#also -> everyone else had white noise except for him

[flowerandblood]

The Song of Promises [3/3]

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: full sex content, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, targcest stuff, smut, angst, description of the childbirth, lack of communication in intimacy, adult nursing, breastfeeding kink, manipulation, slight descriptions of violence ]

[ description: Aemond is filled with pride when it turns out that his young wife will give him an heir. However, the Red Keep trembles to its foundations, because the old king is weak and his death is inevitable. Rhaenyra appears in King's Landing with her family, wanting to defend Lucerys' rights to Driftmark. Daemon sees his daughter again after years, and their meeting changes everything. ]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Aemond

The clang of the steel rang out across the training yard of the Red Keep that noon, sharp and rhythmic like the toll of a war drum. He moved like a shadow, precise and fluid, with his white hair clinging to the damp skin of his neck. His breath was steady and controlled, a contrast to the weight and speed of the broadsword he wielded – Cole matched him strike for strike, their blades meeting with great force.

He relished these mornings – before the court stirred, before the noise of politics and duty threatened to drown him.

Here, he could breathe.

Here, he was nothing but fire and steel.

Despite being crippled, he surpassed his brother not only as a philosopher and strategist, but also as a warrior: no one, except perhaps Daemon Targaryen, could match him in wielding a sword. He desired for everyone to witness how another ‘second son’ became more powerful than the firstborn male heir.

His mornings with Criston were sacred to him: even after his nuptials, despite the heat of his wife's bare body lying in his bed tempting him to remain in her blissful embrace and sleep on, he did not abandon his customs.

In fact, his cousin never expected that of him; she knew that the stable rhythm of his day, the fact that he had his own order, calmed him down. Of course, now that he was married, he had arranged everything in his head so that he could also find time during the day to spend with her.

They would meet after his sparring sessions in his chamber and take a long, refreshing bath. She would have just finished her morning meal, still sleepy and in disarray, walking around his quarters wearing nothing but her nightgown. He liked this sight: her, with her hair down, the shy outline of her bare body under the thin linen fabric.

When he took her, despite his enormous physical exhaustion, aroused by what he was seeing, she complained incoherently between one thrust of his hips into her warm, moist cunt and the next that he smelled of sweat and dragon.

“You married a dragon rider and warrior, wife,” he panted, digging the tips of his fingers deeper into her bare buttocks, giving his movements a calm, steady rhythm, the loud slaps of their bare flesh echoing through his chamber, “you have what you wanted.”

That was why when he heard the sound of footsteps, measured and purposeful, his jaw tightened.

He did not stop.

No one, no one had the right to interrupt him.

“My Prince,” he heard a familiar voice, “ser Criston,”

He slashed forward with a sudden burst of strength, forcing Criston back a pace, before pivoting toward the sound. He froze for a moment and just stared at her, not knowing what to think.

There she was.

His wife.

The morning light caught in the auburn strands of her hair, her cheeks flushed not with exertion, but something else – her eyes were wide open, her lips parted as if she’d been holding her breath. She wore one of his favourite gowns, made of thin blue fabric, fastened at the waist with a wide golden belt, emphasising the soft shape of her breasts.

Although he thought she looked beautiful, he didn't comprehend why she was disrupting his routine now, given that she was aware of how much it frustrated him when someone interrupted him.

He lowered his blade but didn’t speak.

She approached him with hesitation, ignoring the onlookers who now watched them with veiled curiosity. Nobles, servants, guards – they all paused, watching her intently, apparently wondering whether they would witness the prince publicly losing his temper with his wife for the first time.

“Husband,” she said warmly, a shy smile on her face.

Had she come to tempt him?

Was it really so urgent that it couldn’t wait until he returned to their chamber?

Part of him thought that, in fact, he could fuck her right now in one of the forgotten corridors of the Red Keep, but it definitely wouldn't be gentle lovemaking.

She stopped in front of him, looking at him with obvious concern. He thought she knew perfectly well that she was walking on thin ice, and wondered why she was risking upsetting him so early in the day.

“I hope it's something important,” he said dispassionately, keeping his eye on her, the hilt of his sword stiff in his hand.

“Yes,” she confessed timidly, her fingers reaching for his free hand.

He swallowed hard, surprised and displeased by the fact that she was forcing him into this kind of physical interaction in public – he opened his mouth to reprimand her when she took his fingers in hers, but she didn’t let him get a word out.

“I know this isn’t the time,” she said quietly, her voice wavering just enough for him to notice, “but I had to tell you now.”

He frowned, his eye narrowed as her hand moved with his to her belly, her fingers trembling slightly.

“I’m with child.” She whispered.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, blinking as though he hadn’t understood. His hand remained limp in hers, her words echoed in the stone walls of his mind without sinking in.

“What?” He gasped.

“I’m with child,” she repeated, firmer this time, grounding the moment in reality, “I was waiting to be sure, but the Maester confirmed my suspicions this morning.”

The sword slipped from his hand onto the ground with a dull clatter – he did not know why the muscles in his body suddenly relaxed, why his chest filled with a wave of wonderful, warm bliss.

Neither of them neglected their marital duties – on the contrary, his wife spent every night since their nuptials in his bed, much to his satisfaction. Sometimes he allowed her body to rest so as not to cause her pain when he once again rooted into her with his length, but he made sure that her womb did not remain empty for more than a few days.

Her monthly bleeding filled her with sadness, especially when she looked at Helaena, whose abdomen was growing larger every day. He never dared to resent her for the fact that his older sister was already carrying his brother's heir; he knew that when she would be with child was not their choice, but that of the gods.

He couldn't bring himself to broach the subject, so he watched from the sidelines as she quietly grieved each crimson stains that appeared on her nightgown. Instead, when they lay in his bed in the evenings, he would pull her into his arms, run his fingers through her hair, and let her hide her face in the warmth of his chest.

He wished to comfort her, to confess that he wanted her just as she was, but he remained silent.

Instead, he prayed to the gods so that they would not punish her for his pride and vanity.

And for the first time in his life, they heard his pleas.

He exhaled sharply and took a step toward her, placing his other hand over hers, pressing both against her abdomen.

“Are you certain?”

She nodded, her eyes lit up with joy. “Yes.”

He looked at her, at her gaze filled with cheerful hope, at her cheeks flushed with emotion, her shoulders raised in uncertainty as to how he would react to what he had heard.

He took one of his hands away from her womb, instead clenching his fingers in her hair, leaned over and kissed her – his lips melted with hers in an act so passionate that his heart hit harder in his chest.

It was not a reserved, chaste kiss fit for courtly audiences, but something deep, desperate, grateful.

She gave him what he wanted.

“You carry my blood,” he whispered into her mouth, his voice soft as silk, “you carry our future.”

Something changed in his perception of her that day. He had always enjoyed her presence, and watching her gave him quiet pleasure, but now, knowing that his legacy was growing inside her with each passing day, he felt a constant need to touch her.

It wasn't purely sexual; his hand would involuntarily find her bare shoulder, her neck, her abdomen as they spoke, his fingers lazily tracing the lines of her body, which filled him with such pride.

In secret, when she fell asleep, exhausted by the first discomforts of pregnancy, he read books that explained a little bit about what a woman goes through during such an important period. Everything he didn't understand frightened him: gaining knowledge on the subject allowed him to regain control over his life.

He was going to be a father.

From the writings of various Maesters who had lived in Westeros for centuries, he learned that, above all, a pregnant woman must not be upset or afraid: such a state threatened both her and her child. What's more, they stated that various female cravings during this period should be taken very seriously, as their instincts told them what the child in their womb needed.

That is why, when his cousin muttered in the middle of the night that she dreamed of eating a juicy, sweet apple, he woke up his servant and ordered him to bring him a whole bowl of these fruits without delay. In fact, to his surprise, within the next day, there were none left, and his wife was bubbling with good humor.

He tried not to think about it, but he always found himself turning to the chapters that scared him the most, reading them with the utmost concentration.

Childbirth.

The vision of Aemma's death haunted him; he dreamed of his cousin with her womb slit open at his command, her bloodied, violated body and mouth wide open in dead despair causing him to wake up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat.

He would never do such a thing to her, but what could he do if the baby didn't want to come out?

How could he help her?

All his life, he had told himself that he was not dependent on anyone, and even if someone suddenly disappeared from his life, he would bear it with the utmost indifference. But now, with the shadow of his wife's death in childbirth hanging over him like a black, gloomy cloud, he could stare at her sleeping face for hours, feeling an unpleasant lump in my throat.

His hand would find her warm, life-pulsing cheek, his knuckles gently caressing the soft surface of her skin, her calm breath soothing his senses.

She was alive.

Lady Royce

The first months of her pregnancy passed in a haze of cautious joy. She quickly discovered that the grandeur of bearing a prince’s heir came with a relentless tide of nausea, weariness, and pain that clawed at her every morning. Her appetite was uncontrollable and the heat of the Red Keep became unbearable to her; her back ached long before her belly began to swell.

She felt that if she could, she would sleep all day, but following Maester's advice, she went for short walks in the royal gardens to enjoy some fresh air. Helaena, who had given birth to her twins a month earlier, also needed some time alone and a change of scenery, so she accompanied her as they walked through sunny meadows full of wildflowers.

Helaena did not find herself in the role of a wife, but she certainly enjoyed being a mother; contrary to her fears, her children clung to her, and she immediately felt a warm, tender love for them.

Aegon, to her surprise and that of everyone else, showed great interest in his children. He willingly helped his sister-wife, allowing her to rest while he carried and calmed his little heirs in his arms.

“He is a bad husband,” Helaena told her, “but he is a great father to my children. He is the only one I trust with them. Thanks to this, we have reached an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?” she asked curiously, sensing that there had also been a change between her and her husband that she could not name.

His touch and gaze were softer, his voice calmer and quieter in her presence, his manner much gentler, devoid of the aggression and sudden mood swings he had shown until now.

“We fulfill our marital duties only when necessary and give our children the kind of parental love that we ourselves never experienced,” she explained.

She blinked, surprised and moved by her words, so sincere, straightforward, and true.

She realized that none of them, including her husband, had experienced true, healthy fatherly love.

Aemond, for all his strength and pride, had no experience with softness, no guide on how to be gentle in this new situation they found themselves in.

He wasn't sure when and if he could touch her, what topics he should discuss with her so as not to pose a threat to her or the babe.

She understood that he too faced a new challenge, a new duty that he was eager to fulfil, but his own father had not set him an example of how to do so.

He asked her bluntly what she needed, and when she struggled to answer, he would pace through his chamber like a caged beast.

“When you look at me like that, I feel like a burden,” she told him once, clutching the basin after a particularly violent bout of nausea.

He crouched beside her, reaching to hold her hair back.

“You’re carrying my child,” he said, “you are more precious now than any steel I’ve ever wielded.”

It was not poetry, but it was his truth.

And she loved him for it.

When her belly began to round beneath her gowns, she guided his hand to rest there, under the silk. His fingers lingered, hesitant at first, then firmer, as if he might feel the heartbeat within.

He frowned, discouraged.

“I don't feel anything.” He muttered, clearly hoping that what she was doing had some deeper meaning.

In fact, it did.

“But you will soon,” she promised, resting her hand atop his, “our child hears you, even now.”

He blinked, confused by her words.

“Do you truly believe that?”

“I do,” she admitted with a certainty that surprised him. “I read about it. When a man speaks to and touches his wife's womb, their children are able to recognise him after birth. They calm down when they hear the voice or feel the touch of their father.”

She thought her cousin didn't believe her, but that night she asked him to say something to their child anyway. He scoffed at the idea, but when she took his hand and pressed it again to her lower abdomen, something changed in his facial expression.

In the quiet of their chamber, lit only by firelight, he cleared his throat.

He spoke in High Valyrian – low, murmuring words of strength and legacy left his lips.

“– you will fly among the clouds, with only the starry sky above you,” he hummed in the language of their ancestors, “you will be admired and loved by the Kingdom. Your dragon and your sword will cause terror and fear among your enemies. And I, as long as you remain small, will protect you.”

She watched him, barely breathing.

And then, she felt a twitch beneath her skin.

She gasped and he flinched, looking at her with wide eyes.

“What was–”

She grabbed his wrist, breathing loudly with disbelief.

“The babe moved.”

He stared at her stomach, then looked at her, astonished. His mouth parted, then closed, as if emotion had left him speechless.

“Do you hear me, zaldrītsos (little dragon)?” He asked in a trembling voice, his hand resting on her skin beneath her skirt.

They both jumped in place when something in her belly pulsed again and pressed against his fingers.

“Gods–” he muttered and leaned down, burying his face in her rounded lower abdomen.

She guessed that he didn't want her to see his expression and how much he hoped that what she had told him was true.

He wanted to be the kind of father he never had.

Their intimacy changed. His hunger for her never dulled, but he adapted, reverent in every touch. She forbade him full joining in the early months, fearing risk, and he did not protest. Instead, they returned to the kind of intimacy that had brought them so much joy and pleasure when they were first discovering the exciting, sweet secrets of the body.

Late at night, when the world was quiet and her back ached from the weight of their growing child, he would undress her slowly – he kissed the curve of her belly, murmuring to their son in her womb how proud he was of her. His hands found her breasts, fuller and heavier than before – he cupped them with awe, his thumbs brushing across her nipples until it stiffened under his touch.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, “gods, I had no idea how much more I could crave you.”

She blushed, but let him do what he pleased. “Touch me there again, husband. Please.”

He obeyed with a smirk on his face – his mouth closed over the peak of her nipple, sucking it gently with the flick of his tongue. She gasped, running her fingers through his hair, feeling a warm throbbing deep inside her body.

“I'm wet,” she confessed shyly, involuntarily spreading her legs in front of him.

“Already?” he teased, slowly tracing his lips down her body with lazy, tender kisses.

When he slid between her thighs, he took his time – he kissed and teased her delicate skin, his tongue parting her folds until she was trembling. He tasted her like a man desperate to savor every drop of her moisture, sighing softly when she cried out for him.

“I need this,” she panted, her hand gripping his forearm. “Gods, Aemond, please.”

He moved away from her to look at her face, something she knew well in his gaze.

He loved it when she begged him.

He entered her with his two fingers without warning, slow and deep, curling them just right until she shuddered. She let out a little cry when he found her sweet spot, digging his fingertips into it, kneading it with intense circular strokes.

“– brother –” she gasped, involuntarily rocking her hips to the rhythm of his thrusts, feeling the wonderful tension in her lower abdomen slowly reaching its peak, promising her sweet fulfilment.

“Let go, hāedar (little sister)” he whispered, “let me feel you come for me.”

And she did, biting her lip as she spilled over his fingers with her breath caught in her throat, her thighs trembling around his wrist.

“Now it's my turn, isn't it?” He asked with a kind of threat, looking curiously at her face, which expressed pure bliss.

“Yes.”

He liked the fact that when he knelt before her on the bed, there was not a hint of hesitation in her movements: her hands easily and nimbly unfastened the buckle of the belt of his tunic, then untied his breeches, freeing his swollen, heavy erection.

A sigh stuck in his throat as she leaned down and placed a gentle, warm kiss on his manhood, grasping its base in her free hand. She squeezed it gently at the root, massaging that part of his length softly, running her lips up and down. She felt it pulse strongly between her fingers.

“– yes – take it slowly –” he whispered with some kind of vulnerability, as if this sight completely overwhelmed him.

Although he never mentioned it, she knew that he desired to be caressed; such sensations made him experience the entire act more intensely, and his fulfillment was stronger. That was why she waited a moment before lifting her head and parting her lips, finally allowing him to slide the tip of his fat, throbbing erection deep into her throat.

Without any command or guidance from him, she involuntarily began to suck.

A quiet, almost boyish gasp of pleasure escaped his throat: she knew that this was exactly what he had been waiting for, her hands caressed his bare buttocks tenderly, giving him the feeling that she loved his whole body just as it was.

The shamelessness of her touch, the fact that she dared to caress him in such intimate, private places, aroused him even more.

His broad hands clenched helplessly in the dark curls of her hair, setting their movements to a common rhythm – it wasn't long before his thighs slapped against her flushed cheeks, his length swollen and sore between her lips.

“– fuck – ah – yes – mmm –” He panted between quick, desperate thrusts deep into her throat until he reached his peak with a loud groan of relief.

She swallowed everything he gave her, breathing loudly through her nose, not wanting to waste a single drop. He didn't pull out of her mouth as long as his warm, half-soft erection throbbed with pleasure.

They satisfied each other completely, building a bond of desire and restraint that left them both breathless.

Afterwards, wrapped in each other’s arms, she whispered.

“You’ll be a good father.”

He stared at the ceiling and said nothing, but his arm tightened around her.

She often dreamed of their child – sometimes with Aemond’s pale hair, sometimes with her dark eyes. In those dreams, the child always laughed.

Her husband never spoke of dreams, but she knew that as she fell asleep in his arms, he watched her for hours – sometimes he whispered things he dared not say aloud, probably too embarrassed by his deeply hidden desire.

To her.

To their child.

To himself.

When the final moon of her term crested above King’s Landing, a sharp pain lanced through her spine like a hot blade. It was early dawn – the fire in their chamber had burned low, casting orange halos over the bed’s edge. She lay curled, with her hand upon her belly – she tried to rise, but a contraction stopped her.

She gasped.

“Aemond,” she howled.

He stirred beside her instantly, awakened from a deep sleep. His eye flew open, and he was upright, already reaching for her.

“What is it?”

“I think–” she gasped again, clutching her abdomen. “–I think it’s time.”

She saw that panic flared in his eye. He had faced war, dragons, death – but nothing had prepared him for this.

He rose swiftly and shouted for the midwives – within minutes, their chamber was filled with bustling hands, warm water, herbs, towels. The air turned thick with tension, while he circled their bed like a predator with his eye wide open, his mouth slightly parted in heavy, restless breaths.

Was he thinking of Aemma now?

Of her slit womb and his father standing over her?

One midwife moved to usher him out.

“You must wait elsewhere, my Prince. It is not the custom–”

“No,” she mumbled, her hand found his wrist in some helpless gesture of fear, “my husband is to stay.”

They both looked at her with genuine surprise. Her cousin opened his mouth, apparently wanting to explain that even if he wanted to, he couldn't help her, but that wasn't what she meant.

“Your presence will give me strength and courage,” she stammered in a trembling voice, clutching his tunic sleeve more tightly, “don’t leave me now, when I need you more than ever.”

The midwife hesitated and opened her mouth to say something, but her husband did not let her, as he spoke first, his gaze cold as steel.

“She is my wife. I will not leave her.”

So he stayed.

She was drenched in sweat, strands of hair clinging to her red cheeks heated from exertion. The pain was unbearable, wave after wave crashing over her body with each progressive contraction.

Although she had never been in a panic before, now she truly wondered if she was going to die.

Helaena could clearly read her thoughts, her hand gently wiping the sweat from her forehead with a damp, cool cloth.

“Stand up or kneel on the beeding. It'll be easier for you. You shouldn't lie down all the time.” She said.

She nodded, groaning with effort as she raised herself up on her elbows, wanting to do anything that might hasten the whole process. She heard the bed creak beside her, a familiar smell filling her nostrils.

“Lean on me,” he whispered.

He knelt behind her, legs braced to hold her weight. He put one arm around her chest, the other cradling her belly – she immediately clasped her hands around his arms, breathing heavily, shifting her weight onto her knees.

“You are strong,” he whispered into her ear, “you are safe.”

She screamed – it was a raw, primal sound from the depths of her lungs. Her nails dug into his arm, but he didn’t flinch.

“I can’t–” she sobbed.

“You can,” he said, his voice rough. “You will.”

Minutes stretched into eternity, while her body, in successive spasms, tried to push the baby down the birth canal. The women around shouted instructions and guided her pushes, driving her to the brink of madness.

“Enough! Enough! Shut your fucking mouths, you useless whores!” She howled in rage, thinking to herself that it was easy for them to tell her what to do when they weren’t in her position and it wasn’t their body that was trying to push a child out into the world.

Her husband did not comment on her outburst or her choice of words, holding her in his iron grip and not letting her fall as she pushed, each effort wringing the air from her lungs.

Then she felt it.

She heard it.

Sudden, overwhelming relief.

And then, a sharp cry.

Wet, furious, alive.

The babe emerged from between her thighs, red and squalling, his clenched fists flailing. The midwife caught him and quickly cleared his mouth and nose, wrapping him in soft cloth.

“A boy,” she announced.

She collapsed into her husband’s arms, sobbing in relief – she felt him embrace her from behind at the waist, his lips pressing a long, loud kiss full of pride on her sweaty forehead.

“You did it. Just look,” he whispered in her ear, clearly elated by what had happened, yet tired and frightened at the same time.

She took the child from the midwife into her hands, trembling with awe – she laughed, loudly and cheerfully, as if all the effort and despair of a moment ago had completely vanished.

White hair.

Brown eyes.

Her son blinked up at her, whimpering quietly and writhing in her arms, calming down as soon as he felt her closeness. Her cousin's hand touched his plump, red cheek, his fingers trembling as he ran them over the delicate structure of his skin.

“He's so small,” he whispered softly into her ear so that only she could hear him.

“He is your heir,” she hummed, looking at him with a strange, overwhelming calmness, “give him a name.”

“Aerys,” he said. “His name is Aerys.”

Her husband leaned his forehead against her temple, his breath shaky in his throat.

“He’s perfect.”

She smiled through her tears, feeling only relief, numb to the pain and everything else she was going to experience in the coming days.

In that quiet moment, the three of them together, she felt peace.

Peace and fear the world would try to take it away from them.

Aemond

A few days later, long after the midwives had gone and the sun set behind the horizon, he sat at the edge of the bed, watching his wife sleep.

He knew she was just pretending.

She was curled on her side, facing away from him, her breath uneven. Her body trembled, probably from the pain, exhaustion and fear. Aerys lay in his cradle, snuggled in black-and-red swaddling, fast asleep with his belly full of milk. But she?

She didn’t rest.

When he reached out to touch her shoulder, she flinched.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, not turning to him.

“Hm?”

“I am no longer beautiful.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“Why do you think so? Your body needs to rest after months of exertion. It has carried a huge burden and responsibility.”

She pulled the sheet up over herself tighter.

“My breasts hurt. My belly is marked. I’m bleeding. I feel broken. I will never look the same again.”

He stood up, stepped to her side of the bed, and knelt before her.

“You carried a dragon inside you,” he said. “You bled for our son. You screamed his name into existence. There is nothing broken about that.”

She looked down at him, her eyes wet with tears of pure saddness.

“I… I can barely walk.”

“I lost an eye,” he said, his voice soft. “And I wear that scar proudly. Do you know why?”

She shook her head.

“Because it reminds me of who I became. What I survived. What I protect. You–” he reached for her hand and placed it against his chest, just above his heart. “You have become something more than I ever dreamed. Your body is not ruined. It is marked by something significant.”

She looked at him with her eyebrows arched in pain, watching as he kissed the inside of her wrist, then her fingers, then her palm.

“I want to see you,” he said. “All of you. Let me.”

She shook her head.

“It will disgust you. You will never want me again.” She mumbled in a breaking voice, tears rolling down her red cheeks one after another.

Without a word, he reached for his sapphire eyeball and, though he never thought he would do such a thing, he removed it from its socket. She froze, looking at him in disbelief – her trembling hand rose, gently brushing the spot beneath his eyebrow where his eyelid had once been.

Now there was darkness, emptiness, bone filled with muscle and scarred skin.

“If I wanted to take you now, would you refuse me?” he asked calmly, and she shook her head quickly, stroking his cheek with her hand.

“I want you more than ever,” she assured him, her hot gaze making his manhood throb softly in his breeches.

“So let me perform my duty to my wife,” he said calmly, his fingers combing through her long, shiny hair.

Hesitant, she sat up slowly, letting the sheet slip from her shoulders. Her nightdress clung to her body – damp with sweat, wrinkled and stained. She reached to pull it off, but her hands trembled.

So he helped her.

Gently, reverently, he lifted the fabric over her head – her body was soft, tender and newly unfamiliar under his fingers. Her breasts were full and heavy in his hands, the swell of her stomach loose, a dark line running down the center, on her skin the little marks of strain and life.

He looked at her for a long moment without saying a word, his healthy eye rose to her face only when a sob escaped her lips. He moved forward and wrapped his arms around her, feeling every inch of her tremble against him.

“I can't do it. Not now, when the pain between my thighs is still so strong. I won't enjoy it, and I'll only make you miserable.” She mumbled regretfully, trying to cover herself with her arms.

He wouldn't let her.

“I'll wait as long as you need, but don't cover yourself from me. You were there for me when I was a child, lying with my eye socket so swollen that I couldn't recognize my own face. My scars have healed, the swelling has gone down. Your body, though different, will find a way to return to its proper state.”

She nodded her head.

She believed him.

A few weeks later, when the swelling had indeed begun to subside from her lower back and abdomen, and the marks had lost their intense color, her mood improved significantly. His touch between her thighs still caused her pain, so they refrained from intimacy, but to his satisfaction, she allowed him to touch other naked parts of her body.

At that moment, they both focused on something else, or rather someone else: on the babe.

He stood stiffly by the cradle with his arms crossed, eying his son as if preparing to face a duel. The fire had been stoked to keep the chill from Aerys’s tiny limbs, and the chamber smelled faintly of milk, lavender, and parchment.

His wife watched him with amusement from the cushioned chair by the hearth, cradling a warm cloth to her sore abdomen.

“You can touch him, husband” she hummed. “He won’t bite.”

“He’s so… small,” he said. “What if I hurt him?”

“You won’t.” She assured him.

She stood up and walked over to him, with a lightness that aroused his jealousy lifting his son swaddled in soft fabric.

“Here. One hand behind his neck. The other under his hips. Support his spine.” She said, placing the baby in his arms.

He obeyed with military precision, focused like never before in his life. Aerys blinked slowly, then yawned and he stared down at him, completely still.

“He’s warm,” he said, as if surprised.

“He recognizes you.” She said with a smile.

“Does he?”

“You’ve spoken to him since before he was born. He knows your voice.”

He turned back to the babe, his posture still rigid.

“Relax your shoulders,” she said softly, stepping behind him to guide his frame with her hands. “You’re not carrying a sword.”

“I’d feel more confident if I were.”

She laughed at his words.

“You’re doing fine.”

Aerys stirred, his tiny fingers gripped the edge of his tunic. He froze again, stunned.

“He’s holding me.”

“Yes,” she hummed. “He is.”

That night, while his wife rested, he remained by the cradle, sitting down in the window alcove with a leather-bound book, its pages worn and ancient.

Tales of the Old Valyria, myths of dragons before the Doom.

He began to read.

Aerys stirred in his sleep, his mouth curved faintly, as if smiling. He didn’t know if his son understood, but the baby quieted hearing his voice. Sometimes his hands curled near his face and then he reached out blindly in sleep – once he brushed his thumb.

He stilled, looking at him with awe and leaned closer, pressing a kiss to the baby’s temple.

“You’ll never be alone,” he whispered. “Not while I breathe.”

He remained there until the stars climbed high.

And Aerys, son of fire and war, slept cradled in the shadow of peace.

Measter recommended short, pleasant walks in the fresh air for both the child and the mother. Since he could not imagine them strolling alone now, when their son was so small and his wife so weak after giving birth, he accompanied them every afternoon.

That day Aerys, usually soothed by the rhythm of his steps and the sound of his heartbeat, was restless. He squirmed and whined, once in a while letting out a frustrated cry.

He frowned and bounced him gently.

“Hush now. You were fine a moment ago.”

“Let me try,” his wife said, brushing her hand over Aerys’s head.

The babe only wailed louder.

“He’s not tired,” she hummed. “He’s hungry.”

He stiffened at her words.

“Let's go back to our chambers then.”

“There’s no one else here,” she said, glancing around. “And he needs to eat now.”

He hesitated, feeling his jaw clench.

“It won’t take long.” She assured him.

He sighed heavily with dissatisfaction and looked around, ensuring that no curious male eyes would focus on his wife's exposed breast. Finally, he gave her a short nod.

“Very well.”

He stepped in front of her as she sat on a low stone ledge. Turning slightly to give her privacy, he stood tall, with his arms crossed behind his back.

He heard that she unpinned her bodice and shifted her gown just enough to free her breast. Aerys latched immediately, the sound of his suckling quiet and steady.

He dared a glance over his shoulder, looking at the sight with a strange kind of satisfaction and excitement.

He saw her raise an eyebrow in amusement.

“What?” He huffed.

“You enjoy this view, don't you?” she asked lightly, gently adjusting their son in her arms.

For a moment, he saw a glimpse of her nipple and swallowed hard, feeling a warm throbbing in his breeches.

He hadn't fucked her for so long.

“Of course I do. You're feeding my son. You're giving him strength.”

Her expression softened.

“You can look at it as much as you want, husband.”

He hummed, but answered nothing.

When Aerys finished, she hid her breast back under the material of her gown, and he gently helped her up.

That evening, the room was lit by low firelight. Aerys stirred with a hungry whimper, and his wife shifted on the cushioned settee with her gown already loosened. She brought her son to her breast with practiced grace, humming softly while he suckled.

He sat by the fire and watched them in silence, pulling at the cuticles around his nails.

He had seen her like this before, yet something about the moment – its stillness, its intimacy – struck him differently that night. Perhaps it was the light on her skin, or the sight of their son so content in her arms, or the curve of her breast as it disappeared into the child's tiny mouth.

He swallowed loudly, feeling his manhood harden painfully.

She noticed it; her gaze met his over the infant’s head, calm and knowing.

“You stare,” she said softly.

“I always do,” he answered.

She smiled, shifting Aerys to her other breast.

When the boy finally released with a sigh, milk-drunken and sated, she placed him back in his cradle and turned back to him, still standing with her breasts exposed.

“If you wish to know what it tastes,” she said, her voice sweet and teasing, “you need to only ask.”

He froze, his heart hit harder in his chest.

“You're mocking me.” He muttered.

“I don’t.” She said as she sit back on the soft bedding, exposing the full swell of her breast to him, a bead of milk glistening on the tip of her nipple.

He swallowed hard again.

“You want me to…”

She raised a brow.

“I’m offering. Come, if you wish.”

He stood up slowly an crossed the room, as if unsure whether he was walking toward temptation or something far more sacred. When he knelt before her and she smiled softly, her hand rose to stroke his cheek.

“What should I do?” he asked with a strange kind of dread, filled with fear of humiliation.

“What you’ve always done. Your instincts will guide you,” she said calmly, her fingertips brushing his jaw, sending a strong shiver down his spine.

He was completely hard.

He leaned down to her chest, placing one of his hands on her back and the other gently cupping the curve of her breast, letting his mouth close over her nipple.

Indeed, it was as she had said: as he began to suck, her taste spread over his tongue and palate, warm, soothing and sweet. He sighed with delight at this new sensation, about which he himself did not know what to think. Her fingers ran through his hair as he suckled – tentative at first, then needier.

A moan escaped her lips.

“Aemond...gods.”

The sound of her voice broke something in him – he pulled her gown further down, his mouth claiming her other breast in a passionate and violent act.

He drank, he worshipped, he devoured.

She gasped, shifting beneath him, heat pooling between her thighs.

“Take me,” she whispered.

He didn’t hesitate – he pushed her onto the soft bedding and unfastened the clasp of his tunic, freeing himself from it. He reached deep into his breeches for his erection while his wife lifted the fabric of her skirt up – he didn't even have to check.

He knew she was soaking wet.

They both froze and sighed softly as he guided the tip of his swollen manhood to her opening. With soft, uncertain movements of his hips, he stretched her folds with his length, only to slide into her with a groan of relieve after a moment.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

Her legs wrapped around his waist when he began to move inside her, the sight of her breasts bouncing in front of his face made him lean down again to her nipples and close his mouth over one of them.

Each pull of her breast made her warm cunt clench around his length, each thrust made her cry out softly.

“It's mine,” he growled against her nipple, the snap of his hips loud and decisive as he sank again and again between the familiar heat of her thighs. “Only mine.”

“Yes,” she breathed out. “It's yours.”

They moved together in growing urgency – his hands gripped her hips, her back arched as she moaned beneath him. He latched onto her again, helpless to resist the taste, the rhythm, the claiming.

She shattered around him, convulsing on his cock, a strangled, sweet cry torn from her throat as she came. He followed her moments later, buried deep in her breast, drinking from her like it was life itself.

When they stilled, tangled and breathless, he rested his head on her chest, his tongue still teasing her nipple.

She stroked his hair, trembling again and again from his caresses, but neither of them spoke.

There was no need.

The next morning, however, their calm shattered into pieces.

Rhaenyra and her children, including Lucerys, were on their way to King’s Landing. A royal summons had been issued – Vaemond Velaryon was to challenge Lucerys’s legitimacy before the court.

Before the throne.

Before him.

He could feel the old wound pulsing, phantom and hot, the weight of the eyepatch dug into his temple like an accusation.

“Luke,” he growled. “That fucking bastard. He dares to show himself here as if it were his home. As if he is not a fucking lie wrapped in gold thread.”

“Aemond,” she pleaded, seated on the bedding, Aerys asleep in her arms.

He didn’t stop.

“He stole my eye. My childhood. And now he returns under the guise of diplomacy.”

His voice rose, sharp and cold like a blade drawn without thinking. Aerys stirred in her arms, then whimpered quietly.

She stood up quickly, gently bouncing their son.

“And my mother invites them here like honored guests. As if their treason isn’t etched into their fucking bones!”

Aerys's sudden, distraught cry made him stop in mid-step and look at him as if he had awakened from a deep sleep.

Aerys wailed, his tiny face red and scrunched with fear.

His wife rocked his son gently, murmuring soft nothings, but her eyes were fixed on him.

He stared at him – at the tears rolling down his round, pink cheeks – and his heart sank like a stone into the sea.

“I frightened him,” he mumbled.

“Yes,” she answered quietly. “But only for a moment. He will calm down soon.”

He approached them slowly, his hands trembling.

“I didn’t mean to–”

“I know,” she said, shifting the child toward him.

He hesitated, but then took Aerys into his arms – the babe still sniffled, his tiny fists clenched hard.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I would never harm you.”

His son looked at him and sighed loudly, as if in the fury he had just witnessed once again he saw his father.

The cries quieted.

“He heard my rage,” he said bitterly. “The same rage that has taken so much.”

His wife's hand found his arm and stroked it in a gesture of tender concern.

“Then show him something else. Let him see the man who holds him after the storm.”

He nodded.

The tension he felt was so strong that, fearing he would frighten his own child again, he ordered Criston Cole to train with him earlier than usual the next day. The sun caught the edge of his longsword as he struck, quick and precise, driving Cole back a step before resetting into a defensive stance.

The court, chattering and alive with what was about to happen, gathered around them and watched their struggles with unconcealed curiosity.

He caught sight of them mid-pivot.

Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon stood in silence among the crowds, their brown eyes fixed on him.

He smiled at the thought of how absolutely terrified they looked.

They were both smaller than him, their posture frail and weak. He thought with amusement that Daemon didn't give a shit about them, because if he cared, he would make sure they looked like men, not little boys.

He turned fully towards them with his sword still raised high.

“Nephews,” he called, his voice carrying like a challenge. “Have you come to train?”

He stepped forward with slow menace, the tip of his blade pointed directly at Lucerys. He saw how Jace’s hand twitched near his own sword hilt and grinned, ready to cut off both of the bastards' heads.

And then he heard a familiar sound.

A high-pitched, joyful squeal.

His wife emerged from the cloisters, her steps sure and light, her eyes calm and impenetrable, fixed on him. In her arms, wrapped in cloth of black and crimson, their infant son stirred.

Aerys.

The baby let out another coo, his small fists flailing with excitement at the sight of his father.

He smiled at the sight.

The tension bled from his shoulders and he lowered his sword slowly, letting its tip touch the ground. Without a word, he turned and crossed the courtyard, wanting to meet them, his hands sheathing the sword at his side.

Aerys wriggled and gave him a delighted sound as he reached out to him to stroke his cheek with his fingers.

His expression softened in a way few had ever witnessed.

“My little dragon,” he hummed.

His wife smiled, calm and composed, dressed in an emerald gown made of thin material.

She chose to wear green.

He knew that she must have seen the silhouettes of his nephews from the window and that she had only come to distract him from them.

His wife.

Before the gathered eyes of the court – and of Lucerys Velaryon – he leaned down and kissed her.

A claim not just of affection, but of legacy.

When he pulled back, he met Luke’s gaze across the courtyard.

And in his silence, the message was clear:

I have everything and you have nothing.

Lady Royce

The throne room of the Red Keep had never felt so grave. Targaryen banners hung limp in the still air, as if mourning already for the blood yet to spill. The Iron Throne, forged from the melted blades of a hundred enemies, loomed jagged and ancient, a monument to power and the weight of impossible choices.

She stood among the greens, her son Aerys pressed tightly against her chest, wrapped in cloth in the colors of his House. The child shifted in his sleep, unaware of the storm raging around him, oblivious to the blades behind words and the blood behind smiles.

She held him not as a decoration or shield, but as a proof.

Proof that her and her cousin's marriage was valid even though her father never consented to it.

Her eyes sought for him before anything else – Daemon Targaryen stood in the far reaches of the throne room, draped in black leathers, his silver hair tied at the nape of his neck. His arms were crossed, his gaze sharp – there was no warmth in his expression, piercing her like a cold blade.

She turned her head the other way, unable to bear the sight of him.

Aerys cooed against her shoulder, unaware of the danger.

Their son was the sweetest child she could have ever imagined. She wasn't certain if it was because of his nature or because his father had spoken to him a lot while he was still in her womb, but Aerys happily let her husband hold and comfort him.

His voice alone calmed him; his crying and squeals of discomfort would cease in the middle of the night when her cousin would take him from his cradle and lie down with him next to her on the bed, placing him on his chest. Aerys raised his large brown eyes and looked at him, his father's hand lazily stroking his little fair head.

“My son,” he whispered softly, apparently unaware that she was awake. “My sweet little boy.”

She swallowed hard, standing next to her husband behind his brother's back. Aegon gave them a bored look, but smiled at the sight of their son – his finger tickled his cheek, and Aerys squealed with delight, his laughter echoing through the throne room.

“Are you sure you're his father?” Aegon asked, but her husband only sighed, folding his hands behind his back, standing straight and stiff.

Aegon's taunts did not concern him that day.

His gaze was fixed on someone else.

The absurd scene that took place right in front of them seemed endless to her. Vaemond was stating what everyone already knew, yet they had to pretend to be surprised by this turn of events.

The truth was that Lucerys was not Leanor's son, so he had no right to Driftmark.

However, no one dared to say this out loud.

Rheanyra, on the other hand, spoke of the baselessness of his accusations, reminding everyone gathered that her sons were direct heirs to the Iron Throne.

She glanced involuntarily to the side to see her husband's face and swallowed hard when she came across the emptiness in his good eye, his lips twisted in a dangerous grimace that could have resembled a smile if not for the deadly glint in his gaze.

He sank deep into his own head, his regret, his hatred.

Then the great doors groaned open and the gasps of those gathered echoed through the hall.

Moving forward with great difficulty, King Viserys descended the stairs.

Silk and gold could not hide the decay of his form: the stooped shoulders, the drawn pallor, the tremor in his hands. The crown wobbled on his head like it belonged to another man, and yet, he moved – step by step – toward the Iron Throne, as though he could hold the realm together with sheer force of will.

Her husband moved restlessly at her side; his mouth created a thin line, his lone eye burning with something too vast to name. His gaze was locked on the frail man before them – the man who had given him life and saved his love for another child.

Rhaenyra.

It was always Rhaenyra.

Aemond’s lips twitched, not with anger, but with the ache of old wounds reopening. He did not blink: his shoulders rose and fell with controlled breath, as if he was trying to calm down.

Only she, who knew him better than any living soul, saw the short moment when his trembling hand brushed his belt, reaching for his sword.

The only sign that her husband, stoic and battle-hardened, was unraveling in silence.

She slid her hand toward his, brushing her fingers against the back of it, not forcing a grasp, but offering one.

His fingers twitched against her skin, but he didn’t take her hand.

King Viserys, pale and barely upright, was lifted onto the throne by his brother. The old king groaned but waved away help once seated, his eyes fixed on the chamber below – he was barely more than a whisper of the man he had once been, yet his voice, when it came, cut through the air like a falling sword.

The moment they saw him, they knew the matter was settled.

Luke will remain the heir to Driftmark.

And just when it seemed, to her relief, that it would all finally be over and they could return to their chambers, Vaemond lunged forward like a enraged dog, his shouts accusing Rhaenyra's children of being bastards and her of being a whore echoing through the throne room.

A silence dropped over the court so deep it rang in their ears.

And then steel flashed before her eyes.

A scream escaped her throat, and her body involuntarily turned away from the sight of the headless corpse in a desire to escape. Her fingers clenched tighter around her son's figure, pressing him against her chest: her husband took a step forward, shielding them with his body, as if trying to protect them from what they had just witnessed.

She turned her head slowly in his direction and to her surprise, he was looking at her too.

In that long, unspeakable moment, she saw him as he was: a boy who was never chosen, noticed, appreciated, a man made of resentment and restraint, now standing in a room where his father had used the last of his breath not to acknowledge him, but to exalt the one who had never suffered consequence.

She shifted Aerys in her arms and took a step closer, their son’s small body pressed between them like a heartbeat. He looked down at their child, at the quiet miracle of their mingled blood.

His throat moved as he swallowed hard.

After what had happened they returned to his chamber to calm down. Her husband, apparently trying to distract her from what was happening to him, decided to focus on their child.

“Did he see... that?” He asked uncertainly, looking at Aerys' silhouette pressed against her chest, his chubby fingers deep in his mouth.

“No. And even if he did, he didn't understand any of it anyway.” She sighed, putting their son down in his cradle.

The boy cried in displeasure, but his face lit up when she gave him one of the soft dragon-shaped toys.

Aemond wanted to say something else, clearly unable to stop himself from giving his opinion of what they had seen, however he closed his mouth when the door to his rooms opened with a quiet creak.

One of his servants stepped inside and bowed before them.

“My Lady. Your father wishes to see you and his grandson.” He said.

“That is out of the question.” Her husband growled. “You will not do such a thing.”

“I will do what I desire, husband. Or am I your prisoner?” She asked lightly, throwing him a tired look.

His lips pressed into a thin line out of fury that she dared to answer him this way in the presence of his servant.

“My son stays.” He said coldly.

She sighed heavily at his words.

“Very well. I will return soon.” She replied without thinking, his wounded, bitter gaze escorting her to the door.

She knew this awaited her and she had to face it.

Although she was a grown woman and a mother, walking down the corridor towards the quarters where her father was staying she felt like a little girl again. She knew what she would hear, she knew how he would look at her: he had considered her a traitor the day she fled with her cousin on the dragon's back, and nothing could change that now.

His wife's guards opened the door for her, and she stepped inside with her head held high. Her father sat in one of the beautifully decorated oak chairs, looking at his nails with boredom.

“Leave us,” he commanded loudly, his familiar voice making a cold shiver run through her.

She was afraid of him.

She feared him more than anyone in the world.

Daemon lifted the gaze of his bright eyes to her, his face expressing something close to a cold disappointment.

“He didn't let you take him here, did he? That's the freedom this ridiculous marriage gives you.” He mocked, spreading comfortably in his seat, crossing his legs with a loud creak of wood.

His remark made no impression on her.

“He is his father and he has as much right to decide his fate as I do. I came as you asked. What do you want from me?” She asked calmly, feeling her heart all the way in her throat for some reason.

Daemon furrowed his brow at her words and snorted.

“I wanted to look at you. To see what’s become of the girl who fled from Dragonstone like a thief, thought I might find some sign of regret in your eyes. Maybe even shame.”

She flinched at his words, but said nothing.

I ran away because of you, she thought.

Daemon leaned forward slowly. “And yet here you are. Dressed in your green silks. Wearing his child like armor. Playing loyal wife to a boy who clings to you like a lifeline.”

Her throat tightened at his accusation.

“He clings to me because I have never turned away from him.” She said coldly.

Her father scoffed. “He’s using you. You think he chose you for love? Aemond married you to spite me. To stain my name. To bind you to his cause and steal what little decency you carried in you.”

“I chose him,” she said with voice low but firm. “I chose him again and again. When I fled, I chose a man who saw me – not as a pawn, not as a mirror of my mother, but as myself.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Daemon said loudly, rising to his feet, his face darkened with dissatisfaction. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve tied your soul to a boy with rage in his blood and fire in his eye. He will never be satisfied until everything is ash. And when he burns, you will burn with him.”

She took a step back – she was surprised that she still had it inside herself. That unconditional instinct to run away when he towered over her, when he destroyed her sense of self-worth, intelligence, independence.

He’d never struck her, not once.

But he didn’t need to.

She remembered what it was to be a child in his presence.

To be the object of his silence.

His fury.

His impossible expectations.

But now she was not a child.

“I may burn,” she said softly. “But at least it will be for something I chose. Not something you forced upon me.”

Daemon’s mouth twisted in a grimace that might have resembled a smile if not for the dangerous glint in his eye.

She felt a cold sweat on the back of her neck as she realized that her husband sometimes had the same expression on his face.

“You’re afraid of me,” he said. “Still, after all these years.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But I came anyway.”

He studied her for a long time without saying a word.

“So you mean to stay with him.”

“I mean to stay with my son. With the man I love. With the life I built without your permission.”

He looked away, to the fire, his face a little softer, his gaze expressionless.

Empty.

“Then may the gods have mercy,” he said.

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

“If war comes – and it will – you will not be spared. Not by blood, not by name.”

She paused at the threshold and put her hand on the doorframe.

“Then it’s a mercy I learned to breathe fire,” she hummed.

And she left him with his silence.

The door to their shared chamber slammed shut behind her, but not before the echo of the latch caught like flint against stone. Her husband paced the room tense and dissatisfied, his gaze that met hers cold and bitter.

Aerys cried, red-faced and inconsolable in the cradle near the hearth.

“You went to him,” he growled, barely restrained. “After I asked you not to. You left our son who's been wailing for an hour, and I can't fucking calm him down.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.

“He’s my father.”

“And what am I?” he hissed, turning to her now, his expression full of fury. “What is he to our child besides a shadow? He howled for you the moment you left.”

She approached Aerys' cradle, scooping him up gently. The boy nestled into her shoulder, still hiccuping small, uneven sobs – she soothed him with slow, rhythmic motions, pressing her cheek to his soft hair.

“He felt your anger,” she said.

Her husband blinked.

“What?”

“He’s not crying because I left,” she continued. “He’s crying because he’s your son, and your rage shakes the room like thunder.”

His jaw clenched at her words, but nothing came out his mouth.

“He’s a baby, Aemond. He doesn’t understand blood feuds or who wronged whom. But he knows when the air is full of fire.”

“You defied me.” He stated. “In the presence of my servant.”

“I needed to face him. You think I wanted to stand in that room? To look into his eyes and feel like I was twelve again, made of silence and obedience? I went because I had to.”

“You don’t need his approval.”

“I wasn’t seeking it.” She said with pain, not understanding why he couldn't comprehend what she felt after so many years. “I was severing what power he still held over me.”

His mouth opened, then closed as if her words made him think and realize something.

“Did he threaten you?” He finally asked, a little calmer now.

“Of course he did. He tried to make me doubt everything I’ve built with you.” She said with obvious tiredness in her voice, feeling tears behind eyelids for some reason.

Was it so hard to love her?

She stepped forward, shifting Aerys in her arms so she could meet his father’s eye.

“He thinks you’re weak. He thinks I’m foolish. But I told him the truth – that I chose you, not in defiance of him, but in recognition of myself.”

He reached out, brushing Aerys’s cheek with his hand – almost unwillingly, his fingers found hers.

“He wants to take you away from me,” he sighed.

“He can’t,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

His shoulders dropped and his silhouette relaxed, but tension still clung to his posture like a second skin. He looked away, toward the fire, then back at her again – at the small boy nestled against her breast, now asleep once more.

“He still lives inside you,” he said hoarsely, “and his words can still wound you. Why?”

She looked down, feeling a lump in her throat. She thought that if she didn't get it out now, she'd never tell him, and there'd be a lingering unspoken word between them forever.

“I'm afraid of him. I always was. Of his unpredictability, of never knowing what to do to make him content. I would hide from him when I heard his footsteps, when his voice called me, I would burst into tears. He would look at me then, as if he had never seen a more pathetic human being. He would ask me: why are you crying again? and I didn't have the courage to tell him that it was because of who he was. When he took me to the Red Keep, I thought it was out of love. But I quickly realized that he had hoped to marry me off to Jace: to join forces with Rhaenyra after his brother's death and take the throne. That's why I ran away with you that day.”

When she raised her head, she met the gaze of his healthy eye, filled with disbelief, his mouth slightly parted in shock.

“Of course he wanted to give you to that bastard,” he said more to himself than to her, “he hoped to father more children with Rhaenyra, and that they would eventually become his successors.”

She looked at him for a moment, feeling an overwhelming wave of sadness wash over her.

“You admire him, don't you? You always have.”

Her husband gave her a surprised look, as if offended, and snorted, heading for one of the windows facing the courtyard.

“Don't be a fool.” He said.

“You two are alike. You and him. I realised that today.”

He turned towards her, his expression somewhere between dissatisfaction and disgust.

“If that's what you really think, how does that reflect on you?”

She felt tears rolling down her cheeks one after another: she smiled at him, but it was a smile that made him see fear and doubt in her eyes.

“Exactly, my dear lord husband. How?”

He swallowed hard, clearly trying to cope with the accusation she had just made.

“I didn't force you to run away with me. I didn't force you into my bed, into my heart. I didn't force you to marry me. You gave me all of that yourself.”

“You told me before we ran away that you wouldn't give me a second chance to choose. You took my maidenhood in the way you saw fit, without even asking me if that was how I imagined it. Our children could have been bastards, or your rightful heirs.” She said softly, wondering where she had found the courage to express it that way.

And yet, even though she truly loved him.

Did he ever really give her a real choice?

Aemond looked at her in disbelief: she had the impression that something in his mind had frozen, his mouth parted in heavy breaths told her that her words had completely surprised him.

Had he ever looked at it that way?

Could he see their world through her eyes?

“What do you want to say by that?” he asked slowly, his voice tinged with menace and regret.

“I want to say that there were moments in my life when I was afraid of what you would do to me if I refused you.” She muttered, struggling to catch her breath.

I love you, she thought.

I love you, but sometimes you scare me.

Just like him, back then.

Her husband closed his mouth, swallowing her words heavily: he lifted his chin and adopted a proud posture.

“I see.”

The banquet hall of the Red Keep glittered with torchlight and opulence, but beneath the sheen of polished silver and flowing wine lay a palpable tension – something too thick to breathe and too sharp to swallow. She entered the room beside her husband, her gown flowing like smoke over the stone floor.

They did not touch: his hands remained clasped behind his back, his eye fixed forward, his lips drawn in a line of unyielding silence. The air between them, once alive with glances and unspoken understanding, now felt cool and cavernous.

The words she had spoken that afternoon clung to the corners of her thoughts.

She stole a glance at him – at the rigid set of his shoulders, the twitch of his jaw, the way he refused to meet her gaze even when she turned slightly toward him as they took their seats. The space between them was no longer metaphor – it was battle line.

They were placed directly across from Rhaenyra’s children; Jacaerys sat upright and tense, his eyes watched them carefully from a distance. Lucerys tried and failed to mask his discomfort, flicking glances toward Aemond and then quickly turning away. Rhaenyra herself sat poised with Daemon at her side.

Their unity was undeniable.

She sat with practiced poise, but her fingers curled tightly on her lap – she wanted to reach for her husband, to press her hand against his, but she couldn’t.

Not when he wouldn’t even look at her.

Not when his silence had the weight of judgment.

Daemon was seated diagonally across from them, his goblet in hand, his gaze far too knowing. When his eyes met hers, he smirked – not with amusement, but with quiet, smug satisfaction.

Everyone rose from their seats when King Viserys was brought into the chamber. He walked with obvious effort, breathing heavily, part of his face still hidden behind a golden mask. She glanced involuntarily at her husband: he was looking at his father with an empty gaze, upright and proud, closed off in the fortress of his mind from everyone, including her.

Everything around her seemed to be happening at once. Rhaenyra toasted Alicent. Alicent returned the gesture. Polite nods of all of them that had nothing to do with sincerity or truth.

The illusion of unity.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aegon leaning over Baela and sighed heavily as she heard Jace's fist slam down hard on the table. Jace stood up, followed by her husband.

She knew that Aegon had surely said something inappropriate to enrage Rhaenyra's son, and he had done it with ease.

Her husband, on the other hand, was looking for any excuse to cause blood to be shed.

She knew all this, but she only silently raised her wine-filled cup to her lips and took a deep sip.

She realized that these were not her worries, her wars, her problems.

However, Jace showed some common sense and decided to withdraw from a possible conflict.

“To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

She smiled involuntarily at his words and raised her cup together with Jacerys, causing her husband to give her a quick, angry look. As he sat down in his chair while she took another, deeper sip from her cup, his broad hand clenched warningly on her thigh.

Her nails ran gently across his skin in a gesture of defiance, but also of strange, aggressive closeness: she heard him draw in his breath loudly, surprised and frustrated, his fingertips digging into her skin hidden beneath the thin layers of her gown.

“You're walking on thin ice,” she heard his quiet, menacing voice, his words leaving his throat like a sigh.

“Maybe I want to drown in the sea of your rage,” she whispered so that only he could hear, her hand still resting on his.

“Is that what you want? Do you want to see what I'm capable of?” he asked indifferently, watching emotionlessly as the servants lifted his father, who had suddenly felt unwell, Helaena and Jace dancing together across the hall, much to Aegon's displeasure.

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

Some part of her wanted to die.

“Very well.” He hummed, and then he took a deep, loud sip of wine from his cup.

They left the supper early, using fatigue and Aerys as excuses. No one really cared why they left: everyone at that table wanted it all to end as quickly as possible.

They walked into his chambers in tense, deathly silence. The first thing she did was look into Aerys's cradle: her husband had dismissed his wet nurse, saying they wouldn't need her that night.

When the door closed behind her, she heard his voice, calm and cool.

“Is he asleep?”

She swallowed hard, feeling her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She looked down, her hands subconsciously reaching for the lacing of her gown and loosening it. Ribbon by ribbon, she freed her bodice until she felt the fabric slip slightly from her shoulders.

She knew he was watching her: she heard the click of his buckle, the rustle of his leather tunic being pulled off and falling to the floor.

She thought she would lose everything that day, and there was something liberating about that thought.

She finally turned towards him: he was standing on the other side of the chamber, looking straight at her with his head slightly bowed, as if he were thinking intensely about something.

“Do I remind you of your father now?” he asked lightly, cocking his head in curiosity.

She swallowed quietly and nodded.

“Yes.”

He hummed under his breath, as if he had expected this answer, and moved lazily towards her. Her whole body tensed when he stopped in front of her, towering over her like a mountain.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and she obediently did as he asked.

His good eye was fixed on her face, the flashes of the burning fireplace nearby reflecting in it like a mirror.

“What do you think your father would do now?” he asked, his hands folded behind his back.

“He would express his disappointment,” she said calmly, lowering her gaze to her feet like a small, scolded child.

She waited for the blow, the stab to her heart that would crush her, allowing her to accept that, for both of these men, she had been nothing more than a pawn in a larger game from the very beginning.

Her husband was silent for a moment.

“I am disappointed. I am disappointed, because I thought you understood me. That you knew that a reasonable objection expressed with respect would not cause me to punish you. That I would not mock any of your fears or requests, because I have never done so before. You chose to remain silent on many issues, and now you blame me for it. Do you consider yourself to be fair in this matter?” He asked coldly.

She swallowed hard, feeling his words hit her like a slap in the face, even though she had expected to hear something else: the wave of hot shame that flooded her chest was heavy and suffocating, like the weight of his words.

Was she really fair in what she said?

If she had explained to him why she was afraid to escape from Dragonstone, what her father would do, would he really never give her a second chance?

If she had told him when he took her maidenhood that he should do it more slowly, would he have been deaf to her needs, even though he had always cared for her in bed before?

Didn't he himself desire and strive for their children, if they ever came, to be born of the marriage bed, to be his rightful heirs?

She realised that the space of her thoughts, the questions in her head, were not black and white, but grey: the way they had been raised, what their fathers had done to them, had made them both unable to communicate properly, carrying the burden of the trauma their parents had left on their hearts.

But was it his fault?

Didn't she know him well enough to realise that he was unable to put his feelings into words?

“When you put it that way, I'm not so sure anymore,” she finally muttered.

She heard him sigh heavily, his chest rising and falling in front of her face, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him shake his head.

“During our first union, I followed my desires, my fantasies: I wanted you and I took you, but the gods are my witnesses that if I had known I was hurting you, if I had known you were afraid, I would have stopped. You held me tight, you moaned with pleasure beneath me. So can you tell me why you didn't say anything then?” He asked with a pain that surprised her.

“Because you gave me pleasure and I wanted you too. It's just that afterwards I felt regret that you didn't even ask me if you should slow down. If I wasn't afraid. If I was ready.” She stammered in a breaking voice, feeling a lump in her throat.

His hand ran over his lips and chin in a gesture of impatience or disbelief, she wasn't sure.

“It was my first time too. I hoped that if I did something wrong, you would tell me.” He confessed regretfully, to her surprise, his voice was also breaking, as if he wanted to cry. “I don't know what to do with your words now that so much time has passed. Am I to conclude that I took you against your will back then? That I am like my brother?”

“No,” she replied quickly, feeling tears roll down her cheeks once again that day, “I had wanted you for a long time. I just didn't understand what was happening, it was all foreign, new, sudden. Another body forced its way into mine, and I was overwhelmed by how pleasant and terrifying it was at the same time. Everything happened so fast.”

She chocked out and burst into tears: not only because of what they were discussing, but because of what her father had said to her that day, because of how bad she felt about herself and who she was.

How unloved she felt.

She covered her face with her hands and gasped loudly when she felt his fingers clench around her wrists: he didn't use force, though, he just held her as if he wanted to tell her something.

“Forgive me. Forgive me for not being able to behave like a mature man when you needed me.”

She threw herself into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his broad chest, sobbing loudly into his linen shirt.

To her surprise, he returned her embrace, his fingers clenching tightly on the fabric of her gown at her back.

“I'm not like your father,” he gasped. “He never loved you the way I do. Don't choose him. Don't leave my side.”

“I would never do such a thing, Aemond. Never.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes. From the day I flew away with you on the dragon's back. The day you freed me from him.” She whispered, snuggling into his familiar-smelling body, feeling his warmth relax all her tense muscles.

A quiet silence fell between them; she could hear his heart beating fast against her cheek, his fingers tracing the length of her back as if he wanted to memorize its shape.

“If that's what you desire,” he said at last, “we can do this now the way you wanted it then.”

She nodded.

And that night, they made love slowly.

He had never been so gentle, so attentive to her body: his hands traced her curves as if he were touching the surface of water, his full lips placing warm, wet kisses on her bare skin. His hands found her waist, her thighs, then slid up beneath her nightgown, reverent and aching. She gasped when his fingers brushed the swell of her breast, her nipple hardening under his touch.

“Look what you're doing to me,” he whispered into her collarbone, “how much I need you.”

She cupped his face between her palms and looked at him.

“You are the love of my life.”

He stared at her for a moment in a way she knew very well.

He was moved.

Instead of answering, his lips moved lower, trailing fire along her ribs, then across the sensitive underside of her breasts. He worshipped her there, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue circling slowly around her nipple. She arched her body into him, her hands twisted in his hair.

“Aemond… yes,” she mewled.

He murmured against her skin, clearly pleased with her reaction.

“Tell me what you need.” He hummed, his hand slid lazily down her stomach to between her thighs, teasing the delicate skin of her womanhood with just his fingertips.

“You,” she gasped, “I want to feel that you love me.”

He obeyed, sliding his fingers deep between her legs, parting her with ease – he groaned into her breast at the feeling of her, dipping one finger inside, then another. His thumb found her pearl, rubbing it with slow, teasing pressure and when he felt that she was ready, he slid lower, burying his face between her soft legs.

She stroked his long, silver hair, breathing heavily, her mind clouded as his tongue found her folds between her thighs, teasing them with just the tip of it, sending her body into spasms. She was soaking wet for him, and he licked up everything that flowed out of her with soft, shameless clicks.

She moaned his name, begged him to put his manhood deep inside her, but he gave vent to his lust only when she was on the verge of fulfillment. She guided him inside her, gasping softly as he filled her with himself; the stretch was familiar, yet new.

Her thighs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper; he stilled for a moment, buried inside her to the hilt, their foreheads resting together as they breathed as one. Her delicate walls, all swollen of desire, accepted his fat erection with great difficulty: his first pushes into her were deep and slow, giving her time to feel well every shiver of delight that shook her body.

She felt her cunt clench around him in delight, her hips rising to meet his rhythm. He moved with exquisite care, as though afraid to hurt her again; their gasps filled the chamber, rising and falling like waves while he quickened his pace. She buried her face in his neck, her tears mingling with his sweat.

“I need you,” she sobbed, “don’t let me go.”

“Never,” he breathed out, his voice breaking.

He reached between their bodies, brushing with his thumb against her bud in slow, tender circles. She arched her back, her mouth falling open as pleasure surged through her.

She came with a soft cry, trembling around him, biting her nails into his back. Her body clung to his, drawing him deeper, her release pulsed around his cock – he followed her soon after, burying his face in her hair as he spilled inside her with a low, breathless groan.

They collapsed together onto the bedding, panting hard, their skin slick with warmth and devotion.

“Mine,” he gasped, and she nodded.

“Yours.”

When it was over, they lay in complete silence, facing each other, her hand resting on his. There was no more of that cruel tension between them, only relief and peace that they both needed so much. For a long moment they said nothing, just enjoying what they had.

“When my father dies,” he began out of nowhere, surprising her completely. “War will break out.”

She blinked, turning restlessly on the soft bedding that smelled of their wetness and fulfillment.

“How do you know that?”

Her husband's face remained stony.

And then she understood.

Everything was already settled.

“They intend to crown Aegon king. Your grandfather and your mother,” she mumbled in disbelief.

His lower lip twiched once, but he said nothing.

“Will you support them? Against your father's wishes?” She asked in disbelief.

He just looked at her, not saying a word.

“What do you expect from me? What should I answer you? That I'll betray my father?” She mumbled in pain.

Her heart pounded harder in her chest as his mouth finally opened.

“You will do nothing. You'll stay where you are. You'll take care of our son. You will not interfere.”

“Aegon will expect me to kneel. That is not nothing.” She replied.

“You'll say I forced you. In this theater of illusion, in front of everyone gathered, I'll grab you by the hair and press your face to the ground in front of the Iron Throne. No one will dispute the fact that you've become my prisoner.”

She looked at him in disbelief, only now realizing that he had been planning all this for a long time.

“When were you going to tell me about this?” She asked, and he sighed heavily.

“Never. But here we are. Honest and exposed, with nothing to hide.” He said with a calmness that surprised her.

“I do not consent to any of those bastards being the heir to the Iron Throne. It might be different if it was one of Daemon and Rhaenyra's sons, but if it happened, Rhaenyra would admit to the whole Realm that she had been lying about it all these years. Lucerys would lose Driftmark. That is why she will never do it.”

She looked at him in disbelief, unable to find words for the chaos of thoughts and feelings that filled her head.

“Are you thinking of running away?” His question tore her from her thoughts, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

"What–,” she mumbled.

“You can, if that's what you want. I won't stop you. I won't make you my prisoner – not really. But our son will remain by my side.”

She looked at him in horror, feeling her heart pounding hard in her chest.

“And where would I go, without you and my child? To my father?”

Again his silence answered her.

She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, thinking in the back of her mind that they were all going to die.

“Very well, then. Explain to me what I should do when the time comes. How to behave.”

And then she saw something that was as rare as seeing a wild dragon flying through the sky.

He smiled.

_____

Author's Note:

I'm ending it here because otherwise I'd have to dive into the whole Dance of the Dragons. Maybe I'll do it sometime in the future if you want. In this chapter I used a lot of my experiences related to pregnancy and how wonderful it is to experience it with your partner (in my case my husband). He also talked to my belly a lot, and our daughter actually kicked when she heard his voice! Apart from that, I also wanted to touch on the topic of communication in intimacy and that not everything is black or white. That sometimes we need many months or years to understand ourselves, our needs and desires: or that if we could, we would do something differently. It's natural and it needs to be talked about. Thank you all for reading this mini (fucking long) series.

[rellbot]

ok so. nobody in lr has background music on their streams except for rekkles. why?

[lowrisemiller]

ꜰɪᴇʟᴅ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ

you can imagine whichever Reed you want ;)

reed richards x assistant!fem!reader

you're reed richards’ long-suffering lab assistant. brilliant in your own right, you handle everything from data entry to inter-dimensional rift control. you’ve been nursing a hopeless crush on him for months. the man can design a quantum field stabilizer in his sleep, but he’s absolutely blind to the way you touch his shoulder a beat too long or always bring him his favorite coffee without asking. how could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

masterlist | 4.7k words | MDNI SMUT | reed neglecting basic things bc scientist duh, reader(me) is DOWN BAD, reed is oblivious to everything that isn’t science, finger & oral f!receiving, reed stretching things, him being a nerd while eating ur pussy😍 unprotected piv sex DONT DO THAT ! aftercare:)

The lab was quiet, except for the soft scribble of pen on paper and the low, constant hum of equipment Reed swore was essential, even if it sounded like white noise to everyone else. You sat perched at your workstation, chin resting in your palm, eyes drifting from your screen to the man pacing ten feet away—muttering under his breath, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.

You’d seen that look a hundred times.

It meant he was close to a breakthrough.

It also meant you could scream I want you in morse code and he wouldn’t register it.

You sighed, clicking your pen against your notebook. He didn’t glance up. Not even when you shifted in your seat and stretched in a way that was definitely for his benefit.

Ten months.

That’s how long you’d worked beside him—helping with calculations, organizing lab notes, fending off media inquiries, even stopping one of his machines from literally catching fire last Tuesday. You’d poured yourself into this job. You knew his schedule better than he did. You brought him his coffee the exact way he liked it. You wear that plum lipstick because he’d once said it was a “pleasing wavelength” for visual stimulation.

He hadn’t looked twice.

You weren’t just harboring a crush at this point. No, this had evolved into something much more volatile—an emotional chemical reaction waiting for a catalyst.

And Reed? Reed was… oblivious.

Gorgeous, brilliant, maddeningly unbothered Reed Richards. With his rolled-up sleeves and distracted glances, the way he chewed on pens when deep in thought, the offhand compliments he gave without realizing they were compliments—“Your spatial reasoning is exceptional,” he’d said once, looking at your notes. You’d practically melted.

Now he stood a few feet away, talking to himself like always. You watched the way his hands gestured mid-air, sketching invisible shapes.

“Frustrated with the equations?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“No, no. Just… considering variable Y’s response under quantum fluctuation,” he murmured, barely registering your voice. “Though I suppose an extra set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

He handed you the clipboard and your fingers brushed. He didn’t even flinch. Your heart did.

You took it wordlessly, biting the inside of your cheek. How could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

Maybe that was unfair. Reed wasn’t cruel, or cold. He was kind in his own absent-minded way. But he had tunnel vision—for science, for discovery. He didn’t notice the things that didn’t present themselves in a neat, testable format.

Like how you lingered in his orbit.

Or how your eyes followed him when he wasn't looking.

Or how sometimes, after long days, you fantasized about climbing into his lap right in that damn desk chair and making him pay attention.

Your pen scratched against the clipboard now, pretending to read the data while you watched him from the corner of your eye. He was back to pacing, lips moving silently. His sleeves were pushed up again, exposing strong forearms, veins prominent, hands twitching like he needed to do something with them.

God, you were losing it.

You placed the clipboard down. “You ever think maybe the problem isn’t quantum fluctuation, Reed? Maybe it’s just human error.”

He blinked and turned. “Are you suggesting I made a mistake?”

“I’m saying maybe if you took your head out of the wormhole generator long enough to eat or sleep or…” You paused. Look at me.

“…notice things, you’d think clearer.”

He looked like he might ask what “things” you meant. But instead, he turned back to his calculations, nodding. “Duly noted.”

You stared at his back, silent for a moment. And that’s when the thought struck you: He’s never going to see it unless you make him.

He would go the rest of his life chasing black holes and entropy and would never realize the way you burned for him—not unless you showed him.

Your pulse skipped.

Your patience is snapping.

You were going to be an anomaly he couldn’t ignore.

It was a new day, but nothing had changed.

Reed was still buried in data, half-dressed in a rumpled button-down he probably hadn’t noticed had two buttons mismatched. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered ten minutes before walking into the lab and immediately got lost in thought again. You stood at your usual station, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to glance over at him every thirty seconds.

You weren’t pretending very well.

This was your fourth twelve-hour day this week, and you’d long since passed the phase where your crush felt cute. It was heavier now—dense, loaded with tension you had nowhere to put. Not when he kept looking right through you, offering praise only when it was tied to data points or completed tasks.

Today, he barely looked up when you walked in, just said, “Morning,” like you were air and math and all the other constants in his life.

You sat your coffee down a little too hard.

“Sleep okay?” you asked, typing with one hand as you glanced toward him. His back was to you as he scribbled across the whiteboard.

“Didn’t,” he replied casually. “The formula’s been looping in my head since 2 a.m.”

Of course it had.

You nodded to yourself, refocusing on your notes—but your brain wasn't on line graphs. It was on how his voice sounded deeper in the mornings. Rough. Scraped thin. It was on how he'd rolled his sleeves again, unconsciously, like he was giving you just enough to fantasize about but never enough to touch. It was on how he’d leaned over your shoulder the day before, close enough to make you forget your own name, then pulled away without even noticing how stiffly you sat for five minutes after.

You were starting to feel stupid.

Or worse—transparent.

You tugged at the edge of your shirt, adjusting it subtly, then pushed your chair back.

“Reed,” you said after a moment, tone careful.

He glanced up.

You hesitated. You could say it. “Do you ever think about me when we’re not in this lab?” Or even just “Do you notice when I’m trying to get your attention?” But all that left your mouth was:

“…Do you want lunch?”

He blinked. “No, thanks.”

You smiled tightly and nodded. “Okay.”

A long beat passed before he added, “You should eat, though. Your concentration dips if you skip meals.”

That nearly made you laugh. He didn’t notice your new lipstick or the way you leaned closer when talking, but he noticed a dip in your concentration?

“Noted,” you muttered, turning away. Your heart was starting to feel like an overworked computer—on the verge of burnout.

Still, you stayed.

He asked you to help calibrate a device and you did, even though his hands grazed yours and he didn’t seem to feel it. You reorganized his notes for the hundredth time and he said, “I’d lose my head without you.” Your stomach flipped, and you cursed yourself for letting it.

Eventually, the day wore on. The lights buzzed overhead. He worked in silence. And you sat across from him, eyes on your computer screen but brain nowhere near it.

You weren’t going to say anything today. You weren’t ready. But you were closer.

You were watching him more intentionally now. Watching how he moved. Noticing when he forgot to eat, when his jaw clenched at a miscalculation, when he sighed like the weight of the universe had settled into his spine.

And more importantly… you were starting to plan.

Because if Reed Richards wasn’t going to notice you on his own, maybe it was time you made it impossible for him not to.

You started small.

A hand on his shoulder when you passed behind him—just a light touch, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. A compliment you slid in while reviewing his data aloud. Your tone didn’t change, but your eyes watched his face this time, looking for any flicker of reaction.

Still, nothing overt.

But you were a scientist too, in your own way. You knew not all reactions happened in the open.

So you adjusted variables.

Today, you wore something just a touch more fitted under your lab coat. Nothing flashy. Just subtle. Intentional. Your lips were glossed in a soft cherry sheen and you had your hair tucked behind one ear, leaving your neck bare when you leaned over your notes.

You didn’t say much when you came in. Just a soft, “Morning, Reed,” as you brushed past him to your desk. He looked up. Briefly. His eyes caught on your profile, then flicked back to his screen. But there was… a beat. Just long enough to file away.

You smirked, barely.

He worked for hours, absorbed as usual. But today, you noticed something.

His eyes flicked to you more than once.

Quick glances. Measured. Like he was calculating a change in the room’s atmosphere. Like he felt something different but hadn’t yet assigned it meaning.

When he handed you a tablet to review notes, your fingers touched—warm, steady. This time, he paused.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to be certain of anything. But long enough to make your heart thud against your ribs.

You gave him a slow smile. “Thanks.”

He blinked and muttered, “Of course,” then turned away like he needed to recalibrate.

You kept working. Quiet. Focused.

But later—when you reached for a beaker on the shelf above his head—he stood behind you, offering, “Let me.”

You turned, close enough that your chest brushed his arm as you stepped aside.

He stilled.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, like it wasn’t completely on purpose. “Thanks.”

His gaze flicked down. A flicker of something behind those eyes. He handed you the beaker wordlessly, but his jaw was set. Not tight. Just… aware.

There it is.

It wasn’t much. A subtle shift in the lab’s atmosphere. But it was enough to keep your spine humming, your thoughts racing.

You’d pushed the threshold.

And Reed felt it.

It happened again.

Reed forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. You were across the room, head bent over your tablet, pencil in your mouth, lab coat slipping slightly off your shoulder. His sentence just… stopped. Hung in the air unfinished.

And for once, he noticed you noticing.

You looked up slowly, eyebrows raised like well?

“I—” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile.

Another day in the lab. Another carefully applied variable. You weren’t loud about it. Just present. Vivid. A little perfume on your wrist. Lip gloss again. A comment here and there, perfectly timed to stick in his head.

“Careful,” you murmured when he bumped into the desk beside you. Your voice was soft. A little amused. “You almost ran me over.”

He looked down at you, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Liar.

You knew he had near-total environmental awareness. Reed Richards didn’t miss anything. But lately, he missed a lot—because he was looking at you and then pretending he hadn’t.

You kept it casual. Calculated.

You’d brush past him with a hand on his back, stand just a little too close while looking at the same screen, ask questions in that tone you saved for only him.

He was unraveling slowly. Quietly.

You caught him watching once—when you walked away to grab a coffee. His gaze dropped to your hips and stayed for three full seconds before jerking back to the screen like he'd been slapped.

You pretended not to see. But your grin behind your coffee cup was downright smug.

Later that day, he dropped a tool and you crouched down to grab it first. When you stood and handed it back to him, your fingers touched. He held on a little too long.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Forget what you needed it for?”

He blinked down at your joined hands and pulled back sharply. “No. Sorry. I—”

He coughed. “I’m distracted.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

By now, you knew the exact cadence of his footsteps when he was deep in thought. The slow, uneven rhythm that meant he was pacing without realizing it, caught in his own mental spiral.

You could hear them behind you now—soft thuds on the concrete floor of the lab. Reed Richards, brilliant, infuriating man, walking through formulas with half his shirt untucked and his fingers twitching at his sides. His muttering was barely audible over the hum of the machines, but you caught bits of it:

“Non-linear increase… No, that’s not right. Unless…”

You didn’t look up. Not yet.

Instead, you sat at your workstation, half-focused on the screen in front of you, legs crossed slowly under the table—exposed just enough to draw the eye if someone were finally looking.

And he was.

Reed had been distracted for days now. You saw it in the way his gaze lingered when you bent forward to check wiring. The way his voice wavered slightly when you spoke too close to his ear. The way he’d started pausing in his work like something had thrown off the trajectory of his thought process—and that something was you.

It was working.

He still hadn’t named the tension, but it was eating at him.

So today, you’d decided: no more hints. No more tests.

You were going to prove it to him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, walked to the central console where he was now bent over a string of data projections, brows furrowed. He didn’t notice you at first—not until you placed a hand lightly on the edge of the table next to his.

His voice faltered. “The waveform collapse pattern could still—”

You leaned in just enough that your shoulder brushed his. “Still what?”

He straightened slightly, blinking at the screen like it had betrayed him.

Your voice was quieter this time. “You’ve been off lately, Reed.”

He turned his head, barely. “Off?”

You tilted your head. “Distracted.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

You hummed. “I know. But I’m starting to think the problem isn’t in your equations.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked to yours, guarded. “What do you mean?”

You let the silence hang for a moment. Then:

“I think the thing disrupting your work… is me.”

Reed went still. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was computing. Processing. Trying to refute it. But his body betrayed him—his hand clenched on the table, his gaze briefly darting to your mouth before jerking away.

“I’m not—” he started. “You’re not a disruption.”

You smiled softly. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you’re afraid of what happens if you do it too long?”

He looked stunned. Then—guilty.

You took a breath, slow and steady. This was it.

“I’ve tried everything,” you said. “The lipstick. The touching. Standing so close you could feel my breath.” You leaned in, lower now, voice like silk. “And still, nothing.”

Reed was frozen in place.

“I think,” you continued, “that you’re just waiting for someone to spell it out.”

You stepped back, slowly, and hopped up onto the edge of the table in front of him—knees parted, one leg brushing his thigh. You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head like a challenge.

“Well, Reed?” you asked softly. “Do you need a demonstration?”

His pupils were blown wide. His breath caught. And his hands—god, his hands—hovered like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“You…” he said hoarsely. “You’re serious.”

You nodded, lips curled into a smile. “You want to calculate the pattern? Fine. Let’s start with some field data.”

You reached forward and took his hand—placed it firmly on your thigh.

He made a strangled sound. His fingers flexed. “This is… highly inadvisable.”

“Why?” you whispered, leaning forward so your lips nearly brushed his. “Because you’ve thought about it?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Your breath hitched.

“Every day this week,” he rasped, voice low now, broken open. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to focus. But I’m… I’m failing. Every time you walk by me. Every time you touch me. I—” He shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re near.”

You dragged his hand a little higher, slow, teasing. “Good. Don’t think.”

And that’s when Reed snapped.

He surged forward, kissing you hard, like he’d been starving for air and only just found it. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, tugging your lab coat open like it was a barrier to understanding.

You moaned against his mouth, arms around his shoulders, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. He kissed like a man undone—like every theory he’d ever held was shattering under your touch.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your neck. “How long I’ve been holding back.”

“Show me,” you whispered. “All of it.”

He groaned, low and guttural, and then his hands turned curious. Focused. Scientific. One settled at your throat, not squeezing, just holding—fingers spread like he was feeling your pulse, measuring your response. The other slid under your skirt, over the curve of your thigh, then—

“Oh,” you gasped, spine arching.

“I need to know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “what makes you tremble like that.”

Another touch. Another gasp. “That’s a reaction. Fascinating…”

“Reed—”

“I’m cataloging,” he said, voice filthy and analytical. “You’re the most compelling data set I’ve ever encountered.”

And then his fingers stretched.

Not just in confidence. Literally.

You whimpered as two elongated fingers traced up your inner thigh while another hand—normal-sized—cupped your breast through your shirt, thumb teasing slowly. The other hand remained at your throat, grounding you, steadying you.

He was everywhere.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, pressing forward until you felt the thick, hard line of his cock against your core through layers of fabric. “You’ve disrupted every model. You’ve introduced chaos.”

You pulled him closer, panting. “Then let it consume you.”

“Consider this your field test,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he kissed you like he was sealing a pact—hands spanning your body, holding you like something he’d discovered and didn’t intend to release. His mouth was hot and searching, lips sliding down your jaw, teeth grazing your neck. You gasped, clutching his shirt, and that one sound made him groan hard, hips bucking against you without thinking.

“You make that noise again,” he muttered, “and I swear I’ll never let you leave this table.”

You did.

Just to see.

A breathy, needy gasp as he licked a slow stripe up your throat—and his hands tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table until your hips tilted forward and your clothed core was flush against the bulge straining in his pants.

He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then study me,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Make sense of it.”

He did.

God, he did.

He dropped to his knees between your legs, hands spreading your thighs open as he looked up at you like you were divine—something to worship, something to break open and understand. His fingers pushed your skirt higher, until it was bunched around your hips. When he reached your panties, he paused.

“Wet already,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Stimuli, minimal. Response, immediate.”

You shivered.

Then—he pressed a kiss right to the center of the damp fabric. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.

Your hips jolted, and he smiled.

He peeled your underwear down your legs, lips brushing your inner thigh as he murmured, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly.”

Then he finally—finally—tasted you.

His tongue was hot and slow, dragging a firm, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cried out, and he groaned like he could feel it in his bones.

And then the muttering started.

Low. Incoherent. So Reed.

“God—taste is sharper than expected… pressure response is increasing…” His tongue flicked faster, and your head fell back. “Sensitivity peak here—yes, that’s it, I knew it—”

“Reed,” you gasped, fingers burying in his hair. “You’re talking—”

“I’m studying,” he said against your clit, tongue relentlessly. “Don’t interrupt the process.”

You moaned.

He grinned. “Good girl.”

That made your whole body jolt.

Reed caught it instantly. “Huh. New variable: verbal praise. Noted.”

His tongue circled tighter, and then—another hand slid up your torso, not the one braced on your thigh. It was soft, gentle, and a little too synchronized.

You looked down.

Another finger. Stretching from the hand holding your hip. Long and curved and perfect.

“Multi-point stimulation,” he murmured between licks. “Let’s test your threshold.”

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at your clit while that second hand slipped beneath your shirt, under your bra, pinching your nipple softly. Another elongated finger curled between your legs, circling your entrance, teasing—but never pushing in.

“I need to see you come apart,” he said. “I need to feel it.”

And then he did it all at once.

Tongue flicking. Finger pressing deep inside you, curling like he knew. Fuck, was that another?—spanning your lower back to hold you down as you arched off the table.

“Oh my god—Reed—”

“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Let me feel what I’ve done to you.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a burst of static—crackling down your spine, clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling on either side of his head.

You cried out his name, again and again, and he ate it up, moaning like it was his reward.

When you came back to yourself, he was standing again—his hands all back where they belonged, his mouth slick and shining. He looked wrecked.

And then—his belt hit the floor.

“You think I��m done?” he rasped. “You think I’d stop at one data point?”

He pulled you forward—off the table, into his arms—and turned you around until your back hit the cool surface. His cock, thick and flushed, pressed against your slick entrance.

“I’m going to learn you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Every reaction. Every tremble. Every time you scream my name—I’ll know why.”

And then he pushed in.

All the way.

Slow and deep and perfect.

You sobbed into his shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, cock twitching inside you like even he was shocked how good it felt.

His breath hitched. “Oh… oh, fuck. You’re…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He started to move.

Slow strokes at first—grinding in, pulling out halfway, pushing deeper again. His hands explored every inch of you—mouth on your neck, chest, shoulder. He whispered your name like it was a formula. He muttered observations even as he fucked you harder.

“You clench when I say your name—tight around me, just like that—fuck—”

“Your back arches when I hit here—god, you’re perfect—”

“You feel like you want me to lose control—so I will.”

And he did.

He lost it.

His pace stuttered, then snapped—hips slamming into you with brutal precision, every thrust angle to hit that perfect spot. You clung to him, moaning shamelessly, barely coherent as he fucked you like he’d been waiting years.

You came again—harder this time—and he groaned so loud it echoed in the lab.

“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, wild-eyed. “You want it?”

“Yes, yes, Reed, please—”

He slammed deep and stilled, cock pulsing as he filled you, one last ragged cry falling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck.

You held him as he trembled through it, panting, hands tangled in your hair.

It took a full minute before either of you spoke.

Then, voice hoarse, he whispered:

“…I think I need to run a full repeat trial.”

After.

The lab was quiet, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You were still sprawled across the console table, legs shaking, chest heaving. Reed leaned over you, both hands braced on either side of your hips. His head was bowed, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

Neither of you moved.

Finally, he let out a shaky laugh.

“...I think I blacked out for a second.”

You let out a breathless huff. “Welcome back.”

He looked up. His hair was a mess—curling wildly at the edges, gray hairs damp with sweat. His eyes were wide and stunned and so soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And then he leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you like he meant it.

Not a theory. Not a test. Just feeling.

When he pulled back, he looked at the mess between your thighs and the growing stickiness on his abs. When did his shirt come off? His brows pulled together, equal parts concern and fascination.

“I, uh—there’s a shower down the hall. Private. It's not… state-of-the-art, but…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d like to take care of you.”

You nodded, still dazed. “Okay.”

He helped you up with this heartbreaking gentleness, hands steady at your waist like you might vanish if he let go too fast. He gathered your clothes in silence, cradled your hand in his, and led you barefoot down the corridor to a sealed side room.

The lab shower was built for function—stark white tiles, a metal bench, one glass wall—but it felt almost sacred now. Reed adjusted the water temp with clinical precision before motioning for you to step in first.

Then he joined you.

And just… looked at you.

Not with lust, not yet. With wonder.

His hands were slow as he lathered soap across your shoulders, over your back, down your arms. He was quiet now, like something had settled deep in him. His thumbs traced gentle circles into your hips, his forehead brushing yours beneath the spray.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen today,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”

You met his eyes, searching. “You regret it?”

“No,” he said instantly. Then, softer: “I regret how long I ignored it.”

You swallowed.

He washed your thighs carefully, then cupped between them—not to tease, just to clean you, slow and reverent. You bit your lip and let him.

He kissed your forehead, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

Then you reached for him.

His cock was half-hard again—because of course it was—and when you wrapped your hand around him, his eyes fluttered. He leaned back against the wall, mouth parted, not stopping you.

“I want to try again,” he breathed. “When we’re not losing our minds.”

You smiled. “You want another trial?”

His head tipped back against the tile, a low groan leaving his chest. “God, yes. Multiple. Longitudinal.”

dividers by @cyberbeat @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @bleed-4-bey @littlemillersbaby @millersdoll @pandapetals @kellielovesmovies @rafeysgirl5 @dearstcupid @ivuravix @worhols @hoeforsirius @axshadows @aj0elap0l0gist @ladyshrike

[lottieswidow]

I’m never gonna stop pushing the Travis was Mari’s chambelán agenda

Mari def had the classic charro style XV with the red and white dress (100% her moms choice but she ended up liking it) and her like four/five chambelanes, including Travis, were dressed in mariachi outfits

Her surprise song included something by Selena (since she would’ve been popping by then)

She had invited the team and they all showed up, some of them didn’t fully understand why 15 was such a big deal and Mari was lowkey too lazy to explain the tradition.

Since Travis was a chambelán Coach Martínez was there which the girls were definitely nervous about (especially cause some of them were trying to get fucked up) but they all lowkey came to a silent agreement to not bring it up and enjoy the party

Javi was a too young to be a chambelán but he really wanted to, he showed up to all the practices and learned all the choreography just by watching them.

None of the girls knew how to dance to any of the music, except for Akilah who had also joined to watch their practices, so Mari made sure to request some American music every once in a while. They would have caught on to el payaso de rodeo pretty quick tho had it been released by then. They’d do a dance circle similar to the scene from s1

After the dances Travis would try to hide at a table but someone (sometimes Mari or a random tia or one time Akilah) would invite him to dance and no matter how hard he tried to resist he would still end up on the dance floor. He sucked at dancing but he had a good time, he’d never admit it tho.

After the crash Mari’s parents would rewatch the footage from her XV cause it was the happiest they’d seen her, surrounded by her friends and people that loved her. They’d try to focus on her voice but the noise in the background and the overall buggy tech back then made it challenging. They do manage to clearly listen to the speech she gave, she talked about how happy she was to be surrounded by friends and family, how grateful she was to have that privilege, how much she loved her parents for making it happen, she takes a dig a Travis for his bad dancing but he and everyone else laughs about it.

When her parents receive what’s left of Mari’s body they choose to believe that she died when the plane went down, cause that’s what the survivors told them, but deep down they would know it wasn’t the truth.

On what would’ve been Mari’s 25th birthday Travis and Natalie appear on the Ibarra’s doorstep, ridden with guilt about what happened, and they see the ofrenda they keep up all year round with Mari’s picture. They watch the XV footage together, which makes them feel worse. After that Mari’s parents invite them to stay for café y pan dulce and they just talk about Mari. Her parents don’t ask outright what happened out there but they do ask if she went quick and without pain, Natalie lies and says yes because Travis felt so much guilt he couldn’t open his mouth.

Her parents don’t know Mari sacrificed herself so that they others could get help, they don’t know she’s the reason they got home.

[megtrns]

Hey there, hun!!! Congrats on 100!!! 🥰♥️ Would you be down to maybe do something with Swerve??? (SFW or NSFW, completely up to you!!!) I fear he’s quite underrated, and I feel like he’d be so wonderfully pathetic and lame around his partner/SO/romantic interest!!! It’d be utterly adorable haha!!! Happy New Year’s!!!

a/n : ahh i'm so late with this, sorry for only getting back to you now ! happy new years and i hope the first month of the year has been kind to you. thank you for the well wishes <3 i notice that you've been supporting me on tumblr for a while now and i hope you know i appreciate your presence !!! i hope you don't mind some angst and pining featuring our sweet boy !!

and then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid (like i love you). swerve / gn!reader. sfw. angst.

swerve thinks you're beautiful. he knew from the moment he saw you from a distance. ever since then, swerve's become — as skids called it — a 'secret admirer'.

chromedome's been telling him that the whole 'staring from afar' thing is getting really creepy. rewind thinks it is creepy, period. but they just don't get it. everyone hates humans just because they're organic. getaway thinks they're abnormal. first aid was kind enough to settle with 'unusual'. but swerve thinks they're all just a bunch of bigots missing out on the fact that you're hardworking, smart, and very, very nice to look at.

(whirl once interjected his rambling to say that he has a sick fetish, but swerve thinks the ex-wrecker's just jealous that you liked to spend more time with him than anyone else.)

it's lost on him how someone as kind and helpful as you have been rendered into nothing but background noise for everyone else to ignore. slag, some people even don't know of your presence aboard the ship! as if earth had not made a big show of sending their liaison and the crew off the night before their voyage — just shows how very little these bots think of humans.

but swerve believes the little guys should stick together, because he knows a little too well what it feels like to be ignored. so the two of you have formed a sort of camaraderie that quickly grew into friendship. you'd wrap up your duties as quickly as possible to end the day with a drink at his bar, cocktails always on the house — he finds experimenting with human liquor fun, except for when you have to spit it back into the glass because he read the instructions backward.

he knows he's a motormouth but swerve just gets so excited when you're around; captivated by how your eyes glow under the dim lighting of the room. the best part of it all is that you always listen to him. and he knows when you tell him he's funny, you mean it.

(one time you told him that he's the kind of mech that can make anyone smile. and swerve is sure he's burned the sound of your voice into his processor from all the times he'd replayed the compliment in his helm.)

but your little get-togethers and movie nights have grown to become a little...dangerous. he finds himself getting worked up over every interaction with you, going as far as losing recharge and appetite for his daily rations. these days, he also gets distracted a lot whenever you talk, catching himself listening less and staring more.

the sinking realisation that he was in love with you didn't hit him like a ton of bricks. it came to him like the first lull of recharge; slow, steady, and inevitable.

he spent days and weeks trying to come up with a clever way to tell you, afraid that he was going to ruin it by saying something stupid. going so far as to practice in front of tailgate. enthusiastic as ever, the white and blue minibot insisted that everything would go perfectly, urging swerve to — as the humans say it — 'throw caution in the wind.'

hence, during a quiet part of your movie night — when you looked so beautiful against the projector's glow — swerve found himself confessing, spark was racing and optics glued to the servos twiddling atop his lap.

for the first few seconds, he felt newfound relief wash over him.until you had reached to touch one of his servos, urging him to look at you.

swerve thinks you're beautiful when you smile, like when you throw your head back to laugh at one of his jokes or when you snort into your hand at a funny part of the film. you're even beautiful when you're angry at him, with your cheeks all red and lips curled to a scowl. so it's not a surprise that to the bartender, even as a single tear slides down your cheek, you were still beautiful.

" i'm sorry," you whispered. voice small and guilty.

there were a lot of commands going around his central processor, but nothing was more important than the need to make you smile. it was reflex, 'muscle memory' as you once said. and he knows he can always make you smile, even when it feels like his spark chamber's going to collapse in itself — because that's just the type of mech swerve was.

and for you, the minibot gave the biggest grin he could muster. reassuring you that there was nothing to be sorry about.

(he knew this was stupid, he grimaced to himself, stupid.)

and when you pulled him into a hug, pressing your face against his neck cables to comfort him as best as you can, swerve tries not to look at the movie playing on the screen — the sight of the protagonists kissing under the moonlight sucker punching him in the tank.

everyone tells him this was for the best. human lives are short and fleeting; his and your existence are like two passing ships in the night, never to cross again at the end of this voyage. it made more sense now, why everyone kept the tiny human at arm's length.

but to swerve this still changed nothing, you were still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

but maybe beautiful things are better admired from afar.

[dixonsstinkysock]

HES BIT.

summary - you aren’t going out alone.

pairing - daryl dixon x reader

warnings -TW: mentions of SUICIDE!! Swearing, Violence, Descriptions of Infected bite marks.

notes - this is super old (my arcane era) enjoy lovelies

main masterlist | daryl dixon masterlist

Those freaky, walker skin–covered people were one step ahead of you this time. It’s like they knew your exact plan, they cornered you, separated the group. God knows where everyone else is…Where Daryl is. You saw him get out of the horde–Thank God–now you just have to remember what direction he went in. It’s getting later into the night, you’ve been searching for a good 3 hours and still no sign of everybody. Going home is not an option, not at this time of night and not without Daryl. You can just hope you don’t run into the “Whisperers” again. God…they are so creepy.

It’s getting late, the adrenaline is wearing off and the exhaustion is setting in. For now, you focus on finding somewhere to safely spend the rest of the night, it’s no good sleeping out in the open. Finally, you come across a charming little cottage, it’s got a few holes in the roof and the windows are smashed and boarded up but it’s…cute? It’s better than nothing, looks reinforced–also abandoned–which is good. You still don’t drop your guard, it’s the apocalypse–everything’s abandoned. Nothing can be heard coming from the cabin, only the sounds of the spring wind rustling the leaves. Checking around the perimeter, nothing is found except some old tools in the backyard and 2 gravesites next to them. Only one of them was covered back up, it was a couple. You could assume the man killed his wife and then himself–perfectly falling into the grave next to her after he filled her grave with dirt.

Sometimes you think about who would die first, you or Daryl. Daryl’s always been smart, he’s survived more than you ever have–you would definitely be first. Another gust of wind, you shiver, trying to warm yourself up by rubbing your hands together. Without question, it’s time to get inside, who knows who’s watching you.

As soon as you reach the front door there’s a shuffling noise inside, you freeze, listening for it again. It never comes so you take your chances, pulling out your knife and bracing for an attack.

As soon as the door fully opens you come face to face with a crossbow–a familiar crossbow.

“Daryl…” You found him. What are the chances you both come across the same cabin, miles away from home, and at the same time. Like–one in a thousand, a sign someone up there doesn’t always have it out for you. He lowers his crossbow and pulls you into a tight hug, almost crushing your bones. It doesn’t matter though, you always loved his rare hugs. He’s very sweaty…and his skin is warm, too warm. You pull back to look at him, his gorgeous blue eyes, the scar that goes from above his brow to a little under his eye, his brown goatee that is turning into an alluring white. 

“You okay?” He nods, pulling away from you to shut the cottage door, setting a chair in front of it to keep anyone else from coming in. “What ‘bout  you? No bites..?” He asks as he goes to sit by his pack, a perfect view of the front door. 

“No bites…You?” 

…Silence.

At first you think he didn’t hear you, so you repeat yourself, a bit louder this time.

“Daryl, did you hear me? Did you get bit?” 

…again, Silence. He turns to you, looking you in the eyes and still not answering. Everything slowly starts to come together in your mind, his temperature, him pouring sweat even though it’s 30 degrees outside, the dark bags under his eyes…He got bit. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in, the panic is slowly infecting your brain, making you run through every possible scenario of how this could’ve happened. Did it even happen? He hasn’t confirmed nor denied the question…Maybe he did and you just couldn’t hear him, you were a bit shaken up still, were you? It had been three hours since you and your group got attacked. Anything from then would’ve worn off by now.

“Show me.” The words barely come out of your mouth, your body and mind plagued by the rising anxiety from not getting an answer to a very crucial question these days. He slowly lifts the bottom of his shirt, a human bite right above his right hip, red with dark purple and green veins running up his side. Seeing it makes it all real, maybe..maybe it isn’t though–maybe it’s makeup or…or–fuck. The only thing you can feel now is the warm tears rolling down your face, informing you that you’re crying.

What’s ironic is that you were so sure you would go first, you wish you went first, this is horrible–you hate this feeling. He drops his shirt, covering the bite and sitting down by his pack. 

“Can..Can we cut it out?” He looks at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“Cut it out? I’d die from blood loss…I’m screwed either way,”

“Daryl, what if we–”

“No. It’s too late…” He dismisses you, any hope he had already diminished as he came to peace with this. No fucking way he’s just going to leave you in this shitty world, alone. He looks down, sitting in silence, waiting for you to process all of it. You move around quietly and quickly, making sure the doors and windows are secure–that nothing could get in…or out. After checking and clearing everything you sit next to Daryl, preparing for what you are about to say.

“How did you want to do this?”  He doesn’t answer for a moment, thinking over his choices.

“I don’t wanna turn…” He looks at you, tears blurring his vision. It was very rare to see Daryl cry, and when you did–it was bad. You gently grab his arm, trying to provide some comfort in this sensitive time. Your plan is already set in stone, he can’t change it, and you definitely won’t.

“Alright…Well, we’ve got a few options. One: We can sit here, spending our last moments together, I can shoot us after you…y’know or… Two: You turn and I’ll let you bite me. We can be together when I come back.”

“Wha’ do you mean “Shoot us”...You ain’t dyin’ here.”  

You unholster your gun, checking how many bullets you have left. Two bullets, it’s perfect. Laying the gun on your lap–safety on– just so you don’t miss your chance. 

“I ain’t leaving you here either. It’s death, or we both turn– your choice.”

For a moment he looks devastated. The thought of throwing away your life for him, well not many people have done that. Especially not the ones he used to love. Daryl felt helpless, he had no choice, he’s going to die in this stupid looking cabin with the love of his life and she was coming with him.

word count: 1,150

miss my baby 💔💔💔

C U L8TER! 💚

[raaorqtpbpdy]

God Only Knows

Everyone knows AU, but Wes doesn't know that everyone knows, and neither does Danny, because even though everyone knows, everyone also knows better than to acknowledge it.

For the prompts:

Everyone knows the connection between Danny Fenton and Phantom. To keep their town's hero safe, everyone pretends to be oblivious. Only this one kid doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. [From @vigilant-insomniac], and It's like Santa, the students of Casper High think. You know he's fake, just your parents playing pretend, and if Danny wants to play human, well. Who are they to ruin the fantasy? [From @uniasus]

This is a take on Wes I've never written before, despite having written quite a few Wes fics, and it was a lot of fun, I hope you like it : )

Read also on AO3

[Warnings for mentioned injuries, threats, and implied bullying]

Danny Fenton was dead. Everyone knew that.

After an accident in his parents' lab, he'd been rushed to the hospital and declared dead on arrival. He had an obituary in the paper, a grave. His death had even been announced over Casper High's PA system, and there had been a moment of silence, and all the science classes had done lessons on lab safety so that what had happened to him might not happen to anyone else.

Then, a couple weeks later, Danny Fenton was back at school like nothing had happened. Hanging out with his loser friends, going to classes, eating at Nasty Burger. Like he was still a regular kid. Except that beakers slipped through his fingers, and he kept walking through vending machines, and falling through the floor. Sometimes all or part of him would turn invisible, or he'd start floating a few inches off the floor and his friends had to pull him back down to earth.

Every time, he would look around in a panic, like he was hoping no one saw, and every time, those who had seen pretended they hadn't. It was Santa Claus, the Casper students reasoned. You knew he was fake, just your parents playing pretend, but it made them happy when you pretended with them. If Danny wanted to play human, well... who were they to ruin the fantasy.

Besides, no one wanted to be the one to remind him that he'd died.

Then the school was attacked by a ghost, and another ghost appeared to stop her. It was the ghost of a 14-year-old boy, wearing a Fenton Works jumpsuit. There was no mistaking that Danny Fenton, the dead kid attending their school, was also the dead kid protecting it.

But after a couple of days, it was clear that Danny himself still thought it was a secret, so everyone else silently agreed to let him keep thinking that. He'd been through a lot, and they didn't need to make it harder on him. Even Dash never brought it up—and he kept bullying Danny, for being week and unpopular, just to keep up the illusion that nothing had changed.

When out-of-towners started poking around, asking questions, everyone kept the secret. The strangers were clearly ill-intentioned, wanting to capture Danny for some reward. Even if he was deluding himself about still being alive, Danny was a good kid who protected the town. The least the locals could do as thanks was act oblivious to keep him safe. They were used to pretending, anyway.

Except this one kid didn't seem to have gotten the memo.

"Uh, yeah, I have some information on the ghost!" Wes called out to the Guys in White nosing around their school.

Kwan grabbed him, covering his mouth and dragging him around the corner before the Guys in White could see who'd called out to them. He felt something slimy on the palm of his hand and let go of Wes with a noise of disgust.

"What the hell!" Wes demanded.

"Did you just lick me?" Kwan asked, wiping his hand off on his jeans. "Gross!"

"Dude, you dragged me down the hallway! What gives."

"You were gonna spill to the Guys in White. You can't do that!"

"Just 'cause no one around here believes me, I'm just supposed to give up?" Wes frowned, crossing his skinny, freckled arms over his chest. "Somebody has to know that Danny Fenton is Danny Phantom, I mean come on, it's obvious!"

"But if you tell the Guys in White, even if they don't believe you, they'll investigate him, and who knows what they'll do," Kwan pointed out. "Hasn't Danny been through enough? I mean," Kwan glanced around and lowered his voice before adding, "he died. Do you really want to make things harder on him after that? Don't you think he deserves a break?"

"Exactly," Wes hissed. "He died. He's a ghost. Ghosts are bad—and why are we whispering?" he added at a normal volume.

"You know that's not true," Kwan argued, keeping his voice low, despite Wes' complaint. "Phantom protects us."

"From ghosts that come through a portal he opened!"

Kwan flinched. Saying Danny had opened the portal was kind of misrepresenting the reality of the situation. Sam and Tucker had reluctantly told the story of Danny's death in the weeks he was gone, and it had been spread around pretty thoroughly before he came back. Everyone at school knew that he'd stepped into that portal and been completely fried. The portal turning on wasn't the part most people focused on when it was always immediately followed by 'while Danny was inside it'.

"I don't think you can blame him for that," Kwan said. "It was an accident."

"One that has yet to be corrected," Wes replied, his anger not fading. "Him fighting the ghosts doesn't stop them from attacking. If he really wanted to protect the town, he'd destroy the portal and stay in the Ghost Zone."

"What about the Fentons?"

"Who cares if the Fentons lose their precious portal when it's endangering thousands of lives!?"

"And you don't care if they lose their son, either?" Kwan demanded.

"So you do believe me!"

"You're a dick, Weston." He'd never called anyone a dick before in his life, but it seemed to apply here. "I don't care what you think, but if you try to hawk your theories on any of the ghost hunters around town, I'll make you regret it, and I'll bring friends, too. I've got a lot of them."

To drive home his point, Kwan shoved Wes against the lockers and glared before walking away. Gosh, that was so aggressive. Kwan hoped it had been okay. He didn't like doing it—he didn't even know if his face could hold that expression long enough to intimidate anyone—but if it kept Danny safe, that was what mattered.

At least Dash would probably be proud of him for it. Dash was always saying he needed to be more assertive to people couldn't push him around. Metaphorically, of course. Literally, Kwan was six feet tall and 190 pounds, even as a freshman, so there weren't many people who could physically push him around as it was. He didn't join the football team for no reason.

Thankfully, it did seem to work. Kwan had his friends—and he did indeed have a lot of friends, since he was a very friendly and likable guy—keep an eye on Wes until the outside ghost hunters declared the hunt a bust and skipped town. He didn't know whether Wes had noticed or not, but either way, he hadn't tried to expose Danny to them again.

Too bad that didn't last. A few weeks later, Wes went directly to the Fentons.

"No one else will believe me, but your son is a ghost!" Wes told them. "He's Danny Phantom!"

Jack and Maddie both froze. They knew.

They knew, and they had both agreed to pretend they didn't. They shot at Phantom, always aiming a mile wide, and shouted threats, and loudly declared their hatred for ghosts. They knew how it made Danny feel, but they also knew he still loved them. They were willing to do whatever it took to keep their son around, and they feared that if he were ever to tell them he was a ghost, it would be because he was moving on and they'd never see him again.

"Why... that's ridiculous, my boy!" Jack declared, a slight waver in his booming voice. "Our son can't be a ghost!"

"But it's true!" Wes insisted.

"Don't be silly!" Maddie cut him off before he could start listing evidence. She knew all the evidence. "I think we'd know if there was a ghost living under our own roof."

"But—"

"You should keep your utterly ridiculous theories to yourself, because you sound absurd," Maddie said. "Now, if you don't mind, my husband and I have very important ghost hunting to get to. Don't you have homework to do or something?"

Wes growled and clenched his fists in frustration but left them alone nonetheless. Clearly, he wasn't getting anywhere with him. And he wasn't getting anywhere at school, to the point where Danny had stopped getting anxious and had started openly antagonizing him about it. Didn't anyone else in Amity Park have eyes, he wondered.

But in truth, he was the one not seeing, because he didn't see that everyone else was on the same page about Danny being a ghost, and he was the one being left behind.

"Hey, Wes-toenail!"

Wes rolled his eyes as Dash stormed up to him with a disappointed-looking Kwan in tow.

"Jazz Fenton told Sam Manson, who told Kwan, who told me, that you tried to tell Fenton's parents about your stupid conspiracy theory!" Dash sneered at him.

"It's not a conspiracy theory," Wes said. "There would have to be more than just one person involved for it to be a conspiracy theory. A conspiracy theory would be like if I claimed everyone in town was working together to hide the fact that Fenton is Phantom," he was too busy rolling his eyes again to notice the look Kwan and Dash gave each other, "but you're not, you're all just a bunch of sheep."

"And you're a... a..." Dash struggled, grasping around his thick head for a comeback.

"A blackberry bramble!" Kwan finished for him.

"A blackberry bramble!" Dash repeated firmly, then turned to Kwan with a confused look. "A blackberry bramble?" he repeated again, this time questioningly.

"Prickly, invasive, and impossible to get rid of," Kwan explained. "Sam and I also talked about her garden."

"Oh, that's nice," Dash then turned back to Wes, hardened his expression and said. "You're like a blackberry bramble, and no one wants you around."

Wes raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Why do you even care? I thought you hated Fenton."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want him dead again," Dash pointed out. "His parents are ghost hunters, and they're always shooting at Phantom. What do you think they might do to Danny if they actually believed your bullshit theory?"

"Get rid of him! Because he's a ghost! You know, the creatures constantly attacking our town and putting us all in danger?"

"The fact that you actually seem to believe that is why nobody at school likes you," Dash told him plainly. "That, and your general annoyingness."

"Why do you all care so much about protecting a loser like Danny Fenton?!" Wes shouted, loudly enough that it attracted the attention of everyone else in the hallway not already listening, and he threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "So he died, so what? It's the fact that he's still around that's the problem. Everyone seems to agree that they want ghosts gone until I bring up Phantom. A ghost is a ghost is a ghost, and all ghosts are dangerous, even the quote-unquote 'good ones.'"

He was breathing heavily when he finished his outburst, and suddenly aware of at least a dozen sets of eyes on him.

"That's enough, Wes," Kwan said after a beat. "Danny hasn't done anything to you, or anyone, and it's not fair for you to keep doing this, trying to expose him or... or whatever it is you're trying to do. You'd better cut it out. If this is a joke, no one's laughing, and if you're serious, then you're trying to take a real person away from his friends and family because of your own biases, and that's messed up, dude."

"Yeah!" someone down the hallway piped up. Micah, Wes thought her name was. She'd spit on his shoes when he tried to convince her of his theory.

"Enough is enough!" her friend agreed.

"You lay off Danny, he's already been through it this year already!"

Soon enough, every student in the hallway was chiming in their agreement, and Wes scanned the crowd, mouth agape, offended and outraged. When he turned back to Dash and Kwan, they both wore hard expressions. It looked weird on Kwan's usually jovial face, but it was clear they meant business.

"Whatever," Wes grumbled. He grabbed his math book out of his locker and slammed the door shut with a metallic bang. "You've made your point. I'll stop."

"Will you actually?" Dash insisted, raising a skeptical brow. "Or are you just saying that to get us off your back?"

"I will," Wes confirmed. "I don't need the entire football team and then some making my life a living hell. As long as Fenton keeps his distance from me, I'll do the same for him."

The warning was passed from Kwan, to Sam, to Danny, and in short order, Danny and Wes started avoiding each other. They barely so much as crossed paths anymore. Wes, begrudgingly, stopped trying to expose Danny, and Danny stopped teasing him for his failures, and it finally seemed like Amity Park's ghostly hero could go on protecting the town in peace.

But things weren't always what they seemed, and one day, there was a fight. At first, it seemed like a standard ghost fight, Danny Phantom versus some vampire-looking asshole.

Based on the banter, it sounded like this wasn't their first encounter with each other, so the civilians of Amity Park tried their best to stay out of the way and let Danny do his thing. Parents calling their kids inside, the group of teens passing by ducked into the alley, the one riding the opposite way on his skateboard crossed the street to hide with them, safety in numbers and all that.

Then the tide of battle turned, and all of the sudden, Danny was losing, badly. The enemy ghost had started coming at him with powerful blasts that broke through his defenses and left him reeling. Danny howled as he hit the street, hard, and in a flash of white light, his appearance changed from hero to dweeb, and regular old Danny Fenton laid unconscious in the road.

"You can never truly best me, Daniel," the enemy ghost said, but he didn't have time to monologue.

The teens in the alleyway had a plan, and they were coming to the rescue.

Sam Manson somersaulted into the street, Fenton Wrist Ray™ already armed and at the ready, and she laid down cover fire at the enemy ghost while Dash and Kwan ran out to grab Danny and drag him to the alleyway where they'd been taking cover.

"Guess you can't tell me I'm crazy now," Wes said, smirking triumphantly as the two jocks put Danny down gently on the ground, propping his head up on Paulina's folded up jacket. "We all saw him turn into Fenton, that's proof."

"Will you shut up, Wes?" Paulina snapped while Star checked Danny over, trying to assess his injuries. "We knew that already."

"What do you mean you knew?"

"Everyone knew, the whole time," Paulina reiterated with a derogatory scowl. "It's like, super obvious."

"Then why did you all treat me like I was crazy?" Wes demanded.

"Because you are," Star said. "Not 'cause you think he's a ghost—because, like, duh—but 'cause you kept trying to tell everyone. Some things should stay secret you moron."

"Why you even wanted to constantly remind the dead kid that he's dead, I'll never know," Paulina added.

"Plus, you constantly trying to expose him was putting him in danger," Kwan said. "Phantom is a hero, and you were trying to get him killed."

"He's already dead!"

"Yeah, we know," Sam jeered at him as she returned to their cover. "Everyone knows. But you're the only person in the whole town who's being a dick about it!"

"Hey, that's the same thing I told him a couple months ago!" Kwan told her, delighted. "I never called someone a dick before, but I did, 'cause he was being one."

"Good job calling him out, Kwan," Sam said, sounding genuinely satisfied. "It's good to hear that you're being more assertive and standing up for yourself and others."

"That's what I said, too!" Dash noted. "God, it's so weird that I actually agree with you on stuff now."

"Can we get back to the fact that you guys all knew the whole time that Fenton was a ghost and nobody thought to clue me in?" Wes said, looking around at the rest of them incredulously.

"Clue you in the Danny was a ghost?" Sam asked sardonically. "I thought you knew."

"No, that it was apparently common knowledge and you all just felt like making a fool out of me!"

"You wouldn't have looked like a fool if you'd just kept your fool mouth shut," Paulina pointed out.

"You—"

Wes was cut off when Danny groaned into wakefulness and everyone's attention instantly snapped to the ghost boy.

"Mn... ugh," Danny took a shaky breath and blinked his eyes open, quickly widening in shock when he realized how many people were leaning over him. "Uh... hello, citizens," he said, putting on a voice in the hopes they wouldn't recognize them. "Please, step back and stay away from the—"

"Danny," Sam said, "You changed."

"Huh?" He looked down at his hand and gasped. "I mean, I have an explanation for this. I was uh... being overshadowed?"

"It's okay, dude," Kwan told him. "We're not going to tell anyone. This'll be our little secret. Right, Wes?"

They all looked pointedly at the redhead, who opened his mouth to protest, and closed it again, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Yeah, okay," he relented, though his left eyebrow was nevertheless twitching in irritation. "Our secret."

"We just wanted to get you out of the line of fire before Plasmius took things too far," Sam told him. "You know I've always got your back."

"Thanks," Danny said. "All of you."

They gave him their smiles and their 'you're welcome's while Wes griped and grumbled and left the alleyway with his bike to finish riding home. Plasmius had flown off shortly after Sam started shooting at him. He was content in his victory over Phantom, and didn't feel the need to fight a powerless child like her, so the coast was clear for the rest of them to leave as well.

Sam said goodbye to Kwan so she could walk Danny home while the rest of them resumed their walk to the mall. Sam had been planning to split off before they got their anyway, she was just taking the opportunity to chat with them—mostly Kwan, whom she'd accidentally befriended during Danny's brief stint of popularity earlier in the year (his 'goth' poetry was awful, but they'd bonded over gardening and a love of animals)—since her house was on the way.

"You gonna be okay, Danny?" she asked, as they walked arm in arm so she could catch him if he stumbled. "You don't have a concussion, do you?"

"Maybe?" Danny said, squinting uncertainly. He shrugged. "I'll be fine. I always am. I'm still just amazed how lucky it was that the A-listers and Wes, of all people, were willing to keep my secret. It's gonna be all over the school, tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sam said vaguely. "Kwan's a decent guy, at least. I'm pretty sure they'll keep their word."

Danny scoffed in disbelief, but didn't voice an argument. The rest of the way to Fenton Works, the chattered about whatever topics came to mind, just to keep Danny from falling asleep in case he did have a concussion, and when Sam dropped him off at home, she held off her mournful expression until she had turned away so Danny didn't have to see it.

[kaikaidenkai]

Suicide or Soccer?

sypnosis:

reader is a teenage girl in her second year of highschool who spends most of her time studying, playing soccer, and watching/reading blue lock. she has finished every single thing of it, even buying tons and tons of merch of it. but now whats she supposed to do with her life besides studying? the only ever reason she’s ever liked soccer was because of blue lock. After unaliving herself, she was now in the world of… Blue Lock??

CH.3|| Lock OFF!!

masterlist

Since you, yes you were the manager of Blue Lock, it was your responsibility to escort those who have been locked off. Basically saying fuck off— I mean saying they lost. They lost the chance in ever competing and representing Japan in so... football

So here you are; gathering those from each team who have been told to lock off. It was quiet.. not really since there were sobbing noises heard from two people. It was hard to not make a face from the ugly crying that was going on. . .  damn what the fuck happened to your empathy?

It was a kind of long walk to reach the exit of the building. You gave all the players(not really players anymore lol) their stuff back which was their phones and wallets. So you had to somehow sort everyone's phone out.. After asking every single player which phone and wallet was theirs, you sent them on a bus to go home.

You felt bad for them but not enough to actually do something.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

God forbid Jinpachi making Blue Lock so fucking huge. You were huffing and puffing and huffing and..you get the idea all over the place. It didn't help that you had to carry cleaning supplies with you too. The cleaning supplies were to clean all the blood from the game of "tag". And of course it had to be you who cleans because you were the manager, right?

YOU DIDNT EVEN AGREE TO THIIIISSSSSHDHCKSLDKVHXIKDJDFUEOOJSJCJCKZKWUFU

But of course, the excitement of meeting fictional but now technically non-fiction in real life is more powerful than the feeling of crashing out.

So anyways, onto the last room you go! And just like always; it's the room of the "main protagonist" who is Isagi!!!! Wowwww!!! Thank god Team Z was more calmer than the last few you've cleaned. It was only a few drops of blood which of course were concerning but they signed a waiver agreeing to this. It's their fault for signing it in the first place.

There was no one else in the room except you since the players of Team Z were currently training or eating in another room that you have no idea where is at. Well you were alone until the door opened revealing player 274, Isagi.

You two just stared at each other for what seemed a minute too long, he was sweaty from training and you were.. a female in blue lock??

"You're the one who announced the game of tag with the director?"

"I'm the manager of this facility, Blue Lock, and are currently cleaning the mess you made."

You tried your hardest to be serious like Jinpachi but just ended up being kinda mean? Not like he doesn't deserve it but still.

"I didn't mean to, I mean I did but.."

"You were just trying to fight for your dream."

"Yeah."

Silence then followed after his response as you continued to clean the few drops of blood.

"Need help?"

He walked over next to you, looking down at the floor where you were crouched.

"Not really."

Once you finished cleaning, you left the room as the other players of Team Z entered the room.

You swore you heard some of them speak about you...

ADDITIONAL TIME☆

“Hahhh? Who was that?”

Igarashi commented after entering, looking behind him to try get one last look of the woman who left the room before the automatic door closed.

“Oh?”

Bachira’s mouth formed an O, also looking behind him.

“The.. manager I think.”

Isagi mumbled, turning to look at the now closed door too.

“…”

“…”

“…”

Silence, how awkward.

-

-

-

-

-

Additional time pt2

• [Name] saw a suspicious white stain on one of the walls while going through the halls of Blue Lock’s facility.

• [Name] called one of the sobbing players who got locked off pathetic and didn’t regret it for some reason.

• Ego Jinpachi thinks [Name] is an .. okay person. He thinks shes intelligent like him considering they’re siblings,, but not smart enough to surpass him.

• [Name] has “respectfully” took a glance at Anri’s “personalities”.

A/N: sighhhh another short chapter T_T..

[nualaofthefaerie]

i would love to read something so 🎭☀️❤️ and no other requests. THANK YOU!

One Day of Progress

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Sky Young x Mel Medarda x Viktor

Request: Canon-compliant Hexquad Fluff

SUMMARY: After everything you both had been through; the pain, the torment, the utter longing, you and Jayce can only find your love leftover in the post-war rubble and go on to find various ways to show each other that your love is truly enough.

TAGS: tooth-rotting fluff, suggestive thoughts but nothing explicit happens, mmff, established relationship

MASTERLIST | AO3 version | WORDCOUNT: 1,562 words |

A/N: I will slowly get through all the requests. The drabble gifts are still open though. I LOVE doing these.

8:12 AM

“The weather is expected to peak at 26 degrees today in most parts of the country. So, don’t be tempted to overdress.” 

TV static was drowned by noise of running water in the bathroom and a cattle burning on the stove. An old, chipped beige mug with golden edges around the handle, an almost identical one in black, made of fine china, a see through glass with an ombre purple handle and a tulip at the bottom and a stained white cup leftover from last years ‘Progress Day’ were patiently placed next to the heated coffee maker, waiting to fulfill their purpose.

Four mugs perfectly in sync. 

A lot of things were perfectly in sync in the two bedroom apartment nested at the heart of Piltover. For example, the four toothbrushes bought in packs of two - Mel and Viktor shared a golden/black design, while Sky and Jayce sported a silly pack of swirly blues and reds. Or the books on the shelf in the living room ordered in several distinct sections - Jayce’s theoretical non-fiction, Sky’s classic collection, Mel’s leather clad volumes of poems and Viktor’s philosophy relics, put together by owner and size, except no one would be able to tell where Jayce began or Viktor ended, simply because they were…one.

They had been one for a while.

“One of us needs to wake him up.” Viktor slouched over the newspaper, making a rather weak attempt to skim across the headline before discarding it on the table. There was no point in pretending to read before coffee.

“When did he come home?” Sky jumped up and down trying to squeeze in tights she hadn’t worn since she became an assistant seeing as she would have to wear a skirt that morning. Someone had come home late and not done their laundry chore. It wasn’t her.

“Six.” Mel pressed her lips to Sky’s collarbone, still in her bedrobe. “I poked the bear last time. Someone else’s turn.” they both turned to Viktor with a particularly mischievous glimmer in their eyes.

“I am making coffee.” he noted, desperately trying to avoid the task of waking Jayce up.

“Coffee does itself.” 

Sly fox. 

“He is always so…” An over exaggerated sigh escaped his lips, yet he reached for his cane and pulled himself up. There was no use wasting air over a task that inherently belonged to him. No matter how passionately he did not wish to do it.

“Difficult?” Mel quirked a brow.

“Whiny?” Sky turned her head to one side.

“...cranky when he’s woken up.” Viktor contained a laugh. 

He was all three to be fair. 

The curtains in the bedroom had been pulled back, lending the loudly sleeping Jayce his much needed illusion of pitch darkness. Contrary to what he would usually do (cuddle in the corner) he had spread across the entire bed, laying on his stomach, everyone’s sheets kicked to the floor. It was undeniably warm to be fair.

No part of the last seven days had been kind to the charming face of progress. It was not enough that the council pressed for discoveries that simply required more time than given, but he also had to be the poster boy for the nobles coming from all parts of Runeterra to celebrate Progress Day.

The council's worries had been soothed by Mel and Heimerdinger’s, but even they couldn't do anything about the social engagements he was forced to attend. He'd murmur he's a scientist and not a celebrity and still spend the entire night with people Mel found barely tolerable. Although, to be fair, he was devilishly good at appealing to their egos without them ever coming close to him as a human being. It gathered investors, it made people believe in Hextech while Viktor and Sky obsessed over cracking the last of the runes.

All that to lead them to their current quandary - how to wake the prince of Progress? Mel used a rather simple approach - she would pepper his face with kisses until he woke up. After a while however that approach failed to produce the necessary results as all of them always turned out…late. Instead, she now just opened the curtains and let the light inside until he groaned and got up. 

Sky could never be quite that audacious. She'd crouch by the bed, stroke his hair and whisper something sweet until he woke up. Albeit, a lot more naive, it produced the same results as Mel's. She was now too scared of derailing their schedules to go near an oversleeping Jayce.

Viktor made up for all of that. For ten years, he had cracked the proper method of waking Jayce Talis up.

His cane poked at his partner's lower back. 

“Get up.” Viktor smirked when his partner just winced and turned to the other side. “Do not push your luck, pretty boy. Get up.” the next poke was on his calf. Jayce moaned, jerked his leg in the other direction and remained sound asleep. His hair had grown past his cheekbones, hiding his relaxed expression and the beard grown out of seven sleepless nights concealed the pout on his lips. "Last chance or the cane will land on your thick head.”

The loud growl that escaped Jayce's lips as he raised lazily on his elbows, back muscles flexing, twitched something dangerous inside of Viktor. Perhaps, it was not the girls that provoked him into a sensual morning, perhaps it was him tired and naked who was the catalyst. And perhaps on a different occasion Viktor wouldn't mind indulging in Jayce Talis and being late. 

That wasn't that morning. 

“It's so early…” Jayce hit his head against the pillow.

“It is certainly very late.” Viktor spared him the lecture on why coming home at six was a generally bad idea. He would be one to speak. Hypocritical to say the least. He sat next to him instead, fingers lazily stroking along the curve of his back.

“...urgh.” Jayce shuddered under his lover's touch. Half-baked indecent thoughts gathered at the back of mind. It must be noted Jayce Talis grabbed all he could and hoarded love in capacities that should not be allowed. His mother used to say finding one partner is a miracle and there he was, holding three people at the same time with no plans of letting even one of them go. All that to say, his morning thoughts were getting derailed into a territory where he imagined more than one hand caressing along his back. “The girls?” He puffed into the pillow.

“We can't leave without you on Progress Day, can we, counsellor Talis?” Mel had gotten up on the bed, purring into his ear. 

Viktor shook his head but ultimately smiled. There was a level of railing only Mel Medarda could achieve. He let her do her thing. Sky fiddled with the zipper of her skirt at the door. The maroon garment suited her nicely and the warm white tights didn't wash her out. He caressed Jayce's back one last time, fixed his waist coat, and made his way to her. 

“Turn around.” It was the gentlest of whispers, one that caused her sides to burn. No matter how much time had gone by since their first date, she was still the same girl that was too cautious to even hold his hand.

“Thank you.” She whispered back, fidgeting despite herself while Viktor zipped and buttoned the back of her skirt and tightened her waistcoat before kissing the same spot Mel had pecked earlier. There was something endearing and a bit amusing in watching her stutter around. “We'll be late!” Except for when it came to being on time. Then it was a whole different woman altogether. “Get up, Talis!” She landed a devastating slap on his ass that sent him flying up. There was nothing romantic or sensual about it but it was undeniably the funniest thing they'd seen in a good minute. It certainly killed the mood Jayce was labouring for.

“What was that for?!” he finally got up stretching his arms above his head. 

“Being early and potentially being very late!” Sky scrunched her nose at him. “Next time I'll let you sleep in front of the door.”

He leaned in, a cocky grin on his face.

“Are you gonna kick me out of my own house, Bambi?”

“Don't push your luck, progress boy.” Mel wrapped her arms around him. “I'll let her.”

“Viktor?!” big puppy eyes in fear of being cornered by a predator shot in his direction, almost pleading. The older man shrugged, enjoying watching his lover struggle.

“It would be a…suitable lesson.”

“Do you guys hate me?!” 

“We're fixing your unfortunate habits.” Mel ran her nails on his shoulder. He shivered again, but did his best to ignore the urges. 

“I need 10 minutes.”

“You need more.” Sky shook her head, bun bouncing around. She knew her partners better than anyone. Jayce was the type of man to say he needs ten minutes and took three hours instead. “Best I can do is 20 minutes and a cup of coffee.” 

“I'll take it.” He kissed her forehead, then ran from the bedroom into the bathroom, curses and clacking mixing with the stereo of the white tiles.

“He needs more than twenty minutes.” Viktor leaned on Mel’s shoulder. 

“She knows.” Mel smirked. 

“I put the clock back 20 minutes. He has about forty five minutes, but that is not something he needs to know.”

“Miss Young!” Viktor feigned offense. 

“He is…unreliable.” She readjusted her glasses. “And woke me up at six to open the door.”

They chuckled as the shower ran.

The coffee was done.

[microraptorhours]

Just saw the HTTYD live action, here are my thoughts!!

spoilers under cut? i guess? i mean if you haven’t seen the original atp do you i guess but it just seems so out of character to see this post and have not seen the original.

Liked:

right off the bat, HUGE ups to whoever designed all the cgi elements, they were all stunning!! as far as backgrounds go, i LOVED all the nature scenery, and the lighting was absolutely fucking gorgeous, especially any shots that focused on the sky.

this might be a hot take, but i actually?? loved?? the designs of all the dragons?? like i get that they’re kinda controversial because they’re a lot less cute than in the original, but seriously!! i love the more reptilian look, and you can’t quite get the same thing in a fully animated film. i especially liked the zipplebacks, monstrous nightmares, and the terrible terrors.

i thought the explanation for why astrid and other characters are POC was very cool!! and unlike other in-universe raceswap explanations (cough cough snow white) it doesn’t impact any plot points of the original.

i loved the scene with toothless and the dandelions, i thought it was fucking adorable.

i realize that the score is basically the same, but god DAMN John Powell knocks it out of the fucking park!! Test Drive scene was so well done, it really did the original justice!

Nico Parker did a PHENOMENAL job as Astrid, i also really liked fishlegs in this iteration. he’s so me, get that boy a ye olde autism diagnosis asap.

i really liked the few moments we got between snotlout and spitelout, it gives a pretty good explanation for why snotlout is an asshole to everyone else, and i think it could be used to set up a nice character arc for him if they remake the other two films.

Main critiques:

the sound mixing could have been much better, i think at certain points the music/background noises were too loud.

it was pretty much shot-for-shot with the original, which wouldn’t be a huge problem, except the camera moved and the shots were positioned in a way that made much more sense for an animated film, so it had a certain vibe to it that i can’t quite explain.

they cut a lot of funny/important dialogue (“excuse me, barmaid[…]”, Hiccup making Astrid promise to take care of Toothless, etc)

I wish they’d kept Hiccup’s initial reaction to “killing” toothless, it was pretty boring in the original (it’s been said before, but between “I have brought down this mighty beast!!” and “I did it!!” the original definitely takes the cake.)

Thats pretty much it!! I definitely think the original is much better, but the remake does a pretty good job! I’m giving it an official microraptorhours approved rating of an 8/10.

(also, the part at the end where toothless and hiccup reunite in Berk reminded me so much of my dog when i came home from the hospital lmao)

[yassmines]

i had 3 dreams

one was a trip to the beach where everyone kept telling us not to swim. i was chilling in morocco n some white ppl wouldn’t leave me alone once they saw i spoke english. it got to the point where i was like ya im gonna have to go in that ocean to shake them. i go in, duck my head eyes open to see what’s going on in there and immediately backed out the water. it was shallow at first then there was like a 5-10 foot drop and after that was several large sea creatures sitting in a line, staring directly at the shoreline. my eyes focused on this giant walrus n i was like ok we need to leave. they do not want us here

2nd dream was kinda interconnected

it was a bunch of ppl who were at that beach trying to catch a bus home. When the bus comes i’m about to board n realize i didn’t check the number of the bus before getting on so i asked the driver. he looked like he was drowsy or drunk like head lolling back long response time. but then he was smiling n acting normal so i started laughing like this guys hilarious maybe he was trying to make me think he was drunk driving the bus.

anyway me n the driver have this rapport but i see him treat all the other passengers like shit when they’re coming on. one lady was holding her young child n looked at me like it was my fault. anyway as the bus starts driving ppl get nervous bc the route looks different.

the driver gets up from his seat but the bus keeps going. he gives me a dress n walks back. the woman with the baby hates my guts harder. i’m like lady pls we clearly have bigger fish to fry. everyone on the bus ends up falling asleep and we wake up completely nude. at this point i’m like did we die at that beach? are we going to hell? except i still have the dress w me.

the lady with the baby has been treating me like shit the whole bus ride at this point. every time she talks about what’s happening she’s pointing at me. but i feel bad she’s naked n scared so i figure out a way to rip the dress so we’re both covered up. then i woke up bc irl my cat laid her little head on my elbow 🥺

anyway 3rd dream

it was a bunch of students at some prestigious private school in the netherlands or germany that kinda vibe. there’s this group of girls that loses track of their friend and freak out n start looking for her everywhere. then one of them gets a call from an unknown number telling them she’s in the bathroom and so is her little sister.

so they run there and see the little sister standing in the middle of the room. they hear noises and decide not to immediately walk into the room but observe. they see someone who has scraggly king brown hair shuffle out of the stall with a bucket of blood and walk into a different stall.

the girls wait until the stall door closes and quietly pick up the little sister and run away. they start getting mad bc their friend is clearly dead. and they know it was bc she went out on her own. these girls had some agreement that anytime you went out, at least 6 girls needed to also be walking around.

they had this walk that they believed was magical. 6 girls walked in different directions in specific formation around the school and they believed it prevented harm-specifically rape and murder to anyone else walking around at the time.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 16 - Fight!

Summary: Y/N fights Midoriya and Shouto in front of an audience. Is she able to win against the two top heroes and go back to being a hero? We shall see.

Feat. Present Mic and Aizawa!

Warnings: Swear words, Katsuki makes a few horny comments here and there, mentions of Shouto’s PTSD, one broken rib. Or two. Or three.

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, welcome to the battle of the year!” Present Mic yells into his speaker with utter enthusiasm. Why is Present Mic here? You have no idea, but you can’t wait to get a signature because you freaking love his talk show. “Y/N versus Midoriya and Todoroki! Yeaaaaaah!”

The whole building cheers.

You heard it right. The whole building. It’s a fucking full house.

The whole agency is here except a few who decided to stay behind to keep the business going (Katsuki had to give them a double hourly wage to make them stay at work, by the way.), which doesn’t surprise you as Katsuki’s team is quite known for being overly enthusiastic when it comes to mock battles and hero stuff, then there’s Mina, Kaminari, and a shit load of people from the wedding, possibly Katsuki’s old classmates and friends, all sitting in one corner and cheering for both teams which doesn’t make any fucking sense, but okay. Next to the famous Present Mic there is a grouchy black haired man with a massive white scarf thingy around his neck; he has a camera by this left side and a notebook on his lap.

“Why. Just why.” The man mutters under his nose; thankfully you are amazing at lip reading, so you don’t actually need to hear him to know what’s up. His face is contorted into a frown as he stares at the blond with nothing but pure judgment.

“Oh come on, sensei! Have some fun!” The guy snickers but “sensei” only rolls his eyes at that.

“I’m here to take notes and to film the fight for Midoriya for analytical purposes. I’m not here to have fun.”

“We are here to have fun, let’s go, Mic sensei wooohooo!” Kaminari yells and the whole audience cheers at that.

Dang. You’ve never had a stage fright before. Needless to say, now you do.

“Deku, what the actual fuck, do you want to die, you idiot?! This is not what we’ve discussed!” Katsuki clearly felt the nervous vibes coming from you and is absolutely fucking livid right now.

“Kacchan, I swear it wasn’t me. I only asked Aizawa-sensei! No one else!”

“Why is Auntie Inko hiding behind the pillar then?!” Katsuki tries his best to look less aggravated as he waves to the shy, green haired woman with a forced smile on his face. Midoriya then stares at his Kacchan with nothing but gratefulness, tears prickling his eyes from seeing his childhood rival being nice to his one and only mother he loves so much.

“Mum doesn’t count, does she? She’s family.” Deku mutters, ready to have his face blasted off.

“Do you see my shitty family here, Deku?! Huh?!” Kacchan yells at the poor guy; Midoriya points right where his mum is with a barely concealed smile.

“Yeah, they are right behind my mum.”

“The fuck?!”

Katsuki is having a brain fart moment. He’s so fucking confused it’s kinda hilarious.

“It’s my fault, Katsuki.” Kirishima comes over with guilt deeply etched into his face. “I accidentally told Denki about it and then… well, you know him. I’m sorry.”

“Fucking hell.”

“My family isn’t here.” Todoroki adds. The guy didn’t make a single noise until now so you kinda forgot he’s also here.

“Shouto, you are not helping, but thank you for trying.” Izuku, who’s clearly used to Todoroki’s miserable attempts to save the day, leaves a tiny kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek.

“10 minutes until show time, are you guys ready?!” Present Mic’s voice comes through the speaker again as the light around the outer edges of the building dramatically go down.

“If you hurt her, I’ll fucking kill you, you fucking overpowered energizer bunny.” Katsuki grabs the green head’s shirt by the neck and pulls him closer with a sneer. “One fucking bruise and…”

“Kacchan… I respect you but I’m here to win. You wouldn’t want me to go easy on her, would you?”

Katsuki only contemplates for a few seconds, the tips of his ears coated pink as he lets go of the poor guy, completely defeated.

“I can cauterize wounds if things get out of hand.”

You’ve never seen Katsuki so terrified in your whole life. His face is pale like a sheet and he looks five seconds away from throwing up all over the floor.

“Nope. We are not doing this. We are going home. Nope. Fuck this.” Katsuki is about to pull you towards the exit but Izuku jumps between the two of you.

“Shouto, you were doing so well...” Midoriya sighs and puts his hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, Katsuki. I swear I won’t do any serious harm to your girlfriend. I also think she can protect herself and she’ll be able to keep up with us with no problems. Please, sit down and enjoy the show.” Midoriya pushes you to the side slowly, but Katsuki’s grasp on your hand is relentless.

“Come on, bro! I heard Auntie Inko brought you some muffins!” Kirishima chimes in, pulling him towards the seats, his hands massaging the blond’s shoulders. “Come on now!”

“Just one minute and I’m going.” Katsuki tears himself out of Kirishima’s grasp. Todoroki and Midoriya make their way towards the other end of the battlefield while Kirishima takes a few steps back to give you some privacy. “Kick their asses, baby. I fucking… I fucking believe in you. I love you and shit. Fuck.”

The whole audience gawks as Katsuki snuggles into the crook of your neck like a little kitten looking for attention. You rake your fingers through his messy hair out of habit, playing with the strands and leaving tiny kisses on the top of his head until he finally looks up and lets you kiss him properly, right in front of the whole fucking building.

“Oh my god! What a day to be alive! Bakugou Katsuki aka Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight just got a kiss from the mysterious hero! You go, lover boy, good for you!”

“That’s his girlfriend!” Kaminari yells into the air helpfully. “He’s in love, sensei!”

“Oh my god, dear listeners! The beast has been tamed! I’m so proud!”

“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki mutters into your neck, his whole face probably the color of a ripe tomato.

“He said shut the fuck up!” You yell to the interpreter with a shit eating grin on your face.

“Ahh, well, there is a lot of things I can do but that ain’t one of ‘em!” Mic giggles and the whole audience roars.

“That’s true.” Sensei mutters with a nod and Mic makes an offended face at that.

“Five minutes to go. Are we are ready, dear listeners?!” Present Mic yells again and the audience cheers. Loudly. Dang, they are really fucking excited for this shit.

“Keep your eyes on me, loverboy.” You wink at your boyfriend; he visibly shivers under your confident gaze.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off you even if I’d try.”

… damn, you two won’t sleep a wink tonight, that’s for sure.

~•💥•~

“Three, two, one… go!”

The two heroes charge at you right away, their movements completely synchronized and clearly planned out; needless to say having two heroes that are so used to each other fight against you should be a huge disadvantage for you but here’s the thing; you can do whatever you want. And by whatever, you mean you can literally just…

“Goldfish.”

Deku’s movements halt right away, his face contorted into a confused frown as he looks at his partner in pure terror.

“Goldfish is a quirk that makes the other person forget what they were about to do a few minutes prior. It’s quite harmless unless used… well… in cases like this. Well done.” The “sensei” steals the speaker from Present Mic who’s completely bamboozled by seeing the number one hero so lost on the battlefield. This would be the perfect time to counterattack but seeing how many people have gathered here today you decide to give them a little show instead; Todoroki comes out of his own stupor and charges towards you while Midoriya slowly tries to put himself back into the present but suddenly, his quirk changes sides in the most literal sense; his right side becomes his hot side while his left side starts to frost over rapidly; having such a change is already quite a pain in the ass but here’s the thing - to be honest this was a bluff but it clearly worked -; while his quirk swapped sides, his body didn’t, hence why his body is now affected by the effects of the quirk.

“Fuck!” Shouto yells as the flames start to burn his heat-sensitive skin…

“Y/N, stop! Anything but that. Please.” Izuku begs and he looks so horrified you cancel the quirk right away. There is something in his eyes, something painful and deep and you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to see that you somehow managed to touch a sensitive topic here. You look at Katsuki who’s standing by the side of the battlefield; he looks at his friend apologetically, his eyes somehow regretful.

“This is good practice.” Shouto’s sudden grin surprises the whole audience. “Sometimes, you need to face your biggest fears and if this would be a real fight, there wouldn’t be a pause. On the battlefield, there is no time to dwell on the past.”

“Is pro hero Shouto giving a speech in the middle of the battle?!” Present Mic screeches. “Also, how many quirks…?”

“All of them. Her quirk is called ‘quirk manifestation’. It’s the strongest quirk in the whole world as she can use several different quirks at the same time for as long as she wants to. Until she can stay focused, she’s unstoppable.” Sensei answers with a deadpanned face.

“Wow, you did your research.” You yell back to him with a grin. Thankfully, the mood is slowly shifting back to relatively normal now.

“I’m Eraserhead. I work underground. Gaining intel is my virtue.” He mutters smugly. “But for this intel I must thank my former student, Midoriya. His notes on you were quite… detailed.”

“Quirk me again.” Shouto suddenly yells, completely ignoring his old teacher. Midoriya looks at the guy like he just lost his mind and by the absolute manic grin on his face, he might be right about that.

Also, can we stop for a moment and talk about the fact that Todoroki Shouto is wearing his emotions on his face? You are a taken woman, but damn, he should do this more often.

“Are we going berserk? Plus fucking ultra then.” Midoriya grins back and by the random eye fucking those two just did a few seconds prior you are quite sure they’ll also have a long night after this.

“Come at me you gay disasters.” You give the two a manic grin and… well… they do.

First, Todoroki somehow finds a way to use his quirk even with the disadvantage. You manage to slip on the tiny, almost invisible ice he manages to sneak under your legs; the ice travels further up, pinning you to the ground but not for long; with your quick thinking you manage to counterattack with pink flames, because why the fuck not, melting the ice on your legs then charge forward towards the half and half hero but you change your stance last minute; you attack Midoriya instead, your emotions concealed with a quirk you just came up with to not trigger his danger sense; he catches your hand with black whip but you make your body intangible and slip out of the grasp; he tries to save himself by using his Smoke Ray but it’s all in vein as your favorite quirk is X-Ray Vision; Midoriya also made a massive mistake with using this quirk of his as he also made it impossible for his partner to see you, basically rendering him useless for the next few minutes until the smoke dissolves.

“I really want to gossip about the sexual tension between the two boys on the battlefield but… what a mistake! Todoroki’s lost in the smoke and Midoriya is just about to get hit by… uuuuh, that must have hurt!”

You just landed a massive hit right at Midoriya’s ribs using a mixture of Kirishima’s hardening and super strength while Todoroki is still wandering in the smoke, trapped and probably extremely frustrated.

Something cracked. Fuck.

“Izuku!” Todoroki finally emerges from the smoke, putting on a massive ice wall right between you two.

“She broke my fucking rib, Shouto.”

Suddenly, a furious Todoroki jumps through the wall, shattering it into pieces as he lands a massive hit on your shoulder and you fall to the ground.

“Midoriya is OUT! Nothing is as strong as a fury of a wounded lover, though! Get her, Todoroki!” Present Mic yells, exhilarated.

Katsuki looks like he’s about to pass out which is quite understandable to be honest. This fight is fucking intense.

“Was that really necessary?!” Todoroki yanks your wounded arm and pushes you down.

What he doesn’t know is that you are not actually in pain anymore; you already healed yourself but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You know I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Ten more seconds and Todoroki wins!”

“What kind of monster are you?!”

“The one on the good side. The one who really fucking wants to go back to work and save people.”

It all happens really quickly. You use a slime quirk to get out of Todoroki’s intense grasp and blast his face using your own version of your boyfriend’s quirk; the pink, cotton candy scented one you used to bully Katsuki with. You make sure to not use too much power this time and mostly just blind the hero for long enough to use your own version of Midoriya’s black whip - it’s quite a useful quirk as it’s heat and frost-resistant, basically indestructible. In only a few seconds, the half and half hero is rolled up like a little burrito, surrounded by black whip everywhere but his face.

“Sorry about triggering your PTSD in the beginning. I’m also sorry for hurting your boyfriend. I’ll heal him as soon as this is over.”

“Ten…”

“It’s fine, it has been ages since I’ve been challenged by someone. Felt fucking nice.” Todoroki tries to wiggle himself out but it’s all in vain. It’s game over for him.

“Five…”

“You guys are amazing. If this would have been an actual life or death situation I’m quite sure you would’ve won.”

“Three.”

“Stop flattering me, you literally took that hit on your shoulder just to be even.”

“One.”

“Anyway… it was a great fight. Thank you.”

“Todoroki is out, Y/N wins! WHAT A FIGHT! Congratulations!” Present Mic yells while the whole audience whistles. Midoriya’s mother is crying so you make a note to yourself to apologize to her later.

Todoroki is by Midoriya’s side the moment he’s free. You are just about to go over to heal him and say sorry when Katsuki jumps on you from behind, turns you over to him and kisses you with so much fervor your legs almost give up under you.

“You fucking madman.” Katsuki grins, his worried eyes long gone in exchange for pure exhilaration. “You don’t know how to hold back, do you?” Suddenly, Katsuki’s lips skim your ears. “Why don’t you go all unhinged in bed with me tonight? I want to see what else you can do…”

“Katsuki, this is not the time.” You reprimand with a little giggle. “I need to take care of your broken friend first.”

“You can take care of my…”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you horny weirdo.” You put your palm on his face and push him away playfully in the middle of his sentence. The shit eating grin on Katsuki’s face is so fucking adorable you kinda want to kiss him but this is really not time for it.

“Y/N!” Todoroki yells, frustrated. By the look of it, it isn’t just Midoriya’s rib that’s broken but his mind as well; he’s mumbling to himself, still sitting on the floor, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the facility. Needles to say, he’s crying.

“Let me reboot the crybaby.” You grin at the big lump on the floor while most of the audience goes back to work. Katsuki’s friend group and the two senseis are still seated, probably waiting for you guys to wrap up and listen to their feedback.

This will be a long fucking day.

… Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- I know. This is fucking late. Honestly, I had the busiest two weeks of my whole life and I only had one day off which was the 25th and that was all. I don’t remember the last three days. Like I actually don’t think my soul was in my body. I have no recollection of the days either so yeah, I’m sorry folks who always tell me to chill the fuck out, I definitely did not listen this time. 😂

- Midoriya’s grave mistake and the whole drama around his behavior will be explained in the next chapter. Aizawa will give him a harsh feedback. 😂

- I’m really excited about the last chapter because it will have Steven in it. I fucking love Steven. I will miss him so much.

- The next chapter will be the last official chapter, then there will be one extra part and that’s probably it! BUT! If you guys have any ideas for possible extra chapters I’m more than keen to listen and maybe one day I’ll come back to this and write some cute extra chapters for you guys! So even if you read this months after I posted this, feel free to leave a comment about what would you like to see and stuff!

- Also, I’ll will start posting the Kirishima spin-off a few weeks after this one ends so if you want to be on the tag list, leave me a comment!

- I got myself a really aggressive looking cactus today. He has MASSIVE spikes all over and he looks like he could literally kill a person. His first thing after I bought him was to prick my finger. So obviously I named him Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight because he’s a prickly little fuck like him.

- I’ll shut up now. Happy new year and all that jazz. 💜💥💜

TL: @sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs @p4ndawrites @yao-ai @porusuniverse

[sterlingsilver-starlight]

You are a Gift ❤️‍🩹

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Female Reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort, angst, drama, fluff, romance

Content Warnings: emotional trauma (reader has verbally abusive mother), very brief implication of past suicidal thoughts, briefly racist language/discussion of racist behavior (reader is mixed white/Asian) mild language, intimate moments (heated makeout scene, but nothing further)

Word Count: 5938 words

Summary: After struggling with an abusive mother’s racist and oppressive behavior, Reader finds solace (and possibly more) in the arms of her closest friend, Seonghwa…

Inspirations: I listened to this emotional music mix and this piano tutorial version of Star 1117 while writing this :]

This was very comforting to write…this is the first fanfic I’ve written (though I’ve read plenty here and there ^^); I hope everyone can find someone like this in their life 🫶🏼

Also please note that this is in no way supposed to represent or depict the actual idol; this is just created for storytelling/entertainment purposes only :)

“Hey…what’s going on? Is everything alright?”

You slumped against the wall, head pounding as dizzy visions pranced about the room overhead. Your hands trembled at the slightest of sounds. Your eyes brimmed with tears that refused to fall, yet collected on your lashes like raindrops after the storm.

What even was real? What was life, anymore? What had it been?

Every step you took…only ever felt like it was one being taken backwards.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were just a failure at life. A disappointment because you couldn’t keep straight even the most basic things.

You’d tried to drown out the noise as much as you could. But there was only so much you could play pretend with.

The chill in your spine ached like the fever dreams you’d been struggling to cope with the past few nights. Sweat pouring down your temples, constantly waking up in the middle of the night scared with tear-stained cheeks.

You had never meant to get sick. You had never meant to come home and spend the weekend recovering from a cold. And most of all, you had never meant to spread it to your sister.

So little could have prepared you for the awful things your mother would shout back, in spite and hatred that you could do little to deflect.

Except ignore, grit your teeth against, and eventually, cave into and cry silent tears to.

“We were having a great weekend until you had to go and get sick and get your sister sick!”

“I’ll bet you’re so glad you went to see that movie this week, huh? Maybe if you’d had some white friends you’d actually have known better than to walk in the cold like an idiot!”

“Stop pretending to be someone you’re not! All you do is act like you’re 120% Asian! Newsflash: You’re NOT, so get off it!”

There was no end. You bit your lip, fingers shaking furiously. There was no end to what might be said the next day.

Maybe this had all just been a horrible idea to bring him into it, too. You were just disturbing him. After all, isn’t that what she always said? That you were too sensitive to everything in plain —

“Y/n?”

You inhaled a shaky breath, desperately trying not to cry, but to hear him call your name, to hear someone call your name so calmly, as though you weren’t just a piece of trash left on the streets, triggered a dam of emotions.

“I-I…” you started, hoping he would still stay on the line after having been given the unintentional silent treatment for so long already.

“It’s okay. Go on. I’m right here. Talk to me, okay?”

You choked back a sob. “I-I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience to you. I’m sorry for calling so suddenly, on such short notice, I…” You took a deep breath. “I don’t have anyone else to talk to right now, I’ve been in hell these past few days and I know I look like it. I feel like it. I’ve constantly been reminded how much I’ve screwed everyone’s lives up, to the point that I got so afraid that maybe…”

You couldn’t go on.

There was a light sigh on the other end. “They’re all settled in by now, right?”

Your eyes widened at the sudden shift in topic. “Y-yeah. W-why?”

“Pack some stuff in a bag. You’re staying with me for a few nights.”

Nothing else could have compelled you to gather clothes and spare toiletries in a duffel bag so quickly and so quietly, especially on a late Saturday night.

But when Seonghwa gave you advice so directly, you didn’t hesitate to see it through. He’d been one of your closest friends for what seemed like forever, even though it had only been slightly less than two years since you first encountered him walking to class one chilly winter morning. You smiled at the brief memory.

Headphones charged up, supplies ready to go for lecture, phone at the ready for impromptu sky snapshots, check threefold. You smiled at the glistening snow on the trees, the slight crunch your boots made with every step, the way the sun brightened the eyes of even —

There was a jolt, and before you knew it, you’d completely spazzed out and knocked into a fellow passersby. Pulling down your headphones, you turned around frantically. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

The stranger looked up at you with warm brown eyes that scrunched upward as he smiled. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good. I should have watched more carefully, no?” He chuckled lightly tapping near his ears, indicating your headphones.

Your eyes widened, cheeks burning crimson. “O-oh! Yeah…sorry about that! Once I hear a good song, I just really get lost in its melody, I guess!” You bit your lip, trying to look anywhere else besides this man’s general direction. He was really quite beautiful, though, the more you observed him: from the outline of his nose jutting out nicely from the soft curve of his eyes and round, full lips, to the delicate swoop of his jet-black, wavy hair.

“Anyway!” you started, realizing you’d been taking in his features much too long. “I’m Y/n. Nice to meet you…?”

“It’s Seonghwa,” he replied softly. “Nice to meet you as well.”

“Seonghwa…” you tested the name on your tongue. “It’s a very nice name. I think it suits you very well.” You beamed up at him shyly.

Now it was his turn to blush. “T-thank you, yours as well…Y/n.”

You sighed as you packed the last pair of socks in your bag. Yes, it really had been that long already since you two had met, and it hadn’t taken an eclipse or anything nearly as occasional for the two of you to become as thick as thieves. For it had turned out that he was also a student at the university, so naturally, you started meeting up regularly, sometimes for study sessions, sometimes to explore the campus, sometimes just to talk about everything and nothing all at once.

And he was the trustworthy, empathetic kind of person as well. So much that, the first time things had really gone downhill back home for the weekend, you had felt dead certain he was the only person you knew who could be trusted with knowing such details. It wasn’t a logical conclusion, going straight off how long you’d known each other, or anything of the sort.

You could just feel it.

At first, you’d been deathly afraid that he might view you differently, worse even, if he knew what kind of dysfunctional shambles you were living under. But when he’d taken your hand that day and assured you that he wasn’t going anywhere, only then did you feel brave enough to tell him what was happening.

Fast forward to tonight, and something very similar was happening. The problem is, you realized, there were still secrets in the shadows that even he did not know of, and that you would rather die than attempt confessing to him.

You see, over the times you’d spent getting to know each other, getting to trust one another more and more, you’d slowly but surely found yourself developing feelings for him, but with how close and intimate your friendship was, you’d been determined never to say anything. Why chance it? Why chance losing a bond that was so precious, that had given you so much hope, so much strength through so much chaos?

“It probably wouldn’t matter, anyway,” you mumbled to yourself. This offer he’d made over the phone was probably just a one-time thing. You were sure that had the roles been reversed, you would be doing the same out of compassion.

You turned again towards your bedroom door, reveling and realizing in that moment all the hells and horrors you’d been an earwitness to for so many years. Most probably wouldn’t believe it when you said that the words your mother spoke, whether out loud to you face-to-face or within earshot from another room to your sister or father, were enough to make one consider taking their own life.

But it was true.

You hated how things had gotten to this point, but, you supposed, maybe most of it could be attributed to just growing older and becoming more aware, more dead set on educating yourself about the red flags and the signs that something, or someone, was toxic. That their atmosphere, their vibe, so to speak, was unhealthy for you to keep absorbing like secondhand cigarette smoke.

There wasn’t much you could do about it, though. You were a full-time university student whose campus happened to be close to your family’s house, so being the frugal young adult you aimed so much to be, you’d chosen off-campus housing with your parents for financial reasons. There were much bigger struggles out there, you’d convinced yourself, that you just didn’t want to tackle yet: juggling bills, paying for your living space, and so on. And while you had been able to save up a bit of money from your summer job, you needed to continue those habits as long as you could to make it all the more easier after you graduated and started working for a while, to ease your mind before graduate school.

A sharp pair of raps at your window startled the rambling trail of wondering memories. You jolted, having squatted the whole time by your bag just collecting things and your thoughts, and looked like a deer caught in headlights as you quickly turned to the glowing windowsill, curtains drawn back enough that they resembled billowing, flowing tendrils in the night.

Seonghwa’s smile might have been hidden by the backlight of the moon tonight, but you could still make out his almost toothless grin as he beamed back at you from the other side of the glass. You couldn’t help but return it as you slowly got up to open the window, realizing how grateful you were that your bedroom was on the first floor.

“So,” he started, looking up at you with a twinkle in his eyes, “are you ready?”

You nodded. “Yeah.” You grabbed one of your bag straps tightly. “Yeah. I am.” You wore a firm-lipped smile as you carefully followed him out the window, taking one more quick look-around behind you to make sure nothing was too out of place — not that anyone would be checking for the next week, anyway. Since you had been getting over a cold, almost everyone (namely your mother and sister) had decided you were about as worth talking to as an infected might be in a zombie apocalypse series: enough to confirm alive-or-not status, and after that, nil.

Realizing this, you stopped behind him and tried not to panic already. He heard your lack of footsteps and stopped with you. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m feeling…fine now, but I should let you know,” you continued, backing away slightly to put more distance between the two of you, “I was getting over a cold recently, and —”

“Y/n, I’ll have you know that I’m not just gonna abandon you because you were feeling a little unwell. Everyone gets sick from time to time. Sure, it’s not the greatest thing to be feeling, but it’s certainly no reason to start treating you like you aren’t still, well, you. You’re still the Y/n I know and love, so that settles it.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, taking no apparent notice of the way that your heart was pounding in your throat at those words — or at the smooth warmth of his fingertips.

Don’t overthink it, he’s just saying those things from a place of friendship, remember?

“Come on, let’s go. My place isn’t too far from here, remember? Plus, it might be a good time for a walk.”

Once you made it to his apartment, you felt unease slowly dissipate from your body.

“Make yourself at home. I have no intention of kicking you out quickly, so stay here as long as you feel you need to.” He took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the hallway. You smiled, taking note of the fluffy pink headband with cat ears still hanging near the end; it’d been a birthday present to him not too long ago that you’d figured he would like since cats were something he could just about talk your ear off from.

Setting your bag down, you took a seat on one of the sofas in his living room, the open layout of the place allowing you to continue watching him as he moved his things around, flicked on the lamp near the sofa, and settled in next to you.

“So…” he clasped his hands together, rubbing them gingerly.

“So…?” you repeated playfully, already feeling a bit more lighthearted than you had just earlier.

“What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

You took a deep breath. “Well, you know how earlier I was saying I’ve been getting over being sick, right?”

“Yeah?”

You nodded sadly. “Well…my mom…she didn’t take too kindly to that when she found out. Like, at all. I had a mask on just to be safe when I was headed to my room after my shower, which is unlike me because I usually take it off when I’m home, but my sister spotted it and then pointed it out and then my mom took notice and, and —” You felt tears start pooling in your eyes again, and frantically put the back of a hand to your mouth to quell any sobs that threatened to come forward.

“Shh, shh…it’s okay,” Seonghwa assured you, rubbing one hand gently up and down your back, taking care with the other to pull away the shaky fist you had balled up by your lips. “Keep going, you’re doing great. Nothing and nobody is going to hurt you right now. It’s just you and me. Right here. Right now.”

His hand didn’t leave yours, his fingers slowly unwrapping your clenched ones until they were intertwined.

You swallowed, taken aback by his boldness. “M-my mom took notice, and from then on…it was like I was a prisoner of war being looked down upon every other minute. Even from behind my closed door, I could hear her spewing angrily how surely I had just gotten sick on purpose so I wouldn’t have to do anything while I was at home, how I just loved ruining everyone’s day and everyone’s weekend and how I never failed to not take care of myself and make everyone stressed about possibly catching something from me and…” You looked up at his round boba eyes with your own teary ones.

“And?” he questioned, eyes never leaving yours.

“And…” you stumbled, recalling more that you didn’t want to recall. “How I’m a fool for surrounding myself with people who aren’t white, even though I’m myself white. How…” I bit my lip, still looking into his eyes — for courage, for strength, for something deeper than what I’d been led all these years to believe existed within the eyes of someone viewed in my house as ethnically inferior.

“How?” he continued, urging you to keep going, no matter how hard it got in the middle, or near the end, or even in the beginning, of your words.

“How…I’m bringing shame to my family and convincing myself otherwise just to feel good. How…the friendships I’ve kept are…ridiculous because they’re mostly Asian, perpetuating the lies I tell myself about being mixed or wanting to identify as mixed, even though genetically I am mixed because my mom is half Asian, so by genetics that automatically makes me a quarter.” You broke down into soft sobs. “B-b-but that’s n-not even the worst p-part.”

He said nothing, but the squeeze he gave your hand was more than enough of a response. You worried about continuing, but at this point, you were already in too deep, so you figured you might as well put things out there while you still could.

“The worst part,” you trembled, “is that my own mother would rather die than see me one day in a relationship with someone who isn’t white. Like it would be doing some disgrace to her efforts with having married a white guy, my dad.” You shivered. “It’s just not fair, Hwa! Getting taunted that I pretend to be someone I’m not is one thing, having the friends I meet up with to go see a movie get made fun of and berated because of their ethnicity is another, but now it’s about the kind of person I might one day want to be involved romantically with? I can’t —” You ripped your hand from his to catch your face in both hands. “I can’t take this anymore, Hwa! It’s just not right!”

Uncontrollable crying resonated throughout the apartment for what felt like hours on end. The broken child inside of you was aching more and more with every passing second, half in disbelief of all the verbal and mental abuse and trauma you’d gone through for so many years, especially recently, and then half in shock that you weren’t already dead by now from collapse and grief and complete hopelessness.

“Maybe she was right…maybe I do deserve to just —”

“Stop it right now.” The solemn firmness of his statement knocked you out of a weeping daze instantly. He was firm, yes, and he could be firm, yes. But never authoritatively like this.

“What?” You brushed strands of hair out of your eyes, blinking back tears, lips trembling like hell had frozen over.

“Stop saying these horrible things about yourself. Even if they aren’t things you yourself said in the first place.” He took both of your hands away from your face, cupping your cheeks so that you were both looking each other in the eyes again.

“You are an amazing person, inside and out, and if she can’t see that because of something as trivial as you falling ill temporarily, then she is the fool, not you. She mentions how you’re bringing shame to the family by believing or supporting the people and the cultures you do? Well, she should be ashamed of herself for being mixed and yet being the one to dishonor it as much as she does. And as for that last point?”

He bent down so you were both at eye level, close enough now to watch every eyelash as it flickered up and down between blinks.

“That last point…I personally think that’s for you to decide, who you’re interested in and whatnot. Ignore the noise she brings into your head. It won’t always be there to cloud your thoughts. I know you wish you could have been able to foster a better relationship with her, but…” His eyes slowly welled with tears as well, making yours only brim more.

You hated seeing him cry.

“H-hwa…y-you’re crying…” you raised a hand to caress his cheek, wiping away a lone tear.

He smiled sadly. “For good reason.” His eyes widened more as he took you in. “And…”

“What is it?”

“You’ve never called me Hwa before.”

You smiled back softly. “I guess it just slipped out. Spur of the moment. But…you’re the only constant I have in my life right now. Like the stars.”

His cheeks warmed. “Then I guess it’s only fair to say that you are very much…the same, in my eyes.”

You bit your lip yet again, instantly reminded of the day you two had met when you were a nervous wreck and eager to look anywhere else as much as you could.

“Yes, really.” He repeated, as though answering your unspoken doubt. He continued smiling at you, no ill intent or manipulation locked away in those warm brown eyes, no hatred or malice brushing aside the pure kindness and love that somehow, you could just sense in his gaze.

“Then I…” It may very well have been now or never. You had never been more sure of anything in your life than you were at this very moment, and yet you had never been more unsure of anything, either.

Somehow he seemed to catch on. “Do what you need to do.”

Your breath hitched. “I’m afraid.”

“I already told you…I’m right here. Talk to me. Okay?”

You leaned in, the flicker of the lamp only adding to the small warmth nestled within this space that you two shared.

“Hwa, I…I don’t know how else to put this.”

“Try.”

“You…you feel like home.”

A smile. “I’m glad. Because so do you.”

His hands reached to grip yours, firmly but softly, before he leaned in slowly, closing his eyes. You followed suit, the last thing you saw being the trickle of a tear or two down his lashes, down his cheek, before you met his lips in a gentle kiss. You pulled away slowly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, checking with him silently to make sure it was okay.

To make sure this was real and reciprocated as you were, hopefully, not overreading into.

He smiled back, a small crinkle in his eyes as his view flickered to your lips and then back to your eyes again.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his, this time letting your hands travel through his locks, pulling him in closer while his hands wrapped around your waist, moving you ever so slightly so you were in his lap. His tongue nudged your bottom lip, and you obliged, sucking softly on the warm muscle that now danced lithely in your mouth.

His fingers massaged up and down the small of your back, soothingly, as the kiss deepened and the world around you seemed to fade away. For whatever horrors and dangers might be beheld outside these walls, in this moment, it was as though the universe had conspired for circumstances to bring the two of you together here, in the now, in a moment that felt like a dream inside a dream.

With every tender touch of his lips against yours, you could feel warmth and affection pouring from his soul, and through the tears, through the ache of the past, your heart still raced in response, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. It brought a sense of serenity in this way your bodies seemed to melt into each other — a connection that transcended mere words.

You lost track of time as the kiss continued, wrapped up in the sensation of living mindfully, living in the moment, of being so close to him, feeling his breath against your skin, and the way his fingers played a gentle symphony on your back. It was a moment of pure bliss, and you couldn’t help but somehow be grateful for the pain and turmoil that had enhanced your ability to fully embrace and cherish this point — for how would you have been able to genuinely feel the significance of a moment like this, had you not gone through so much dark before?

When you both needed to catch your breath, you pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other. Your eyes locked, and you shared a wordless conversation, a silent promise of what the future might hold for the two of you. It was an unspoken agreement that whatever challenges were up ahead, you would face them together.

His fingers continued to trace patterns on your back, and he spoke softly, “What would you say if I told you I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, and that it’s even more incredible than I ever thought it would be?”

You giggled, feeling the deepest of happiness truly start to bubble up inside of you. “Me too,” you replied. “I guess I should have just said something earlier on, no?”

His laughter filled the room, a rich, melodious sound that still sent shivers down your spine. “Maybe,” he considered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But I think the anticipation, the longing, made it all the sweeter…even if it took the pain that you’ve been so strong to overcome to get there.” He leaned in to kiss you again, his lips moving with a newfound urgency, a hunger that you sensed had been building for far too long.

As your mouths met once more, the kiss deepened, and the passion between you ignited like a wildfire. His hands moved from your back, now exploring the curves of your body, tracing every inch of your form as if committing it to memory. You gasped into the kiss when his fingers delicately found their way to the small of your back again, pressing you closer to him.

The room seemed to grow warmer, your breaths coming faster and heavier. The chemistry between you was undeniable, an electric charge that pulsed through every touch and every kiss. His tongue danced with yours — a sensual, intoxicating rhythm that left you breathless.

You moved your hands from his hair to his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch. You could sense the desire in his every movement, and it mirrored your own. The intensity between you kept growing like a storm on the horizon, threatening to consume you both.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake. Your back arched as his mouth nibbled on an area just below your ear, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He smiled and started sucking slowly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body like lightning.

With a desire that couldn’t be contained any longer, you straddled his lap. It was a bold move, but you were both now beyond the point of hesitation. His hands explored your body more eagerly now, caressing your curves, tracing every inch of your skin as he murmured sweet, passionate words of longing.

The heat between you two continued to intensify, your bodies pressing closer together. Every touch, every caress, every stolen kiss sent electric currents of desire through your veins. It was truly a symphony of passion, and you both were eager to explore every note and melody.

Your fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing each one as you revealed the sculpted contours of his chest. His skin was warm and smooth beneath your touch, and you couldn’t resist tracing your fingers along the lines of his muscles. His sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement you needed to continue.

His own hands weren’t idle, either, as they slid beneath your clothes, slowly teasing the sensitive skin of your lower back. You shivered at the touch, a mixture of delightful anticipation and longing snaking through your body. It was a dance of sensation, a thrilling exploration of each other’s bodies that left you both aching for more.

His lips continued their journey down your neck, leaving a trail of soft, moist kisses that made your skin tingle. You couldn’t help but arch your back more, a quiet moan escaping your lips as you kept yearning for his touch, a fire of pleasure igniting within you. The sensation of it all was exquisite, and you held onto him tightly, your nails grazing his back as you bit your lip to stifle your moans, all the while feeling the comfort of being in the arms of someone who genuinely, deeply cared for you.

As the two of you finally broke apart and just lay there, sweat still building and hearts still beating like there was no tomorrow, he sighed in content. Wrapped in the afterglow of your intense connection, he whispered, “You’re safe now, love. I honestly hope you packed enough things coming here, because…”

You eyed him curiously. “Because…?”

He smirked, giving you one more small peck on the lips. “Because you don’t have to go back to that place, to the pain your mother brought. I’ll protect you, and we’ll build a better future together.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Then…in that case…does this mean that we’re past…?”

He smiled. “That we’re past the point of friendship? Well,” he laughed softly, “considering how the past several moments were just spent, I would believe so. Unless you would prefer otherwise?” He pulled his signature eyebrow raise that instantly made you feel weak in the knees.

“N-no, definitely not!” you stuttered, half-excited and half-nervous. “I mean…I’ve just never gotten to the point where anyone wanted to consider me like that…l-like a girlfriend, I mean.”

“Well,” he whispered near your ear, hot breath cascading down your neck with every syllable, “consider me honored to be the first.” He left a gentle trail of kisses near your collarbone before meeting you at eye level again, waiting for your response.

On the one hand you were filled with gratitude and love, brimming with hope for the future, but on the other hand memories of your past kept your heart heavy. Your throat felt tight as words became hard to say, though they formed so quickly in your mind.

Hwa noticed the shadow that crossed your face, the turmoil still swirling within you, and he gently lifted your chin to meet your gaze. “I can see the worry in your eyes,” he said, his voice tender. “You’re afraid that you’re inconveniencing me with everything now, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip and nodded, the insecurities ingrained by years of manipulation from your mother resurfacing. “I can’t help but feel like a burden sometimes. It’s just that…my mom always made me think I was, and it’s hard to shake those feelings.”

Stroking your hair, Hwa leaned his forehead against yours. “I know you’ve been carrying the weight of your past for a long time. I know you’re still coping with moments of doubt, especially from the difficult relationship you’ve had with your mother. But please, please understand that you are not defined by her words or her actions.”

You closed your eyes finally, feeling the warmth of his presence soothing your troubled soul. “I’ve tried to be strong, again and again,” you whispered. “I’ve tried to let go of the past…but it’s like a shadow that never quite disappears.”

Hwa’s voice was filled with empathy as he continued. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel vulnerable, to acknowledge your pain. You’re not a failure. You’re a survivor, and you’re so much more than the hurtful words that were thrown at you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you finally, finally allowed them to spill over, lips trembling as you realized in that split-second how much you’d pushed to the back of your mind, how much you’d really forced yourself to hide away all these years — how much you’d feared being shunned by another as your own blood mother had for so long. “I just…I don’t w-want to b-burden you with my problems. I’m a-afraid…to be too sensitive, like she always said. Or to string you along under the guise that I’m something I’m not, like an imposter of my heritage or — ”

“Your mother’s words have no basis in reality,” Hwa began, his voice firm but gentle. “You aren’t defined by her prejudices or expectations. You aren’t a prisoner of her narrow-minded views. Y/n, you are your own person, with your own identity, and you have every right to embrace all aspects of your heritage, including the Asian part.”

Your eyes met his, wanting to believe the truth behind what he was telling you. “But, Hwa, I’m only a quarter Asian, and my mom’s made me feel like I have no right to claim that part of my identity. Plus, she makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong by having friends who aren’t white.”

He smiled softly and cupped your face, shaking his head as his eyes filled with warmth. “You are as much Asian as you are anything else. It’s not about the percentage, it’s about how you feel and what you choose to embrace. Embracing your Asian heritage doesn’t make you any less of who you are. It’s a part of your identity, and you have every right to explore and celebrate it. And your friends, no matter their ethnicity, are bringing diversity and richness to your life. I can always see the effect glowing in your eyes. Don’t ever lose that spark. It’s what adds to your amazing character, whether you know it or not. Those connections you’re always so apt to keep making just reflect the beauty of your open heart and your willingness to meet people from different backgrounds. You should be proud of the friendships you’ve built, so don’t let anyone ever make you feel otherwise.”

You felt a spark of hope kindling within you, the idea that you could embrace all facets of your identity, all features of your ethnic communities, and not be constrained by your mother’s views. You wrapped your arms around Hwa’s neck, nestling your cheek against the warmth of his chest, the steady pace of his beating heart syncing in time to your slowing breaths.

Hwa’s expression softened even more, and as he held you tighter, he looked down at you lovingly, wiping yet another stray tear. “And you are not a burden, my love. You are a gift. You bring so much light and happiness into my life, and I’m grateful for every moment we share. Your feelings are valid. I’m here because I want to be, because I care about you, and because I want to support you through this journey of healing, however long it might take. Your sensitivity is a strength, not a weakness. And it hurts me to see you carry this weight, but please know, you are cherished, and you belong here.”

His words were like a warm embrace for your soul, and you felt the tight knot of self-doubt beginning to unravel. “Thank you for being so understanding and patient with me, Hwa,” you whispered, tears of gratitude glistening in your eyes.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead and held you close. “You’re not alone in this, my love. We’ll face your past together and build a brighter future, one filled with the love and happiness you deserve. I’ll always be here to support you, to remind you of your worth, and to love you unconditionally. You’re not alone in this, and you never will be.”

You smiled slowly but surely at him again, bringing him close to you for another kiss, softer but sweeter this time around. As you nestled into his arms, the storm of your past seemed to fade away, and you basked in the love and acceptance that he offered. With each passing moment, you felt yourself healing, letting go of the guilt and insecurity that had held you back for so long.

With Hwa’s support, you felt more and more of a renewed sense of hope and determination, ready to leave behind the painful memories and look forward to the beginning of a life you could feel ready to step towards, together. A breeze began to pick up outside, as far as you both could hear, but you could care less now, your embrace and love stretching the seconds and enriching the heart in such a way as to convey just how thankful you were to have him in your life, in your arms, in your warmth, and in your future.

[nick-carra-gay-for-gatsby]

Ohmygosh that sounds soo amazing I love Japanese food and I’m glad u had a great celebration!! Also when ur done u should def share that fic…let’s not gatekeep lol. And sorry for the confusion with tgg, I type the great gatsby so much I’ve gotten too lazy to type it all out I fear 😰

Anyways I think I remembered u said that jay would be into Greek mythology so what do you think his favorite myths would be? And also do we think he makes Nick listen to his rants about the different myths. To me it’s like Jay ranting “president business stole the craggle the most powerful thing in the universe…” and all Nick hears is “blah blah blah proper name…” while admiring him. wait lowkey this was a lot sorry 😭

-🎞️ anon

no don't apologize i love getting asks! as for the fic, here's a small snippet of what i've got so far:

"While I, Nick Carraway, may have met the great Mr. Gatsby in July, it wasn’t until the month of August that I truly got to know him.

With his lavish parties and private secrets, Gatsby was not a man who revealed himself easily. It took a true detective to feel out which story about his past was actually true. I eventually came to the conclusion that none of them were true, and that Gatsby, in addition to everyone who attended those sparking soirées, was a liar.

Why he lied so quickly and easily, I do not know. Even now, I do not understand why he had so many different life stories. Why he never bothered to deny all sorts of horrible rumors. What sort of man hears that he was a German spy and does nothing to correct the narrative? Sometimes I longed to ask him.

Sometimes I wish I did. Sometimes I wish I still could.

I usually detest liars. But Gatsby had always been the exception to everything in my life. I could never detest him.

August of 1922 was the best and the worst month of my life. But there is no sense in starting at the end" (nick-carra-gay-for-gatsby 1).

hope it's not too bad lol this is the first time i've opened in in a while actually. since oh my god

so yeah. it's been a hot minute.

anyway yessssssss i did say jay would like greek mythology and i stand by that position and no not just because i love greek mythology myself. he has a whole shelf in his massive library (somewhere in the back where you wouldn't typically go if you just wandered in) filled with the oldest copies of every myth he can find.

he's 100% a fan of the "romantic" ones like orpheus and eurydice. in his mind, he's orpheus and daisy is eurydice. he's so so close to getting her back from the grave (tom) but he refuses to actually listen to her when she speaks and makes a fatal error, losing her forever as a result. he would also love the story of hephaestus (he was rejected for something he couldn't control and had to climb his way up bit by agonizing bit and even when he was finally there and he got the girl it's still not perfect because she's always with someone else and maintaining his right to exist with the rest of them is a constant struggle and forced him to become absolutely perfect in a way no one else was ever required to be. and even then he wasn't fully accepted as one of them. jay might find this relatable for some reason idk).

you are also 100% right that jay and nick sit together on the couch with their bodies definitely 100% a heterosexual distance apart jay regales nick with all the myths he knows and he thinks nick is super invested because he never looks away or stops smiling but really nick's just hearing white noise as he thinks about how pretty jay's lips look when he's happy.

[riddle-me-ri]

a/n: PHEW okay so here's one of two 4k commissions I was working on. And it's for my very amazing friend @mischievous-marchie (tagging the NSFW blog because this is so NSFW lmao) Marchie, thank you so much for supporting my writing and trusting me with your main man Jervis, and all his variations. I hope I did your sweet idea justice and thanks so much again for supporting me by commissioning me. It means the world. And I hope everyone else gets to enjoy it too.

*Also reader is referred to as the March Hare cause Alice is overrated, The Hare was always my favorite and...yeah it's its for March lol

Content Warning: explicit sexual content, masturbation, sex toy, mutual masturbation, unprotected sexual intercourse (gn so no specific genitalia mentioned), caught in the act, and making out.

Word Count: 4.5 k

General Mad Hatter x Reader - Call Out My Name

Your fingers drummed along the hardback cover of a novel you were trying to read. Soon the tapping of your fingers migrated to your foot on the floor. 

You groaned in frustration. 

You grew restless with boredom. 

Even the white noise of some random show that played on TV began to become silencing…just an echo of how lonely and dim it was when he wasn’t around. 

You sighed, finally surrendering and putting the book down on the coffee table. 

Why did Jervis have to be in Arkham?

You knew why, because if one of you was to get caught by Batman… Jervis ensured it was only going to be him every time. Jervis always made sure you had an escape, even if you didn’t know he had one for you.

“Arkham is no place for lovely people, my dear.” He explained once in a moment of lucidity. “I take it as a chance to reconvene my thoughts and even get to visit old friends.” He chuckled before he continued. “So don’t worry about me, dear…Although don’t forget about me either…please.” 

Your heart panged the same way it did the day he told you that. He didn’t have to worry about you ever forgetting him. 

You could never forget about the man you have loved and continue to love feverishly since day one. 

If he only knew, sometimes you wished he would just miraculously figure it out. Then maybe, just maybe, he would be compelled to reveal his feelings…if he had any for you that is.

It felt like he did anyhow, the way he’d protect you from Batman, how he always somehow made time to see you or include you in everything. 

You two have been companions for quite awhile. Jervis has always been charming, kind, and fun. He always made you smile, even on days when you didn’t feel like rolling out of bed. 

You tried your best to always be there for him. 

During his highs and lows, his madness and his lucidity, for everything. In turn, Jervis is always there for you when you need him in any capacity (except when he was locked up, which he always felt guilty for leaving you.)

You two were inseparable.

The Mad Hatter and The March Hare at the Mad Tea Party–only missing a sleepy Dormouse. 

Yes, a strong, loyal relationship was formed, but if only it could transition from platonic to romantic…

Of course, it didn’t help that he is exquisitely handsome in the most unconventional way that was endearing to you. 

Jervis’ wide bright eyes, cute elongated buck teeth, raggedy hair, and his obtuse nose that you desperately wanted to kiss. 

You sighed as you sunk yourself deeper into the couch, no doubt creating a uniquely shaped dent in the cushions from lounging there all day.

You really did miss him. All of this reminiscing probably doesn’t help either. You just couldn’t help it, just forming his image in your mind made you happier. 

Perhaps…this imagining could help in another area and maybe you can salvage the boring day and turn it into a fun night. 

For a moment, you were grateful that Jervis wasn’t around…

The cushions of the couch sunk against your weight as you laid back and made yourself comfortable. 

You took a deep breath as your head nestled into the plush arm rest. You slowly rolled up the long graphic tee you wore, exposing your lower body. 

It had been a minute since you ventured into the realms of self love in the most physical sense, but you were certain the awkwardness of the start would be well worth the pleasure in the aftermath. 

Your breath hitched as your fingers fell into a decent rhythm stimulating your sex. Every nerve ending on every pore of your skin was ignited. 

You decide to finally take it up a notch. 

You reluctantly removed your hand to reach for the toy on the side table behind your head. You snatched up the dark blue bullet vibrator and turned it on to a low setting. 

Your body jerked slightly at the vibrating sensations as you glided the toy over your chest and down your abdomen. The smooth material made you wish it was something else. 

Instead of the cool smooth mechanical texture…it was rough, soft, and warm. 

Instead of your hand controlling a toy, it was someone else’s hand, better yet, Jervis’ gloved fingers. 

Desperately, you wished it was Jervis that stimulated your body. 

It was his warm diligent hands roaming across your skin causing goosebumps to form. His hands that created delicious friction that you craved. 

As the vibrator made its way closer to your sex, the setting was turned up higher and your moans became louder and more drawn out. 

The vibrations added with the continued pace of your other hand on your genitals. You were a withering mess on the couch. 

Your eyes tightly closed, trying like crazy to suspend reality and envision it was Jervis doing this to you. 

Your moans soon turned into pants and cries. “J-Jervis…Jervis!” 

As you were chasing that sweet release, as if your imaginations manifested him…

Jervis Tetch was actually a free man and was making his way to your apartment. 

Jervis was absolutely beaming with excitement. Adrenaline was still pumping in his veins from his narrow escape from Arkham.

The moment he was out, he knew he had to come see you and let you know he was free! The only person that would actually be waiting for him on the other side…

He just couldn’t wait to surprise you. 

Jervis missed you terribly. No one else understood him, appreciated him…genuinely liked him like you do. To say you made his heart race would be an understatement. However, he was extremely cautious and uncertain. 

As much as he wanted to sweep you off your feet, hold you, kiss you…he didn’t want to risk the chance of losing you–as he has lost others. 

Jervis wasn’t sure he could handle losing you in any capacity. 

Hence why he always did his best to protect you when things got dodgy. Despite your stubbornness to stay by his side…something he juxtapositionally adored and lamented about you. 

His gloved knuckles barely racked along your door when he heard–

“J-Jervis! Jervis!” 

Jervis’ heart fell to his stomach. The adrenaline from his escape rose back up out of sheer panic for you. He quickly grabbed the doorknob and was stantly met with resistance from the locked handle. 

Seeing no other option, he began backing away and braced himself with his side as he ran shoulder first into your door–

You were so lost in your motions and the fantasy in your mind that you didn’t register the reality of your doorknob being rattled. 

You were none the wiser to another presence until he made himself known by busting down your door. 

The loud bang of the door hitting your wall woke you up from your pleasurable reverie. 

Quickly, you sat up, hastily lowering your shirt back down and threw a blanket over your lower half for good measure. 

You were petrified and frustrated.

“J-Jervis?” You let out in a small almost mousy voice, as you finally took in who the intruder was. 

Jervis was looking around wildly, expecting some type of altercation to be happening, but quickly came to the realization nothing was awry. 

In fact, you were alone, on your couch…nothing entirely out of place. 

“Um…well..this is quite a predicament.” He chuckled sheepishly, as he lifted his hat to scratch at the side of his head. 

You gulped down a mouthful of air as you tried to regulate your heartbeat. You began silently praying to whoever could hear that he wouldn’t put two and two together of what you were doing. 

“Jervis,” you began, still trying to calm your nerves that were currently in a tailspin at the moment. “I-W-What are you–how…why did you break in?” 

Your mind struggled to think of just one question, but that one seemed the most pressing. Usually, when Jervis came over he always knocked or he somehow let you know ahead of time that he was coming over. 

“I-I heard you screaming my name…” He stretched his arms out exasperatedly. “I-I thought something was happening to you! It sounded all the same” 

Whatever redness coalesced from your earlier activities quickly drained from your face. 

“Ah…well…something was happening but nothing–bad…” You slowly began covering yourself up more with the blanket. Secretly wishing it would make you disappear.

“Yes, that much is obvious…so tell me, my dear. What was all the ruckus?” 

“Um, well…I was..uh…”

“And what is that?” He interjected. Jervis pointed to a small rounded device on the ground that was still buzzing on the floor. 

Jervis walked over towards where the object laid. He almost grabbed it until you grabbed his wrist. 

“It’s nothing! I’ll get it! Oh sh-”

“Hare! Langua-oh…”

In your panicked leap for the toy, Jervis saw your state of dress or more like the lack thereof. 

You couldn’t help but take note of how cute he looked when his face began blushing at the cheeks. 

Even though yours was most likely as red as his is. 

You instantly turned the toy off once it was in your grip. 

As if seeing the vibrator in your hands was the final piece to the puzzle, Jervis was able to slowly put the puzzle of events together. 

You were alone, on your couch, in nothing but a shirt, your skin was tinted red…you screamed his name…but not in danger or pain…

Jervis may be whimsical and mad most of the time, but he wasn’t ignorant. 

You sighed as you saw him come to the conclusion of what happened. Somewhere deep down you were grateful you didn’t have to spell it out. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I apologize-”

You both looked up at each other after apologizing at the same time. 

“I-I didn’t mean to make you panic.” You continued, rubbing your arm. 

“I didn’t mean to…ahem…ruin your fun?” He nervously chuckled as he played with his hat brim. 

“It’s okay.” You reassured him softly. “I appreciate your concern.” 

Jervis nodded. Of course he was concerned, he was always concerned for your safety. 

“Yet…the question remains…why did you cry my name?” 

Jervis had an idea why. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t guilty of the same act, but he just needed you to confirm it. 

You looked away coyishly, biting your lip to keep from just dumping your emotions mixed with your explanations on him. 

Jervis gulped. He really wished you didn’t do that. Although it did complete this exquisite vision of you just now. 

Your hair a ruffled mess, your body gorgeously silhouetted by your shirt that only came to be just about your mid-thigh…all complimented with a cute lip bite. 

You sighed. “I…I was…uh…thinking of you…while I had fun.”

Jervis took a small but sharp intake of breath. You were actually going to say it.

“Really?” 

You nodded before looking away, not being able to look at him. Assuming he wanted a further explanation after a beat of silence, you continued. 

“I-I’ve cared…I mean. I’ve always…” You groaned in frustration. 

After taking another deep breath to reset your thoughts. You tried once more, “yes really…I’ve had feelings for you for a while and I…when you’re in Arkham…I, for a lack of better words…really miss you.”

Jervis hung onto every word like it was the last life line connecting him to the ship out in the middle of the ocean. 

It was happening…it was really truly happening. Someone he loved…actually loved him back!

Jervis slowly walked over closer to where he was right in front of you. He gently curled his index finger around your chin and directed your head down to look at him. 

His eyes stared softly into yours. “I missed you too, my dear.” 

The sincere look he gave you, lidded eyes and a soft smile made your heart swell. 

“I suppose it comes as no surprise that I, too, have had feelings for you arise.” His eyes shifted slightly, still unsure if he reciprocated correctly. 

Your eyes widened, heart thumped against your chest. 

All embarrassment was dissolved into surprise. 

You reached to touch his hand that still propped your chin and your smile widened when you felt his fingers laced together between your own. 

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying…I’m very surprised but super happy all the same.” You giggled as your hand tightened around his. 

Jervis chuckled warmly as he turned his hand so the back of your hand faced him. He gently pressed his chapped lips against your hand before smiling up at you. 

"My dear, Hare, you know my way, I always mean what I say."

You were ecstatic, your body unable to keep still. To finally have everything laid out in the open. To know the one you've cherished for so long returns the sentiment.  

"You do! You always do! Oh, Jervis!" You quickly slid your hand out from his grip but only to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into an excited embrace. 

Jervis became nervous again. He wanted to return the hug desperately, but he wasn't sure how to keep himself composed when he actually got to feel what little you wore. 

Hesitantly, to not upset you, he wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. You were so soft and warm, he tried to refrain his fingers from tugging away at the flimsy obnoxious cotton that still covered you. 

You slowly brought your head back and looked back down at him. Your eyes coyly darting between his eyes and his lips. You were stuck in limbo once more, should you ask first or just go for it? 

Thankfully, despite Jervis' own dilemma, he was able to catch onto yours. As if silently asking if it's what you want, he slowly brought his face closer to yours. 

You gasped softly, not missing the crucial hint. You closed your eyes, slowly leaned forward, and your lips gently pressed against Jervis’. 

The kiss was so soft, sweet, and even innocent in that hesitant uncertain first kiss kind of way, but it felt so right and it capsulated all your emotions in one simple gesture. 

You’ve dreamt of this moment for so long. Always thought if it were to happen it would be this way or that way. However, now that it happened, every made-up scenario and sensation paled in comparison to the real thing. 

Jervis was the first to slowly pull back. You couldn’t help the tiny snickers you made at the sight of him softly panting for air and his pink dusted cheeks. 

Jervis perked an eyebrow at you curiously. 

You shook your head, not wanting him to think he did something wrong. “Sorry, you’re just…so cute.” Your hands came up from behind his back to frame his face. 

Jervis practically melted at your touch. Your touch heated his face up even more, but he didn’t mind one bit. To be touched so tenderly, and lovingly by the only person he cared about…nothing could possibly come close to the sensation. 

He craved more of your touch and kiss. He yearned for your affection as the Knave of Hearts (allegedly) yearned the tarts. 

Jervis couldn’t even think of a response to your compliment as he swiftly crashed his lips back into yours. 

You were shocked but not displeased as you quickly kissed him back with just as much fervor. 

Jervis’ breath hitched when he felt you slightly poke your tongue along the edge of his protruding tooth and his lips. He didn’t hesitate to grant you entrance to his mouth. 

Your kiss became more heated as your tongues explored each other’s mouths. Jervis began exploring more of your body, slowly building confidence to feed his desire to touch more of your skin and hopefully please you. 

His hands raked and grasped around your waist and hips. As well as up and down your back. 

So close to that same feeling you were trying to mimic earlier in your mind.

Your kiss was broken once more, albeit simultaneously as you both fell onto the couch when your knees bent against the cushion at the sudden impact. Jervis’ own hat fell off his head but safely landed on the coffee table in front of you. 

The cheesy silly predicament caused you to snicker. 

Jervis hummed warmly before he slowly rose himself off of you by his hands that were on both sides of your head. 

“Still enjoying yourself, I see.” He chuckled lowly. 

The deep drop in his voice caused a shiver to go down your spine. 

It was then you took in the truly compromising position you were in…your fantasy from earlier was slowly playing out right before your eyes. 

You’ll be damned if you let it slip away. 

“Yep, much more so now with you actually here.” You smiled sweetly. 

“Whatever you sought in your fantasy.” He began.

Jervis leaned up to kiss your forehead. “I’d be more than happy to make a reality.” 

A kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes in earnest. “If you’ll let me.”

Any confirmation you think you could say didn’t feel strong enough, so you just leaned in to kiss him once more. 

It was all the confirmation Jervis needed as he leaned into your kiss. It was all the motivation he needed as he brought his body back down to try and get closer to you. 

Your back arched slightly when you felt his hands slowly crawl up your body and under your shirt. 

Jervis slowly retracted his lips from yours. Only a small trail of saliva kept you two connected. 

He grabbed the hem of your shirt before looking up at you, silently asking if he could remove it. 

You nodded so quickly your head almost rolled off. 

The moment you were free from the flimsy cotton shirt, Jervis was quick to appreciate the exposure to your body as he began kneading the skin of your chest and abdomen. 

He tucked his head in between your neck and shoulder as he began leaving hot wet kisses along your jaw and neck.

“J-Jervis…” you sighed breathlessly. 

Jervis’ body tensed at your voice. He brought his head back up to face you. 

He gulped. “P-Please…do that again, just the same…want you to call out my name.” 

You nodded, your hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. “I will, just as long as you don’t stop.” 

To that Jervis grinned a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. He gave your forehead another peck. “My darling, March Hare, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing…I wouldn’t dare.” 

Jervis briefly sat up and rested on his haunches as he began shucking away his suit jacket.

Already missing his close proximity, you quickly sat up and wrapped your arms around his neck while he tried to unbutton his dress shirt, but quickly gave up in exchange for holding you.

He chuckled at your enthusiasm, still deliriously delighted to have someone love him like this. As you began returning the favor with your own kisses to his neck and chest, he continued to make quick work of his trousers. 

To have Jervis here with you almost as bare as you were, overwhelmed you in the best of ways. 

No longer did you have to ponder what he looked like under his clothes or how he would feel against you. 

He was there in reality. All there and all yours. 

Jervis’ cock was hard and occasionally hit his stomach. He breathed a sigh of relief once it was free from its confines. 

He gasped shortly when you lightly traced your fingers up his dick. You turned your head to look at him to make sure this was okay. 

Jervis nodded before leaning in to kiss you again. A kiss that said “I love you” and “I trust you.” 

You felt the sharp intake of air through Jervis’ nose as you slowly wrapped your hand around his cock and began slowly stroking it. His gloved hands dug into the folds of your body, as if trying to keep himself grounded. 

Soon you felt his hand travel further down your body. Not wanting to leave his precious March Hare out, he began trying to copy the same rhythm you were going at to your own sex. 

This caused you to pull back from his lips, as you began panting into the crook of his neck. 

Fantasizing be damned, this was so much better than anything you could imagine or what that toy could replicate.

Yet, you wanted–needed so much more. After years of pining for Jervis, to finally have him here with you in the most passionate way imaginable. How could you not want everything? Every little bit of him he has to offer?

“Jervis–mmh…Jervis..” You moaned. Trying to form a sentence but got caught off guard by his sped up pace. 

“N-Need you…please…now.” You managed to pant out. 

Jervis gulped, slowing down his movements which you did too. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You almost whined. “Please…Jervis..”

Another shudder overtook Jervis’ body. His heart beating relentlessly against his ribcage. Jervis knows madness, but has never known a madness as passionate and pleasurable as this. 

Jervis gently leaned his body against yours to slowly have you lay back down on your back with him hovering above you once again. 

He brought one of his hands to his mouth and bit down on the tip of the finger sleeve of the glove, before peeling it off his hand. 

As sad as you were to see the gloves go, seeing the way he bit down on the finger of the glove made you swoon. 

Once his hand was free from the glove, he reached down to your core and gathered what wetness was there before proceeding to slowly push his finger into your entrance. 

Despite the fun you had earlier, you were still fairly tight as you winced at his finger entering you fully. 

Jervis stared at you intently, looking for any signs of discomfort and hopefully he could see signs of pleasure. 

He slowly added another finger as he continued his steady pace inside you. 

You appreciated the effort he went to make sure you wouldn't be uncomfortable. However, you think you were about to scream if you didn't actually have him. 

You gently put your hand on his arm and squeezed. "I'm ready, Jervis…please…I need you." 

Jervis doesn't think he will ever get over hearing you say that and hearing you pleading for him. 

He slowly brought his fingers out and maneuvered himself to where he could line himself up to your hole. 

Jervis leaned over you again with hooded eyelids before kissing you. As he kissed you, he gently pushed himself inside of you. 

You both took a sharp breath between your lips at the intrusion. Jervis began peppering soft kisses all along your face, jaw, and neck. Anything to ease any sort of pain you were feeling. 

You softly muttered to him you were okay and that he could start moving. 

Jervis seemed unsure at the moment, but took it in stride as he slowly pulled himself out and equally as slowly pushed back in. Every time it got easier and more pleasing.

Your moans continued to egg him on, but not nearly as much as when you moaned his name. 

"Jervis…mhh..Jervis!" 

It made him thrust faster, kiss you harder, and squeeze your skin tighter. Soon you began crying out his name similarly to how you sounded earlier when he thought you were in danger. 

He hoped that this was far better than whatever fantasy you had playing in your mind. 

If he had asked you that, you would have reassured that he was far better than what you imagined. 

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck to keep his lips near yours. Your hands either clung to his hair or the thin dress shirt he still wore. 

Your throat began to burn from your moans and hot pants but you didn't care. It was well worth the deep burning sensation in your gut that continued to get hotter and tighter. 

"Jervis…Jerv-mmm-I-I'm close.." You managed to announce in between your sounds of continuous pleasure. 

Jervis nodded, all words in the English language being lost on him at that moment. He was close too, his ball tightening every time you squeezed around him or cried out his name. 

His focus was solely on you though as he began thrusting faster than before, pulling out just enough to keep the head of his dick in before thrusting back in. 

It knocked the air out of you, but you didn't care. It made your legs tingle and had you see stars. 

Soon the tingles in your legs soon overtook your whole body as your nerves became ignited from the delicious release from the burning tension finally boiling over inside you.

You cried out his name when you arched your hips up from your shaking legs. Your entrance tightened that much more around Jervis' cock causing him to finally come unwound inside you with an audible groan. 

Jervis reluctantly pulled out of you before collapsing on top of your body. His head nestled in your chest as he tried to catch his breath. 

You tried to do the same, completely at a loss for words at the moment. You brought your hand up to comb through his unruly hair, finally living out another fantasy of yours.  

You lowered your head and kissed the top of his head before whispering. "That was amazing, better than any fantasy." 

Jervis chuckled, but deep down he was ecstatic, he just didn't have the energy to entirely act on it. 

It meant so much to know he could please you, because loving you pleased him. 

He lifted his head up briefly to look at you with pure adoration in his eyes. "It was my pleasure, darling." He scooted a little forward so his lips could reach yours.

When you two broke apart your heart swelled up at the soft look he gave you. It almost felt silly to say it, the way he looked at you made it clear he felt it too, but your heart was so full you swore you were about to combust. 

"I love you, Jervis." You said softly as if speaking it too loudly could break the tender moment. 

Jervis' smile widened as his bright eyes softly glazed over and his eyelids got more heavy. "And I love you, my dear Hare." 

You two slowly slipped into a tender slumber. Likely going to wake up sore from the nightly activities and sleeping on the couch, but it wouldn't matter. 

All that mattered now was that you two had each other in a way you both desired for a long time. 

All those wondrous daydreams, desires, and fantasies were finally part of your wonderful reality. 

[cringelordofchaos]

Ok I have an omori au idea brewing up in here

Basically it's pretty much like "omari". Basically omori plotline except Mari killed sunny not the other way around

But there is different angst potential. Mari is someone who deeply loves and cares for others, especially her younger brother. She's always there for others when they need her. So to think of her failing to protect Sunny... Yeah...

But honestly I see Mari as a kind of an honest person. To face the truth. I find her to be brave and reliable. Obviously the truth is horrifying but unlike Sunny who's head was always sort of outside this world and he made up a whole imaginary land for himself to escape to I feel like Mari would be more open to facing the truth. (Plus the name Mari literally means "truth""

So I don't think Mari would have a headspace? Idk

But I also thought of ghost sunny

You know how there's ghost Mari in the actual game?

So yeah

Ghost sunny in my au still has a white space, he still doesn't face reality and doesn't know of he truth. He doesn't know that he was killed. He doesn't know that he's not alive.

At first, he did know he died, but he started hallucinating this figure we'll call "Someone" for now, and Someone made sunny believe that he never died, he always lived in the white space, etc etc. That he never had any friends before Someone.

I also made someone an actual character. Someone is manipulative of Sunny and tries desperately to make him believe the white space is the best place for him and hat he's always lived there because Someone is a person Sunny made up because sunny hates being alone. If sunny sees his friends someone might disappear. Someone can't let this happen so Someone needs sunny to be dependent on them.

Sunny doesn't really remember anything from his life, but his fear of heights, stairs and spiders remain. He is also easily triggered by loud noises, anger and general conflict because of the tension in his last argument with Mari. He hates being overwhelmed. Someone takes that to their advantage and whenever Sunny doesn't listen to Someone or tries to face the truth if he dares, Someone will act angry to scare him, and then instantly comfort him and be nice to him so he can trust them.

Someone actually starts caring a bit about Sunny after some time, they actually start feeling bad for them, but they still put their need for survival above all else. Their empathy is irrelevant.

Sunny always has a cat plushie that Mari gave him when they were both younger. The plushie mari gave him right before going to her first school trip. Sunny doesn't want her to go because he wont have her to go to when having s nightmare. So she decides to give him a plushie and tell him that whenever he feels scared and he's alone, that he can just hug the plushie. The plushie is like a part of Mari. Something from Mari to sunny. Ghost sunny in the future still holds onto this plushie. He doesn't know why he has it but whenever Someone isn't around, he holds onto the plushie.

Ghost sunny at one point starts gaining back his memories. When he realized what Mari accidentally did to him he is a bit scared of her and not as easily forgiving as Mari would be.

When he first visited the real world after s long time, although he didn't recognize any of his friends too much, he still felt scared around Mari.

Basil is hella depressed. He doesn't speak to anyone. He barely ever goes outside. Whenever someone tries talking to him he doesn't utter a word. He knows exactly what happened to Sunny. Including all the details. He can't let anyone know. He once impulsively cut Maris and Heros signature plants out of pure grief and now he regrets it deeply. He wants to forgive them but it's hard because he just wants everything to go back to normal but it can't and he's angry. Few people like Aubrey and kel, and even Mari tried tj comfort him but he avoids everyone, he really doesn't want to talk to anyone.

Ghist Sunny is still scared of the truth. He still tries denying that he's dead even if subconsciously. Someone helps him forget.

Kel tries helping everyone but just like in the actual game he feels like he's not helping and everyone is pushing him away so he just tries to make a new life after a while

Hero feels like he doesn't deserve that nickname. Mari still calls him hero from time to time, whether it be as a slip up or because she Genuinely sees him as "hero" and no one else, but hero just wants to be called Henry

Hero helped Mari hide Sunny's body. They both blame themselves.

Also, sunny died either by A: Mari accidentally pushing sunny of the stairs, or B. Mari failing to save sunny from drowning. Or something third. Either way it has something to do with Mari.

Mari will still try to make a smile for all her friends and family because she doesn't want anyone to be weak. She wants to encourage everyone to be accepting of their life and stuff. But when she's alone she sometimes has attacks. Her guilt and the failure of her being incapable of saving her brother like she was supposed to haunts her forever. Was she too pushy? Was she not good enough? She want worried about herself as much as she missed Sunny though.

Sunny is still somewhat of a hikikomori because most ghosts generally visit their loved ones from time to time, even though they can't usually see them, but Sunny is one of the few ones that stay in the white space at all times. Hes afraid of what might be outside of the white space because Someone made them believe it's not as safe as it is here. (Every dead person has a "white space" in this au. It's basically a form of an afterlife.)

Sunny still has a "something". But this something represents his death that Someone constantly tries to hide away from Sunny. But when Sunny is all alone and focuses hard enough in his surroundings, he sees a creepy figure, a reminder of truth of what happened to his life, that someone is a liar. Sunny doesn't know what Something is really but it sure creeps him out. He tries staying alongside Someone just so he doesn't have to see Something.

Someone's general personality is a mix of Sunny's friends (Mari, Basil, Kel, Aubrey, Hero).

Someone manipulates sunny into believing that his past friends should be feared. That he's better off alone.

At times Mari and Basil can actually SEE ghost sunny but they might or might not be imagining him.

Ghost sunny is a much more nervous, scared easily overwhelmed individual. His fear of loudness, heights and spiders (and especially swimming/water) remain. (Wait did I already write this down?? My lack of memory is really showing itself to the world right now)

Ok there's more but I'm too lazy to write it down oop

Yeah