#and I was so utterly distraught when they closed

[mossypidder]

So because. The minecraft hyperfixation has hit again. And my brain found it necessary to make an encyclopedia style page of ✨STUFFS✨

And I successfully did crosshatchy-ness for the first time ever

But anyway- ludicrously happy with this.

[pin-k-ink]

study session // akaashi keiji

tw ⇢ mutual pining, making out, soft sex, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, getting caught(?), bokuto being bokuto

wc ⇢ 5.9k

The deadbolt thunked softly as Akaashi twisted his key, shoulders sagging with fatigue after another marathon day of editing. He toed off his loafers, inhaling the familiar blend of books and bergamot that enveloped the apartment he shared with his roommate - you, Bokuto's younger sister.

A muffled sniffle drifted from down the hall, immediately snapping Akaashi's focus into sharp awareness. Frowning slightly, he followed the sound toward your bedroom. The door was ajar, spilling a thin blade of light across the hardwood.

Akaashi hesitated with his knuckles hovering outside the door frame, another watery hiccup reaching his ears. Quietly, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.

"Y/N, are you alright?" he called out gently.

A tremulous inhale, then your voice filtered through, think and wavering. "A-Akaashi? Y-Yeah, I'm...I'm okay."

But the attempt at false bravery was betrayed by the slight quaver marring your tone. Akaashi's brow furrowed in sincere concern, fingers already grasping the door handle.

"May I come in?"

A pause, then a resigned sigh. "Okay..."

He pushed the door open slowly to find you hunched over your desk, shoulders trembling and face streaked with tears. Textbooks and notepads were strewn haphazardly, evidence of the chaotic state of your studies. Akaashi felt a pang in his chest at the rare sight of your usual sunny disposition so distraught and overwhelmed.

"Oh Y/N..." He crossed the room in three strides, circling around to crouch beside you. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You swiped the sleeve of your sweatshirt uselessly across your damp cheeks, exhaling a ragged breath. "It's just...there's so much material to review for midterms and I'm f-falling behind. I've been studying nonstop but nothing is sticking and I'm so stressed out..."

The dam of frustration you'd been holding back finally burst as your voice hitched dangerously on those last words. Akaashi watched, utterly helpless, as you dissolved into fresh sobs muffled behind your palms.

For a moment, he wavered, unsure of the proper decorum to provide comfort without overstepping boundaries. But the sight of your dejected hunched form overwhelmed any hesitation. Tenderly, he reached out to pull you into his embrace, tucking your face into the reassuring warmth of his chest.

You immediately melted against him, tremors wracking your frame as the tears soaked through the soft cotton of his dress shirt. Akaashi just held you close, cheek pillowed atop your crown as he murmured soothing reassurances.

"It's okay, just breathe...you've got this..."

In that dimly-lit sanctuary of your bedroom, he allowed himself to admit the truth simmering beneath his concern - the soft cadence of your breath fanning across his collarbone, the pliant weight of you cradled against his chest...it all felt so intrinsically right. As if you belonged sheltered in his arms.

The realization should have startled Akaashi more than it did. Yet, somehow his heart had already accepted the quiet inevitability of the tenderness blooming between you two over years of being roommates.

Eventually, your hitched breathing began to even out, arms tentatively circling his waist as you reigned in your spiked emotions. When at last you pulled back, Akaashi was gutted by your reddened eyes and wan expression - outer signs of the immense strain you were enduring.

"God, I'm so sorry..." you mumbled, avoiding his gaze self-consciously. "You must think I'm an over-emotional wreck."

"Not at all," he replied, cupping your cheek with one palm to tilt your face back toward him. "You've been pushing yourself incredibly hard. It's only natural the stress would eventually need an outlet."

Akaashi held your wavering stare, silently willing you to grasp his understanding, his concern, the unacknowledged tenderness reflecting behind his carefully composed exterior. Finally, you managed a watery semblance of your usual vibrant smile - a flicker of your indomitable spirit that never failed to stir his heart.

"Thank you, Akaashi. I don't know what I'd do without your steadying presence when I'm a mess like this."

"Anytime," he murmured, the words carrying more weight than he perhaps intended. Clearing his throat, he sat back on his heels. "Now...why don't you take a short break, splash some water on your face? Then come find me in the living room. I'll help you go over whatever topics are tripping you up."

Your eyes widened fractionally at his offer of studying together, then crinkled with renewed determination and gratitude. "Really? You don't mind? God, that would be incredible..."

"Of course not. We'll tackle this together." Akaashi rose fluidly to his feet. "I'll put on a pot of tea for us."

As he retreated into the hallway, he couldn't deny the faint fluttering warmth that blossomed in his chest. Though he assisted you frequently with your coursework, there was an unusual anticipation thrumming beneath his skin now. Perhaps amplified by those tender, unfurling moments of connection in your bedroom.

He allowed himself a fleeting smile, letting the cozy atmosphere of your shared apartment enfold him as he busied himself preparing the tea tray. Yes, something had definitively shifted between you two tonight. And Akaashi found himself unexpectedly eager to embrace whatever this newintimacy ushered in.

The gentle rattling of ceramic cups and quiet brewing of the electric kettle provided a soothing soundtrack as Akaashi arranged the tea tray. He inhaled the grounding aroma of bergamot and lemon, mentally preparing himself to tackle your studies with the same care he devoted to his editorial work.

Just as he finished setting out the teacups, you padded into the living room - face scrubbed clean and radiant smile tentatively resurfacing. Akaashi felt his chest constrict at how achingly tender and vulnerable you appeared, swathed in an over-sized university hoodie. He had to resist the sudden impulse to pull you back into his arms.

"Hey, all set whenever you are," you murmured, rubbing the dampness from your cheeks. You settled cross-legged on the floor, back resting against the sofa as you gathered your notes and textbooks onto the coffee table.

Akaashi poured the fragrant tea, sliding one steaming cup towards you before joining on the floor opposite. You offered him a grateful look over the rim as you sipped carefully, face visibly relaxing as the warmth seeped into you.

"Okay," he prompted in that low, soft timbre of his. "Where should we start?"

You worried your bottom lip - an endearing quirk he'd noticed you did when concentrating hard. "Umm...organic chemistry has been really kicking my ass lately. If we could go over some of the molecular structure concepts?"

Nodding, Akaashi reached for your notebook, allowing your shoulders to brush in the process. A shiver rippled through you that had nothing to do with the temperature. He pretended not to notice, keeping his focus trained on the page as he scanned your scattered notations with a practiced editorial eye.

"I can see where you're getting tripped up on the hybridization models..." he mused, fingers unconsciously smoothing the rumpled pages with a delicate touch.

With that same deft cadence he used to break down complex manga narratives and storyboards, Akaashi began illuminating the organic chemistry topics that were giving you trouble. You quickly became absorbed in his low, authoritative explanations - leaning incrementally closer until your knees knocked together every time you shifted position.

Akaashi's mouth went dry whenever your raptured gaze lifted to his, those expressive eyes drinking in each new nuance he highlighted. He couldn't resist the temptation to reach out, large palms engulfing your smaller hands to guide them through the molecular diagram you were struggling with.

You seemed to shudder bodily at the contact, but didn't pull away. If anything, you gravitated infinitesimally nearer to his orbit until the earthy sandalwood scent of his cologne enveloped you completely.

For his part, Akaashi felt utterly transfixed dissecting the intricacies of organic chemistry with you. Long minutes blurred into hours, marked only by the occasional rasp of your pencil scratching out new understandings and quiet stretch of reaching for your rapidly cooling tea.

A heady sort of intimacy had descended over the hushed apartment - suspended in a gossamer pocket of time where only the two of you existed. Even when a shrill trill from your phone interrupted, shattering the weighted quiet, neither of you startled apart.

"Shit, it's Kou checking in..." you murmured vaguely, swiping to silence the incessant buzzing without sparing the screen a glance.

A tiny furrow appeared between Akaashi's brows, unable to fully mask the fleeting pang of disappointment. Of course Bokuto would want to catch up with his baby sister. He tamped down whatever misguided sentiments had begun flickering to life and refocused on the present lesson.

A new cadence emerged over the ensuing weeks - you and Akaashi settling into a ritual of late-night cram sessions in the living room after he returned from the office. What had begun as his kind offer of a studious assist gradually deepened into something richer, more intimate. Textbooks became the pretense, while conversations about Akaashi's editorial work for up-and-coming mangaka and your academic ambitions flowed more organically.

He savored those hushed interludes, coveting each fresh glimpse into your spirit and psyche that you shyly unveiled over mugs of bergamot tea and pages. You seemed to come alive at night, unfurling from your usual subdued daytime presence into an incandescent force as radiant as your legendary brother.

On nights when Bokuto himself burst into the apartment unannounced for a visit, his raucous presence felt strangely...diminishing. Like an intrusion upon the rarefied bubble of connection you and Akaashi had begun delicately cultivating, no matter how inadvertent.

"Hey hey hey!!!" The boisterous owl'd screech, sweeping his baby sister up in his signature crushing embrace much to her squealing protests. "There're my two favorite roomies!!"

For the span of those chaotic visits, you and Akaashi became spectators in your own apartment - observing from the periphery as Bokuto dominated the space with his overwhelming charm and delirious anecdotes. Invariably, you would share a look with Akaashi from across the room - shining with a sort of knowing affection and silent promise to reconvene your quieter interlude once the whirlwind subsided.

Bokuto remained blissfully oblivious to the undercurrent shifting between you, of course. But with each passing day, each fitful study session that bled into the wee hours, Akaashi felt himself falling deeper under the spell of your steady warmth and lighthearted presence.

The selfish part of him began hoarding those sacrosanct one-on-one moments, savoring the intimacy of being the one to share in your blossoming self-discoveries, your academic passions, all crowned by the coquettish smiles and sparkling glances you bestowed upon him alone.

He had become addicted to basking in the rosy glow of your affection on sleepy afternoons when you'd emerge from your bedroom after sleeping late, tousled hair haloing your face. Akaashi routinely lost his train of thought watching you shuffle around the apartment preparing tea and toast, rumpled and soft and utterly resplendent in his eyes.

It was during those tranquil respites between lessons that the reality of his deepening feelings became unavoidable, even to Akaashi's own practiced aloofness. You had worked your way under his skin, into his veins, until his every waking moment centered upon your orbit. With each night that blurred into dawning tenderness, he felt himself teetering perilously towards falling utterly, hopelessly in love.

The soft patter of rain against the windowpanes provided a soothing ambient soundtrack as you pored over your psychology textbook. Akaashi sat beside you on the couch, leg brushing yours as he leaned in to examine the passage you were struggling to grasp.

"So the key difference between the Psychoanalytic and Behaviorist models is..." His low, modulated timbre washed over you as he began breaking down the nuances.

You bit your lip, nodding along while trying to concentrate despite the incredible proximity of his body heat and intoxicating sandalwood cologne. Akaashi's attentive gaze flickered between you and the text, entirely focused on elucidating the intricate psychological concepts until comprehension finally sparked behind your eyes.

"Ohhh, I think I'm getting it now..." you murmured, scribbling a few shorthand notes in the margin. "The Psychoanalytic looks at the deeper underlying motivations like Freudian psyche stuff, whereas Behaviorist is all about external conditioning and reinforcement?"

Akaashi's lips curved into a pleased smile - warm approval crinkling the corners of his steel-grey eyes. "Exactly. You've got a keen understanding."

You basked in the subtle praise, preening slightly under his undivided attention. An unexpected crack of thunder punctuated the moment, making you jump. Akaashi steadied you with a light touch on your shoulder, fingers lingering perhaps a beat too long.

"Perhaps we should take a break?" he suggested, eyes crinkling fondly at your startled reaction. "My brain could use a reprieve from the academic intensity."

"Oh? Did you have something else in mind?" You arched a brow teasingly.

The longer you pursued your studies together during these late-night sessions, the more your dynamic had evolved beyond a simple student-mentor rapport. An undercurrent of flirtatious energy had begun simmering between you, acknowledged yet never overtly addressed.

Akaashi hummed, reaching over to snag the TV remote from the end table. "I happened to download a few of the films from that Ghibli retrospective you mentioned wanting to see..."

Your face lit up at the casual reminder of an offhand comment you'd made ages ago - pleasantly surprised that he had taken note.

"Seriously? God, you're the best study-buddy ever!" You immediately shifted onto the floor, cozying into the plush area rug as Akaashi cued up the first animated film.

He chuckled - a low rumbling rasp that did funny things to your equilibrium these days. "At the rate we're accruing all-nighters, calling me a 'study-buddy' is practically an insult to my scholarly dedication."

"Oh, I'm sorry - should I call you Keeeiii-jiiiii Sensei instead?" you quipped with a theatrical bat of your lashes.

His only response was an exaggerated roll of eyes as he settled in beside you, near enough for your shoulders to brush with each intake of breath. The movie flickered to life, casting the living room in bursts of jewel-toned light and shadow.

Though you tried valiantly to remain attentive and absorb the artistry of the acclaimed anime, you gradually became ensnared by heavy lidded drowsiness as the opening scenes played out. Something about the ambient patter of rain, the easy cadence of Akaashi's breathing beside you, it all lulled you into a deeply contented state far too cozy to resist.

At some point, you must have drifted off entirely because you startled back to awareness cradled in Akaashi's arms as he carried you down the hallway to your bedroom. You instinctively nuzzled against the solid plane of his chest, relishing the sandalwood cologne and clean linen scent enveloping you both.

Akaashi went very still for a suspended moment, the muscles in his arms tensing almost imperceptibly around you. His jaw worked briefly before he spoke in a hushed murmur pitched low enough not to disturb the night quiet.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to wake you," he rumbled, negotiating the last few steps into your bedroom with that same liquid grace he possessed. "You looked so peaceful, I wanted to get you somewhere more comfortable to sleep."

You peeled open one heavy-lidded eye, reflexively cataloging how the silvery moonlight gilded the elegant planes of his face, casting his stormy irises in softer grays. Even sleep-addled, you recognized the thrilling intimacy of being gathered against Akaashi's solidly muscular frame like a lover's embrace.

The staccato pounding of raindrops against the windows intensified into a deafening roar as the storm system raged outside. You shivered involuntarily, rubbing your hands along your arms despite being cocooned in one of Akaashi's worn university hoodies that smelled intoxicatingly of sandalwood and clove.

A massive crack of thunder boomed directly overhead, causing you to flinch violently. Unconsciously, you scooted infinitesimally closer to where Akaashi sat beside you on the floor - back against the couch as you pored over notes and textbooks strewn across the coffee table.

He paused, keen eyes flickering over to study your tense form briefly before returning his focus to the biochem flashcards you were meant to be reviewing. A few beats of weighted silence passed, punctuated only by the howling winds.

Then, with a blinding flash, every lamp and light fixture extinguished - plunging the apartment into absolute inky darkness.

You couldn't help the tiny whimper that scraped up your throat as you froze, pulse thundering wildly in your ears. From the void beside you came the rustle of movement, callused fingers tenderly circling your wrist.

"Hey...you're alright," Akaashi's deep timbre washed over you, resonant and reassuring even without being able to see his features. "Just a power outage from the storm. We have candles and battery lamps, don't worry."

You bobbed your head numbly, unconsciously leaning into the warmth and solidness of his presence beside you. Akaashi seemed to register the slight tremors rippling through you because he shifted nearer until your thighs were flush, cocooning you in his orbit.

"Give me a moment to find the emergency lights," he murmured, thick lashes brushing your knuckles fleetingly before he retreated.

You heaved a shuddering breath, internally willing your racing heart to slow. The pounding rain and occasional crackling bursts of thunder sounded more ominous in the yawning darkness, sending fresh prickles skittering down your spine.

Just when you felt on the precipice of panicking, Akaashi's low tenor carried over from behind the sectional.

"Got it."

Momentarily, a warm golden glow began emanating from the kitchen as he lit an array of utility candles and lanterns. He reappeared bearing several flickering flames and a fleece blanket tucked under his arm.

You shakily exhaled in profound relief at the sight of him - your safe harbor. Without preamble, Akaashi settled right beside you on the floor, draping the heavy fleece comforter over both of your laps before tucking you against his side.

"Better?" he murmured gently.

You could only nod, nuzzling deeper into the solid warmth of him while the flickering candle flames cast his striking features in dancing shadows and light. Akaashi maneuvered his long limbs until you were nestled into his embrace, his chin grazing the crown of your head.

Minutes ticked by, your thundering heartbeat gradually receding to a more sedate cadence in tandem with the rhythmic rise and fall of Akaashi's chest beneath your cheek. You allowed your eyes to drift shut, savoring the cocooning sanctuary of blankets, flickering candelabra, and his intoxicating spice-and-cedarwood cologne.

"This reminds me of being a kid and having sleepovers during thunderstorms," you mumbled groggily against his solid frame.

A rumbling chuckle reverberated beneath your palms where they rested over his heart.

"Is that so? I can't say I have many nostalgic memories of making pillow forts and telling ghost stories with friends."

You cracked open one eye to peer up at his striking silhouette, mouth tugging in a bemused smile. "No? I suppose actively seeking out haunted places for volleyball practice with Kou was more your style."

Akaashi snorted softly, letting the gentle teasing roll off him with fond exasperation. You drank in the way the muted candlelight played over the elegant slopes of his profile, heartbeat catching at the tenderness reflected in his storm-cloud irises. Quite abruptly, it struck you just how closely intertwined you were sprawled together.

Your nose was mere centimeters from grazing the stubbled hinge of his jaw as your gazes locked and held. A kaleidoscope of expressions flickered across Akaashi's face too quickly to decipher - tender longing, surprise, the quietest yearning. You felt simultaneously emboldened and paralyzed by the magnetism charging the scant breaths separating you.

His tongue swiped across his bottom lip instinctively and you were powerless to stop your own from mirroring the motion. That simple flick of movement brought your shared awareness crashing into riotous clarity.

"Y/N..." Akaashi's murmur vibrated over your swiftly warming skin like the rumble of oncoming thunder.

More words seemed to tether on the tip of his tongue, weighted and unspoken. Instead, he slowly inclined his face nearer - silently beseeching for permission with those piercing steel-grey irises. Your own eyes fluttered shut, tilting up to meet him halfway in quiet invitation.

The roar of the raging storm outside dimmed to a distant thrum as Akaashi closed the last hairsbreadth between your parted lips. His mouth slanted over yours in a slow, exploratory glide of searing heat. An electrical current jolted through you, catalyzing an invisible spark that ignited something molten and cataclysmic threatening to engulf you both in its fervor.

The gentle rasp of Akaashi's stubble feathering your cheek contrasted exquisitely with the velvet glide of his mouth moving in unhurried exploration across yours. You sank feverishly into the intimate glide, emboldened by his smoldering patience to tease the seam of his lips with a flick of your tongue.

He rewarded your ardor with a low rumbling exhale, immediately deepening the lush kiss and cradling your nape to tilt your head to a more devouring angle. The hand spanning your lower back scorched through the thin cotton barrier, urging you closer until you were sprawled fully across his powerful thighs.

A rush of trembling desire flooded your veins at the dominance of his hold, the tender way his other palm cradled your flushed cheek as if you were something precious to be cherished. You curled your fingers against the taut muscles sheathed by his t-shirt, absorbing the staggering heat radiating from him in waves.

Gradually, the leisurely sensuality of exchanging openmouthed kisses in the flickering candlelight evolved into something rawer, more heated. Akaashi's normally implacable control began shredding away as your tongue tangled with his in delirious cadence, exchanging breathy moans between slick slides of intimate friction.

His broad hands roamed in smoldering exploration - tracing the feminine dip of your waist, palming the flare of your hip in a commanding grip that sent your head spinning. When his calloused thumb traced the underside curve of your breast, you gasped into his mouth - entire body arching wantonly against the rigid line of his arousal.

The barest thread of sanity had you breaking away, reeling for oxygen in harsh pants against the glistening angle of Akaashi's jaw. His quicksilver gaze watched you through a lust-dazed haze, pulse fluttering wildly beneath his flushed skin where you cupped the column of his throat. Slowly, reverently, he turned to feather a trail of searing kisses along your quickening pulse point.

"Keiji..." you whimpered, fingers spasming against his chest when the velvet heat of his mouth found the juncture of your shoulder, teeth grazing tauntingly. "I can't...we should—ah!"

The needy whine sheared off as he sucked a blistering mark just below your clavicle, tongue flickering to soothe the hot sting of overstimulation. His knowing hum ricocheted straight to your molten core, heavy-lidded eyes lifting to pin you in place with fathomless yearning.

"We can stop whenever you wish," Akaashi rasped roughly against your damp skin, callused palms smoothing inescapable paths down your trembling body. "But I personally have no intention of going slowly after wanting this for so torturously long..."

You swallowed thickly, sanity careening precariously as his midnight timbre ghosted like sin over the swell of your breasts, lips mapping a scorching path lower with every inhalation. The last coherent thought filtering through ribboned into embers as Akaashi pressed you back onto the plush shag rug - moonlight and swaying candleflames framing his predatory form hovering above you.

"If I have my way, we won't be stopping until I've learned every exquisite sound you make," he whispered, nimble fingers already slipping beneath the hem of your borrowed hoodie. "Until you're utterly ruined for anyone else, only ever remembering how it feels to be loved by me."

A keening whimper rose unbidden in your throat, hips canting instinctively as his callused palms glided over the exposed expanse of your midriff. Akaashi's answering smirk was pure wickedness, the promise of a reckoning looming in his molten stare as his hands traveled further upwards.

"Let me show you how badly I've been craving you..." he murmured, palming your breasts in a kneading caress that left you gasping and arching wantonly. When his thumb grazed the pebbled peaks, you arched mindlessly into the delicious friction, eyes drifting shut with a low moan. Akaashi's rumbling chuckle rippled over your skin, then his scorching mouth was descending to follow his deft hands.

Your spine bowed when he took one nipple between his lips, rolling and tugging it until the pleasure was near-blinding. Akaashi's name tumbled from your lips in a fevered prayer, fingers scrabbling uselessly against his broad shoulders. His free hand grasped your hip in a firm hold, pinning you to the rug as his mouth continued its ruthless assault on the other pebbled bud.

You squirmed helplessly against the searing contact, panting for air as your blood boiled. All the while, Akaashi never faltered in his meticulous attentions - suckling and grazing his teeth until the ache coalesced into a desperate throbbing.

"Please..." you finally cried out, nails scoring his shirt with desperation.

Akaashi relented at last, raising his head with a wet pop to regard your wrecked state. His eyes flashed, mouth curving into a devastating smirk as he pressed a tender kiss to the center of your sternum.

"So pretty when you beg..."

Before you could even process his words, he was lowering his mouth between your trembling thighs - callused palms prying them wider apart. You keened at the first slick sweep of his tongue over your clothed core, fingers fisting desperately into the plush rug.

"F-fuck..."

The profanity spilled unbidden from your lips, incinerated by the white-hot sensation of Akaashi lapping greedily between your legs. His dark hair fell in silky disarray, obscuring his face where his nose nudged against your swollen bud. A growl rumbled up his throat as his tongue flattened against the soaked fabric.

"These need to go..." he mumbled, already reaching to slide your shorts and panties down your trembling legs. You barely had a moment to process his intent before his scorching mouth was descending upon the throbbing flesh, lapping and sucking until your entire body shuddered with need.

You writhed helplessly, head falling back onto the rug with a strangled cry. Akaashi's groan vibrated against your core, fingers digging into the backs of your thighs as he devoured you. His tongue swirled and plunged, driving you into a frenzy of pleasure so intense you felt your entire being shattering.

The world blurred and warped into a shimmering prism of sensation as he sucked mercilessly on your clit, the sharp scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs sending sparks ricocheting through your system. You keened, bucking helplessly against his merciless mouth.

"God, right there!"

Akaashi seemed to drink in the frenzied praise, doubling his efforts until your vision whitened at the edges. He growled possessively, nipping your swollen bud just as his fingers slid through the dripping mess to find your aching entrance.

One blunt digit plunged into your quivering core, then two. You were already clenching tightly around the welcome intrusion, riding the knife's edge of a bone-deep orgasm. Akaashi curled his fingers, seeking that elusive spot as his lips suctioned ruthlessly.

It only took a few expert strokes of his digits and the wicked swipe of his tongue before the world disintegrated. Your spine bowed violently, a scream tearing from your lungs as pleasure detonated along every nerve. Akaashi kept pumping, coaxing you through wave after wave of pulsing heat.

Gradually, you came back down to earth in a boneless puddle - heart racing and muscles trembling. Akaashi's dark hair was a complete wreck, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy as he watched you through thick lashes. The corner of his mouth lifted, lips glistening with the evidence of your pleasure.

"God, you're so fucking perfect," he murmured hoarsely, leaning down to drag a slow kiss across your trembling abdomen. You whimpered at the tender contact, fingers sliding into the silk of his locks.

When he pulled back, it was only to peel his shirt over his head - revealing the sculpted planes of his torso in all its glory. Akaashi's eyes flashed as he watched your appreciative stare drinking in the sight, his cock visibly twitching in his jeans.

He surged up to capture your lips in a dizzying kiss, tongue swirling against yours with a renewed fervor. You tasted the musk of yourself lingering on his mouth, the heady rush of sensation making you arch against his body.

Your hands roamed hungrily, mapping the dips and ridges of muscle along his back. When they drifted lower, he groaned low in his throat as you palmed the stiff line of his arousal through the denim. Akaashi's own hands were busy divesting you of your remaining clothing - shoving the hoodie up to expose the curves of your breasts again.

You squirmed, grinding against the rigid pressure as the tension rapidly spiraled towards unbearable. Akaashi's jaw tensed, a muscle feathering in his cheek as his nostrils flared. He broke the kiss to reach down and roughly free himself, hissing at the sensation.

Your lips parted on a silent gasp as you took in the sight of his cock. Even the first few inches jutting out above his fist looked painfully thick, a bead of precome welling at the tip.

Akaashi met your gaze, a flush staining his cheeks as you watched him stroke the swollen flesh. His stormy eyes were hooded, pupils blown wide and glimmering with restrained hunger.

"Is this what you want?" he rasped, voice fraying at the edges as his cockhead nudged the slick folds. You bit your lip, arching closer as he dragged his length along the slit - coating himself in your arousal. "You need to tell me if it's too much, okay?"

"Yes...please, Keiji..."

Your head fell back with a broken moan as he slid into your tight, fluttering entrance inch by inch. Akaashi's mouth fell open on a groan, hips stuttering when he finally bottomed out.

The delicious stretch of him filled you completely, every ridge and vein pulsing inside your walls. Your nails scored his back as you shifted restlessly, acclimating to the overwhelming sensation of fullness.

Akaashi exhaled shakily, nuzzling your neck as his palm skated down your stomach to find your throbbing clit. His hips began rocking gently, pulling out to the tip before sliding back into the welcoming clutch of your walls.

You clung to him, shuddering and moaning at the incredible friction. The air grew heavier, more charged with each deliberate glide - the wet sound of your coupling ringing obscenely. Akaashi's mouth was hot against your flushed skin, tongue sweeping out to taste the salt.

His hips gradually gained momentum, driving deeper until you were nearly delirious with pleasure. The room spun, every nerve singing. When he adjusted the angle to hit the sensitive spot deep inside, a breathless cry tore from your throat.

"God, right there, please don't stop!"

The command was punctuated with a roll of your own hips, seeking the delicious friction. Akaashi growled, teeth nipping your jaw as he drove into you harder - his thumb circling your clit faster.

Your second orgasm slammed into you with the force of a freight train. You screamed, eyes screwing shut as the blinding pleasure ricocheted through your veins. Your walls clamped around his shaft, milking him with a spasm.

With a guttural curse, Akaashi's hips stuttered and his cock pulsed violently. You felt the drag of him sliding out, then the hot splash of his cum coating your abdomen. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his glassy, lust-addled stare.

He braced his weight on trembling arms, dipping his head to capture your lips in a deep, soul-stealing kiss. Your tongues tangled languidly, sharing breathless little gasps and moans. When he finally broke away, it was only to press a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose.

"You are so beautiful..."

His reverent murmur ghosted over your skin, making your chest clench. You carded your fingers through the silky locks, smoothing his hair back. Akaashi's eyelids drooped, savoring the contact before lifting them to reveal that same intense tenderness.

You could feel yourself getting lost in the stormy gray, drifting closer. His gaze was magnetic, drawing you in. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, pausing with his lips a hair's breadth from yours.

"Can we do that again?" he murmured, the ghost of a smirk playing about his mouth.

Your laughter pealed through the darkened room, bright and free. You felt lightheaded with elation, heart brimming.

"As often as you want," you promised, nipping playfully at his lower lip. "Although I hope there are some positions other than missionary..."

"I'll give you all my best ones," Akaashi rumbled, his expression turning positively sinful. "Over the couch, in the shower, bent over the kitchen table...every surface in this apartment..."

You hummed thoughtfully, running a teasing fingertip along the curve of his jaw. "What about the bed?"

His eyes sparkled, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Especially the bed."

You laughed, pulling him down for another kiss - the last rational thought to filter through ribboning into a whisper.

"It's a date, then."

bonus:

The door rattled violently as a sudden pounding echoed through the apartment. You and Akaashi froze in naked surprise on the living room couch.

"BABY SIS! YOU IN THERE?! I'M SO SORRY I'M LATE!" Bokuto's frantic bellow reverberated down the hall, accompanied by more insistent knocking.

Your eyes widened in panic as Akaashi hurriedly grabbed a throw blanket, shielding your bare forms just as the front door burst open. Framed in the doorway stood Bokuto, drenched from head to toe and illuminated by the beam of a flashlight clutched in one hand.

"There you are! Are you okay?" His wild eyes swept the room before locking onto you huddled against Akaashi's equally undressed form on the sofa. "I knew how freaked out you get during big storms so I rushed over as soon as the--"

Bokuto's words sheared off abruptly as the realization visibly slammed into him. His owlish gaze bounced between you and Akaashi slack-jawed, the flashlight beam spinning dizzily. You shrank back, clutching the blanket modestly as a blistering blush consumed your face.

Akaashi, damn him, simply held Bokuto's shocked stare with infuriatingly placid nonchalance.

An eternity seemed to stretch in that crackling, awkward moment. Finally, Bokuto swallowed hard, adam's apple bobbing.

"I...I'll umm...I'll just..." He gestured vaguely over his shoulder before slowly pivoting on his heel.

Silently, with exaggerated care, Bokuto began shuffling backwards out of the apartment - gaze studiously averted and mouth still agape. When he reached the door he briefly met Akaashi's unflinching stare one last time before whirling around and bolting.

The door slammed with a rattling boom, leaving you and Akaashi alone once more amid the flickering candles in a weighty hush.

You chanced a sidelong glance at Akaashi, unable to bite back the somewhat hysterical giggle bubbling up.

"Well...I suppose there are worse ways for him to find out we're...you know..."

Akaashi merely hummed, mouth kicking up in a wry half-smile as he tugged you snugly against his chest once more.

"Indeed. Though I must admit, I've never seen Bokuto-san's typically energetic demeanor so effectively stunned into silence."

Laughing helplessly, you nuzzled into the sleep-warmed crook of his neck - delighting in the simple intimacy of being wrapped up with the man you adored after the mortifying interruption.

"Should we be expecting the shovel talk next time he comes barreling in?" you teased lightly.

"Undoubtedly," Akaashi rumbled, fingertips trailing patterns along the exposed expanse of your back that raised goosebumps. "Just another family bonding moment to look forward to."

You hummed contentedly, sinking deeper into his solid embrace as the rumbling storm outside at last began tapering off to distant echoes. A new dawn was cresting over the horizon, heralding uncharted beginnings filled with promise.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

-

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

-

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

-

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

-

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

-

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

-

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

-

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

-

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

-

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

-

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

-

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[clanwarrior-tumbly]

HCs: Ken meeting a Human!Fem!Reader who owns a ranch

Wanted to write something for this movie bc it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past two days. So enjoy, lovelies! 

I’m taking requests for this movie so don’t be shy <3 

[SPOILERS AHEAD]

...........

After going back to the Real World to find a purpose for himself, Ken runs into you, a country girl who left the Mattel company to take care of your ranch.

You just stopped in the city to find new outfits..and instead found him rollerblading through the park, immediately recognizing him as a Ken.

You may not be in the company anymore but you just knew (especially with his vibrant outfit giving it away).

You two hit it off right away and eventually you go shopping together.

He gets a new cowboy outfit and is bashful when you pay for it (to which you reply that you..really didn’t have a choice in the matter, as he had no money).

He’s like “ohh that happened before when I was with Barbie..we got arrested for the second time that day :D”

You’re very concerned and decide that he should stick with you from now on (not that anyone at Mattel would ever care about a Ken running around to begin with...you just didn’t wanna have to bail him out of jail).

On the truck ride back to your home, you mentioned owning a ranch and Ken’s in a w e

You tell him more about it, and he’s so intrigued and can’t stop staring at you the entire time, especially as you go on about how a lot of women in your world are cowgirls and how they aren’t represented enough.

He bluntly states that he once believed “patriarchy” was all about the horses and you nearly laughed, but he seemed sad about it, so you assure him if he wanted to see horses, he made the right decision coming with you.

You introduce him to one of your favorite steeds and he’s SO overjoyed to actually see one in person. Like petting its mane and asking dozens of questions like an excited kid.

“Are you sure Barbieland didn’t have any horses of their own?”

“No, we just have the ones on sticks and our imaginations.” He pouts, mimicking the way he rode invisible horses with his hands. “But this? This is WAY cooler!!”

He tries mounting your horse, envisioning himself riding off into the sunset, free as a bird while shouting “yeehaw” at the top of his lungs-

Only for it to rear its head up and nearly stomp on his foot, with you having to calm it down as he snaps back to reality, looking utterly distraught and stressed over upsetting it.

“Alrighty. Ken. If you wanna ride a horse..the first step is earning its respect. Thought you would’ve learned about that in those books....but if you’ll let me, I’ll show you how to properly mount one. Luckily this one here’s accustomed to double riders.”

His face lights up and he listens to every instruction you give him, from placing the saddle on its back to climbing on, and finally how to control the direction he wants it to go.

For this one time, however, you take the reins and let him sit behind you, hugging you a bit too tightly for your liking, but you allow it as you show him around the rest of your ranch.

He just likes the closeness fr and you.

By the time the day’s over, your horse got better acquainted with Ken and let him ride around for a little while before you gotta put it in the stable for the night.

Before he could worry about where he was gonna go, you tell him he can stay with you as long as he wants.

He’s so happy he just,,,,breaks down ugly crying into your arms.

Though he quickly apologizes, admitting he’s still getting used to crying freely and being more emotional and-

“It’s okay, Ken.” You reassure him. “We need more guys like that around here who ain’t afraid to shed a tear or two.”

“Th-Thanks...Barbie told me it’s an amazing feeling. And honestly..it kinda is.”

After that small heart-to-heart talk, he gifts you his horseshoe necklace as a sign of his appreciation, that dopey grin returning to his face when you take it and wear it right away.

Yeah, you’ve only met each other for a day and he’s smitten the moment you started treated him as an equal. You let him have his own room, bed, wardrobe, etc. (and in time he'll have his own horse too).

All you ask is that he helps you manage the ranch, but at this point he’s willing to do anything for you now.

Finally, he realizes this was his dream all along.

One that Barbieland couldn't provide, but that was alright.

Patriarchy is overrated, anyways. This was all he wanted.

[prythianpages]

A Man After Midnight | Eris x Reader

summary: though engaged to Sawyer Vanserra, you feel utterly and completely alone with only the company of autumn winds, blowing outside your window. that is, until, Eris shows up. Your man after midnight.

warnings: mentions of assault (reader gets touched against her will but nothing explicit or anything that goes beyond that), blood, bruises/abuse/bullying; reader having a panic attack

a/n: This originally was going to head a different direction but I decided to make it like a part three to this instead. You can also read this as a stand alone one-shot. I love ABBA and I knew I had to use this song. One of my favs but you'll find that I say that a lot. You can find the masterlist to my ABBA x ACOTAR series here.

Your eyes light up as you spot Sawyer stepping out from the High Lord’s study. Overridden with excitement, you eagerly fall into step with him, the sheer brightness of your presence outshining the dimly lit surroundings. You pay no mind to the fact that his other brothers, Hunter and Oliver, are not too far behind.

“Good morning, Sawyer! Will you walk with me?” you beam up at him with a smile. It's the kind of sight that would make many fall to their feet–that even Oliver wants to bask in the glow of.

But Sawyer? He doesn’t even spare you a glance, his dark brown eyes fixed ahead as he replies, his tone detached. “I’m doing that right now.”

You can hear his brothers snicker behind you–too close for your liking that it has you quickening your steps. “But I was hoping you’d walk with me in the gardens? Or maybe we can have lunch together? We are to be marri–”

“Our marriage is nothing but a business deal arranged by our fathers.” He cuts you in sharply and you find your resolve faltering.

“Love may not come from our marriage but perhaps, we can be friends?” You offer, hating the desperation that seeps into your tone, as you trail behind Sawyer.

Sawyer stops abruptly, causing you to crash into his chest and stumble backwards. You catch yourself, a hand rubbing at your forehead where you’re sure an imprint of the necklace he wears marks your reddening skin. Your betrothed looks down at you in a way no one has ever before. Ever since your father left, it appeared that so did Sawyer’s patience. It’s as if the male you met when you first arrived was a facade. Pure disgust simmers in his heated gaze and his nose wrinkles as he lets out a scoff, causing you to shrink back.

“Friends? I don’t want to be friends with you. I don’t want to be anything with you. You’re the bane of my existence.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and instinctively, you take another step back, as though the physical distance could somehow lessen the impact of his words. It doesn’t. Your lip trembles as a frown threatens to overtake your features. 

“How can you mean that when you barely know me?” you ask, your voice a mere whisper but you know by the way his steps stop, that he catches every word. So you decide to remind him and add: “I didn’t ask for this either.”

Sawyer doesn’t bother to turn around or answer you, simply choosing to keep walking away. Hunter pushes past you aggressively, turning to smirk at your distraught expression as he catches up with Sawyer. It is Oliver who stops you from colliding into the wall. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, steadying you and pulling you close to him.

“Oh, sweet girl, you’re too pretty to cry.”

Oliver’s free hand reaches up to grip your chin, forcing your gaze to him. His lips form a slight pout that contrasts the mischief twinkling in his amber eyes. He leans to lick the single tear trickling down your cheek and you wince. You want to run but his grip on you is strong.  

He then directs your attention forward, where Hunter has Sawyer in a similar hold. “Tell her,” Hunter says, gaze darkening with a thirst to torment. He flashes his teeth as his smirk widens. This is all a fun game to him. “Tell her why you don’t like her.”

Sawyer looks like he would rather die than answer Hunter’s demand. He glares at you as he struggles to free himself from his brother’s grasps but Hunter is much stronger. He realizes that he won’t be free until he says something. Finally, between clenched teeth, Sawyer answers. “She’s not my type.”

Hunter throws his head back in laughter, the sound echoing through the room with a dark and menacing resonance.

“What a shame,” Oliver says, his breath tickling your ear as his hand roams down the length of your neck. You swear your heart misses a beat when his hand stops right over the swell of your chest. His nails dig into your chest at your struggle to free yourself.  “She’s exactly my type.”

Your entire body tenses at the unwanted touch, eyes widening when you feel heat prick at your skin. The smell of burnt fabric reaches your nose and a chill permeates, displacing the warmth as Oliver lifts his flaming hand from you. You rush to cross your arms over your chest, desperate to cover your exposed skin from Hunter’s and Oliver’s hungry gazes.

“Just look at her,” Oliver continues, pushing you forward so harshly it sends you to your knees. His chuckle makes goosebumps rise on your skin. “So pretty, so docile.”

As you blink away tears of humiliation, your eyes remain fixed on Sawyer, pleading almost. He’s determined to look anywhere but you. You curl your arms tighter around yourself and lower your gaze. You don’t want to give the other Vanserras the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You suspect it will only prompt them to torment you further.

“Then have at her. I don’t care.”

Sawyer’s words reach you with a devastating force like the last blow. They pierce through the core of your naive heart and you can’t help the tears that escape and spill onto the floor. Hunter peels his gaze away from you to roll his eyes at his younger brother, releasing him with a rough shove.

“You’re no fun, Sawyer,” he says with a disappointed sigh, his expectation for a different response lingering unfulfilled. Hunter then looks back at you, you can feel his heated gaze, and you curl in further into yourself. “But it looks like you are.”

“What is the meaning of this??”

**

Beron’s cold eyes take in the sight before him, gaze sweeping over your slumped form on the floor. It’s Hunter who moves to speak but at the lift of Beron’s finger, his mouth closes shut. Beron comes to the conclusion that he doesn’t care as there’s other pressing matters to attend to. Such as dealing with your father and ensuring he keeps his end of the agreement. He turns to his oldest, who stands at his side with a perfectly donned mask.

“You deal with whatever this is.”

“Yes, father,” Eris replies with no hesitation and Beron pats him on the shoulder–the same shoulder he left a bruise on the other night.

Eris bites back a wince. He waits until his father is away from sight to take in the situation before him. The torches lining up the halls flare. With a simmering intensity that could rival a raging inferno, Eris turns his attention to the brother closest to him. The searing authority of his gaze has Oliver raising his hands in a gesture of surrender and stepping away from you.

“We were just having a little fun, brother.”

“Fun?” 

Eris releases a disbelieving exhale as he grasps onto Oliver’s shirt. He wants to burn his hand through his brother’s skin until he’s screaming and crying, the same way Oliver had intended to do with you. Because how dare he touch you, hurt you. It’s as if Oliver can hear the crackling roar of the fire burning within his older brother and his eyes widen in fear.

Under the weight of Hunter’s hawk eyes, Eris grudgingly settles on shoving Oliver further away from him. And you.

“If you want to have fun, go to a fucking brothel. This is our home.”

Oliver releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He doesn’t waste another second, happy to leave the hall before his brother can take back his mercy.

"And you," Eris seethes, his voice a low, rumbling growl as he turns to face Hunter next. Eris effortlessly surpasses him in both stature and might, looming over him like a formidable mountain casting its shadow. “Shouldn’t you be making haste to quell the riots in town? Or should I add that to your growing list of incapabilities?”

Hunter's fists clench at his sides, the dance of flames flickering along his skin, but in the presence of Eris, his fire pales in comparison. The fire raging within Eris burns brighter, stronger. A force that demands respect and obedience. Much like their father’s. Without uttering another word, he turns on his heel and leaves.

Stepping forward, Eris finally allows his gaze to fall on you and he feels a violent tug in his chest that threatens to weaken him. The desire to sink to his knees beside you and envelop your trembling form in his arms is an overpowering one, coursing through him like a forbidden current. Yet, the harsh reality holds him back. It’s too dangerous. He cannot act upon the fervent emotions that entwine his heart and it pains him, seeking to destroy him almost.

But he can’t just leave you there. Helpless. On the floor. So he masks his emotions–something he is well accustomed to–and dons a facade of annoyance. With a deft, almost dismissive motion, Eris removes his tailcoat, flinging it carelessly in your direction. The seconds stretch into a languid dance as your eyes, wide with surprise, meet his. You gratefully slip his coat over your smaller form, clutching it tightly to your chest.

There’s a bittersweet ache that lingers within Eris at the unexpected intake of breath you give.

A fleeting flicker of sweet agony passes through his eyes. It vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving you to wonder if it was a mere figment of your imagination. 

"And lastly," Eris starts with a deep sigh, the once-fiery intensity in his eyes dimming as he regards his last remaining brother. The only brother left that harbored some redeemable qualities but now, Eris questioned it.

"Is this any way to treat your fiancé?"

A ripple courses through Sawyer's jawline. “Why do you care?”

"I don't." Eris retorts with a glare. He's skilled at weaving falsehoods, and though this one is way far out from the truth, it slides effortlessly off his tongue like all the other ones. He immediately senses the weight of your gaze pressing into the expense of his back.

"But I do care about the consequences if she runs away. You should too."

Though it pains him, he doesn’t turn back around to you. He looks at Sawyer once more in warning. Then, he begins to walk away, every step pulling him further from the one he yearns to be with. Your gaze, burning into him like a relentless brand the entire time.

**

Weeks Later..

Autumn winds blow harshly outside the window as you look around your room. They mirror the melancholy that lingers in your heart. Your room is big and spacious, seems fit for a princess, adorned with sculpted art and paintings. In one corner stands a massive wardrobe crafted from the richness of dark cherry wood filled to the brim with a variety of dresses that would make any lady of your status swoon. Beside it, there’s a lovely vanity with golden carvings that hosts an array of makeup and beauty products. On the opposite side, is a desk that matches your wardrobe. It bears the weight of books, letters from your father, threads, unfinished embroideries and your untouched dinner. 

At a glance, it appears you have everything.

Yet, as you sit on the bed, a pitiful truth echoes louder than the winds outside. Your gaze meets a reflection in the full-length mirror positioned next to the desk, capturing the solemn expression that dances across your features. Dark, sad eyes stare back at you and the weight of isolation is evident in the downturned corners of your mouth. You miss your home. Your friends, your horse, your father, and gods do you miss your mother. 

Upon your arrival, eager anticipation filled your heart as you looked forward to getting acquainted with your future husband. You knew not to expect love to come from it as you were mere strangers but you had hoped for a friend. The promise of a lifelong companion, a partner to share laughter and weave a tapestry of memories together, stirred excitement and nerves within you. It’s what your father and mother had shared. Your foolish heart had eagerly counted down the days, each one a step closer to a shared future.

But now? As the appointed days draw near, the once-cherished anticipation morphs into a heavy sense of dread, casting a haunting shadow over you. Your husband to be looks at you as if you’re the scum on his boots.

The High Lord, your future father in law, is cruel and terrifying. You avoid him at all costs. Your future mother in law, Lady Autumn, is often busy and away. She helps you plan your dreadful wedding during the times she isn’t busy but you find that she is quiet and reserved. There’s a lingering sadness always present in her amber eyes that you assume comes from all the sorrow and grief she’s had to endure. You’ve met one of her sons–Lucien, you remember– during your travels with your father and you used to wonder why he no longer resided in Autumn but not anymore. You can only imagine the horrors he’s had to endure that made him leave.

Hunter enjoys berating you every chance he can. There’s a darkness that burns in him and you can’t help but think about what would become of you if Sawyer was interested in you. One day, while walking through the garden you overheard from some gossiping servants that Hunter was once married. His wife died shortly after the marriage and rumor has it that the frightening Vanserra had something to do with her sudden disappearance. They wondered if the same fate would befall upon you. A thought you didn’t want to linger on as it was absolutely terrifying.

Then, there’s Oliver. Though kinder, only in comparison to Hunter and maybe even Sawyer, he is not to be trusted. He undresses you with his eyes in every glance and vulgarly welcomes you to his bed. You do your best to stay away from him because as lonely as you are, you’re nowhere near desperate for his company, and fear the day he’ll grow wary of your constant rejection.

You find yourself, however, desperate for another’s. Eris. 

You haven’t seen him since that day Sawyer broke your heart, since he let Oliver make a spectacle out of you. Eris had been the only one you’d look forward to seeing during dinner and his noted absence was the reason why you stopped joining the Vanserra dinners yourself.

Days, even weeks have passed, and he hasn’t fulfilled the promise of returning your book, its absence on your nightstand a constant reminder. He hasn’t even asked for his coat back. It remains draped over your desk chair. He’s a rare sight to see when walking amongst the grounds of the Forest house, prompting a question to rise. Is he purposely avoiding you? The mere thought stirs an unexpected pain within you.

There’s no one here for you. 

A little over a month into your lifetime stay at the Forest house and you already feel so alone. So utterly and completely alone.

Suddenly feeling suffocated, you rise from your bed and head toward your favorite area of your room–the window seat. Kneeling on the soft cushion, your fingers reach to open the window, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. The Autumn winds continue to howl through the darkness of the night but their chill does not reach you. Your eyes open and you raise your hand. A surge of electricity courses through you as your hand meets an unseen force. A magical barrier.

Turning your head toward the door, your gaze dips to the bottom where shadows dance. You can make out the planted boots of an Autumn guard and hope deflates. Nothing can come in. Nothing can go out. Not only are you alone but you’re trapped. 

A taste of what’s to come, of what’s to be of the rest of your miserable life. Lonely. Trapped. Locked away into oblivion. No breath you take is enough as you’re suffocated by the storm of emotions flooding through you. This place is your hell. Impending doom. You’re going to die here. Alone. There’s not a soul out there…

Water. You should drink some water. Tremors take over your body as you make your way toward your nightstand. Water spills onto the floor as you pour yourself a glass. You bring the water to your lips but your throat feels like it’s closing up. You glance at the pocket watch on your nightstand and notice it’s half past twelve.

There’s not a soul out there…

You extend your hand towards the watch—a cherished heirloom passed down from your mother. The gentle, rhythmic ticking of it has long been a source of solace and comfort for you. But it’s too late.

The hand clutching onto your glass of water shatters against the dark wood of your nightstand as you clutch the watch to your racing heart. You can only pray to the Cauldron, the Mother, to anyone as the room spins around you. But there’s no one to hear your prayer…

There’s a deep agony in your chest that tightens with every passing second, an inescapable loop of gloom that envelops your every thought and emotion. There’s not a soul out there. You can’t breathe. No one to hear your prayer…

“y/n.”

You catch the faint murmur of your name being called, yet a lingering doubt creeps in. You must be going mad because there’s no one here for you. Not a soul—

“y/n.”

And there it is again. Your name is being called. Louder, firmer this time. It’s real. The cruel clutches of your sorrow that held you captive begin to shatter like your glass from earlier. The sound of your name acts as a lifeline, pulling you from the depths of despair you inadvertently locked yourself into.

“That’s it. Breathe with me, angel,” the soothing voice persists, a gentle anchor for your drifting thoughts. And you can finally hear it. Your beloved watch. Though it's fast, it becomes a comforting undercurrent, a familiar melody that helps steady your racing heartbeat.

You feel like you can finally breathe again. As you blink away the haze clouding your vision and come back down, you are met with a pair of familiar amber eyes. The warm hues flicker like flames as they fixate upon you. Intense but tender and full of concern.

**

“Eris.”

You breathe his name so heavenly, like an answered prayer as you take him in. His dark red hair is tousled as though he emerged hastily from a slumber. Adorned in a thin, un-tied linen shirt, the fine contours of his chest are revealed, and his pants, creased as if donned in urgency, complete the picture of a man who arrived in haste yet with purpose.

"You're here," you say, your tone teetering on the edge of question and you glance toward your door, confirming that the Autumn guard is still stationed there.

You called, he wants to reply but instead, settles on, “I’m here.”

“How?” You ask, aware of the wards in your room preventing winnowing. At first, you thought they were meant to protect you. Now, you’re aware they’re really meant to keep you from escaping.

The corners of his lips lift into a small smirk. “I have my ways. I know every secret tunnel, every little crevice of this estate.”

Your head turns, eyes scanning your room in search of said secret tunnel. Eris lightly grasps your chin, focusing your attention back to him to keep you from spotting the secret door hidden behind your full length mirror. He wipes at the lingering traces of tears on your face, watching as your eyes dip and fixate on the golden chain encircling his neck. A sigil of three hounds captures your attention—an emblem unfamiliar to your discerning gaze, sparking a curiosity that mingles with the relief flooding your senses.

He finds his own breathing to steady at your calming state but at the sight of blood trickling down your hand, a knot twists in his stomach. “You’re hurt.”

You pull your gaze from his necklace, eyebrows furrowing as you look up at him. “I thought you didn’t care,” you tell him, echoing his words from the last time you saw him.

Again, Eris does not answer you. His eyes scan your room for a moment before abandoning whatever he was searching for. In his haste to aid your bleeding hand, he’s slipping his shirt off without another thought. 

“It’s fine,” you insist.

“No. It’s not.” He shakes his head at you as he guides you to the window nook. If only you knew the effect you had on him. The horror that crashed over him like a bucket of ice cold water, waking him so abruptly from his sleep. At your pain. Your agony. It nearly destroyed him the way it had been destroying you.

Eris pushes you gently to sit while he uses his shirt to wipe your blood off, frowning to himself when he can still hear the irregular beat of your heart. Too engrossed in cleaning your injury, he fails to catch on that the fluttering rhythm of your heart is now stirred by an entirely different source.

His expression transforms into one of genuine surprise as he encounters the gentle skin of your palm. Untouched, unmarked. His gaze flickers back to the shattered pieces of glass by the foot of your bed and then back to your hand. There’s no way. Not even with your healing abilities as a high fae. The amount of blood he had seen, the stinging he had felt through the bond–

“I told you it was fine.”

“But you’re not.” Eris counters and sucks in a sharp breath. “Angel–”

“Neither are you.” You point out, deftly redirecting the focus from yourself.

Your glistening eyes, pools of concern, flicker toward him. Toward his chest, where scars from injuries that had not healed properly and lingering bruises taint the muscles beneath, painting an alarming image. 

Eris averts his gaze, withdrawing slightly, reluctant to confront the vulnerability of the moment. Though your touch is gentle, the softest caress, his entire body tenses at the unfamiliar sensation. Your palm presses against a nasty scar that runs down the length of his abdomen, making him shudder at the memory it came from.

You suspect the answer but you can’t stop yourself from asking anyway. A blend of hurt and anger seeps through your voice.  “Who did this to you?”

Eris stands abruptly, caught in the tumult of conflicting desires–of longing to bask in the warmth of your touch and the simultaneous impulse to flee from it. “You should go to bed,” he says, voice strained. “Get some sleep.”

You stand up as well. “But I’m wide awake.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Eris, please,” you nearly beg and he finds his feet rooted to the ground. He watches as you walk over to your chair, retrieving the coat he let you borrow. You extend it toward him–a silent promise you won’t push him further on his scars.  “We can talk about other things.”

He feels his throat tighten at the urgency in your eyes.  “Like what?”

"Like…" Your voice trails off, your attention turning to the scattered items on your desk. "Embroidery?" you suggest, showing him one of your unfinished projects. It’s an outline of a yellow flower he has seen before but cannot recognize at the moment. 

"You want to talk about...embroidery?" His tone lightens, a subtle easing of tension as he slips into his coat and watches you raise another one. Unlike the first one you showed him, this one is finished and beautifully depicts a white horse with a brown mane and tail.

“This one is of my horse,” you share with pride, a subtle smile gracing your face. The warmth in your expression acts as an irresistible pull for Eris, compelling him to sit back down. "His name is Maximus.”

"I think I miss him the most," you add, the smile on your face faltering. 

It prompts Eris to speak–to keep it from falling. “It’s beautiful.”

Your smile, like the sun breaking through clouds, brightens once more. You’re beautiful, he wants to add.

“Would you like me to teach you?”

Even though he knows he should leave, he finds himself nodding. Because the prospect of your smile faltering, of you returning to your state from earlier becomes an unbearable thought. 

He secures a glamor in your room to keep the guard outside your door from hearing you. Having spent centuries studying the wards in every room, he’s learned how to unravel some pieces of them. Eris allows you to teach him the craft of embroidery. He tries to take in every instruction of yours and finds himself not lost in the craft but lost in the light in your eyes, the delightful curve of your smile as you speak.

As the daughter of a powerful and influential merchant, you’ve stayed in every court and have so many captivating stories to tell. You speak so highly of your father that he doesn’t have it in him to tell you about his dark truth–the real reason behind your arranged marriage. The delicate pricks of the thin needle against his fingers go unnoticed, drowned out by the melody of your laughter, which proves irresistibly contagious. The bond in his chest hums with a resonance that echoes through his being. He wonders, a smaller part of him fervently hoping, if you can feel it too.

Eris stays until your voice trails off–until the heaviness of your eyelids becomes an insurmountable burden, causing you to slump against the softness of the pillows. The temptation to tenderly brush your hair back from your face is strong, but he restrains the impulse.

“Eris?” Your voice, laced with the soft tendrils of sleep, reaches him.

“Yes?”

“Does this mean we’re friends now?”

The word—friends—sends a pang through him, but nevertheless, he manages a gentle "yes," reluctant to shatter the moment by uttering the truth that lies beneath the surface of his emotions. He doesn’t want to be your friend. He wants to be more than just your friend. 

A soft content hum comes from you, the only response you can manage. Mindful not to disturb your peaceful slumber, he beckons one of the blankets from your bed with his magic before carefully draping it over your curled up form at the window nook. He quietly draws the curtains shut, shielding you from the intrusion of the rising sun. He positions the embroidery hoop, adorned with the laughable but endearing image of the heart he crafted, beside you. He turns to leave but sneaks one last glance at you. Only then does he allow himself to truly smile.

Eris does not return the following night, even though he desperately wants to. Caution dictates his actions, a week elapsing before a clandestine note passed in the hallway signals his quiet return to your room. It’s during this second visit that he inevitably gives away the hidden door in your room. They lead to the house’s secret tunnels, one only Eris knows well. He promises you to take you through them one day.

It’s half past twelve and as the autumn winds blow outside your window, you're not alone this time. Eris is there with you, weaving conversations that never seem to run dry. An unspoken agreement unfolds–to keep your growing friendship hidden and away from everyone. He continues to sneak into your room, always warning you beforehand as to not scare you. The sacrifice of sleep on these nights becomes inconsequential, for both you and him.

Eris helps you chase your shadows away, taking you through the darkness to the break of the day. Your man after midnight. The soul that heard your prayer.

**

A wrought-iron table, nestled under a cascading canopy of amber leaves, holds an exquisite spread of breakfast delicacies. The air is laced with the enticing aroma of freshly brewed tea, mingling with the sweet fragrance of the flowers that surround you. Lady Autumn, whose name you learned is Raelynn, sits across from you. Her eyes, as deep as the autumnal twilight, reflect warmth back at you–no traces of the lingering sadness you’ve witnessed before in this moment. 

“My apologies, my dear, for not inviting you to breakfast sooner.” Even her voice is as warm as her gaze. “I know this court is not an easy one to adjust to.”

You find yourself smiling in reassurance back at her. Because you understand. If you were her, you’d also be wary of any newcomer.

“Eris tells me you enjoy embroidery?” Lady Raelynn says, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she brings her cup to her mouth. “Among other things.”

“I do,” you answer politely, gaze drifting to the perfectly tended lawn across from the patio you sit at. Targets for archery are neatly arranged.  There’s an arrow embedded into the bull’s eyes of every one of them.

Lady Raelynn follows your gaze. “Are you interested in archery?”

Yes, you want to say and though you find comfort in Lady Autumn’s presence, you're wary of her reaction. What if she deems it unlady like? And decides to forgo any relationship you’ve desperately clung to the hope to?

“I don’t know much about it,” you reply, choosing a diplomatic response.

 “I can teach you.” Lady Raelynn’s smile morphs into a grin. A gasp escapes you, and realization slowly etches itself into your features. “I think we’ll get along just fine,” she laughs, her words sparking hope within you.

“Good morning mother, I’ve come to–” Both of your heads turn to find Eris. He halts mid-sentence, his gaze locking with yours, a flicker of surprise and something deeper dancing in his eyes. It has you averting your gaze with a slight warmth tinting your cheeks.  “I should leave.”

“No, stay,” Lady Raelynn insists with a graceful incline of her head. With a wave of her hand, a plate full of food materializes at the empty spot between you and her, a silent invitation for Eris to join.

Eris bows his head at his mother, acknowledging her command. He takes his place at the table, his movements a bit awkward at first. As he settles in, he can't help the warming relief that washes over him at the sight of both you and his mother taking his advice. He remains relatively quiet throughout breakfast, choosing to chime in only when necessary. He’s content to bask in the soothing cadence of your conversation with his mother, indulging in stolen glances at you that linger.

Something that does not go unnoticed by his keen mother nor the way his grip tightens around his fork at the mention of your upcoming wedding.

Lady Raelynn didn’t mean to spoil the mood but she had taken it upon herself to help you plan the ceremony and reception. Albeit, reluctantly at first. That all changed after getting to know you better. Although the marriage would not be to the man of your dreams, she was now determined in ensuring that the wedding would be. It was the least she could do for you, especially after learning about the mistreatment you had endured at the hands of her sons. 

“I hope my son is treating you well?” Lady Raelynn asks you, carrying a note of concern. Her observant eyes catch the brief exchange between you and Eris, not missing the slightest tint that graces his cheeks. At least one of them is. She suppresses a smile as she awaits your answer.

“Sawyer is…” your voice trails off hesitant because he’s barely spoken to you since the incident. One of the rare occurrences being where he randomly met you in the library. He had reluctantly engaged in conversation with you, awkwardly asking what you missed the most from home. A spark of optimism brightens your tone because for once, you do have something good to say about him.

“He is actually arranging for my horse to come here! It’s silly but my horse was my biggest companion back home and I’ve been feeling a bit homesick recently.”

“It’s not silly at all, my dear. Once your horse is here, let's arrange for a morning ride. The Autumn grounds are the most peaceful in the early hours."

Your smile reflects the gratitude in your heart as you look at Lady Autumn. She, in turn, observes her son, who raises his tea to his lips, attempting to conceal the small smile playing on his face. It does nothing to mask the gleam in his eyes. Lady Raelynn is well aware that the sweet gesture is not Sawyer's doing. It's Eris's.

a/n: sooo I'm literally just going with vibes for this series (vibes to songs as that is what inspires most of these.) I wanted to write a slow burn but tbh, I think I'm too impatient for that 😂

When it comes to Sawyer, I do want to explore more of his character. I know that in canon, the Vanserras are menaces but I'd like to hope there's at least one more redeeming brother. I feel like him and reader can fall into a relationship similar to that of Rhaenyra and Laenor from House of Dragon. I also am still stuck between having the marriage actually go through or something drastic that happens that keeps it from happening. Either way, it will be angsty. I left some references in this from a movie that may prompt for more references from said movie. Any guesses? 👀

tagging: @fxckmiup

[rhystial]

In the middle of the night, suddenly someone knocks hard on the door to the characters’ room. They get tired of opening it (no one sleeps anyway lol) and see there... a human..? A frightened, beaten and tired human. But alive. Not a strange shape, a real person. This human suddenly bursts into the room and closes the door. And when they start questioning the unnamed guests, the characters realize it's their s/o

As it turned out, the reader could not stand it and abstracted, and instead of turning into a monster, after a persistent attack they turned into their human form. As soon as Caine found out about this, for some reason he was very doubtful and is now looking for a reader to quickly destroy them. That’s why they came to theirs room. To hide.

(jax, kinger, pomni and ragata) I would like a romantic one

TADC & Reader who abstracted into a human.

fandom: the amazing digital circus

relationships: gangle, jax, kinger, pomni, ragatha, zooble (romantic)

warnings: uh nothing, i don't think?

notes: what a cool idea!! i decided to add zooble and gangle here, hope you don't mind! but i might edit zooble's part, i don't like how it turned out... also these headcanons imply to already be in an established relationship.

Gangle.

Gangle felt (what would be) her heart quicken in pace when she heard someone knocking at the door late at night, fearing that Jax might have shown up to cause trouble.

She tried to stay still and keep her eyes closed, hoping that the persistent knocking would stop. But when it showed no signs of abating, she finally broke and reluctantly opened the door. To her surprise, it was you on the other side — a stranger, she thought.

With no time for her to voice her concerns, you hurriedly steered her back into her room, accidentally knocking her mask off in the process.

"Gangle, it's me," you said in a low tone, your grip on her shoulders firm. Her hands flew up to her mouth and she emitted a small squeak, clearly overwhelmed by the pressure.

In a barely audible whisper, she asked who you were and what was going on. The sound of her distressed voice causes you to loosen your grip, eyes softening.

"It's me... the real me."

Gangle is overwhelmed by your new appearance, taking in every detail of your new face, her eyes darting up and down as she struggles to comprehend what she's seeing.

You try to tell her that you were abstracted, but she doesn't believe you. I mean, could you blame her? As far as she knew, abstracted individuals were only ever glitchy black blobs with an unusually high number of eyes.

Despite her initial skepticism and lack of comprehension, she comes to the realization that you weren't lying, even though the concept was utterly unbelievable to her.

When she first saw you, her mind immediately went to the thought that you were another character altogether, having long forgotten what humans actually looked like. Seeing what the love of her life really looked like sent her into tears. Well, even more tears.

"Y-You're so stunning," Gangle tearfully whispered, her hands gently cupping your face as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Not knowing quite how to handle the situation, you too became emotional, crying alongside her in a moment of shared vulnerability.

After the moment of emotional outpouring had subsided, you came to the realization that you had neglected to inform her about the fact that Caine was actively searching for you. You came here to hide, consumed with fear about what he might do to you if he found you.

The news that you were hiding from Caine proved to be far too much for Gangle to process at once, leaving her utterly distraught and in hysterics.

Shs was already overwhelmed with the fact that you practically admitted to giving up before you came here — she thought you could've held on for her, because she held on for you. However, she didn't want to make this about herself and kept quiet... not like she would've spoke up about such, anyways.

"W-What can I do to help you?" Gangle asked with a trembling voice, tears streaking down her cheeks.

"Please, hide me," you begged her as she wiped her eyes. "Let me hide in your room — a-and don't tell Caine where I am." With the desperation and panic in your words far too much to handle, she reached out to pull you into a comforting hug.

Gangle swore to protect you — even if she was weak, even if she was overwhelmed, even if she was confused... even if it was the last thing she'd do.

Jax.

When he first heard knocking on his door, Jax thought that it was nothing out of the ordinary. Sure, he was confused, but laziness got the best of him, and he couldn't be bothered to get up. Besides, if you were the one knocking, you would have simply unlocked the door — considering that he gave you the key to his room.

The banging on his door refused to cease, and Jax began to be filled with annoyance. Resolving to put an end to the noise, he hastily made his way to the door and unlocked it.

Upon opening the door with quickened pace, he was greeted by a figure trying barge in seemingly against their better judgement. He was quick to react, immediately holding their hands above their head and dangling them like a dog toy.

"What's got you so antsy, eh?" Jax teased with a sly grin on his face. He tilted his head to one side as the figure hung their head low, legs attempting to kick his.

"Let me in, Jax! Please!"

As his name left the person's lips, the rabbit's eyes widened with suspicion. Without hesitation, he began to hold his guard up around the unfamiliar face, wary of their intentions and motivations. He was quick to demand who they were, shaking them around like tape stuck to his hand.

Then, your name left their lips. The unexpected mention of your name causes Jax to instinctively back away, turning to slam the door shut behind him with a loud thud.

"I'll ask ya this again, who are you?" Jax questioned, throwing the figure to the ground. He lowered his head and stared down at the intruder, who let out a small yelp and lifted their arms in surrender.

"How d'ya know our names?" He asked, this time defensive over the fact that they had brought you into this.

"You... don't recognize my voice?"

The realization soon set in, and his expression melted into one of confusion as he began to bombard you with questions about your new appearance.

As Jax continued to fire off the questions, you found yourself able to provide concise and satisfying answers quickly, without much of a struggle. However, every now and then, you were slightly tripped up by your anxiety-induced stutter.

When you began to explain your transformation into a human, Jax nodded along — gaze fixed on you. Despite his initial shock at the revelation, he wasn't overly concerned about your new appearance. Like, wow you're how you looked before you came here and remember your real name? That's cool, but you fucking abstracted to get like this?

He's a bit upset, knowing that you gave up so easily when there were still many ways to combat your decline to insanity and the challenges that came with it.

"Yeah, ya've definitely changed a little bit." He dryly joked, staring at you with a twinge of frustration washing over him.

You didn't laugh, knowing that he was upset. He doesn't outright say it, but you know what he wants to say.

"Why did you give up?"

In an attempt to shift the atmosphere and his anger off of you, you decided to bring up the topic of Caine — who you knew was actively looking for you, and you had no idea what he would do to you.

Upon learning of the ringmaster's pursuit, his expression turned sour. Without a moment's hesitation, he reached his hand behind his back, pulling out a sizable set of keys and presenting them to you.

However, as his hand reached out to offer you the keys, you quickly shook your head, trying to reason with him that you were safer in his room.

"Are ya sure?" He whispered in a low tone, looking you in your eyes. "I have keys everywhere, y'know. I can easily hide ya inna room more obscure, keep ya safe from chompy."

"But I'm safe here."

He wanted to trust your words, but he couldn't.

Not after you said that you'd never give up. You promised you'd never abstract, that you'd never lose grip of this reality.

"...Well, s'pose I trust you, lovedoll."

He kept his mouth shut.

Kinger.

When Kinger first heard the panicked banging at his door, he rushed out of bed to unlock it.

He has this weird instinct to confront his fears before running away from them, such as the time when he sprinted towards a "sentient" bouncy ball Caine had made for an in-house adventure, only to flee from it seconds later. That's basically what he had planned to do with you, too.

Nevertheless, in contrast to many other non-playable characters Caine generates, you proved to be quicker and more adroit — you instantly grasped him before he had a chance to sprint away.

"Kinger, please be quiet," you murmured into the emptiness of his room, voice barely audible. Heaving your weight upon him, you pinned him to the floor of the room.

"W-Who... what...?!" He shrieked, and your palms instantly moved to cover where his mouth would be in hope to stop him from making any further noise.

"Calm down, Jumpy."

When hearing the nickname that only you use on him, he becomes more at ease. As his body relaxes and his gaze focuses on you with narrowed eyes, he can't help but wonder what he's looking at.

Similar to Gangle, he's completely forgotten what a human looks like. However, unlike her, who eventually came to the realization that you were a human, Kinger is completely oblivious to your identity.

At first, his initial assumption was that you had gotten a massive update or something, and that's why your appearance had changed. As you break the news to Kinger that you've abstracted back into a human, his face fills with shock and disbelief.

Sure, he is surprised that you've abstracted back into human, but on top of that, he's more surprised at how strange humans actually look. Like, he used to look like you? That's strange.

"Boy, you look weird." He mutters to himself quietly, his eyes fixed on your skin. He seems utterly fascinated by the way it looks and feels, poking it with his fingers.

"Um, thanks?" You laugh.

You spend several minutes attempting to bring Kinger back to reality. You poke him, you pat him, and you tickle him. None of these seem to get his attention, so you resort to cupping his face with your hands. Finally, he looks at you, before suddenly screaming in terror.

You quickly explain to Kinger the dire situation with Caine, explaining how you came to him in hiding from the ringmaster. As you speak, your voice turns to desperation, your fear evident in your words. He ultimately becomes speechless, unsure of what to say.

You want to have him protect you? He can do that! You wanna hide out with him? Sure, get inside his pillow fortress! You want to run away from Caine because you're scared of the inevitable torture he would probably put you through because of your "human abstraction" and you can only rely on Kinger for some reason? Great idea!

"There's no way he can find you in there. He would have to look high and low, you know!" Kinger says, patting the pillows that surround you. He gestures around your new "bed" with a grin indicated with his eyes, seemingly quite confident in its ability to conceal you from Caine's search.

"Thanks, Kinger..."

"It's my responsibility as king to protect my royal counterpart! Say, you wouldn't happen to have my glorbo in there? Oh, and my digital plate of digital mashed potatoes that I'm trying to digitally rot."

His ramblings fall deaf on your ears.

Pomni.

The knocking at her door irritates her to no end, and she's quick to open it. She doesn't want the constant banging to play on repeat in the back of her mind, it'll probably just drive her to the brink of abstraction.

Rapidly crossing the distance from her bed to the door, she swings it open, annoyed at the incessant knocking. As she stares up at the towering figure before her, the realization set in that it was the same species she was, er, once was.

She panicked, unsure of what was going on. However, she became even more panicked when your voice left the lips of the human before her.

"W-What the %$!# is going on?" She stumbles backwards, confusion and fear etched onto her face.

"Pomni, it's me." The voice of her lover was escaping past their lips, and she had no idea why or how.

"Listen to me, please."

When you explain to her the process of how you've abstracted back into a human, she can't help but feel even more confused than before.

Based on everything she's seen and heard, abstraction was supposed to be a completely different thing, and not something that could just be reversed — hell, not something that could turn you back into a human. She can't quite wrap her head around the concept you're explaining, feeling lost as she gazes upon your new form.

As you speak to Pomni about your transformation, she gazes upon your human form with jealously. She feels a sense of unfairness, unable to process the sudden change you had and her being stuck as whatever she currently was. Her expression twists into one of defeat, lips trembling.

In spite of her growing resentment and frustration, she is quick to pick up on your desperation and sense your fear. As such, she refrains from saying anything further, recognizing that it would only make the situation worse for you. Instead, she simply stares at you, not wanting to escalate anything further.

Her shoulders tense as she processes the revelation that Caine was actively hunting you, and that you had chosen her room to take cover. She had been caught off guard by your sudden appearance as a human, and now the prospect of her lover being caught by him had left her feeling overwhelmed and scared.

Her voice becomes increasingly agitated as she realizes the gravity of the situation. "I-I don't know what I should do." She stammers, her fingers clutching at her face as she stares at you with wide, terrified eyes.

"He's going to check my room, I know he is. He'll find you, h...he'll kill you, I-I don't know!"

She's determined to keep you safe, but she quickly becomes a mess, her thoughts racing around at a hundred miles per hour. This causes her to overanalyze every single aspect of your hiding strategy, from where to how you hide. She's a mess, but she wants to keep you safe from Caine.

As Pomni processes your situation, her emotions shift once again, feeling a growing sense of determination to help you. With your safety as a priority, she internally vows to try her hardest to not only find an exit for herself, but to keep you safe as well.

The thought of you being harmed at Caine's hands is an abhorrent notion, and she is more than willing to do whatever it takes to prevent such a scenario.

Pomni grabs you by the arm, her expression determined as she leads you to the toybox. Despite your protests, she continues to push you inside, shutting the lid as fast as she opened it. She then takes a moment to gather her composure, her breath coming in short bursts as she looks over the toybox.

"N-No, that won't do at all..."

As she realizes that the toybox wasn’t the most secure option, Pomni quickly pulls you out and begins to frantically search for a new hiding spot.

She continues to utter panicked mutters, her eyes darting around the room in search of a suitable place to stash you. Her mind seems to be racing, as she tries to come up with a solution as quickly as she can.

"Pompom, calm down..."

She can't, not when she's scared for your safety.

Ragatha.

When Ragatha heard the continuous knocking at her door, she initially hesitated, reluctant to leave the comfort of her bed at this late hour. However, the persistence of the sound urged her to action, and she quickly sprang out of bed to investigate the source of the disturbance.

Instead of the usual sight of Pomni in her doorway, asking for assistance due to having "frew up", Ragatha was greeted by a surprising and somewhat jarring appearance.

"Please, Ragatha, let me in..." Despite the confusion, she seemed to respond to the desperation in your voice, taking your hand into hers.

The distress on your face would be obvious to anyone, and your grip on her hand seemed to indicate a desperate need for comfort.

"Come in, sweetie..."

As soon as you spoke, Ragatha recognized your voice and quickly realized that you weren't just a random stranger at her doorstep. When she met your glossy eyes, she began to wonder what the hell happened to you and why you were on the brink of tears.

In that moment, you were a complete wreck... your emotions pouring out as she rubbed circles on your back, whispering soothing words and comforting pet names in your ear. You clung to her tightly, your entire body shaking as you tried to calm down, finally feeling safe in her embrace.

When you cried, it seemed as though all of your emotions flooded your body, making it difficult for you to get the words out smoothly. Ragatha held you tighter, her hands working hard to comfort you, her voice gentle and reassuring, even as you rambled on about your recent experience.

The look on her face showed that she was quite surprised that you had abstracted into a human, but you couldn't see it. She wouldn't let you see her expression, not when she felt like sobbing with you. Ragatha remained relatively still, her words few and far between, seeming to be at a loss for them as she tries to make sense of the situation.

However, her small gestures revealed that she was concerned and caring towards you, trying her best to comfort you even though she didn't fully understand what was happening. She provided you with reassurances, promising to do her best to keep you safe from Caine, even though she didn't have a full understanding of why he was targeting you. It's not like you did, either.

"Look, honey..."

Ragatha guides your gaze towards her, a tender expression on her face as she wipes away your tears with her thumbs.

"I will protect you."

Zooble.

Zooble is the quickest of the bunch to respond to the disturbance at the door, detaching their arm from the socket of their body to answer the knocking. The hand that opens the door tries to grab you around the neck, clearly upset at having been woken up in the middle of the night.

The moment you let out a panicked plea, the hand immediately loosens its grip on your neck, allowing you to breathe again. Soon, you hear the sound of someone, obviously Zooble, moving rapidly from within the room and towards the door.

As they see you standing at the entrance with the appearance of a human, they seem to have a moment where they question their sanity.

"What... the %$!# happened to you?" Zooble muttered with wide eyes. They seem to have completely forgotten about the fact that they tried to strangle you a few moments ago.

"Help me..."

They're quick to grab both of your shoulders, pulling you inside with an almost desperate urgency.

As soon as you're pulled inside, Zooble begins bombarding you with questions, hand gripping you tightly. The tone of their voice is intense, as if they are desperate to get some answers from you.

When you explain the whole situation to them, their eyes only seem to grow wider, as if they're having a hard time wrapping their head around the reality of what you're telling them. To them, the idea of abstracting into a human is completely new, and they seem almost unable to believe that it's actually possible.

Once you finish explaining everything, their rage starts to dissipate. Despite their initial anger at you for abstracting, they eventually come to terms with what's happened and begin to see things from your perspective.

You mention Caine, and their demeanor changes almost instantly. They go from having a calm and understanding demeanor to one of tension and concern. Zooble seems to understand the gravity of the situation, and the possibility that Caine could be a real threat to you. They take a moment to process everything you've told them, trying to make sense of the situation and what to do next.

Their tone begins to soften, and they begin to offer you support. While they may not have all the answers, they're willing to help and support you in any way they can.

"Maybe... we pretend that you're a new character." They suggest, their voice low, as if they don't want anyone else to hear their plan. They look into your eyes, clearly trying to see if you're on board with the idea.

"I don't think Caine knows what a human actually looks like."

© rhystial 2023 — my works may not be reproduced in any form and by any means without my consent/permission, translating my works is only okay if i give you the okay.

[riordanness]

nightmare dressed like a daydream — [w.wonka]

wordcount: 1.1K

warnings: nightmares and reader has ptsd

requested: no (but feel free to <3)

As usual, the nightmares hit as soon as I close my eyes.

Memories of the life I used to live, the people who used to control my every waking minute. The ache of my bones, the pounding of my head, the intense loneliness that would try to consume me.

Will had been the light shining through the darkness of my life, but in my dreams, he never came back for me.

I was left stranded in Mrs Scrubbit’s chicken coop, or left to scrub and scrub the dirt from a pile of clothes that never ended.

I would often wake in a cold sweat, or screaming, or crying, or sometimes all of them at once. My hands would be clenched so tightly around the sheets that my knuckles would be white. My breathing would be heavy, and I’d be near impossible to calm down.

Except for when Willy Wonka was there. Because that boy was a miracle.

Just his touch, and a few gentle words would slow my heart rate. My breathing would calm, and I would focus on reality again.

Reality was being safe. It was being with Willy, helping him make his astounding chocolates. Reality was being happy every day. Being free everyday. Reality was falling in love with Willy Wonka.

Tonight, my dreams were much the same. I was small, and alone, and the darkness and freezing cold of the chicken coop were smothering me. The awful smell filled my nose, I was chilled to the bone, and I had almost given up.

But just at the moment when Willy was supposed to show up and rescue me, whisk me away to safety and to freedom, he didn’t come. He didn’t show up at all.

He left me there to be trapped forever.

I wake with a start, a strangled cry choking out of me. Tears are still fresh on my cheeks, and my chest heaves with sobs.

Barely a moment passes before my bedroom door opens. Willy rushes through, and drops to his knees on the floor beside my bed.

“Hey, hey,” he says quietly. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay.”

He reaches for me, pulling me close to his chest. I cry into his shirt, fists clutching at the material.

“You… I was… alone,” I cry, utterly distraught. You’d think, after having the same nightmare every night for weeks now, that I’d be a little less sensitive to it, but it was so painful every time. Painful in a way I just couldn’t describe properly.

The thought of not having Willy in my life, this boy who now meant the entire world to me, this boy who had rescued me from my terrible life and set me free, that realisation of him leaving me there hurt like nothing else.

Waking up to realise it was just a dream, and that Willy would never do that, was so relieving I just cried even more.

But here, wrapped in his arms, I knew I was safe. I knew I didn’t need to worry about being alone anymore. Because I wasn’t. I had Willy Wonka by my side, and I probably always will.

“I would never leave you,” Willy whispers into my hair, as his fingers play with a strand of it.

I wonder if maybe he can read my thoughts. He always seems to know the exact right thing to say to make me feel better, to ease my worries and anxieties and to calm me right down.

“You never need to worry about being alone again.”

His words are like a sip of hot chocolate, warm and comforting, spreading that happy feeling all over me.

“Hey,” Willy says in a hushed voice. “Can you let me go for a second, sweetheart?”

I realise how tightly I’m clutching onto him, and I quickly let him go. “Sorry,” I say, brushing my tears away with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry.”

Willy shakes his head. “No you don’t need to be sorry. It’s not your fault you had to experience all of that. It’s perfectly natural to have nightmares about it.”

He gets to his feet. “I’m going to just grab my suitcase, and I’m going to make you something.”

I ease myself back onto my pillows, trying to hold onto the feeling of relaxation I feel while in Willy’s arms a little longer. “Okay.”

He disappears, and quickly returns with his case, which he sets on my desk. He sits down, rummages for a while, and soon enough, comes back over to me with two items. A mug, and a small piece of chocolate.

Willy sits gingerly on the edge of my bed. “Hot chocolate,” he says, handing me the mug, “for obvious reasons.”

“Hot chocolate is the world's best beverage invention,” I quote him, a small smile playing around my mouth.

Willy nods, and grins, and holds out his palm. On it lies a little circular chocolate, silvery blue in colour. Right in the middle is a little symbol of a… snake? No, two snakes, intertwined around a little stick.

A caduceus, I think. The ancient Greek symbol of medicine.

I pick up the chocolate, holding it carefully between my fingers. “What is it?”

Willy shrugs. “Try it and see.”

I pop it into my mouth, chewing slowly. Instantly, I feel a strange but delicious feeling crawling all over me,

I swallow, and the warm feeling only spreads further. Everything inside of me seems to relax, like melted chocolate and a smile has been injected into all my muscles and nerves.

“What is this?” I ask, looking up at him. For the first time since he came in, I really notice how tired he looks. His eyes are slightly glazed-over, his curls are unkempt and messily splayed across his forehead. His shirt is rumpled, but his smile is still as bright as it always is.

“It’s… uh, just something I made for you.” He looks away as he answers.

I laugh lightly. “Well, of course. But what is it?”

My best friend glances back at me. “Love,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s love.”

I have no idea why or how, but just his words fill me with more warmth and joy than any amount of chocolate ever could.

“I love you,” Willy says.

“I love you too,” I admit slowly, my eyes suddenly too shy to look at him. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He smiles, and I’m sure it’s brighter than the sun itself. “I’m glad.” He leans forward and presses his mouth to mine, and I swear, sugary sweets couldn’t compare at all.

[forever-rogue]

Hey there favorite writer

Would you be able to write something about reader and Joel having a baby together and falling in love all out of order? They’re not in an established relationship but had a one time thing and reader got pregnant. She wants to keep the baby because she feels safe in Jackson and Joel agrees to help her raise it, cuz it takes two to tango LOL. He starts falling for her during her pregnancy and she falls for him when the baby is born and she sees what a good father he is to their baby.

I’m sorry if this is a weird request I just thought it would be cool LOL

AN | Oh, but this turned out to be soft 🥰 

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Pregnant!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 3k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I'm pregnant."

The words crashed around him like a ton of bricks. Joel thought he might pass out. You looked just as distraught as he felt. 

This couldn't be happening. Fuck. This was the absolute last thing he wanted to happen. It was supposed to be a one night, one time type of thing. 

And now it suddenly became a much bigger thing. A potentially forever thing.

"What?" was all he could think to ask, causing you to roll your eyes in frustration.

"I'm pregnant," you repeated sharply, causing him to recoil slightly. You ran a hand through your hair, angry tears welling up, "we have sex one time and I'm fucking pregnant. It feels like some kind of horrible joke."

“Are you-”

“Don’t even fucking bother to ask if it is yours,” you glowered at him and Joel immediately regretting his decision to even ask the question. He knew you wouldn’t lie to him, even if he wished you were, “you’re the only one I’ve slept with in a long time. So yes, it’s yours.”

“Okay,” he nodded, still attempting to process everything. His mind was both blank and filled with a million thoughts all at once, “okay.”

“Look,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and tried to keep the tears from welling up and spilling over, “I’m sorry. I didn’t…I never thought this would happen. I never wanted this. And I’m so fucking sorry. But this is…the unfortunate reality.”

“I know,” he wished he could find something more comforting to say. He wished he could hug and tell you that everything was going to be alright but the truth was that he didn’t know if it would be okay. He was scared, “what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted after a few moments of tense silence, “I don’t know. I wish I did…I thought this would be such an easy choice.”

“But it’s not,” he stated as you nodded slightly.

“It’s not,” you confirmed, “I don’t even…I just figured you deserved to know, I-I guess. I don’t know; I’m just confused right now.”

“You didn’t get into this situation by yourself,” he hesitantly reached over and gave your shoulder a squeeze, “whatever you want to do, I’ll - I’ll do my best to be there for you and support you.”

“Yeah?” the way you looked at him with those teary eyes made his heart constrict. He could see how utterly scared you were.

“Yes,” he promised as managed to muster up a small smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Thanks,” you took a step off his porch and turned away, letting out a quiet, shaky sigh, “I’ll see you around. I’ll let you know what I decide to do.”

“Okay,” his voice cracked as he watched you go and disappear into the softly falling snow. He was half tempted to call you back and have you come in and sit in front of the fire and figure it all out, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Once you disappeared, he slowly closed the door and turned around, only to find Ellie on the stairs, her expression incredulous, “holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” he agreed. He had fucked up. Seriously, seriously fucked up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a couple of weeks before you saw Joel. Or rather before you allowed yourself to face him again. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Joel, it was easier to put the reality of the situation to the back of your mind when he wasn’t around. But you also were well aware of the fact that you couldn’t ignore the situation for much longer; you were going to have to make a decision sooner rather than later. 

And that’s how you finally managed to find your way back to him. He looked deep in thought when you found him coming back from patrol rounds with Tommy. His expression stiffened for a moment before he said something to his brother. The younger Miller held up his hand in a meek little wave and headed off; you cringed internally when you realized that he knew exactly what was going on. 

“Hey,” you offered him a tightlipped smile as he nodded in response, “do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Of course,” he knew what was coming, had been expecting it now and was curious to know what you had decided. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at his eyes, and instead focused on the buildings behind him, “what’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking about all of this,” you gestured vaguely towards your stomach, “and I, I ugh, made a decision.”

“Oh?” he couldn’t help but feel nervous; he couldn’t even fathom what you were feeling. 

“I want to keep it - the baby,” you almost whispered it and nervously allowed yourself to glance at his face. His silence sent you in a dizzying spiral, “I just…I don’t know. I just think that… I don’t know if I’ve ever really thought about a kid, especially in this world, but if there’s any time or place in this world to do it, I think it would be here. And I just…I don’t want to get rid of it. I keep thinking about it, am I making the right decision but…I keep going back to yes.”

Joel took it in what you said and it sent him down his own path of worries and fears. He thought about Sarah, about how he’d never even thought about another child, about you. It was overwhelming all at once and he stood there, staring at you. You couldn’t help the nervous laugh that bubbled up, “Joel? Say something…please. Anything.”

“I’m sorry,” he caught himself and shook his head, trying to snap back into reality, “I told you, whatever decision you made, I would support you. It’s not just…your kid. So…whatever you need or want just let me know. Anything, okay?”

“Okay,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “thank you, Joel. Listen…I, umm, I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?’ he asked softly as you shrugged lightly, “you realize there’s nothing to be sorry for, right?”

“I guess it’s just everything,” you brushed at your cheeks, wiping away the few tears that had pearled up, “I know we’re not…anything. But I’m glad you’re…you. Not many people would be doing what you are. You’re a good guy, Joel and I appreciate that.”

“It’s only what’s right,” he cleared his throat, staring at his feet. It’d been a long time since someone had told him that, “you didn’t get…pregnant by yourself.”

It’d been the first time he’d said that word out loud. He still had this weird feeling that if he didn’t say that world out loud, somehow it wouldn’t happen. But no, no. This was happening; you were here and pregnant with his child. 

“Right,” you nodded shyly, “well, I guess I’ll let you get back to whatever you need to do. We still have time to figure all of this out. I’ll see you around?”

“See you around,” he whispered, watching you go with a heavy sigh escaping his lips. 

Well. All of this left him with a lot to think about too. He was going to be a father again; he had no idea how he’d do. Sure, he’d been a single dad when it came to Sarah, and now he had Ellie. But a baby? That was a totally different story. He just had to hope that it would come naturally again, and that you’d be willing to do this with him. Whatever happened he knew that it wasn’t going to be an easy road. 

But as he looked down the road and spotted Ellie laughing with Dina, he realized that the best things in life weren’t always easy. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next few months went by faster than you’d liked. At the moment it seemed like every day took forever, but they rushed by so quickly. At first it hadn’t seemed so bad but as you grew bigger and rounder, reality continued to set in. You were having a baby. 

It was Joel that found you as you tended to one of the gardens. You were sitting on the ground, sprawled out as best as you could, soaking up the sunshine that had finally come after the long winter. His heart ached at the sight and he felt an odd sensation run through his body, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Hey,” you looked up and smiled at the sound of his voice; it had been a while since he’d seen such a big and genuine smile on your face, “how’s it going?”

“Hi Joel,” you moved to stand up - a feat that was becoming harder and harder with each passing day - but he shook his head, “what’s up?”

He crouched down on his knees and started to help you without a moment of hesitation or being asked. It made your heart pitter-patter happily, “I’ve been thinking about…things.”

“Things,” you repeated as you fell into work next to him, “what kind of things?”

“All sorts of things,” you smiled to yourself when you heard his twang come out, “one thing was…that I thought maybe you could…umm, maybe move in with me and Ellie. It’s just, we have the space and that way you’d have your own space instead of sharing-”

“I have one roommate,” you answered softly, “with you, I’d have two. So, that’s not really much of a selling point.”

Joel huffed and you couldn’t help but smile; your friendship often consisted of this sort of banter, “I…well, it’s a bigger space away. And it might just be better if we were around each other, you know, in case anything happens. We’d have each other. And then…you know, once the - the baby comes it might be good to be in the same space. It’s just a thought…something to think about maybe.”

“What about Ellie?”

“She’d kick me out if it meant you moved in,” he chuckled fondly, “I think she might like you more than me. She’s…she’s excited to have a brother or sister.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from making any sound; the fact that he and Ellie had such a good relationship gave you hope that somehow all of this would work out, “oh. Oh.”

“Like I said, it’s just a thought,” you stopped what you were doing and looking at him, overwhelmed with a rush of affection towards the man, “so, yeah.”

“It’s definitely something to think about,” you agreed, unable to stop yourself from imagining a life where you had him around you everyday. Where you had your own little family with Joel, and Ellie, and the baby. But you quickly caught yourself, “thank you, Joel. That’s very kind of you to offer.”

“Of course,” his hand brushed over yours, “and if you need anything, you’ll let me know?”

“I will,” you promised, and stopped suddenly when you felt a sharp jab in your ribs, “ouch.”

“What’s wrong?” Joel’s eyes widened as he looked you over to make sure you were okay, “is it…?”

“The baby’s moving,” you explained as his face grew into a combination of excitement and nerves, “kicking me and this is one feeling I’ll never get used to.”

“Painful?”

“In a way but it’s more weird than anything,” before thinking too much about it, you took his hand and put it on your belly, right where you had felt the kicks. There was a moment of stillness and you worried that he wouldn’t be able to feel it but then you felt it again. Joel sucked in his breath as he felt the small movements under his hand. It had been another lifetime ago since he’d gotten to feel that, “they like you, Joel. They only started moving once you showed up.”

“It’s…” he didn’t even know how to put all of this into words. You, his friend, the woman he’d had a one stand with to get some pent up frustration, was pregnant with his child. And he currently felt that child moving around. Life that he had helped to create. These days he was still wrestling with a lot of feelings and emotions he thought he’d buried or moved past, but as he sat there next to you with his hand on your belly, everything made so much sense, “it’s amazing.”

“It kind of is, isn’t it?” you laughed softly, amazed to be in his situation, “what do you think it’s going to be?”

You hadn’t really thought about it much and part of you wasn’t exactly sure that you should have asked him. He seemed to be in deep thought for a few moments before he looked at with a soft expression on his face, “a girl.”

“A girl,” he answered confidently, “it’s just a feeling.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” you grinned, “you got a fifty-fifty chance of being right, so your odds aren’t terrible!”

“Not terrible,” he playfully scoffed, “I’m going to be right, you just wait and see.”

You were grinning at each other like fools, only interrupted with the sound of people approaching. That seemed to snap both of you out of your trance. 

“I should go,” he whispered as he stood back up and dusted himself off, “see you?”

“See you,” you promised, watching him walk away. As that old saying went, you hated to see him go but liked to see him leave. You weren’t quite sure where to place your feelings, but an odd, warm sensation had bubbled up in your chest. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You wrestled with the decision of whether or not to move in with Ellie and Joel for a few days. Deep down, you knew that it really hadn’t been a question at all. Your answer had been yes from the moment he’d asked. But you, silly, silly you, still didn’t want to seem too eager. He’d gotten you pregnant, there really wasn’t any reason to be shy. 

He - and a very eager Ellie - had helped you to move into the spare bedroom in their house. It really hadn’t taken much, but the community had already banded together to help you get just about everything you’d need for the baby. It wasn’t much longer until the baby was here and you were slowly growing more nervous everyday.

You were thankful to have Joel around; he made you feel safe and protected and you just…liked him. You’d always liked him, and now it felt like the more you got to know him, the more you liked him. At first you worried that it was only because of your funky hormones and the situation in general, but you knew that it really wasn’t that. It was because you genuinely liked him, enjoyed his company and…everything. 

It felt odd to be developing feelings for him since you’d already done the whole ‘sleeping together and getting knocked up’ thing. The attraction had always been there, it had always been mutual, but now it felt like things were developing on a deeper level, blossoming and blooming.

You were slowly becoming more and more sure of your feelings for him, and you thought, maybe foolishly, that he might just feel the same. 

But you never got the opportunity to ask him or try and read any further into it. 

The night you thought you might do so, you were in the kitchen and making dinner when your water broke. Ellie had been just as shocked as you, but it was Joel that kept a calm head. Maybe it was the practice or experience or just his nature, but he managed to keep you from completely panicking and falling apart. 

He’d gotten you to the hospital that had been built back up in Jackson and from then on, everything happened so fast. People really weren’t kidding when they said it all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. 

Before you knew it, it was over and you had your baby in your arms. A girl, just like Joel had predicted. He couldn’t even hide the smile on his face if he tried. You hadn’t come up with any names and decided that Joel would name her. It didn’t take long for him to come with it - Violet. You thought it suited her perfectly…and he somehow then it was your favorite flower. You’d mentioned it once in passing, and had forgotten about it, but it had stuck with Joel. 

He was nervous at first - so, so nervous - about meeting her and holding her, but he quickly forgot all of that. From the moment he held her, he was in love with her and it was so clear to see. It made your heart warm and happy. Surely, this wasn’t an ideal situation and you’d really gone about things backwards, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing.

“I always wanted a family,” Ellie whispered to Joel as she held her new sister, thinking you were asleep. Joel made a small sound before he kissed the side of her head, “and now I’ve one.”

That’s when it hit you - you were a family.

Maybe not everything was figured out or said just yet, but you’d get there. All in your own time.

[helluva-high]

jax headcanons!! involving kinger, queener, and ragatha!!

———————————

so i’m hooked on the idea that jax joined the circus as a child, so i decided to be silly and come up with my own headcanons for it

jax arrived in the digital circus very young, maybe.. 6 or 7. he, of course, was confused and panicked, but queener immediately helped to calm him down. and as time went on, kinger, queener and jax ended up becoming a little family in the circus.

they would read to him before bed, help him eat, run around with him, everything loving parents do!

but, as he got older, maybe around.. 13, he wanted to leave. he wanted to leave the circus and find kinger and queener in real life, since his own life was awful. him entering the circus was a way to escape.

unfortunately, the two had to explain to him that there’s no exit, and he’s stuck there. but that they were with him! and that they’ll take care of him.

he had a breakdown that day, and it lasted a few days. and queener felt absolutely distraught that her son, her prince, was going through this. so what did she do?

she looked for an exit.

from when jax was 13, to when he was 18, queener kept looking for an exit. at first, kinger helped, hoping that she’d give up after a while. but she didn’t. during this time, ragatha joined (dont take this to heart ill change it up when we get timelines of when everyone joined), and her and jax grew close, having a sort of unspoken older sister, younger brother relationship.

but eventually, queener drove herself insane to the point of abstracting.

everyone; jax, kinger, ragatha, gangle, kaufmo, zooble, and a few others (who later disappear before pomni appears), witnessed it.

and jax? oh, the poor boy. he was broken. caine ended up coming around as gangle went to grab him, and he opened up the cellar. he picked her up to put her in, but jax didn’t want that.

he reached out, grabbing ahold of her, being lifted off the ground. kinger panicked, reaching to grab jax’s feet. with the help of ragatha, they pulled him down. kinger held onto jax tightly as he reached out to abstracted queener. caine sealed her away, before turning his attention to jax, who just cried out for his mom.

he just sat there, his condition.. not the best. due to the contact, he started the pre-abstraction phase, his entire body quickly being consumed by the glitch.

caine reacted quickly, this being the first time he’s had to save someone before they abstracted. due to this, some of his coding wasn’t back to normal. he can break the filter, but chooses not to unless need be. it also explains all his keys. he didn’t just find them laying around. (i’ll add a few more things when i think of them.)

the rest of the day, everyone was quiet. kinger locked himself in his room, wanting to be alone. jax did the same, but often just hid around, hoping not to be found.

and that night, jax stood in front of his mirror, just staring at his reflection. he almost didn’t recognize himself.

he was crying.

he hadn’t cried in years, much less any serious tears. queener and kinger were always there for him, to help him calm down.

but this time? he was alone.

he couldn’t understand why his fur was wet, why he couldn’t stop crying. it wouldn’t stop. the tears wouldn’t stop.

so he went to the only person he felt comfortable with.

knocking on her door, ragatha answered, looking up. “jax..?” she asked, a look of shock on her face.

jax stood there, a hand feeling his face as he stared down at her, utterly confused. “my.. my face is wet. it won’t stop.”

“why won’t it stop?”

and ragatha just pulled him in to a hug, and jax didn’t realize he was audibly crying until ragatha rubbed his back, and cooed, “it’s okay. just let it all out. you’re okay, i’m here.”

he spent the night in her room, and they talked.

“why does it hurt so much? it- it's like.. there's a pit in my body, it's so hard to breathe?"

"because it's a loss, jax."

"but i lose a bunch of things-- i don't know why this hurts so bad."

"because it's her."

"what?"

"you're hurting, because you lost her. your mind knows she isn't coming back, but your heart- doesn't. you watched her be put into the cellar, she's gone, jax. and it's hurting because you know she isn't going to come back."

"..but.. she's still alive.."

"..i know."

"..why does it hurt so much..? she's not-- dead, i don't-"

"it's just the way things work, hun. it's.. it's going to be hard, but you'll get through it. we're all right here with you, it'll be okay."

i’ll summarize the rest.

jax ends up hating how he feels, he hates crying, he hates being so sad. so he starts to cope differently. he makes jokes, he becomes more sarcastic, more cold and uncaring for the well being of others. his grief turns him into who he is when we see him during the pilot.

writingn this while sick killed my eyes cuz im not wearing my glasses LOL anyway judt had to thrownhis out there when im unsick ill draw more ok bye guys 🎉

[froggibus]

Time of the Month - Choso Kamo

Pairing: Choso Kamo x gn! reader (tho reader menstruates and is able to get pregnant)

Genre: hurt/comfort fluff

Word Count: 930

Summary: Choso is distraught to wake up one night smelling your blood

CW: menstruation, talks of blood, awkward conversations, Choso panics a lil, established relationship, mostly hurt comforty

WE'RE SO BACK!! had this idea for a while but im so glad i finally wrote it. was VERY tempted to turn this into smut but ugh. anyways, enjoy guys!

(also!! we are doing a vote rn over what we wanna do for valentine's day, so if you're interested, vote here)

Choso smells blood when he wakes up. The coppery tinge floods his senses, invading his nose, resting on his tongue. He sits up straight and rubs at his arms. He can feel the pull of it tingling in his fingers as if speaking to him, beckoning him closer.

His head snaps to the bathroom door. Light streams through the crack under it, and it’s only then that he realizes you’re no longer in bed with him. The blood pulls him again—pulls him to the bathroom door. What’s happening? Are you bleeding?

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and forces himself to his feet, dragging them the whole way across the room. He swallows his panic, and knocks on the door softly. “Y/n, are you in there? Is everything okay?” 

Choso’s voice snaps you out of your daze. You push yourself away from the counter you were leaning against, immediately missing the pressure of the cool tile, and dry your hands on the towel. You’d snuck out of bed a little while ago when you started cramping, utterly disappointed to learn it was your time of the month once again. 

“I’ll be right out,” you call, voice strained from the ache in your abdomen. 

Choso frowns. Although he can’t see you, he knows something is wrong. The stench of blood still clouds his senses—and have you been crying? His thoughts race, thinking of all the ways you could be hurt in there.

He sighs and leans his head against the door. “Is something wrong?” 

You open and close your mouth, hoping for an explanation to come out, but all of your words have abandoned you. You know that there are gaps in Choso’s knowledge, especially regarding human reproduction, but you never quite know what to say to him. Especially now.

“Are you hurt?” He calls when you don’t answer. “I smell blood. Please just—talk to me.”

You cringe. Of course he does. You’ve seen him perform much more impressive feats with blood before, sensing it is juvenile to him. You clutch your stomach and gain your strength, breathing deeply.

“Y/n?”

You unlock the door, head hanging as you step into the bedroom. “I’m okay—”

Choso pounces on you before you can finish your sentence, cupping your face with both hands to examine you. His dark eyes dart across your body faster than you can register, his hands sliding down your sides. You relax in his grasp and offer no protest. 

He nods in satisfaction, leaving his hands on your hips. “You’re okay.” 

“I’m okay.”

“But,” the dark marks on his face crinkle in confusion, “you’re bleeding?”

You gently grab his hand and lead him to the bed with you. You’re not quite sure how to phrase it, but you’ll bear the awkwardness if it soothes his mind. Just as you sit down, you double over in pain from your cramps. 

You desperately press your hands against the aching muscles and squeeze your eyes shut to brace yourself. Choso tilts his head at you, concern flaring in his eyes.

He waits for you to recover before asking, “what’s going on? Talk to me, love.”

You cast your gaze to his lap, to the spot where his bare torso meets the waistband of his black sweats. You reach for one of his hands to trace over. His skin is nice and cool, perfectly grounding you as you draw circles over his palm. He eases under your touch but the concern never leaves his face.

“Don’t panic,” you say calmly. “I am bleeding, but it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“But—” He stops when you shoot him a serious look.

“It’s my period. It’s just something that happens every month. It’ll stop after about a week, but I promise it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“This happens to you every month?”

You nod solemnly. “Unless I get pregnant.”

Choso considers this. From what he knows about sex, it makes sense. That doesn’t mean he likes it, though, especially when you seem to be so uncomfortable with it.

“And it hurts?” He asks.

“Sometimes,” you say. “It comes in waves and on some days, it’s worse than others.”

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, the other trailing up your cheek. He lifts your head up until his eyes meet yours. “Can I do anything for you?”

You let out a breathy laugh. It’s touching, really, the lengths he’d go to make you feel better. You’re sure if he could, he’d try and use his technique on you if it meant you wouldn’t be in pain any longer.

“Can we just lay down? I’m exhausted.”

Eager to help, Choso helps you get settled in bed. He bundles the blankets around the two of you and presses his body flush to yours. Your skin is boiling on the surface, and though it’s uncomfortable, he bears it for you. 

He trails his hands up your shirt, resting them on the spot you’d been clutching in pain earlier. His cold hands feel amazing on your hot skin and the pressure is almost enough to mitigate the pain of your cramps. You sigh contentedly and relax into your pillow. 

Choso plants soft kisses on the side of your neck and continues kneading your waistline with his hands. The lingering smell of your blood drives him crazy. He wishes he could do more for you, he wishes he could take your pain away.

“So, this is going to happen every month?”

“Pretty much.”

“Does that mean no sex?” He teases.

“Well…”

Your boyfriend cracks a grin, shaking his head at your antics. 

masterlist | jjk masterlist

(dividers + support banners from @saradika / @saradika-graphics !!!)

[raavilerain]

✦◦ nail polish

summary. you wear nail polish... that's pretty much it.

notes. heizou x gn!reader / kazuha x gn!reader / fluff / established relationship

author's thoughts. many of you seemed to like my previous fic. i'm glad you all did! here's an idea that's been floating around in my brain for a while.

Heizou, who is tired and spent; who just finished a long day of solving a case that was, in his professional opinion, boring; who just really wants to have you in his arms; and who wants to cuddle up to you, pressing soft kisses on your skin. Only for him to be utterly rejected?

The detective’s face bloomed into a smile when he saw your figure curled up on the couch. He nearly pounced on you from the sheer need to have you within his chest, but you startled and moved away, holding up your hands in front of you.

“Ah, ah, ah!” You warned, showing him the freshly painted coat of nail polish that adorned your nails. 

“Nail polish.” You kept a fair distance from him on the couch, an amused smile on your face. “You’ll surely smudge it, Heizou. No touching.”

You could see Heizou nearly pout, his eyes clearly distraught. “What?” He questioned. “Oh, please, that’s not fair. You can’t just run away from me.” Heizou inched closer towards you, almost cornering you on the couch.

“‘Zou…” You said, backing away. But, really, there was nowhere else to run. “...don’t you dare.”

Too late. Heizou had already pulled you into his chest, a shriek exiting your mouth, as he kept you pressed against him. 

“You’re smudging it!” You complained, breaking out into a laugh. After a few more futile attempts of thrashing around, you fell limp into your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You can re-apply it later,” Heizou said, pressing a kiss to the side of your face. “Just… lay with me for now.”

Kazuha will be patient. He is seated right next to you on the couch as he listens to you ramble about your commissions and adventures. 

“God, those abyss mages are beyond annoying,” You ranted. Your hands lay flat on your legs. The glossy sheen of the polish is thick on your finger tips. The paint, still wet and sloppy. 

You continued your tirade, and Kuzuha listened. Perhaps not with the rapt attention of a captivated audience, but more of a gentle observation that was done by ease. 

He could make out how your cheeks flushed, your lips parting to launch into another rant, but right then his hand reached out. 

Kazuha‘s hands, almost unconsciously, wrapped around your hand. His fingers hovered over your fingers, cupping your palm gently.

Your breath caught in your throat, about to warn him about your polish. But he brought your fingers close to his mouth. Then, a sigh escaped his lips, soft breath dancing on your skin. He continued. Kazuha’s warm breath swaying on each of your fingertips as the polish dried. 

They felt like floating kisses on your skin. 

“Continue,” Kazuha murmured. “I want to listen to your voice.”

And so, your rant continued as your boyfriend’s gentle sighs dried your nail polish.

dividers by: @cafekitsune

[fuck-i-love-october]

Jegulus angst where both sides are hurt and its nobodies fault

James loves Regulus dearly. He'd do anything for his boy. One of his stars. His world, if hes honest.

James was always oh so patient with regulus. He held his hand, guided him through the dark, and merlin knew that jam,es would set fire to himself to keep regulus warm. Anyone really, but his boy especially.

And regulus never meant to be..how he was. But trauma does funny things to a man. And Regulus had warned him. He told james how he was. James knew how he was. And james interlocked their pinkies in some messy childish promise, swearing that he loved, would love, Regulus' ins and outs. And he did. Because of course he did.

James was there for every panic attack, every night terror, every day in bed that regulus had. He'd hide away in closets during parties with his boyfriend and boyfriends jarring social anxiety.

James was there to squeeze regulus hand when he would zone out during conversations. And James never asked for more than he was given. He knew to read regulus' actions when he couldn't use his words. He never asked regulus for more than he could offer. Never asked for anything at all, really.

And regulus, as fucked as he was, began to realize that James potter was stoic. Not admirably, but frustratingly. He wouldn't ask for help even if he needed it. He struggled beneath the waves so he could hold his star above the water.

Regulus would be lying if he said he hadn't grown a little bit expectant. He had the right to. James was there for him. And he always would be. And Regulus never had to worry about James because James was always...

No,

No thats not right..

Regulus had woken up from a particularly harrowing night terror. His hand flew immediatly to the other side of the bed. Empty. He called out, no answer. It wasn't until four grueling minutes later that James rushed into their shared bedroom to comfort his world. After his panic had stabled, Regulus breathed a "You weren't here.."

James' eyes were guilty. He nodded violently.

"I'm sorry, love. I was busy I didn't..."

"You said you'd be here. Always. And you weren't."

"Regulus."

"James,"

"I'm sorry, love. I'll be here. I promise I will."

Regulus involuntarily coughed. He wasn't supposed to do this. He loved James. This was different. And he was shutting down again. He knew there was a wide variety of reasons james could have been away from regulus, and regulus knew that James realistically couldn't be there every single time something happened, but trauma does funny things to a man, and Regulus can't help it when he turns away. When he shuts down and out from the world.

James always understood. So of course he would now.

What was James doing anyway?

James sighed, "I'm here when you're ready to talk, Reg. I love you. And I'm sorry."

Regulus only barely muttered a "Love you.."

Before he gripped his pillow tighter, slightly peeved by the weight that shifted onto the opposite side moments later.

Regulus felt better the next morning. If "Better" meant just a fraction less utterly distraught from the night before. He didn't fancy getting out of bed, and so he didn't.

James brought him a breakfast plate no more than ten minutes later. Regulus apreciated the effirt but was still the littlest bit perturbed. He knew nothing but grudges. Thats all he had ever learned in that wretyched house. And James was a good man, but Regulus couldn't help the innocent when he had never been saved himself.

James set the plate on Regulus' nightstand. Regulus could hear the fondness in his lovers voice as he repeated. "Talk to me when you're ready. I love you."

James closed the door before regulus could muster up a response. He sighed, grabbing the plate.

Hours later when regulus decided he was over his tiff, he walked out into his shared aoartment, to be met with his lover curled up on the sofa, not moving but visibly awake. Strange. James never got like..this.

When regulus walked over, his tone uplifted, he anounced his acceptance.

"Hey, baby. Hey it's alright, I'm alright now. So you can..."

"Not right now, reg."

Regulus knew not of rejection with James Potter. A weird sentiment. He fell into a silence, observing the other. Surely James meant something else.

"Aw come on, hon. Why don't I order dinner? Lets just sweep this under the rug yeah?"

"Fuck, Regulus... Please?"

He was again shot down. Regulus noticed the tinge of hurt in James' voice.

"Awh, Love, whats wrong?"

Regulus hadn't anticipated the tears that were to fall. James sat straight up, shaking his head violently. He lifted his glasses and ruibbed harshly at his eyes.

"Nothing, Angel I'm fine. Really, just.. I'm a little feverish..Sick..and I'm..sad. Wrecked. It hurts, Reg. Everything hurts. I can't...I can't."

Regulus' heart dropped. He rushed over to grab James. James only pushed him away.

"No, Reg. You're having a rough day you don't...want this. You don't have to do this."

Did you want to be there for me every time you were? Did you have to?

And Regulus felt like an idiot.

James had promised everything to him but he never promised anything to James at all.

And now James sat a sobbing, neglected mess on his sofa, too concerned to even accept his boyfriends affection.

James hadn't been dwelling last night, he was throwing up. James had the fucking flu, and progressed through apologies and breakfast before he let himself succumb to his hurt.

"No, baby. No. Please, alright? I wanna be here for you, let me be here for you."

James exhaled a terribly forded breath, shaking his head violently.

"Regulus I really hadn't meant for this. I'm going to be alright, my love. 'm so sorry. For this big..show of things."

Regulus didn't seem to care all too much about sickness when he ran over to pull James into his arms. The pair sat there for an embarrassing four hours. Regulus never knew to comfort, but it seemed to be doing a well enough job if his sleeping boyfriend was anything to go by. They had talked and talked and talked, and James got the comfort he deserved. Regulus hadn't a clue of the pain his lover withstood. Friends and parents and neglect was all tied together in an ugly yarnboard of James' life.

James now slept sound, curled up and pressed into his loves chest. Regulus hadn't realized until now how tense James usually slept. Not until he let himself melt into the others skin did he realize that James only in this moment was truly comfortable. That squeezed regulus' heart a bit uncomfortably.

And James received nothing but the best while he was sick. Regulus practically forced him on the sofa all hours of the day. He took care of his boy. He warded off any friends who stopped by because he knew James wasn't ready for their problems yet. He didn't want his boyfriend to ever have to be ready for their problems at all, but he couldn't contain the ever-pleasing James potter forever. Now would do.

Regulus now knew James.

And he would never let James feel alone again.

Isn't it so nice when the sun and the stars can pull themselves out from beneath the waves to again profess their light and their love to the sky?

[sleepiexx]

Love is a Battlefield (and I’m Nothing if Not a Soldier) Pt.2

Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Link to Pt.1

Note: First smut I’ve ever written let’s goooo

Summary: Valeria breaks out of prison and immediately goes home to her gf to fuck

Warnings: reader is afab, smut, and everything that goes along with that

Word count: 1940

(Y/N) had been in a deep sleep for hours. It was the first time since Valeria was arrested that she had been off deployment and it seemed the exhaustion she’d been delaying had finally caught up with her. The second her head hit the pillow it was lights out, barely even changed into her pajamas before her eyes were closed and her heart rate slowed.

She tried not to worry about Valeria, like she’d promised, but it was hard. Especially when it was near impossible to keep tabs on the case, what with Alejandro heading it and (Y/N) not wanting to get outed as the cartel leader’s girlfriend, although, it was more so Valeria not wanting her to get caught in the crossfire but (Y/N) would follow her lead regardless.

The house was silent apart from the buzzing of electricity coming from the home appliances and the whir of the overhead fan, both calming enough to continually sooth (Y/N) in her sleep. She dreamed a sweet dream of Valeria, of holding her, kissing her, talking to her. Nothing made her happier than the smooth sound of Valeria’s voice.

These last few weeks, she was happiest when she was asleep. It’s not like she could see Valeria any other way which killed her, but she kept going regardless. Going home was bittersweet. She was glad that she didn’t have to work for some time, less people to have to pretend to be perfectly fine around. Yet being home without Valeria was lonely.

It wasn’t like they ever lived together. (Y/N) lived in the U.S. and Valeria had many houses around the world that she would run cartel operations out of. (Y/N) hadn’t known, but all this time Valeria had been coordinating with (Y/N)’s schedule to fly out to (Y/N) every time she was set to go home. It would have been completely impractical had Valeria not been insanely rich with an assortment of military aircrafts at her disposal, and if (Y/N) ever knew she’d tell her as much.

But things were different now. Valeria was in prison, she couldn’t just call her up and have her come over at the drop of a hat. It was different, and (Y/N) didn’t like it.

Even at the base, she’d been miserable. It was noticeable, especially to her teammates who had known her as the usually cheery (Y/N) who rarely moped.

Ghost even followed up on their earlier conversation. He’d asked her a hesitant, “How are things with your girl? You patch it up yet?”

And she’d responded vague, but truthful. “Kind of, I mean, y’know she and I are good now but it’s hard being separated.”

He nodded and left it at that, not wanting to pry too much; yet still his eyes followed her every time her head dropped a little too low or her lips pressed into a frown.

She’d noticed, and while she appreciated it, she didn’t want him to worry too much so she tried to keep her head up. Being home felt almost like a weight lifted off her shoulders, no more reason to pretend to be okay.

As she slept away her sorrows, Valeria looked around in the dark outside for the spare key. She found it taped to the underside of the bench on the porch, hurrying to use it on the door. It’d been too long since she’d seen her lover and she wouldn’t waste another second.

She wondered if (Y/N) was awake. The house was quiet, quieter than she’d ever remembered it being. She worried about the state that (Y/N) would be in when she came back, how she coped with their separation. Memories of the last time they saw each other flashed in her brain, (Y/N) crying at her feet, utterly distraught.

She walked quietly into (Y/N)‘s room, finding her curled up in bed, asleep. She frowned at the bags under (Y/N)’s eyes, reaching out to caress her soft face. (Y/N) unconsciously cuddled up next to her fingertips, craving her warm touch.

“I’m here, amor.” She whispered.

(Y/N) stirred in her sleep, eyes opening to squint at Valeria.

“Val?” She asked in disbelief.

“Mhm.”

(Y/N) shot up, meeting Valeria in an embrace. The two held onto each other for what felt like hours, with no plans on letting go. Their lips pressed together in an open-mouthed kiss that felt like it lasted an eternity. Even when they parted, they stayed connected at the forehead.

“I missed you so much, my love.” Valeria muttered, pressing her palm to (Y/N)’s cheek and pushing some of her hair behind her ear.

“Oh yeah? You didn’t get yourself a girlfriend in prison to replace me with?” (Y/N) joked with a dopey smile.

Valeria pushed her down on her back, pinning her hands on either side of her head. She smashed their lips together once again and bit down on (Y/N)’s lower lip, causing a surprised yelp to leave her mouth as they parted once more.

“Don’t you even suggest that. You are the only woman I could ever love.” She growled, placing kisses leading from (Y/N)‘s lips to her jaw, and then to her ear. “Irreplaceable.”

(Y/N) soaked up every second of praise, basking in the loving kisses placed to almost every inch of bare skin on her upper half, body feeling jittery at the long awaited touch of her lover.

As much as (Y/N) hated to do so, she pushed Valeria up to make eye contact with her. Rubbing up and down her biceps. She looked at her with care in her eyes. “I have so many questions, how did you get out? Are you out legally, or am I about to get a call? Are you hungry? I can’t imagine that prison food is any good, I can go make you-“

Valeria cut her off with a kiss. It was firm and yearning, making (Y/N) almost completely forget her offer.

“You talk too much, cariño,” Valeria murmured into her lips, “and you don’t have to make me anything to eat, I already have something in mind.”

(Y/N) was about to ask what but the words fizzled out in her mouth as Valeria tugged her shirt over her head, leaving her upper half bare.

Valeria continued where she left off with kissing every accessible inch of skin, now having even more to work with. She made sure to leave marks along the way, their previous separation leading her to feel more possessive than usual.

Slowly but surely, Valeria’s lips found their way to (Y/N)’s nipples. She licked one and then blew on it, causing whimpers to spill out of (Y/N)’s throat. She smirked, taking the nipple into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. She made sure the other wasn’t left out as she slowly teased it with her fingertips, drawing circles on it before grabbing and twisting it, raising the volume of (Y/N)’s moans.

Valeria pulled away, having her other hand take over where her mouth had left off. “I missed hearing you moan for me.” She whispered, “It’s my favorite sound.”

She kissed her way back down, this time to the other nipple. She sucked on it while caressing it gently with her tongue, all before nipping at it with her teeth so she could watch her lover squirm.

“Fuck, baby, you keep that up and I’m gonna cum in my shorts.” (Y/N) moaned, back arching ever so slightly into Valeria’s touch.

Valeria grinned, “You think so?”

“Mhm.”

Valeria once again replaced one of her hands with her mouth. With her hand now free, she used it to creep up (Y/N)’s inner thigh, making her muscles tighten in anticipation.

“Fuck, please.” (Y/N) begged, eyes meeting Valeria’s which had been adamantly watching her every expression.

Valeria’s eyes shone with false confusion, “Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

On a normal day, Valeria would have teased her more, kept her hand planted firmly on the inner thigh as she played dumb. ‘But I am touching you,’ she’d mutter, refusing to pull down her pants until she begged for it. Today, though, Valeria wasn’t in the teasing mood. She wanted (Y/N), and she wanted her now.

Lips never leaving her lover’s swollen nipple, Valeria hooked her fingers on either side of (Y/N)’s thin sleep shorts, pulling them down, leaving (Y/N) in only her underwear. She pressed one of her knuckles against (Y/N)’s clothed clit, running it back and forth, pulling moan after moan from her kiss-bitten lips.

After what felt like an eternity of teasing for (Y/N), Valeria slipped her hand into (Y/N)’s underwear. She slid her middle and ring finger up the seam of her cunt, lubing them with slick before reaching the clit. Valeria knew exactly how to play (Y/N)’s body like a fine tuned instrument, messing with the sensitive bud until (Y/N) was reduced to nothing but a vessel to receive pleasure.

Once she got her fill of merely touching her lover’s pussy, she pulled down (Y/N)’s underwear and pressed her tongue directly on her clit.

(Y/N) took in a sharp inhale, not expecting to feel Valeria’s tongue lapping at her clit so soon. Her hands gripped the sheets desperately attempting to ground herself, mostly ineffective as Valeria worked diligently to send her out of this world with pleasure.

Valeria’s name spilled out of her mouth like a prayer, whimpers of how good she made her feel, how much she loved the girl between her thighs.

“I love you so much, Valeria. Fuck, I- I’m so glad you’re home, I m- issed you so so so much.”

Valeria circled her opening with the middle and ring finger she’d previously wet. Once she felt there was a sufficient amount of slick gathered, she pushed her fingers into her lover’s vagina. (Y/N) clenched at the feeling, letting out more filthy remarks.

“M-missed that mouth of- of yours the most- oh god.” She whined.

Her legs began to shake as Valeria began to curl the fingers inside of her, hitting her g spot at the perfect angle.

“Oh god- oh fuck.. Valeria.”

Valeria didn’t falter for a second, not with (Y/N)’s distracting moans, nor the vigorous shaking of her legs, she knew that both were signs of her girlfriends on coming orgasm and she had no plan on stopping.

“Please- please, Val I’m gonna cum, can I please cum?” (Y/N) begged, desperation written all over her face.

Valeria parted from (Y/N)’s clit for a split second to tell her, “Let it out, my love, let it all out,” before swiftly kissing her thigh and returning to her dripping cunt.

With Valeria’s permission, (Y/N) finally let go. A ringing sounded in her ear as waves of pleasure washed over her, alternating between going limp and twitching vigorously.

As she calmed down, taking deep breaths, ringing sound fading away, Valeria began to kiss her way back up to (Y/N)’s lips.

“You did so good for me, (Y/N).” She praised, gently running her hands up and down the sides of (Y/N)’s naked body.

(Y/N) tried to sit up but Valeria pushed her right back down. “Please, wanna taste you.” She whined.

“Oh you sweet dumb thing,” Valeria coo’d, “You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?”

[my-writings-and-musings]

I return with some short/sweet Earthspark Starscream x Reader content to try and ease me back into writing! Hope you all enjoy!

The first slivers of morning light to reach your eyes were met with a grunt of displeasure and an instinctive roll to the side, the comfort of your extra toasty nest pulling you back into one of the better rests you'd ever had and pushing away wakefulness at any cost. A slight hum from below soothed all the tension from your body, bringing a smile back to your face as you snuggled deeper into the blankets. The outside world had nothing this cozy to offer you. 

Catching the familiar sound of a bot taking in a vent just below, you cracked open an eye to find the Seeker beneath your nest in the middle of a yawn, his lean frame flexing as he stretched his arms over his helm. Every movement was careful not to disturb the thin mattress and blanket tangle atop his chest acting as your bed, but you knew Starscream would want you up sooner rather than later. Closing both eyes and remaining limp, you tried to pretend to be in deep sleep, hoping his spark might be softened by the sight of his favorite human sleeping peacefully. 

A digit stroked along your cheek to dash your hopes, but you did your very best to stay still, even when he chuckled beneath you and the bounce carried through the mattress.

"Wakey wakey." he purred with another teasing brush of his thumb. It took all of your acting skills to stay still, your desire for sleep matched only by how much you enjoyed spending time with your beloved bot. He chuckled again and playfully brushed your hair aside, making it clear you were had with a boop of your nose. "I know you're faking, Y/N. You can't fool me so easily."

"Nooooo..." was all you could say, despite now being thoroughly awake. There was just something about snuggling next to a spark that was more comfortable than you could possibly put into words.

"Come now; I didn't visit so you could use me as a glorified bed frame. Up." he said, still playful but slightly more firm as he tugged on your blankets. Relenting with a yawn, you rubbed your eyes and accepted his help climbing to the floor, bare feet meeting the large carpeted rug that the Seeker usually slept on. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you walked over to the heavily upgraded barn's makeshift kitchenette and flicked on the lights. Starscream removed your nest from his chassis and stretched out his lean frame with further teasing. "Besides, it's rude for the host to rise after guests."

"Mhmm..." you replied as your stomach gave its first growl. Not willing to put much effort into feeding yourself, you opened a cupboard for your favorite cereal and set about pouring it in a bowl. Bright blue optics turning to the sound compelled you to speak as you added the milk before returning it to the tiny fridge. "It's rude for hosts to eat without serving guests too, but if you want breakfast, we'll have to swing by the Maltos. I don't exactly have energon on tap."

Starscream averted his gaze, expression briefly looking more conflicted than distraught at the idea before he recovered, mock disgust shielding his ego as usual.

"As much as I enjoy those visits..." he sighed and rested his arms behind his helm, as if the very idea was wearing him out. "It's far too early for that much affection. I can wait."

It was your turn for teasing. The Malto kids had a much more positive view of the Seeker after his dramatic and timely rescue, and as such, swarmed him like eager puppies whenever the two of you stopped by. You found it utterly adorable, especially when he tried his hardest to pretend such tender displays of affection weren't to his liking, or that Hashtag didn't have him at her beck and call for selfies, movie watching, or whatever else her spark desired. Finishing up another spoonful, you carried your bowl over and sat beside his helm, smiling as he cracked open an optic. "Awwww, not ready to be swarmed by your fan club?"

"Not at the moment... Their energy is boundless." he said dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting a headache. You knew he was being silly even if he wasn't exaggerating too much. Any one of the Malto kids was a boundless ball of youthful exuberance, and by their powers combined they could wear out even the most energetic adults. Starscream always fell into deep, unshakeable recharge after those visits, and you were never far behind. The Seeker sighed as he leaned his helm against your side, resembling a twenty foot cat so closely you couldn't resist the urge to give his helm a loving stroke. A smug yet affectionate smile pulled on his lips as he savored the gentle touch. "I'd much prefer a quiet morning, free of obligations. I've more than earned it." 

"I can handle that. How about a movie?" you replied quickly, reaching for the remote that had been tucked in your blanket nest. Clicking on the wall mounted flatscreen that Starscream continuously claimed to have obtained legally before gifting to you, you scrolled through a dozen or so streaming apps. 

Holding forth his cupped palm, Starscream agreed with a predictable caveat. "So long as I get to pick. I am the guest, after all."

"You're the guest." you agreed with a smile, handing the remote over before finishing up your cereal and shoving the bowl aside. The Seeker skillfully managed the human sized buttons as you snuggled against his side, just able to hear the birdsong of a beautiful morning beginning outside. As far as you were concerned, the whole world could wait while the two of you enjoyed the simple delight of a lazy morning. Judging by how his arm not so subtly curled around you, he felt exactly the same.

[ikkosu]

Ikko ikko ikko ikko

How do you think Met Prowl would handle an injured human💚.

As always you have lovely writing and I adore everytime I see you when I’m scrolling or when I see you in my inbox💚

｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡waughh hejkejbhrrk,,,,sniff,,,,sniff ough you are too sweet for this world compy,,,,sniff sniff you are keeling me

GOSH PROWL,,, this man would not let whoever hurt his human scamper out scathe free.

Prowl has anger issues, yes. He's angry like half of his lifetime so nobody ever really bats an eye. But they know the only closest person to ever subdue his aggressive tendency to obliterate a fucking room, is you.

(They know for a fact that prowl would never hurt you, even when he's utterly pissed)

The moment they see you're there, in a puddle of crimson, half-conscious. They halt — literally freeze into place because Prowl is unusually calm standing before the con.

Unlike his usual scowl, this is a stare that pierces right through everyone's spark. Prowl calmly walks past the con, to his human and assessed the injury. Con is a bit baffled by the blatant ignoring and watches as he hands you over to Ratchet

(who, for once, has a demure attitude, unusually quiet with a concerned expression.)

But the concern isn't for prowl.

The rest of the crew watches as Prowl, with the calmness of a gentle breeze, obliterate the con. He's not even trying. Not even trying to throw jabs. Just lazily dodging, throwing hooks, throwing cuts that sting and he'll make sure to draw out the pain as long a possible.

He values efficiency, but sometimes unconventional means would have to be used when a certain kind of obstacle is faced.

Anyways, the con gets utterly destroyed (sent to med-bay where the medics would do their 'rounds' on them) and he scampers just in time they're dressing your wounds.

Prowl barges in and says he'll be taking over. The nurses are confused because what the hell is a robot doing here— but, is left no room for protest as he gives them the glare (tm).

They scuttle out without a moment's notice.

And, ohhh boy is he gentle with his human

:( his servos, once taut always so ready to pounce, wrap the bandages around their limbs with such care, it bores the weight of a feather. His other servo cradles your head and a digit it's rubbing against your cheek.

For once, prowls making a face that's not a scowl, and something akin to distraught. At that he feels disconcerted, for someone who preaches about logical thinking — he's incredibly emotional, right now, and would want nothing better than the bright smile and pull of your face.

He pulls you flushed to his chassis and closes his optics.

[kuekyuuq]

Supercorp - Rehashing the Fallout once more

Today's menu: Kara Danvers' Double-Standards.

I am rewatching Supergirl, and it occurred to me why I am with Lena on the "you lied to me" point. (Not the brain-wash the planet or taking a year to get over herself and realize her own - horrible - mistakes parts, though.) Not because of the lie itself or its content, but its context with Kara's very own history!

Let's take a walk...

In the pilot Kara gets mad at Alex for her having kept her double-life as a DEO agent secret from her.

Kara is utterly disappointed and distraught at the secrets her parents kept from her (Medusa, Myriad), some of which affected her directly (Krypton's impending destruction).

Kara finds out that James is Guardian before he told her and she was pretty upset, explains it's because they are humans throwing themselves into danger.

When J'onn explains to Kara how bonded Martians share their minds, Kara expresses how she thinks the “no secrets, no lies” sounds “beautiful”.

Kara ends their relationship with Mon-El over him lying about his true identity (and him being the Prince of a cruel society), ignoring him when he said he tried several times to tell her. When Mon-El let himself into Kara's apartment to apologize, he BEGS for forgiveness

but Kara says she deserved better than being lied to… Yes, she secretly forgave him at this point but still breaks up with him (Rhea told her to do so) and cries over it.

Music Meister teaches Kara (and Barry): “Love is about letting yourself be saved, it's not just about saving other people.”

Trust.

Lillian tells Kara, she doesn't need to spill SG's identity, because when Lena FINDS OUT, it'll be so much worse.

(And Lillian was SO on point!)

When Kara and Clark spar and have a heart-to-heart, Kara wonders if she can have it all, Clark assures her about the most important people make keeping the secret worth it and how letting (only) those important people in IS enough. Later, asked the same questions, Cat tells Kara that women have the guts to be vulnerable, lists her accomplishments.

Kara does not take Lena possessing some of Lex's Kryptonite nor the whole Sam/Reign-secret kept from her well. Gets even angrier when Lena creates her own Kryptonite (in her quest to fight/cure Reign …and cancer and other human ailments).

Or Mon-El hesitating to tell and keeping from Kara about his time-travelling, marriage and his actual mission…

That is up until mid-s03 and not even counting the many times how the show also taught us through Alex', J'onns and Lena's lenses that lying and pretending to be someone one is not to those important/close to oneself, is harmful to their (romantic and platonic) relationships and themselves.

Do I need to go on?

...Kara is clearly fully aware at that point that secrets (even her own) do not bode well in any type of relationships she would like to have and keep.

And, yes, I am fully aware of the "point of no return" argument, in all its validity, that at some point the lies had stacked up so much, that the hurt was inevitable, the fear of rejection more and more founded, of Kara wanting to be "just Kara" with Lena… Every season, every in-show year that passed and Kara kept her secret(s), it became impossibly harder to come clean. But, re-watching the show, it just seems so… irresponsible? And the more often Kara makes a point herself being lied to is a bad thing, even …hypocritical.

I am not saying any of the people who lied to or kept things from Kara were in the right or wrong - a totally different discussion that would require individual assessment. But, Kara, making the same point over and over again? Several times about the very topic of hidden/fake identities and double-lives… But then proceeding to keep her proclaimed best friend in the dark about herself, still?

Yeah, that bugs me. A lot.

IMO, after the whole Mon-El returned thing Kara would or should have had an epiphany about telling Lena the truth about herself… but then Reign beat her into a coma and all kinds of hell broke loose.

But… Yeah. Not even for Supercorp reasons. But internal logic.

From a story-writing perspective; you have your (main) character face a (similar but slightly different) situation a couple times before they learn their lesson. You plant the seeds (in this case: identity reveal) and then have it play out, based on what the character had learned(!) this far. And you have them deal with the worst-case-scenario backlash, if you need any for drama's sake, but it should make some level of sense… Instead they had Kara learn nothing, had her lie to Lena for another two years, and turned Lena into a spiraling madwoman. And Kara… well, now in Mon-El's shoes, could not quite understand how Lena (in Kara's former shoes, but with much more tainted personal experiences) was deeply, intimately hurt, devastated, and struggling.

Kara saw this coming - but tbh, when Lillian spoke so (unintentionally) truthful, Kara should have focused on the implied "if someone ELSE but you tells her", and when talking to Kal, realized that he didn't keep his secret FROM his most important people (Lois, James…) to protect them. Taken Cat's advice to have the guts to be vulnerable to reap Lena's long-term trust instead of settling for "for now this works, right?".

Not to mention that the whole show over and over stressed, that Kara could "have it all" without revealing herself to the world (the 100th episode even making a point that telling the world WILL put her loved ones at risk) or deciding on one half of herself, but then the show ended, and… yeah… I guess, some sort of witness protection for everyone?

No more casual strolls for "just Kara" through the park…

I adore the show, but… continuity?

It's just a bit painful to re-watch the show and watch Kara fault and shame others over and over again, only to go ahead and do the thing herself... Aware, yet oblivious. And NOBODY calls her out on it. (The one time Alex asked her and Kara was all like "I had to take the dog to the vet" is too little too late.)

Thankfully the fandom is so amazingly creative <3

#Kue out.