#That pale boy needs sunlight

[nobodyproblematic]

Hyperfixating on characters from Criminal Case sucks. Especially if it’s ones who no one gives a shit about.

Like, fuck you! So what if I wanna know more about Juan Rodrigo Vasquez’s backstory?? He’s an ice skater who wanted to move onto better things, and I think that’s cool! Too bad he’s a damn prick in canon, or at least that’s what he seemed like since we never got to see the man actually ALIVE.

And also, Zack Taylor. I love you, gay lifeguard man. May you find a boyfriend who doesn’t get eaten by a shark. 🫡

Juan could’ve taught Zack how to ice skate while Zack could’ve taught Juan how to surf! And then they’d both complain to each other about the difference in weather!!! (Yes, since we never got to see Juan actually speak, I’ve decided to give him his own little personality and redemption arc.)

[heylinfanclub]

This is like a 2 inch drawing but I’m so EXCITED FOR THIS MAPÉ

I might swap the positioning of the middle trees and southern coast. A northern coast and a southern trees is more what I’m looking for, and the coast looks better connecting with its adjacent coast in a sort of ‘sunken mountain curve’ shape if it’s up top.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPxDC prompt. Fae!Danny x Jason. Dead on main. Death of a Fairy Tale. or

"Oh no! This tricky hooman stole my heart! What should I do?" *becomes a leader of his court and, just in case, overthrows the tyrant Pariah Dark in order to allow marriages with representatives of other races and live happily ever after with Jay*.

~~~~~

 “You're not allowed to be here. This is not your territory.”

Jason barely had time to catch his breath after escaping from the hot dog vendor when someone noticed him hiding in the bushes.

There were no rides for children or food vans in this park, so Todd didn't understand why anyone would cling to this territory but the guy looked at him with obvious concern. And well, after the morning's adventures, Jay didn't have any energy for another conflict at all. This kid looked pale and thin, so it didn't look like fighting with him would get him anything.

“Calm down, I'm just passing by. What's your problem, dude?”

“I live somewhere ne...here.”

Jason rolled his eyes. It's clear that the guy lived nearby, but it's unlikely that he had a house. The lack of a T-shirt and shoes hinted that in front of him was also a street rat who most likely had not yet learned how to defend his belongings. Poor guy. But this is definitely not Jason's business.

However, did he really spend the night outside in the open air? Sleeping on the bench was a last choice even for Jason. This might be acceptable options in some quiet provincial town, not in Gotham.

“I mean, what are you doing outside?”

Young Phantom checks his glamour, but finds no flaws in it. This man in front of him must be very knowledgeable and experienced, despite his young age, since he immediately recognized him as not a human being. For Danny, who lived with other fairies in Fairyland all his childhood and came to this dimension for the first time, the outside always meant the world of human. Fae shocked and upset that he was discovered so quickly. Haven't people almost forgotten about their existence? The elders would swear a lot if they found out that he had failed. The boy carefully orders the vine and clover to cover the circle of mushrooms, hiding the front door from the human. He was the only one of the entire brood entrusted by Undergrowth to start a practice in a city where there are almost no plants and sunlight, and faeling did not want to let down the mentor who took him under his wing at all.

The old Fairies claim that people are mean and narrow-minded, but Danny himself is intrigued by these creatures and therefore hopes that he will be able to come to an agreement with the boy and to continue his research without obstacles. Danny intends to take the exam for the right to be called an adult fae this decade, which means he has no right to make mistakes. But still, forcing a guy to dance until he drops dead from exhaustion or make him wander along the paths of this small green area without being able to find a way out, as he was taught to get rid of pests at home, seemed too cruel. This boy, just like him, is still a cub and he is here by accident, not to encroach on their possessions. They need not quarrel.

“Don't banish me. I'm just trying to learn.”

“To do what?”

“To steal.” Danny blushes, realizing that such honesty was unnecessary. Stupid, stupid...People know that faeries can take their names, thereby gaining power over them. Now this cub will definitely decide that he has come to cause harm and he will not be able to learn anything useful and interesting. Phantom quickly makes excuses. “Nothing important! I only borrowed trinkets and fruits.”

“You're new to this, aren't you?”

“Is it that noticeable?”

“Pretty noticeable, yes.”

The boy looked at him almost pityingly. And the Phantom didn't like it.

That's how the spirits and other fairies used to look at him when they found out he was only halfa. Because of this fact, his abilities were belittled and not taken seriously too often. What's wrong with that? He's dead just like everyone else, even if not completely.

And now he's screwed up, not even because of his nature, but because of his sluggishness. It was especially unpleasant, as it was deserved. He should have spent his time more productively, but the flowers bred with the help of humans were so interesting and talked about their longing for the sun with such sadness that fae did not dare to interrupt them.

Jason finished both of the stolen hot dogs and leaved the park. The guy still follow him and stares intently, almost without blinking.

“Stop it. What do you want?”

“I study. You seem experienced. “

“People don't really like being stared at like this, in case you didn't know. Back off.”

“Really?”

Jason was ready to be outraged that the kid thought he was an idiot but the tramp from the park looked really puzzled. It seems that if he ever had parents, they didn't care about the boy, since they didn't explain to him that atypical behavior could add him problems. The boy is lucky that Jay is an asshole only when absolutely necessary.

“You're weird. Try to keep your mouth shut near others.”

“Okay.”

Jason took a few minutes to think and sighed. Todd could not leave this strange child alone, because damn conscience would not allow it. He can't survive alone. He will either wander after some other person and become a victim of trafficking or he will be at the beck and call of some assholes in the late afternoon. Jason cursed his bleeding heart once more and promised himself that he would keep the boy by his side no longer than necessary. Jay couldn't afford to be responsible for another mouth to feed. Summer has already come to an end and it was worth starting to save a little money and store things in case of early cold weather.

“If I teach you some of my skills will you promise to stay away from the places where I…work?”

“Maybe. Is this a deal?”

“Yes, if you'll agree, idiot. “

Danny nods and his new acquaintance continues.

“First of all, we'll get you shoes and some clothes. I don't need you to pick up tetanus and some viral crap.”

Danny smiles a little, trying not to make it too noticeable. Great trick.

He nodded to indicate understanding rather than agreeing, and the boy did not ask for verbal confirmation. It seems that he is not completely hopeless at deceiving people. Phantom couldn't wait to tell Clockwork or Frostbite about his success.

They wound through streets and rooftops for a long time until they reached other man's temporary shelter, and Danny had to admit that the man's decision to borrow more clothes was very clever. Strange sharp things and narrow bags of biological fluid were found between the houses disgustingly often. The elders are right about something? Danny must admit. Some people are nasty. They didn't even clean the settlement they live in properly.

A foul-smelling device for carrying things flew into the face of fae while he thoughtfully followed the boy telling him something about removing so-called tires from the iron inanimate horses.

“Dude, stop fighting with a trash bag. You'll stand guard while I give the customer the goods, okay?”

“Fine.” To be honest, the intern was ready to cry from the injustice of life and rush home, and he was only stopped by the desire to visit the observatory, which his new acquaintance mentioned when fae complained that because of the smoke and smog the stars would probably not be visible at night.

Danny realized that he did not regret his decision when, a couple of minutes later, he heard his human quarreling with adult specimen. Judging by the conversation, the man refused to pay the price for the things brought to him and even threatened to hit Phantom's guide. Danny was annoyed by this and decided to intervene a little. To his good fortune, on the balcony of this vile man there was a pot with withering petunias and they did not mind helping lil fae teach their owner manners. A slight whiff of magic and the pot falls on the deceiver's head and human begins to choke on the roots that climb right into his mouth. Danny giggles, congratulating his green comrades on their successful revenge. Other boy doesn't waste any time and grabs the bucks that fell out of the customer's hands and orders new boy to run.

Danny spent several days with human cub and really learned a lot about these creatures. Despite the fact that such a pastime was exciting, he needed to at least create the illusion of practice the fae skills.

It is dangerous to ask a person who knows who he is about this but teachers will be upset if he does not make an attempt. And despite the fact that the people around him seem scary, Nocturn will be much scarier in anger if he finds out that Phantom is such a loser.

“Ma- Can I have your name?” Danny muttered uncertainly and immediately panicked at his own impudence. “Sorry!”

“Jason.”

Todd was in a good mood, as luck had been with him for the last few days, and the new companion was not at all as useless as it seemed to him from the beginning. He was able to hide so well that no one could detect them, and managed to bring fresh fruits, vegetables and mushrooms to their safe house. However, there were problems with the last one, since this strange dude sometimes brought toadstools and satan's boletes to their apartment, which he managed to get from unknown places. Jason thought he was going to have a heart attack the first time he caught child happily eating raw fly agaric. Indeed, if Jay hadn't found him this boy would probably have died of poisoning in that park by now. Todd had to persuade him to bring only chanterelles, which he could confidently identify as edible and not fear for their lives every time the boy tries to help find food. And his padawan really managed to find them. In Gotham. Holy shit. Maybe this park, so fiercely guarded by the boy, was another secret area for Poison Ivy's experiments? However, poisonous specimens will not be wasted either, since you never know when you will need to defend yourself without entering into a fight, but acting more subtly.

“Real name! Real one!” The boy's eyes were as big as saucers and he became very worried and waved his hands as if trying to shake off invisible sticky threads from his fingertips. “You shouldn't say your actual name! Why did you do that? You shouldn't have given it to me.”

“There are a lot of Jason's around. Why do you care about that?”

“You're not just some Jason, you're my Jason, you're important to me. It's dangerous if someone has your name. Then that someone can make you do bad things.”

Tears began pouring down boy's face and Jason was surprised by such a violent reaction. Todd doesn't think there's anything to worry about, since he didn't tell the stranger his last name. He often introduces himself in different ways. Just, for some reason, something made him be honest this time. But how would this guy know that?

“Well…You're not just anyone. We're friends. I don't think you're going to rat on me to the cops or anything. So it's okay. “ Jay tries to calm the newcomer down.

“Friends?”

“Yes. Friends forever?” Jason teasingly holds out his little finger, offering a childish oath that he recently taught his padawan.

“Forever.” The boy supports the oath, and then, after thinking for a second, leans closer to Todd and whispers. "I'm Danny, just so you know."

“Good. I'll remember.”

The young fae is overcome with euphoria. He took the name! He did it! But that was all the other boy had, apart from a rusty tire iron, so it probably wasn't right or friendly to keep it. The human cub helped him. Danny couldn't keep such a gift. He didn't even really try to get his name. “Jason is your name.”

“That's right, buddy.”

“I won't call you that name.” Where I come from, even spouses rarely know each other's names. Danny wanted to assure his friend that he should not be afraid that he would abuse his power. “ I like you so I will take full responsibility for the possession of such a gift, don't worry.”

“Hah, in order to take responsibility, you already need to at least marry me as a moral compensation, given the number of brain cells killed by your antics. “

“Well, if I have to, then I will. When we're older.”

Jason snorts and shakes his head. It's probably not love, since they're just kids, but still, Jason thinks that if all autumn evenings were like this, he wouldn't mind spending his life with Danny, snuggling closer to the boy while they both bask under the same blanket. No matter how many times a day they managed to roll in the mud and fall into the trash can, the boy always gave off a light scent reminiscent of spring greens, which reminded Todd of something warm and cozy. Maybe a home? Although when his father was not in prison yet, his house smelled more like the stench of cigarette smoke and mold.  So Danny was more like a hope for a good home that they write about in books.

On their free evenings Jason usually entertained them by reading. Danny has always been an attentive listener, reacting vividly. After stroking the battered cover of a new book he found, Jason puts it aside. He's too tired today, and  just wants to listen.

Noticing this, Danny begins to chirp about his homeland. His stories are like fairy tales, too bright and colorful for the stone Jungle. Jay realized a long time ago that his friend had something like a defense mechanism. Todd himself snapped and fought when the world was too cruel, this guy escaped to his fictional world, where he was safer and happier. His friend could have been a great writer someday. The descriptions of Princess Dorathea and her cruel brother, pharaoh with an unusual passion for technology and ultra-recyclo vegetarian queen of plants were so detailed and vivid that they seemed true. Danny's imagination contained the whole world.

When the first snowflakes fall to the ground, Danny says that this means that his friend Frostbite will soon come to pick him up. Jason is honestly not ready for such a turn of events. He promised himself that he would not be around another boy for longer than necessary, but he managed to get attached. He hopes that this statement is just another one of his companion's fantasies and forgets about it for a while.

A snowstorm is raging in the city when Danny does not return home. The snowfall does not stop for several days, and Todd realizes that his friend left him, although all his belongings are left in their apartment. He hopes that someone really came for the boy, and not that in the spring his body will be found in one of the melting snowdrifts.  After a few months, when the canned homemade vegetables carefully cooked by Danny are coming to an end, and the mold, sitting alone  in a corner of the ceiling all winter, felt the first the warm rays of the sun, Todd decides not to waste energy on useless worries and hopes.

Soon, as Danny would put it, Batman steals Jason. Todd doesn't really trust the old man at first, but he teaches him to be Robin, and, well, Robin is cool. He's magic. Robin is an urban legend, a spirit worthy of being the hero of Danny's favorite stories. Robin is Jason's connection not only to the city itself, but also to his past. Robin does not need to think about whether he should grieve not only for his mother but also for his friend. Robin is more. There is not only strength and hope in this uniform, but also memories, nostalgia and  humanness. Therefore, Todd is not ready to give up the suit, even if he understands Grayson's displeasure. Because when he goes out on a patrol, the longing becomes less, and he feels that he is getting better and closer to something important. It helps.

No.

It helped.

And then he died.

And things are getting worse by the day, hah.

~~~A few hits with a crowbar later~~~

Jason learns about a new attempt of eco-terrorism relatively late, when he is officially called to help. Even so he stays at the place of the fight before the rest of the family. Firstly, because this time Ivy decided to start destruction from the closest to Crime Alley park, and secondly because Ivy's creations always pay little attention to him. Even the famous pollen has almost no effect on Hood.

Making his way through the furiously writhing vines, Red Hood notices the enemy and realizes that it is not Ivy, but decides that he will analyze the situation during the battle and rushes forward.

“Hey! Don't touch B, you.. “Almost flying into a guy with such a familiar face, the Hood slows down sharply “... pointy-eared.”

A guy with sparkling green energy in his hand and a vigilante with a pistols in each hand freeze looking at each other.

“Man, is it you?”

Snow-white hair, glowing green eyes, transparent dragonfly-like wings and razor-sharp claws are completely unfamiliar to Todd, but facial features, expressions and a bracelet with star pendants that Jay gave Danny for his birthday, adorning one of the impressive polished horns, allow to recognize him.

“Jay! It's been a long time, my friend.” Hearing Todd's voice, despite the sound changed by the helmet, the creature calms down. “You've grown up a lot.”

“And you're still so short. Wow. And, by the way, I can't believe you're still keep it.” Red puts the safety of the guns and then points one of them at the jewellery. “It's from a dollar store, nothing special.”

John says goodbye to the hope of a day off after the mission, cursing the manners of the bat and his offspring. Is a couple of days without the risk of interdimensional conflict really that too much to ask for?

“You gave it to me. That's why it's special.”

The creature smiles and Todd feels his face blushing. It's a good thing he's still wearing his helmet. Danny looks too…magical…in every sense.

“Do you know him, Hood?” Of course, Bat cannot stay out of the conversation when nothing is holds him back.

“No.”

“Yes.”  Danny denies the statement of Hood, proudly puffs out his chest and declares. “He was my first. He calls himself Hood these days? How strange.”

Bat gasps and exhales indignantly.

Jason quickly connects the fact that his friend is definitely not human with the possibility that Danny's stories were true.

“Name!” Trying to fix the chaos that his friend is trying to involve them in, Red Hood hurries to explain. “He's talking about damn name. I'm the first one who gave...”

“Oh, come on, spoilsport. He almost believed me.” The fairy winks playfully and Jason has to do his best to focus on the mission and not on the guy. “You're my betrothed anyway. And, hey, I collected the library as a wedding gift.”

“Hm.” Hood rolls his eyes. This joke about their childhood promise would have been hilarious if he hadn't felt the old man's rising pressure behind his back. So, returning to the problem, he still needs to get these two away from each other as soon as possible. Neither Danny nor Bruce has a calm personality, and Jason didn't want to start Danny's acquaintance with Alfred by giving first aid to these dummies. “So what's all the fuss about? Are you like um.. Ivy's pet-pixie or what?”

Now John Constantine, who carefully watched the meeting from the sidelines, almost feels his blood pressure rising too. Compare faeries with garden pests. What was Batman's son thinking about, showing such disrespect? He wanted them to have more problems or what?

“Hm? Who is Ivy? I've never heard of her. To be honest, I'm only here because our gate was disturbed.” The fairy chirped angrily and, with a nervous flutter of his wings, flew up to the bushes. His finger pointed accusingly at the crushed mushrooms that John and Batsy had landed on when they unsuccessfully attacked Dr. Isley. “But even though your companions' behavior is inexcusable, I don't blame you, of course. I am glad that we met again because of this incident, Tagetes.”

The Faerie circle...John hadn't seen this in years. Damn Gotham. He difenetly doesn't want the problems of this crazy city to fall under his and Shazam's responsibility. Now it is clear why Rogue disappeared so quickly. She probably knew about it and wanted to make them someone else's problem. Damn it twice, John should have sent a message instead of coming to Gotham to discuss business with Wayne. Being uninvited guests of such mischievous and malicious hosts does not bode well.

“You are lucky that the Fright Knight is not on duty today. But someone will have to answer for it. Is it really so hard to look at your feet? Or is this a deliberate provocation? I demand an apology.”

“No, enough games for you. They're a little busy chasing someone, in case you didn't notice.” Jason starts pulling on his friend's hand, intending to take him out of the park. Next to these paranoids, it's better not to ask an old friend about anything. “Only good little fairies are invited to my safe house to taste my signature lasagna today, so stop trying to give my old man a heart attack, okay?”

“Wait. Is this Willis?” The fairy's eyes narrow and he looks at the cloaked dark figure with disapproval.

"No, another jerk. B has a problem with adoptions and that's the reason I'm now part of his brood." Jason reluctantly explains. "He literally dragged me off the streets without consent after I tried to take the tires off his car."

“Oh my Ancients, he did what?! But you're mine! He had no right to steal you.” Danny indignantly rustled the leaves of the closest trees.

“I prefer to be considered as my own man, thank you very much.”

“Riiight…but still, speaking absolutely one hundred percent theoretically, who would you rather stay with, darling? If only you were mine~”

“Ja-..Don't let yourself be fooled, Red Hood. You can't trust him. Ten or even fifty years spent on a prank don't mean anything to this creature.” Bruce doesn't look happy with how at ease Todd is with the threat, but frankly, he rarely looks happy at all, so the crime lord doesn't attach too much importance to it.

"Wow. Rude. This is partially true, but it still hurts. Jason is a friend. I won't do anything to him and I don't demand anything from him. I can't say that about the rest of you. I was preparing for a long-awaited vacation, and because of your fuss I have a new bunch of paperwork to do. What can you say in your defense?"

The boy with the snow-white hair didn't look really upset, but just because there was still a smile on his face, it couldn't be said that he wasn't furious. Next to fairies, all human senses became enemies, not allies.

Despite the deceptive good-naturedness of merrily fluttering his wings guy, John was on high alert. Short-tempered, playful and obnoxious temperament were both a blessing and a curse when working with these creatures. Fairies skillfully searched for loopholes in contracts and in general were the best deceivers among those who could only tell the truth. Faeries prefer to bend victims to their will with words, but they are skilled users of the magic of nature and chaos. They also, despite the business acumen as strong as the alligator's mouth closing strength, were willing to play cat-and-mouse with those who dared to turn to him for help or just walk near their possessions. And this specimen was also clearly not one of the fairies that Morningstar had taken over control, since his energy reeked of Infinite Realms. Unknown territory. John urgently needs to come up with some ingenious plan to get everyone out of this fighting safe and relatively unscathed and…

“Fuck off, B. I told you he already has my name. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it at any time. You should show more respect for your future son-in-law, you know.”

“Jason, honey, since when do street rats hang out with bats?” Danny obviously didn't have much sympathy for the Gotham vigilante before, but because of his story, their chances of getting along tended to zero.

“Oh, come on, don't even start this conversation. What is more important…Who would I rather stay with? Hm…Let's say, um, theoretically, of course…If your fiance was killed by one very very bad cruel clown, what would you do, Stardust?

"I would tear clown molecule by molecule."

“Yes, yes! Right!” Jason pats Danny on the shoulder and turns to Batman. “See, that's how you should have reacted.”

Constantine: …What an Addams family. I'm leaving. I've already seen enough. If you get kidnapped, don't call me. Damn freaks.

Come with me now to see my world

Where there's beauty beyond your dreams

Strangers Like Me - Phil Collins

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[anundyingfidelity]

WHEN I WAKE UP, WHERE DO YOU GO? — Soldier Boy/Ben

Summary: When Soldier Boy was taken away and Vought faked his death, he dreamt of you non-stop while with the reds. Now, decades later and back in the modern world, he just has one thing in mind: finding you.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 1.6k.

Warnings: heavy angst, language, some nudity, sexual implied content, pregnancy, the usual stuff in the boys universe, death, AU where Soldier Boy was never with Crimson Countess.

If you'd like to be added, the taglist is here!

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

Notes: this was a request for my 400 followers drabbles but i got more things in mind to develop an angsty one shot with a sad ending, so this is what happened. also thanks for being patient with me as i try to come back to tumblr and write. real life is not easy.

GEN MASTERLIST!

1981

He didn’t know where he was standing. He didn’t know the place around him, nor the people having a sweet ball, with the music playing and mingling with their laughs.

He could see the beautiful ladies swinging to the classic music in the gala, the supes he used to know in the back of the scene as if they weren’t an important part of it. Dressed in that green suit, mask off, he walked between the couples and the guests dancing. His eyes caught a stunning wine colored dress in the middle of the pale colors around. He knew it was you.

It was the first time in years he heard his heart pounding against his chest this fast, as he approached you. His hand brushing your bare shoulder made you turn around, a bright smile adorned your face appeared when you saw it was him. You quickly focused your attention completely to him, leaving the ladies you were speaking to behind.

“Ben! What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming!” you almost shouted to him as you dragged him with you to the less-crowded bar.

He furrowed his brows in confusion. “I wasn’t?”

You shook your head with a hint of embarrassment and placed your drink on the countertop.. “Edgar said you wouldn’t, so… I just thought you weren’t,” you said with a soft voice. “But nevermind that, I’m glad you’re here, I’ve missed you,” you beamed, this time your voice sounding happier.

Ben nodded, taking in the sight of your figure and your pretty face, delicately made up, expensive and graceful just for a night like this. Somehow, seeing you felt like ages. “You look perfect,” he whispered.

Under his gaze, he knew your cheeks were burning. He started fighting the urge of caressing your cheek but now, in front of all these people, it was better not to.

He always had this need of protecting you from the outside, from the world. Being the supe he was, he knew how fucked up everything around was. You didn’t deserve to see that. But countless times, Ben remembered your courage and the way you used to raise your voice to be heard. And still knowing you could take care of yourself, he felt the need of looking after you, of being your shelter. Despite everything, he wouldn’t forgive himself if anything bad happened to you.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “You look good too, but I bet you’d look better with a different type of suit,” you gave him a flirty wink.

He was all in that playful mood of yours.

“Probably later, if we leave,” Ben teased back, the distance between both of you getting shorter. He could smell the sweetness of your perfume and the taste of alcohol. “Whatcha say, sweetheart?”

“I’d say yes. Always would say yes.”

1983

Ben woke up again, in a place that was oddly familiar in the back of his mind. It was a big bedroom, he was laying on the bed, and immediately noticed the blanket covering his bare body. The sunlight sneaking in the curtains told him it was morning already. There was a heat coming from the other side and he rolled softly to see you, sleeping and tugging his arm against you.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, fluttering your eyes open. You leaned to place a kiss on his stubbled cheek, the blanket falling off a little from your breasts. “How you feeling today, my husband?”

“Husband?”

You chuckled at his confused face. “I told you I’d say yes, didn’t I?”

Ben snorted to himself. He didn’t even remember proposing to you, but it was better than he’d ever imagined. Looking back at you, he asked with a quizzical expression on his face. “Am I dreaming?”

You laughed louder this time. “No, Ben. We got married yesterday. Thought you couldn’t get drunk and all, is there anything wrong?”

He felt your hand caressing his cheek softly, as you placed your head on his shoulder and laid back down. And he felt not only the warm touch of your skin, but a coldness coming from a ring on your hand. He wrapped his own on your wrist to get a glance of the bright, gold ring adorning your finger. It was true.

You were his wife, and he couldn’t believe it.

1984

“Please don’t go.”

Your voice came out as a plea, and he, somehow, felt something was wrong. Looking around, Ben found himself in a cozy kitchen inside a house, and you were standing in front of him. He looked for the ring in your hand, and there it was. What the hell was happening to him? Why was he suddenly reminiscing every moment with you? And why this?

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Ben, I’m pregnant,” you confessed with glossy eyes. His face softened and he shook his head, part of him wanting it to be a lie. He wasn’t ready to be a father yet. “Please don’t go to Nicaragua. You promised you’d give this up, why hasn't it happened? It’s been a year!”

You were already crying, the tears coating your cheeks and he stepped closer to cup your cheeks between his hands, making you look at him directly.

“I really have to go,” he muttered as he wiped the tears off your skin.

Ben pulled you for a hug, as you cried against his chest and he soothed you softly, a side he never knew could have for anyone but you. He hated seeing you like this, but he knew he had to go. He was Soldier Boy, he’d come back soon, for you and the baby.

“I just want you to be safe and happy,” you mumbled, once you pulled away and wiped your face with your hands.. “You always wanted this, a family. And I want to give it to you because I love you… I wouldn’t want it any other way, Ben.”

“I love you so damn much,” he said, with a beam on his face and a spark in his eyes, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “How long?” he asked.

“Like four months…”

Ben smiled again, remembering the weird foods you were having, how you’d get sick all out of nowhere and the countless nights and days he took care of you, even if you got pissed at him because it all felt like you were useless. But he didn’t care about all that. How he couldn’t notice it and pull the strings together, he thought to himself.

Suddenly he kissed you sweetly, but so strong at the same time that you gasped against his mouth. “You’re the most amazing thing that ever happened to me, y’know that.”

His words made you smile against his lips, still trying to compose yourself. You nodded as you reached for his hand, entwining it with yours.

“I hope it’s a boy,” he said, before planting another kiss on your lips.

2022

When Ben came back to the real world, he thought of finding you. Butcher had facilitated your location in exchange for a deal, but a grave wasn’t the place he had in mind when doing so.

He already lost count of how many times he had arrived to grief and hate himself for leaving you and the baby that day when you begged him not to. It was late noon, almost dusk, and probably he shouldn’t be there, saying sorry to the air and the tree in your grave. There was an emptiness growing in his chest, like a black hole swallowing every single particle of life he had been preserving for you, once he came back.

Ben spent the last four decades dreaming of you, remembering every moment, either be happy or sad, the only thing that mattered was you. Whole you, with your beauty, your laugh, the kindness in your eyes every time you looked at him, and the courage in your heart. If only he could go back and change everything, he’d do it with no question.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when you asked me to.”

He read the plaque with your name written on it and a small ‘beloved daughter and wife’ below, and his fists clenched tightly. More than ever, he wanted to burn Vought down to the ground. He had cried to himself, all alone, when he learned you were gone and to regret his decisions. It wasn’t enough for those fuckers to take his child and raise him in a damn lab to be a monster, but they had to kill you.

Ben remembered the things this Hughie kid had told him; about you trying to look for your husband for months non-stop after he went missing and the fake story of his death was released to the world. You spent day and night doing research, getting involved with different organizations even when your son was born, and when Vought sensed you were moving masses, they decided to get rid of you and take his son away. Ben was sure you knew pretty well the dirty secrets, and taking threats out of the radar was their specialty.

Now he had to take Homelander down. The only bond that joined you and him resulted to be a stupid, crying asshole, all because of the whim of some rich men running a pharmaceutical. Supes were a lie, but he was a soldier. And he had promised himself to avenge you, whatever the cost was.

“I love you,” Ben whispered to the wind. “I hope you understand why I’m doing this.”

“I'm pretty sure she’d be okay with it,” Butcher said, standing a couple of feet back.

Ben had been used to the british fucker to appear out of nowhere. Butcher was the one taking him to the cemetery after all.

“Yeah, I hope so,” Ben said back. The sadness and grief fell off his face as he turned around to meet Butcher. “Let’s go then, I want to take them fucking down.”

Soldier Boy taglist: @delaynew @k-slla @thesilmarillionblog @onlyangel-444 @mrsjenniferwinchester @daisy-the-quake

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | vii.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You don’t sleep a wink that night. How could you? You are living a waking nightmare and the monster isn’t under your bed…It’s right outside and locked you in before it left.

First, shock shackles your body to the bed. For hours, you’re numb, barely moving. Thoughts collide in your head. While staring at the tapestry on the wall, you try to peel back the layers of your hazy memories. Nothing matches.

Coriolanus was kind to you wasn’t he? He brought you gifts, listened to you, wiped your tears, soothed your sorrows. So many times you lost count. You were drowning in the grief of losing your brother. The world dulled to pale colors. Life lost its flavor. Every breath you took was hell, your heart feeling like it could shatter at any time. 

Then he came back into your life. It all seemed to make sense. Divine mercy perhaps.

You lost a brother and gained another one. Though not bound by blood, you shared history, a fondness for Sejanus. 

Or so you thought. 

Now you find yourself questioning everything. His sweet smiles. His reassuring words. His gentle gazes. Was any of it real? Or has Coriolanus been a wolf all along and you the sheep willingly walking to their slaughter? 

Still, you can’t fathom why he would do that, betray you, hurt you. You couldn’t make sense of the bleeding wound inside your heart and it’s what hurt most. The utter confusion. 

Your world has been flipped upside down and you’re dizzy from it.

Eventually, you start to move. You rise on wobbly legs and peer at your surroundings. The room you found beautiful before is now a gilded cage. 

You rush to the stained glass windows, peeling back the velvet curtains. Sunlight spills inside the room. This should be a perfect morning. The sun’s gentle warmth kissing your skin, the prospect of another peaceful day. This should delight you. Instead, dread clutches your insides at the thought of his return. Who knows what he’ll do now that you’ve voiced your doubts about him? You can already see the change in him, the way his voice grew colder, his harsh gaze sending chills down your spine.

Anything can happen now and you’d rather not stick around to find out how much worse everything can get. You need to find your way back home. 

You try to push the windows open. Horror freezes your blood as you realize the windows have been locked too, only opening by a tiny crack as you frantically shake the handle. A sliver of snowy air blows inside the room, making your white nightdress flutter. 

Dejected, your grip on the handle slackens.

You rub your arms as goosebumps erupt on your skin.

As your gaze wanders outside to the statue of Lady Justice in the far distance then drops below, your stomach sinks. It’s at least seven stories between the Snows’ penthouse and the ground. Even if the window could be opened, you’d crash right to your death if you tried to sneak out that way.

You stagger back from the windows. Your shoulders slump, regret tugging at your heart. You should have left with William that day. It may have been hard to explain everything and save your engagement, but at least you’d be home safe with him and your parents. 

If you hadn’t been such a coward, maybe none of this would have happened. 

You can’t help but feel that all of this is your fault. You let him in. You believed every lie gliding off his silver tongue. You made space for Coriolanus Snow in your life and now it’s all falling apart. 

You keep inspecting the room. There are no secret passageways, as some old houses tend to have. Nothing but four infuriating ornate walls. You look inside the vanity and rummage through your hair accessories. A flicker of hope blooms inside you when you find a hairpin. It’s the closest thing to a sharp object in the room.

You head to the door and insert the hairpin in the keyhole after bending it straight. You read that in a book before when you were little. A princess was trapped in a tower and used her hairpin to twist the lock open. You hope there is a seed of truth in that tale and that, like the princess, you can trick your way to freedom that way.

But no such miracle occurs.

Instead, the hairpin gets stuck in the keyhole and breaks. Tears fill your eyes. Your hands spread over the wood as you slide down to the floor, sobs shaking your frame. You end up at the bottom of the door with your knees against your chest.

A wave of despair surges inside you. You’ve tried all that you could. There is no way out. The only thing left to do is to wait. The thought alone makes your pulse go haywire. It’s impossible to predict what state Coriolanus will be in when he returns.

The panicked course of your thoughts is halted when the door jostles behind your back. You jump to your feet. Terror grips your throat as you watch the door slowly open.

Your eyes go wide at whose head peeks through the slight opening.

“Tigris,” you whisper.

She smiles as she fully enters, clicking the door shut behind her.

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to come down and have tea and petit cakes with me and Grandma’am.”

Disbelief draws a shocked gasp from you.

“Tea?” you exclaim, your voice high-pitched. “I need to go home, Tigris.”

Her gaze darts about the room as she twines her hands behind her back. “Coriolanus said you two will talk when he comes back.”

For a few minutes, you gape at her like she just grew a second head. Surely, Tigris cannot act like any of this is normal? Is she in on whatever the hell this is?

Once more, betrayal stabs at your chest. She too became such a good friend to you, the two of you growing even closer the last few weeks. The idea of her deceiving you too makes your mind throb.

You take a firm stride towards the door and shout at her.

“Let me out!”

Still impeding your path, the blonde sighs.

“Coriolanus said you might be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Unwell and a little…distraught.”

Distraught?

You let out a wry laugh. This isn’t happening. None of this can be. 

“I’m not distraught! He locked me in here!”

Tigris gives you a long onceover, sadness dimming her face.

She then approaches you. Before you can process what’s going on, Tigris’ hands unfold from behind her back, her fingers snapping a metallic object around your wrist quickly.

“What are you doing?” you screech. Using your surprise, Tigris attaches the other end of the object around the bedpost, effectively shackling you to the bed. 

An appalled exhale leaves you as you pull at the handcuffs. They tear into your flesh every time you try to yank yourself free. You grimace at the pain.

Guilt creeps on her angular features.

“I’m sorry.” Hugging her frame, she steps back. Not meeting your gaze, she explains, “He said it was for your own good, that it was for the best after last night. After he found you standing on the windowsill and you almost…” A foreboding sensation mounts inside you. She lifts her head. Her honey orbs glisten with unshed tears. “Do you really miss your brother that much?” She puts a hand on her mouth, a shaky sob wracking her slender frame. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize.” 

For a while, the words are glued to your throat, struggling to get out as disbelief engulfs you.

Coriolanus lied about you trying to…

Anger and horror bleed inside your chest.

You lick your lips, your tone ginger as you say, “I do miss my brother, so so much, but I’d never…I’d never put my mom through that again.”

Tigris’ mouth wobbles. She doesn’t make a move to untie you and you grow frustrated.

“He is lying, Tigris. He lied to me and he’s lying to you too.”

“He said that’s exactly what you’d say, that you’d do anything to get out and…finish the job. That you’d even make up stuff about him.”

A wave of ice settles over you.

She heads for the door and you pull even harder on the handcuffs, uncaring of the dents the metal prints into your flesh.

“Tigris! Tigris, don’t you dare leave me here!”

Hand resting on the doorknob, she gives a sad smile.

“I’ll have the maid bring you some food.”

Your heart sinks. As the door slams shut, you collapse on the floor. First, Coriolanus. Now, Tigris. You thought you were amidst friends.

You couldn’t have been more wrong. 

As Tigris instructed, food is brought to your room. Each time the click of the key into the lock reaches you, your nerves thrum with panic. You keep expecting Coriolanus. But this time, it’s the maid. Allegra, you believe her name is. You wonder what must be going through her mind, if she’s been handsomely compensated or simply doesn’t care. It wouldn’t surprise you if she didn’t. It’s no secret the elite of Panem treats lower classes like they’re invisible, disposable really. Invisible worker bees meant to make their lives easier. So why should the girl care about some rich heiress’ plight?

She places a silver tray next to you on the carpet. A bowl of fruit and a glass of water sit on the tray. Disdain scrunches your features as you glare at the food. You’d rather starve. At least then, you’d be free. 

“Allegra?” you call the girl.

She smiles at you, her tone perky. It unsettles you. How can all of them act like any of this is normal? 

“Yes, miss?”

“You have to help me.”

You feel awful for even asking. You know this could get the girl in trouble. But you are desperate.

Unfortunately your pleading tone leaves her unfazed. The cheerfulness doesn’t fade from her tone as she states, “Master Snow will be back soon.” A shudder runs through you at the mention of his name. “You must feed yourself until then.”

You twist your shackled wrist. “With one hand?” 

She lets out a little chuckle.

“Very clever, miss, but the food has been diced so you simply need to-”

Irritated, you kick the tray with your foot. The food and utensils fly across the carpet and scatter with a loud clatter. 

The maid flinches back, her smile faltering for a few seconds. She then makes a beeline for the door, mumbling under her breath.

“Apologies, miss. I’ll leave you be.”

The following hours slog forth at a snail’s pace. You’re on edge the entire time, awaiting the inevitable return of the architect of your downfall. Multiple times, you try to free yourself. Your wrist grows sore. You even consider breaking your own bones but then remember you’d still be confined to the bedroom, and your chances of escaping will simply dwindle with a broken limb.

It’s dark outside, stars already peppering the purple sky, when the noise that has your heart racing lands in your ears once more. The slide of the key into the hole.

You go still, cowering against the foot of the bed. Air rushes inside the room as muffled steps pierce through the silence. You sense movement in the corner of your eye. 

You shiver on the floor, too terrified to move a muscle.

The door closes and your heart leaps to your throat.

The sound of his firm steps grows louder until they stop near you. Fear sings in your blood, your eyes darting about the carpet. There is nowhere to hide. Your skin heats from how exposed you feel in nothing but your thin white nightgown.

Coriolanus unleashes a deep sigh as he crouches before you. His blue gaze follows the trail of the food you tossed in your ire.

“I see you’ve made a mess, princess.”

“Screw you.”

His cheek pulses, his eyes narrowing briefly.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. You know I care about you…” His fingers stretch towards your face but you swiftly turn away. Annoyance flickers on his face, his hand falling to his side.

Poison spills from your tongue.

“You’re keeping me here against my will, Coriolanus. How else is it supposed to be?”

“You threw wild accusations at me. I mean, what else am I supposed to do? Let you out so you can besmirch the Snow name, my reputation?” He gets on his feet, brushing absent dust from his impeccably tailored pants. “I don’t want to do this, but you’re making me princess. We were great, you and I. Why can’t we just go back to-”

“You lied to Tigris about last night,” you interrupt. “You lied about the night at Clemensia’s. You’re a liar, Coriolanus. It’s what you do. It’s what you’ve always done.” Your voice breaks, tears sizzling the back of your eyes. “I mean, were you and Sejanus even that close?” You lift your gaze to meet his. He freezes, his focus on you sharpening. It hurts to even utter the words, suggesting that the last few weeks have been a lie as well. As much as it shatters your heart to acknowledge it, grief may have blinded you to obvious truths. Your entire friendship with Coriolanus was a house of cards he meticulously built. A tower of lies. “I remember when we were little, you never harassed him like all the other kids but was it all just because…” A humorless chuckle bursts from your tongue. “You thought such uncouth behavior was beneath the son of the great Crassus Snow?”

The muscles of his jaw clench, fury setting his eyes ablaze. He reaches inside his breast pocket and approaches you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins. He shoves a tiny key in the handcuff tying you to the bedpost. The shackle comes loose. You get no time to process that your wrist is suddenly free as he hauls you from the floor.

“You ungrateful little wench,” he snarls, picking you up and flinging your body across the bed. You try to crawl off the bed but he’s faster than you. He drags you back so he can loop the chain of the handcuffs around the carved holes in the headboard. He closes the loose handcuff around your free wrist, effectively binding your hands above your head.

Hope flatlines inside you. You shake your head as he begins to angrily unbutton his pants.

Your voice trickles out in a terrified tremor.

“Coriolanus, don’t…”

“I mean, who do you people think you are? You, your parents, Sejanus…all of you are district scum pretending to be the same as us.” he sneers, leering at you with a confounding blend of lust and hatred seared in his blue orbs. “I mean I almost forgot that you were…Almost.”

He fumbles with his pants and boxers until his swollen length springs free. Your mouth dries. His tip is already glistening, the vein running along his shaft pulsing. A chill slithers through you as he begins to crawl to you, his weight making the mattress sink.

His gaze is clouded with desire. You’ve never seen that expression on his face and it makes your blood run cold.

You pull uselessly at your shackles, sobs shaking your frame. When you attempt to close your legs, he wraps his hands around your ankles and crudely spreads your legs apart. He wedges himself between your thighs, using his knees to trap you in this position.

His warm breath breezes over your face when he leans over you. His long digits creep beneath your nightdress. The material gathers on his arm as he finds his way to your core. Your heart pounds a cacophony in your ears. You squeak as his fist squeezes around the lace, tugging hard enough to rip your panties completely.

He nuzzles your neck, teeth nipping at the skin there. 

“You should feel lucky I can even get hard at the sight of you,” he whispers against your neck. Your stomach wrenches. Coriolanus’ hand cinches around your throat as his tip prods at your entrance.

“No…”

He sinks inside you in one blunt thrust and you gasp, a silent scream flying from your parted lips.

He sets a brutal pace right away. Tears flow down your cheeks as your tight walls strain around him. The bed rattles across the wooden floor with each wicked snap of his hips into yours.

Heat rushes to your belly. Pleasure mingles with the pain and you’re horrified, loathing your body for yielding with such ease.

“You wanna know what happened that night?” A devilish grin expands on his lips. Air dwindles in your lungs as he reaches between your bodies and pinches your clit. You grow overwhelmed as he teases your tender heap of nerves relentlessly. You tense, your legs trembling. Warm tingles burst across your flesh. You shatter around him, your eyes rolling back. Your back arches as you clench around his cock. Coriolanus’ wicked laugh resonates in your ears. “You came around my cock, just like this, princess.”

Shame pools in your gut.

“It doesn’t matter what your mouth says, I know you want this. That your body’s craving this just as much as mine is.”

“Coryo, please…” you implore, broken whimpers warping  your voice. “Just let me go home.”

You search his eyes, unsure what you’re even looking for. Perhaps a spark of goodness buried deep, a sliver of mercy, empathy. But all you find is madness, cruelty. 

Your chest lifts, grazing against his, as he buries himself inside you to the hilt. Your slick walls cling to him and you grow more disgusted.

He strokes the side of your face, his fingers collecting your warm tears. It used to be a tender gesture, caring. Now it makes your stomach turn.

“Oh, but you’re already there. Didn’t I tell you already?” He bends over you, his tongue tracing the salty trails under your eyes. His cock twitches inside you. His lips curve upward against your drenched cheek. “Our home is your home too, princess.”

[berriblossom]

Cold hands and warm love

[Date with Death : Casper x Reader] [i am positively obsessed with this man that he's making write again| spoilers for endings#3 btw and the story.]

There's something so oddly soothing watching Casper sleep with Azrael in his arms, all snuggled up without a care in the world. His ghostly white locks sprawled against your shared bed sheets. His eyes ever so softly flutteribg against his pale cheeks, the rays of sunlight dance across his face, almost creating his own personal golden hour.

You chuckled at the idea. Casper wasn't a huge fan of super bright things. Even when you managed to convince him to walk outside your apartment with you, he dons a pair of black shades and scowls at everything. Now that you think about it, he's even more like a black cat than anything, rather than a sign of bad luck but rather for his sassy attitude and his dislike for certain things.

As you quietly watch from your desk, with your pet sitting in the empty sunny spot of the bed, you think back to how long its been since tou winning the bet and being a somewhat embodiment of life while your sweet little now former Grim Reaper is the opposite.

Goodness, one small picture shouldn't hurt? Besides, Casper can't argue with how many not-so-sly pictures he has taken of you randomly as of late. Even changing his profile pick of you sleeping with Azrael while you napped on your bed after work. He tried fighting it off, saying he mainly picked the picture because Azrael looked so good in it while you just happened to be there....no other reason...(he said this while fighting off a flustered face while gazing back at the picture. He then denied making it his lockscreen too.)

You picked up your phone and began to open the camera feature and angle the camera to get the best picture possible. Hell you even move from the desk to hover slightly over Casper and your pet to get the best angle. "Stay right there pretty boy....just perfect..." you mumbled while snapping a few silent pictures. You went to adjust his snowy hair to move from his beautiful face. Just as you touch his cool face, sleepy red eyes flutter open and the iconic pout appears on the reapers face.

"Sunshine....what are you doing? Why do you have your phone like that..." Casper's eyes flutter as he fights off the sunlight beaming through the blinds, all while his sour pout turns into a playful one. Your pet scatters away while Casper tries to snatch your phone away to see the sneaky pictures you've taken of his sleeping figure.

"Ah ah ah! Nope, absolutely not pretty boy, if you can take pictures then so can I!" You shuffle off the side of the bed while Casper jumps up to grasp your hand and to get those pictures. You tease and weave yourself away from him and the bed, sitting on the edge you laugh at how pouty and upset Casper is.

His frustration only exceeded when you decided to flash him the adorable and beautiful picture of him in his sleeping form. As casper has told you before, reapers do not need to sleep or eat. But the idea that he was so comfy in your blanket and bed, cuddling Azrael closely. It just made you want to tease your little reaper to bits. Though sadly your teasing and fun was put to an end.

Suddenly, you felt two strong cold hands wrap around your torso and squeeze you gently. You could feel Caspers lips against your neck as he mumbked for you to please delete the picture. As adorable and pretty as he could be in those moments...the little rat decided to try and tickle you to get you to give uo your phone.

Luckily you were quick enough to slip from his grasp again(heh get it) and make your way back to your bed while cherishing your sweet victory. "Sorry casp, but you look too good! I might make this my profile picture on the chat room too!" His frustrated groans on embarrassment only fueled your decision.

"Sunshin pleeasseee....just....atleast make it your lockscreeb to while your at it...since you can't stop looking and staring at me. Just can't get enough, silly mortal.." ah his ability to bounce back is incredible as ever. But still it was fun while it lasted. Casper came to join you on the bed while bringing you back close to him...somethibg about "being warm." But you did not mind.

You'll never mind, your soul brings him warmth, his perfect heater if youll say. You chuckle as he scrolls through his camera roll whie trying to find a picture of you(an god awful one) to place as his profile picture on the chatroom. Yeah its going to be a long day. But you never minded.

[flowercrowngods]

for prompt tag!

28. i'm just getting comfy (would love if this was established relationship/domestic fluff.. perhaps one of them is sick in this... idk)

but also take your time 🫡🫂

in which steve is sick but that won't stop soft boys hours

When Eddie hears the sound of fuzzy sock-clad feet dragging over the hardwood floor, accompanied by a sniffle or two, he drops the book he's reading onto his chest, exasperated by his restless boyfriend who refuses to stay in bed after Eddie tucked him in — again! Ready to give him A Look and tell him to get back to bed, because whatever it is he needs, Eddie can and will get it for him, Just go back to bed, Stevie. 

But whatever words were on the tip of his tongue even just a second ago have disappeared at seeing Steve – the same way that they always used to when they've only been dating for a few months. Instead of giving him anything remotely like A Look, Eddie grins, and instead of exasperated, all he feels is immeasurably fond. Endeared. Fucking enamoured. 

Because Steve, in all his pale, sniffly-nosed glory, is standing in the doorway to the living room, blinking against the sunlight streaming in through the windows, painting everything golden and bringing colour back to him, too. But it's not the way the light catches on his skin that makes Eddie fall in love all over again in what Robin would describe the most pathetic way possible, no. 

The thing that makes Eddie want to propose on the spot, in sickness and in health, is the fact that Steve is wearing Eddie's woollen hat. The one Joyce knitted for him with thick, soft, dark brown wool a few Christmases ago, with two distinctive bat ears sticking up.

God, where did Steve even unbury that? 

And what business does he have looking so absolutely fucking adorable wearing it?  His glasses are askew, the hair sticking out from beneath the hat is tousled and greasy, and the bags under his eyes are stark against his sickly pale skin that makes his nose shine red. 

Eddie is about to die with how much he loves him. It’s like a scream lodged in his throat that he cannot let out, an urge that grows evermore to let the whole world know, to not rest until the last person knew about his endless, endless, endless love for this angel of a man. 

In sickness and in health. It is there, residing in the back of his head, and he almost says it out loud — but Stevie would kill him if Eddie proposed to him because of a stupid woollen hat with bat ears (Sorry, Robbie). 

“Baby,” he breathes instead, miraculously keeping a hold of his heart in this wave of affection that overcame him so suddenly. “You good? Everything okay?” 

“Mhmm,” Steve hums, though it’s more of a growl with how rough his voice is. He wipes at his face, almost nudging his glasses off his nose, and Eddie can’t keep in the chuckle that bubbles out of him. 

He’s about to get up off the couch and wrap the angel with bat ears in his arms, just because he can, but then Steve is already approaching him, the blanket thrown around his shoulders dragging on the floor just as much as his feet. There is something so young about Steve when he’s sick, something so vulnerable and raw that makes Eddie want to latch onto him and never let go. Protect him from the evil germs and the headaches they bring. It’s dumb. Stupid, really. 

Eddie doesn’t even try to fight it as he sits up and holds out his arms for Steve to fall into. He brushes kiss after kiss to his overheated skin as Steve cuddles into him, burying his face in Eddie’s neck and his hands underneath his shirt. 

They hum in unison, finding a sound for serenity.

“That’s my hat,” Eddie says after a while, breathing in his sick angel and feeling him melt in his arms. 

“Our hat,” Steve mumbles into his skin. "My turn to be Batman."

Eddie laughs, wrapping his arms tighter around him, giving in to the urge to hold, the urge to never let go. “You’re ridiculous, d’you know that?” 

“I did know that,” Steve says, and he somehow manages so sound proud of that. 

“Good, just making sure,” Eddie remarks, hiding his own grin in Steve’s cheek, nosing along his temple and the edge of the hat. After a moment of silence that they spend just holding onto each other, he murmurs, “You need anything?”

Steve shakes his head, winding his arms tighter around Eddie’s shoulders and leans into him; it takes him a moment to catch up with Steve, but eventually he lets himself fall backwards so they’re lying flat on the couch. 

“What are you doing, hm?” he asks, reaching for the blanket that has pooled around Steve’s legs and pulls it up again, wrapping it around his shoulders properly again. 

“I’m just getting comfy,” Steve rumbles, slowly and sluggishly wiggling and twisting on top of him until he stills with a satisfied hum that sounds a lot like a smile. 

“Good?” 

Another hum, affirmative this time, as Steve buries his cold fingers underneath Eddie’s body. “You’re warm.” 

“And you have a fever.” 

“Hmm. Still.” 

It makes him grin again, makes him want to burst and scream and cry and laugh endlessly. 

“Ridiculous,” he says again, no louder than a whisper, and Steve turns his head to press a kiss to the centre of Eddie’s chest. It’s as much of a No, you as Eddie’s going to get, and he cherishes it with everything he has. 

“I like that,” Steve says, half asleep by the sound of it.

Eddie reaches for Steve's glasses and places them on the coffee table, and tucks the hat back over his ears. When no elaboration follows, asks, “You like what, angel?” 

“That. Your voice. Feels nice.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Want me to read to you? I think you might like this book, actually.” 

Another hum, another kiss — to his heart this time. “I like everything about you.”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” Eddie laughs, reaching for the battered copy of Momo that’s been one of his favourites since Wayne brought it home on a rainy night in ’85 and Eddie stayed up all night devouring it. 

“At the edge of the city,” he starts reading the blurb, to give Steve an idea what this is about and let him decide if he wants to listen in or just feel the rumbling of Eddie’s voice in his chest, “in the ruins of an old amphitheatre, there lives a little homeless girl called Momo. Momo has a special talent which she uses to help all her friends who come to visit her. Then one day the sinister men in grey arrive and silently take over the city. Only Momo has the power to resist them, and with the help of Professor Hora and his strange tortoise, Cassiopeia, she travels beyond the boundaries of time to uncover their dark secrets.”

Steve doesn’t react, but Eddie can feel that he’s not quite asleep yet, so he opens the book and starts reading from the beginning that he almost knows by heart. Somewhere on page seven, Steve takes to playing with Eddie’s hair, carding slow fingers through the strands in the gentlest way that is almost enough to distract him. Switching the book from one hand to another as his arms get heavy from the position he’s holding the book, he always has one hand drawing idle patterns underneath the blanket, between Steve’s shoulder blades. 

It’s a slow afternoon as the sun sets on them, painting them in golden hues of orange and rose. Once he’s sure Steve is asleep and the living room too dark to keep reading, Eddie puts down the book and sneaks his arms under the blanket, wrapping them loosely around Steve’s shoulders to follow him into dreamland.  

hope this lives up to what you had in mind! 🫶

[torasplanet]

❝𝙈𝘼𝙆𝙀𝙎 𝙈𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙉𝙉𝘼 𝘿𝙊 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙄 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿𝙉'𝙏.ᐟ❞

S. SANO + RYUGUJI!F. READER

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ; fucking your little brother's role model while they're just outside is probably something you shouldn't do but shinichiro was just so cute that you couldn't help it!

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ; smut, public sex?, oral (m receiving), backshots, p in v, slutty!reader kinda, reader is draken's sister, shin being pussy drunk, loser!shin, kinda short, smoking, unprotected sex, shin's weak ass pull out game, reader skin color not mentioned

marls notes 2 u(*´▽｀*) ; one of my all time fav tr writers liked my rinnie post AND reposted it(≧∇≦) !! literally had me giggling and kicking my feet yall :3

The sound of the bell ringing as the door opened gained Shinichio’s attention as he worked on a bike in the front of the shop, he looked up to see who walked in and the cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth with how his lips parted. There stood probably the most beautiful woman Shinichiro had ever seen, you. You stood there with the sunlight shining behind you like you were an angel staring at him with a delightful look on your face, his eyes trailed to your side seeing your little brother, draken standing right next to you with your hand on the side of his head pressing his face into your lower torso as an act of affection but he had an annoyed look on his face obviously not enjoying it.

You must’ve been his sister, draken did say you might come around one day because of how worried you were about where he was going all day after school “You’re Shinichiro right?” You asked tilting your head slightly while you both continued to stare at each other, shinichiro’s cheeks turned a bit red as he continued to gaze at you and your body “Uh yeah.” The smile on your face grew at his response, his voice was hot. He was hot and his voice matched it, you decide then that you need him.

“Cool, I told Kenny I had to meet you or he wouldn’t be able to play.” You said nodding slightly, draken frowned at your comment and began to grumble something about how they weren’t ‘playing’ and how he told you not to call him that in front of people but you didn’t care. You were too busy staring at the Sano man who still hadn’t broken eye contact with you, the only time he did was when his eyes trailed down to your chest. Shinichiro put down the wrench in his hand and looked at draken “They’re out back.” He told the small blonde boy who almost ran out the door before he remembered to look at you asking for permission silently, he knew how strict you were about asking for permission “You heard him, go.” You didn’t have to tell him twice, draken quickly ran out the front door circling the building shouting for Mikey and announcing that he was here which made a giggle escape you as you broke eye contact with the black-haired male to watch your brother.

Shinichiro reached for the rag that was draped on the handle of the bike as he used the opportunity of you not looking at him to observe your body and drool at how your clothes hugged your shape so perfectly “So uh, what’s your name?” He already knew your name, Draken told him but he wanted you to tell him.

To start a conversation y’know?

“[Y/n].” You said watching as the scrawny man wiped his hands free of any grime or oil that had come from the bike, you slightly bit your lip at the sight of his veiny pale hands as you walked closer to him very slowly “That’s a pretty name.” Shinichiro said taking the cigarette out of his mouth before putting it out on the floor he was kneeling on and tossing it behind him, he’d remind himself to clean that up later but right now, he wasn’t moving an inch away especially with you getting closer to him.

“Thank you, y’know shinichiro’s a pretty name too.” You said smiling widely at the compliment and how Shinichiro chuckled lowly at your reply, he was so cute! Him calling your name pretty shouldn’t have meant that much to you because it was just a simple compliment but for you...it was enough to let him fuck you in the back room of the shop after only a few minutes of small talk.

Your hands planted on the flat table black oil getting all over them as you rocked back and forth making the table shake and your breasts that were held by your lacy bra bounce, Shinichiro’s hands held a firm grip on your hips as he relentlessly pounded into you moaning and groaning about how good you felt while he eyed your smooth back as it arched with every harsh hit to your cervix “F-fuck! Shin…!” You moaned out throwing your head back while trying to keep yourself steady while you stared up at the tools propped up on the wall above your head with your lidded eyes full of lust and small tears, it was just so good.

Your shorts were discarded somewhere on the floor along with your panties and shirt leaving you only in your lacey black bra which Shinichiro was dying to rip off, your legs were shaking as you tried to keep standing and not fall to the ground and Shinichiro’s were too, fuck he hadn’t had sex in a while and his legs were cramping but he was not stopping at all. You felt too good for him to stop now “S-so good…! Mhm, f-fuckkkk, baby.” He moaned out running a hand up your smooth back making shivers run down your spine, your face nearly hit the tools on the wall from how violent his thrusts were but you continued moaning like a porn star like your brother, his brother, and their other little friends weren’t outside of this shop right now hanging out. You almost felt guilty for doing this whenever you occasionally heard the fits of giggles and yelling that came from them, key word, almost.

You heard a lot about Shinichiro Sano, the former leader and creator of The Black Dragons. Mainly from your brother who clearly looked up to Shinichiro a lot and he didn't deny it, he told you how he thought Shinichiro was cool for his motor skills but everything else you heard was how he was a loser who got no girls, how he spends most of his time in his shop working on bikes and you were expecting an actual loser, an ugly guy, and thought that this meeting would be short and you’d be quickly to leave but when you caught a glimpse of what he looked like the moment you stepped through the door. You knew you weren’t leaving, not without something from him like his number anyway. You were getting much more than his number.

It didn’t make sense to you how this hot man didn’t get any girls. No one wanted this man? He was hot, and cute, and god did he know how to fuck but their loss, more shin for you;)

“Ow! B-Be...ngh...careful!” You whined through your pitiful moans as Shinichiro delivered a harsh slap to the fat of your ass, he opened his eyes and looked down at you with sweat bullets running down his forehead and nearly closed eyes “Sorry...fuck, beautiful, just–ugh–can’t get enough of ya’.” He responded retreating his hand back to your hip, your hands flew up from the table and onto the wall and the tools covering them in the thick black oil that your palms were coated in. Your cunt tightened around him as you let out a large high-pitched yelp, god you haven’t even known him for twenty minutes and you were already nearing your edge.

But what you didn’t know is that Shinichiro had been holding back for a while so you didn’t think he was a loser for cumming so fast, he was going to wait until you came but this wasn’t really that effective on his part because it’s like holding back and the warmth of your throbbing cunt killed most of the brain cells he had, he wasn’t thinking, there was nothing to think about other than this magnificent pussy of yours. Shinichiro didn’t care about his brother and his stupid friends, he couldn’t give a single shit if they walked in here right now, he’d probably keep going.

Your lips parted forming a small ‘O’ as you breathed heavily “Shit, shit, shit! M’...cumming!” You shouted with your nails digging into the tools on the wall causing you pain but the pleasure overrode it. These words were like the lottery to him as he looked up at the ceiling seeing stars as he felt you cum all over him, he wanted to pull out and spray thick ropes onto your back and that stupid fucking bra he couldn’t take off but he couldn’t and ended up cumming inside, it’s not like he was incompetent, it was just too hard to see anything with the white spots he was seeing.

“Oh my fucking god.” The sano male muttered as he looked at your cunt leaking a mixture of your cum and his own, you were so damn beautiful and his cock sprung up once again when you turned your head to look back at him with a tired face, you glanced down at your back which you expected to be covered in cum before looking at him once again with a tired and evil smile growing on your face and it made him wonder what you were planning to do or say. What he was about to hear would probably put his loser ass in a fucking coma. “Want more.” His eyes widened at your statement and he looked at you like you were crazy. 

You needed more of him, you couldn’t just settle for some sloppy backshots! You didn’t expect him to cum inside of you but now that he had, you craved more. More of his dick, you felt like you would die right here if you didn’t “Huh? More?” Shinichiro questioned as he watched you turn your body around before you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him with your legs spread slightly, his dark eyes lowered down once again gazing at how his cum continued to seep out of you and onto the ground with some smeared on the inside of your thighs. He made eye contact with you and you were looking up at him through your lashes with a sweet look “If that’s…okay with you?” You said continuing to look up at him from your spot on the floor completely ignoring his cock that was in front of your face.

Shinchiro wasn’t that lengthy but what he didn’t have in the length department, he made up with his girth, and boy did you feel all of that thickness when he plunged himself into you. It was like he was re-shaping your walls “Y-Yeah, of course!” Shinichiro said more cheerfully than he wanted to as you put your hands on his clothes thighs as his pants were only lowered a bit, he loved the idea of going at it again but that bra…he wanted–no, he needed it off.

“But, can…can you take off your bra?” He requested nervously making you smile and giggle a bit, he was acting like a virgin! Maybe he was but there was no way a virgin could fuck that good. You hummed in response before reaching your arms back and undoing your bra strap before letting it fall to the ground in front of you and Shinichiro’s mouth was agape at the sight, he was definitely rock hard by now “Glad to see you think m’ pretty.” You said looking at his dick that was standing up straight practically sitting against his lower abdomen, you reached to grab it but remembered the oil all over your hands, Shinchiro didn’t. He didn’t care if you covered his cock with that oil, he just needed you to touch him “Forgot about the oil, sorry.” You said quietly wiping your hands on his jeans before lowering your mouth onto him taking him in with no problem whatsoever.

His head flew back with his black hair springing everywhere “Fuck, m....my god.” He moaned as his hand flew to your head as you bobbed your head up and down, your nose pressing into the messy nest that was his black pubes with your hands remaining on his clothed thighs “God, are you always this straight-forward?” Shinichiro asked looking back down at you trying his hardest not to moan as he got that sentence out, you giggled on his dick sending vibrations to it before you pulled off momentarily to reply.

“No, just f'you. You were too cute, couldn’t resist.” You didn’t even give him a chance to respond before you were back sucking on his cock like it was oxygen, you weren’t…really a whore but you weren’t exactly a virgin mary either. But you never let a guy do this much on the first time you met, hell not even the first week but Shinichiro was special, he was really cute and his dick was too! You had no issue being his little cock whore.

Shameless moans and sucking noises echoed into the atmosphere and Shinichiro began to get dizzy and he was seeing stars once again, Jesus, you were really trying to suck his soul out of him weren’t you? Though he wasn’t complaining, not at all and his pathetic whines and groans were evidence of that. “Fuck! Wanna cum on...y-ou. All on you, will you let me baby?” He wailed with a tight grip on your head as he felt your tongue swirl around his cock and his bright pink tip, you nodded and hummed not removing your lips from around his cock enjoying the taste of yourself and his cum that was left on him. He felt a smile growing on your lips as his back arched slightly at the vibrations you were sending to his dick.

God, he was cumming already and you knew it. You wiped your right hand all over his pants to get rid of any oil that was left on there before removing your lips from him with a thin string of saliva connecting you to his tip. Your hand replaced the warmth and moist place that was in your mouth as you began to jerk him off while looking up at him smiling at his moans and his red face. 

The sano adult eventually came and came all over your face and tits, he tried to regain a steady breathing pace as he looked down at the beautiful sight that was you as you scooped some of the cum that was on your chest before popping your finger in your mouth humming at the taste. He continued to gaze at you even when you looked at him.

“So, wanna go on a date?”

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

[corroded-hellfire]

AYW req if you'd like: while Reader is pregnant with Eliza, she starts getting more prominent stretch marks on her stomach & boobs & stops letting Eddie see her naked. Eddie rectifies that situation hehehehe

This was honestly so fun to write! Love featuring the kiddos but these two also need some alone time hehe 💜 @munson-blurbs and I hope you like what we've come up with

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (she's already pregnant but you should still wrap it up), semi-public sex, pregnant!reader, oral, f!receiving, breeding kink, body image issues, older!eddie, dad!eddie

Words: 3.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The late June day is sweltering as you step out of the Harrington’s house and into their backyard. The placid blue water of the pool looks refreshing and calm—or it will, until the kids get in. Luke quickly jumps in alongside Theo and Danny, the three rowdy boys immediately splashing each other and then whining about being splashed. Ryan and Natalie are decidedly less hyperactive, taking care to watch baby Amelia where she kicks herself around in her purple mermaid floaties. 

Nancy makes herself comfortable on a lounge chair a few feet away from the one you’re making your way towards. Normally you can keep up with everyone else, still being in your second trimester, but this heat has you moving slower and feeling crankier than usual. 

You can’t help but notice the way Nancy looks in her bathing suit compared to how you feel in yours. Nancy’s had four children and looks stunning as always as she lays back in her black one piece. You feel shoved into your navy suit, like every little stretch mark that mars your skin is on full display for the world to see. 

Trying to shrug it off and enjoy the invitation from the Harrington’s to have a pool day, you make yourself comfortable on your lounge chair and adjust the pale pink coverup you have on. Eddie stands near the foot of your lounge chair, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks out at the children in the water. Your eyes feel glued to his lithe frame as he strips his shirt off. The pale skin that’s left on display practically has your mouth watering. It doesn’t matter that you’ve seen him naked countless times, your eyes still roam over his torso and the beautiful works of art he has inked on his skin. 

As Eddie rids himself of the Black Sabbath shirt, he notices the way you’re gawking at him. A smirk quirks up his handsome features and he playfully tosses his shirt at your face. Your hormones this second trimester have been no joke. The moment Eddie walks through the door after work you’re jumping on him. Your husband swore you were going to wear him out before this baby was born. Not the last week or so though, now that Eddie thinks about it. Maybe those particular horny hormones have been fading to make room for whatever new batch comes in for the third trimester. 

The sound of little feet kicking too hard beneath the water of the pool approaches you and Eddie, and you look up to see Luke swimming over towards the edge. He grins up at the pair of you, shaking the water from his curls like a dog just out of the bath. Bright blue eyes land on you and they’re doing a pretty damn good impersonation of the puppy dog look that Eddie gives you when he wants something. You know what Luke is going to ask before he even opens his mouth. 

“Wanna plaaaay with us? Please?”

Giving him a frown as you squint beneath the blazing sunlight, you shake your head. “I’m super tired, bud. Growing a baby is hard work,” you tease. You’re not technically lying—when you’re not jumping Eddie’s bones or concocting weird new food combinations, you’re sleeping— but no one needs to know that’s not the reason you don’t want to get in the pool. 

“I can play with you,” Eddie offers his son. He takes a step towards the pool and is ready to dive in when Luke wrinkles his nose up in disgust.

“Nah, I’m good,” the little Munson boy says. 

As you bring your hands up to your mouth to cover up your laughter at your son’s remark, Steve claps a hand on Eddie’s bare back.

“Gonna need some ice for that burn?” Steve whoops. 

“Shut up, Harrington,” your husband grumbles in response. Eddie takes a seat near your legs at the edge of the lounge chair. His hand finds your leg and he rubs up and down your calf, always needing to be touching you in some way. Physical comfort is something you both love to give and receive from one another, which calls for a lot of soft rubbing or absent-mindedly drawing patterns on one another’s skin. Now, Eddie’s touch is having a calming effect on you, though he didn’t even realize there was something you’re uneasy about. Your body language must change as he relaxes you though, because he tilts his head to the side as he gazes at your face.

“You feeling alright, baby?” he asks.

“Yeah, just tired.” 

If Eddie had any follow up for that, he doesn’t get the chance because Amelia kicks her way over towards Luke in the pool and hangs onto his shoulder when she’s close enough. Her hand almost slips from his wet skin, but Luke manages to catch the little girl before she can float too far away. 

“Uncla’ Eddie!” Amelia calls once she’s clinging to Luke again. 

“What’s up, Little Red?” he asks his favorite ginger niece. 

“Come in, come in!” Amelia cheers. 

“At least somebody wants me in the water,” Eddie says with a pointed look at Luke. “Anything for you, my darling Mia.”

A few minutes after Eddie’s joined the kids in the pool—who also convince Steve to come in—Nancy comes over to you, noticing how everyone else is in just their bathing suits and you’re seemingly putting on more articles of clothing. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answer too quickly, nervously tucking your lips into your mouth. 

“Bullshit,” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have four kids; I can smell a lie a mile away.”

“Seriously, Nance, I’m fine.” You muster up a small smile, but she sees right through it, and you know it. 

You have your nose buried in a book, unaware that Nancy is reaching over the side of the pool to give Eddie’s ear a tug. 

“Jesus H. Christ!” he yelps, rubbing the affected lobe. “What was that for?”

“Go talk to your wife,” Nancy says through gritted teeth, obviously irritated at having to spell it out for him. “Marco Polo can wait.”

As Eddie attempts to get out of the pool, Amelia grabs his leg and tugs. Your husband lets out a soft chuckle and picks the small girl up.

“I’ll be back, Mia.” He presses a few kisses to the top of her wet, red hair and sets her back in the water. 

Over the top of your book, you see Eddie sauntering towards you. You slip the book back into your bag and tug your cover up tighter across your body. 

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he asks with a smirk. “Besides that bun in the oven.”

“Just relaxing,” you say. 

“If you’re just relaxing, why did Lady Harrington threaten my life to come over here? And why aren’t you in the pool?”

The only answer you have you don’t want to tell him. And you’re not going to make up some lie to get him off your back. Eddie deserves better than that and you would never treat him with anything less than the utmost respect. That doesn’t mean you want to tell him the truth, though. You swallow embarrassment as you mutter, “I gotta pee.”

Eddie doesn’t let you get far without him though, he’s hot on your tail as you walk through the back door into the house.

“Can you please tell me what the problem is so I can at least try to fix it?” he asks once the screen door is securely closed behind him.

Silence is his only reply as you walk up the stairs to the second floor. You’re obviously upset, and your husband can’t relax until he knows what’s bothering you.

“Sweetheart, what’s the problem?” he asks again.

You stop short and spin on your heel to face him. As Eddie tries to read your face, he’s not sure if there’s more sadness or anger there. Either way, he wants to make it go away. He’d do anything. 

“This is the problem!” you say, gesturing towards your boobs and stomach. 

Eddie looks at you for a moment, brain trying to comprehend whatever it is you’re talking about. He shakes his head and gives you his response. “If I keep looking at them, this is gonna be a problem, too.” He motions to his crotch.

“I’m serious!” you yell in frustration. 

“I am, too!” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t forget how I got you pregnant in the first place.”

“Oh, so I can blame you for this mess?”

Eddie wrinkles his brows. “What mess?” He knows you would never refer to your baby that way, so he’s even more confused as to what you could mean.

“The stretch marks, Eds!” you lament, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “They look like an angry toddler drew lines all over my body.”

Understanding clicks inside Eddie’s brain. Why you’re so covered up. Why you didn’t want to go into the pool. But how could you ever think anything about your body wasn’t absolutely beautiful to him?

“That’s why you haven’t been all over me the past few days,” Eddie says as the realization hits him. “I thought maybe it was those horny hormones, or whatever they’re called, fading. But you…you think there’s something wrong with having stretch marks? Baby, no. It’s just your body making more room for our little sweet pea to grow. They’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

Believing him is easier said than done. You want to believe him, but battling the insecurities in your head is not something you’ve conquered yet. Now you just stand there and fiddle with the hem of your coverup, not knowing what else to say or do.

Eddie sighs and gently takes your hand into his. 

“Come with me. I wanna show you something.” 

Eddie leads you into the upstairs bathroom and shuts the door. He positions you directly in front of the mirror above the sink and stands behind you. Slowly, he moves your cover up out of the way to reveal your growing bump, stretch marks dotting the sides. 

“How on earth could you think anything about this is a problem?” he asks, his hands barely grazing your skin as he admires your tummy. “Look at you. Gorgeous bump. Cute little stretch marks from where our baby is making herself comfortable inside of you. It’s incredible, princess. Your body is literally growing a person and you’re mad at it because there are a few lines appearing on your skin?” He gives an incredulous laugh as he turns you around to face him. “Jesus, I mean, see what just talking about it does to me.” One large hand dwarfs your smaller one to press your palm to the hardening bulge in his swim trunks. 

You roll your eyes. “Please. The wind blows the wrong way and you get a boner,” you rebut. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a small groan. “Don’t say blows when I’m hard like this.”

“Can you be serious for two seconds?” Your temper is already short from the heat and the pregnancy, and his blasé attitude only makes it worse. 

Eddie cradles your cheeks in his hands. “I love you. And I love your body. I loved it before you were pregnant, and I’ll love it after, but watching you carrying our baby…fuckin’ does it for me.” He bites his lower lip as he drinks in the sight of you. “Goddamn, you look fuckin’ gorgeous like this.”

You think back to when the two of you first got together, when he’d made what you’d assumed was an offhand remark about knocking you up. Maybe it wasn’t as out of left field as you’d thought. 

As if he can read your mind, Eddie’s lips press soft kisses down your neck as he murmurs, “always dreamed about getting you pregnant. Would’ve done it a lot sooner if I’d known you’d be this sexy.” He runs a finger along a stretch mark that curves down your stomach. 

“H-How much sooner?” Curiosity asks the question for you as your back arches slightly from his touch. 

“That night,” he confirms, knowing he doesn’t have to elaborate further on what night he means, “but your stupid birth control pills ruined all my fun,” he adds with a teasing smirk. 

“They were so stupid. Sh-Should’ve stopped taking them the second I saw you.” Your voice is still timid from the emotions coursing through you, but Eddie can tell you’re finally letting him in.

Eddie throws his head back. “Fuck, baby. You got me all worked up.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you tease, hands sliding up his wet chest and over the sparse hair. “What should we do about that?”

Eddie whines and leans in, nipping at your neck. 

“You know, I wasn’t a big fan of this bathing suit anyway,” you tell him. “The faster you get it on the floor, the faster you can be inside of me.”

Eddie gets your coverup and bathing suit off in record time. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so turned on. His swim trunks go next and then Eddie is lifting you up onto the bathroom counter. There’s not much time to admire his fully naked body before he gets down on his knees in front of you. You wind your fingers through the hair on the top of his head and he looks up at you with wide, hungry eyes. That look alone has you practically dripping for him. 

Eddie keeps that eye contact with you as his hands force your legs further apart and he licks a broad stripe up your folds. You’re the one to end the staring contest when the pleasure overwhelms you and your eyes flutter closed, throwing your head back. It knocks against the mirror, but you’re too caught up to notice if it hurt or not. 

On the next swipe of Eddie’s tongue, he keeps going up so his tongue is trailing the swell of your belly as well. He presses hot kisses against your bump as he works his way back down again. He repeats the motion, next time taking time to either kiss or run his tongue along the stretch marks. The physical sensation feels amazing, but paired with the way Eddie is making you feel emotionally with his tender touch is making your heart thump even faster. 

Every little movement of his makes you feel more cared for, more cherished, and sexy. He’s built you up so high that you have to give a little tug on his curls so he pulls his mouth away from your pussy.

“Need you inside. Now.”

“Anything for the woman carrying my baby.”

You pull his mouth to yours and moan against his tongue as you feel his hands roam your body. His touch soothes over the areas of your breasts where you’ve memorized the stretch marks before moving down and caressing the ones on your stomach again. 

Eddie’s hands slide up to your hips and give a quick squeeze. He gently lifts you down from the counter and spins you around to face the mirror. You brace your hands on the counter as Eddie trails soft kisses up the side of your neck.

“Want you to see how fucking hot is when I fuck you like this,” he whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver throughout your body. 

You spread your legs, but Eddie wants them farther apart. He nudges them with his knee while he rubs a hand up and down your spine. He fists his cock a few times, making eye contact with you in the mirror as he does so. The way he’s looking at you has you whimpering and whining in anticipation.

Your noises make Eddie smirk, and he lines himself up with your entrance. As he pushes in, one hand snakes around your body and rests firmly on your baby bump. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. “I’ll never get over how fucking perfectly we fit together.” He punctuates his statement by tilting your chin slightly upwards so you have no choice but to see yourself in the mirror. You watch as he disappears inside you, your body obeying his every command. 

When you rock your hips back against his, Eddie slips his other hand around you to rub circles on your clit. His middle finger finds it easily, slipping through your soaked folds and pressing against the sensitive bud. The feeling is too much; you have to bite your lip to keep from screaming out—the last thing you need is the Harringtons hearing your pathetic whines. 

“God, I wanna fill you up so bad, baby,” Eddie hisses, snapping into you furiously as he takes in the view of your body; the view of you watching your body. “Shit, I’d make you pregnant twice over right now if I could.” 

“W-Would you always keep me pregnant if you could?” you manage to ask between gasps and whimpers—both yours and Eddie’s. 

“Fuck,” Eddie growls. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. “I’ll go buy a damn farm right now to raise all the babies I want to put in you.”

His words make you laugh, which has you squeezing around Eddie’s cock. He moans, drawing you impossibly close against his bare chest. 

“They’re babies, not sheep, Eddie.”

“Still need the space to run around,” he muses, making you laugh again.

“I love you so—-oh! So, so much, Eddie.”

 He’s ridiculously hard inside of you, fucking into you like his life depends on it. “Shit, I love you too, princess.” His middle finger makes more frantic circles around your clit, throwing you over the edge. “You’ve got a fuckin’ vice grip today, holy shit,” he breathes, willing himself not to finish too early while still being acutely aware of his surroundings. 

Your fingers dig into the countertop as each thrust brings you closer to your orgasm. “Right—right there,” you pant, fighting back a moan. “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop.” You come, aided by his magic fingers and your raging hormones, with a soft whine of his name. 

“‘M right there, shit, you’re the best little fucktoy,” he grunts. The hint of degradation has you clenching around him again; of course, he immediately takes notice of it. “Y’like that? Y’like being my pregnant little fucktoy? Knocked up with my baby and still beggin’ for more?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you stutter, smiling at the reaction your response brings. 

Eddie’s pistoning his hips into you, whispering directly in your ear, “So good, so fucking good f’me. Gonna come so deep in this little pussy, mkay? Gonna keep you pregnant, just like you want.” 

With a guttural groan, he spills into you. His breath is hot on your shoulder blade as he stays inside, not wanting to withdraw right away. You’re not complaining either, until—

“Are you two finished in there?” Steve’s irritated voice beckons from the other side of the door. Your already sweaty body heats up even more, realizing you’ve been found out. Something about it is also oddly hot, but it’s not the best time to think about that with Eddie still inside of you and Steve on the other side of the door. 

“Just a sec!” Eddie calls back, giving your earlobe a gentle nibble as he pulls out, scooping up the cum that’s dripping down your bare leg and stuffing it back into your pussy. “Had to clean you up,” he murmurs with a salacious grin. 

The two of you put your swimsuits back on and fix yourselves as best as you can before Eddie opens up the bathroom door. 

Steve just rolls his eyes, barreling past you as he mutters, “Dammit Munson; you already got her pregnant. Relax.”

[pushingboi]

The mid afternoon sunlight filters through the window of our bedroom. I keep my eyes shut as I awaken, drinking up every last second of our siesta while I can.

You wake up as I stir, and watch through sleepy half-lidded eyes as I roll over my gravid belly to lay on my back and stretch, taking a deep breath and sighing contentedly.

I kick the blankets down the bed and curiously peel my shirt back over my bump. Inside I feel the lively baby squirm and kick, roiling about as if getting more frustrated about their own inability to stretch out. You reach out and snuggle into me, placing a hand on my belly, and I meet you with a sweet kiss.

I smile and place my hands beside yours, immersing myself in feeling the life roiling inside my womb, nestled safe and warm within my belly.

The baby chills out and stills for a moment, and just then my womb tweaks obviously, startling you awake. "Oh shit, was that a contraction?" You ask.

"Noooo..? Maybe..?" I play puzzled. "Maybe it's just Braxton-hicks?"

I can't fool you and we both know it. You jump up worriedly. "How long have you been having them? Did they just start? How strong are they? That one felt pretty strong.. Are you going into labour? Or already in labour? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Okay, calm down, calm down." I reassure. "If you want an answer you have to give me a chance to respond." I sigh.

"I've been having contractions for a few hours. They're getting stronger but I don't know how close I am. I'm still fine. They hurt, like, a lot. But not bad enough that I can't nap, right?"

"Shit; we've gotta get you to the hospital!"

"Fuck no. We talked about this already, love, and you don't get to decide to change your mind. No way in hell I'm going to a hospital. I don't need some stranger tying me up and prodding me while I'm trying to have your baby; you can do that just as well yourself, can't you?" I tease.

-

The evening sun shines in through the window of our bedroom. A cool breeze flows through the open screen and over my bare skin, the pleasant sensation a welcome distraction from the pain.

You rub my lower back tenderly as you watch over my labour. I've long since shed my shirt and pants, rejecting the hot and restricting fabric to let the rays of sun bathe my pale skin.

I arch my back as a contraction strikes. I lean into you breathlessly, and let out a very long groan as the ache tears through my body. Halfway though I pant to catch my breath, and then groan again. The contractions are getting longer, and harder, and faster, as they begin to fall into a rhythm, the percussive march that heralds forth the birth.

"Fuck.." I pant. "Fuck, it's so much. I can't.."

You run your fingers through my long hair as you soothe me gently. "You're doing fine. You're almost through this part, and soon you'll be pushing out my baby." I smile a little. You continue teasing. "Yeah? You like the sound of that, don't you? There's only one thing you love more than being this heavy and swollen with my babies; and that's getting to birth them out."

I tremble a little, for some motley reason of anticipation, pain, excitement and exhaustion. Just as the thought crosses my mind that I'm due for another contraction, it rolls in like a slow, long tide, enveloping my senses in the intensity of the pressure and- "Ah! Ah, oh god, oh fuck..! It's coming! Th-the baby's coming!"

I pinch my eyes shut and try not to howl with the brilliant pain. You move beside me and go to feel for my dilation. To your surprise, you meet the head already eagerly descending into my birth canal, waters intact.

"You're right, love, it's time for you to give birth. Are you ready to push?"

"Nnnnoo I'm not! It's- oh god, it's- nnn.. yes! Yes, yes, I'm puuuushinng..!"

"Good boy! Come on, the contraction's still coming. Push!"

It doesn't take much convincing. The urge overtakes me and I bear down, holding my breath and channeling the pressure downwards through my abdomen.

I break and take but a second to breathe before continuing. My face scrunches and my belly tenses, all hands on deck as I toil.

I gasp for air, winded from the effort. "Breathe, breathe, love. Take your time, your body knows what to do."

I lay back and stare at the ceiling, slowing my breathing, and rest, as the contraction has subsided, taking with it the excitement and urge to push. "I hope it's not to big.. I hope it's not stuck.."

"What? I thought you liked it that way. Makes it more interesting, doesn't it?" You wink.

I want so badly to be upset with you, I want so badly not to find that funny, but try as I might to deny it I feel the humour lift some weight from my body and something like a smile tease at the corner of my mouth.

"Is it crowning yet?" I ask.

"You can feel for yourself if you want. But no, not yet. You've still got a ways to go so conserve your strength."

I nod. I lay still for a few more moments and gather my strength. Just as the contraction begins I haul myself upwards into a kneeling position.

I take a few deep breaths and lean forward. "Get ready and push, love!" I steady myself. "Push!"

As I push I feel the difference with the change of position. Gravity starts to do its share, and while it doesn't do much for opening my pelvis, I can feel the movement nonetheless.

I feel the rhythm, finally, as it starts to set in. I rock back and forth and breathe and push, losing myself in the cycle - breathe, rock, push. Breathe, rock, push. Breathe, rock, push. Breathe, rock, push.

The head inches downwards, boring its way through my flesh. As it comes closer and closer to the sensitive opening it feels different, more. It really feels like the erupting force threatens to split me open. I barely notice that as I've pushed I've leaned forward slowly until it's easier to make myself comfortable on all fours.

It's here, watching me strain and sweat, that you realize just how helpless you are. You shuffle around me to get a better look.

I grasp at the sheets, the bed, at my belly, at you, desperate and writhing beneath the intensity. I pant and pant and puuuush, puuuush, PUUSH!

My pussy begins to part as the head encroaches upon it. The intact sac glistens as it appears between my legs. Face into the bed my moans are muffled. You rub my back and comfort me in vain; it's all up to me now to give birth to your baby.

With the next contraction my body tenses. My legs tremble, my breath wavers and I sob through the pain. The sobs curl into a determined wail as i bear down, pressure rippling through my belly and hips. The head continues to squeeze through, stretching into sight bit by bit.

"Here it comes, love. I can see it. Don't stop pushing."

I obey, choking my breath through another contraction. I heave, and push, the head moving so slowly towards the world, gripped firmly within my birth canal.

The contraction lulls, and so does my urge to push, and I'm left with nothing but the awareness of the huge baby's position in my pelvis, filling the space between my hips like nothing I've ever felt. I rock my hips side to side, forward and back, savouring the sweet stretch and the bitter pain threatening to tear down my consciousness.

You look on with pride and.. oh such lust. You can't deny how much it turns you on to see me like this, bent over and stretched open before you, labouring and toiling while I give birth to your baby. The waistband of your pants is all there is between you and ecstasy but you resist thre urge to touch yourself.

The rhythm returns and I whine as I lean into the contraction.

"C'mon baby, push it out for me. Push it out!"

"NNnnnggghh.. I'm... pushing... as hard as I can.."

The head begins to crown, my bulging slit parting around it. As I release the pressure and catch my breath it retreats back inside. "Hah.. hah.. ha.. aaa-hhhhhnnnnnnnnngh...!"

I bear down with all my strength, working through the stinging crown. The supple skin of my cunt grows thin and tight as it clings to the slowly protruding head of our baby.

"It's co-ming! Oh fuck, it's coming out!" I cry.

You've got a pretty sweet view while I push for you. My ass in the air, bearing down while your new baby squeezes into view between my legs.

I sink down into the bed and scream into the pillow, the unquenchable burning of the crown battling the insurgent urge to push. My poor tight, engorged little pussy bulges all around the head.

"It's stretching me open… Oh my god, the head.."

I breathe and pant in desperation, the intensity refusing to quell. All I can think and feel is the baby trying to stretch through my abused opening. "It's burning. It's burning. It's so hard.. I can't.. I have to.. I.."

"You're doing so good babe. Feel my baby stretch open the hole I fucked it into. Breathe and let it open you up."

"I have to push so bad. I have to push this baby out.." I start bearing down again one push at a time. "Fuck, it's so hard! I'm trying so hard to give birth but it won't- GAAAAH!" Suddenly the sac breaks inside me, and a little gush of amniotic fluid trickles forth, but the big head stops the rest of the flow like a stuck cork. "AGHHHHHHHHHHH!" The new change in pressure shifts the baby and my vagina finally starts to span around the bulge. "That's it, babe! Push, pushhh, puuuuush!"

"Nnnngghhh... p.. puuuuuuuush...." I groan. I lean my hips back and shift my knees, opening up for the baby to come out. "puuuuuuuuush...!"

"puush... puuuuush...." I keep narrating myself. The head starts to crown fully, stretching all the way. "I'm giving birth to it.. the head is almost out of me.."

"One big push! Cmon, birth it!"

I hold my breath and force everything into one big push. "Ghhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa-aaaah-AHHHHHHH! Ahhh ohhhhh, the head..! ahhhh..... ahhhhh..."

All at once the head shears out between my legs, accompanied by a cascade of fluid which gushes onto the bed below me, carrying the head to dangle out of my birth canal.

"Oh my god, it's coming! My baby is- nnnnhh puuuuuuuushh... puuuush..." The urgency is still there, it's not out yet as I feel the whole body stretch my vagina. "I'm fucking pushing..."

The body slides through ever so slowly, from the shoulders all the way to the hips, in one long push, and then suddenly, finally, the legs slip all the way out from inside me and the gurgling baby falls onto the bed between my legs.

"There's my baby, you did it babe! You did such a good job giving birth to it!"

[neteyamslovrr]

Okay Ao'nung falls in love with Sully na'vi fem Reader who is albino and doesn't know why but catches himself staring at them at every chance he gets because he's never seen anyone like her before and his friends say something rude but he shuts that down quickly and is immediately trying to court her and Reader is surprised because no one at her old village showed an interest in her (she's the oldest Sully kid) and he's genuinely surprised because who wouldn't want to court someone so gorgeous (I haven't seen any fics of albino na'vi reader) fluffy ending!

PEARL

summary: you never received much romantic attention in your clan, so the least you expected was the son of the metkayina to get violent for you.

contents: 1.7k words, fem!sullyreader, swearing, fighting, bullying, wee bit of angst, fluffy ending

authors note: thankyou for always interacting bae i love u and this req. hopefully it is good <3 i lowkey struggled lmao. ALSO this photo of him woof woof

You were different. You knew that. Everyone around you knew that. Your skin was pale, derived of the usual blue, eyes, and hair so light that it glimmered in the sunlight. A sight to behold, ‘Eywa knew the world needed your light.’ As your father said.

 You were the first one of your people to look like this. Mo’at assumed it was because your father was born of the sky-people, but it was just an appearance level change, you were the same as everyone else in the inside, so people treated you as such.

You were treated just like everyone, never excluded, ridiculed, or made fun of. Well, who would do that to the daughter of Toruk Makto. Though, you noticed as you got older that the Omaticaya men never looked at you the way they would look at your friends, no googly eyes were sent your way or efforts of courtship. No late night walks or little gifts. Your love life was barren, no sprout or seedling of love budding in sight.

So, when your family up and left your home, everything you ever knew. You expected one thing to be the same. That there would be no mate waiting for you in your new home, just as there wasn’t one in your old home.

Ao’nung noticed the commotion that was emerging at the shores of his village, the sounds of horns blaring as the hunters started to come in from the sea. His curiosity bested him as his body moved unconsciously to investigate. Only to be met with the Toruk Makto and his family begging for refuge.

Their skin was a darker blue, figures lean and tails small and weak. What would they bring here that would benefit the clan at all? He thought to himself, they were weak, useless.

He focused on the intense conversation between the pairs of parents. Tension so strong it could have been pierced with a spear. But a spear didn’t break the tension surrounding Ao’nung. No. It was him catching sight of you.

It was like his body went into shock, a current running through him from head to toe. His brain felt as if it was buzzing, the only thought was of you. His father told him once about this feeling he got when he first saw his mother. Was this the feeling? Was the feeling meant to be towards a forest freak?

You were so different. Different to his people, different to your people. You were truly a sight to behold. Like a beautiful pearl, that was hiding amongst the depths of blue coral. He felt his world shatter as he saw you, your beauty was truly memorizing. It didn’t matter if your arms and tail were weak, he needed to get to know you.

You had been at the village for a month or so now. It was nothing like home, the sand felt weird on your feet, the water was never the same temperature, and the people never stopped staring. Something you missed so dearly from home is even if you were different, you were still Omaticaya. Here you weren’t Metkayina, you barely looked Na’vi to them. So all it ended in was occasion ridicule from the teenage boys when your younger brothers weren’t around to protect you.

Though in the time you had been here. You had grown closer to the chief’s son, Ao’nung. He made it a commitment to talk to you every day, whether it was small talk, or a late night walk. You couldn’t tell when you started to develop feelings for him. You assumed you only did because he was the first person who ever showed you the courtesy of manners, even if he was hostile to your brothers. He became someone who you could be with, to protect yourself from the teenage ridicule.  

In your month, you had found yourself a favourite spot to sit and look at the waves. Resting yourself against a tall tree, bark itchy against your soft back as you dig your toes into the sand below you. Still trying to get used to the odd texture. It was somewhat peaceful, the sound of the waves. Not as calming as the sounds of rain in the forest, pitter pattering on the leaves. But it was still peaceful.

However, it was short-lived. The sounds of waves being crushed by the sounds of quiet mutterings behind you.

“Is she sick? She isn’t even the same as her family of freaks?”

“She reflects in the sun dude! That’s so fucked up.”

“She’s barely Na’vi she’s basically a vvrtep” The statements were followed with a couple of quiet chuckles. You wondered if they knew you could hear them. They probably relished in it honestly.

Though you tried to not let the comments get to you, they pained you to hear. It hurt to hear such degradation. Pushing the tears back until the suffocated you, is what it felt like to act tough in front of them.

But the quiet mutters and chuckles suddenly turned into loud thumps and yells as commotion started to brew behind you.

“Y’know what’s fucked up? Your face after I beat you shitless.” Scurrying from your spot you watched the fight in front of you. There was Ao’nung, riled up and furious, beating his friends face in after he mocked you.

“Brother what is wrong with you?!” His friend hysterically questioned as he fought off Ao’nung’s fists, getting one punch straight to the Ao’nung’s nose.

“You do not speak of her like that.” Ao’nung was seething, his words coming out as a hiss spitting in his friend’s face. As he was now being held back by his other friend, fists drenched in the blood of his ‘friend.’

“Oh, fuck me! Bit hypocritical you skxwang! Did her skin blind you and make you go insane?!” Ao’nung hissed in his face, spitting blood at him.

You were watching in horror. The bloody mess of these men was almost nauseating to look at as you realised this was because of you. The feeling of dread overcame you as your clouded mind drowned out their boisterous yelling. You held onto the fabric of your shirt, fiddling with the beads as you stared towards the men, not focused on anything but a overwhelming feeling of guilt.

“If you like that freak so much, why don’t you go and talk to her. She must be so charmed by you beating the shit out of me Ao’nung.” Leaving Ao’nung in a huff his friends bashed shoulders as they walked past him back to the village to get help.

Ao’nung was now only focused on the way your body awkwardly swayed as you stared towards him. Truthfully, he came over to talk to you. He wanted to gift you this bracelet he had hand woven with a small pearl intertwined in the rope, so he could say it was beautiful and reminded him of you. Yet he feels as if he had messed up any chance he had of being flirtatious with you, after he is covered in the blood of a friend.

“Ao’nung.” It was a meek whisper, it scratched as it came out of your throat. Not able to create eye-contact with him. His stare still being too intimidating, the way it made your heart flutter.

“Yes.” He breathed it out, as if he had just exhaled a breath after being under water for hours. His voice begging for you to look up at him.

“Are you alright?” Gaining the courage to look up at his bruised face you wince. His nose was bleeding as his lip was slightly split. His friend can obviously punch.

“I’m fine Y/N.” He smiled down at you, looking at the way your eyes poured out concern the more you assessed his injuries.

“You are stupid. Let them talk. You talk just like them.” Tone harsh as if you were scolding a child. In response, he sulked like a child pouting his lips.

“They were being rude. I can’t let people talk about the one I admire like that. It’s not what a good mate would do.” As he let out his last sentence he fiddled with the bracelet he knotted around his loincloth, so he didn’t lose it.

You were puzzled. Good mate? Was he interested in you? Were his efforts romantic not just the obscure kindness?

“What do mean by that Ao’nung?” Your eyes followed his hand as he placed the bracelet in your hands. His fingertips were rough, they felt as if they were burning, setting your heart ablaze as he gazed at you.

“I’ve always thought pearls were beautiful, just like you.” He was never this nervous, the cocky smirk he usually adorned was wiped off his face as he nervously awaited your response.

“I’m not beautiful Ao’nung we both know that.” He shook his head as he continued to tie the bracelet around your wrist, making sure to linger his fingers on your skin as often as he could.

“You are the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever seen, you are more gorgeous than any woman in this village.” He was holding onto your hands as if you’d fly away if he let go.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.” Ao’nung was bewildered, it was shocking to him. But he tried to not let his shock ruin the intense stare he was giving you, trying to convey the most sincerity as possible.

“Then I’ll happily be the first. And I’ll be the one calling you beautiful forever, if you accept my courting gift.” He waited eagerly for your response, it felt as if time was dragging along. His heart constricting the longer you were silent.

“Of course, I do. The bracelet is as stunning as you, how could I reject the man who stood up to be against his friends.”

“Yeah you’d have to be pretty stupid.” You scowled and gave him a playful pinch. “Ow! Y/N!”

“You ruined the moment!”

“I’ll ruin the moment more by kissing you with my bloody face!” You squealed in disgust as you shook your head.

“Absolutely not. Come with me, I’ll clean you up.” He followed you swiftly, making sure to intertwine his fingers in with yours.

“Yes ma’am.”

thankyou so much for reading lovelies <333 interacting is super duper appreciated have a great day/night <333 I'd love to see you follow ╰⁠(⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠╯

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Poly! Jegulus x gn! Reader - When there is no logic, look deeper

A/n: I decided to go with a different analogy for James's and Regulus's relation than I normally do (and what everyone else normally does.) So have fun with this little drabble!

Summary: Your relationship with James and Regulus through Remus's perspective.

Warnings: Swearing, brief mentions of child abuse, brief mentions of mental health issues (if you squint,) I think that's it? You have been warned!

The Three P's:

[Pronouns used: you/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) (poly!) jegulus x reader, (romantic!) wolfstar, (platonic!) marauders]

I do NOT support J. K. Rowling, or any transphobic/homophobic things she says (or anything she says really), or TERFS!

Regulus and James fit together, in a neat messy puzzle. James's darker skin contrasting with Regulus's more pale, like the sun and it's moon. Recently, Remus had been reading some muggle plays of man named Shakespeare, and just by looking at the two, he could tell that he would've written down every piece of their love story, until he knew it by heart.

The enigma, the question, he just couldn't find the answer to was you, because Regulus and James were different sides of the same coin. Slytherin and Gryffindor, light and dark, sun and moon. You just didn't fit as nicely into the big picture.

That's what he used to think anyway, before the marauders and everyone else had gotten to know you. To Remus, he used to think of you as a temporary escape for the two boys, as you were the only one out of the three who had a normal life. It was harsh, but it was the only answer to the equation he could come up with.

Remus's life hadn't been full of answers, maybe that's why he tried to find the solution, so there would be no more variables. So he didn't have to attempt to find the solution later, when they most needed it most. So maybe, just once his life could be left with more answers than questions.

Action reaction, like getting bit by a werewolf - he was one of them now. Finding Sirius, James, and Peter on the train - becoming friends. Gaining feelings for Padfoot, confessing them and becoming a couple. (Okay, maybe there were multiple steps to that equation.) Everything had a solution, something he liked to find to keep himself sane. When everything else in his life was swirled with insanity.

You fitting into the equation didn't follow a path of logic, it was completely and utterly crazy.

Now, he sees what he didn't before, the way you would stay with James even when the smile slipped from his lips. How you would listen to Regulus, and give him space to talk about his family troubles, why he stayed.

You would let James cry, and make Regulus giggle, the planets didn't just revolve around the sun now. Now the moon and it's star revolved around you.

You were a nebula, because when a person looked at you, they gasped in wonder. Everything unknown and beautiful was you, a glittering cloud of normalcy and love. Nurturing but fleeting if need be.

One time, Sirius said he and his brother were the stars, and you only laughed, shaking your head.

"Regulus is like the moon, for so long we thought we couldn't reach him, until we did."

Remus's boyfriend looked startled, Remus could agree with the feeling. How had you, just made sense of someone so complex, with so many strings and layers, with just a sentence?

The werewolf wanted to see how you would respond if he asked you about everybody at Hogwarts, about the ministry, his family. Instead, he asked you about your other boyfriend.

"James?" You smiled softly, and for some reason it warmed Remus's heart, that when you thought about his friend, you immediately were happy. As if just thinking about him was enough to revel in his sunlight.

"James is the sun, he's bright, but sometimes his brilliance gets the peoples eyes, it can annoy them. Until he gets farther away." You still had a pleasant look upon your face, but your eyes were brightly alight with sadness. "Then it's winter, and they long for summer again, because then the sun could be there to warm them a second time. Regardless of its blinding sunlight."

Remus thinks, that was the moment that he started to understand why James and Regulus had both fallen for you. You were the beautiful unknown, a nebula, out of reach, but oh, so beautiful to gaze upon.

Remus still didn't quite comprehend how you fit into the grand scheme of things, but he thinks, he starting to see the big picture.

Words 670

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Hp Taglist: @regulusblackswhorecrux

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 8: I Just Need A Stronger Dose]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), angsttttttttttt!

Both the series and chapter titles are lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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“What’s it about?” Aegon purrs in your ear, his ivory-and-red scarred arms circling around your waist, his fingers lacing over the lowest part of your belly, kindling heat and hunger that he draws out of your bones like water from a well, his ring of gold wings and jade eyes glinting in the sunlight that pours in through the library windows.

Smiling, you turn a page in the archaic, dusty book that’s cradled in your arms. It’s not on a subject you’ve ever seen before; of course it would only be here, where the Targaryens once worshiped their own gods and practiced rituals of fire and blood, that the occult would not be torn up and discarded like weeds. “Witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?!” Aegon feigns being scandalized as he kisses your neck, soft lips and seeking hands. He’s been out in the courtyard sparring with a guard; he smells like salt and wine and rose oil and the ocean. “I do hope you don’t turn out to be an unrepentant sinner. I’d hate to have to burn you.”

“We’d match then.” You turn another page, sketches of different types of sage, dark forbidden recipes that promise to hurt or heal or protect. “I can’t say I am persuaded by the more mystical elements. But there are some interesting insights into herbology, I think.”

“You don’t believe in magic?” Aegon muses, pulling up the skirts of your pale, ashy blue gown, his palms on your bare thighs. His lips curl mischieviously against your throat. “You reside on an island of dragons, in an oppressively gloomy castle built by spellcasters, and you don’t believe in magic?”

“You have it, perhaps,” you say. “Your family. Your house. I don’t believe in it as something that is real to the rest of us.”

“Don’t the Celtigars claim to possess a trumpet that summons a sea monster or something?”

“A horn,” you say, amused. “To wake krakens. And yet as much as my father enjoys boasting about it, he’s in no hurry to prove its efficacy, is he?”

Aegon turns your face to his and kisses you with a fierce, greedy hunger. “You’re magic,” he says as his hands move to loosen the laces of your gown. “You heal people. You bring them back from the dead.”

You’ve forgotten the book entirely. It tumbles out of your grasp. As Aegon tugs off your gown and it falls with a rustle to the stone floor, you reach back to touch him: white-blond hair, scarred cheek, his voice and his heat and his flesh that you need more of. Sunlight and late-summer air, a weakening red-tinged gold, hit your bare skin. Aegon is undressing himself too, and now his shirt and trousers are gone, and now he is leaving euphoric indigo shadows on your neck and shoulders, ghosts of pleasure that will haunt you long after this moment has passed, and now as he stands behind you his fingers find the warm, yearning wetness between your legs and stroke you there, parting folds, plunging between them, retreating just as you feel yourself climbing towards a peak, beginning the divine cycle over again.

“Yes,” you beg, hushed and hidden between the shelves of this ancient library, taboo texts and stories no one else remembers. You push your hips back against Aegon and he inhales sharply, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the bookshelf as the other teases you, readies you, drives you mad with red ravenous lust. You can feel that he is hard. You can feel your fingers buried in his hair, the rough scar tissue of his chest against your spine, your bodies moving with an easy, harmless rhythm. “Please, Aegon, please, I need you…”

“Do you believe in magic now, wife?” he murmurs, a grin in his voice; and the shock of it drags you into a climax, a whirlpool, a storm, a fever that singes and scalds. He has never called you this before. His wife, his queen.

You cry out as the pleasure pulses through you, as your muscles unravel and your skull is cleared of the knowledge of all the ways in which the world is so irretrievably wrong, as you drink up every drop of Aegon with your eyes, lungs, spiraled fingerprints, the pores of your skin.

“Well, do you?” he asks again. He kisses you forcefully, possessively, biting at your lower lip. “Have I convinced you? Do you believe in magic now?”

And you smile dazedly as you answer: “I believe in you.”

“That will suffice, I suppose.”

He follows you down to the floor. You roll onto your back, pull him between your open thighs, cradle his face with your hands and kiss him deeply as he enters you, fills you, moves blissfully inside you. Long-dormant dust swirls into the air; specks of it float in aisles of sunlight like ships bobbing in the open ocean. The stone floor is cold and unforgiving, Aegon warm and kind. You arch into him, your hips rolling in time with his, your tongue tasting wine on his lips and salt on his flushed cheeks.

“You feel fucking incredible,” Aegon gasps. His braid is tucked behind his ear; you moved it there, or he did, it doesn’t matter, it belongs to both of you. Each time he thrusts, there is an indistinct sort of pleasure—low, muted somehow, like rocks covered by the sea at high tide—that builds, yes, but agonizingly slowly. You know he wants to make you come again. He’s trying to last, he’s battling against himself; but his face is already blood-red and his hands are trembling. He never discusses the pain with you, but it’s still there. He goes to the maesters when he has sunburn to be soothed or wounds to be cleaned and bandaged, he goes to Lord Larys Strong with his fears. He does not want you to think he is weak. He does not want to disappoint you.

You whisper through his mess of silver hair: “It’s alright, Aegon.”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, tiny oceans erased. “No, no, oh fuck, I’m so sorry—”

“I want it,” you insist. Your hips rock more quickly, taking the blame away from him, easing his burdens. “I want you to come, I want you to finish inside me, please, please, I want to feel you dripping out of me tomorrow, I want to remember this, I want you, I want you, I want you—”

Aegon moans, shudders, pours himself into you, a rush of energy and heat, a closeness you never believed was possible for two people to share. His unsteady hands constrict into fists against the stone floor. His teeth close around your collarbone, more violet blooms like the colors of a garden, more tokens of him that you carry around like gemstones. The waves wash over him, and then they recede; the tension evaporates from every scrap of him and Aegon collapses onto the floor beside you.

Skating his thumb along the line of your jaw, marveling at you in the dreamlike haze of the afterglow, he says softly: “We have to talk, Angel.”

Fear settles in the cage of your ribs, a cold heavy thing like the iron dragons that preside over the dark corridors of the castle, ominous leers and bared fangs. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what to do with you.” His words are serene, his murky-blue eyes drowsy; his scarred chest rises and falls with slowing breaths. “When I leave to rejoin the war effort, I don’t know where you should go. I don’t know if you should stay here. I don’t know if I should have Larys try to take you to Storm’s End, or maybe Tarth or Estermont. I don’t know if you should return Claw Isle and wait out the bloodshed with your mother and sisters. I don’t know anything. And I can’t choose wrong. I can’t lose you. I can’t be responsible for your ruin.”

“I think I should stay on Dragonstone,” you say. “As long as you and Aemond are in the Riverlands, you would be able to fly back to see me.” And I might be able to help if Aegon is injured again.

He smirks, sadly, regretfully. “That would be my preference as well. But I fear it’s unwise. What if Daemon or Rhaenyra decide to come back to the island? They’re both far too preoccupied at the moment—Daemon fucking Nettles at Harrenhal, Rhaenyra stomping out rebellions in King’s Landing—but circumstances could change. Even if the Blacks believe you to be my unwilling captive, I don’t trust Daemon to treat you with decency. I don’t trust Rhaenyra’s paranoia to spare you.”

“I want to stay here. It’s our home now. It’s where I belong.” And you nestle into him, tangle up in him, will him to help win the war and then return to you.

Aegon chuckles, kissing your forehead. “Can you believe I was worried about whether this would work?” This: love as something physical, not just words or allegiances, not just something that changes how you see the world like peering through mist or smoke. “You had such a fear of it. Such adamant dread.”

“I feel safe with you.”

“Because I am a sad, weak, floppy little man?”

“No,” you say, smiling. “Because you’re a good man. Even if no one else has ever seen it. I see it all. I see you.”

There is the echoing noise of a door opening, then slow, laborious footsteps. “Your Grace?” Larys says reticently from the other side of the bookshelf.

“Stop,” Aegon orders. “Wait.” He grabs your gown off the floor and helps you into it, then yanks on his own shirt and trousers. “Approach,” he tells his Master of Whisperers.

Larys appears, resting his interwoven hands on the handle of his cane. He bows, tactfully averting his gaze from your wrinkled dress, untidy hair, glistening sheen of shared sweat.

Aegon says: “Your timing is impeccable as always, Lord Larys.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. You have a guest and I did not want him to…catch you unawares.”

“Ah. And of course I have no idea who that could be.”

The library door opens again; you hear its archaic iron hinges creak. Swift light footsteps cross the room. Aemond breezes into the aisle between bookshelves and stands there, tall and willowy and watchful and with his long hair plaited into a thick silver braid. His clear blue eye shifts between Aegon and you, stoic, betraying nothing. Of course Aegon does not know about Aemond’s proposition. You would never tell him as long as the war wages on. It would be a distraction, a danger, an unnecessary wedge to drive between two people who desperately need each other.

“Back already?” Aegon says. “I’m sure the people of the Riverlands miss you dearly. They’re probably waiting outside with their livestock all in a row just waiting for you to soar by and cook their supper for them.”

Aemond ignores this. He stares at you, then looks back to his brother. “I’m starving from the journey.”

“How fortuitous, we’re famished as well.”

Larys notes helpfully: “The cooks have prepared soft-shelled crabs, seasoned, battered, and fried in oil. They’re ready now.”

“They’ve prepared what?” Aemond asks, nauseated.

“You’ll like the crabs,” Aegon says, and as he walks past Aemond he thumps him roughly on the shoulder. “You’ll see how much I enjoy them and you’ll suddenly want every last one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the courtyard, under the next day’s late-afternoon sun, Aegon is sparring with a strapping knight supplied by House Chyttering, one of the noble families you inspired Larys to bring surreptitiously into the Greens’ service. When the king practices like this, his opponents go easy on him. They assail him with halfhearted swings of their blades and feeble shield arms. The goal is not to turn Aegon into a robust warrior; he would need years for that, and he will not go into battle on his feet anyway. He just needs to be strong enough to ride a dragon.

Near where you stand, Lord Larys and Aemond are deep in conversation. Aemond is saying: “It is my understanding that she and Daemon are operating almost entirely independently at this point. Is that consistent with what you’ve heard?”

Larys nods. “When Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White betrayed her side, Rhaenyra lost faith in all the Dragonseeds. She ordered the arrest of Addam Velaryon, but Corlys warned the boy before he could be imprisoned and he escaped on Seasmoke. For protecting his bastard son’s life, Rhaenyra had Corlys thrown in the dungeons. A curious lack of empathy from someone who has so recently lost three sons of her own. The Velaryon fleet has abandoned her. Rhaenyra has offered a substantial reward to anyone who brings Nettles to her, dead or alive, as the girl has been sentenced to death for treason.”

“Treason?” Aemond echoes doubtfully.

“Seducing the so-called queen’s husband.”

“Right,” Aemond says, thoughtful. In the center of the courtyard, Aegon is beating back the Chyttering lad with clumsy (yet determined) strikes of his sword. “What will Daemon do now, I wonder. Has he tired of the girl yet? She is a nobody, unlearned and of ignoble birth. Surely she cannot hold his interest for long, even if she is a dragonrider.”

“Time will reveal all, my prince,” Larys replies. “Perhaps Daemon will abandon Nettles. Perhaps he will defend her against Rhaenyra’s wrath. Perhaps he will send her away to safety.”

This heartens Aemond; it brightens his face like cool ethereal moonlight. “If she leaves, Sheepstealer will no longer be a threat to us. I can meet Daemon in battle. And in a fair fight, Vhagar will annihilate Caraxes.”

“I urge you to proceed cautiously,” Larys says. “You are the Greens’ greatest military asset, you are the prince regent, we need your leadership. If anything was to happen to you…” The Master of Whisperers trails off.

Aemond acts as if he hasn’t heard him. Instead, he unsheathes his sword and announces: “I think my brother needs more of a challenge. Allow me to assess the status of his recovery.” Then he takes a step towards the king.

Your hand juts out and closes around Aemond’s wrist. He blinks down at it, stunned that you have voluntarily touched him, perhaps. It is not an affectionate gesture, but it is a familiar one. You command Aemond, your voice low: “Don’t hurt him.”

“I never do,” Aemond replies, bewildered. Then he goes to meet Aegon in the center of the courtyard. The Chyttering knight retreats as Aemond approaches, twirling his sword effortlessly.

Aegon takes a defensive stance, both hands clutching the hilt of his own weapon. He’s grinning, but you don’t think he’s taking this seriously. He already knows he’s lost. “No great contest. I just have to aim for your left side.”

“Good thing I’ve never trained with my maiming in mind.” Aemond lunges and you yelp, started and fearful; he moves staggeringly quickly, his blade cutting through the air to clang against Aegon’s once, twice, and then the king is knocked to the ground with the point of Aemond’s sword at his throat.

“I yield,” Aegon says from where he’s sprawled on the gravel. “You win. You are superior. You could still easily murder me if you chose to.”

“As long as you are aware of it.” Then Aemond takes his brother’s hand and pulls him to his feet, helping to brush pebbles from Aegon’s light armor.

“I should order you executed,” Aegon jests. “You’ve humiliated me in front of my wife.”

“I’m sure she was already well acquainted with your myriad of failings.”

“They are rather evident,” Aegon admits.

“Hm,” Aemond says to himself. Then he stalks back inside the castle with his silver hair flowing out behind him: to consult books, to plan battles, to console himself with wine, to put on Aegon’s crown and admire himself in a mirror, to brood as he glares at the walls, you aren’t sure.

Aegon slides his sword back into its scabbard and joins you by Lord Larys. When he speaks, his words are smug and anxious and eager and heartbroken. “I think I’m ready to go, Angel.”

“Tomorrow? When Aemond leaves?”

“Tomorrow,” Aegon agrees. He smiles, off-balanced and sad-eyed, as he takes your hands in his. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, but as always, he is still wearing his tiny braid; right now it is stained with dark gravel dust like soot, like ash. You can feel the chill of his gold dragon ring under your fingertips. “I have to help them win this war, Aemond, Criston, Daeron, Mother. I have to try to stop the end of the world.”

You mean to say something—I understand, I’m proud of you, I love you now and I’ll love you forever—but your voice breaks and you have nothing to offer him.

“I know,” Aegon says gently, cleaning a tear from your cheek with his thumbprint. “Come and walk with me. There’s one last thing I have to make sure I can do.”

On the long stone staircase that leads from the main castle entrance down to the beach, Sunfyre the Golden is waiting for his rider. He makes those alien sounds that unnerve you—clicks, growls, squeals, whistles—but Aegon seems to comprehend them. He rests a palm on his dragon’s gleaming face, just between his reptilian, liquid-metal eyes. Rain is rolling in off the ocean; the sky is thick with dark, low clouds. Cold wind claws at your hair and unfurls in your lungs, proof of the rapidly approaching end of summer. Winter Is Coming, you think, words that you have grown to hate.

“Would you like to go too?” Aegon asks as he prepares to climb up into the dragon’s saddle; and to your surprise, he is only half-joking. “I know Sunfyre won’t hurt you now. He understands what you mean to me.”

“I personally abhor dragons.” And all the destruction that only they can curse the earth with.

Sunfyre snorts; steam rises from his nostrils and he stretches out his wings, pale pink membranes that match your gown. Aegon laughs. “You will have to learn to appreciate them. Your house is the same as mine now. And we owe everything to these beasts.”

“Perhaps I’ll accompany you next time.” But no, you will never ride a dragon; you know that absolutely, unquestioningly.

“I’ll be back in time for supper,” Aegon says. “And then I intend to keep you awake all night with—”

He cuts off like a severed limb. There is a scream in the sky, not of a man but of a dragon: too shrill to be Vhagar, too unfamiliar to be Tessarion, tinny but fierce, hostile, growing louder. The creature zooms by with blinding speed, a blur of pale pearlescent green, the fastest dragon you’ve ever witnessed, small but lethal.

Moondancer. That has to be Baela and Moondancer.

A column of fire bursts from Moondancer’s gaping jaws as she hurtles past Sunfyre, but just a sliver of an instant too late, narrowly missing him; still, the inferno is close enough that you can feel the apocalyptic heat, can see the air wrinkle and warp like the fabric of existence wearing thin. High above the ocean—her shadow like a bruise on slate-colored waves—Moondancer banks and begins to turn back towards where you stand.

“Get inside the castle!” Aegon is roaring at you. You are too terrified to move. “Go, go!”

“Aegon, you can’t fight them alone—!”

“Go!” He gives you a hard, frantic shove. “You get inside the castle and you stay there!” Then as you sprint up the staircase towards the entranceway, he clambers into Sunfyre’s saddle and takes off into the churning, thunderous sky.

You can hear them overhead: shrieking dragons, human shouts, flames crackling and billowing, wings flapping like the sails of a ship. You stagger into Dragonstone screaming for Aemond. Larys rushes to you, the guards materialize like vultures around a corpse, but none of them can help Aegon. Only Aemond can. Only he and Vhagar.

You tear through the castle. You are banging on doors with your open palms, racing up steps, calling for Aemond until your throat is raw and you can taste the coppery sting of blood. Aemond comes running and grips your shoulders to steady you. He is panicked, he is petrified. “What, what is it—?!”

“Baela, Moondancer!”

Aemond understands immediately. He bolts for the castle entranceway, you following close behind him. He does not tell you to remain within the towering, mist-sopped walls of Dragonstone. Perhaps it does not occur to him; perhaps he knows you would not listen.

“Your Grace!” Larys is imploring you. Not my lady, not Lady Celtigar. Your Grace, because Aegon believes I am his queen. “Your Grace, please, I beg you, stay here where it is safe!”

When you and Aemond cross through the doorway and out into the windswept, iron-grey air, you look up to see it just as it happens. Sunfyre and Moondancer are gnarled together like a sailor’s knot, hissing and snapping, drawing blood from each other, clawing and clinging with suicidal rage. Now their wings are little more than shredded ribbons of thin membranous flesh. Now the dragons are plummeting towards the beach. And Aegon is falling, falling, falling from an impossible height, his hands reaching to grab for a rope that doesn’t exist, his legs kicking as if through water. He is crashing to the earth like a bird shot through with an arrow, like an angel whose wings have been sheared off, ripped out by the root, burned away.

You are shrieking his name, but you know this is useless, that you are useless, that nothing you’ve ever learned or practiced can stop this. You and Aemond are racing down to the beach, clutching each other’s arms on the staircase so neither of you trip and stumble off of it. You are dimly aware that there are guards and maesters behind you, and Lord Larys too, and that they are speaking in frenzied phrases that you cannot understand. You and Aemond are united in that. You are both beyond words.

Aegon is on the sand. He isn’t dead; he isn’t even unconscious. He is screaming like he was on the day you met him, when half his skin had been scorched by Meleys’ flames, when he was near death and you were the only reason he lived. Now he is not burned; but his legs are destroyed. They are not just broken. They are shattered, grotesque bulges everywhere, moon-white bone splitting through the skin in two places on his left leg and three on his right. His trousers hang in bloody tatters. Someone is wailing, someone sounds like they have lost their mind. Someone is raking their fingernails against your face until your cheeks are bleeding. Oh, it’s you, it’s you, but you don’t feel real, and neither does this moment, and neither does the knowledge that Aegon will not leave tomorrow to help win the war, may never walk again, may not be alive by midnight. You have dragged men back from the brink of death, countless men, and you have done so with almost supernatural composure; but this is no anonymous doomed soldier. This is Aegon, and he is ruined.

Down at the other end of the beach, Sunfyre is tearing out Moondancer’s throat with his teeth, loosing a vicious subterranean snarl. From the surf, a seemingly uninjured Baela emerges, coughing seawater from her lungs and reeling on her hands and knees. Larys is instructing someone to take her to the castle dungeons. The maesters and guards are swarming around their fallen king and trying to decide how to move him without damaging his legs further. Aegon, meanwhile, is reaching for his brother.

“Aemond—”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Aemond drops to his knees and tenderly sweeps Aegon’s shaggy silver hair out of his eyes. “We’re going to get you inside and the maesters will set your legs. You’re going to be alright. We’re going to help you.”

Aegon howls, tears flooding down his face. He snaps at Aemond as he grabs his hand and squeezes it: “When the fuck is it going to be your turn to get hurt?!”

“It will happen eventually, I’m sure,” Aemond replies grimly. Then he glances up at you. You have to free yourself from this shock, this horror. You have to help Aegon.

You kneel down in wet, bloodied sand and begin to examine him. In a trembling voice, you tell Larys and the maesters and the guards how he must be carried—feet-first when going up the staircase, lessening the strain of gravity on his legs—and that the wounds must be painstakingly cleaned before the fractures are set to prevent infection. You try to say more, but you can’t. Your gaze lands on Aegon’s agonized face and is trapped there, a mutual recognition of the death of one future and the bleak, torturous nightfall of another.

Why couldn’t I stop this? I love him, I love him, why can’t I stop him from suffering?

Aegon looks to Aemond and says something in High Valyrian, something halting and with immense effort. Whatever Aegon asks for, Aemond is momentarily taken aback by it. Then he nods, understanding. And when the guards lift Aegon—Larys and the maesters supervising, the king shrieking until the pain knocks him unconscious—Aemond links his arms around you and stops you from following them up the jagged stone staircase.

“No! Let me go, let me go!” You fight him, and you don’t just fight, you screech and claw and strike at him, you scratch at his face until you rip his eyepatch away and Aemond’s glittering sapphire shines in the fading light. Raindrops are beginning to fall. You’re crying; tears fill your eyes until your sight is hopelessly obscured, until the world is nothing but a grey like smoke, ashes, storms.

Aemond is murmuring to you patiently: “Shh. Stop, stop. Please don’t fight me. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.”

“Aemond, let me go!”

“He doesn’t want you to think of him as someone helpless, someone weak—”

“You did this!” you scream into Aemond as he entombs you in his arms, unbreakable like steel. Your fists drum futilely against his chest. “You started this war, you murdered Luke, you started it and it’s going to kill Aegon, you did this, you did this, it’s going to kill him and it’s all your fucking fault!”

“I know,” Aemond whispers, lips to your ear, his heartbeat thudding against yours. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to kill him,” you moan, sobs ripping through you; and at some point you stop fighting Aemond and begin holding onto him, not because what you’ve said isn’t true but because he understands, and because he’s the only person you have left who can.

I want Autumn, you think powerlessly, miserably. And I want her child to have another chance at life. I want Everett. I want Alicent and Jaehaera. I want Helaena and Maelor and Jaehaerys and Otto. I want wisdom, guidance, innocence, hope. I want the future and I want the past.

“I can end this war,” Aemond swears to you as the full moon rises and the waves crash against the shore. “I can make things right again. I can end it. I can win.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It is hours later when Aemond allows you into the room, illuminated by flickering candles and ghostly moonlight. Aegon lies unconscious in the same bed where he made love to you for the first time, where he might never again, where he showed you that there is something besides fear and pain and surrender to be found in marriage.

His legs have been set as well as they can be, bandaged, elevated. You would have done nothing differently if it had been you to tend him in place of the maesters: Jasper from House Hardy, Lothair of House Stokeworth, men you have taught everything you know to just as they shared their expertise with you. Aegon has been given as much milk of the poppy as his body can endure without his heartbeat slowing until it stops. You sit on the edge of the bed and untie his braid, weave a new one, undo it again, knit and unknit glistening silver strands like the strings of a spider’s web. You can’t imagine what will happen next. You don’t want to.

When Aegon stirs, you clasp his hand, letting him know that you’re here. His dragon ring is missing, you notice; no gold wings, no jade eyes. It must have slipped off when he tumbled from the sky. And you remember what Aegon told you about his dreams of Helaena, about the warning she imparted to him, her ghost or her memory or something else wearing her face: Don’t fall, don’t fall.

“I’m sorry, Angel.” His voice is hoarse and whisper-thin. He’s trying to smile but can’t quite manage it. “I wanted to be strong enough. I wanted to start over with you.”

Start over how, Aegon? In peacetime? As a dynasty? With retribution or forgiveness? With children? “You will. You still can.”

“I knew I’d disappoint you.”

“Aegon, I’m not disappointed,” you say, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I just want to help you. I want to take care of you. I love you.”

But he blacks out again before he can give you his familiar refrain, something in High Valyrian that he doesn’t know Aemond has provided you with the translation of. To your misfortune. And is Aegon wrong when he says this? Is he really?

You drift into a fitful sleep beside Aegon, wake up only a few hours later with sore, damp eyes, make sure he’s still breathing. It’s raining heavily now; sheets of it patter against the windows and thunder quakes the castle. You rise from the bed and walk without knowing where you’re going. When you find yourself sitting on a stone bench in the gardens, drenched with rain and freckled with fiery torchlight from the mouth of an iron dragon, you don’t remember how you got there. You are cold and shivering; you are so profoundly, numbly despondent that you cannot move, cannot think, can only sit with your arms curled around your bent knees and your eyes vacant.

By the time Aemond finds you, your dusky pink gown—stained with splotches of Aegon’s blood—is soaked through. Aemond lurks just inside the doorway of the castle that opens into the gardens, sheltered from the storm. “Why are you sitting in the rain?”

You do not answer. You cannot answer. You stare blankly out into the night as droplets pelt you, stinging your skin like needles.

“You should come inside,” Aemond tells you. “You’ll get pneumonia.”

Nothing he says matters. Will going inside cure Aegon? Will catching pneumonia rob you of any life worth living?

Aemond sighs and strides out into the rain to meet you. “I have to go back to the Riverlands now. Will you be alright here?”

Your words are a question, but your tone isn’t. You speak bitterly and without looking at him. “Why would you care.”

“I care intensely,” Aemond says, kindly now. “If you don’t know why, you haven’t been listening.”

“You don’t want me. You just want to feel like you’re better than him. That you’re worthy of being chosen, worthy of fathering the heir.”

He shrugs. “Nothing in life is without ambition. Love is never entirely selfless.”

“Mine is.”

“No,” Aemond says severely. “No, you want things for yourself. You want a choice in who you marry. You want to escape the burden of bedding someone dull or repugnant or cruel. What makes you think you’re so high above the fate that the rest of us have suffered? Do you have any idea how desperately few people get to marry for love? But you can’t endure that resignation. You have to covet something more. Even if it gets you killed.”

Have suffered, Aemond said. Not will suffer. Have suffered. At last, you turn to him. “You’ve never had a wife. When were you ever forced to lie with someone?”

He stares at you and does not answer, cold rain dripping from his face, a vulnerable childlike apprehension in his lone blue eye.

Then you remember: the madam at the brothel, Aemond’s aversion to her unmistakable familiarity. What had he said when he apologized for leaving you there? It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. “At the brothel,” you realize. “The Pink Pearl.”

“Yes,” Aemond says, very quietly.

“How old were you?”

“Barely thirteen.”

He was a boy, you think, horrified. Not a man. Just a boy. “Who took you there?”

“Who do you think?”

There is only one true possibility. Aegon, just a few years older and already corrupted in every sense of the word, drunk and miserable and lustful and lost.

“He thought he was doing me a kindness,” Aemond says. “He didn’t intend for there to be any harm, I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t mean no harm occurred.”

“That should never have happened to you. I’m sorry.”

“A lot of things should never have happened.” Aemond’s hair hangs in long, disheveled waves. Now his clothes are sodden with rain too, not a pale pink like exposed organs or half-healed burns but a verdant, jealous green. “I can’t leave until you come inside out of the rain.”

It doesn’t matter where I am. I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop the world from crashing down. “If he’s dead I want to be too.”

“He’s not dying,” Aemond insists. “He won’t be able to fight, but he will live.”

He won’t, you think, lifeless words that are cold and grey like tombstones. The suffering is too great. The trauma is too dire. It stacks up like blood-red coins in his liver, his heart, his lungs, his kidneys. And eventually the scales will tip, and it will kill him, and I’ll have to watch it happen.

Aemond offers you his hand. “Let me walk you back inside.”

“Please leave me.”

“I can’t,” Aemond replies, distressed.

You are weeping now; your own words choke you. “I want to stay here.”

“No you don’t. The pain just feels so heavy you can’t find your way out from under it.”

He is still holding out a hand to you. At last, you take it. And you make a confession, dark, venomous, unfamiliar like the voice of a stranger. “I used to believe war was hell for everyone. I used to want the suffering to end. But I don’t think I do anymore. I think I want the Blacks to suffer greatly. I want them to suffer more than they ever knew was possible.”

And in the maelstrom of the driving rain, Aemond grins until his teeth look like fangs in the shifting, rageful, rust-and-blood glow of the firelight.

[plzfeedmebread]

Jealousy? You Wear it Well

word count: 1529

Pairing: Ao'nung x Omatikayan! Sully! Female! Na'vi Reader Tags: fluff, romance, cute, silly, oneshot Author's note: A quick oneshot dedicated to @royallaufeyson! Saw their post asking for this pairing fluff and thought I'd give it a go. Hopefully it's too your liking :)

Ao’nung considers himself many great things; strong, skilled hunter, a remarkable swimmer. But jealous? No, never. Why would he be jealous? And of that stupid ikran? Perish the thought. What’s there to be jealous about really? Nothing, that’s what!

Yet here he finds you, his darling Omatikayan future mate, tending to your ikran, instead of meeting up with him like you were supposed to an hour ago.

You don’t even hear his approach, and that in itself stirs an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. You have your back to him, standing before your own ikran. You’re rubbing his neck and humming soothing words as he rests his head on your shoulder. Naturally, the accursed beast is the first to spot his approach.

Suddenly his head is off your shoulders and he hisses with a faux threat, his attention behind you.

“Hoan?” You look up at your ikran, confused by his sudden change in attitude. Noticing his gaze is fixated on something behind you, angry at something intruding on your alone time, you turn around to see what the fuss is about.

A wide grin splits your face, recognizing the would-be intruder as your beloved future mate.

“Ao’nung!” His name slips through your lips like siren song, turning your whole lithe form to him and jog to meet his approach halfway. No matter how many times he sees you, once again is he left awestruck by your visage. As you run to him, those untamed locks flowing freely behind you, your form is caught in the last rays of sunlight before eclipse; a golden luster leaving kisses upon your skin.

And he melts. Ready is he to prostrate himself before such beauty. He catches you in his strong arms with little effort, you are so light and lithe coming from the forest.

Your arms instinctually wrap around his neck and you kiss him without hesitation. A short quick peck and you pull away to look down into his eyes, pale blue meeting gold.

“Hi,” you say and he returns your smile as he places you on your feet once more. You don’t untangle your arms around his neck. His hands are on hips, holding you close.

“Hi yourself,” he says cheekily, placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Oel ngati kameie.”

“Oel ngati kameie,” you say back with a smile.

Hoan makes an annoyed huff behind you, clacking his jaw a few times. You turn to look at him, ears perked up.

“Hoan, what’s gotten into you recently?” Your attention is immediately pulled to your ikran, instantly removing your arms from Ao’nung’s neck as you make your way back to the creature in question. You don’t see the slight frown that forms on your beloved’s face as he watches you walk away. But your hand catches his, and without looking back, you pull him along with you. A roll of the eyes, ‘of course this thing needs you right this very moment’ he laments to himself.

“Sweet boy, what’s got you huffing and chuffing?” As you ask this you let go of Ao’nung’s, placing both hands on either side of Hoan’s face. “Are you still hungry?” you look to the side and see the fish portions remain untouched.

“Hmm…He must grow tired of the same meal. Poor thing must miss yerik and talioang meat.” You lament as you rub his neck soothingly. He makes a light trilling noise as you do. “Maybe you prefer some soft-shell meat, yes? I think I saw some in a pool nearby. Ao’nung, can you keep an eye on him? I’ll be right back!”

“Well I—” and before he can even protest, you’ve sprinted off, his arm outstretched to your retreating form. After a beat he drops his arm back to his side and sighs deeply. An awkward silence permeates the air. He can feel Hoan staring at the back of his head. Probably plotting his demise. He turns then, fixing a scowl at the creature, though mindful not to make direct eye contact.

“There’s probably nothing wrong with you, is there?” he asks, as if the beast would understand him perfectly. Hoan blinks, tilting his head from side to side as if confused, cawing at him.

“Oh don’t you play innocent with me. You kept her here on purpose didn’t you? Think you’re real smart hogging all her attention.”

Hoan doesn’t give away any indication he understood anything directed at him. Instead he busies himself cleaning the inner parts of his wing; utterly ignoring Ao’nung it seems.

The boy in question shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Turning around to once again face the direction you went.

“Skxáwng ikran…” he mutters to himself.

SMACK!

His hand flies to the back of his head, something having hit him. He turns around and looks down, finding a portion of sand and drool covered fish at his heals. He frowns and looks up Hoan, the offending creature has his head buried in his other wing.

Ao’nung eyes him up and down, taking a few steps back before turning around once more. Where the heck were you?

SMACK!

“Hey!” He turns around angrily and again he finds fish at his heels while Hoan is preening himself; the picture of innocence. “You better stop that or else!” A fool Ao’nung is then, to turn his back once more, because as soon as he does—

SMACK!

This time when he turns around, Hoan is instead looking right at him. The offending creature honks at him rhythmically, and to the annoyed Ao’nung, that almost sounds a damn laugh. Without a second thought, he picks up the nearest piece of fish and lobs it at Hoan’s head. He hits him square in the face, the fish leaving a sandy red kiss to his temple.

Were it possible, Ao’nung thinks the face Hoan’s giving him right now would be that of the utter most offence anyone has ever taken in the history of the forever. He picks up another piece and throws it Ao’nung, hitting him in the chest and leaving the same gross smelly mark.

“So you have chosen war.” Ao’nung states, a war cry leaves his lips and he grabs the pieces near him into his arms, throwing them at Hoan.

The ikran responses immediately, a loud hiss and raw at Ao’nung, this time he grabs as many pieces in his mouth as he can, throwing them haphazardly at his opponent, some missing him completely.

The two of them go at it for a while, the pieces becoming nearly unrecognizable as time passes. All the while, Ao’nung laughs, what a silly thing he finds himself doing, having a, fish war, with your ikran. The beast itself making all manner of caws, bellows, yips, snarls and chirps.

So engrossed are the two of them that they naturally do not here your approach until it is too late.

“By the Great Mother, what is going on here???”

Immediately they both stop, dead still are they, like two naughty children being caught red handed. They turn to you then, you standing off to the side, a small basket balanced on your hips, filled with various molluscs.

Ao’nung drops the pieces he’s holding, straightening up and clearing his throat.

“Well you see, [Y/N], we were just—” another piece hits him in the side of the head. He turns and frowns at Hoan, who has his head facing the other way, turned to the sky as if the most interesting thing he’s ever seen is there right now.

“Pffft….Pffthahahahaha!” A melodious laugh bursts forth from you, and Ao’nung turns to you alarmed; a light blue dust paints itself up his neck and across his cheeks. “The two of you are ridiculous! Look at you! Covered in sand and fish blood.” You shake your head, smile never wavering. You set the basket beside Hoan, knowing you wouldn’t have to shuck the creatures yourself. It will be good for him to use his wing claws to pry them open.

“Silly boy, Hoan!” You tease and make tsaheylu. “Make sure you wash yourself thoroughly before you return to the others. Else Bob will never let you forget,” you say out loud for Ao’nung’s benefit before disconnecting and approaching said boy.

He huffs at you and turns away.

There is a cheeky smile on your face as you look up at him, arms behind your back.

“So…”

“So…?”

“Having fun without me?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about honestly.”

You shake your head at his antics and grab his hand.

“Come, let’s get you cleaned up in the heated pools,” you say and walk off, pulling him behind you by your joint hands.

You turn to look at him behind you, not slowing your pace as you do.

“And Ao’nung?”

“Yes?”

“Jealousy? You wear it well yawne,” you tease him, letting the word roll of your tongue, dripping in liquid gold. You can’t help but giggle when you see the shocked look on his face, the darkening of his skin renewed tenfold. He turns his face elsewhere.

“Sh—shut up…”

You laugh once again facing forward and squeeze his hand.

He smiles contently, and gently squeezes back.

----

Oel ngati kameie - I see you

yerik - the hexapede

talioang - the sturmbeest 

skxáwng - stupid/moron/idiot

yawne - my love

[wannabanghwang]

Summary : morning sex with hyunjin :)

Word count : 1.6k

Warnings : size kink, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), blowjob, fingering

You awoke before Hyunjin did, rubbing your eyes as they adjusted to the yellow light pouring in through the sheer curtains. You stretch your legs and arms over your head, careful not to wake the sleeping boy at your side. His big hand rests lazily on your ribcage, warm against your skin. The thin cotton t-shirt you fell asleep in has ridden far up, leaving your abdomen bare. Hyunjin looks so at peace while he sleeps. Plush pink lips parted and swollen from sleep, the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, the way his blonde hair falls in messy strands on his face and over the pillow. You carefully push the hair away from his face, gently brushing his cheeks with your fingers. The morning sunlight against his sleeping form was truly a heavenly sight. The glow of his pale skin and sharp features, the way his long hair fell like spun gold against the white sheets. The contrast of shadows and light highlighting every ridge of taut muscle on his lean body. He eventually begins to stir, burying his face in your chest to avoid the streaks of sunlight sneaking through the windows. You wrap your arms around his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Your legs entwine with his thighs underneath the covers, your bare skin hot against each other. His arm snakes underneath you and around your waist, holding you flush to his body. You reveled in the heat of his skin, the warmth and security of his touch.

“Good morning.” You smile, pressing a kiss against his hair.

“Mm. Good morning.” Hyunjin replies, his morning voice deep and gravely.

His head moves back just enough to hike the fabric of your shirt up and over your breasts, allowing him full access to lick and kiss at the warm skin. You hum as his hot tongue connects with your neck, peppering kisses over your face before bringing his lips to yours. His taste is sweet and warm, the kiss a mess of lips and tongue. Your fingers twist in his hair, holding his head in place as you tighten your legs around him. You can feel him hard against your thigh, straining at the soft fabric of his boxers. He expertly flips your bodies, shifting just slightly so that you lay underneath him. Hyunjins thigh presses between your legs, his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in. The gold chain around his neck dangles over your face, swinging back and forth as he settles. He attaches his lips to your neck and you grind your hips lazily against the hard muscle of his thigh, content with the friction it provides. His fingers dance up your ribcage, gripping the fabric of your white shirt.

“Off.” He mumbles, sucking on your collarbone.

You lean back to prop yourself up on your elbows, pulling the shirt over your head and discarding it somewhere on the ground to join the rest of your clothes from last night. He kisses and sucks on your bare chest, leaving faint red marks in their wake. You’re arching your back against his stomach, grinding down on his thigh still resting between your legs. You know he can feel the wetness slowly soaking through your panties, because he starts to drag one of his hands down your body. His fingers graze down past your navel, dipping in between your thighs. You arch your back more, letting out a small whine when he presses two fingers gently where you need him most.

“What do you want?” Hyunjin whispers against your neck, a lazy smile in his voice. “You want my fingers?”

“Yes,” you mumble, “please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He grins.

And then his lips are on yours again and his fingers are rubbing slow circles around your clit. You reach your hands down, underneath the blanket and hook your fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down. You lift your hips off the bed just enough to shimmy out of them and toss them onto the floor.

“So eager.” He coos, fingertips dipping into the wetness between your thighs before resuming their circular motions from before.

“Can’t help it,” You reply breathlessly “your pretty fingers make me feel so good.”

You feel his cock twitch against your thigh at the praise, causing you to inadvertently buck your hips against his fingers. He speeds up his movements when he feels you squeezing his bicep beside your head, whimpers and gentle moans spilling from your lips.

“Just like that baby, don’t stop, don’t stop.” You breathe, eyes screwed shut as the high washes over you.

His fingers stroke you through it carefully, meeting every thrust of your hips as you ride it out. His mouth swallows your moans as your fingers intertwine with his hair. When you finally recover, you’re breathing hard, panting against Hyunjins neck. He chuckles at you.

“Good?” He asks with all the cockiness of a man who already knows the answer.

“Mhm, so good. Always so good.” You reply, reaching down to palm him over his boxers.

He groans in response when you squeeze his length lightly. You roll your bodies so he’s on his back, body illuminated beautifully by the yellow glow filling the room. You hungrily tug at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down his thighs, allowing him to kick them off. He makes the most delicious sound when you take him in your hand, a deep mix between a groan and a whimper. You stroke him a few times before crawling over his body and settling between his thighs. He sits up, leaning his back against the headboard and watching you attentively. His hands take a harsh hold on your hair when you take him in your mouth, licking a long hot stripe along his length. He lets out a string of strangled noises and sleepy curse words as you bob your head up and down. It’s messy and wet, spit dripping from your mouth and over your hands curled around the base. You choke slightly when he bucks his hips, unable to even come close to taking him fully in your mouth.

“Stop, stop baby, stop,” he mumbles breathily “gonna cum.”

You pull your mouth off of him slowly, climbing back up his body so that you're straddling him, your core floating above his hips. You push slightly on the base of his cock, allowing yourself to sink down onto him slowly. You both groan as he bottoms out. It’s you who starts to move first, grabbing hold of the headboard behind him to steady yourself. His hands find your waist, hips meeting your every thrust, his cock hitting that spot deep inside your core that forms knots in your belly. Your free hand tangles in his hair as he presses sloppy kisses to your breasts. Your hips slip slightly, pressing him deeper into you, causing you whimper at the sharp pain.

“Are you okay, did I hurt you?” Hyunjin freezes, his wide eyes staring up at you.

“No, no I’m fine.” You assure him “you’re too big, goes too deep sometimes.” You add, grinning playfully.

Hyunjin blushes at the compliment, but you know how much he likes the praise, how crazy it drives him when you can’t fit him fully in your mouth or you grimace slightly because he hits too deep. He knows size doesn’t really matter but he also knows that you like how big he is. The way his hands can almost encircle your waist completely, the way he towers over you when you’re standing, the way his clothes are so big on you that you’re practically swimming in the fabric.

You ride him like this for a little longer, before your legs start to get tired and your movements grow sloppy.

Hyunjin chuckles, amused. “Cmon baby, you’re tired. Let me get on top.”

You don’t protest as he flips your bodies over, settling between your thighs. His hand wraps around the base of his cock as he aligns it with your entrance, easing in slowly. You whine when he starts to move faster, your bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Your nails scratch gently at the skin of his back, moaning as he hits the same spot over and over.

“Touch yourself.” He grumbles, sitting back on his heels as he continues to thrust into you.

He presses his big palm flat on your lower belly, feeling the faint outline of his cock from the outside. You smile, knowing this drives him absolutely wild. Your hand slides between your bodies, fingers rubbing circles around your clit.

A moan slides from your lips, overwhelmed by all the feelings. Hyunjin so deep inside of you, hands roaming your body. His smell, his warmth, his taste, his moans.

“Am I making you feel good?” He half whispers half whines, craving the validation.

“Yes, yes Hyunjin.” You whimper, “feels so good.”

His thrusts start to grow sloppy and erratic, and you can tell he’s close. You rub your fingers faster, heat coiling in your belly. Your back arches against him, pressing your chests together.

“Gonna cum.” He whispers, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder.

“Please.” You whine, feeling your high wash over you for the second time.

He curses under his breath, pulling out and stroking himself to completion. He gasps, abs tightening as he comes over your belly and thighs, the sticky white liquid coating your skin. He’s breathing hard as he collapses on the bed next to you, pressing kisses against your hair.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” He smiles, standing up to find a towel.