what had woke you up but two things hit you the moment consciousness rushed back to you. One was that the room was hot, the next was Sam was muttering in his sleep.

You kicked the blanket off your legs and called his name, when you got no response you climbed out the bed to walk over to him but froze when you heard your name. Was he dreaming about you?

It felt wrong to listen but you were too curious as to what had gone wrong between the two of you to care. You paused next to his bed and your eyes widened when he rutted his hips against the bed and muttered "Fuck you feel so good" Sam was having a sex dream...about you.

-----------

He started to stir so you practically dove back into your bed hoping he hadn't realized you were fully awake. He sat up slowly and called your name so you acted like you were just waking up "Yeah?" when you sat up to look at him his cheeks were rosy and it took every ounce of self control you had to not glance down at his crotch.

"Is it hot in here?" "Very" you breathed hoping your voice didn't betray your thoughts.

Sam stood out of the bed and walked over to the small unit in the wall. He clicked a few buttons then smacked the side of it, "It's dead"

"Fuck" you growled, watching him turn up the ceiling fan with an apologetic smile. "Bet Dean's air works" you muttered before kicking the blanket completely off the bed, much to Sam's amusement.

He shook his head but grinned "Do you mind if I take my shirt off?" You shook your head "Naw cause you're about to get a strip show Winchester. I can't sleep in the heat"

----------

When he slipped the shirt over his head you found yourself watching the muscles in his arms flex. Damn he was gorgeous. He smoothed his hair back out his face then cut his eyes at you "Feel free to get comfortable. I'll even face the wall if need be"

You shrugged before slipping your t-shirt off considering you'd put a soft sports bra on under it just in case then slipped your shorts off your legs leaving you in the bra and a pair of black panties "You and Dean both have seen me stripped when I've gotten hurt. Hell modesty could kill in this line of work"

-----------

Sam tried to ignore how his cock twitched in the sweatpants he wore or how the comment about Dean seeing you stripped licked up a flame of jealousy in him. Fuck he wouldn't be getting any sleep with you wearing so little.

He took a deep breath then went back to his bed. He'd just laid down when you called his name. He turned to face you and you were mimicking his posture, both of you propping your head up on one arm to face each other "Are you mad at me?" He shook his head "Of course not"

"You barely talk to me anymore. Even now I feel like it's a struggle for you to meet my eyes" "No one could blame me for being distracted with you wearing what you're wearing" he blurted out, the shock on his face mirroring your own "What?"

---------

He groaned and pushed himself to be fully sitting up "We need to talk but can you promise first to not kick my ass?" You nodded, climbing out of your bed and walking towards his "You van tell me anything Sam"

The fact that he'd dreamt of you in a very similar circumstance didn't miss Sam as he stared at you. Your eyes were full of concern and it made his heart ache. He wanted you to feel the same, wanted to make every dream he'd had reality but the fear of losing you was overwhelming. "I've been having dreams about you" he admitted.

"Dreams?" You asked stepping closer and he swallowed hard "Yeah" your heart was beating wildly. Did he feel the same? Did he want you the way you wanted him?

-----------

"Sam, what kind of dreams?" You asked,stopping just shy of the bed to brush his hair back from his eyes. "Y/N we both know what kind of dreams"

You moved your hand down his face, smiling when his eyes fluttered shut for a moment before your fingers caught his chin, making him look at you. When his eyes met yours you saw the uncertainty there mixed with a need you felt in yourself "Sam, do you want to kiss me?"

He swallowed hard "More than anything and I just don't want one night. I want all of you for as long as you'll have me" you felt a smile split your face "Then claim what's already yours Sammy" you whispered and the moment the words left your mouth you saw an instant change in his demeanor. The uncertainty was gone.

"What's mine?" He echoed so you nodded, slowly climbing into the bed to straddle his waist "Claim what's yours" you repeated. The look in his eyes made you clench around nothing. He looked like he wanted to devour you and to say you were willing was the understatement of the century.

He gripped your hips roughly and turned, flipping you so your back was against the bed "Yes ma'am" he spoke against your lips before pulling you into a hungry kiss.

Sam moved from your lips down across your jaw to your neck. You gasped when he bit down on your pulse point then soothed the area with gentle kisses "Lay back baby, let me take my time" he whispered as his lips moved further down. You whimpered when his large hand cupped your breast through the thin bra "Can I take this off?" You nodded "Please"

You leaned up so he could slip it over your head. Once you were bare to him he froze, letting his eyes take in you bare under him "I'm awake, aren't I?" He asked lightly and you laughed, slipping your hand under the waistband of his sweats to grip his hard cock, lazily stroking it "That feel real?" He swallowed hard and nodded "Very" you grinned "Good. Now show me what those dreams were all about"

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

You were on your stomach, pillows under you to angle your hips just right as Sam rutted into you. Every thrust of his hips had you seeing stars as you felt his lips tease your bare shoulders, teeth lightly grazing the most sensitive skin "Fuck Sam. You're so fucking big, feels so damn good." You were barely coherent from the amount of orgasms he'd wrung out of you between his fingers, tongue and now his cock. He growled as he shifted to bury himself even further inside of you with each snap of his hips "Baby, you're so perfecting perfect, taking me so good. My good girl" he pulled your head back to catch your lips in a messy kiss, his hips never faltering their rhythm.

When you snatched away in need of air he chuckled. "You're so fucking gorgeous, all fucked out like this. Might want to keep you in bed, spread out for me" you'd never known Sam was such a dirty talker or that it'd be such a turn on. "Sam please I can't take much more" he kissed your neck gently "One more baby. Give me one more then I'll fill this pretty little pussy up and let you rest"

You whimpered but nodded. He slipped a hand under you and when his fingers found your clit your hips started to move back to meet his thrusts, needing to meet him on that high and ride it together. "You want to come with me huh?" You asked and you nodded "So damn sweet for me" he cooed, pushing your shoudlers down "Play with your clit for me sweetheart"

You slipped your hand under you, teasing your clit while he sat a punishing pace. You would be hoarse tomorrow from screaming his name but you could've cared less. You felt that pleasure building inside of you at the same time his hips started to falter. "Just like that Sam. Oh fuck" you moaned as the pleasure burst.

He buried himself deep inside of you with one final thrust, his release coating the walls of your pussy. He stilled then, hands massaging your shoulders and leaving light kisses "You ok Y/N?" He asked, voice full of worry. You laughed, turning your head to look at him "I think I love you Sam" he laughed lightly "Good because I know I love you"

@kindacher @janineb86

[endless-ineffabilities]

backhand stroke (18+)

tennis coach!Aemond x tennis player!reader

Rivals on and off the court, things come to a head between the two when Aemond crosses the line and sabotages the reader's relationship.

themes : challengers inspired, Art Donaldson is featured <3, a lot of cussing, smut!!! (minors dn fckin i), the reader and Aemond hate each other (but if they hate each other why are they fcking), reader may or may not be a cheating bastard, Aemond has a glass eye + he calls the reader ace

a/n : initially I was about to write a fic where Aemond and the reader are actual rivals themselves, but quickly remembered how tennis works 💀 so in this one, Aemond is a coach and reader is a player 🎾

word count : 8k ▪︎ masterlist

The Westeros Open is the biggest and most prestigious tennis tournament in the country. 

Anyone who wants to be someone in the sport aims to qualify for it. 

For you, it is everything. You have devoted your entire life to tennis. It started as something that stemmed from your parents' neglect. Rich folks who signed their young daughter up for extensive tennis lessons just so they can be free of her and galivant off to wherever. 

You had sat there, staring at your shiny, brand-new white tennis shoes. Holding your unused top-of-the-line racket. Hair kept away from your face with a headband that still smelled like the store. 

Mostly left alone by your family, you gathered your strength, and dragged your weak eight-year-old legs across the tennis court day in and day out. 

Through the years, you found yourself. You found home, and you gave everything you had to make sure you would never lose it.

As luck would have it, you found romance along the way in Art Donaldson, who became your coach after your previous one decided to quit. He used to be a player, until he fell out of love with the game, and chose to coach up and coming players instead. 

You had been wary of getting involved with him, but eventually you couldn’t resist. He turned out to be the perfect boyfriend - caring, sweet, attentive to your every need. He became your partner in both tennis and in life. Truly, you couldn’t want for anything else.

You shouldn’t. 

So why does it feel like there is something missing?

And why is that void one that only Aemond Targaryen can fill?

The gigantic poster propped up in the inner courtyard of the country club lets everyone know that your next qualifying match in the Westeros Open is against none other than Helaena Targaryen. 

Your image looms up to around twenty feet, with Helaena’s lithe figure on the other side. The perfectionist in you can’t help but scrutinise the details in your expression and your form. Was that really what you looked like mid-serve? You laugh dryly, feeling silly at your misdirected concern.

You like Helaena, and she’s always been cordial to you outside of your matches. The issue lies with her more brash and calculating brother and coach. 

Something - or rather someone - shuffles behind you. Close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on attention. 

"I wish I could say that you look good up there, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Think of the devil and he shall appear. You don't have to turn around to know who it is. 

Aemond fucking Targaryen. Once at his prime, known for his freely expressing his passion and rage on the court, earning him the title 'the bad boy of tennis'. It was this drive, this relentlessness, that propelled his game. Unfortunately, it also served to be his downfall. After a few years as the sport's #1 male player, his career came to an end after an off-court altercation with an opponent that took his eye.

Now he is the coach of one of your top rivals and upcoming match opponent, his sister Helaena. 

Which is why it should come as no surprise to you that he has made it his mission to get under your skin, with all his unwarranted flirty remarks, constant staring, and how he tirelessly interacts with everything you post on social media. 

It used to be tame, by his standards anyway, with things like, ‘You need to work on that backhand’ or ‘I’m guessing Donaldson doesn’t train you well enough.’

But then the messages took a different turn. You once posted a picture of you in a fancy, revealing gown when you attended the annual gala, and he responded with, ‘It’s easy to see that all your training has paid off, ace.’

You chocked it all up to playful aggression. He’s just trying to get you to lower your guard, and distract you. You knew better than to look too much into the apparent interest he gives you. 

He is notorious for being a playboy, after all. Dirty blonde hair perfectly tousled, designer tracksuits he wears with such snobbishness, a presence that can command an entire room. You’ve grown to heavily dislike the seemingly permanent smug sneer on his lips, and how he sometimes treats others like they’re nothing but gum stuck on the soles of his fancy tennis shoes.

A handsome rogue who possesses a lot of talent and who is aware of his status as a hot commodity can be dangerous indeed. If he can say that Helaena Targaryen’s best opponent is nothing but another notch on his bedpost, then he will never let that live down. 

More importantly, you are already spoken for. Aemond knows this - not that he cares - but whatever he thinks about your relationship doesn’t matter. 

“Aemond.” You don’t turn to face him, continuing to scrutinise the gigantic poster. “Is that the best you got?”

He shrugs, positioning himself right in your line of sight, clearly demanding more attention. “You don’t just look good. You look good enough to fucking eat, ace. Too bad about the shitty attitude.”

Hot then cold, nice then nasty. Aemond will never change. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I thought I told you not to call me that. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else training your sister? She’s gonna need it.”

He steps closer, invading your space. You look him directly in the eye like you’re squaring up with an opponent. This has always been your dynamic. Neither one backing down, neither one ever really dealing a blow. 

Just constant dizzying electricity. 

Sooner or later, it will all come to a head. Whether it will be your fault or his, the jury is still out on that. 

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” he patronises, his deep blue almost violet eye sparkling. On the opposite was his glass eye, only adding to his intimidating nature. He hadn’t opted for one that resembled his real eye, but rather a hazy white apparatus, making him appear ghoulish, almost ghostlike. Nestled in his left eye socket, framed by a faded maroon gash, it made him look every bit like the charismatic rogue of tennis that he is known to be. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere receiving instruction from Donaldson? Not that you’ll get much out of it.”

“Art and I are on top of our training, not that it’s any of your damn business. You should concern yourself with your sister’s game.” 

“If only that were actually true, ace, but unfortunately I believe that your sweet Art wastes too much of his fucking time being on top of you.”

“Fuck off, Targaryen,” you respond, trying to push the allure of his scent out of your mind. Pungent cologne and cigarette smoke, a blend that you’ve come to associate only with him. “Stay out of my business, and quit messaging me.”

“You like how we talk.”

“Trust me, I don’t.”

“Does Donaldson know?” Fully aware that Art has never had a liking for him, he knows that will hit a nerve. 

Your face falls, like you’ve been caught in the act. Even though you've done nothing wrong. Occasionally caving in and responding to Aemond’s messages surely isn’t crossing the line. What started out as a couple of offhand fuck offs from your end turned into actually sharing private jokes about the other matches and training and - heavens forbid - small talk about the goddamn weather. 

You’ve come to know that his favourite colour is green. Not the neon of a tennis ball, but a bluish-tinted pine. 

Not that it matters. 

Encounters such as this one also don’t mean anything. Never mind however much you find him attractive. Who wouldn’t? You have eyes, and you’re only human. Nothing more to it. 

Never mind how, some nights, in what can only be construed as momentary states of delirium, you have imagined him in Art’s place. 

Never mind just how much he gets under your skin, like no one else can, and how you can’t admit to yourself that you might actually like it.

Oh, you might actually be making yourself sick at all these thoughts. 

“There’s nothing for him to know.” You step to the side, indicating that you want to walk away. But he has you cornered and you both know it. 

He smirks, “Keep telling yourself that, ace. But you can’t deny - ” He steps close again. He suddenly tilts your face toward him with one hand, but you shake your head and his fingers lose their hold. “ - this. Us.”

Damn him. And damn the shiver that just ran up your spine. 

You stand still, entranced by the look he’s giving you. Trick or not, Aemond sure does have a way of looking at you as if he sees you for who you really are. Not the tennis prodigy. Not the public personality. You remain a shell of that broken kid that poured everything she had into this sport, much like he had, only to come out the other end still not whole, still searching for something inexplicably out of reach. And he sees just that - just you.

You feel like Art holds you up on a pedestal, not seeing the flaws that make you who you are. But you’ve always been happy to play the perfect girlfriend. 

Until Aemond. 

But he’s too much. Too forward, too brash, too intoxicating. You can never know what he’s going to do next. You can’t like him. You have to be certain that you don’t.

But then again… love and hate have always been two sides of the same coin.

He whispers, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you, “Match point, ace.”

Match point. You could have him. He could have you. He makes it evident that the next move is all yours. “Don’t go out of bounds, Targaryen,” you warn him lowly. 

“What if I want to?”

You have him. He has you.

And you… have Art. 

Clearing your throat, and your head, you finally step back. His head snaps up to follow you, disappointment evident on his face. 

“See you around, Targaryen.” You spin on your heel, walking away, immediately feeling lighter. Emptier, feeling like your body begs to drift closer to him, two equal magnets. 

“Ace,” he calls to you, walking after you when you don’t turn around. “Wait a second,” he reappears right in front of you, effectively halting your stride.

You grumble hastily, “God, you really have a space issue, don’t you, Aemond?”

“Meet me in the courtyard gardens,” he says, a new intensity lacing his voice, “tonight. After dinner. Or whenever you can. Just - ”

“No.”

“Come on, ace.” His tone is insistent, with no trace of his usual bravado and cockiness. “I think… I need to tell you something.”

Part of you wants to cave in, and just agree to whatever it is that he’s proposing, but that nagging voice in the back of your mind is adamant that it would not be right. What would Art think? But what if Aemond truly just wants to tell you something?

“So tell me now.”

His jaw clenches hard, and you can’t help but admire the taut edges of his face. “No, I want to do this, just you and me. When we’ll be alone - ”

“Aemond - ” you start to shake your head, trying hard to come up with a refusal that he will actually register. 

“Donaldson doesn’t need to know,” he almost pleads. “This is between you and me, ace. You just have to hear me out.”

You take a deep breath, unable to understand just what it is he means. “If it’s something I have to hide from my boyfriend, then it’s not gonna happen. You have to see just how messed up that is, Targaryen.”

Either he can’t hear you, or he just does not want to accept your response. “I’ll wait for you. Right around midnight then, ace? Should give you plenty of time to sneak out.”

Before you can say no, again, he hastily plants a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, in surprise and perhaps pleasure at the softness of his lips, and when you open them once more, he is no longer flooding your space. 

You spy him entering a set of glass doors, leaving you there stunned.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Aemond kicks at another pebble, the sound momentarily breaking the silence in the gardens.

He’d checked his watch just seconds before, the face of it spitting on what remains of his eagerness. 

Twelve fucking fifteen. 

Either you just got held up by your whiney rat-faced boyfriend, or you’re a no-show.

Aemond doesn’t know which one is worse. He did not know what he was expecting in the first place. Did he actually think that you would do as he says? You never were good at following orders, much less those from someone whom you likely view as something of a nuisance.

Is that really what you see him as? Isn’t there something more at play here?

Something that keeps Aemond up at night, when he can no longer deny that it is not because he dislikes you that you plague his thoughts, but because he admires you. He does admire you, he sees no shame in admitting that. 

As a tennis player. As a competitor. Anyone who feigns ignorance at your insane potential would just be lying to themselves. 

As a woman? A… partner? No. It has to be no, doesn’t it? You hate him, you make it clear now and again. You disagree with him, challenge his views, point out his flaws. Surely, he can’t be attracted to you in a way that commands his heart. You are beautiful, he doesn’t deny this, but so were the dozens of other girls he had run through. 

Each time he watches you perform your signature backhand stroke, with that sensual growl escaping your lips and the lewd grace with which your body bends, Aemond feels his sanity slipping away.

You drive him crazy, but he can't be crazy about you. 

The only reason he asked you to meet him, is because he wants to propose that he replace Art as your coach. Helaena has expressed that she wants to retire, and focus on some other creative pursuits. Something insignificant to Aemond, that he can’t remember what it was exactly. A pottery business? A fucking flower shop? He doesn’t care to know. 

It’s perfect, he thinks, because your game is superior anyway. It’s what first got his attention, and now he can take part in your process. He can direct you, shape you. He can do so much better than Art Donaldson, and he’s sure you know this too. 

Maybe then you might actually open up to him the way you opened up to Art. With your absence tonight, it dawns on him that he might actually have to resort to other measures. Did he seriously think he would be able to simply reason with you about this? 

He sits for another half-hour on a bench nestled among the rose bushes. Surrounded by flowers of deep scarlet, a maroon he distinctly remembers as being your favourite colour. He fools himself into believing that he’s using the time to craft a plan for what’s to come, and not that he’s wasting it on the hope that you might emerge from the tall hedges, out of breath and eyes glinting eager to find him. 

Well, you played your hand. Now he knows what he has to do.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You wake up groggy the following morning, having tossed and turned the entire night, thinking about Aemond.

Had he been out there, waiting for you? Your mind came up with the different possibilities of what he has to say. Or if he had nothing to say at all, and it was all just another ruse. 

You told yourself that you didn’t want to meet up with him, but you had an alibi prepared. One of your old tennis club mates agreed to cover for you and say that you were having drinks together, just in case Art ever checks up. 

But as you were about to deliver the excuse, Art had said something about you and him not getting to spend as much quality time anymore. The past few weeks have been occupied with nothing but tennis, and though it’s a shared activity that you both value, he wanted to stay in for the night with you. He ordered room service, downloaded two films that were on your watchlist, and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you eventually gave up on meeting Aemond. 

It can wait, whatever it is. 

Besides, isn’t this the right thing to do? Did you seriously consider having a midnight rendezvous with the guy who you claim to dislike the most? Someone who encourages you to keep secrets from your boyfriend? What good could possibly come out of that?

With a heaving sigh, you push all thoughts of last night from your mind. There are bigger things at hand. The biggest tennis tournament of the year, for one. 

You make your way to the dining hall of your hotel. Art had woken up before you, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek and explaining how he had to discuss some matters with your physical team. He wore the skin of a tennis coach as perfectly as that of a boyfriend. 

And here you are, regretting that you were unable to meet up with another man the previous night.

The art deco layout of the lobby extends into the spacious dining hall, the interior of the hotel filled with geometric patterns and rich jewel tones. You once bid Aemond guess what your favourite interior design was, and he got it in two tries, complete with a spiel of how it reflects your personality. Art, on the other hand, had been adamant that your favourite was minimalist. That was the first time you realised that his perspective of you was different from Aemond’s. 

You hadn’t yet reconciled with who is more accurate, lest it shine a light on something deeper. 

The hostess is cheerful and full of pep as she leads you to your table. You know it’s coming - she’ll ask you for a picture in just a moment, and you’re proven right when she reaches in her pocket and her phone materialises inch by inch. She seems shy to ask, ready to turn on her heel with a stiff smile if you refuse, so you do your best to be encouraging.

When the photo is taken and she finally lowers her phone, you spy someone out in the distance and you make it out to be none other than your boyfriend. Leaning by the outdoor terrace, appearing to be speaking to another person you can’t yet make out, their face obscured by the decorative shrubbery scattered across the area. 

You walk to the side to get a better view of who it is. That tall figure, clad in a black tracksuit… a familiar head of blonde hair… and the unmistakable cut of his jawline. Realisation sets in. Art is speaking to Aemond. 

Your stomach sinks, the thought of breakfast no longer enticing. Frozen in the middle of the dining hall, you begin to attract the attention of others. 

Aemond turns his head, perfectly timed for his gaze to meet yours. Like something out of a grim movie, your anxiety spikes as his smug smirk materialises in slow motion. 

If there ever were a match at hand between you two, that smirk makes it clear that he has won it. 

Art follows his gaze, also meeting yours, but without any trace of satisfaction. He looks at you accusingly. You shake your head at him, but you already know. 

This is not going to end well. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Is it true?”

You had wordlessly followed Art back to your hotel suite, the air around you thick with dread and anticipation.

“What did Aemond say?” You stand in front of him as he calmly sits by the window, as if you’re on the trial stand. You just might be.

“Guess,” Art spits mockingly. “Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know him quite well.” You bristle at his tone. He’s never spoken to you like this before. 

“Whatever he told you, it’s not what it looks like, okay? You know Aemond. He likes to mess around with people, especially us.”

Art shakes his head in disbelief, “He even showed me some of your messages. Some of them you must have sent - what, at 3 or 4 in the fucking morning? When you’re lying next to me in bed? Not getting a lot of sleep apparently. It must be why you’re not on top of your game.”

He’s not playing fair, and you deserve this. 

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you say through gritted teeth, making the statement sound as firm as possible, because it’s not just Art you’re attempting to convince. You want to believe it too. 

“He’s said some things about me.”

“And I defended you.”

“Not well enough,” he shakes his head. “It sounded almost normal for you. Spewing bullshit to each other.”

“It’s just… it’s all just banter.” God, you sound so terrible. “Riling each other up to get into the mindset before matches.”

“All that… all that, I can kind of understand. It’s the other things. The intimate things that get on my nerves.”

“What - ” You can’t form the proper response to that. 

“I missed talking to you, he once said. To which you replied that you do too.”

“That’s nothing.”

“You said that he inspired you.”

“That’s… that… he’s a great talent,” you stammer, as the statements he throws worsen. “He always has been. Even you can’t deny that.”

The argument goes on for an uncomfortable length of time, with Art reminding you of things that you and Aemond had apparently messaged each other, and you trying to play them off as insignificant. 

Gradually, you convince Art that Aemond is just a thorn in your side. That Aemond was just overplaying the messages to get under his skin. That letting this break your relationship would be giving Aemond what he wants. 

But everything he said - the messages he brought back to the surface, the encounters that were brought up - made you realise the depth of your involvement with Aemond. 

You are fooling yourself, just as much as you are fooling Art.

He finally stands, heading towards the door. “I’ve spoken to our physical team. Meet us at the gym in 15.”

“Art.”

He halts, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You’re worried about what you’ll see in his face if he does.

“Are we okay?” you ask.

He turns to the side, and you catch a glimpse of the man you love, his once blithe demeanour reduced to a brief, forced smile. He nods once, and you sag in relief. When he is finally out the door, you collapse onto the bed and press your knuckles to your eyes. 

You feel it all at once. 

Anger. Frustration. That fear of inevitability coming to fruition. This was bound to happen and a part of you knew it was coming.

Aemond screwed you over, and it’s high time you put an end to everything.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The gardens. Midnight. 

The message had been sent. The last one you will ever send to Aemond Targaryen if things go as planned. 

You have it rehearsed and perfected in your mind - how you will give him a piece of your mind, how you will tell him off and tell him to fuck off for good. 

As long as you think of Art…  As long as you don’t lose yourself, then…

“You’re lucky I’m not standing you up, Ace. Not like what you did to me.” The bastard has appeared directly behind you, as per his custom, so close you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck. 

You immediately turn to face him, and he stands calmly in his signature black tracksuit, his lips curled in their usual manner. “I never agreed to meet you that night.”

His smile is derisive, the sight of it sharp and cruel under the moonlight. “I thought we had sort of a code of honour, you and I. That we’d never lie to each other. Never let the other person down.”

“Honour?” you say mockingly. “I call bullshit. Trying to ruin my relationship… is that part of it?”

He looks away, shaking his head at your accusation. “I only did what you don’t have the fucking guts to do. Your relationship with Donaldson was ruined the moment we…” He trails off, brows furrowing. His gaze meets yours, revealing the truth that sits underneath his mask of arrogance. One that only you are allowed to see. He appears to take on a different smile this time, softer and less pronounced. The curses you want to hurl get caught in your throat when he looks to your lips and hums faintly to himself, almost as if he’s forgotten that you are in the middle of an argument. 

You take a step back, and it shakes him out of his reverie. It shakes the both of you out of it. 

“Well? Let’s fucking hear it then.” You raise your arms in a gesture, egging him on. 

“Hear what?” he says, having the gall to be confused.

“What did you want to tell me that night? Tell me now, because you’ll never get the chance again.”

He straightens, getting his thoughts in order. He completely forgot about that issue, and talking is increasingly becoming the last thing he wants to do right now. He wants to put his lips to better use. Something more worthwhile. “Helaena’s retiring,” he finally decides on saying, “and I think I should be your coach.”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment, his proposition whirring in your head. It makes sense, it does. He just gets you. But then again… 

“That’s rich,” you reply. “Do you think I would ever give up Art? He’s always been my coach and he’s damn good at it.”

“You’re not compatible,” he counters, “in the court and out of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He doesn’t see you,” he affirms. He would never lie to you, and he isn’t about to start now. He repeats, “He doesn’t see you, but I do.”

His words strike true, and it feels as if he’s just pulled the rug from underneath you, and you’re falling, falling… 

Right into his arms. And the impact is jarring, because it’s real. 

“We can’t.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, a reflection of your weakening restraint.

“Yes we can, ace.” He takes a step closer, and he lifts his hand as if on instinct, reaching for your face. But he’s frozen, unsure of how far he can toe the line that already lies fragile between you. “It should be you and me.”

Your eyes follow his movements, because you know you want him to give in and hold you. To touch your face. To kiss you.

And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. 

“I have to go.” Your voice carries no emotion. You avert your gaze at the last second and catch the defeat that flashes across his face. It should come as a surprise that it pains you to see him like this, but then again, you see him as he sees you. You always have. Which renders your next words among the most painful to come out of your mouth. “We can’t do this anymore. Art already doesn’t trust me, and if this goes on, it’s only going to make things worse. I can’t talk to you - ” 

“No.” 

“- and I won’t be responding to anything- ”

“Stop fucking talking.” His anger is fledgling, rising to the surface. There is no way he will calmly accept these terms. “I said no, ace.”

“It’s… it’s the right thing to do,” you murmur, still unable to look at him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. We run in the same circles. But we can’t be… us.”

“Forget it,” he seethes, trying to catch your eyes, and growling low when you don’t relent. “Forget him, ace. Or do whatever the fuck you want. But not this, I’m not having this.”

You exhale, having gotten the worst of it out of your chest. It’s over now. But it’s not a relief that you feel. It’s remorse. 

“Goodbye, Aemond.” With that, you finally take him in once more, and one glance is enough to shatter your resolve. His heightened ill temper shines clearly across his distinguished features. Under the midnight moon, he resembles a fallen angel, long dark blonde lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His shadowy, glass eye strangely adding to the appeal. 

Beautiful. And just not yours. 

One last, lingering look - then you walk away. The silence is deafening, and you feel numb all over. Your knuckles are taut at your sides, fingernails digging in your palms to keep those pesky, errant tears at bay. You’ve suffered defeat before, but this is much worse, because it’s coming solely from your own hand. How easily you give him up, someone who was never yours, and how badly it stings. 

“No,” you hear him say again, and you pray he shuts up so you can keep walking. 

He doesn’t. He repeats the word - no - over and over like some mantra under his breath. One second you feel nothing. Nothing at all. But then the wind whooshes around you and you’re being spun around to face him. 

And then, his lips claim yours, and you feel everything. 

Sounds come rushing back to you. His ragged panting against your lips, the pads of his fingertips kneading the back of your head, the wet smacking of his mouth on your own. The empty pit in your stomach is filled with those clichéd butterflies. More so when one of his hands travels down to grasp your waist and press your body against his. 

“Aem - ” Your mind catches up to you, and you try to say his name to get him to pause, but he slides his tongue past your teeth. 

“Shut up and kiss me, ace.” He breaks free for but a second, then hungrily kisses you again. You let him. You give in completely.

“Mmm, Aemond.” Your hands reach up to cradle his face and he takes that as an opportunity to pull back and openly admire you.

“You’re my ace,” he professes, connecting his forehead to yours. “And I’m not fucking losing you.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You rush through the lobby of the hotel, hand in hand and giggling like schoolchildren as you duck your heads so as not to get recognised by the night concierge. 

With reckless abandon, your entwined bodies stumble into his suite, which just happens to be on the floor below yours. You once thought you would have to be inebriated beyond belief to surrender to a sin like this, and in a way you are. You’re high off of him - Aemond in his entirety, six feet of lean muscle, notorious foul-mouthed one-eyed libertine. 

“Fuck, ace.” He has his arms wrapped around you from behind, and he nips at your exposed neck. His touch roams and finds the mounds of your breasts, kneading mindlessly over your shirt. The sound that reverberates from his throat is carnal, and you feel it echo through your whole body. It drives you to press your ass against him, taking full notice of his hardness straining from his sweatpants. 

Feeling mischievous, you do it again, gripping his arms to anchor yourself while grinding against his cock. 

“Foul play,” he whispers against your neck, “you fucking minx.”

“There are no rules now.” You face him, running a finger along his jawline as you walk backward and he follows suit. Stopping at the edge of his bed, you strip out of your shirt, careful to keep your eyes locked on his the whole time. 

The movement is too slow for Aemond, and he desperately needs more. He pushes you onto the mattress and climbs on top of you. He slides your sweatpants off your legs, then lets his hand drag from your ankle to your inner thigh. He promptly undresses, graceless and in a rush, until all his clothes are left in a heap on the carpet. 

His cock stands on attention, taut and goddamn long. You feel an ache below that compels you to rub your legs together, but he beats you to it and slides your underwear right off. “I’ve always wanted to taste you,” he croons. “Bet you taste so sweet.”

You take your bra off and you’re finally left completely bare. He spreads your legs and positions himself in between. He uses one hand to squeeze your breast and the other to keep your legs propped wide open. 

His eye meets yours, before he settles in, lowering his head until he’s breathing cool air onto your pussy. “Match point, ace.” 

You have him. He has you. 

When Aemond’s tongue plunges deep into your throbbing core, swirling inside like he wants to consume you whole, you have to bite your tongue to hold back a scream.

He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, and he’s so fucking good.

“Yes - yes - keep going, baby, fuck -  ” you moan, words breathy and irregular. 

He sticks two fingers into your wetness, using it to spread you wider, leveraging his tongue ever deeper. In and out they go, faster than the fuck, fuck, fucks coming out of your mouth in blissful sputters. 

He suddenly stops, a guttural hmm echoing from his lips, and you look down to see his lips coated in a mixture of his spit and your pre cum. “Not so fast, ace,” he taunts. “You’ll come when I say.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, still widespread and exposed to him. “What, are you coaching me through it?” 

He hums in affirmative and leans in to kiss you, juices still dripping from his chin. 

“You gonna follow my orders, ace?” he asks, and your mind spirals at how utterly lewd it sounds. 

“Wouldn’t you like that, Targaryen?” You let out another moan, biting your lip when he hungrily sucks on your breast. “Let’s see what you got first.”

He smiles at your playful instigation. It’s always come natural, this riffing back and forth. But this midnight dalliance - he wants it to be honest. He needs you to realise how much he wants you. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He gets on his knees, a hand braced on each of your thighs, his hardened cock at the ready. 

“Ma’am?” you breathe, a laugh dying in your throat when you his tip prods at your entrance.

“I can be agreeable under the right circumstances, ace.” He torments you by pushing his cock in but an inch. 

“Fuck me, Aemond,” you cuss in frustration, then, literally, “Fuck me. Please.”

His eyes take you in, one darkened blue and one ghostly pale glass. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. “You good for it, ace?” He nods once, referring to whether a condom is needed and you take the hint right away.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Perks of having a top-of-the-line physio team. They hook you up on other things too.” Your cocky-athlete way of stating that you are on the pill. 

The lights are dim in the room, but you clearly see the resolve settle on Aemond’s face. He parts his lips like he wants to say something more, and you tilt your head questioningly. 

He feels the need to make some sort of declaration. Something true. It doesn’t seem right to say those damned three words at this moment, no matter how much he means them. You could think he’s trying to trick you in order to get what he wants. A good lay and nothing else. So he doesn’t say anything and lets the silence speak for itself. If you know him as you claim to, then you’ll see. 

You’ll see just how much this means to him.

You nod, and it’s an unspoken plea. 

He thrusts his cock into you with such force, stretching your walls with a sudden and blinding ache, until he is buried to the hilt. He reaches and cradles your face with one hand, the other keeping your ankle propped by his shoulder. 

“Move, Aem.” You buck your hips against him, his cock squelching in and out again.

“Yeah, baby?” He complies with his hips in response. “That feel good?”

“Yes. God yes.”

A switch flicks inside of him, and he almost snarls through his teeth. “You feel so fucking good, ace. Your pussy takin’ me so well…” His hips buck faster, in abrupt snapping motions, burying his cock each damn time. He connects your legs together and turns you to your side, altering the position slightly. 

You look behind your shoulder and see that feral look etched on his face. His grip is tight on the flesh of your hips and the curve of your ass, having it raised slightly for his convenience. He smacks your behind with an open palm, and it elicits a lusty moan out of you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “So beautiful like this, dripping around my fucking cock, huh? My good girl.”

The noises you release as a result are unintelligible. You press your face against the pillow in sheer pleasure, muffling your sounds. 

“I wanna hear you, baby,” Aemond protests. With practised ease, he repositions you so your ass is propped high before him, your body bent forward as you have to lean on your forearms to keep from planting your face on the sheets. 

He doesn’t ease up on his relentless thrusting, and you’re left squirming and cock-drunk. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you’re blissed-out on what only Aemond can give you.

“Does he fuck you as good?” he spits in obvious distaste. “I don’t think so, baby. Can’t fuck this pussy like I do.” 

“N-no,” you whimper, without any trace of guilt. “Only you, Aem.”

“Hmm,” he simpers. “Come for me, ace. Be a good girl now. Come around my cock, yeah?”

“Mhhmm,” you pant, growing weaker and weaker at his statements, your walls tensing for that release you crave.

“You’re mine, ace. Mine.”

Your whimper comes out sudden and unrestrained as you let go, and feel your warm juices leaking down your thighs. The sounds of his cock growing noisy and sloppier. He releases not long after, with a few sharp spasms, decorating your insides with his cum. 

Marking someone who is not supposed to be his. 

But nothing else matters as he crumples against you and pulls you into his arms. If something is to be reconciled with, it won’t be for tonight.

With these things, regret always comes along with the sunrise.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“40 - 30.”

The crowd cheers at the umpire’s announcement. You can barely make out the faces morphing together into one homogeneous mob, but you’ve observed enough to know that Aemond isn’t among them. Rivulets of sweat drip down your face and you walk to the side as another break starts. 

Helaena nods at you from the opposite side of the court, and you respond with a terse smile.

She resembles him so much - the one you’ve been avoiding for the past three days. With that same distinct shade of blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but possessing an aura of tenderness about her. If Aemond wasn’t lying about her plan to retire, then it makes perfect sense. She seems too good for the sport, too pure, whereas you fit right into its cruel constraints.

What sort of person would have done what you did, some nights ago, and be able to walk with their head held high? You want to believe that you regret sleeping with Aemond, that you would reverse your actions, given the chance. But the pain that eats at you is that you might have fucked things up for good, abruptly leaving before he woke up that morning. 

It’s ironic - you may just get what you said you wanted. To end things. Never to be the same with him again. 

You slump in your seat, wiping at your face with a towel, pushing all thought of Aemond from your mind. 

From your periphery, you catch Helaena gesturing to you. She smiles, and you think that your emotions must show so clearly on your face that she feels bad for you. 

She nods, and tilts her head to the side, so that you follow her gaze. Standing courtside, partially hidden in the corner just behind the barriers, you see Aemond closely watching you. 

He came after all. You turn back to Helaena, unable to hide your surprise, and she sends another smile your way. She knows. Of course she does. 

With renewed excitement, the match continues. It only takes one more point, one final ace, and you emerge triumphant. The court fills with cheers and sounds of celebration. It is declared that you are advancing to the next round of the tournament. You meet Helaena in the middle and she firmly shakes your hand, exhibiting no sign of disappointment. 

“Congratulations! Very well played.” She drops her racket and grasps your hand with both of hers. She leans closer, and adds, “You know, I also consider it a win for myself, because my last ever match is against the girl my brother is in love with.”

You forget where you are, the revelation rendering everything else moot. The cheering crowds disappear, and it’s just you and Helaena as she dips her head comfortingly, assuring you that you heard her words true.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she lets go finally, with a cheerful, “go celebrate!”

You feel yourself being whisked away, cameras flashing from all sides. Art appears in front of you and he pulls you into an embrace. Several onlookers gush at the sight. You barely take notice of them, your eyes already drifting to where Aemond was standing. 

There he remains, casually leaning against the barriers. Some audience members realise that the great Aemond Targaryen stands among them, and one by one a small crowd forms around him, asking for pictures and autographs.

He continues to hold your gaze, his usual smirk making an appearance, ignoring a guy waving a camera at his face. You shake your head at the scene, a genuine laugh bubbling from your lips.

You nod to each other, as if acknowledging the absurdity of it all, and leave it at that. There’s a lot more to be said, for another time. Art wraps his arm around your waist, and Aemond takes it as his cue to look away, relenting to the eager fans surrounding him.

You direct your gaze to your boyfriend, immediately seeing the recognition in Art’s eyes. He’s seen everything. 

He doesn’t need to be as acutely perceptive as Helaena to realise the truth. That of the one-eyed rogue and his ace. You’ve been drifting from him for so long, that it was only a matter of time. 

He was your friend first, and he always will be. You’ve watched each other grow, through endless mistakes and challenges, and there’s a fire in you he cannot match. 

But Aemond can. He knows this now. 

He extends a hand out to you, one which you accept with poorly masked caution. He understands how woeful it must be, to tear yourself apart from being in love with someone else. The shame and uncertainty that must entail. 

For both your sakes, he decides that he has to be the bigger person and do the right thing. 

“What do you say?” Art offers to you. “Post match treat?” he asks, referring to your tradition of sharing a large strawberry sundae after games. 

“Okay.” Your smile is sweet and unguarded, and it reminds him of when you first met, nearly six years ago. That day, he knew he had made a lifelong friend. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I wish I could say I’m happy to see you here, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Aemond swivels toward the sound of your voice, cigarette smoke billowing from his lips. 

“Vile habit, Targaryen.” You wrinkle your nose, and he just shakes his head and crushes the butt of his cigarette under his shoe.

“Yeah, well.” He merely shrugs. He was dead set on quitting, but something came up the past couple of days, causing his anxiety to reach new heights. When you ignored him after the night you shared, he can’t fault himself for reaching for depraved solace in nicotine. But no substance would ever be enough to erase the precious memory of watching you come undone. 

“Not happy to see me, ace?” he refers back to your greeting, not bothering to hide the hurt he feels. 

You walk closer to him, trying to hold back a smile. “Well, I lied. But it’s not like I haven’t lied before.” You stop when you’re right in front of him, the remnants of his smoke making you feel woozy. “I also lied when I said that we can’t keep being us anymore. When I said goodbye.”

“Hmm,” his lips curl at your confession. “Judging by how wildly you fucked me after you said that, I could already tell.”

You roll your eyes, but you already feel so much better, like things are falling right back into place. All it took was some teasing from the apparently callous, sharp-tongued, ambitious-to-a-fault boy standing before you. 

A boy who revealed the true depths of his compassion only to you. He let you thaw out his cold heart from its confines and declared it yours. 

“Something more to say, ace?” he asks.

“You first.”

“Are you kidding? Why don’t you play this game with your boyfriend?”

You share a lingering look, effectively answering his question. The unabashed shit-eating smile that breaks out on his face is enough to tell you just how he feels. 

“Don’t gloat,” you warn him, but he’s already pulled you flush against him with both arms. “I also need a new coach.”

“Mhmm,” he nods, not really in response to your statement. “Save that for later, ace. Please shut the hell up and kiss me.”

He can’t help but smile through kisses, his lips chasing yours when you make an effort to pull away and say something more. 

“Aemond, will you - ”

“Fuckin’ - ” a cuss slips from him when you manage to break apart, depriving him of your lips. He answers impatiently, “Yes of course, I’ll be your coach, ace. Of course. Happy? I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Before he leans in once more, you say, “Don’t you dare fuck this up, Targaryen.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

You lean back in mild surprise.

He laughs, “I mean - ace - or my love. Either one applies, really.”

"I... I prefer ace," you say weakly.

"Now, now, my love. I thought we promised not to lie to each other?"

taglist (all who commented on this post - surprise double feature incoming!) : @odeioemail @sapphossongbird @toodlesxcuddles @sinistersnakey9419 @fan-goddess @jhroseok @diannnsss @dixie-elocin @tostadasdetinga @1-800shootmeplease @goldyfishsstuff @pineappleicelostmary @raging-panda

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[yelenasdiary]

4 year old R has a nightmare and doesn't want Nat she wants Wanda's comfort so Nat brings R from R's room to her room where Wanda is and Nat tells Wanda, "She wants you, I hope that's okay." And Wanda's heart just fucking soars that R wants her after a nightmare.

Nightmares

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Daughter! Reader

Summary: When you’re woken up by a terrible nightmare, you ask Wanda to make the nightmare go away. 

Comfort

Warnings: None | 0.7K

AC: Thank you for sending this! I hope it’s okay that I changed Reader to 5 in this. Reader met Wanda when they’re 5 x 

A Widow’s Sunshine Masterlist

Soft sobs came from your bedroom when your mother woke to the sound of them, not wanting to wake Wanda, she quietly slipped out of bed and made her way to your room. She wasn't sure if this was a phase or maybe you had heard or seen something recently that had been causing you to wake up in the middle of the night in tears from a nightmare. Usually, you would crawl into bed with your mom and fall back asleep in her arms, but not tonight. 

"Sweetheart, is everything okay?" You heard your mother's voice standing over your bed. Slowly you pulled the covers off your head and shook a simple 'no' at her. Tears streaming down your face, breaking your mother's heart to see you in such a scared state. "Come here, baby" she said with open arms. You wasted no time jumping into her arms, feeling a sense of safety wash over you as you hugged her tightly. 

"Mommy" you said ever so softly as your mother rubbed your back gently. 

"Yes, my love?" She replied. You slowly pulled back to look at your mom, you loved her very much, but you wanted Wanda tonight, but you were worried to ask for her in case you'd upset your mother. "It's okay love, you can tell mommy all about your nightmare" your mom added, noticing something was on your mind. 

"C-can I have W-Wanda cuddles? Please?" you asked with a worried stutter. Nat smiled softly at your request; she loved knowing that you felt safe with Wanda. "Of course, baby, let's go see if we can wake her" your mother replied before walking you down to her room. 

Wanda was already awake, she heard Nat leave the room and was worried something was wrong. She smiled softly at Nat when she entered the bedroom with you wrapped in her arms, "she wants you, I hope that's okay" Natasha said softly.

"Of course it's okay" Wanda smiled, opening her arms to gently take you from your mother. You instantly wrapped your little arms around her and cuddled into the crock of her neck. "Oh my, was it another nightmare?" Wanda asked you; you nodded before pulling back a little to look up at her. "It was too scary!" You sobbed, Wanda naturally rubbing your back for comfort. 

"Do you want to know what I do when I have a nightmare?" Wanda asked, using her free hand to wipe your tears away, you nodded with a soft pout. "I take a big deep breath in" she started, you followed her actions and copied the way she took a deep breath in then exhaling, "Then I tell myself that it was just a scary dream, and it can't hurt me anymore" she added. 

"It was a scary dream, and it can't hurt me anymore" you repeated, already starting to feel better. 

"And if it was a super, super scary dream, I tell my brother about it and then he likes to make me laugh so I forget about the dream" Wanda explained, "was your dream super, super scary?" She asked. You nodded softly, "I was being chased by a crocodile with big wings!" You explained. Your mother kept quiet as she watched you tell Wanda all about your horrible dream. 

"That does sound super, super scary!" Wanda replied, "but guess what" she added. 

"What?" You questioned. 

"The tickle monster is coming to get you!" Wanda chuckled before she attacked you gently and tickled under your arms making you break out into loud laughter. "Help me mommy!!" You said while laughing, your mom chuckled, "sorry baby, I think the tickle monster won this match" she replied. 

Your laughter brought happiness to both Wanda and your mother and just like Wanda said, all that laughter made you forget that you had just had a bad dream. "I feel better now!" You boosted, "but…can I still sleep in here tonight? Please?" you asked. 

"Of course you can" your mother replied, shifting slightly to make room for you. 

"Now it's time for the cuddle monster!" Wanda added, helping you get under the covers. Natasha smiled softly at Wanda and mouthed "thank you" before the three of you got nice and cozy. 

"Goodnight mommy, goodnight, Wanda" you said softly before drifting off to sleep. 

"Goodnight, Y/n" Wanda smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

"Goodnight darling" your mother whispered, making sure the covers were covering you. 

Wanda soon fell asleep shortly after you with an ever so soft smile on her lips that Natasha couldn't help but notice, she knew that Wanda would perish this moment forever and it was definitely a memory that Natasha wouldn't forget either.

Taglist: @koinsss | @liloandstitchstan | @marcia-maximoff | @skittlebum | @katethewritersblog | @taliiiaasteria | @nova-kyle | @daddipantherr | @riyaexee | @sgm616 | @elle161989 | @alphalesbianwolffoxdragontribrid | @mathxa | 

If you want to be on the taglist for this series, please see the masterlist. It's linked at the top of this post.

[tkwrites]

Understanding (or the one in which Jack Hughes is forced to get over himself) - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (ofc) 

Summary: Still upset about finding out about Sarah from Brady, Jack has some hesitations when he and Luke come to town for the Finals. Can he get over himself enough to see what Quinn and Sarah have is real?

Warnings: Angst, sibling fighting, light body shaming

Word Count: 5,600

Comments: I’ve been working on this fic for almost three months and tossing around ideas for it since December. On Thursday, something clicked into place, and the story just fell together. I really like the way it turned out, and I hope you like it too! 

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

I love Quinn and Sarah, and I’m constantly blown away that so many of you love them, too.

 Understanding (or the one in which Jack Hughes is forced to get over himself)

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Sarah was sitting in the living room, trying not to freak out. Their night before had been one to remember, and her hips were still sore and achy from it in the most satisfying way. 

But even remembering Quinn giving her so many orgasms she lost count — murmuring how proud he was of her with each and every one of them — couldn’t take away from the fact that his brothers were about to arrive. 

Sarah and her siblings were close, but Quinn and his brothers were closer. They were all in the same phase of life - all playing professional hockey, all unmarried, and all figuring things out. Even Luke, who she knew, had been dating his girlfriend Kylee for two and a half years wasn’t in a place to get married, especially not while Kylee was still in school. 

It was so different from her own siblings, who were both in the young family stage of life while she was still figuring out no-longer-single life and dating-a-professional-athlete life. 

She loved her siblings, but they had less in common than they used to.

It felt like a huge test to be accepted by his family — his best friends. She wasn’t totally sure what she’d do if they didn’t like her. 

When she’d brought that up to Quinn after they’d finally collapsed into bed, he had pulled her close, kissed her forehead, and assured her, “they’re going to love you. I love you, so they’re going to love you.” 

She hadn’t pointed out how flawed his logic was. 

Quinn appeared at her side, holding a shot of rum, “here, I think you might need this.” 

“I thought you said I don’t have anything to be worried about!”

“I don’t think you do.”

Her eyebrows shot up, “but you think I should take a shot?” 

He gulped nervously, “Jack can just be kind of a lot. I’m not sure he’s totally over the whole, I didn’t tell him first thing.” 

Her eyes went wide, and while Quinn had the best of intentions, he realized what a stupid move this was. Instead of calming her down, he was making her more anxious. He tried to backtrack, “you don’t have to. It was a stupid idea,” he said before starting back to the bar — intent on dumping the alcohol down the drain.

“No, come back.” 

He turned, and she reached for the small glass, “it will take the edge off.”

Taking a deep breath, she tossed the liquor into her mouth. As soon as she’d swallowed, she pulled a face, “ugh, I hate shots. Remind me to never do that again.” 

Laughing, he lifted the glass out of her hands and leaned down to kiss her. They stayed that way for a while, each of them remembering slices of the night before. 

His phone trilled. He would have picked them all up from the airport, but Jack had insisted on renting a car for them to use while they were here, so there was no need.

The dinner they’d ordered was on it’s way, and everything was going to be fine. 

Having finished her finals the day before, Sarah had spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping in Quinn’s bed. He’d left for practice, then crawled back in bed with her when he got home, happy to fall asleep again, holding her close.

As a result, he looked refreshed and clear headed. 

“You ready?” he asked when the elevator dinged. 

She nodded, standing and wrapping her arms around his torso. 

She was wearing the same jeans she’d worn when she met the team and a cream colored top, partially unbuttoned, so he could see just a hint of her cleavage.

“It’s going to be fine,” he assured. 

The very fact that he kept saying it made Sarah wonder if he was trying to convince himself into believing it. 

She should have worn the green dress. When she’d been packing to stay at Quinn’s overnight, she’d convinced herself the boyfriend jeans were lucky enough now, and she didn’t need to pull out the big guns. Plus, she didn’t want Quinn to think she only had one outfit she wore when she was nervous. Now, that didn’t seem like it mattered much, and she wished she had the comforting assurance of it with her. 

When Quinn opened the door and his brothers came tumbling into the apartment, Sarah immediately understood what her own brother had missed out on by only having two sisters. 

They were so distinctly…male. There was a lot of congratulatory hair mussing and punching going on in celebration of Quinn making the finals.

Ellen was dutifully waiting for them to be done so she could hug her eldest. 

To Sarah’s surprise, Jim was the first one to greet her, offering a hug she gladly accepted. 

When they broke apart, Quinn moved to introduce everyone, “Sarah,” he said, and everyone’s eyes snapped to him, “these are my brothers Jack and Luke. Guys, this is Sarah.” 

Luke gave her a shy smile and offered her a hand to shake. Jack didn’t move other than to give her a curt nod. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, pulling a smile onto her face she hoped masked her disappointment at his clipped response. 

Ellen rolled her eyes and crossed the room to give her a hug. 

The front desk buzzed up to let them know their food was delivered, and Sarah offered to go collect it just to get away from the tense meeting. 

When they sat down to eat, Sarah was able to engage Luke in conversation, and they started talking about his girlfriend Kylee, who would be coming out once she had finished her finals. Once the ice was broken, Luke was easy to talk to, and they swapped stories about work and growing up.

More than once in their conversation, Sarah caught Ellen shooting disappointed looks at her middle son, who couldn’t seem to stop staring at her, but didn’t say a word.

The conversation lulled, and Jack spoke for the first time, “so, Sarah, what are you going to do when you’re done with school?” His tone was almost accusatory, like he expected her to say she would be moving to Dubai and leaving Quinn behind.

“I’m not really sure yet. I like working at the aquarium, so I wouldn’t mind staying there. But if I could get a job in conservation, that would be ideal. I feel more passionate about it.” 

“What would you do in conservation?” he asked. It sounded a little like they were rehearsed questions on Jacks part, as if he were trying to appease someone by making conversation but didn’t actually care much about the subject. 

“Well, there’s a lot that crosses over in terms of what can be done in the wild to make our oceans more habitable to everything that lives in them. And if we need to do any rescue and rehab, I can help care for most of those animals.” 

“So you’re like a vet?” 

“No, I can’t administer any medical treatment, but I can assist. I thought about going into veterinary medicine, but it would have meant seven more years of school, and there’s a lot of aspects of being a vet that terrify me.” 

“Like what?” he asked with an arched eyebrow, as if her admitting she had weaknesses was completely unexpected. 

Sarah flicked a glance at Quinn, who was looking at his brother with narrowed eyes, as if trying to figure out what he was getting at. 

“Well, I’m not great with blood, for one. Plus, the smell of hospitals tends to give me panic attacks.” 

Somehow, this admission made Jack relax. She was human, after all. When they met June, she was all smiles and rainbows and didn’t admit to having faults of any kind. Quinn talked about how genuine Sarah was, but Jack wanted to see it for himself. 

Quinns eyes darted to her, and she gave him a small smile. 

“What is it about hospitals?” Jim asked. 

She took a deep breath and reached for Quinn’s hand under the table. Their fingers entwined, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. 

“My mom died of cancer, so she spent a good portion of the last six months of her life in a hospital, and every time I came home, I would have to see her there. The smell always transports me straight back.” 

Quinn didn’t hesitate to put his arm around her, and she leaned into his shoulder, blinking a few times. 

Jack looked between them and felt something twist in his gut. This was so much more serious than he wanted to believe. He’d seen the signs from Quinn — the dreamy look he often got when he talked about her, and how it seemed like they were together all the time, or the way he talked about the future, like he couldn’t envision one without her in it. 

The two sides of his mind warred. On one hand, he was glad Quinn found her, but on the other, he was still pissed he was the last one to know. He and Quinn were supposed to be best friends as well as brothers. He’d never keep something like that from Quinn, and it hurt every time he remembered Brady asking, “so what do you think of Sarah?”

Then, there was the whole issue of Sarah herself. Not that she was bad looking. She was pretty. But June was gorgeous, and Jack couldn’t help but think that Sarah was a bit of a step down. 

The meal ended on less tense terms than it started on, and Quinn took Sarah home. 

“Was it okay?” he asked. 

She knotted her fingers together in her lap, “I don’t know. Was it? You know Jack better than I do.” 

One of his hands dragged over his face before he reached for hers. 

Gratefully, she took it, glad for the reassurance of his touch. 

He felt off kilter. The end was such a stark contrast to the beginning that he had a hard time reconciling that morning as part of the same day. 

“Can you come up for a minute?” she asked when he pulled in front of her building. 

He glanced over with raised eyebrows only to find nervousness clearly written on her face. “Yeah, of course,” he said and flipped around to find a spot to park. 

They got up to her apartment, which she knew would be empty - Eunice had gone home to stay with her parents for a week, and Jane was working. As soon as the door shut behind them, she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. 

“What’s up?” Quinn asked, his hands heavy and comforting on the small of her back. 

“I just —” Sarah could feel the tears she’d pushed off for the drive home forcing their way up to the surface. 

She sniffed, and Quinn pulled back, “what’s wrong?” 

Sarah wiped her cheeks. “What if —” She didn’t want to say it out loud, but she needed to. Talking about it would make it better. She knew that, but it was still scary as hell to voice the anxiety that was eating away at her peace of mind. Not only was the summer going to fucking suck, “I think Jack hates me.” 

Something behind his sternum fractured, “Jack doesn’t hate you.”

Looking up to meet his eyes, she asked, “really? Because it doesn’t seem like he likes me very much.”

“I think he just needs time to adjust to the situation. He’s still mad at me that I didn’t tell them first.”

“I don’t understand that either. My sister was the second person I told.” Technically, she’d been the 4th with her roommates, but no need to split hairs. Rachel was the second person she’d told on purpose.

He pulled a calming breath into his chest. “I think Brady mentioned June to you?” She nodded, and he continued, “June was…” how did he even find the right words? “We dated for a long time. Way longer than we should have. We weren’t good together. I mean, you know all that weird shit she had about sex, and she would break up with me every few months, then come back after a few days, begging to get back together.” 

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It wasn’t great,” he admitted ruefully. “Anyway, my family never really came out and said they didn’t like her. They only said it after I called it off for good. I remember Jack told me, ‘Thank god, I never liked that bitch.’” 

Sarah wrinkled her nose, and Quinn laughed, “yeah. Brady was the only one who told it to me straight from the beginning. He was pretty frank with me; his family doesn’t really beat around the bush about anything. He encouraged me to break it off for good. Anyway, when we met,” he gestured between them, “I was kind of hesitant to tell anyone. Not because I thought you were like June. You’re not. In any way. But I didn’t… I didn’t really trust my own judgment, you know?” 

She didn’t, but she nodded anyway. That was something they could unpack later.

“I wanted Brady to meet you first since he and Emma had been so honest.” 

This, she knew from conversations with Ellen and Brady himself, but it was nice to hear it from Quinn. 

“Before I had a chance to tell him, Brady asked Jack what he thought of you while they were playing in Ottawa, and he called me, pretty pissed. I think he’s still caught on that.” 

Pursing her lips, she wasn’t totally sure what the protocol for this was. “Is there anything I can do to fix it? I don’t want —” she broke off, feeling she couldn’t say it. She didn’t want Jack to come between them. She didn’t want to have to forge a new relationship when Quinn’s brother and best friend didn’t like her, and she didn’t want to put Quinn in a position where he would have to choose.

That fracturing feeling was back. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Quinn said, picking up on what he thought the subtext of the conversation was as he ran his hands up and down her arms. “I think he just needs time. Jack doesn’t really hate anyone. It’s not in his nature.” 

“Was he like this with Kylee?” 

“No, but Luke and Kylee were friends in high school and college, so we knew her before they started dating.” 

She thunked her forehead onto his chest and took a deep breath. 

One of his hands ran over her hair, “I’m sorry. I know this put you in a really weird position.” 

She felt his words in his chest at the same time she heard them and swallowed the feeling whole. 

“I just don’t want to lose you,” she said, nuzzling into his shirt

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said. Definitive. Simple. Straight to the point. 

She knew she sounded whiney, but she needed to say it, “but what happens if he never likes me? I don’t want you to feel like you have to choose.” 

“Jack’ll come around. He’s never been able to hold grudges for very long.”

Looking up at him, then, hope filled her face, and he kissed her, hoping it reassured her. He was sure Jack would come around as soon as he could get his head out of his ass.  

“I’m sorry, but I need to get back,” he said as gently as he could. Not only was there a game tomorrow, he knew his brothers would want to talk. 

Swallowing down the loneliness of being in the apartment by herself for the night, she nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

‘Tomorrow,” he repeated before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too. One more?”

He couldn't resist.

One turned into six or seven, and he pulled away feeling light. “Jack’ll come around,” he assured again before kissing her once more and turning to go. 

“I mean, she’s pretty and all,” Jack was saying as they stood in the living room. Their parents had gone to bed, so it was best to have this conversation on the floor below. “But don’t you think she’s a little big?”

Luke stared at Jack while Quinn glared at him. “What?” 

“Don’t get me wrong, she has a pretty face, but her thighs are kind of huge.” 

Luke spoke before Quinn could follow through with punching his brother in the face. “Is this because you actually think that, or because you’re mad Quinn didn’t trust you enough to tell you first?” 

“Trust us,” Jack corrected through a jaw clenched so tight, it answered Lukes question for him. 

“Fine. Whatever,” Luke said. He’d come to terms with it. He had been too scared to tell Quinn what he thought of June. After thinking it over, it did make sense for him to go to the only person in his life who made their concerns clear and keep Sarah from everyone else. They got attached to June, or at least to the idea of her. Luke had never really liked her. But he liked the idea of Quinn having a girlfriend. Of him having someone here in Van while the rest of them were all out east. 

Now that he had met Sarah in person, not just talked on the phone with her - which Jack had made feel more like a job interview than a welcoming, get to know you chat - he understood just how bad of a match June had been for Quinn.

Gone were the tense morning phone calls after a blowout fight. Gone were the sick-in-love nights where Quinn was hanging up early before really talking to either of them so he could spend time with June while the getting was good. Gone were the confused, “I don’t know what she wants from me,” talks that happened way too often for Luke's liking. 

Not only was Sarah more stable, Luke felt like Quinn was more stable with her. 

“I’m saying it because it’s true,” Jack said, clinging to his pride. “You’re an athlete, Q. Do you really think she can keep up with the lifestyle?” 

“It’s not like she needs to go to the gym with me every day,” Quinn shot back. 

“The girls you’ve dated before have been…” 

“Listen, Jack. Yes, Sarah might be a little bigger than the girls I’ve dated before, but she’s more than all of them.” 

“I’ll say she’s more,” Jack snided. 

Luke stepped in, “don’t be such a dick.” 

“It’s true.”

“She’s better,” Quinn corrected, and his voice went hard. “She’s better than any of those girls. More driven and more supportive and more understanding and loving than anyone I’ve ever dated.” 

That stopped Jack in his tracks. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. 

This. This was the thing he was most scared of. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jack knew Quinn or Luke would eventually get married, and their unit would be changed forever. They wouldn’t be The Hughes Boys anymore. Not like they had been. They would be different. Sarah was coming in and stealing his brother from him. 

“And just for the record,” Quinn said, getting in Jack’s face with a fierceness Luke rarely saw directed at either of them when talking about something so serious, “I don’t think Sarah’s fat, and I don’t think you do either. You never called Madeline fat, and she’s bigger than Sarah.” 

Madeline was a plus-size model Jack had quietly dated and broken up with the year before. 

Luke wondered, not for the first time, how much of their breakup was caused by Jack’s need to be perceived a certain way. Madeline was stunningly beautiful, but there were comments swirling all the time about how much bigger she was than him, and how could he possibly want to date someone so large, despite the fact that she was incredibly successful and was one of the most gorgeous women he’d ever seen. Not to mention that she kept to a diet that would put all of them to shame. 

Caught, Jack snapped his mouth shut and glared. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay?” Quinn practically begged. “I should have, and I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean you need to take it out on her.” 

Luke was struck at how much his oldest brother was trying to protect his girlfriend. Jack could say what he wanted about him, but when it came to Sarah, he was trying to put blame back where it belonged. 

Quinn sunk into the club chair closest to him, raking his hands into his hair. 

“Can you just TRY to get to know her?” he asked. “I think you’ll really like her if you get to know her.” 

Jack huffed a breath through his nose and nodded once. Once again, he was struck with a sudden sense of vertigo, like everything around him was shifting and changing, pulled just off kilter. 

He wasn’t blind, as much as he wanted to be. He knew Quinn, and the very fact he was directing the blame back on himself again and again told Jack all he needed to know about how he felt about Sarah. Even though he didn’t know her very well and resented the swift way she’d blown into Quinns life, Jack could see she would be around for a long time. 

A few days later, as they sat around the table to eat breakfast, Ellen met Quinn's eyes, a warm smile lighting her face. “She's good. I really like her.”

Quinn knew his mom liked Sarah from when she first met his parents several weeks before.

Still, hearing her say this after seeing her interact with the rest of the family meant more. Some of the lingering anxiety he felt blew away. Jack still didn't love her, but he was softening up. Quinn wasn't sure anyone would ever live up to Jack's ideal standard. Luke loved everyone and liked to talk to her about the ocean. Plus, it seemed like she’d get along great with Kylee. 

His dad nodded in agreement, “don't fuck it up.”

That spoke louder to Quinn than anything else he could have said. “I don't plan to.”

“Make sure you don't. She's good for you. Good for the family, too.”

“Too good for him,” Luke added quietly. 

“That goes without saying. Most women will be for all of you.”

Jack scoffed. 

“Is she coming to Hawaii?” his mom asked. 

“What?” Jack exclaimed. “She can't come to Hawaii! That's our trip.”

Ellen looked at her middle son patiently, waiting for his instinctive reaction to calm down so he could think clearly. 

“I asked her,” Quinn said, “but -”

Jack broke in, his hot head getting the best of him,“you talked about this without me?”  

“Relax Jack,” Luke said. 

“But she told me no,” Quinn finished. 

“She told you no? She told me all sorts of things we should do from when she lived there. I was really hoping she could show us around,” Ellen admitted.

“I know,” Quinn said. “She said she didn't want to tread on family time.”

“She's going to be a part of this family, isn't she?” Ellen asked. 

Jack glared at her, “mom, it hasn't even been six months.”

“Five months can tell you a lot, Jack. Can't you see how much your brother loves her? And how much she loves him?” 

Jack had to admit she was right. Quinn was more settled - no, that wasn't it. He had always been settled. He was more…at ease. A better, less worried version of himself. It was like Sarah had come in and soothed all this anxiety and all these fears that had been bubbling beneath Quinn’s skin. Only when they were gone did Jack notice. 

And Sarah was…sweet. She was considerate and kind and tried her best to engage him in conversation. 

“Sar told me she would only come if everyone said it was okay, especially you, Jack.” 

Jack looked at his brother, totally taken aback. Something in him shifted. “Really?” 

Quinn nodded. “She doesn't want to tread on our time. She knows we don't get much time together anyway.”

Jack had been feeling like she'd just come barging into their family, taking his brother away from him. He'd heard Quinn talk about her, but seeing it in real life - seeing how much time they spent together, how they had their own little language, and always seemed to be touching each other - he wasn't ready to lose his brother like that. 

But this shifted things a bit. It was one thing to visit the lake house or even tag along to a big family vacation, but the trip to Hawaii was more than that. It was going to be just them. Even Kylee wasn't coming. He was pretty sure it was because she had a family reunion of her own she couldn't skip out on, but the sentiment still counted. 

“I'll think about it,” Jack agreed begrudgingly. 

The morning after the Canucks were eliminated, Sarah wandered down to the kitchen wearing one of Quinn’s Michigan shirts and a pair of his boxers, still slightly twisted slightly from sleep. 

“Oh,” she greeted hesitantly upon seeing him at the bar, “morning, Jack.”

Watching her and Quinn interact last night had cracked something in him. Not only that Sarah was here to stay, but it awoke a kind of longing to have someone totally accept him. 

It was made even worse when he wandered up to the gaming room, figuring he could at least watch some TV if he couldn’t get any sleep, and heard noise from Quinn’s bedroom that let him know they were going at it. He didn’t ever want to think about his brother having sex, but the fact that Quinn had so many different levels of comfort available - all seemingly tailored to meet his exact needs - after a hard day woke a deep longing for that kind of intimacy in Jack. He hadn’t allowed himself to want it, at least since he and Madeline broke up.

He gave up on the gaming room and slept on the uncomfortable living room sofa. Now his shoulder was sore, and his hips hurt, and he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep. 

“Morning,” he mumbled, hating that she felt like she needed to tip toe around him. He knew it was his own fault, but now he was in so deep that he wasn’t sure how to get out of it. The conversation about Hawaii, realizing she was thinking about their family as well as her relationship with Quinn along with what happened the night before, had him feeling ready to make peace with her. Except that would just be him admitting he was wrong, which seemed so much easier than it felt. 

She put a pod in the coffee maker, more at home in Quinns house than he was. That was a new feeling. Jack had searched for the coffee pods that morning, and when he couldn’t find one, settled for milk. Now, he wondered why Quinn kept them in the drawer beneath the coffee maker when it would have made more sense to keep them in the cupboard above. 

“How did you sleep?” she asked, leaning her butt on the counter while the machine gurgled. 

He shrugged, “Luke snored all night.” 

Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“We haven’t had to share a room when he’s not exhausted from hockey in a long time.” 

She nodded, pulling creamer out of the fridge. 

He watched her walk back to her mug, noting the way her thighs trembled with each step. He loved that about Madeline. The softness of her. She was stunning, but not hard. Before he’d met her, he didn’t know those things could coexist. 

“How did you sleep?” 

“Good,” she said, “Quinn was so exhausted, I don’t think he turned over once.” 

“Isn’t he the worst?” Jack said with a loud, laughing groan. “Flailing all over the bed.”

Sarah snorted when he nearly fell backward off the stool in his demonstration of flailing limbs. “Has he always done that?” 

“Since we were kids. He must be a nightmare to share a bed with.” 

“Thankfully, I don’t think I’ve experienced any flailing. He must be a little less writhe-y now, but if we’re not cuddling, he does usually toss and turn all night.” 

“Good,” he said, and then immediately felt stupid. What was she supposed to say to that now? 

“Where are your parents?” she asked instead, bringing the mug to her lips to blow on the hot liquid. 

“They went to get breakfast or something,” he said with a vague gesture over his shoulder. “They invited me, but I went back to sleep.” 

“Have you eaten? I was about to cook some eggs.” 

“Is Quinn up?” he asked. 

“He was still conked out when I got up. I figured I’d let him sleep. No use in waking him when he’s finally getting some solid rest.” 

There it was again - that pinch of jealousy. She knew him in ways Jack didn’t, like her knowledge that cuddling kept Quinn still at night, and she obviously liked to care for him. 

It’s not like he didn’t want her in his brothers life. She obviously made Quinn happy, and all Jack really wanted was for him to be happy. 

It was a weird, night and day difference between Quinn now and Quinn at the beginning of the season. When they’d left Michigan in September, it wasn’t like Quinn had been depressed - he’d been excited to get back to hockey - but he’d spent so much of the off season wondering if he and June were actually a good match that when he left, it felt like he was leaving without having anything truly resolved. When they’d finally broken up in November, a huge sigh of relief  had swept through Quinn’s whole life. 

Looking back now, Jack should have known something was up when Quinn started calling them, relaxed and cheerful, quick with a smile and a joke in a way he hadn’t been since he and June had broken up. Now, he was happy and content, and Jack could practically see the love he had for Sarah glowing on his skin. 

After spending time with her, he understood how Quinn had fallen so hard, so fast. She was kind but willing to put in the work, genuine and honest, but funny and snarky.

Might as well just get it over with. 

“Listen, Sarah,” he began, looking down at his glass of milk, “I’m sorry.”

She continued to look at him over her mug. It struck him that she waited for him to finish without jumping in or jumping to conclusions. 

“You’re really good for Quinn,” he admitted.

Something in her heart fluttered.

“And I’m sorry I’ve been kind of a dick. With June it was pretty obvious they weren’t going to last so I never put much stock in her, but I…” he chewed briefly on this thumbnail, thinking, “but I can see how you guys are good together.” 

A smile reached her eyes. 

He blew out a deep breath. “It’s just…Quinn’s my brother, you know?” Shaking his head, he raked a hand into his hair, “I’m sorry, I'm not making any sense.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” she said, her voice calm. He wondered if she ever raised it. “I’ve been through this, too, when my sister started dating someone seriously. It’s weird and hard when someone new comes into your family.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m taking Quinn away from you or something.” 

“You couldn’t,” he said, then realized how stupid that sounded. “I mean, I know you wouldn’t. I can see that now.” 

Smiling in a way he realized was totally genuine, she set her mug on the counter. “Thank you, Jack. That means a lot coming from you.”  

It was like she knew all he needed was time. There were no hard feelings, no grudges or fits. No glares from across the room. She just waited and gave him time, and wasn’t mad at how much he needed. 

And now that he’d admitted it, she let it lie, changing the subject as soon as it’d been put to rest. “So, do you want some eggs?” she asked, turning back to the fridge. 

It was a refreshing turn of events. 

“Sure,” he stood from the bar stool, “how can I help?” 

By the time Quinn wandered down the stairs, clumsy with sleep and rubbing his eyes, they had omelets going. 

Looking nervously between Jack and Sarah, side by side in the kitchen, he briefly wondered if he was still dreaming. One night, and it seemed all of Jack’s hesitations had been put to bed. 

“Morning,” he yawned.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder, smiling bright, “hey, how’d you sleep?” 

“Good,” he said through another yawn as he walked up to them. He slipped an arm around Sarah’s waist and rested the other on Jacks shoulder, “you two made up?” 

“I don’t think we were fighting, really,” Sarah said, “but we came to an understanding.”

Jack smiled gratefully, and Quinn leaned in to kiss her cheek. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

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[seeingivy]

weekend getaway

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

an: happy birthday to @pickuptruck01 ur one of the sweetest and most supportive readers of this silly little fic, I love you so so much pookie I hope you enjoy the little gift 💌

**part of my best friend's older brother fic

previous part linked here

--

there’s a lingering feeling ruminating in the back of sukuna’s head when he wakes up. and it’s almost like he’s in a crowded room – like he knows there’s something creeping up against the wall that he has his back turned to and he refuses to look at it. 

sukuna could die today. so could you. he could get a call and realize that the last thing he said to yuuji was lackluster or you could be horribly devastated if sammy died before you got to properly reconcile things and at least be on stable ground with her. 

you could have a heart disease. the ultrasound that he went to with you, where the doctor whispered reassurance that your heart’s chambers and valves were in perfect shape, could be wrong. he could go to sleep next to you and not wake up the next morning. 

he ignores it for the time being. 

“i figured that it would be nice to spend the weekend together away from here. i planned out a few things that i thought you’d like if that sounds like something you want to do. you know, birthday boy and all.” 

it’s a nervous anticipation – this trip either being a horrible misstep or one of the best things you’ve ever done – and it surges through you as you pass the little handwritten itinerary over to him. 

the past few weeks felt like push and pull, but it seemed more stable as time went on. he would disappear to help his mom with something, but half of the time, you were convinced it was just something that he needed to do to assuage his own guilt. he’s always come back the same, just as keen for his time as you were for his. 

at times, it was hard to watch. watch him try to calm his mom, and comfort yuuji, and in the few seconds he had with you, trying to sweet talk you to ease too. you hoped the trip would at least let him pump the brakes a little bit so you could do it for him. 

and you watch as sukuna picks it up, scanning it over with his eyes, with his left hand still wrapped on the inside of your thigh, his fingers warm on your skin. 

aquarium, cherry blossoms, dinner at home <3 

“you planned a trip for me? for my birthday?” sukuna asks. 

sukuna’s purposely pulling at your leg – he’s been looking forward to this trip since yuuji told him. 

“yeah. i just thought it might be nice. to take some time away, just the two of us. in fact, you can even go without me!” 

sukuna smiles, setting the paper down, before using his ankle to pull out the stool of the kitchen island so you’re facing him properly. he can’t help but do it, nestle himself in between your legs with his hands on your hips – watching the nervous expression in your eyes as you look up at him. 

it’s a little mean, pulling your leg this way. but sukuna was just relishing in this fact – that you were still trying to do nice things for him, looking for his approval for things as small as gifts and birthdays. 

the two examples he had as a kid – his parents and your own – he was always convinced that this sort of thing, the novelty of a relationship, was just something that wore down over time. that a day would come where you would be used to what he was giving, and he would be too, and you’d both fall into a slow monotonous thing together. 

or maybe even before that, you could die on him. he could die on you. yuuji could die and you would never be the same or some cancerous rot could be manifesting in his pancreas without him knowing until it was too late. 

“i can even go by myself?” sukuna asks. 

“i know that…” 

“know what?” sukuna asks, a little to eager with tantalizing eyes. 

you sigh. 

“i know the stuff recently has been a lot. and i love you and i know that sometimes getting away is something that could be nice to help you kind of process things. and i realize that i’m a part of those things so if you want to go alone, you could also do that. i just want –” 

sukuna leans forward, hands firm on your waist, before pressing his lips against yours. you can feel him smiling, a laugh leaving his lips, as he nearly topples you off the stool, extremely eager for nine in the morning. 

“i hope you know that when i want to get away from things, i kind of want you to get away from them with me from here on out. you’re my main thing.” sukuna murmurs, leaning back the slightest and rubbing his thumb against your lower lip. 

you smile. 

“oh thank god. i’d totally let you leave on your own if you wanted to but then i’d probably cry about it a little.” 

sukuna laughs. 

“and you wouldn’t ask to come with?” 

“i mean, i don’t know! i know you like to get away to do your own thing. i don’t want to be a distraction.” 

sukuna grins, poking his tongue in his cheek. 

“i mean you’re always a distraction. just the good kind. i love what you put together. and…” 

sukuna pauses, flitting his gaze down to your hands and lifting your knuckles against his lips. 

“it makes me happy that you know me well enough to know that this is something i’d like. and that i need.” sukuna responds. 

you can feel the warmth rushing to your cheeks, come over with a weird wave of shyness at being praised so openly. 

because it was one thing for him to shower you in his constant infections, but the fact that he was able to parse out exactly what you were putting down – and appreciate you for it – left something else simmering in your chest. 

“did you pack for me already?” sukuna asks. 

you give him a nod, as he presses a wet kiss to your cheek before nestling himself into your arms. 

--

the lingering feeling becomes more apparent to him when the two of you make it into town and when your wrap your arm in his at the aquarium. the itching feeling has peeled off the wall, making a slow arching march towards him, but sukuna’s determined – he will ignore it. he is going to enjoy this day with you. 

sukuna has a newfound appreciation for the aquarium. he was never really a fan of that type of thing – sea creatures and water – just a personal preference of his, but his opinion was entirely changed after the fact. 

well, slightly. he didn’t really care for the aquarium. what he did care for was watching you walk around the room, pressing your fingers to the glass, and the quiet murmuring that you offered him. 

“that’s an opah. they also call it a moon fish.” 

“an opal?” 

“no. an opah. o-p-a-h.” you whisper. 

sukuna smiles at the almost angry insistence in your tone, matched with your wide eyes glued to the tank, and skin bathed in the almost neon blue light of the aquarium. 

you could lose your voice. something could break in you and you could never smile at him again. if you lost your memory, all the quick witted facts you would always tell him would cease all together. 

“an opah. okay baby, tell me more.” 

“they’re really rare so they’re good luck. they like to stay alone unless it’s mating season.” 

sukuna was always walking bad luck. he had a horrible track record – it wouldn’t be shocking to him if he had everything he wanted in the palm of his hand, and by some cruel twist of fate, this is when his body would give out on him. 

“so it’s my type of fish.” sukuna states. 

you roll your eyes. 

“my ass. you were getting around during mating season. and otherwise.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“i’ve changed.” sukuna defends. 

“yeah, just don’t go changing history, idiot.” you respond, linking your arm in around his wrist as you pull him to the other side of the aquarium. 

sukuna watches as you cross your hands over your biceps, eyes pressed through the glass, as he takes the second to watch you. he wonders if you would find it weird if he took a picture of you, in the weird blue light. 

that could be the last one he takes. you could bring kids into the world and die right after the fact. he could raise kids that looked just like you, being forced to recount stories through pictures, through faded memories that would soon even be lost to him. 

your shoes have bows on them – something you told him earlier were called ballet flats – and he immediately decided that they were his favorite, only because he thought they were so fitting to you. a frilly white lace skirt with a black top, matched a pair of earrings and the necklace he had gifted you. 

and naturally, a pink ribbon in your hair. he reaches forward, fingers in your hair as he tightens it against your hairband, smiling at the quiet thanks that you murmur as you look around the little tank. 

sukuna leans forward, that itching feeling creeping up into his skin, and trying to lean into your touch to avoid it instead. 

“are you looking for something specific?” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck. 

“yeah. it’s a butterflyfish.” 

“what’s special about that one?” 

“it mates for life. which is kind of rare for fish.” you respond. 

sukuna smiles. 

“you know a lot about fish mating patterns. you have something you want to tell me?” 

“you know i like animals. i literally want to be a vet.” 

“speaking of, did you hear back from anywhere?” 

sukuna can feel the sudden tenseness that seems to manifest in your frame, as you nearly shrink at the question. and he curses himself for dropping the ball, the tension of the fast few weeks immediately blindsighted him to the fact that you were at the most painful part of the process – the waiting. 

“uh, sure.” you respond. 

“really? did you get in?” 

“well, not really, but it’s your birthday and…” 

sukuna immediately pulls back, his hands around your wrists, as he looks down with hazel eyes drowning in concern. 

“i’m sorry sweetheart. are you okay?” he asks. 

you frown. 

“can we not talk about this right now? it’s your birthday. your weekend! i don’t want to –” 

“my weekend. and you’re my girlfriend. if you want to –” 

sukuna watches as you shake your head, eyes pinched in something he can’t really place as you look up at him, the expression in your eyes really begging. 

“sukuna. not right now, okay?” 

“okay. later?”

you smile. 

“for sure, okay?

and sukuna watches as you look around, before giving him a smile and standing at the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his lips. and he snakes his hand around your neck, drinking in the sweet taste of your mango lip balm and your strawberry scented perfume, and wonders if you’ll let him kiss you forever. 

“hey.” you whisper. 

“hey you.” 

“you’re my butterflyfish.” 

sukuna smiles. and when you pull back, the sinking feelings rushed all the way and creeped into his bones. he can barely get another word out for the rest of the aquarium. 

because he could collapse in your arms. he could ruin your life if the electric signals in his brain stopped working, if his blood was rotten, and it would be his fault for tying himself to you in the first place. you could mate for life and he could leave it at any second. 

--

sukuna enjoys the cherry blossom trees. he enjoys the fact that the sun is sinking down into the horizon, that the golden rays peek through the bits of the leaves, and that your head is in his lap, and it makes it easier to focus. 

“have you ever heard of sylvia plath’s fig tree?” you ask. 

sukuna shakes his head. you gesture for him to join you at your side, as he sinks down and lies down on the blanket with you, the two of you looking up at the pink branches hanging above. 

“well, this isn’t really a fig tree, but just imagine.” you respond. 

“okay.” 

“sylvia plath talks about this green fig tree in her book.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“figs are a sex coded fruit.” 

“i beg your pardon?” you ask. 

“you know. from that hades story.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“are you an idiot? that’s pomegranate.” 

“fuck. well, i feel like in every old fucking story about like sex and the wonders of sin or whatever they’re always fucking yapping about figs. so shut up.” 

you shake your head, before looking back up at the tree. 

“the forbidden fruit is apples.” 

“no, it’s not. apples aren’t even good.

“okay, well, that’s your opinion.” 

“we’re not getting into a debate about this. talk about your fig tree.” 

you roll your eyes at him, before pressing your cheek into his shoulder. 

“sylvia plath talks about this fig tree. and how she saw her life in the tree. and each fig on the tree was a life of hers. one was a happy family and a good husband and the other was a famous poet and a professor and the list went on and on. each one was a very specific thing that she saw in her life and she found it really, really difficult to pick which one she wanted.” 

“and?” 

“and she took so long that they all wilted at her feet. she was starving but she was so indecisive that she just couldn’t pick one, so she was at the edge of the tree, and she watched as they all went to ruin at her feet.” you respond. 

sukuna pauses. his fig tree could die. someone could cut it down by driving drunk or not paying attention on the road. 

“what do you think about it?” he asks, twisting the ends of your hair in his free hand. 

you shrug. 

“just that i’m really glad that you’re the fig i ended up on. the others don’t really pale comparison in my head.” you murmur. 

“oh thank god. i was going to give you a whole the grass isn’t greener on the other side lecture just so you wouldn’t leav eme.” 

you laugh. 

“it reminds me a lot of something my mom said to me.” you state.

“and what’s that?” 

you lean over on your side, tangling your legs in with his, as he mimics your motions, his forehead pressed against yours as the sun sinks down behind you. 

“not trying to push you into talking by saying it.” you clarify. 

“well, i fully know you are and i won’t do it unless i feel like it.” 

you sigh. he knew you too well. 

“okay.” 

you reach forward, interlocking your fingers with his. 

“i asked her about grief. i know that you…you’re feeling it and it’s not something that i’ve ever felt. and i just wanted her advice on how to help you.” 

sukuna’s convinced he won’t ever find someone like you. he prays he won’t have to. 

“she was telling me that grief reminds people about how they loved wrong. that since that person is gone permanently, all people can really think about is all the ways they wished they did things differently. and i don’t think that necessarily applies for your dad, but…i don’t know. it applies for me. i want to love you the right way. and my sister. and your family and my friends and i just…have a weird sense of perspective now.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“the mere fact that you love me is enough for me. that’s quite literally the only thing i’ve ever wanted from you.” sukuna asks. 

“i know that. but i want to love you in a way that’s special. you’re like…my literal godsend. you’re so perfect and understanding and patient…and i know what it’s like to feel the complete opposite with someone and i want you to know that i appreciate that about you. that you’re loving. that you’re a good guy and you never…embarrass me and actually make me really happy to flaunt you around and stuff.” 

“flaunt me around?” 

you roll your eyes. 

“you’re hot and you know that. and you’re smart and you make money and you’re a really good brother and a son, which is like very attractive.” 

“right. keep going.” 

you scoff. 

“as if.” 

sukuna shrugs. 

“you do love me in a way that’s special. and i like to flaunt you too. like, yeah the girl i’ve been obsessed with since i was a kid actually loves me back, if you can believe it.” 

the quiet voice in sukuna’s head seems to taper a little bit. though it feels a bit like a slippery slope – just because you make him feel like he’s on top of the world doesn’t mean he actually is. 

“i do love you back. maybe even more than you.” 

“that’s a very bold statement. and one i’ll never agree with by the way.” sukuna responds. 

--

sukuna thinks that the dinner might be his favorite. only because his head is quiet for the few hours you spend with him. a special recipe that you picked out for him to make, one that you watch him intently cook with your feet dangling over the kitchen counter, and your grabby fingers trying to snack on the pieces that he was preparing. 

“stop eating the salad. it’s not even finished yet.” sukuna scolds. 

“i’m so hungry.” 

“come eat this butt. the food is almost done.” 

“don’t tempt me, whore.” you respond, pushing off the counter as you wrap yourself around his torso, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of his back. 

that was the thing that you could appreciate about sukuna. that down to his core, he really did have whore tendencies – even if he was in a committed relationship. because he really did walk around with his shirt off for no reason, that he almost did the domestic things because he knew you were turned on by them, and that he liked to push your buttons when it came to things like this. 

“i’m the whore? i’m not wearing lingerie under my shirt. the shirt you stole from me, by the way.” 

you feel your cheeks burn. 

“did you think i didn’t notice? you can’t really get these things past me.” sukuna responds. 

you scoff. 

“because you’re a common street slut. sorry i don’t have as much experience to compete with.” you respond. 

sukuna laughs, before turning to you, one of the free cucumbers that you were just picking out of the salad in his fingers. he hands it you, clearly meant to be a peace offering, that you angrily snatch out of his hands. 

“i’m not a common street slut. you packed it in my bag by accident. and i can put two and two together, you’re obviously going to wear it tonight.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“why’s that so obvious?” 

“it’s my birthday.” 

“so you think i’m going to give you a lap dance because your brain fully developed?” 

“i’d appreciate that..” 

you shove him in his side. 

“stop teasing. it’s not funny.” you respond. 

and sukuna opens up his arm, gesturing for you to take the space in between his arms, as you press your cheek against his bare chest and wrap your arms around him. he continues to cut the vegetables with his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“you’re into that type of thing.” he murmurs. 

“sue me!” you respond. 

sukuna laughs as he pulls back, setting the knife down and wiping his hands, before angling your face up and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. you can feel the nervousness come over you – the mere fact that the two of you hadn’t done…anything…since his dad died – as you reach for his hands to stop him. 

“sukuna.” 

he pulls back. 

“do you want me to stop?” 

“no. i mean, i just figured you wanted to eat first.” 

“no, i do. i just want to see how my pretty girl looked, that’s all.” 

“okay, yeah.” 

sukuna narrows his eyes at you. 

“you sure?” 

you give him a nod, as he brings his hands up again, unbuttoning the buttons of the shirt of his that you had stolen. it’s a quiet sigh that escapes his lips, accompanied by a wet kiss to your cheek, before he pulls back. 

“do you wear pink on purpose?” 

“do you walk around with your shirt off on purpose?” you ask. 

sukuna grins. 

“okay, fair point. sit there and look pretty. i’m almost done.” 

sukuna plates the food nicely and the two of you eat it from one plate. he’s always one for the dramatics – insisting that you sit on his lap and the two of you share utensils and all because it’s more intimate – and he tells you about every birthday he’s ever had. 

in europe, at home. getting a bike as a gift, sharing his wii with yuuji, seeing the eiffel tower for the first time. getting special colored flame candles on his birthday, sucking the helium out of balloons, and getting kicked out of an arcade. 

and he’s quick with it – pulling the blinds, dimming the lights – before he pulls you into his lap, hands warm on the bare skin of your waist as he pulls you in for the first time in weeks. and he can tell – that you’re a little too eager, that it’s been a little too long, and he tries to forget the fact that it could all be over in a second. 

“are you going to tell me about vet school?” he murmurs, breath warm on your lips. 

“i’m wearing this pretty outfit for you and you’re going to talk to me about vet school?” you murmur back. 

“just curious.” 

you pull back, noting the pink flush on his cheek and the panting in his chest, as you give him a nod and reach up to tuck your hair behind your ears. and you can tell that he’s immediately attentive, that he’s on the defensive and that whatever he’s about to say is about to be ten levels of supportive – even though it doesn’t feel like you deserve it. 

“i applied to ten schools. and i got rejected from nine.” 

“and the last?” 

“it’s in my inbox. i just don’t want to open it.” 

sukuna reaches forward, cupping the side of your cheek in his hand, before reaching forward to press a kiss to your forehead. it’s sweeter than the last kisses he gave you – those being fast and fervent, eager, and intoxicating. 

“is there a reason you didn’t tell me? i hope it’s not because i’m going through things, because i always want to be here for you regardless of that.” he asks. 

you shrug. 

“no, it’s not that at all. it’s just that it makes it more real.” you respond. 

“i don’t follow.” 

you sigh. 

“if i tell you, you’re going to be sweet and tell me that i’m smart and capable. that these things are really hard, that there’s lots of factors that go into it, and that there wouldn’t be any shame in trying again. that all of the work i did was still worthwhile, that i’ll still get there and all my stress won’t be for anything.” 

“that’s right.” he responds. 

“but that’s the thing. that makes it real. you having to tell me that, it…it means i failed. it means i fell down and you had to pick me up. that i’d have to acknowledge the fact that i did.” 

sukuna frowns. 

“you know i’d say all of that to you regardless?” 

“it’s different on the heels of a rejection.” you respond. 

“but you didn’t open all of them. there’s still one left.” 

“that i probably got rejected to.” you respond. 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“you can’t possibly know that.” 

“i mean, given my track record…” 

sukuna pauses, before reaching over on the nightstand in hiding your phone. 

“that’s easy. set the record straight. open it.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. 

“sukuna.” 

“you’ve already made it real. i think you’re my smart and capable girlfriend, who will most definitely be a vet someday, even if you open a rejection email right now. this is all part of the journey and this setback only makes you more resilient, would only make you a better vet than you could have been prior.” 

you sigh, taking the phone from him, as he leans over, eyes peering down at the screen. and it’s the one email in your inbox that’s unopened, as you look up at him and give him a weary smile. and it’s just as quick, one touch before your entire little screen is doused in little confetti, as you read the opening paragraph. 

congrats y/n l/n! you’ve been accepted to the university of tokyo veterinary school in the class of 2028! 

you look up at him, at the bright smile on his face, as he wraps his arms around your waist, peppering warm kisses all over your skin. and you can feel your heart racing in your chest, your head nearly racing at the thoughts swimming through your head as sukuna leans forward, his voice quiet. 

“what was that  you were saying about a track record, future doctor?” 

“oh my god, shut up.” 

“i’m so proud of you, you know that?” 

you give him a smile, before pressing yourself into his embrace. 

“future doctor.” you whisper. 

“future doctor. my dad is dancing in his hell somewhere.” he responds. 

“and mine is somewhere trying to remember what my name is.” you respond. 

the two of you laugh, leaning your foreheads against each other, as you take the quiet beat, letting it sink in. 

you’re going to be a doctor. sukuna hopes he lives long enough to see it. that you live long enough to do it. 

“wanna know the crazy part?” you ask. 

“what’s that?” 

“i did all this and you’re talking to me about vet school.” you respond. 

what you expect is a giggling joke back is instead a pair of warm lips on your neck, accompanied by that horribly edging gravelly voice that sukuna uses when he murmurs. 

“sorry, sweetheart. was this what you had in mind?” 

you’re barely even to muster a response as sukuna sinks his teeth into your sweet spot, a laugh leaving him as he watches you nearly keel your head back at the feeling. 

--

three hours later, fresh and clean, you’re asleep at sukuna’s side and the thoughts are so petrifying, he considers that he might die just from how much they’re haunting him. that the reason his voice was so quiet during dinner is because now hours later, after the fact, it’s so dangerously loud that he thinks it’ll do something to him. 

a car crash. a rare and hard to diagnose disease. a mass casualty incident. the 0.01% statistic. 

sukuna thinks about the fact that he lied earlier. 

the mere fact that you love me is enough for me. that’s quite literally the only thing i’ve ever wanted from you. 

he lied because that’s not true in the slightest. 

it’s not enough for him to have you love him back. he needs every last second of it, every last second of a long life to feel it for as long as he can. he needs your heart to be in tip top shape, he needs to be as fit as he can, the two of you have to live the long life that he had in his head. 

it haunts sukuna too. what you had mentioned, about what your mom had said. 

grief is proof of all the ways you loved wrong. that if you died in his arms tomorrow, he’d sit there with thousands of regrets. that he didn’t tell you he loved you enough times. that he didn’t get to marry you. that you never got the love that you wanted, the lifelong love you dreamed about. 

sukuna pushes up off the bed, head in his hands, as he can’t stop the suffocating, warm wetness in his throat and the sounds from leaving his throat. and it’s just as fast, because in the minute that follows, he feels your warm hands on his back, rubbing circles into his skin and accompanied by your sleepy voice. 

“ryomen. what is it?” 

“you’re going to think i’m crazy and you’re going to leave me.” he responds, his voice raspy. 

you frown. 

“what are you talking about?” you murmur. 

“i’m going to ask you to do something. and you’re going to think i’m crazy and leave me.” he repeats, almost more distressed this time. 

“ask me.” you respond. 

sukuna sighs, almost angrily rubbing the heels of his palms against his eye sockets, before he looks over at you, eyes weary. 

“get dressed. we’re going to a tattoo parlor.” he responds. 

--

the walk over is quiet, his hand wrapped around yours, as he nervously eyes the small groups of people that are still lingering on the street in the dead of night. the city is noticeably quieter at four in the morning and sukuna’s got some version of his guard up as he pushes you into the closest tattoo parlor, two blocks down from the hotel. 

the entire room is bathed in a neon light from an LED sign, as sukuna walks up to the boy at the counter. 

“do you have rings?” 

he nods, pushing off the stool, as he starts rummaging through the little plastic boxes that are hanging on the shelf of the wall. 

“rings?” you whisper. 

“this is the only place open right now that would have them.” sukuna responds. 

the boy returns just as fast, opening a little plastic box of a mixed arrangement of rings, as sukuna lets go of your hand and reaches for one. it’s a plastic green, mimicking the appearance of jade, as he reaches for your hand and settles it on to your ring finger. 

“okay. we can go back now.” 

you cross your hands over your chest. 

“it’s four in the morning. you can’t just drag me here and do that with no explanation.” you murmur. 

sukuna frowns. 

“please drop it.” 

“sukuna. no, i can’t just –” 

sukuna reaches for your hands. 

“please. i’m begging you, don’t make me explain what that was because you’re –” 

“i’m not going to think you’re crazy! in fact, the only thing crazy right now is that you did this in the dead of the night. you’re scaring me and i just want to know whatever it is that’s going on your head so i can help you.” 

sukuna watches as warm tears well in your eyes, your hands cold against his cheeks, as you take your turn to beg. he feels horrible. 

“just tell me what it is.” you murmur. 

sukuna sighs, before shaking off the embarrassment. 

“grief is proof of the ways you loved wrong.” he murmurs. 

“what?” 

“my dad is dead. he’s dead and all i really think about is how you could die. and if you died, all i would think about is how you would have died before i got to give you that.” sukuna responds, pointing at the ring. 

you raise your eyebrow at him. 

“a plastic green ring?” 

sukuna sighs. 

“a wedding ring.” 

you feel your throat dry, noting the fact that there’s warm tears welling in his eyes now. 

“a wedding ring?” 

“i’m going to give you a real one. obviously, i’m going to give you a real one. i even…i even have it all planned out. i want to take you to see the waterlilies. and i want to propose to you there. but i don’t know if i’ll ever get to do that. i don’t want to die without giving you one of those. and i know it’s fucking insane but my dad died so just fucking ignore it if it freaks you out or if it’s weird and just throw it away tomorrow, okay? i’m clearly just having some type of…” 

sukuna stops as you let go of his hand, feeling his heart sink in his chest as he watches you march over to the plastic box, your eyes peering through the box. 

there goes his chance. he’s scared you off. every bit of insanity that he’s shown you has come to this moment – where he’s in a dirty tattoo parlor, talking about marrying you. being so paranoid that you’re going to die that he has to give you something, that he has to marry you even if it’s in his head. 

you march over and find another one – a plastic green ring – before you march back over to sukuna, reaching for his hand and securing it around his ring finger. and you watch as he looks down, quickly clocking what it is that you’ve done, before he looks back up at you, eyes wide. 

“what are you doing?” 

“you can’t just…give me a symbolic wedding ring and not expect me to give one back. i don’t want to die without giving you one either.” 

sukuna can feel that itching feeling that he felt in the morning, whatever it was, come to ahead right in that moment – in a dimly lit, sweaty smelling tattoo parlor – as he nearly starts sobbing, pressing his head into your neck as you lean into his touch. 

“you don’t mean that.” 

“are you serious? you can’t just stand there talking about how you’d regret that you never got to give me a wedding ring and think that i wouldn’t feel the same way after you pointed it out.” 

sukuna only hugs you harder. 

“i think a lot about what it means that i got to have you this much later in my life. i could have started dating you when i was four. or when i was in highschool. or when you came back from europe. i have a lot of regrets when it comes to you – not knowing what you were going through earlier, not reaching out to you sooner.” you respond. 

you shake your head as he pulls back, red bleary eyes staring back at you. 

“i finally have you. i won’t have any proof of all the ways i’ve loved wrong when you die. and i’ll die trying.” 

sukuna gives you a teary laugh, before cupping his hands around your cheeks. you can feel the plastic clad finger on your cheek, taking the second to admire the one secured around your own had. 

“you’ll do a whole comprehensive test with your doctor, not just your cardiologist. you look both ways before you cross the street and always keep your pepper spray with you. don’t delay showing your doctor what looks weird, and…and don’t die on me.” sukuna murmurs. 

“okay.” 

“and i won’t love you wrong either. everything conspired to get me here, with you, right now. that plastic ring will be a real one, you…you are going to stay here.” 

you can tell that he doesn’t really believe the last part. 

“yes, i am.” 

“you…you are, right? because i fucking love you. you…you can’t do that.” 

you smile. 

“the plastic ring will be a real one. and i’ll be right next to you.” 

a very teary eyed sukuna leads you out of the tattoo parlor, swirling the little plastic ring on his finger, as he reminds himself of the fact. that you’ll be right next to him. 

it’s the only solace he has. and quite possibly, the only one he needs to get him through it. 

“y/n.” he whispers. 

“yeah?” 

“i never got to ask. are you going to marry me?” 

you smile, admiring the little rings on your finger. 

“one day.” you resond. 

it fills his heart with an insurmountable amount of hope.

--

next part linked here

an: LOL

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[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hi bubbs, 💖 anon here. I never made a request before, but I'd like to make one now. Can you write a fic in which reader gets injured and Azriel takes care of her and tends to her wounds? Reader has been through a lot in the past so she doesn't know how to react to someone taking care of her. Both of them are also secretly pining for one another. Pls write it if you have the time, no pressure. Much love to you Queen, bye bye💖.

Hey, gorgeous! Enjoy!💕✨

Keep you safe

Azriel hated when Rhys sent you out on missions alone or with anyone who wasn’t him. When it came to you he trusted no one. It was stupid. Over the top stupid but he just couldn’t. Couldn’t make himself settle when he wasn’t the one guarding your back. And then maybe it was the fact that something deep within his chest burnt for you. It was easy with you. From day one you had managed to see right through him. Right through everything he thought he was masking like a true mastermind.

“If you had come to nag me about putting her on a search team with other boys, you don’t have to. By now I know what you will drill me for”, Rhys spoke up before Azriel had a chance to fully enter his study. “I just don’t understand why you do it”, the spymaster slowly closed the door before turning to his brother, “You know how much it unsettles me”. Rhys put down his pen, looking straight up at Azriel, “Man up then and tell her how you feel”, and that was enough to make Azriel's shoulders go stiff. “Stop with that nonsense. Aren’t you tired of trying to play a matchmaker?”, but Azriel’s words only made Rhys smirk. “You can make her yours, admit how you’re feeling, and have an advantage over my decisions. Or you can sulk for the rest of your life because, brother, you’re not getting any younger”, Rhys’s eyes pierced through Azriel. He slowly nodded his head before turning around, “You don’t know shit”, he reached for the door handle once more, “Oh, and if something happens to her because of this choice of yours”, his eyes now much darker, landed on his high lord, “Your pretty face will take a beating. My condolences to Feyre”, and with that, he was gone.

It was an anxious couple of days of sitting around. The reports Azriel had to fill out were adding up but he couldn’t get his mind to settle. And then he heard it. The sea of voices. Among them a voice he would recognize anywhere. Azriel is quick to jump to his feet, rushing down the stairs. And there you stand. Your fighting leather was still on as you gave your last orders to the soldiers that had come with you.

“Y/n”, the shadow singer called out with a tight nod. Your eyes. Tired eyes meet his. A light smile pulls at the corner of your mouth, “Azriel”. The soldiers give clipped nods to both of you before hurrying away. “Didn’t even say goodbye”, Azriel crosses his arms over his chest. “You know i hate goodbyes”, you snicker, turning slightly only to hiss beneath your breath. “Is everything okay?”, the question falls out of his mouth way too quickly but your well-being has been the center of attention ever since you left. “Yeah, perfect. Need to give Rhys a rundown”, and that’s when his eyes notice your clammy-looking skin, the slight tremble.

Azriel reaches out, grabbing your arm, and the dampness of it strikes him. He lets go in a hurry only to be met with a bloody palm. “Yn…”, it’s barely a whisper as his vision zeros onto the crimson staining his skin. “It is nothing”, you brush it off so carelessly that it makes Azriel’s blood boil. “Nothing? You’re bleeding all over the foyer”, he whispers shouts, stepping right in front of you, blocking your way away from him. “I’ll clean it up?”, you try, not too sure as to what would calm this sudden fury burning in him. His wild eyes look you over. And then there is darkness. The coldness of his shadows surrounded everything.

“Sit”, he orders before the mist of his darkness even has a chance to fizzle out. “Azriel you can’t just take me like that”, you hiss out both in pain and frustration. To his apartment outside the city, he had winnowed you. Just like that. Just because. “But it seems like I did”, he sassed over his shoulder before pointing to the sofa, “sit down, woman, before I sit you down”. You gape at him for a moment. Under any other circumstance you would be putting him in his place but now… now you just feel weaker and weaker by the minute.

“You are being childish”, you point out, welcoming the feeling of ease once your body eases against the sofa. “You are being careless”, he throws your own words at him. Ones that you had thrown at him on multiple occasions after his missions. “Shirt off”, Azriel asks, motioning to the material. “Azriel, this is nothing”, you try to reason once again. You don’t want him to see you like this. You can lick your wounds on your own. Have done that your whole life.

“Say that one more time”, it’s a dare you know that. Know him. Just as you know the more you push, the more likely it is that he will be the one doing the undressing. “Fine”, you huff, “I’ll show you so you will get out of my hair”, it’s mean and rude at best, because he had been nothing but nice. You just can’t wrap your head around someone caring. But even you halt at the sight of the angry-looking gash surrounded by bruises. You haven’t looked at it since the attack. You felt it yes. But it didn’t feel that bad. Not to mention the puss slowly forming at the edges. Infected. A chill runs down your back.

“Fuck”, Azriel’s voice fills in the silence. “It wasn’t…”, you start but your voice dies. “Sit, or better lay down”, and there it is, the collected composure, “I’ll fetch clean clothes and Madja’s slaves”, he’s quick to step into his neatly arranged storage room. Searching through the medical supplies. “She’s not in Velaris now but I will make sure she comes here first thing when she returns”, he’s rambling now. Meaning it’s bad. He thinks it’s bad too.

You’re only in your breast wrap when Azriel returns. He would admire you. What man wouldn’t but not now. Not when your chest is coming up and down in broken breathes. Your face looking ashy. “This will hurt. Hold onto my shoulders”, he kneels between your legs, dampening the material. “I’m good”, you say through clenched teeth, letting your head fall over the back of the sofa. Azriel watches you, “I warned you”, he mutters before pressing the cloth to your wound.

Your hands shoot up as quickly as the pain making you cry out. Reaching for the man tending your wounded side. “Breathe through it. Nice and slow”, his lips brush against the side of your head. You didn’t even realize when he had leaned over you. “It hurts”, you cry out, feeling the tears rolling down your cheeks. “Look at me, I’ve got you”, his forehead is pressed to yours. Eyes watching you. He gives you a quick nod and you nod alongside him, “Make it quick”. Another tight nod and the salve-soaked material is once again against your burning flesh.

You cry out, head falling onto Azriel’s shoulder. The agony of it all catches up quickly to you. “Just a bit more”, he pleads, trying to clean away all the crusted-over blood and puss. “You’re doing great. So brave. So strong”, you want to bite back that you’re not a child that needs praise but his words soothe something inside you.

“Lay down, you will feel dizzy”, Azriel reaches out to steady your head back. “Any more not serious cuts on your body?” You lift your arm, one he had grasped. It’s a much shallow wound the bleeding had stopped by now. Yet Azriel tends to it as carefully. You watch him do it. The way he has that almost permanent frown on his face. As if every bruise and cut had personally offered him. “I’ll wrap you up”, he mutters after a while, gathering all the blood-soaked clothes. “I can do it myself, you did enough”, The truth is you don’t want to move. Or more like don’t know if you can. Azriel just looks down at you before sighing, “I understand now why you get pissed when I play big boy around you”, you can’t help but smile a little. Tending to him was always a headache but you always got him to give in. “Got to keep you on your toes now”, you whisper, not trusting your voice.

“Just let me look after you”, he mutters and you take a moment to soak in his worried eyes. “Why?”, deep down you know the answer but there’s an urge now. Urge to hear him say it. “Because…”, Azriel breathes out, stalling, “Because I’ve been worried sick since you left, because this will help my mind settle”. He shakes his head slightly, “Because I care… about you”. You take a shaky breath in, wanting to reach out for him. “Az…”, you mutter. “Don’t say anything now. Heal first and let me help you do so faster”, he cups your face, before going back to fetch the bandages.

[the-guilty-writer]

Aaron x daughter!reader,

His daughter is a cane user and she has a bad day pain wise?

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Just like your father, you'd always been stoic, easily able to hide your pain from the outside world. It was something Aaron always had to keep in mind, how you'd push through and never speak a word about your discomfort. He'd always seen the characteristic in himself as a blessing, but in you he viewed it as a curse to himself.

There were times when you couldn't hide it, though. Usually you were well past a manageable pain level when it happened, and Aaron beat himself up for not noticing sooner. He'd never thought the hardest person to profile would be his own daughter, but apparently you were. People didn't see what you didn't want them to see, including your father.

Today, however, you'd reached your breaking point, hardly able to get out of bed, even with the help of your cane. You had tried, of course, but the gravity of your pain had been too much to bear. The sound of Jack's bare feet running past your door reminded you of the day to come, how your brother approached everything in stride with a smile on his face.

You tried your best to do the same, but you could only do what your body allowed.

A soft knock landed on your door and you called to invite whomever it was in.

"Morning, sweetheart." Your dad peeked his head through the door, his brow already furrowed with concern.

"G'morning," you mumbled out the words.

Aaron padded into the room, closing the door behind him. He stayed as quiet as possible, not wanting to draw attention from Jack, who would have wanted to stay for the conversation.

Your dad sat down on the bed, running a gentle hand through your hair. The gesture was something he'd done since you were a little girl, one of calm and quiet understanding.

"Do you want to stay home today?" he asked.

"No." Truthfully, you didn't want to stay home. Want implied that it was something you could give or take, a choice. If you could have chosen to go to school, you would have, but your body didn't allow that kind of liberation.

"Do you need to stay home today?" Aaron re-phrased.

You didn't have the energy to speak this time, managing a slight nod.

"Okay." He kissed your forehead before exiting the room quietly.

As soon as he left, you fell into a state of half-sleep, unable to reach full rest due to the pain coursing through your body. It was like some sort of horribly sick joke that you needed sleep to aid the ache, yet it kept you from sleeping in the first place.

The sound of the front door opening, your dad talking to JJ, her leaving with the boys in tow, all happened in a haze. It was only when your dad’s footsteps ascended the stairs that you were able to pull yourself from the fog.

A quiet knock on the door brought you out of your head and into your body. Gentle footsteps sounded against the carpet until you felt the bed dip slightly, followed by a gentle hand tucking loose hairs away from your face.

You opened your eyes slowly, being met with resistance from your own body that so desperately wanted to block out the light. Pain made it difficult to process your surroundings, but once you did, the sight of your dad in his normal house clothes surprised you.

"Don't you have work?"

"Nope." He planted a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Anderson is bringing me some files, but I'm staying home with you."

"You didn't have to do that." It came out as a painful whisper.

"I wanted to." Hotch reached for the bedside table, grabbing a cup with a straw. "Can you try just a little?"

He helped you prop yourself up against the pillows and held the straw to your lips. The taste of a fruit smoothie filled danced along your taste buds, and slowly but surely you were able to consume half the contents of the cup. When you were done, you pushed it away slightly and laid back down, your dad tucking you in just as the doorbell rang.

"I'll check on you in a bit. Promise to call if you need anything?" he asked.

You nodded your head, eyes already closed, mind in a half-sleep.

Hotch kissed you on the forehead gently and left the room, closing the door quietly so as to not disturb your rest. He could only hope that sleep (and pain medication) would allow you to begin the day again in a few hours.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

You don’t deserve him

Warnings: mentions of abuse, bruises, small moment of jj smoking a j, strong language, Routledge reader :3

Summary: you’ve had it with Luke tossing JJ around, and finally decide to say something when you know JJ won’t.

He knocked on the door to the chateau rapidly, you and your brother glanced at each other before you stood up. Your dog barked at the door.

“Jesus, Jesus, I’m goin’ junior.” You mumbled to him. You went over to the door, cracking it open.

You saw JJ through the small crack, soaked by the pouring rain outside, bloodied and bruised. You opened the door more, your face falling and your mouth agape as you stared at him.

“Jj…”

“Hey, baby.” He sighed in relief, his hand going to your cheek as he leaned in. You gave him a quick kiss, before pushing him away and looking at his face.

“Jesus, dude. Are you good?” John B asked from behind you on the couch, JJ stepping inside as you backed up. You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching as JJ stared at you and your brother.

“I’m fine. Can I uh… stay again? I’m sorry-“

“Course, man.” John B nodded, cutting him off.

“C’mon.” You told him quietly, Jj trailed behind you silently, already knowing the routine. You grabbed the first aid kit, wrapped some toilet paper around your hand and put it underneath the faucet, cleaning the blood off his face.

He silently watched you, his leg bouncing up and down nervously. You could feel your own tears about to fall, you had to stop yourself for a moment, looking down while Jj furrowed his eyebrows.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, hand going to reach your cheek, forcing you to look up at him. “what’s wrong?” He asked you, concerned. He watched tears fall down your face.

“I hate him so much.” You cried out, he was confused.

“Who- what happened? What’s wrong?”

“Your dad. He- he treats you like this all the time and he gets away with it. I can’t stand it.” You shook your head. “I hate it. Y- you did nothing to deserve this shit, JJ. I hate that you have to stay here because you don’t feel safe at home.”

“Y/n. I told you,” he mumbled, tilting his head as he stared at you, tears forming in his own eyes, but he wiped them with the back of his hand. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. You dot gotta worry about any of that. I told you that.”

“But I do, Jj. I worry about you every day.”

He smiled softly at your words, and he wrapped his arms around you, you hugged him back, squeezing him as if he would be gone if you let go.

“Alright- alright-“ he wheezed out after a little, patting your back. “You’re killing me here, babe.”

You released him from the hug, mumbling a sorry and wiping your tears away.

“You’re so sweet, you know that?” He told you, leaning down to you, watching you smile again. His hand reached out for your cheek, wiping away the remaining tears on your face.

“Hey, how ‘bout I go freshen up and I’ll meet you in your room?” He asked you as you reached back for the kit, grabbing a few bandages and putting them on his face.

You nodded slowly. He smiled again, lightly tapping your cheek with his hand as he stood up, you standing as well, putting everything in the medicine cabinet again, leaving him to go take a shower.

————

The next morning, you were taking out your dog through the neighborhood. JJ and John B were out on a surfing trip for a while.

You walked with your headphones in through the cut and then downtown, watching your dog pad along the sidewalk happily, her tongue hanging out. You smiled softly, and looked back up.

It was then that you noticed him. JJs dad, out and about downtown. What the hell was he doing here?

You furrowed your eyebrows, taking your headphones off and walking closer.

He turned around, his face falling into one as shock as he noticed you.

“Y/n?” He knew you for years, before you dated JJ. You came by often, you knew about his home life before even your brother did.

“Luke.” You replied, giving him nothing but a small nod and a hint of a snarl.

“How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Fine.” You simply said, the air was thick with tension.

“Did uh.. JJ go over to yours?” He asked, with a small scoff after.

“So what if he did?” You snapped back, his eyes widening.

“He’s- he’s my kid. Think I have the right to know where he is. Even though I got no fuckin clue half the time-“ he laughed out, but your face remained straight. “I mean, seriously, kid.”

“Don’t… fucking call me that. And don’t even speak about him.” You got closer to the man, your dog confused as he stood still at your side.

“Hey, was jus’ saying.” He held his hands up in defense, a wicked smile on his face. “Boy, he really got you on his leash, huh? Y/n, you just gonna be like every other girl, thrown out the door the second he’s bored. He’s a fuckin’ little girl.”

“I don’t know who you think you are, talking about me and him like that. But I swear to God, Luke, step foot near the Chateau, step foot near him, I’m shooting your ass on sight. What did he even do to you? Huh?”

“Oh, so he is at your house.”

“Jesus- you are a sorry fucking excuse for a father. You know that?” You were now poking your finger into his chest, even closer. “You are a prick, you are an asshole, you are… vermin on this fuckin’ earth.” You spat.

He seemed amused by your words. “Strong words for a little girl like yourself.”

“You’ll never deserve that boy. You’ll never deserve him.” You mumbled, stepping away from him and continuing your walk, sighing as you walked away, tugging your dogs leash gently.

What you didn’t know, is that your words did have an effect on him. He watched as you walked away, your every word sinking into his chest, his heart.

Your phone lit up in your pocket with a notification. You picked up it, looking at the text.

JJ <3

wya?? we came back to the chateau and you’re not here )::

You smiled at the text, quickly responding.

walking JJ junior, we’re downtown rn :3. You told him, sending a little picture attached of your dog on his leash.

JJ <3

aww, when u guys r back i gotta bucket of ice cream and a whole thing of peanut butter for jj junior there

Your smile widened, texting him back with a little heart emoji and turning your phone off, walking back to the chateau, but taking another route so you wouldn’t run into Luke again.

When you got back, he sat on the porch with a joint lazily hanging in his fingers.

He was scrolling through his phone when he heard junior bark at him, you let go of the leash and watched the dog go up to Jj, clawing at his legs and barking out of happiness.

“Hey, buddy!” JJ spoke to him, petting behind his ears and ruffling his fur, you smiled at the sweet sight. “You have fun with your mama? Yeah?” He asked, dog barking again.

“And hello to you too.” He told you when you came up, giving you a hug, despite junior getting in the way of you both.

“How was your walk?” He mumbled when he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, you thought back to Luke and smiled.

“It was good, actually.” You nodded, bending down to pick up juniors leash, tugging on it and opening the door to the Chateau.

JJ sat down again on your porch, taking a drag of the joint and exhaling. You sat next to him, he offered you it but you just shook your head.

Your eyes raked over his body, he didn’t have a shirt on and his swim trunks were still on.

They raked over his abs, his eyes looked up at you, attentive to what you were looking at.

They raked over his bruises, you swallowing and looking away when you felt the tears pushing through your waterline again. You sniffled and JJ sighed, already knowing what you were upset about.

“You don’t gotta worry about it. I tell you that every time. I’m here now, it’s over, it’s whatever.” He shrugged it off.

“It’s not whatever.”

“Y/n, I’ve lived with it my whole life. This ain’t even that bad.”

“I hate when you do that.” You muttered, turning back to JJ. He stared at you, sighing.

“Do what?”

“Play it off like it’s nothing- I mean i know you don’t wanna talk about it, and I’m not asking you to. But JJ, this isn’t nothing. I… I hate seeing you hurt. And I hate seeing you act like you’re okay.

“I know you do baby. But I am okay. I’m okay.” He repeated. “I don’t want you worrying about it.”

You shook your head again, feeling the tears go down your face. You wrapped your arms around JJ, he frowned and just hugged you back.

“I know you always worry anyways. But I love you, and I don’t wanna hurt you. Like at all. That’s it.” He mumbled against your shirt, he sighed when you pulled apart, and took it upon himself to lay his head on your lap.

You both stared out at into the night, you raking your hands through his hair.

“Will you stay here? Like… forever?” You sniffled after a while, looking down at him.

“Thought you’d never ask.” He said with a smirk, turning to look at you now.

“JJ, you seen my-“ John B’s sentence stopped when he turned to look at the both of you. You both looked at him like deers in headlights.

“Oh God, think I’m gonna vomit now. Anyways, you seen the peanut butter you bought? I was trying to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich but there’s none left.”

You looked at JJ, who looked at you with a wide smile. You both turned back to John B, you shrugged.

“Oh, I know that look.” He mumbled, going back into the Chateau.

“Junior!” You both heard from inside, both of you giggling as you heard your brother scold your dog.

“Goddamnit- there’s peanut butter all over my clean clothes! Get, get outta here.”

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

the platonic little sister relationship aegon has to someone like reader 😭 i hope we can see more, but like without the darkness of house of the dragon nor gore of it, just aegon ii staring at his little sister and vowing the world and even the throne for her, relinquishing it the first chance that he gets to rhaenyra whilst in tears holding his littlest sister 😭 he wishes no throne, no treasures, no liquor, only her safety and nothing more. i can imagine him trying to escape with her to the free lands because she is the only good in his world and he’d be damned if he let otto try and spoil the only kindness that the gods have give him. i can also imagine him stowing away on his dragon and flying on dragonback to the blacks to proclaim his loyalty with little reader bundled up in his cloak. i can imagine him fiercely protective but also relenting when he knows she is happy, being by her side as her older brother and uncle to her children to whomever it may be 😭

(sorry for the long anon, i just wish to see more 😭)

- familial issues anon 😔

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ Pt. 2 ]

author notes: I promise, I'm gonna write a fluffy part 3 after this.. pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Younger Sister! Reader ( Platonic ) prompt: When Blood and Cheese attack, the feeling of being safe in the Red Keep dies along with your sweet nephew and son. word count: 1, 000+ words

The night of Blood and Cheese, you had wandered into the children's bedchamber. Something pulled you from your dreams, telling you that the children needed you. You did not know a thing. The night was quiet and cool, the gentle pouring of rain filling the air. Everyone was safe and content. No harm could come to any of you with Vhagar in the City. But, as you got closer and closer, blissfully unaware.

You did not know the horrors that awaited you. Helaena held at knife point, her eyes so wide and full of silent horror. Your son cuddled up next to Jaehaera and Jaehaerys like he always did, all three of them dead asleep and unaware. Two men, one tall and imposing. The other thin and chuckling like a mad man. A debt they said, "A son for a son."

A son for a son. A son for a son. The world that that point is going silent and you think of was, why? Why? Why? Why?

You don't remember much of anything, no matter how much you tried to, just the muffled screams and sound of flesh being cut. You stumbled and wandered down the empty halls of the Red Keep, a dead look on your face. A thousand unspoken words on your tongue.

A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. Where the fuck were the guards? Where were the maids? Where was everyone? They liked to snoop, so why this time were they gone?

You did not know when Helaena had departed from your side. You just vaguely remembered bumping into one of Aegon's friends, the drunken smile on his face falling. His face went pale and a stuttered call for Aegon.

Staring dead at the man, you could not remember his name, just that he was kind and one of Aegon's friends. Feeling your bottom lip wobble, you tried to hold back the sobs, emotions bubbling up. Feeling familiar hands on your shoulder, you dreadfully become aware of the wetness in your nightgown, though it was not your monthly blood or rain that soaked the linen. The realization trickled in that it was blood sinking in. Blood. Jaehaerys blood. Your son's blood.

"Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, look at me, not the blood. Tell me what's happened." A voice faintly orders, "Y/n, look at me. Look at me."

Blinking back the tears that bubbled up, your vision clears up, seeing Aegon standing right in front of you. He reeks of strongwine. But, the look on his face was deadly sober. Seeing his lips moving, you couldn't hear him, the haunting sound of Jaehaerys and your son slowly being beheaded still ringing in your ears. Son for a son. A son for a son. Jaehaerys was just a boy. He was barely six years old. A baby. Helaena's baby. Your boy was a year his younger, only five.

"You weren't there. Why weren't you there?" You hiccup, "You were always there. Why weren't you there?!"

"Y/n?"

"You said you'd be there if we were in trouble. That⎯That⎯That if we need you, you would be there. Why weren't you there? Why weren't you there?!" You scream out, your pained voice echoing loudly.

"Who's blood is that? Where is your son?" Aegon asks, his face and voice of panic.

Son for a son. A son for a son. Son for a son. A son for a son. Your son. Why him? He wasn't Aegon's heir. He wasn't Aegon's son in any way. He wasn't anyone's but your own. Your baby. Your sweet baby. Why did they pick him? He was no threat. He was just sleeping. He wasn't harming anyone.

"Gods damn it, Y/n! Where is your son?! Where is he?! Who's blood is that?" He demands, "Tell me, tell me."

"The...They took his head..The boy...My boy..Blood..He's in the bed...They came from the walls..Helaena.." You choke out, not able to properly string together a sentence.

Bursting into a fit of tears, the throne exploded into chaos the moment tears were spilled, orders and demands being spouted out to anyone in ear shot. Why? Why? Why? The Red Keep was safe. Aegon told you it was safe. It was supposed to be safe. That they would not dare to harm any of you. It was supposed to be safe.

'You will never have to marry again. You and your son are under my protection. No harm shall come to you whilst you stay in the Red Keep, sweet sister. I swear upon it.' He had said, tucking back a strand of hair from your face.

'No harm shall come to you whilst you stay in the Red Keep, sweet sister. I swear upon it.'

'No harm shall come to you whilst you stay in the Red Keep, sweet sister.

'No harm shall come to you...I swear upon it.'

When did your big brother become such a fucking liar?

Watching you collapse to the ground, Aegon swiftly follows you to the ground, cuddling you close to his chest. He may have been a little tipsy, but now he was dead sober. You stumbled in, looking more like a ghost than a person. Your hair down, you always loved to leave it down when going to bed. Your nightgown, white with little butterflies sewn into the hem, now stained in blood. Who's? He did not know and dreaded finding out.

Stroking your hair tenderly, he prayed, truly prayed for the first time since his youth. Not for your safe return home. Not for his Father's love or a fragment of his time. Not for the Seven to rid him of all the bad in him. He prayed that you were just spouting out about some nightmare. That this was just like all those times in your youth, when you'd sneak into his chambers. A whimpering mess, spouting about the monster under your bed.

"It's just a dream. It's just a dream." Aegon tries to reassure, not sure if he was trying to convince you or himself.

"Aegon, what⎯what⎯what do we do?" One of his friends stutters out, a shell shocked look on his face.

"Get the fucking guards! Wake the fucking Keep up! Damn it!" Aegon bellows, his face flushing red from anger.

Struggling to figure out what to focus on, he couldn't keep up as the Red Keep seemingly exploded. Guards are everywhere. Orders being spouted out. He wasn't sure if his voice was one of them. It was all just a blur. This could not be real. This had to be a nightmare or a figment of his drunken mind. Soon enough he would awake. You'd come into his chamber's like you do every morning, warning him that your Mother was on her way. Yes, yes, that was it. He would wake up and everything would be good.

"Aegon. Aegon." Someone calls out for him, his grip tightening on you instinctively.

"Your grace, the Prince Jaehaerys and Prince⎯" A guard stops speaking, the look on his face enough to make his blood cold.

"No, they are alright. Tis' just a minor wound, no?" Aegon shakes his head, not wanting to think of the worse. "Just a bloody nose or.."

"Your grace.." The guard shakes his head, "I am afraid tis' more grave than a bloody nose."

Feeling tears bubbling up in his eyes, he shakes his head, laughing bitterly in disbelief. This could not be true. This had to be some jest. Some dream of his. There was no way that his son and your own were dead. The Red Keep was safe. Rhaenyra would be a fool to attack with Vhagar flying above. Hearing your wails grow louder and more heart wrenching, it felt like the world just fucking snapped. Tears of sadness morphing into red hot anger. His face hardening.

They killed your son. They killed his son, his heir. They fucking made you cry. They made you and Helaena watch. Fuck the peace treaty. Fuck being kind and being cordial. Fuck doing this the proper way. Fuck all of them. He'd killed them. He'd kill them all for this. He'd kill anyone who dared to do this. He'd fucking murder all of their bloodline for this. This was war. This was fucking war.

"I'll kill them! I'll kill them all! Traitor's and murderer's!"

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

[girlokwhatever]

omg can you do PRETTY PLEASE write paige bueckers fluff where they play roblox together? i feel like it would be really funny

guys i’m gonna be honest; i haven’t played roblox in YEARRSSS so idk how this is gonna go

paige bueckers x gf!reader playing roblox

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚༉‧₊˚..ೃ࿐ paige and her gf playing roblox,,

— you already know she’s playing it on her ipad.

- she’ll just prop it up in her lap or something or hold it up right in front of her face

— she loves to play the horror games on there with you

- she insists on turning all the lights off to “make it more intense”

— wants to cuddle you the whole time 🤗

— you guys troll little kids together LMAO

- one time she got her account suspended because she called a little kid ugly

— she refuses to play without you

— she buys you robux!!!!!!!

— she loves to play the little fashion shows with you

- she makes you vote for her.

— one time she caught you playing roblox with her little brother drew….

- she was VERY upset. genuinely.

— she likes it when your characters twin

— OKOK she loves to play the little house simulator games so you guys can have a house together and be all domestic 🤗

- you guys definitely have kids in that game

- she gets so into it i swear

— likes to play when you guys are on the bus for an away game or something

— she likes doing the school simulator sometimes cause she likes to be the teacher

- she’ll make you be a student…….

— “babe i just died and it restarted me”

- “ok?”

- “you need to die too so we can do it together.”

— she makes it a competition on those little obstacle courses to see who can finish first

- it’s usually you.

— she’s a rage quitter LOL

— sometimes you just watch her play because you’re too tired to actually do something

- your back is on her chest and she’s got both arms wrapped around you while the ipad rests against your thighs

— gets so mad when she’s trolling kids and it bleeps her out

— “babe do you want to play roblox tonight?”

- “i’ll think about it.”

- “ok ill go charge your computer”

- “i said maybe.”

- “that’s basically yes.”

- “paige.”

- “but we haven’t played in like…. three days!”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚༉‧₊˚..ೃ࿐

i really tried but genuinely had no ideas for this req

i love you though!! 😜

[heartsofminds]

i'm calling just to hear you scream - part i

"She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down." or Natalie gets fed the fuck up and hires a hospitality attorney before everything else turns to shit. 

a/n: i couldn't help myself at all and had to bite by trying my hand at writing for carmy! what can i say? i love men with trauma that need to be cuddled like newborns! please enjoy the beginning of enemies to lovers to enemies back to lovers fic with a workaholic chef and an overly empathetic attorney. angst is my brand! i hope you enjoy!

Being the peacekeeper of your family is never something anyone ever sets out to be. 

One day you’re normal and live blissfully with the rose-colored lenses of naivety tinting life shades of bashful blush and magnetic magenta. The next day you’re diffusing a spitfire scarlett dispute between your anxiety-ridden mother and impulsively crude older brother while simultaneously taming the balloon of battered blue tears your baby brother sheds who observes from the corner; scared yet somehow unaware of the emotions sucking the oxygen out of everyone. 

At first, it feels good. It feels nice to be appreciated and turned to in moments of darkness. Helpfulness defines your livelihood and gives you the nameplate of the gold star child who can never do any wrong and always finds a solution. But then you realize that is what you ever really are, and you’re both hated for your inability to let things sour and for always having an answer despite uncertainty plaguing every course of action. 

Being the peacekeeper of your family is both a Medal of Honor, worn with pride and graciousness, yet a bullet wound wielded by shame and agony. The tenderness and hurt push on it until you can hardly stand it; half expecting pus to be seeping out in pale yellow heaps because the pain feels so real. 

There are no exit wounds. There are no breaks. There is no humanity or personal identity or room for self-discovery. 

A peacemaker is all you will be and all you will ever accomplish, and you’ll never say it out loud but it’s fucking exhausting. 

Being the peacemaker is something Natalie Berzatto never fucking asked for, yet here she is, playing project manager to her haywire (and sometimes freakishly obsessive) baby brother’s blind-eyed throw of a dart that manifested itself in asking Uncle Jimmy for an eight hundred thousand dollar loan with the promise to have it completely paid back within eight months. 

She’s not one to rain on a parade, but it’s hard to keep marching when your entire life has been putting out the fires of overly ambitious business ventures during unmedicated fits of mania. She had seen it with their dad, with their mom, and with Mikey. Carmen is the last needle needed to complete the fucked up haystack that engulfs their family. 

She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down. 

Natalie has never thought of looking into Botox until now; when her face is set in a permanent scowl and her resting heart rate nears triple digits. Pete had been telling her for the past three weeks that she was doing amazing; that this was an impossible task to complete stress-free, and that the stress was “good” because it meant that she cared. 

Sometimes she doesn’t realize that not everyone has a mom who drives the fucking car through the den during Christmas Eve dinner nor does everyone have a mom who moves all the furniture to the backyard before having to leave for their oldest brother’s high school graduation. Not everyone has an older brother who blows his head off and doesn’t leave a note and not everyone has a younger brother who would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body and had his mouth that was spewing hurtful insults by the dozen.

Stress does not mean that you care. Stress means that your eyes are staring at the fucking Sun trying to see where the other shoe is getting ready to drop because there’s always another disappointment and always another phone call to make to the pharmacy for more SSRIs. 

Needless to say, Richie calling Neil “lard ass” on an antagonizing loop after he had pointed out the wrong wall was being destroyed was the last straw. Well, that and the fact she found a new patch of white hairs colonizing on her hairline the other morning. Constant shouted insults, gray hairs popping up overnight, and the colossal secret of a new infant making its arrival into the chaos in October weigh heavy on her. And she absolutely cannot afford to lose her cool and become the kind of bitchy and mean she knows that she’s capable of. 

Your phone number sits inside the LED-lit text thread of a friend she had known in high school. Becca was the older sister of Claire Cantor whom her little brother may have or may have not had a pathetic crush on years ago when he was in high school. 

She feels kind of grimy doing what she is; offering up information about Carmy to Becca to give to Claire who apparently thought her baby brother was the bee's knees (which, if she saw the way he was acting right now, Natalie knows she would run the other way). She doesn’t even think Carmen has the capability to think of anything outside of the restaurant and the menu and how royally fucked they all are. 

She can feel the dull ache of guilt in her chest that comes with knowing how unlikely anything is to come from this, and how wrong she is for pretending like her telling Becca where he grocery shops or if he has a girlfriend or if he was currently looking for someone to date would somehow tether Claire to a world where her and Carmen are a “thing” (because apparently “boyfriend and girlfriend” is too permanent of a word for Chicagoan twenty-somethings to use). 

But she’s doing it for the sake of everyone else! It can’t possibly be as gross and low-lived as she feels it is. 

Becca Cantor is insufferable and can only be taken in small doses, but she’s also a big wig junior partner at one of the most lucrative law firms in Chicago. Natalie hates blowing smoke up people’s asses who don’t deserve it (and in Becca’s case certainly don’t need it), but she desperately needs help and knows that she needs to figure something out before she fucks herself in such a deep hole that she couldn’t attempt to unfuck herself if she tried. 

Your official title is “junior associate” and you had been working at Becca’s firm following your graduation from Northwestern’s Pritzker School of Law a couple of years prior. Becca had said you were amazing; freakishly smart, funny, and hardworking. She also mentioned that you were the best kind of junior associate; the ones that know when to shut the fuck up and when to get the fuck out of the way. The addition added before the text conversation ended was how you were looking to get your foot into the hospitality legal field, and how you were willing to do anything concerning that for free fucking ninety-nine if it meant you would have some experience. 

Natalie sits with her lower lip worried between her teeth and her hands one tick shy of shaking. Her heart beats erratically despite lounging on her couch with the lights off and a re-run of That 70’s Show playing softly in the background. She makes a mental note to bring up the high resting heart rate at her next OB appointment. 

It’s because she’s pregnant. Yes. It has to be because she’s pregnant. 

She shouldn’t be nervous. It would be absolutely ridiculous to be nervous. She’s not nervous. 

She already ran the idea past Sydney and she agreed that they absolutely needed a lawyer in their back pocket. With all of the tax records fucked beyond belief, new workers being hired who actually knew their worth and wouldn’t tolerate not having an actual employement contract, and the lack of permits under their belt currently, a lawyer wouldn’t hurt if getting one turned out to not be as helpful as anticipated. Besides, Becca had said you were doing it for them pro bono which in turn meant free fucking nintey-nine. 

But Natalie had lied to Carmen about how much some fluted cocktail glasses cost to ensure that they purchased the cheaper ones so that she could run the numbers and figure out a way to put you on the payroll. Pro bono or not, you’re doing them a huge favor and part of her can’t put the peacekeeping to rest. 

Her fingers type and untype a novel of characters. She can’t seem to relax her mind enough to articulate what exactly she wants to say. She has one shot to not scare you off and not lose her mind in a fit of fiery rage and not have everything turn to shit and it be her fault. She has to be perfect. 

Fuck. She is nervous. 

Hi! This is Natalie Berzatto. I’m one of Becca Cantor’s friends and she referred me to you. I’m working on opening a restaurant and would like for you to swing by and discuss some things about it if you’re open to that! Please let me know. I’m looking forward to hearing back from you soon! 

Nat’s finger hits the blue “send” arrow in the rounded box of her phone screen the same time she pushes a gag to the back of her throat. She used to work at a marketing firm for Christ’s sake. Cold contacting people isn’t anything new and she’s usually not one to shy away from reaching out to anyone in her personal life first. But she can’t help the fact that she’s never been able to swallow the artificial bubble gummy niceness of reaching out to a complete stranger for the first time. She feels stupid and knows that she sounds even stupider but tries not to think about it. 

Besides, keeping everything together is never easy and she knows that she would be selfish for letting her discomfort prevent her from doing what she knows is best. 

Her breath is stuck in her chest as she eyes the open text thread to an unsaved number; her blue text message staring at her menacingly and breeding contempt as the seconds pass. She gasps loudly whenever she sees the gray bubbles pop up beneath it. Pete pokes his head into the living room with a tea towel in his hand and one of the ceramic plates they had eaten dinner on in the other. His eyes wear concern but he knows better than to confront his wife. Natalie was anything but sugary sweet when she was stressed and the influx of hormones as of late have not been helping. 

You see the message as soon as Natalie sends it. The unknown “312” number finds its way into your notifications and your eyes read over the words in a frenzy. You know that you’re intelligent. You graduated from law school for fuck’s sake, but for some reason you absolutely cannot comprehend the text you’re reading. 

Firstly, you were sure Becca hated your fucking guts. She was a junior partner that everyone hated being assigned to because she pushed all her work onto the associates and nothing ever seemed to be good enough for her. Part of the reason you had to take work home tonight was because she sent you an email with enough passive-aggressive undertone to know that these edits needed to be done now; never mind the fact that the time she took to type out the seven and a half page report about the original report probably took up so much time that she could’ve done the task herself. But yet you replied kindly and have been working through your brain fog and finger cramps since arriving home at six in the evening five hours ago. 

Secondly, hospitality litigation was absolutely above your pay grade. You had taken one elective course on it during your 2L year and did a two-week internship before the start of 3L simply because one of your friends wanted to go on vacation and needed to find someone to cover for them. You know jack shit about hospitality law and you don’t even know why Becca Cantor, of all fucking people, would be so willing to recommend you when she couldn’t care less if you lived or died. 

But of course, you can’t say no. You can never say no, and if this Natalie person was desperate enough to reach out to you via text at 11 PM on a Wednesday, she definitely needed help and needed it now. Besides, you would tell her that you do not need to be paid and if whatever she needs proves to be way too advanced for you, you can always help her find an attorney that knows what they’re doing.

Right? 

It definitely doesn’t mean that you’ll pull an all-nighter and research every aspect of hospitality law in Illinois that you can get your hands on. . .Or look up every department dealing with food and management regulations in the state. . .Or try and look at precedent cases. Your firm gave you unlimited access to West Law. Might as well use it for something slightly more interesting than trusts, estates, and contracts. 

You’re unusually pensive for something you know you would love to do. The ongoing battle as of late has been the dispute between seeking joy and wading in practicality; happiness or falsified peace? 

You rub your eyes with a roughness that would make your optometrist cringe. You know that staring at your computer screen five hours after your contracted work hours ended was the culprit for your dry eyes, but the hours you need are not going to bill themselves. Getting up to get your eyedrops will have to wait.

Replying to Natalie cannot. 

Your fingers type and untype; the feeling of texting back an unknown number foreign and unnerving. 

Thanks so much for reaching out and thinking of me! I would love to. What dates and times work for you, and where would it be best for us to meet? 

The text stares at you on your phone screen. Why do you sound so. . . corporate? Boring? Infantile.

She could probably tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about at all. The feeling of defeat rises in your throat but you ignore it and hit send instead. You’re trying to be better about that; letting your fear of uncertainty keep you from taking action. You’ve come to realize that the hard part isn’t doing the thing. It’s actually sitting in the aftermath of the “thing” and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. 

You bite your lip so hard it begins to bleed and throbs with each pulse of watery blood that fills your mouth. The gentle suck you give it to stop the bleeding makes it partially numb. 

Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. 

Natalie chirps when your text illuminates her screen. She gasps and sits up; startling Pete who had settled next to her after finishing the dishes. Her eyes curl up in the same way her lips do. 

Fucking finally. 

The world no longer feels like it’ll fall apart.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

My Girl 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your brother’s friend from work starts hanging out a lot more often. (short!reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You carefully pull the pastry over the slices of apple a cinnamon. You twist the corners together to complete the effect and hold it in place. Your blossoms are your specialty. You'll sprinkle coarse sugar over the top before you put them in the oven but for now, they'll have to rest. Your mother still has food cooking for the main course. 

You start another one, roll it out the pastry, slice it just so, wrap, and twist…  

The front door clatters and you hear Isaac say hello to your mom on her way in, “where's dad?” He adds on. 

“He'll be home soon,” she chimes. She's indulging in some wine for all her hard work in the kitchen. 

You can't help but long for your bed and the book you left on your pillow. The real world is always so monotonous. You enjoy baking but you'd rather finish the chapter. Sigh, you suppose that comes with the human condition; you're obligated to acknowledge the non-fictional slog. 

“Hey,” the deep rumble cuts through the air like the distance approach of some lingering dragon in its lair. You pop your head up and look over as Sy sets down his usual courtesy; beer and wine. He looks at you then the pan you line with pastry and fruit. “Er, whatcha making?” 

You look back to your hands and finish the twist, “apple blossoms.” 

“Mm, I like apple,” he steps closer to the counter, stopping at the counter, wavering as if he's afraid to come any further.  

“Thanks, er, oh, me too,” you shrug awkwardly, “my grandma taught me.” 

“Ah,” he nods and looks to the side, scratching his beard as he puffs out, “how's… how's your book?” 

You rinse of your hands, drying them thoroughly, “it's alright. I read it before.” 

“Tolkien, right?” He wonders. 

You nod. 

“Ahem, yeah, I… I started… the Fellowship one… pretty good so far.” 

“Oh? You did?” You face him. 

“I pick it up on my break, get a few pages here and there,” he chews his lip and pats his front pocket, feeling along it before dipping his fingers into the fabric, his brow slanting, “I… I made this.” 

He slides out a long flat piece of metal. It's slender and delicate, corner rounded to an oval, with elven patterning along its face. You squint and lean in to have a better look. 

“Wow. What is it?” 

“It's for you,” he says abruptly, “I mean it's a bookmark. I made it for you.” 

“Me?” You wonder as your eyes round, “that’s…” you look him in the face, “why– you didn't have to do that, Sy.” 

“Eh, it isn't much,” he holds it out, “be good to keep your place and all. You never drink the wine or nothing so…” 

“That's… sweet,” you smile and accept the book mark, turning it over. Your name is wrought in beautiful calligraphy on the other side, “it's beautiful.” 

He's quiet as you admire his handiwork. You don't know what else to say. You didn't expect it. You wouldn't expect him to think that much about you. 

“Anything I can help with?” He breaks the stuffy silence, made more stolid by the radiating heat of the stove. 

“Um, no, I'm pretty much done,” you move the pan of blossoms to the other counter, “but thank you.” 

“Ain't no trouble,” he assures and taps the countertop with his thick fingers, “s'pose I'll see ya at dinner.” 

“Sure,” you say over your shoulder. 

You wait until he's gone and back up, looking down at the bookmark. You can't believe how nice it is. How delicate. How can someone like him make something so elegant? Once more you’re reminded of the brutish dwarves and their renowned creations. 

You'll have to do something for him. To make it even. You don't know much about Sy but you know about Tolkien. You're sure you'll come up with something. 

📖

You sit down for dinner. It seems a lot for just a Wednesday. You won't complain even if you would rather be reading. Your mom has put together a merry feast which could feed a king himself. 

The chair beside you scrapes out and you expect Isaac to elbow you as he always does. Instead, he takes the chair across from you. Sy claims the seat to your left. He’s so big, he can’t help but brush your arm with his thick one. You send him a meek smile and he nods. 

As you serve yourselves from the glistening roast and potatoes and medley of salads and veggies, your mother flutters around offering to fill glasses. When she finally sits, she can barely stay still. 

“So, I know this is a lot,” she begins, “but I have news I wanted to share and this is my little surprise celebration.” 

You quirk your head and Isaac barely reacts as he cuts into the pork. 

“I've been given a really big opportunity at work and I'll be heading up a new project,” she's shaking with excitement, “in London.” 

“London?” You echo and look around. 

Isaac chews around his confusion as he finally reacts but your dad only smiles at your mother. You try to muster some positivity but you’re too surprised. This is a bigger twist than any book you’ve read. 

“I'll be gone for three weeks,” she says, “so yeah, I'll miss you all. I know it's all very sudden but I can't pass this up and I know you'll be okay.” 

“What?” Isaac chokes down his food. 

“Congratulations,” Sy says, “that's big news.” 

“When do you leave?” You ask. 

“Friday.” 

“Friday?” You gasp. 

“I know it's short notice but there were details to be confirmed and–” 

“Mom,” you squeak, “that's… that's great. I'm happy. Just… surprised.” 

“What are we gonna do?” Isaac whines. He dramatically sits back and rubs his cheeks. 

Sy clears his throat, “you're grown. You'll figure it out. You should be happy for your mother.” 

“He's right,” your dad growls, “your mom worked hard for this.” 

“We'll be okay,” you wisp, assuring yourself as much as everyone else. 

“Won't be long at all,” your mother beams even as she gets teary-eyed, “I'll call you every day.” 

📖

After dinner, you offer to clear the table. You want to think. You’’ll miss your mom when she’s gone. You assume you’ll be doing much of the cooking in her absence. You don’t mind, she always does so much. But that isn’t the only thing that will go away with your mom.  

It’s just disappointing that you were away for college and finally get back home and she’s leaving. You wasted the time you did have. You shouldn’t have spent all those hours with the Fellowship. You should have spent it in reality. Funny how fast your perspective can shift. 

You finish up tidying as you hear the voices from the front porch. The smell of the apple blossoms lace the air with cinnamon. You take them out of the oven, they’re perfectly golden and some of the apply good noose oozes out the little slits in the side. You plate each with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and take them out two at a time. 

You elbow out onto the porch, the snap of the screen door announcing your arrival. Your mom and dad sit on the porch swing as Sy stands across from them leaning on the railing. You force out a ‘hi’ and hand your parents their plates before you step back. 

“I’ll grab yours,” you say to Sy, “does anyone want tea or coffee?” 

“Oh, peanut, you’re so sweet, I wouldn’t mind some tea... even though I’m sure I’ll have more than enough in England,” she chuckles. 

“Decaf, please,” your dad grins. 

“Alright, will do,” you say. 

“I’ll help,” Sy stands straight, “you’ll have your hands full.” 

“Aw, Sy, you are too much,” your mother preens. 

“Where’s Isaac?” You wonder allow as your hand hovers on the screen door. 

“Moping, somewhere,” your father scoffs. “let him come out for his own dessert, if he wants it.” 

“Oh, right,” you accept and as you turn, a hand grabs the door above yours and pulls it open. Sy is close as he reaches above you to let you inside. You flit ahead of him and he follows with his sturdy steps, pausing to leave his boots on the mat. 

“You don’t have to help,” you say as you grab his plate and offer it to him as he enters the kitchen, “I just gotta put the water on.” 

“Wanna,” he says, “leave mine there. Why don’t you have some?” He insists. 

“I will,” you assure him and reluctantly put the plate back on the counter. 

You turn and flip on the electric kettle. You take out your mother’s favourite mug and a tea ball. As you do that, Sy nears the counter next to you. 

“Where’s the decaf?” He asks. 

“I said you don’t have to,” you giggle out your nerves, “really, I got it.” 

“I said, I want to,” he shrugs, “I don’t mind.” 

You don’t want to argue. How can you? He’s being helpful and you won’t have much of that. Isaac and your dad work so naturally, you’ll be taking on more of the housework. You’re not unhappy at that prospect, you just don’t want things to change so fast. 

“You’re gonna miss your mom?” Again, his questions sound like statements. 

You wince and nod, “yeah,” you close the tea ball and hook the chain on the rim of the cup. He works diligently to loud the coffee maker, measuring out the grounds deliberately. You can’t really explain everything you feel. 

“Well,” he snaps the lid down, “if ya need anything, let me know.” He backs up and goes to the other end of the counter. He slowly turns the plate of pastry and ice cream, “make sure you get some too. Can’t be doin’ all that hard work for nothing.” 

He slides the plate towards him and lifts it. He turns his broad shoulders to you and stalks out. You hear the spook clink into the porcelain before he reaches the front door and he lets out a rumbling purr. Well, at least the dessert turned out. 

[d4rkpluto]

ᴀꜱᴛʀᴏʟᴏɢʏ ᴏʙꜱᴇʀᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ᴛᴡᴏ

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paid chart readings

these are observations i've made due to people i've been around and celebrity charts i have looked at x

♇ scorpio placements like to be praised for everything they've done.

♇ online personalities who have really loud personas usually have a sag placements, ex berleezy, trap celeb, oli london, ekane etc...

♇ during a solar return chart having a stellium or more than 4+ planets in your 1h means you will REALLY be in your head, might face a lot of mental challenges.

♇ people with beneficial planets in their 9h ex jupiter or venus, specifically, usually do okay within in education, like no matter how back they are, they always pass

♇ pisces placements can RAMBLE and talk for a long time without actually saying anything.

♇ pisces mars men, the worst. the ones i've come across usually don't know what they want. but pisces mars women >>>

♇ aries degrees, specifically the 13th degree could insinuate you could be the first person to do something. janice dickson has the 25th degree and she is known as the first supermodel, beverly johnson has the 1st degree and is known as the first black supermodel, eva is the first black woman to win america's next top model and she has the 13th degree.

♇ sagittarius placements... laughing and smiling for no reason...

♇ leo moons and having hair that grows fast. for example, my brother and my nephew are both leo moons and they can cut their hair and a month later it grows back to their shoulders. i believe this could apply to 5H moons.

♇ those who have their 12h ruler conj or positively aspect their moon do become famous, [moon rules over audience] ariana grande has moon conj venus and megan has moon conj mars. if there's a negative aspect, it is still a fame indicator, but they would like get their fame after, for example chapelle roan who has moon square mercury.

♇ a lot of cancer asc men are insecure. the ones i know pity themselves so much too.

♇ much sag sun women like to dance, could be sag in big 6 + jupiter as well

♇ a fixed sign specifically scorpio in the 11h is a strong indicator of having a big online platform. but the one that is stronger than that is having moon in the 11h, most people that have this placement or even cancer in the 11h told me that they have a big platform.

♇ people with saturn or lilith in the 7h might be put into uncomfortable situations with their friend and their friends s/o, like their s/o might always likes them.

♇ uranus in 3h people might like to make up languages? or learn new ones

♇ your jupiter persona chart can talk to you about your future spouse as jupiter is the main planet to look at when it comes to your wife/husband.

♇ nara smith has jupiter in cancer and her spouse is very domestic and traditional, he even helped her give birth to their newest child, whimsy lou.

♇ dove cameron has a gemini ascendant with the 12th degree [pisces degree] probably why people say she has so many faces, she also has a heavy 8h which points to she got many procedures, khloe kardashian has a gemini moon and is also said to have many faces, also have pluto in the 8h.

♇ scorpio placements really dont like it when you enter their room all the time.

♇ a lot of dhanistha moon women have upturned eyes, or like to wear eyelashes that give them that look.

♇ people who have moon in the 11h do friend-crush a lot.

♇ aries venuses are the type to hate the people they crush on, their feelings can be quick changing but it is still intense!

♇ the reason some virgo and cancer ascendants are normally confused with each other is because they both have cat faces.

♇ its funny that when jupiter in taurus was at its peak which is the 29th degree, chef-influencers became more known on social media.

♇ people with a strong sag+virgo combination could be obsessed with perfecting their future

♇ people with scorpio/aries in their chart are likely to become alcoholics.

♇ saturn in cancer natives are likely to be less submissive to men.

♇ people with moon in the 11h or have cancer in their 11h tend to have big followers online [can work if the ruler of your 11h is in cancer]

♇ the "rumours" are true, aries venuses do get disinterested pretty quickly.

♇ the 6H in astrology can tell you what kind of skills you have, for example, if you have a venusian ruled 6H [Libra, Taurus, Venus in 6H], you could be talented a makeup, fashion etc.

+ the kalogeras sisters have leo/sun influence in their chart and they're known for their curly hair, [leo rules the mane].

pluto

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[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

can u write james getting caught masturbating in a pool float because he couldn't stop staring at fem!reader in her bikini end it ends up freaky 😭😭

A/n: love this idea so much hope you like my ✨rendition✨ of it <3

Warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Just realize his nose is red

Your older brother was friends with James’ older half-brother since they’d worked together. You and James were around the same age but weren’t all too close, nonetheless you were dragged over to his place more than once and it only got worse when his band started taking off.

He got a nice house with a pool in the back and wanted to show it off, once again you were dragged along. You stayed in the shade and enjoyed the warm weather while you read at the poolside, that was until yours and James’ brothers had to leave for work or something, you weren’t listening when they were leaving.

James came over, staying in the pool as he spoke. “You coming in or you plan on keeping your streak of being boring?” He teased.

You set your book down. “What?”

James scoffed. “Oh, come on, you’re always boring, you never do anything fun.” You chewed your cheek a moment the stood and walked away. “What, you’re just leaving?”

“I’m not changing in front of you?” You called as you went inside.

You returned a moment later with a towel wrapped around you. James was on a pool float and watching you curiously. You dropped your towel and set it with the rest of your stuff, not missing the loud splash behind you.

You spun around and saw James coughing up water, his hair completely drenched.

You smirked as you came over and sat on the edge of the pool and dipped your feet into the water. “Fall in?”

James coughed a few more times before he regained his composure. “I slipped.” He mumbled. He reached for an inflatable ball and tossed it at you, you swatted it out of the way and slid into the pool.

It was deep enough you couldn’t quite stand but James could, he came over and let you hold onto him so you didn’t have to work so hard to have a conversation.

Once you got talking to him he was nice. He’d float around on his back and let you use him as a float. He was invested in your life, asking questions and follow up questions, laughing and teasing.

You never guessed it, he was always so loud and obnoxious around you.

Even so, you did have a crush on him when you first met. He was tall, had strong arms and his hair looked so soft. His jawline, lips, his eyes all captivated you. Watching him play guitar had you going weak in the knees.

You were talking when your stomach growled. You paused and James laughed. “Hungry?” You scoffed and made your way to the edge of the pool.

You tried to pull yourself out of the pool but couldn’t quite do it yourself so James helped you, holding your hips in a tight grip, waiting an extra second before letting go once you were out of the pool. You thanked him and hurried inside.

James stared at you blankly, his jaw slack as he watched your ass shake when you moved. He could feel his swim trunks getting tight but he ignored it and just tried to keep floating around, eventually getting onto an actual pool float.

He laid there in the sun, letting his mind wander. He thought about you in your bathing suit, the way you moved, then he couldn’t stop himself.

He thought about you naked and between his legs, looking up at him with teary eyes as you took his cock down your throat. He thought about you on top of him and using him to get off. He thought about you beneath him, moaning and begging for more as he fucked you, how you’d call out his name, the face you’d make when he made you cum.

“James..?” You asked hesitantly as you sat on the edge of the pool, effectively drawing James from his thoughts.

His mind was foggy and his breathing was heavy. He followed your gaze and his eyes widened when he saw his hard cock in his hand. He panicked to cover himself, rocking the float and falling off again.

He managed to get himself back in his trunks by the time you'd gotten over to him. Your hands were on his shoulders to keep yourself afloat, James hands went to your waist, holding you close to him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I was just-" You kissed him, he didn't hesitate to return it.

Your legs wrapped around him, your arms around his neck as his hands ventured over your body, teasing and groping whatever he could reach. He pushed you against the side of the pool as he started kissing down your neck, groaning softly as you rubbed against his hard on.

He kept kissing down your body, lifting you up so you were sitting on the edge. He tugged at your bottoms, you tried to help him get them off before he ripped the stringed sides off. You gasped softly, enamored by his strength once more.

Fuck, the look of pure and utter awe in his eyes as he stared at your cunt. He pulled you right to the edge, your knees over his shoulders as he licked between your glistening folds, sucking on your clit and swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub while his skilled fingers went to work on your needy hole.

He groaned as he pushed a finger into you, your gummy walls sucking him in deeper. You hands went to his hair, tugging on it and pulled him closer to you.

Between his tongue and his fingers fucking you and stretching your hole for him you were already close. Your moans got louder and James chuckled, sending vibrations through you.

James pulled away and you whined the sudden loss of friction. You stared down at James who looked off over the hedges behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, breathing heavy and mind running wild, you heard the sound of kids screaming and playing around.

You looked back to James, eyes wide. “Don’t worry.” He said and pulled himself out of the water. You took a moment to admire his taut body, muscular arms, broad shoulders, the prominent tent in his trunks. “They can’t hear us inside.” He grinned, reaching his hand out to pull you up.

You got up with him and excitedly followed him inside, forgetting for a moment how exposed you were.

You barely made it through the door before his lips were on yours again and he was lifting you onto the kitchen island.

He dropped his trunks and let out a groan as he pushed into you. “Fuck, if I’d known you’d feel this good I wouldn’t’ve waited so long.” He started kissing your neck, biting when he heard moans he was particularly fond of. “Sound so pretty when I do that.” He gleamed, sounding so proud of himself for making you feel this way.

“Jamie-Jamie, please move.” You mumbled, rolling your hips. James chuckled and pulled his hips back before snapping them into yours.

“Like that?” You nodded, moaning softly. James continued to kiss your neck, trailing down to your collarbone as he fucked you.

Your legs wrapped around him, keeping him close as you leaned back on the cool stone counter top. Your moans echoed off the pristine walls along with James’ low grunts and skin slapping.

James’ wet hair framed his face, a few strands sticking to him. His jaw was slacked, his eyes locked onto where your bodies connected, how your hole kept pulling him back in, the bulge in your stomach with every thrust.

“Hah-! Fuck, James, feels s’good.” You moaned, head falling back. That familiar warmth bundled in your gut, ready to burst at any second. James brought his hand to your clit, rubbing circles on it with his thumb.

You gasped, eyes shooting open as you came undone. James wrapped his arms around you, his movement speeding up as he chased his own high. He pulled you off the counter and you cling to him, still relishing in the feeling of him moving inside you, how he pushed against your insides, hitting every spot.

A string of curses left him as he came, his thrusts finally coming to a halt.

He pulled out of you but kept holding you, knowing your legs would be weak. He watched his cum deep out of you and drop on the tiled floor and down your legs.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “you’re really making a mess.” He said with a laugh. You swatted are his chest.

He kissed the top of your head and rubbed your back. “You got anywhere to be tonight?” He asked, looking down at you with soft eyes.