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The Dragon's Right (15)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: 14

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sun hangs high over Dragonstone. The clanging of swords and the shouts of sparring echo off the ancient stone walls. You move with precision, your blade meeting Jace’s with a sharp clang, the force of your strike sending a shiver through your arm. He grunts, his teeth gritted in concentration, and steps back, his stance wary but determined.

“Good, Jace,” you praise, your voice carrying over the courtyard. “But you need to be quicker with your counter. Don’t just defend—respond.”

Jace nods, sweat beading on his forehead, his grip tightening on the hilt of his practice sword. Beside him, Luke and Joffrey watch intently, their wooden swords clutched in eager hands. You’ve been drilling them for hours now, running through new techniques and refining their form. It’s hard, grueling work, but they’re determined, and you’re proud of how far they’ve come.

You catch a movement out of the corner of your eye and glance up to see Daemon leaning against the low stone wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He’s been observing quietly for some time now, his sharp gaze taking in every movement, every correction you make to the boys’ stances.

“You’re being too lenient with them,” Daemon calls out, his tone teasing. “They’re growing soft.”

You smirk, parrying Jace’s next strike with ease. “I’d like to see you do better, Uncle,” you retort, sidestepping and tapping Jace lightly on the shoulder with the flat of your blade. “But I’m afraid you might end up in the dirt.”

Jace’s face flushes with effort and embarrassment, but he doesn’t falter. He launches forward again, his movements sharper now, more precise. You nod approvingly, meeting his attack and countering with a swift, controlled strike that sends his sword flying from his grip.

“You’re thinking too much, Jace,” you advise, lowering your sword as he bends to retrieve his own. “Trust your instincts. When you hesitate, you lose the fight.”

Luke and Joffrey shift restlessly, their eyes fixed on you, eager for their turn. “Patience,” you tell them with a smile. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

From the other side of the courtyard, the sound of laughter drifts over, and you turn to see Rhaena and Baela playing with Aegon and Viserys. The sight makes your heart swell—your family, all together, safe and thriving.

“How’s Rhaenyra?” Daemon asks, his voice softer now, his eyes following your gaze. “I heard she’s resting more these days.”

You nod, a shadow of concern crossing your face. “She’s well, just tired. The pregnancy has been harder on her this time.” You glance up at the stone keep where you know she’s resting, a hand absentmindedly drifting to your sword’s hilt. “The maesters say she needs more rest.”

Daemon’s expression darkens for a moment, then he pushes off the wall, striding toward you with that easy, confident grace that always seems to hang about him. “She’s strong,” he says quietly, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “She’ll be fine. And in the meantime, you’ve got these boys to keep you busy.”

He jerks his chin at Jace, who’s back on his feet, his jaw set with determination. “Well, go on then. Don’t let me distract you.”

You laugh, turning back to Jace. “Ready?”

Jace nods, his eyes locked on yours. “Ready, Father.”

“Then show me what you’ve got.”

The next exchange is faster, more intense. Jace’s strikes come harder, his form tighter. You meet each blow with measured force, letting him push you back step by step, testing his limits, his resolve.

“Don’t overextend,” you advise as he lunges forward, catching his blade and twisting, sending him spinning off-balance. “Watch your footing.”

Luke and Joffrey cheer him on, bouncing on the balls of their feet, eager to jump in. You smile at their enthusiasm, the warmth of it filling you. This—training them, seeing them grow strong and skilled, preparing them for the challenges they’ll face—is everything you’d hoped for when you left King’s Landing behind six years ago.

Daemon watches with a critical eye, his fingers tapping idly against the pommel of his own sword. “You’re teaching them well,” he says, almost begrudgingly. “Better than I would have expected.”

You raise an eyebrow, deflecting another of Jace’s strikes with a quick flick of your wrist. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise.”

Daemon chuckles, the sound low and genuine. “It is. Don’t get used to it.”

The bout continues, your focus split between Jace’s movements and the playful shouts of the younger children nearby. You’re aware of every detail—the shift in Jace’s stance, the tightening of his grip, the way his breath comes in short, sharp bursts. He’s pushing himself hard, testing his limits, and you can see the progress he’s made.

“Good,” you say, meeting his next strike and holding it, your blades locked together. “Now, what do you do?”

Jace hesitates, his eyes flicking down to where your swords meet, and you can see the answer forming in his mind. He shifts his weight, trying to break free, but you twist your blade, disarming him in one smooth motion.

“You hesitate,” you say, stepping back. “That’s the problem. Don’t think—act.”

Jace picks up his sword, his expression frustrated but determined. “Again.”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips. “Again.”

From the sidelines, Daemon watches, his eyes gleaming with something like pride. “They’re growing up fast,” he muses, his gaze flicking to his own daughters, who are now sitting with Aegon and Viserys, pointing and laughing as they watch your sparring.

“They are,” you agree, your voice softening. “And they’ll need to. The world won’t be kind to them.”

Daemon’s smile fades, replaced by a hard, thoughtful look. “No, it won’t,” he says quietly. “But they’ve got you, and they’ve got each other. That’s more than most.”

You nod, meeting his eyes. There’s an understanding between you, a shared determination to protect these children, to prepare them for whatever may come.

“Come on, boys,” you call to Luke and Joffrey. “Your turn. Show me what you’ve learned.”

They rush forward, faces alight with excitement, and you brace yourself, ready for the next round. As they swing their wooden swords at you, laughter and shouts filling the courtyard, you feel a rare moment of peace—a moment where everything is as it should be.

The chamber is quiet, the only sound the soft scratching of quill on parchment as Jacaerys painstakingly transcribes a passage from an ancient tome. The light from the high windows spills over the room, illuminating the rows of books and scrolls stacked neatly on the shelves. You watch your son closely, your arms crossed over your chest as he works. His brow is furrowed in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth as he writes.

“Focus, Jace,” Grand Maester Geraryds murmurs, his voice gentle but firm. The old man stands beside your son, his eyes sharp despite the wear of age. “Precision is just as important as speed.”

Jace nods, his face determined, and adjusts his grip on the quill. You can see the effort he’s putting in, the desire to do well in his studies. It fills you with a deep sense of pride—and a quiet relief. As your heir, Jace will have to be more than just a skilled warrior. He must be learned, wise, and capable of navigating the complexities of the realm that will one day be his responsibility.

From the corner of the room, Rhaenyra reclines on a sofa piled high with cushions, her form graceful despite the weight of her pregnancy. Her ladies-in-waiting hover nearby, attending to her needs, while a servant girl fans her gently. Her eyes are on Jace, a soft smile playing at her lips as she watches him work.

You glance at her, the sight of her surrounded by such care stirring a mixture of emotions in your chest. There’s love, of course, and pride, but also a lingering concern. This pregnancy has been harder on her than the others, and despite her reassurances, you worry.

Jace pauses in his writing, glancing up at you with a hesitant smile. “Is this better, Father?”

You lean forward, scanning the parchment. The lines are more even now, the script clearer. “Much better, Jace,” you say, your tone warm with approval. “You’re doing well.”

Geraryds nods, his expression thoughtful. “Your progress is commendable, Prince Jacaerys. But remember, knowledge is as much about understanding what you read as it is about recording it. We’ll review the text together, and I’ll ask you questions.”

Jace nods eagerly, his eyes bright. “Yes, Maester.”

You smile at the exchange, feeling a swell of pride. Jace is growing into his role, bit by bit, and you can see the promise of the man he will one day become.

The door to the chamber swings open, and Daemon strides in, his presence as commanding as ever. There’s a faint smirk on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lingering on Jace before shifting to you.

“Nephew,” he greets, his tone light but carrying an edge. “I come bearing news.”

You straighten, your attention sharpening. “What is it, Daemon?”

He hands you a folded letter, the seal of the king’s office unmistakable in the candlelight. “A message from King’s Landing,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “Viserys has summoned us all for a family dinner. It seems he wants to mend what he can while he still breathes.”

You take the letter, breaking the seal and scanning the contents. The words are brief, almost painfully so. Viserys’s hand trembles in the ink, the once-strong script now wavering and frail. He writes of wanting his family together, of wishing for peace in what time remains to him.

There’s a heaviness in your chest as you fold the letter again, your gaze lifting to meet Daemon’s. His face is uncharacteristically serious, his usual air of indifference replaced by something somber.

“There’s little life left in him,” Daemon says quietly, his eyes dark with a sorrow that he rarely shows. “Your father is not long for this world.”

Rhaenyra shifts on the sofa, her eyes wide as she looks between you and Daemon. You walk over to her, sitting beside her and taking her hand in yours. The contact is warm, comforting, but it does little to ease the ache that has taken root in your heart.

You exchange a long, searching look with her, the unspoken emotions passing between you like a current. No matter what bitterness or anger has grown in the wake of others’ actions, the love you both hold for Viserys remains. He is your father, her father, and the prospect of losing him—even after everything—is like a knife twisting in your gut.

“What will we do?” Rhaenyra asks softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her eyes.

“We’ll go,” you say firmly, your gaze steady on hers. “We owe him that much. Whatever else has happened, he’s our father.”

She nods, her grip on your hand tightening. “And the children?”

“We’ll take them too,” you reply, glancing over at Jace, who’s watching the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “They need to see their grandsire. It might be the last chance they have.”

Daemon makes a low, thoughtful sound, his eyes flicking over Jace and then back to you. “Are you sure that’s wise? The last time we were all together—”

“I know,” you cut him off, your voice firm but not unkind. “But this time will be different. It has to be.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow, a cynical smile touching his lips. “You’re too hopeful, nephew. But maybe that’s what we need.”

You turn back to Rhaenyra, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “We’ll go,” you say again, your voice softer now, filled with a quiet resolve. “And we’ll do what we can to honor his wish.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but she nods, her expression determined. “For him,” she agrees.

You stand, turning back to Daemon. “Thank you for bringing the message, Uncle. I’ll make preparations for our journey.”

Daemon inclines his head, a glimmer of something like respect in his eyes. “I’ll see to the dragons, then. We’ll leave at first light.”

As he strides from the room, you look back at Rhaenyra, still holding her hand. The future is uncertain, and the wounds between your family and the Hightowers are deep. But for now, you will go to your father, and you will be the family he needs you to be.

For whatever time remains.

The Red Keep looms above you, its familiar silhouette outlined against a sky heavy with gray clouds. As your party makes its way toward the main gate, you cast a glance back at Rhaenyra, who rides beside you on her horse. Her face is composed, but you can see the tension in her jaw, the tightness in her posture. Behind her, Jace, Luke, Joffrey, while Aegon, and Viserys follow closely in a carriage with their nannies.

Daemon rides on the other side of you, his daughters, Baela and Rhaena, flanking him like shadows. The sight of the Red Keep should have been a welcome return, a homecoming, but there is an unsettling quiet, an absence of the grandeur and formality that should have greeted the heirs to the throne.

“No royal welcome for us, it seems,” you murmur, your voice carrying only to Rhaenyra and Daemon. “The King’s own son and heir, his daughter and grandchildren, and not so much as a guard to receive us.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze sweeps over the battlements, her lips thinning into a hard line. “They want us to feel unwelcome,” she says quietly. “To remind us whose influence holds sway here now.”

Daemon snorts softly, his eyes narrowing as he surveys the castle. “They’ve let the vultures roost on our bones,” he mutters. “But we’ll remind them who truly owns this place.”

As you approach the gates, you notice the heraldry of the Targaryens—the three-headed dragon of your house—has been replaced by the sigils of the Faith of the Seven. Banners bearing the seven-pointed star hang where the crimson and black should have flown, the sight of them making your blood run cold. It’s not just a sign of your father’s decline; it’s a proclamation of the Hightowers’ dominance.

You feel a surge of anger, your hands clenching around the reins of your horse. “They’ve turned our home into a temple,” you say, your voice thick with disgust. “This is no longer the Red Keep of the Targaryens.”

Daemon’s eyes flick to the banners, his mouth twisting in disdain. “They’d rather see this castle burn than in the hands of a dragon.” He glances at you, his expression sharp. “But we can’t let their games go unanswered.”

Rhaenyra leans forward, her eyes dark with determination. “We’ll go to Father. Let them see we’re not cowed by their petty displays.”

You nod, turning to the guards posted at the gate. They straighten at your approach, their eyes flicking nervously between you, Daemon, and your men and royal retainers that stand behind your group. “Take us to the King,” you command, your voice brooking no argument. “Now.”

The guards hesitate, exchanging uneasy glances before the senior officer steps forward. “Of course, my prince. If you and your family would follow me.”

As you dismount, you place a steadying hand on Jace’s shoulder. “Stay close,” you murmur to him and the rest of your children. “Keep your heads high.”

Jace nods, his young face set in a determined expression. Luke and Joffrey stand on either side of him, their eyes wide as they take in the unfamiliar surroundings. Aegon and Viserys cling to Rhaenyra’s skirts, their small hands gripping the fabric tightly.

You cast a glance back at Daemon, who gives you a curt nod. His presence is a reassuring weight at your side, a reminder that you are not alone in this viper’s den.

The walk through the keep is a painful reminder of all that has changed. The once vibrant halls feel dim and cold, the energy drained from the very stones. Servants scurry past with bowed heads, their eyes avoiding yours. You can almost feel the judgment and resentment simmering beneath the surface, the unspoken tensions hanging in the air like smoke.

Rhaenyra’s hand brushes against yours as you walk, her touch grounding you. “This place feels like a tomb,” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“It’s not ours anymore,” you reply, your tone grim. “They’ve let it wither, just like they’ve let Father.”

As you pass through the corridors, the shift in atmosphere becomes more pronounced. Every corner, every archway, is marked by the influence of the Faith. Priests and septas move about, their solemn faces and plain robes a stark contrast to the opulence you once knew. You scoff under your breath, the sound harsh in the silence.

“They’ve turned this place into a sanctimonious prison,” Daemon says, his voice a low growl. “They’ve done everything but chain him in his chambers.”

“And now they call us back,” Rhaenyra says, a bitter edge to her voice. “To witness what? To watch him die while they hold the reins?”

You stop outside a set of large, imposing doors, the entrance to the King’s private chambers. The guards posted there glance at each other nervously as you approach, their hands shifting on their weapons. The senior officer gestures for you to wait, then moves to knock on the door.

You take a deep breath, your eyes locking with Rhaenyra’s. There’s a moment of shared understanding between you, a recognition of the love you both still hold for your father despite everything. This place, these people, have tried to tear you apart, to destroy the bond that should be the strength of your house. But they have failed.

The doors creak open slowly, and you feel the weight of the moment settle over you like a shroud.

Daemon’s hand settles on the hilt of his sword, a habitual gesture of readiness. You nod to him, then turn back to Rhaenyra, giving her a reassuring squeeze of her hand.

“Whatever happens,” you murmur, your voice firm despite the knot of anxiety in your chest, “we’re here for him. For us.”

She nods, a fierce light in her eyes. “For our family.”

With that, you step forward, ready to face what awaits inside.

The door creaks open, and you step into the low lit chamber, your family following close behind. The room is filled with the heavy, suffocating scent of incense, mingling with the stale air. It’s a space suffused with shadows, the flickering candlelight casting long, eerie shapes across the walls. In the center of it all, surrounded by heavy drapery and silk cushions, lies your father.

King Viserys, once so strong and vital, is now a frail, gaunt figure against the expansive bed. His body seems to have withered away, skin stretched thin over bones, his once proud features now sunken and pallid. The sight of him, so diminished and fragile, makes your heart clench painfully. He is more ghost than man, the vitality of the king replaced by a husk clinging to life.

You move forward slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. As you draw nearer, Viserys’s eyes flutter open, clouded with pain but still holding a spark of recognition. For a moment, it seems as though he’s looking past you, his gaze searching for something beyond the room. Then, those eyes settle on you, and a flicker of clarity cuts through the haze.

“My son,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a rasp, but there’s a hint of the old strength in it. “My firstborn… my heir.”

The words strike something deep within you, a surge of emotions you can’t quite name. You kneel beside the bed, leaning closer so he can see you clearly. “Father,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady. “I’m here. We’re all here.”

His skeletal hand trembles as it reaches out, the effort of the movement almost too much for him. You take it gently, holding it between your own, careful not to squeeze too hard. His skin is cold, the bones beneath it brittle and frail.

“Good… good,” he breathes, his lips curving in a faint, weary smile. “You’ve come… as I hoped.”

You feel a presence at your back and turn slightly to see Daemon standing there, his face a mask of grim control, though his eyes are soft with something like sorrow. He steps forward, laying a hand on your shoulder before leaning down to speak to his brother.

“Viserys,” he says, his voice low and steady, “you look terrible.” It’s an attempt at levity, a feeble joke in a desperate moment, and Viserys’s lips twitch, a ghost of a smile.

“Daemon… always… the charmer,” Viserys wheezes, his chest shaking with the effort of speaking. “Still… a rogue.”

You glance back, and Rhaenyra is there, her face pale, eyes glistening with unshed tears. She moves to your side, slipping her hand around your arm, her touch grounding you in this surreal moment. She leans over, her voice barely a whisper. “Father,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “We’ve come as you asked.”

Viserys’s eyes shift to her, a spark of recognition and love in his gaze. “Rhaenyra… my bright girl,” he murmurs. “So… beautiful.” He struggles to lift his other hand, and she takes it gently, holding it close to her chest.

Behind you, the children stand in a somber line, their faces a mixture of confusion, fear, and sadness. Jace and Luke exchange glances, their young faces tight with worry. Joffrey stands beside them, his eyes wide as he stares at the frail figure of his grandsire, trying to reconcile the man he’s heard stories about and little he remembers of him, with the man now before him. Aegon and Viserys, too young to fully grasp the situation, clutch at the skirts of their older cousins, their little faces peering out with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

Viserys’s gaze shifts past you to them, his eyes softening further. “The children… let them… come closer.”

You turn, nodding to the boys, and they step forward, moving cautiously toward the bed. Jace reaches it first, his movements careful, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace of the room. Luke follows, then Joffrey, each of them looking to you and Rhaenyra for guidance.

“They’ve grown so… strong,” Viserys breathes, his voice fading. “Like their… parents.”

He tries to lift his hand again, but the effort is too much. You squeeze his hand gently, your voice catching in your throat. “They’re strong because of you, Father.”

Viserys’s eyes find yours again, a faint, wavering smile touching his lips. “You’re… a good man. I knew… you would be.”

Emotion surges in your chest, and you swallow hard, fighting to keep your composure. “And you’re a good father,” you say, your voice thick. “We’re here because we love you.”

He blinks slowly, as if the weight of those words is too much to bear. His gaze flickers to Daemon, then back to Rhaenyra. “Keep them safe… all of them,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “Promise me.”

“We will,” Rhaenyra vows, her voice strong despite the tears shining in her eyes. “We promise, Father.”

The room seems to close in around you, the air filled with the gravity of the moment. There is so much to say, so much left unspoken, but the words won’t come. You can only hold his hand, feeling the fragile pulse beneath his skin, knowing that time is slipping away.

For now, all you can do is be here, by his side, holding on to what remains of the man who was once your strength, your king, your father.

You stand by the window, staring out at the gardens below, your thoughts a turbulent sea. Rhaenyra sits on a chaise, her hands resting protectively over her swollen belly, her eyes distant as she looks at the fire crackling in the hearth. Daemon paces restlessly, his gaze flicking to the door every few moments, his expression set in a hard, unyielding mask.

The children had been taken to their quarters by servants, their confusion and fear hidden behind obedient nods and reluctant steps. You had watched them go, a part of you aching at the thought of how they must be feeling, drawn into this conflict that they can barely comprehend.

The door opens with a soft creak, and Queen Alicent enters, her presence as tightly controlled as ever. She’s dressed in somber hues, her hands clasped in front of her, her face carefully composed. But the moment her eyes meet yours, she hesitates, taken aback by the intensity of your gaze.

You step forward, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Why were we not properly received, Queen Alicent? Why do we wait here, like strangers in our own home?”

Alicent’s composure falters for just a moment before she gathers herself, her chin lifting slightly. “There were pressing matters of the realm that required attention,” she replies, her tone measured, almost rehearsed.

You scoff, the sound sharp and bitter. “I am the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone. What matter could be so urgent that it overshadows my return?”

Her lips part as if to respond, but she falters again, clearly searching for the right words. Before she can speak, Rhaenyra’s voice cuts through the room, cold and accusing. “We’ve seen my father, Alicent. What are you doing to him?”

Alicent’s eyes flick to Rhaenyra, a flash of something like guilt passing over her face before she forces it away. “The King is in great pain,” she says quietly. “The milk of the poppy is the only thing that grants him any peace.”

Daemon, who has been watching the exchange with growing fury, steps forward, his voice laced with contempt. “Peace, or stupor?” he sneers. “You and Otto have drugged him into a living corpse, all while you rule in his name. You’ve desecrated the Red Keep with your Faith, turning it into a shrine to your ambitions.”

Alicent’s face pales, but she stands her ground. “You know nothing of what he suffers,” she retorts, her voice trembling slightly. “His pain is—”

“Spare us your platitudes,” Daemon snaps, his eyes blazing. “You’ve poisoned him, hollowed him out until there’s nothing left. All so you and that snake of your father can control everything.”

You feel a cold, hard resolve settle over you, your anger solidifying into something sharper, more dangerous. “It won’t be like this much longer, Uncle,” you say, your voice low but carrying a dangerous edge. “When the throne is mine, I’ll tear every seven-pointed star out of this castle if I have to do it with my own hands.”

Alicent’s eyes widen, shock and fear flickering across her face. “You cannot mean—”

“Oh, but I do,” you cut her off, your gaze unwavering. “And I imagine you’ll be quite eager to return to Oldtown. I’m sure you’ll find it far more comforting than staying here once I am crowned.”

The silence that follows your words is felt, heavy with the weight of the threat you’ve just issued. Alicent’s face drains of color, and for the first time, you see real fear in her eyes. She stares at you, as if seeing you truly for the first time, not as the young prince she once knew, but as the man who now stands before her—a man forged in fire and loss, no longer swayed by the gentle ideals of his youth.

“You’ve changed,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “You’re not the same…”

“No,” you agree quietly, a steely calm in your voice. “I’m not.”

Rhaenyra’s grip tightens on your arm, her eyes fierce as she looks at Alicent. “We will not let you destroy what is ours, Alicent. Not our father, not our home, and not our children’s future.”

Alicent’s gaze shifts between the two of you, and you can see the realization sinking in—the understanding that the balance of power is shifting, that the control she and Otto have wielded for so long is slipping through their fingers.

Her voice is thin, almost pleading. “The King—”

“Is dying,” Daemon finishes, his voice cold and unyielding. “And you’ve hastened it with every lie and every drop of that poison you call mercy.”

Alicent’s mouth opens, but no words come. She takes a step back, her hand clutching at the front of her dress as if she can’t quite catch her breath.

You watch her, your expression hard, unrelenting. “This is your last chance to show some dignity, Alicent. Stop hiding behind your piety and your pity. Stop pretending this isn’t about power.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. The room seems to hold its breath, the silence stretching taut and fragile.

Daemon crosses his arms, his lips curling into a mocking smile. “I suggest you start preparing for your departure, Queen Alicent. It’s clear you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

With those words, the last semblance of calm shatters. Alicent turns, almost stumbling in her haste to leave the room, the door swinging shut behind her with a resounding thud.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, turning to Rhaenyra. She’s watching you with a fierce pride, her eyes shining. You lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“It’s time to take back what’s ours,” you murmur, your voice firm, resolute.

Daemon’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as he nods. “And burn anything that stands in our way.”

The dining hall is aglow with candlelight, the flickering flames casting warm hues over the long table set with platters of roasted meats, fruits, and fine wine. Despite the opulence, there’s a tension that underlies every gesture, every forced smile. The Targaryen family sits divided, an invisible line running down the center of the table, separating what should be a united house.

Viserys, at the head of the table, looks more at peace than you’ve seen him in a long time. The shadow of pain still lingers in his eyes, but for tonight, it seems dulled, replaced by a fragile contentment as he gazes around at his family. His thin frame is swathed in the royal colors, and he smiles faintly, his eyes lingering on you and Rhaenyra, then shifting to Daemon and the children.

You’re seated beside Rhaenyra, your eldest sons—Jace, Luke, and Joffrey—lined up next to you. They sit straight and tense, their eyes darting cautiously between their cousins across the table. Daemon, his face a mask of calm, sits at your other side with Baela and Rhaena, who watch the scene unfold with the quiet intensity of those too young to understand but wise enough to sense the undercurrents.

Opposite you, Alicent is seated, her expression strained but polite. Otto is beside her, his eyes sharp and calculating as ever, taking in every word and gesture. Aegon slouches in his seat, his gaze unfocused, while Helaena hums softly to herself, her fingers playing with the delicate golden bracelet on her wrist. Aemond sits straight-backed and still, his single eye moving slowly between you and Luke, his gaze intense and unreadable.

The dinner begins, the clinking of utensils and soft murmurs filling the space. You make small talk with Rhaenyra, your hand resting lightly on hers, trying to ignore the simmering resentment that prickles at your skin. Viserys’s presence is a fragile bridge, holding this fractured family together for one last time. For his sake, you force yourself to maintain the facade.

Viserys’s voice is weak but warm as he speaks, breaking the strained silence. “It brings me joy,” he says, his words slow and deliberate, “to see you all here, together. My family.” He pauses, his breath hitching. “I know… there have been disagreements, misunderstandings. But we are all blood. We are Targaryens.”

Rhaenyra nods, her smile gentle but strained. “Of course, Father. We are here to honor you.”

Alicent offers a tight smile. “Yes, Your Grace. We are grateful for this opportunity to be together.”

The words are hollow, and everyone knows it. You catch Aemond’s eye across the table, and his gaze is cold, calculating. There’s something simmering beneath the surface, something dark and unresolved, but for now, he holds his tongue.

You focus on the food, the rich flavors tasting like ash in your mouth. Jace shifts beside you, his discomfort palpable. “Father,” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes flicking to Aemond and then back to his plate. “This doesn’t feel right.”

You squeeze his shoulder gently, leaning in. “I know,” you whisper. “But we do this for your grandsire. For him.”

Jace nods reluctantly, his jaw clenched. You glance at Luke, who is picking at his food, his face pale and tense. You know he feels Aemond’s gaze on him, the weight of that unspoken animosity pressing down like a physical force.

Viserys raises his goblet, his hand trembling. “To peace,” he says, his voice wavering but resolute. “To family.”

Everyone lifts their cups, the toast a murmur of voices that lacks any real conviction. You exchange a look with Rhaenyra, a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of it all. Peace, for now, is a hollow word.

As the dinner progresses, Viserys’s condition starts to deteriorate. His head droops, his breathing becomes labored, and the color drains from his face. You can see the pain creeping back into his eyes, and it’s clear that he’s struggling to keep himself composed.

“Father,” Rhaenyra says softly, concern etching her features. “You should rest.”

Viserys shakes his head weakly. “I’m fine, my dear. I want to… to be here. With all of you.”

But it’s obvious he can’t continue. He slumps forward slightly, his hand slipping from his goblet, and a murmur of alarm ripples through the room. Servants rush forward, helping him to his feet, and Viserys grimaces, his body trembling with the effort.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “I’m… I’m tired.”

They begin to escort him from the room, and you watch, a heavy ache settling in your chest. This might be the last time you see him like this, trying so desperately to hold his family together, to remind you all of what once was.

As soon as Viserys is out of the room, the fragile mask of civility shatters. The silence that follows his departure is taut, brittle. You can feel the shift in the atmosphere, the unspoken tensions that had been held at bay now breaking free.

Aegon leans back in his chair, his lips curling into a lazy, mocking smile. “Well, that was cheerful,” he drawls, his words dripping with sarcasm. “The great family reunion.”

Jace’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing. “Show some respect,” he says, his voice tight. “He’s your father too.”

Aegon’s smile widens, more of a sneer now. “Oh, don’t be so serious, nephew. We’re all one big, happy family, aren’t we?”

Luke shifts uncomfortably, his gaze darting to Aemond, whose single eye is still locked on him. “We should just leave,” he mutters to Jace, but the anger simmering beneath his voice is unmistakable.

“Leave?” Aemond’s voice cuts through the room like a blade, cold and sharp. “Running away again, are you, Lucerys?”

Rhaenyra stiffens beside you, her eyes flashing with anger. “That’s enough, Aemond.”

Aemond leans forward, his gaze never leaving Luke’s face. “Tell me, nephew,” he drawls, his voice dripping with mockery. “How does it feel to know your father has to constantly shield you from the truth? From who you really are?”

Your blood turns to ice, and you see Luke’s hands clench on the table, his face flushing with anger. “Stop it,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “Now.”

Aemond smirks, but before he can speak, Rhaena interjects, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “You have no right to speak to him like that. You’re nothing but a coward who hides behind his words.”

The tension in the room escalates, the hostility crackling in the air like a storm about to break. Alicent’s face is pale, her eyes darting nervously between her children and yours, as if realizing how close to the edge this all is.

“Enough of this!” she snaps, her voice strained. “We are here to honor the King’s wishes, not to fight.”

But it’s too late. The façade has crumbled, and the old wounds are bleeding anew. Jace’s voice is taut with barely restrained rage as he turns on Aegon. “Maybe if you spent less time whoring and drinking, you’d understand what family actually means.”

Aegon’s eyes flash with anger, and he rises from his seat, his hands balled into fists. “You little—”

“Don’t,” you say sharply, standing as well. “We won’t do this.”

But even as you speak, you can see the fear and anger in your sons’ eyes, the way Aemond’s smirk twists into something cruel.

The room then erupts into chaos. Aegon lunges across the table, his fist aimed at Jace’s jaw, while Luke shoves Aemond back, his face twisted in anger. Shouts and cries fill the air as the boys collide, chairs scraping across the floor, goblets and plates crashing to the ground.

You’re on your feet in an instant, moving toward the melee. You see Aemond’s hand grasping at Luke’s tunic, yanking him forward with a vicious snarl. The rage in Aemond’s single eye is visible, a dark fire that seems intent on consuming everything in its path.

“Get off him!” you shout, reaching out to seize Aemond by the collar, pulling him away from Luke with a sharp jerk. Aemond stumbles, his grip loosening as you push him back, your own anger flaring.

“Control yourself!” you bark, shoving him toward Alicent and Otto, who stand frozen in shock. “Keep him in check!”

Aemond straightens, fury blazing in his gaze. He recovers quickly, his expression twisting with a hatred that sends a chill down your spine. “You think you can command me?” he sneers, his voice low and venomous. He takes a step forward, eye locked on yours, his intent clear.

But before he can make another move, Daemon steps in, his presence like a wall of iron. He stands beside you, his gaze steady and unflinching as it meets Aemond’s. “If you’ve any sense, you’ll stand down,” Daemon warns, his voice dangerously calm. “You’re outmatched, boy.”

Aemond hesitates, his eye flicking between you and Daemon, weighing his options. His face twists with frustration, but he doesn’t advance, his fists clenching at his sides.

You take a deep breath, your own fury simmering beneath the surface. “This ends now,” you say firmly, your voice carrying over the din. “We’re leaving. We’ll return to Dragonstone until it’s time to come back.”

You turn to Alicent and Otto, who are watching the scene with wide eyes, the shock slowly giving way to something more calculating. “Keep your son in line,” you tell them coldly, your gaze hard and unyielding. “Or there will be consequences.”

Alicent’s face blanches, her eyes darting to Aemond, then back to you. You can see the memory of your earlier words flicker across her face, the promise you made—the warning of what would happen once you were crowned. Fear and something else—regret, perhaps—cloud her expression.

“No, wait!” she says, her voice rising in desperation as she takes a step toward you. “Please, don’t leave like this. We can—”

Rhaenyra is beside you in an instant, stepping between you and Alicent, her gaze like a shield. “There’s nothing left to say,” she states, her voice cold and final. “This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have come.”

Alicent’s eyes flash with a mix of frustration and sorrow. “You can’t just—” she begins, her voice breaking. “Please, I’m asking you—”

Rhaenyra’s expression hardens, her chin lifting defiantly. “You’re asking for what can never be given. The Prince you knew is gone, Alicent.”

Alicent looks past Rhaenyra, her gaze searching yours, pleading with a desperation that seems to come from the depths of her soul. “You were once kind,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You weren’t like this.”

You stare at her, the woman who once sought to win your favor, the girl who had idolized you. But that was another lifetime, another world, and that person no longer exists. “I was a fool then,” you say quietly, your voice firm. “I’ve learned too much to be that naïve again.”

Alicent flinches as if struck, her face crumpling with a sorrow that she can’t hide. Otto steps forward, his hand on her arm, his expression unreadable. “It’s done, Alicent,” he says softly. “Let them go.”

For a moment, you see the struggle in her eyes, the hope that something can still be salvaged. But it’s a fleeting illusion, and she knows it. Slowly, painfully, she takes a step back, her hands falling to her sides.

Rhaenyra’s grip tightens on your arm, her strength and resolve bolstering you. You glance at Daemon, who gives you a curt nod, his eyes gleaming with approval.

“Let’s go,” you say, your voice steady. “We have no place here. For now.”

You turn, guiding Rhaenyra toward the exit, your children following closely behind, their faces pale but defiant. As you leave the hall, you feel the weight of Alicent’s gaze on your back, the unspoken pleas and regrets trailing after you like ghosts. But you don’t look back. This chapter, this farce of reconciliation for the sake of your father, is over.

The path ahead is clear, and your course is set. Whatever comes next, you will face it on your own terms, not theirs. And when the time comes, you will reclaim what is rightfully yours, no matter the cost.

The council chamber of Dragonstone is swarming with a charged energy. Maps and scrolls clutter the large table at the room’s center, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over the faces of those gathered. You stand at the head of the table, surrounded by your advisors, Rhaenyra seated to your right and Daemon to your left. Discussions of defenses, alliances, and plans have filled the air for hours, the stakes rising as the realm teeters on the brink of turmoil.

But now, a heavy silence has settled over the room, anticipation thick in the air. The door bursts open, and a breathless messenger rushes in, his face pale and drawn. All eyes turn to him as he stumbles forward, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Prince,” he gasps, his voice strained with urgency. “My lord, I bring grave news.”

You feel your heart tighten, a sense of foreboding creeping over you. “What is it?” you demand, your voice sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.

The messenger hesitates, his eyes flicking to Rhaenyra and then back to you, as if unsure how to deliver the blow. “King Viserys… your father… he is dead.”

The words hang in the air, echoing through the chamber like a death knell. For a moment, there is nothing but silence, a stunned, suffocating stillness that seems to freeze everyone in place. Rhaenyra’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock, while Daemon’s expression darkens, a shadow falling over his face.

“My brother has been slain,” Daemon says, his voice low and full of barely contained rage. His fists clench at his sides, and there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes, a fire that promises retribution.

Rhaenyra’s grip tightens on your arm, and you turn to her, seeing not just grief in her eyes but something else—something deeper, a pain that seems to be more than just the loss of her father. “Rhaenyra?” you murmur, concern threading through your voice.

Before she can respond, the messenger continues, his voice trembling. “There is more, my lord… Aegon the Elder has been crowned king. It was done in King’s Landing, before the masses, by High Septon Eustace.”

A wave of shock ripples through the chamber. Your breath catches in your throat, the words striking you like a physical blow. The Hightowers had moved quickly, far too quickly. The realization of what this means, of what has been stolen from you, tightens in your chest, a cold, burning rage building inside you.

“They have usurped my birthright,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, disbelief mingling with fury. “They’ve stolen the crown.”

Chaos erupts around you as your advisors begin to shout over one another, voices rising in anger and shock. Some call for immediate retaliation, others demand caution and strategy. The room fills with a cacophony of voices, the noise rising and falling like the tide. Daemon, ever the warrior, slams his hand down on the table, his eyes blazing. “This is war,” he declares, his voice ringing out above the din. “They’ve declared it by this act of treachery. We cannot let this stand!”

But your attention shifts from the tumult of the council to Rhaenyra, who suddenly lurches forward, her hand gripping the arm of her chair, her face contorted with pain. “Rhaenyra!” you exclaim, fear spiking through you as you move to her side, your hand reaching for hers.

She gasps, her breathing ragged, her face pale as she struggles to compose herself. “The babe…” she whispers, her voice trembling. “It’s too soon…”

Your heart drops like a stone. “No, it’s not time yet,” you murmur, panic rising as you look down at her, your hand hovering over her belly. “It’s too early.”

She shakes her head, her eyes squeezing shut as another wave of pain washes over her. “The babe is coming,” she chokes out, her voice strained.

The room falls silent as everyone turns to look at her, the shock of the news momentarily forgotten in the face of this new crisis. Daemon’s eyes widen, and he takes a step closer, his earlier rage replaced by concern.

“Get the maester!” you shout, your voice echoing through the chamber as you turn to the nearest guard. “Now!”

The guard rushes from the room, and you turn back to Rhaenyra, your heart pounding with fear and helplessness. She grips your hand tightly, her fingers digging into your skin, and you can feel her trembling. You lean closer, your voice soft but urgent. “Hold on, Rhaenyra. Hold on, my love.”

She nods weakly, her breaths coming in short, painful gasps. “I’m trying,” she whispers, her eyes meeting yours, filled with a mixture of fear and determination. “But it hurts… Gods, it hurts…”

You glance at Daemon, his face set in a grim mask, then back to Rhaenyra, your mind racing. The chamber is still buzzing with shock and confusion, but all you can focus on is her, the terror in her eyes, the way she’s clutching at you like you’re the only thing anchoring her to the world.

“Stay with me,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to hers. “We’ll get through this. We have to.”

But even as you speak, you can’t shake the dread that’s curling in your chest, the sense that everything is unraveling, that the world is shifting beneath your feet and there’s no solid ground left to stand on. And outside these walls, the realm is already starting to burn.

The screams reverberate through the halls of Dragonstone, a haunting, guttural sound that twists the gut and chills the blood. You sit beside Rhaenyra, your hands clenched tightly around hers as she writhes in agony, her body arching with the pain that seems endless. Her face is slick with sweat, strands of her hair plastered to her forehead, her eyes glazed with exhaustion and torment.

“It’s been three days,” you murmur, your voice hoarse with worry and helplessness. You brush a damp cloth across her brow, your heart aching with every labored breath she takes. “Please, Rhaenyra… please hold on.”

She grips your hand with a strength that belies her frail state, her nails digging into your skin. “I will not die,” she rasps, her voice raw, each word a battle. “I will not leave you. I will not leave our children.”

Tears burn in your eyes, but you force them back, leaning closer. “I’m here, my love. I’m not leaving you.” It’s all you can say, all you can do. You’ve been here for days, refusing to leave her side despite the pleas and orders of the maesters and midwives.

The room is stifling, the air thick with the smell of blood and sweat, the sounds of Rhaenyra’s suffering echoing off the stone walls. You can hear the whispers of those gathered outside, their voices hushed with fear and speculation. The door remains shut, guarded by loyal men, but you know the weight of this moment is not lost on any of them.

Beyond these walls, Daemon and Jacaerys have taken charge of the war council. With the news of Viserys’s death and Aegon’s usurpation, the realm is poised on the edge of chaos. But here, in this room, there is only Rhaenyra, her pain, and your helplessness.

She gasps, her body tensing as another wave of pain wracks her. “It’s wrong,” she whispers, her eyes wide with terror and agony. “Something is wrong.”

You press your lips to her knuckles, your voice breaking. “You’re strong, Rhaenyra. You’ve always been strong. You can do this. Please, just hold on a little longer.”

She shakes her head, a sob tearing from her throat. “No… the babe…” Her voice cracks, her grip on your hand tightening even more. “Something’s wrong.”

You look up at the midwives and maesters, their faces pinched with worry and resignation. They’ve seen it, too—the signs of a labor gone horribly awry. But they’re as helpless as you are, caught between the duty to their patient and the horror of what is to come.

Rhaenyra’s cries echo in your ears as she fights against the agony, her body convulsing with each failed attempt to bring your child into the world. You don’t know how long you’ve been here—time has lost all meaning, stretched into an endless cycle of hope and despair.

And then, finally, after what feels like an eternity, there is a terrible, wrenching scream, a sound that seems to tear the very air apart. Rhaenyra’s body goes still, her face pale and slack with exhaustion and pain. And in the silence that follows, a cry does not come.

The room is frozen, every breath held as the midwives move, their hands trembling as they lift the still, silent form from between Rhaenyra’s legs. The babe is small, too small, its skin pale and twisted, malformed. Your heart clenches with a pain so fierce it threatens to tear you apart.

“No…” you whisper, your voice breaking as you reach for the tiny form. “No, please…”

Rhaenyra turns her head, her eyes clouded with tears as she looks at the child cradled in your hands. “Visenya,” she whispers, her voice a broken breath. “Her name… is Visenya.”

You stare down at your daughter, your heart shattering as you take in the sight. The tiny, twisted limbs, the malformed face, the scales that dot her skin—a cruel mockery of the dragon she was meant to be. A sob tears from your throat, and you pull her close, your tears falling onto her still, silent form.

Rhaenyra’s body shakes with sobs, her hand reaching out to touch Visenya’s cold cheek. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You can barely breathe, your grief a weight that threatens to crush you. But even through the pain, there’s a spark of something else—something dark and fierce, a fire that burns deep in your chest, igniting a rage that you can barely contain.

“They did this,” you whisper, your voice shaking with fury. “The Hightowers. They killed her.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, her tears mingling with sweat as she looks at you, her face a mask of grief and despair. “What… what are you saying?”

“They took everything from us,” you say, your voice rising with each word, the anger boiling over. “They stole the throne, they murdered my father, and now this. They killed my only daughter. Our daughter.”

The room is silent, the weight of your words pressing down on everyone present. The midwives and maesters exchange fearful glances, their faces pale with shock and horror. But you don’t care. The rage has consumed you, and there is no turning back now.

“I swear,” you say, your voice steady despite the fury that blazes within you, “I will make them pay. Every one of them. I will burn their houses to the ground, tear their families apart, until there is nothing left but ashes and blood.”

Rhaenyra’s grip on your hand tightens, her eyes shining with pain and anger. “We will avenge her,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “For Visenya.”

You nod, your gaze never leaving your daughter’s lifeless form. “For Visenya. For all of them. Fire and blood.”

The vow hangs in the air, a dark promise that seems to echo through the room. And you know, in that moment, that there will be no peace, no forgiveness, until the debt has been paid in full.

The war has begun, and you will not rest until every one of your enemies has felt the wrath of the dragon.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra x male reader #house targaryen #the blacks #the greens

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5five5five5five5five5five · 1 day

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Pls headcanons of a flirty dolores [human] and five .

Trying to forget "that season".

Denial stage activated.

Pls and thank you.

Good day/night.

OOOHH YES! but first i want to write a human Dolores of my own then we can get to the flirty stuff. * she is in her mid 30's and works as a librarian who LOVES books and is very smart and pretty and perfect.

she is MADDENINGLY in love with the Noir detective novel series " Five "max" Hargreeves and the Umbrella of Time. a long running series about a Old man who turns into a young man some times and solves crime with his dog Mr. pennycrumb. * she hated that when they turned the books into movies, they hired a actor that looked NOTHING like how she sees him in her head. Five looks like how she sees him in her head. she cant pinpoint why it bugs her so much. its just wrong. thats not him??? * one day well sorting books, she no clips into the backroom subways and gets stuck. idk how. s4 logic aka make shit up. but she thinks "what would Five do?" and copy his mapping and travel style. * and then they meet......Jesus my kinnie ass heart melts even thinking about it lol. * "five?!" "Delores?!.....are you..real this time....." "wait how do you know my name??....and yes i am very much real? are YOU?" "how do you know MY name?? and yes??" then they nervously chuckle and tell each other how they know each other. * they get a bit sad that the others Delores and five were not real and five admits he got the better end of the stick by being a cool book character....she didn't deserve to be just a......mannequin. but Delores reassures him that his life needed her and that's what gave it so much value. "and at least you got to physically hold me~ i just had....really embaressing art of you...." *Delores drawing him then she thinks he's not looking. she wishes he was a bit older but her self shipping ass is used to his age "powers" but knows this Five cant turn back. at least he's not 13 Five lol. *he's tried to explain his age situation a few times.... shes so understanding about it and five, for the first time, feels seen....and got does his face get red. she knows he's a old man. she loves him BECAUSE he's actually an old man. ANYWAY TO THE FLIRTY STUFF. MY BRAIN IS JUST ON FIRE WITH HUMAN DELORES. * they CAN NOT stop looking at each other. five feels so stupid being THIS flustered. its not his wife. he knows this. but god....shes so stunning. younger then his Delores but he doesn't mind. * she's taller then him no matter what. she was taller then him when he was old, young doesn't matter. shes a tall women and he loves that about her. *her always behind his shoulder correcting his math. and him huffing and admitting shes right. *she likes to head to him. he likes listening. hearing her voice with none of his own voice fused in is so refreshing. he would read his head in her lap and just relax for once in his life. *them slow dancing and mumbling soft words of comfort to each other. *she loves booping his nose. at first, it bits him because the handler used to but ends up finding it nice. its a trait she would have. *he loves watching her move. dance. walk. talk. shes in front of him. again, their eyes are glued to each other and its hard hard not to. just knowing their loves are real keeps them going. *that art meme of all the lovestruck chibis surrounding a very flustered person. that's Delores if she walked into the deli. imagine all the fives looking over and melting in surprise. crumbling in their seats because they are filled with "i miss my wife,tails" energy. the five we are following for this post has to fight them back and give protective glares well she admits the attention is nice and oh god! so many fives! *when five finds a way to return, he doesn't fucking hide it and want to introduce her to his family so bad. she is worried about ending up in a different timeline. he understands the risk but at this point, he just wants the love of his life. and Shes so starved for adventure that she agrees wholeheartedly.

sorry if this wasn't all flirty themed stuff, i just really wanted to write Delores.

#the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #tua #delores hargreeves

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percyjackson-post · 11 hours

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What the Percy Jackson and Olympians characters would give as birthday gifts

Percy- A homemade baked good. That boy loves birthdays, and he loves baking; you will not convince me of anything else. He’s bringing something with far too much sugar and a truly concerning amount of blue dye. Most often his gift is blue cookies his mom helped him bake.

Annabeth- That girl is spending weeks agonizing over what to get. She needs it to be perfect, and she has to know you’ll love it. Which you will because she managed to track down something you mentioned 7 months ago that you think about constantly. It’s usually a very practical gift, but it is exactly what you need. One year it’s new headphones, another it's a brighter lamp; it's always something you want but can’t convince yourself is a priority.

Hazel- Hazel is making you a homemade card and a personalized drawing. She puts in so much effort, and it’s truly a beautiful gift. The minute she hands it to you, her eyes are shining, and she’s fighting back the biggest grin as she waits for your reaction. It will almost definitely be an intricate drawing of your favorite memory with her.

Frank- His gift is a small handmade trinket that took him a lot longer to make than he’d be willing to admit. It’s intricate and exactly your style. He looks a bit embarrassed and nervous as you open it, but then he's smiling and excitedly explaining exactly why he wanted to make it for you. It’s something like a wooden carving of your favorite animal or a new cover for your weapon.

Leo- You never know what you’re going to get from him, but you do know it will leave you laughing so hard your sides hurt. It’s also a handmade gift, but it’s less personalized and more something Leo thinks is cool and he knows you’ll also like. The fact it may be a fire hazard is just a part of the charm. His gift is a small animatronic toy that can and will turn into a dangerous weapon.

Jason- He listens a lot more than you give him credit for. He will always end up giving you something super meaningful that will remind you of how much he cares. It’s not an extravagant gift; it’s something you’ll use a lot or will see constantly and smile to yourself as you’re reminded of the memory. It’s a weighted blanket for late nights or a new version stuffed animal you loved but lost.

Piper- Her gifts are always incredibly chaotic, but you realize there is a lot of thought put into them. She’s got a good memory and will pick something very specific that you mentioned off-handedly once. You don’t need it, but life will be a bit more fun with it than without. A ridiculous, bendy straw to drink from bed or a blanket that looks like food—truly, you will never be prepared for what you get.

Thalia- She tries to be nonchalant, but she’s got a sly smile, and you can see how excited she is to give you a gift. It’s almost guaranteed to be a weapon, but it will be absolutely perfect for what you need. You can tell she spent a long time picking something out for you specifically, but she’s going to play it off like she just happened to come across it.

Nico- Whatever he gives you will surprise you, that’s for certain. A lot of people joke that he’s bringing some basic dark gift, but that excited 10-year-old boy is still just as much a part of him, however. His gift is something you’ll be able to do with friends and something that will keep spirits high and laughter going. Often it is a card game that you can tuck away and take with you; he knows what it’s like to feel alone on a quest.

Will- He’s giving you a free pass to not be scolded the next time you end up in the infirmary. You need it. Kidding…mostly. He’s getting you something semi-specific from the mortal world that you can share with friends. Sometimes it goes with Nico’s gift, but it’s also something completely his own. A set of movie CDs, a giant container of popcorn (he’s not as stuck up on health as everyone likes to tease)

Grover- Enchiladas. It’s not even a question or hypothetical that guy is bringing over at least 20 cheese enchiladas from his favorite restaurant. You’ll be lucky if they last more than 10 minutes. They’re incredible, and even if you’ve had them 20 times you’re eating, them like the ambrosia of the god

#it's my birthday #in case you were wondering #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #hazel levesque #frank zhang #leo valdez #jason grace #piper mclean #thalia grace #nico di angelo #will solace #grover underwood

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nsfwitchy2 · 7 months

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Dog grooming really is that profession where all of your coworkers have adhd

If they don’t have adhd - yes they do

#nsfwitchytalks #just got into a conversation with a coworker #that STARTED by talking about complaining about people #and ended with her telling me about how she has a hard time keeping her room clean #and how she’ll forget about things if they’re in plain sight long enough #and how she loses everything she puts down #and how she LOVES planners and checklists but can never keep up with them #and I’m like. oh girl do I have news for you-

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wintergrofyuri · 3 months

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"(blank) hates laios!" WRONG WRONG WRONG. SHUT THE FUCK UP

shuro is just as awkward as laios and it is made So clear he considers him a friend and likes him. he defends him when the canaries start talking shit and actively readies himself to physically fight them so they dont get to him.

namari also likes laios. she respects him as a leader and also defends him and readies to fight the canaries.

ive not actually seen anyone claim izutsumi hates laios, but a lot of ppl Are weird abt them. izutsumi and laios' relationship was rocky at the beginning. he struggled to figure out how to interact with her. but by the end, she actively seeks him out to talk with during the lead up to the feast. she hides behind him when falin wakes up. she has already realized shecan do what she wants and does not need to stick around, yet she does. she sleeps near him on the windowsill, waiting with him and marcille for falin to wake up. she has accepted him as part of her life and wants to keep him in it.

marcille does not hate laios. let me say this again.

Marcille Donato Does Not Hate Laios Touden.

marcille Loves him. in a platonic, familial sense. laios returns this just as readily. she yells at him. she whacks him. she tells him whats on her mind. she uses healing magic to ease his pain during the parasite fiasco. she reattaches his leg when he loses it. she teaches him magic. she lays her head on his corpse and cries before reviving him. she launches herself at him two times, when the canaries interrogate them and when he talks her down in the tower. he is a comforting presence to her. she trusts him, she cares about him, she worries about him, she imagines him as a big fluffy dog that loves and protects her. laios is her rock when falin is taken from them time and time again. and she tries to be his as well. she whole-heartedly, unconditionally, loves and trusts laios.

chilchuck does not hate laios. laios pays him his rates, no questions asked. laios trusts and respects chilchuck's job as a lockpick. laios does not see him as a child (at least, i cant think of an instance where he does so). chilchuck states, outright, he sees him as a friend and doesnt want to see him hurt. he actively worries about him as the falin situation gets worse. chilchuck respects laios. he shows almost 0 hesitation in helping get falin back, nor eating her by the end. he does not think of leaving him once, until he realizes he could lose him. chilchuck is cowardly with emotions and prefers to bottle things, so his first instinct was to bolt. he was angry because he was scared of watching someone he cares about destroy himself. laios is his Friend.

and holy shit. holy Fucking shit. kabru DOES NOT hate laios. kabru has the rockiest start known to man with him, and he Still helps him by occupying the canaries. he warns him about them. he hides the black magic from them just as shuro does. his whole Thing is trusting laios despite himself. kabru has his own baggage regarding other people, just like laios, yet he tries so hard to believe and trust this man. he Wants to. kabru is not very hopeful, but laios makes him Want to be. he states like 3 times he wants to be close to him and sees him as a friend. he stays through the entire feast!! the man who hates monsters, whose biggest trigger is monsters, actively, consciously, Willingly stayed through the entire monster meat feast. all to help his friend get his sister back. he could've left!! the feast was like an entire week!! yet he was there for every single day. he was one of the closest people to the door when falin awoke!! after reuniting with her brother, her friends, the people who knew her the most (plus senshi and izutsumi), the first person she greets is kabru!! he wants to be close to laios, he likes laios, laios is his friend and he cares for him, he wants to meet his sister!!! kabru fucking stays on the island with him as one of his closest, most trusted advisors when he becomes king!!!!! he wants to help him succeed!!!! he wants him to be happy!!!! laios is his friend!!!!!!!!

im just. people like laios!! laios is a nice guy! he is friendly and cares about people! he is weird, he doesn't understand most social cues, he oversteps boundaries, but they stay beside him, because they like him and he is their friend. he is their friend!!!!! friendship is not all sunshine and rainbows, relationships in general are not sunshine and rainbows. you will upset people, people will upset you, you will get into arguments, things will happen, but at the end of the day, the people close to you like you! they love you! they care for you! they want to work it out and get through it because they love you, but they will feel those emotions first! human relationships are complex and messy and life is complicated. even shows for toddlers know this.

if you truly believe any of these characters hate laios you are worse than a toddler. watch some fucking oobi or something. god. fuck.

take this

thanks

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi spoilers #laios touden #marcille donato #kabru of utaya #toshiro nakamoto #shuro dungeon meshi #izutsumi dungeon meshi #this goes out to that one stupid fucking post i kept seeing like. last week #how can you read the entire manga and still think 'oh wow i hate shuro or kabru or whatever'#like genuinely i dont think you actually know how to read #like you know how words come together to form a sentence #but if its not directly spelled out for you like a magic school house book then it flies over ur fuckin head #anyways im normal

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bxtonpxss · 2 months

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#ooc || [out of character]#neya just confessed to utsuho and here's me cringing so hard you can hear it from space. I think the pairing could be cute but at this #particular point in time we've barely spent enough time with these two for me to be sold on them being a thing. also she has better #chemistry with yakuma and more interactions. I know its technically been months for them but because of the pacing in general #there's not much downtime or filler to have like decent character interactions. I just think the confession should've come later or #not at all. but me & jade were talking about it & iinuma was probs just pressed for time and the editors or whoever probably #said hey we need some romance with the mc so do smth about it. cause that's how thrown together this feels #also utusho has been so standoffish and at times rude as hell. like neya girl stand up!!! you can do better babes #also she does this @ the end of ch 51. she joins the gang at the end of ch 21. within the span of exactly 30 chs they've only been travelin #together for maybe 3 months at most. sure that's a decent amount of time to spend with a person and acquire feelings #but they don' thave ANY significant interactions during that time to push this ship and its all essentially one sided on NEya's part cause #Utsuho cares more about Pochi and doing his own thing. Iinuma just doesn't sell this for me. not their fault but mmm def my least fave #neya ship. and all the ships I DO fancy with her all their development & interactions happen off screen *stares pointedly at Hikae*#i was so ready for Neya and Hikae to have a life changing field trip together or smth since she's does not vibe with him at awl when they #first meet and he's so antagonistic and snarky with her. then like 20+ chs later he's talking about 'oh yeah ne-chan I wanna protect u too'#excusse me?????!!! since WHEN!??? and we don't ever know cause it all happens off screen!#utsuho rightfully awkward turtles away after that confession cause same dude #yakuma also tell her she like confessed suddenly without really thinking. like she only did it cause of utsuho's interaction with kazura #so she's like alright I'll work on showing him my true feelings and I'm like or maybe we just... don't????#rereading itsuwaribito was a mistake cause I have so many thoughts and I keep trying to apply logic when I shouldn't be #i talk too much in my tags I'm sorry 😔

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orcelito · 2 months

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There's also the impulse to be like "women ain't shit" but that's a lie I love our women. Not women as a whole's fault that one of them turned out a selfish bastard of a coward.

I just need to find a woman who doesn't treat me like That. Get me a good butch. I need me a good butch.

#speculation nation #id love a good butch who can pick me up and help move my furniture #and who is so sweet and treats me like im someone valuable (& not immediately replaceable ...)#the bar is actually so low. god why do i keep ending up dating assholes?#ex before this ex wasnt an asshole. i was the asshole in that situation.#but that's where the whole. wanting to find someone right for me comes in.#god 'ex' really is such a vague term for me. i got bad ex goth ex uhh other good ex but still sucked #nothingburger exes 1 2 3 4 #and the gay awakening ex who i really shouldve given more attention to but unfortunately i was a stupid 16 year old #and broke up with her for my bad ex. alas.#and then theres milquetoast ex and uhmmm. well i actually dont know what im going to label my most recent one.#i dont think it's fully sunk in yet what happened. bc it really was so sudden.#i last saw her on thursday and everything was normal and nice. just like pretty much the whole of the 6 months with her.#and then she started hanging out with the coworker i guess. and the rest is history.#i think she lied about being busy spending time with friends to excuse why she was so distracted on the weekend.#she was probably busy spending time with that girl. who she apparently feels like shes suffocating if shes not in the same room as her #it does suck in a lot of ways. but also with her friends. i was trying rly hard to spend time with them and be liked by them.#one of them's moving into my building this next year. across from my unit. so i wonder how thats gonna go.#my ex mentioned how she'd be spending twice as much time here then just last saturday.#and now. well. like fuck she's coming in here anymore. but i wonder if i'll see her going to visit her friend.#id been kind of excited for it. looking forward to spending time with a neighbor too. but probably not anymore.#i do wonder what her friends will think. i hope she tells them the truth and they chew her out for being such an asshole.#literally breaking up with me over text. who fucking does that??? she didnt have the guts to hear me cry???#i'll make sure she sees the full force of my displeasure when she drops my gifts off tomorrow.#she used to like how rough around the edges i am. well she's gonna see just how rough around the edges i Really am.#i kind of. dont really want to see her. but i also do. i want her to look me in the face and talk to me #to see who it is she's dropping. to see how it has affected me. even if she didnt see my heartbreak as it happened.#i laid into her Hard so she knew just how badly she hurt me. so that she would feel even a fraction of my hurt.#so she would feel Guilty. she apologized over and over. said she knew she'd regret it. but she just Had to do it.#'this will be my life's regret' then why'd you do it? fucking impulsive dumbass. what bullshit.

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lxnarphase · 7 months

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g. satoru who is a massive pervert and constantly whines for you to let him touch you all the time, even when you're both around others. you've lost count of how many times he grabs you and pulls you into his lap, his warm hands slipping under your shirt while sitting next to g. suguru, who's attention is no longer on the tv.

'he doesn't mind,' satoru always comforts you, grinning into the skin of your neck. 'sugu's my best friend, he knows i can't help but touch you, baby.'

best friend or not, that doesn't explain how you always ended up with your legs spread open wide in satoru's lap, your jeans and panties discarded somewhere on the floor as suguru kisses all over your thighs. the two of them talk like you aren't even there, as if you aren't growing wetter as each second passes.

"satoru," suguru purrs, his fingers running up and down your soft lips, parting them open to watch slick slowly drip out of you. "you must be doing something else to her. i've never seen it get wet so quickly." the way he speaks so calmly makes you dizzy. it's unfair, so fucking unfair how calm and collected suguru is when he's inches away from your pussy, those pretty purple eyes focused on it.

"yeah? 's wet?" it's also unfair how riled up it gets satoru, seeing his pretty baby getting shy because his best friend is rubbing his fingers up and down her slick folds. "she's so messy, isn't she? she's the prettiest little pussy," he coos into your ear. that gets a chuckle from suguru, his eyes finally looking at you. "always the one to talk to the pussy and not about it, aren't you, satoru?"

his fingers finally focus on your clit, rubbing little circles into it. both you and satoru look pretty from this angle, suguru notices. the pure need and shyness on your face paired with that manic desperation on satoru's...it's a perfect picture, one he wants saved forever. maybe next time you'll let him take some pictures...after all, he needs a new background for his phone.

"c'mooon, sugu...give her a kiss? c'mon, c'mon, give that cunt a kiss, tell me how sticky 'n' wet she is," satoru fucking begs, acting as if he's the one spread open and dripping. but you second the thought, giving suguru the prettiest little puppy eyes.

"anything for you, princess," he coos softly, leaning down and pressing a little kiss on your clit. it's so light you barely feel it but then he's peppering kisses on it, your wetness starting to get on his lips and making each press of his lips sticker and wetter. "s-sugu-!" before you can even beg for more, his mouth is on you. his tongue is so wet and hot on your cunt, it feels like he was drooling for you.

"does she taste good? how wet is she, suguru, c'mon, tell me, tell me how that pussy tastes, pretty please?"

"mm, satoru, it's almost as if you wanted to be between her legs."

"who wouldn't? she's so pretty, she's squirmin' so cutely, my pretty baby, my needy little mochi, her pussy's always so creamy and warm and messy, god, i miss it right now."

"shit...stop talking like that, you're gettin' me flustered, should i-"

"s-sugu, please, keep going," you so politely ask. it's unbearable how cute you are, it's taking everything in him to keep being nice, to keep treating your cunt nicely. he knows satoru is mean and practically bullies your pretty slit almost every day, but he wants to be the nice one, the one who you go to when your 'toru' is being too mean. yet, you're making it so fucking hard when you look at him with lidded eyes that beg him to be rougher with you...

but he knows he's done for when satoru whispers something in your ear that has your eyes fluttering a bit and gets a pretty little gasp from you. those gorgeous eyes—oh, do you have little tears in them too?—connect with his and he's fucked.

"s-suguuu, please," you coo to him, moving your legs to hook over his shoulders and pull him closer to the apex of your thighs. "i need your mouth on my pussy r-really bad, please don't tease me." you take a pause and squeeze your eyes shut, whining a little as satoru coos for you to keep going. "g-give my...my messy cunt attention, suguru..."

suguru shakily sighs and the next thing you know, his mouth is smushed against your pussy, his tongue hungrily swirling against your clit as his hands grab onto the fat of your thighs. he doesn't know what gojo told you in order to hear you say that, but he's silently thanking him as he messily sucks and slurps at your juicy cunt.

it's so hot, all it takes is a few swipes of his tongue and you're gushing everywhere. suguru lowers his head to dip into your hole and he moans. he missed this, missed the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue as you squirmed and moaned for him, your boyfriend's best friend.

"fuck, i-i can hear how wet she is," comes satoru's pitiful whine, his hand dipping down to swipe at your clit as suguru focused on lapping up everything that dripped out of you. "lemme help, lemme help, wanna help you get her creamy, sugu." the feeling of suguru groaning into your puffy folds has you keening, arching your back against satoru's chest. oh, he's in heaven watching you both. "yeah, you didn't know she could cream, didya? put your fingers in her, sugu, put 'em in that sticky little pussy 'n' angle up."

reluctantly pulling his mouth off you with a wet sound, suguru slips two of his fingers in you. he doesn't miss the cry of his name, but he really doesn't miss the delirious giggle and moan when he angles his fingers up, rubbing against that spongy spot.

"f-fuck, she's dripping..."

"go on, fuck her with your fingers, you know you wanna see her make a mess. make her fucking cream, suguru, get her prepped. maybe t'day she'll let you put it in...oh, based on your face, she just clenched on your fingers, yeah?"

his fingers are still swirling around your clit, his other coming down to press on your abdomen. he can hear you getting wetter, your little whimpers turning to moans as you slur their names desperately. he wants you to lose all thoughts, only able to think about him and suguru...yeah, he wants you all soft and sweet so he and his best friend can try and slip into those warm, slick walls.

"mmn...she's really creaming...god, pretty girl, can you cum for me? i wanna see you cum on my fingers. satoru, move your fingers, the poor thing needs my mouth on her."

"hmmm, suddenly you know what she needs? ehehehe, you're learninggg, suguruuuu!" if you had turned to look at satoru, you'd see the charged look in his eye, blue eyes practically glowing with insanity. his hand grabs a fistful of suguru's hair and pulls his face directly into your cunt, unable to handle any more of this. he wanted to see you cum on suguru's face.

"c'mon, c'mon, kiss it, suguru, make it messy for the both of us. mmh, fuck, listen to you making out with her pussy, s' wet and sticky, isn't it? oohmygod, both of you sound so good, she's gonna cum, sugu, she's gonna cum in your mouth...fuck, i love you both so much, can't wait to see you both fucking each other."

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shoyudon · 4 months

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𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 .ᐟ

them forgetting a date night.

starring. gojo, sukuna, toji x fem! reader

heads up. cursing, no fluff, sukuna can use a phone (bcs u taught him lol /j), sukuna calling u "woman"

note. haiii, how are you guys doing? make sure to take care of yourself!! i'm feeling a bit angsty today, so i'm gonna write a bit of angst. i miss gojo, like so much u guys :( i might make a part two for this btw hehe

──────〃★ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

the one thing you hated more than people being late was people who don't keep their promises — your boyfriend wasn't an exception to it. gojo's a busy man, you get it. for months you haven't been able to see him because he was so caught up in the jujutsu world; he saves people dan and night from lingering curses that it broke you a bit.

the jujutsu world treats him like a weapon; and you never liked it. despite your constant battering on him, trying to get him to quit and just settled in for a quiet life, he tells you that he can't. that people needed him, and you felt selfish.

but isn't it fine to be selfish sometimes?

clutching onto your phone, you'd tried dialing gojo's number at least six times before he answers. his voice groggy and slow, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, "huh . . . hello?"

you wanted to yell at him, especially because he was the one who has been reminding you about this particular date night — and he was the one to forget about it, "good sleep?" you ended up asking him, voice hard.

"y/n . . . why did you—"

"why did i call? oh, i don't know. maybe because my boyfriend stood me up for an hour and a half. i look like an idiot sitting here, satoru," you mutter out in embarrassment, avoiding the lingering gazes from both waiters and waitresses around you.

for the past hour, you've lost count of how many times you'd ask them to refill your glass of tea — embarrassing. then telling them you were waiting for someone when they tried to ask you if you were going to order anything since there were people waiting for a table, just for the said person not showing up.

"what time is— oh, fuck. baby, i'm so sorry, i fell asleep when i was work—"

before he could finish his words, you finished it for him, "working. i get it, you're always working. clearly, you don't have time for anything else, right?" you ask him, signaling the waiter nearby for the bill.

"baby, i know. i'm so sorry, i'm on my way, okay? please," he whispers. you could hear a few shuffling on the background; along with a few curses he muttered under his breath as he stumble over his feet, mind hazy from all the sudden movements he was doing despite just waking up.

"no need. i'm leaving the place," you mutter, walking out of the restaurant — heels clacking on the pavement, "and 'm leaving you, because clearly you're not ready for a relationship, so bye."

gojo yells out, "what? no, baby. i swear — i'll make it up to you, please. don't leave me . . ." he rambled on the same words over and over again, "where are you? i'm picking you up. please, can we talk about this? i'm sorry, i know i should've—"

"bye, satoru," and with that you ended the call.

──────〃★ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍

you fiddled the hem of your dress as you sat inside the almost closed restaurant, the last speck of hope you had on your boyfriend —sukuna— dissipating into hopelessness. standing up you walked over to the cashier, taking out your card to pay for the one glass of shrimp cocktail and one glass of white wine.

the cashier shot you a sympathetic look, and you didn't dare to look her into her eyes. face hard from embarrassment and shame, "thank you for coming, come again next time, ma'am . . ." she bids you goodbye as she returns your card.

walking out of the restaurant that now had the 'closed' sign flipped made your stomach churn in mixed feelings: anger, embarrassment, shame, sadness, everything all at once.

sinking your nails onto the palm of your hand, you muttered out strings of curses. you knew being in a relationship with someone who had no understanding to the concept of love was a hard thing — but honestly, you thought you got a hang of it. all this time you had been nothing but patient with sukuna, but maybe even that wasn't enough for him.

three hours. you sat alone inside the restaurant you booked for the both of you for three hours — each hour depleting your hope even more. and sukuna just managed to fuck it up even after he said he'd try. well, you should've underlined the keyword there: he said he'd try not that he'd come.

maybe you saw it coming yet it still disappointed you anyways.

your phone rang. even before you see who it was — you knew it's none other than sukuna. your heart screamed at you to answer his phone call, but your mind told you to leave it ringing because you were in no mood to talk to him. yet, at the end — you still pressed the answer button.

"what?"

"where are you?" his rough voice echoed through the line as you walked down the nearly empty street, holding onto your purse, "place's closed."

scoffing, you answered, "'f course it's closed, it's almost ten. i've been waiting for three hours, ryo. three hours."

you could hear him inhale sharply, "i was caught up with something, woman. where are you now?" he questioned. hearing a few car honking behind on the background, "where are you? answer me."

"doesn't matter, i left. and i'm leaving you, i was wrong thinking maybe i could've changed you — turns out, i couldn't. good luck to you," you mutter out sternly.

sukuna raised a brow, "y're kidding."

you weren't, and all he could hear next was the loud dial tune of the other line hanging up — now did he realize that this was all serious and you were actually leaving him for good.

──────〃★ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

you sighed, dialing toji for the first time of the night when he said that he was going to pick you up for a date, the phone rung for a while before going into voicemail. grumbling under your breath, you tried dialing him again for the second time, which ended up the same way.

all these time spent on makeup and picking out the best outfit — all for nothing as your boyfriend, toji failed to show up on time. angry, you tried calling him again for the third time, only for it to end up in voicemail yet again. this time you decided to leave a message for him.

"hey, you forgot. didn't you? hope you're happy with yourself, cause 'm not."

dating toji wasn't the easiest — but you love him, no matter what he was like. and it was stupid of you to do so, all this time you've defended his name against your friends' malice towards him, saying how he wasn't treating you well enough and that you deserved so much better.

despite all that, you love him. disregarding their words, retorting back to how toji treats you well, which he does — except for the times he tended to forget about everything, even you. maybe it was time to open your eyes and actually break up; because you did deserve better than this.

it would be a shame to let all this makeup go to waste, and so you hailed a cab and decided to go out for a treat. and made the best out of everything, that is until toji decided it would be the most convenient time to call you back amidst your little "me time".

wiping your hand on the napkin, you answered him, "huh, you're alive," you muttered out, huffing.

he sighs, "i forgot, sorry." you couldn't see him, but toji actually looked remorseful, already on his way out of his apartment to yours, "i'm on my way."

you chuckled, "doesn't matter. i left my house," you informed, taking a bite out of the crab meat, "so don't bother coming — and i don't think i don't deserve this kind of treatment from anyone, even you, toji. i'm breaking up with you because clearly you don't take this relationship as seriously as i am."

toji furrowed his brows, "i forgot, i fucked up, i can make it up. where are you right now?" he asks, his voice still as calm as cucumber. but the look on his face contradicted the tone of his voice.

"bye, toji. good luck."

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helaintoloki · 1 month

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Hey I want to request something since I saw your request was open. So can you do a fic where five and y/n ( they are already married) end up in the deli with the other fives.

Basically there are only few fives that have a y/n but she's died in their timeline. So basically it's just the other fives wanting to know more about her abd the fives telling their stories of their y/n

Y/n absolutely loves the attention she almost sequeled when she saw the other fives lol.

a/n: so this actually ended up turning into a more depressing piece than i planned LOL but the original intention is there

warnings: language, angst, mentions of death, light amount of fluff

summary: your search for answers leads you to a deli with multiple versions of your husband inside

As the danger of the impending apocalypse finally begins to sink in for Five, he realizes he needs to get you somewhere safe until he figures out a way to stop the world from ending. Thus, while his siblings continued to fight off the monstrous cleanse that was Ben and Jennifer, Five quickly grabbed hold of you and jumped you both to the only place he could think of.

You stumble over your own feet as your body adjusts to being dropped into a new setting, your hand quickly raising to shield your eyes from the bright neons that hang above you as you take in your surroundings. A subway car comes to a screeching halt in front you, and before you can protest Five is quickly ushering you inside.

“Five, where are we?” You demand, completely disoriented from having been transported away from the fight without warning and preoccupied with worry at the thought of your family fighting against the Cleanse without you both present. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you somewhere safe where you can stay until I figure out how to undo this mess,” he instructs you hastily, his lips pulling back into an exasperated frown at your resistance to enter the subway car. He doesn’t have time for you to fight him on this, his siblings need him, and he needs you away from the fight. Though you’re skilled at combat and wickedly smart, you don’t have powers, and Five can’t risk something happening to you while he’s preoccupied with saving the world.

“You’re leaving me?!” You exclaim in distress as panic immediately begins to take over your rational mind. You push against him harder to move away from the train, but despite all your efforts the boy doesn’t budge.

“It’s only temporary, I promise you,” he assures you, and when you shove him hard in the chest once more he tightly takes hold of your hands and brings them to his lips to comfort you. “I’ll take you somewhere nice, somewhere with a beautiful house and a garden full of strawberry bushes. I found it while exploring other timelines in search of clues on how to prevent the apocalypse, I know it’s safe because I went there alone. You can stay in the house until this is all over and I’ll come back for you.”

“Five, what if…” you swallow harshly as tears begin to well in your eyes, your emotions overtaking you at the thought of this being goodbye, “…what if you don’t come back?”

Five refuses to meet your gaze when the question leaves your lips. He’d never lie to you, and he knows he can’t guarantee he’ll live long enough to join you in the peaceful timeline he’d found, but he doesn’t have the heart to voice this to you. How can he look you in your tear filled eyes and tell you that this might be the last time you’ll be together as husband and wife?

Sighing, he releases your hands in exchange for cupping your face so that he may brush away the tears that slide down your warm cheeks. He hopes that one day you’ll be able to understand that every moment leading up to this has been for you, and he would happily die a hundred times over if it meant keeping you safe. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

You open your mouth to argue only to snap it shut when your gaze falls over his shoulder and lands on another figure in the subway. You blink away your tears to get a better view and are left speechless when you realize you’re staring back at the face of your husband.

But how can that be when he’s standing right in front of you?

Noticing your change in demeanor, Five follows your gaze and spots the lookalike that stands across the way from you both. His features contort into confusion as you both watch the second Five offer you a wave in greeting before disappearing down the stairs. Exchanging looks of uncertainty, Five and yourself immediately rush after the doppelgänger to figure out just what exactly is going on.

Your quick chase leads you both to the front doors of a deli, the dazzling sign above welcoming you warmly as you cautiously open the doors and set foot into Max’s despite Five’s protests to wait. If this other Five has the answers you need to return home safely together, then you’ll stop at nothing to get them.

Your originally confident demeanor quickly dwindles when the restaurant becomes deathly silent upon your entry. While you only expected to see one Five, you now find about twenty of them staring intently at you as you slowly walk towards the lookalike from the subway that waves you over to his table. Five is quick to rush after you and place a protective arm around your waist; you’re not the only one unsettled by their stares, and he feels uncharacteristically territorial in the presence of himself.

“Have a seat,” the subway lookalike offers with a gesture towards the empty space across from him, and you’re both quick to slide into the cushions at his command. “I’m glad you found me.”

“What is this place?” Your husband demands impatiently as another Five dressed in a waiter’s uniform approaches your table with three cups of coffee in hand.

“This is where all the Fives come after they decide to give up on figuring out a way to stop the apocalypse.”

As he speaks, a plate of pie is suddenly placed in front of you, and before you can even open your mouth to question it, the waiter offers you wink and assures you, “It’s on the house.”

Picking up the fork, your eyes widen in surprise as you realize what specific dessert has been given to you. Looking up at the Five across from you, you ask, “How did he know that-“

“Pumpkin pie is your favorite?” The lookalike finishes for you with an amused smile before leaning back to take a drink of his coffee. “We all know that, because we all know you.”

“Me?” You repeat quietly, brows drawn together in confusion as you look to your husband who seems rather displeased with all of the attention you’re getting. He never once thought to think of himself as potential competition over you, but it figures. Who better than himself to sweep you off your feet?

“Mind telling me why you all seem to have such a great interest in my wife?” Five demands with a wry smile, eyes blazing with annoyance and a subtle hint of jealousy.

“‘Your’ wife?” The Five behind the deli counter scoffs in amusement. “Take a number, pal.”

“What deli Five means to say is that each and every one of us has our own y/n in our own perspective timelines,” the boy across from you clarifies before gesturing to the the back of the shop. Your eyes widen in shock as you take in all the various pictures of yourself that line the wall from top to bottom, and it takes you a moment to process the fact that various versions of you have existed throughout time unbeknownst to you.

“My y/n was a trained assassin,” the Five at the table next to you describes with a dreamy smile before biting into his sandwich.

“Mine was sent alongside Hazel and Cha Cha to kill me,” another voices while pulling down the collar of his shirt to showcase the ghastly scar on his chest. “She gave me this along with three beautiful kids before I screwed it all up with this end of the world bullshit.”

“If you all care so much about her then why did you give up trying to save the world?” Your husband protests in agitation. Your search for answers is going absolutely nowhere, and you’re both left with more questions than solutions. If these doppelgängers were really meant to be him from different timelines, then why did they quit so easily? His sole purpose, his entire being, was doing everything in his power to ensure the safety of his family. Come hell or high water, Five would always be willing to get his hands dirty if it meant you and his siblings lived to see another day. So why weren’t they doing the same? “Why come here instead of preventing the apocalypse so she has the chance to live a safe and happy life even if it means you can’t be in it?”

A forlorn silence fills the deli at his question, and now none of the Fives can find it in themselves to look at you. Their features are almost shameful, their eyes full of guilt and their shoulders full of tension as no one dares to answer.

“When us Fives find a way to save the world, y/n is the one that pays the price,” the boy across from you discloses somberly before tilting his head to meet your gaze. Looking at you is like looking at a ghost, and he has to stop himself from reaching out to you as if you are his own. “The Handler killed my y/n after discovering my betrayal of the Commission.”

Another Five raises a woeful hand before announcing, “Viktor killed my y/n on accident with his bow after he discovered his powers.”

“My wife took a bullet for me because she thought my life was worth more than her own.”

“Dad had y/n disposed of in my timeline because he saw her as a distraction to me and my siblings.”

“Cha Cha tracked us down, found our home, and burned it to the ground with y/n still in it while I was away trying to save the world.”

You swallow harshly and ignore the knots in your stomach at hearing all the violent ways in which other versions of you had met their end. Your heart aches at learning what these men have been through and how much they’ve lost, but it also makes you begin to wonder if your fate will be worse than any story they can come up with. Sensing your discomfort, Five wraps a comforting arm around your figure and pulls you closer into his side.

“No matter how many times I traveled back to make it right, the result was the same,” the boy across from you relents in a desolate tone. “If I couldn’t even keep the most important woman in my life safe then how could I expect myself to save the world?”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you murmur softly, taking it upon yourself to reach across for his hand and offer your comfort. “I’m sorry for all of your losses. But as a y/n myself, I don’t think she would have wanted you to give up. She would have wanted you to keep going in spite of her death because that’s what she loved about you- your strength and your resilience when it comes to saving the people you care about.”

“God, you sound just like her,” he comments with a doleful laugh before shaking his head and pulling his hand away. “Believe me, I did everything I could. But no matter what we do, there’s no escaping the apocalypse.”

“So that’s it? There’s nothing we can do?” Five retorts in disbelief. This was all a complete waste of his time. He’s nowhere near close to preventing the Cleanse, and you’re still not somewhere safe away from the impending apocalypse.

“You can enjoy the time you have left with your y/n,” the lookalike instructs firmly, the other Fives in the deli nodding along. “You got lucky, you still have your wife, so why don’t you do us all a favor and take her somewhere nice?”

“I’m not giving up on this,” your husband argues before hastily rising from his seat in the booth. “There has to be a way to save the world, and I won’t stop until I figure it out myself.”

You watch him stalk out of the deli with purpose as he slams the door open and begins to formulate his next move. The room is silent other than the bell that jingles above the door, and you take this as your cue to leave.

“I should probably go after him,” you admit with a meek smile before scooting your way out of the booth. The Five from the subway rises to meet you, and he can’t help but to carefully cup your face in his hands and admire your features for just a moment. This might be the last time he’ll ever get to see you in person, and he’d like to commit every detail of you to memory from the reflection of the light in your eye to the smell of your perfume.

“If he ever gives you any trouble, you know where to find us,” he instructs you firmly before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and releasing you from his hold. Smiling faintly, you return the gesture by chastely pressing your lips to his cheek before rushing off after your husband.

Who would have guessed that in every timeline, in every possible version of himself to exist, Five’s love for you knows no bounds.

#request #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #five #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five x reader #number five imagine #five x reader #five imagine #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine

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parfaitblogs · 3 days

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fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end. word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be.

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all.

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not.

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide.

And then he was free.

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished.

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened.

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break.

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met.

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again.

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit.

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was.

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be.

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry.

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming.

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened.

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped.

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed.

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again.

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more.

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him.

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more.

You couldn't complain.

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch.

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body.

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later.

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind.

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you.

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin.

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered.

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously.

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face.

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up.

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away.

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?"

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again.

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up.

"Lots of people say oral," he defended.

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head."

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping.

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping.

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so.

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?"

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose.

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests.

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter.

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him.

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him.

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have.

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded.

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone.

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat.

He liked to hear you.

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either.

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face.

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest.

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?"

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body.

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time.

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make.

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit.

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin.

"Touch myself?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again.

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head.

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again.

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you.

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you.

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could.

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more.

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it.

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin.

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't.

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling.

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome.

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were.

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to.

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating.

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered.

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after.

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after.

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck.

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter.

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again.

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there.

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips.

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking.

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here.

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more.

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move.

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move).

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second.

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled.

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little.

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again.

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure.

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were.

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots.

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever.

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that.

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever.

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly.

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared.

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely.

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone.

Thankfully, you didn't have to.

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee.

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub.

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt.

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless.

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways.

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach.

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh.

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression.

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face.

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort.

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes.

"Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid hurt/comfort

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cafterdark · 11 months

Text

There's something about gradual mind breaking that drives me wild.

Imagine this. Your life is shit, you're stuck ina deadend cubical job. 9-5 bullshit galore. One day, you're assigned to train a new coworker. She's pretty, way above your league. And yet she's kind. She compliments you and your skills honed to perfection working these bullshit shifts. But still, she's way prettier than you so you feel awkward even acknowledging them.

The two of you have lunch together. The two of you were talking, and she was still complimenting you for some reason. About how pretty your hair is or how cute your smile looks. You can't even comprehend looking anything but shit. She pouts and fiddles with her phone a bit. Then she asks you to watch a video. Suddenly you're back at work. When did the break end? No matter.

She tells you how pretty your eyes were. You smile because good girls accept compliments and tell her how gorgeous her lips are because good girls are honest. The rest of the day the two of you compliment each other.

It's beenmonth since then and both of you just keep complimenting each other. Sure, your compliments are getting kind of weird. You don't know when you started calling her Mistress as a joke, but it's hard to stop now. But she tells you that it's normal for good girls to call their Mistress Mistress so you keep doing it anyway. Besides, her compliments are getting weirder too. Mistress has made it a habit to pin you to a wall before telling you them. Then she just tells you how submissive and docile you are. She kisses you a lot now. Good girls deserve to be kissed by their Mistress ofc, so you don't complain.

Work itself is harder now. You just can't keep up like you used to. You're just so horny and Mistress doesn't help. You know that good girls are horny messes, but it's so aggravating. The tight clothes that show off so much don't help, but good girls are required to wear them so what can you do? Mistress has to pick up a lot of your slack, but she doesn't seem to mind. And besides good girls let Mistress do the work for them.

Breaks are great. Mistress shows you another video and you feel so good and good girls deserve to feel good. You feel so good that you don't remember what happens during them. You've started finding bruises and bite marks on your skin after them, though you don't know why. You don't care because good girls need to be marked. For the rest of the shift, she keeps touching you and teasing. By the end you can barely stand.

At the clock terminal, Mistress pins you to the wall and makes out with you before leaving. You're frozen by lust for several minutes before stumbling to your car.

Three months in and things are now really weird. You can't tell why anymore. Your head feels like cotton most of the time. You ask Mistress why everything feels so weird, because good girls always ask Mistress for help. She gives you some pets and kisses you, reminding you that dumb puppies don't think. Your boss threatens to fire you because of poor performance, but it's not your fault you're a dumb puppy. Everyone knows that dumb puppies don't work. Dumb puppies are to be submissive and docile. Mistress does most of the work, she's so good at it that she's up for promotion.

Breaks are so fun. Mistress shows you another video. When you wake up, you feel sooooooo good. Like all the energy built up during the morning was just released. Mistress cleans you up and then she starts working again while you heel. Then when you clock out, Mistress attaches a leash to your collar and gives you a walkies home. The walkies home is the best part.

Six months in and life is perfect. You don't work anymore and that's okay. Dumb puppies don't work anyway. You and Mistress live together at her place. You sleep in your cage and if you're a really good puppy, Mistress lets you sleep at the foot of her bed. The best time is when Mistress works. She works at home now. Your job is to be adorable by sleeping in a dog bed under her desk. Well, that and pleasure her, because a dumb puppy's only role is to be her Mistress's fucktoy.

During lunch Mistress fills your bowl with kibble and it tastes amazing. She doesn't show you videos anymore. She says you're perfect now. You don't understand what she means but it doesn't matter. Dumb puppies don't think after all.

After Mistress finishes working, she takes you on walkies and plays with you. It's so fun and nice and amazing. And if you're a really good girl, the best puppy in the whole world, she'll let you sleep in the bed with her. Your life is amazing.

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tojirights · 8 months

Note

fem!reader with a size kink and alastor just teases her about it. It starts off innocently before angel dust just teases and teases her about it until alastor decides to have fun with it.

a/n: this is prolly very ooc alastor but uhhhh this is fun sooo 🩷

word count: too many i don't even know

tags: 18+ smut nsfw, alastor has a big dick, unprotected sex, alastor cums a lot, slight cervix fucking (?), teasing

alastor first notices your inclination for pointing out he's much larger than you when you're always grabbing his hand. he easily covers your hand with his and it gives you butterflies every time. you think he doesn't notice your flushed cheeks, but alastor keeps a close eye on your emotions. he likes to make little snide comments but other than that, it's mostly harmless.

it evolves into him coming up behind you and resting his arms on the top of your head with ease, barely even straightening his back to do so. "hey!" you whine, crossing your arms over your chest. "im not an arm rest, y’know?" alastor just laughs, tugging gently on your hair to pull your head back. your eyes meet his, and your body tenses. the look he gives you is intoxicating, the way he easily peers over you makes you want to shrink into him and let him envelop you.

"yer not?" angel chirps in, breaking you from your daydream. "coulda fooled me. thought you were a coat rack, especially the way you hang onto mr tall dark 'n handsome over there like ya life depends on it." you gasp at his words, immediately trying to put distance between you and alastor but his arm hooks around your waist. "h-hey this isn't fair..." you huff, but alastor's chest is warm against your back and it's making your head fuzzy. "you like 'em big, dont'cha sweetie?" angel snickers, enjoying the way your cheeks go bright red.

all you can do is wiggle around in alastor's grasp until he lets you flip around and face him. you waste no time in burying your face in his chest, hiding the pure embarrassment written all over it. "oh come now angel, the poor girl can only take so much." he laughs when you put your fist to his chest. "i bet she can take more than you think..... alright i'm done i swear!" angel leaves the room cackling, too proud of himself. "alastor... please..." you sigh, your face still pressed against his chest.

he lets out a soft chuckle before petting your head. "just a little friendly teasing, hm?" he steps away to give you some much needed air. "i wouldn't want to break you, my dear." alastor all but pouts, making you audibly groan. you can't take it anymore, the desire burning a hole straight through you. you grab his hand and drag him from the hotel lobby into your own room of the hotel.

closing the door to your room, you're about to speak when alastor surprises you by pinning you to the door. "you want to be broken, hm?" his voice, shrouded in static makes your skin crawl and your heart rate pick up. "i-i..." all of your confidence from earlier fades from your grasp as alastor towers over you, deep red eyes seeing straight through you. "your words, darling. tell me that you just can't wait for me to take you, to push your limits."

his breath is hot on your ear, threatening to burn you. "w-what if i can't take it?" you whisper, words shaking just as much as your body with how much adrenaline is being pumped through you. alastor's mouth finds your neck as sharp teeth gently nip at your skin. "i think that's what you're hoping for, my dear." his words end in a sharp hiss, his hips pressing you into the door. and then you finally feel it, alastor's hard cock against your body.

oh fuck.

"this is long overdue, please forgive me if my patience seems short." he mutters into your skin, barely containing himself from biting your soft flesh. with ease, alastor lifts you off the floor and begins carrying you to the bed. the effortlessness sends an ache straight to your core. laying you down, you look up at him with wide eyes. it's such a head rush, you almost don't notice how he lifts your ass up just enough to remove your shorts and panties.

your breath hitches at the realization that you're mostly bare and yet he's fully clothed. "can i..." you swallow hard, hands trailing down his body. "i-i wanna touch it... wanna hold it." alastor bites back a groan, not sure he's ever heard you say something sexier. its a frenzy to remove the remaining clothing, neither of you wanting to waste any more time.

you're practically drooling by the time alastor's cock is freed, knowing damn well that this wasn’t fitting. the head of his cock alone would probably stretch you to your limit. straddling his hips, you finally wrap your fingers around his aching cock and moan aloud. "jesus christ al..." you breathe, eyes wide while you slide your hand up and down slowly, like you're engraving it to memory. alastor's body shudders, seeing just how small your hand looks wrapped around him. flicking your thumb over his leaky slit, you smear precum down his length.

"you can play later babe, fffuck, no more though." the gravelly sound you're used to hearing in his voice seems to be doubled, anticipation swirling in your gut. alastor's hands reach around to cup your ass, and flips you onto your back. everything about alastor was overwhelming, his size, his attitude, his cock. your head spins as alastor presses the head of his cock to your entrance, you can already tell it's barely going to slide in even with how soaked your cunt is.

"i-i don't-" alastor shushes you, easing into you inch by inch. your thighs shake, and you're sure there's no way you'll be able to take it all. "ngh, alastor." you whine, the ever growing stretch starting to make your stomach hurt. "ah ah, you're doing so well darling. so tight." he sighs, watching his cock disappear into your sweet wet heat.

your eyes roll into the back of your head, his cock pressing snuggly against your cervix. "thats it, good girl." he almost wants to laugh as he pulls back out, seeing there's still a few couple of inches that aren't covered in your wetness. "we're going to have to work on this, aren't we?" you reach your hand down and feel where your bodies are connected and moan. "t-there's still that much?" and alastor does laugh this time. "don't you worry about that, we'll train this pussy to take every inch."

each thrust of his cock makes your stomach ache, and the feeling of being so full keeps pushing you closer to the edge. "s-soo big, 'm gonna..." you cry out as alastor's hands find your hips. he picks a brutal pace, you're not sure how you'll be able to walk tomorrow, but the stretch and burn of his cock forcing his way deeper and deeper has that coil in your stomach about to break.

and when you do cum, it's the most explosive orgasm you've ever felt. "a-alastor !" your vision goes black, and you almost miss the feeling of alastor's release. well, you would have missed it, but the sheer amount of seed he spills deep against your cervix is immediately leaking from your abused hole. it seeps down to your ass even, covering you in such a way you'll probably never forget.

breathing heavily, you lay comfortably still under him. alastor places a gentle kiss to your forehead before removing himself from the bed. "rest, darling. i will be right back." you’re half asleep by the time he comes back with a warm towel, and even more so when he pulls the blanket over you. he waits until you're sound asleep before he goes to shower off.

"well, i suppose i owe angel a thank you..." alastor hums to himself.

#hazbin hotel #alastor smut #hazbin hotel alastor smut #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #alastor x you smut #alastor imagines #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader smut #alastor hazbin hotel smut #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin smut #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader imagines #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin alastor x reader

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taeyongdoyoung · 27 days

Text

daddy's home

summary: boyfriendless, jobless and hopeless, you rush to take the first opportunity you find, which is a nanny position. but the kids are not the only ones you grow fond of... pairing: seungcheol x reader genre: fluff, smut, single dad x nanny AU warnings: kids (triggering, i know), age gap (unspecified), mentions of past cheating, abandonment issues, potential therapy, male masturbation, confessions, blowjob, kissing, eating out, protected sex (unbelievable), dirty talk, size kink, pet names (sweetheart, angel, darling, little girl), sir+daddy kink, unprotected sex (with baby-making goal), breeding kink, creampie, more kids (sorry im ovulating) author's note: this is loosely based on the sitcom the nanny in that there's a single dad with three kids but minus the dead wife trope cuz that's too depressing for my tastes word count: 4.3k

You are desperate. Your shitty boyfriend cheated on you, broke up with you and you also lost your job. So it’s been a couple of terrible weeks. Now, you would take pretty much any kind of job as long as it pays enough for you to afford food and the bills. ASAP.

Single dad looks for a live-in nanny for his three kids. Full-time with Sundays off. Contact this number for more details.

Okay, truth be told, you’ve never considered yourself as someone who is good with kids. But how hard can it be? Have you mentioned you’re desperate?

“Listen, Miss L/N,” Mr. Choi, your potential future employer starts. “I appreciate your enthusiasm but I’m not just going to hire you. I’m looking for someone with experience.”

“Well, I have a bunch of nephews, if they turned out alright under my care, then I guess that counts for something,” you chuckle.

“That’s very nice but I’m talking about professional experience. Have you been a nanny before?”

“Technically, no, but how can I get experience if you won’t hire me?”

“Touché,” Mr. Choi laughs.

“How about a trial period? Let me spend some time with your kids under your supervision and prove myself capable.”

Mr. Choi nods reluctantly.

“Well, you’re in luck since my little goblins have driven away five nannies in the past month.”

Oh, dear. Five nannies…And here you were thinking this could be an easy job.

“So, what’s one more?” you chuckle nervously and Mr. Choi shakes your hand, agreeing to give you a chance.

You are excited when meeting his kids. The eldest daughter - Chaerry is 15, very elegant and polite. You think that you’ll have no problems with her and you’ll have lots to talk about. The middle child and only son - Dino is 10, extremely mischievous and loud. You’ll definitely have problems. Finally, the youngest daughter, Elsie, is 5, she’s such a cutie but leaves a mess of her toys everywhere she goes. It’s easy to trip if you’re not careful, but nothing you can’t handle.

The trial period goes by in a flash. Dino attempts to get on your nerves by pulling pranks like hiding fake spiders in your bag and spraying your outfit with ketchup, but you accept all that with an easygoing laugh. Elsie constantly asks you to play with her toys and you need an unlimited source of ideas to keep up with her wild imagination, but it feels more like fun than a job. Chaerry is quiet and doesn’t share much at the beginning but eventually tells you about this boy at school she has a crush on. So, you count that as a success.

“I must admit, Miss L/N, I had some worries at first but seeing how quickly my kids accepted you is remarkable,” Mr. Choi shares his observations with you at the end of the trial period.

“So, am I hired, then?” you beam with excitement.

“Absolutely, yes. The kids have taken a liking to you and changing nannies so often is probably not great for them, either.”

“So true. Kids need stability and I would be happy to stick around for as long as you’ll have me, Mr. Choi,” you are thrilled not only because you will have a bed to sleep, food to eat and money to spend, but because you are genuinely looking forward to spending more time with these little munchkins.

And spend time with them you do. You're not sure what exactly it is that makes the kids warm up to you, but whatever the reason, it's working.

With Chaerry, you talk about boys and high school drama and make-up. On one occasion, she tells you something that sincerely touches you.

“Thank you for being my best friend, Y/N. I know I shouldn't keep stuff from my dad, but he can be so overprotective sometimes it's difficult to talk about...well, going on dates with boys, mostly.”

“Aww, Chae, you can tell me anything. It'll be our little secret,” you give her a wink, followed by a hug.

You're not exactly sure what the correct response here is. But you'll make sure to maintain some kind of balance - both look after her safety so that Mr. Choi sleeps peacefully at night and not betray Chaerry's trust in you.

With Dino, after the initial phase of silly pranks passes, you notice that he's become more honest and calm.

“You won't leave us like our mom and all the other nannies did, will you?” he asks you one afternoon as you're watching TV together.

You haven't asked Mr. Choi what exactly happened with these kids' mother because frankly, it's none of your business, but something is telling you they're a lot more hurt than they let on.

“I'm not going anywhere, Dino,” you promise, though really, it's up to Mr. Choi to decide that.

“Good. It would really suck if you left.”

That's a lot, coming from the kid who damaged like half of your wardrobe with all kinds of sauces.

With Elsie, another strange situation takes place due to the fact that the kid has no filter.

“Let's play family!”

“Um, okay,” you agree without thinking much.

“This will be daddy,” Elsie points at a stuffed lion plushie and then grabs a tiger plushie, “And this is you, mommy!”

“Oh, honey. I'm not your mommy,” you try to explain as gently as possible.

“But can you be? Daddy says our mommy left and has a new family somewhere else.”

Okay, that's a lot to unpack here. Though you don't think it is your place, you'll need to have a conversation with Mr. Choi, because the kids obviously have some kind of unresolved trauma...

One evening, after the kids have gone to sleep, instead of going to your room, you wait in the living room for your employer to come back from work, so you can approach the subject as delicately as you can.

“Good evening, Miss L/N. Kids go to bed?” he greets you as he takes off his coat.

“Evening, Mr. Choi. Yes, they did. I was wondering if we can have a chat. It can be a sensitive topic, I'm sure, but for the sake of the kids, I think it's important.”

Mr. Choi nods and takes a seat next to you on the couch.

“About their mother...”

“I was wondering how long it'd take you to bring that up,” he chuckles bitterly. “Other nannies wanted me to spill the tea on day one.”

“Wow, seriously?”

“It's not like it's this big secret, I just prefer not to talk about it unless absolutely necessary. My ex-wife...cheated on me and got pregnant by another man, so we had a divorce and I kept the kids, because she said she wants to start anew with this other guy, and...well, the kids said this is their home and that they won't move. So, I suppose the judge took that under consideration.”

“My God. I had no idea.”

“You couldn't have known, considering I just said I don't enjoy revisiting those painful memories.”

“Yes, of course, I only meant that...I guess it explains some things. Forgive me for saying this, but I think the kids have some kind of abandonment issues. Elsie and Dino, in particular, they seem to have a fear that I'll leave just like...well, their mom and the other nannies.”

“And are you? Leaving, I mean.”

“Not if I can help it. Mr. Choi, your kids are very vibrant and precious to me. I genuinely love my job. But I'm worried that what happened with your ex-wife affected them more than they show. Maybe you should look into therapy?”

“I will definitely take that into consideration. Thank you for your candour, Miss L/N.”

“You're most welcome.”

“What about Chaerry?”

“What about her?”

“You said that Elsie and Dino express these abandonment issues. Does Chaerry not have them?”

“She probably does, but at the moment she's too busy thinking about boys.”

“Boys? At her tender age? I don't think so,” Mr. Choi immediately goes into ultra alpha protective dad mode and you honestly find it kind of funny. And hot.

“Oh, relax, Mr. Choi. It's just typical high school drama. There's nothing to be worried about.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly.

“I'm counting on you. Does it ever occur to you how quickly they grow up?”

“I suppose it's more difficult for you. I've only known them for a few months but I think I get what you mean.”

“Yeah...How strange, it feels like you've been part of this family forever.”

You try not to think too deeply about it. He...considers you part of this family. Elsie called you mommy. Dino doesn't want you to leave. And Chaerry talks to you about boys. A topic, which girls usually discuss with their mothers. Oh, sweet heavens. Maybe, this nanny gig is becoming more than a job...

One Monday Mr. Choi texts you not to come to work this Saturday, as the kids will be spending some time with their grandparents (aka Mr. Choi's parents). However, the moment you receive the text, you're too busy trying to escape from Dino who is chasing you with a water gun in the garden. So, you somehow forget to put it down in your calendar.

Saturday arrives and poor Mr. Choi thinks you'd be in your own apartment. Finally, some peace and quiet. His parents picked up the kids early in the morning to go to the park with them so he's all alone and free to do as he pleases.

But alas, you go down the stairs of Mr. Choi's enormous house and make your way to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for the kids. However, it's too quiet. Hm, how strange. Maybe, they're not awake yet? You shrug as you pour some milk and cereal in a bowl.

Oh, you hear some noise from the living room. Is that the TV? Your curiosity gets the better of you and you enter it only to find Mr. Choi in a very compromising position. He is touching himself, watching very obscene things on the big screen!

You are on the verge of chastising your boss for doing something like that in the living room, where the kids could walk in any minute, when you remember. The kids...They're with their grandparents today. Which means that...Fuck, you're not supposed to be here. You should be at your own apartment instead of being witness to...your very sexy and very single employer taking care of his needs.

You are going to sneak back into the kitchen and wait for a more appropriate time to leave the house when you hear it. At first you think you're hallucinating but then you hear it twice. Your name.

“Y/N...please, let me-” Mr. Choi moans, his eyes closed, he is unaware of your presence.

However, he doesn't get to finish his sentence because you are so shocked that you drop the bowl of cereal, which shatters on the ground with a loud noise.

“Fuck, I'm so so sorry,” you murmur nervously as your boss finally notices you watching him.

His cheeks flushed, his lips pouting, he is the most adorable you've ever seen him. He hurries to tuck his cock back into his pants and turn off the TV.

“N-no, I'm sorry...Miss L/N, what are you doing here?”

Oh, so you're Miss L/N now...Very well, then.

“I apologize. It must have slipped my mind that the kids are with their grandparents today.”

“It must have,” Mr. Choi repeats coldly, obviously embarrassed by this situation.

You wonder if you should tell him what you heard. Would that be unprofessional? But then again, he is the one who said your name, so...what is professional anyway?

“Do you want me to leave?”

He sighs deeply.

“What's the point? You already saw me...fuck, I feel so humiliated.”

“Why would you feel humiliated? Am I so undesirable that my presence immediately turned you off?” you ask bluntly.

“That's not the case and you know it.”

“I'm not sure I know anything anymore,” you admit. “You...said my name. How is that supposed to make me feel?”

“You were never meant to hear that,” Mr. Choi hides his face behind his hands, the redness refusing to leave his complexion.

“But I did. So, what now?”

“Please, don't quit. I realize that what I did is unforgivable but...the kids care about you so much, it would devastate them to lose you.”

“I wasn't even thinking of quitting. But...are the kids the only ones who care about me?” you need to know.

“No...As it so happens, I care about you.”

“So, stop hiding from me,” you don't know where that boldness comes from as you grab his wrists and remove his hands, so you can look at his face. Fuck, he's so pretty.

“You're not...grossed out by me?” Mr. Choi blinks at you in surprise.

“Kinda flattered, actually,” you confess. “But I'd like it much better if you let me take care of your frustrations.”

“You would?” he is unable to believe his luck when you drop on your knees in front of him and take him out of his pants again, engulfing his cock with your pretty mouth. “Y/N...”

The way he says your name is enough to make you even more enthusiastic, sucking him deeper and bobbing your head to the best of your abilities. He grips your hair tightly and you make sure not a drop is spilled as you swallow his cum down your throat. You wipe off your lips and sit down next to him, unsure of what to do next.

“Mr. Choi...”

“Call me Cheol, please.”

“Cheol...may I kiss you?”

Seungcheol doesn't respond and instead kisses you passionately, grabbing your face with his hands. His tongue is exploring your mouth in ways you'd never imagined could bring so much pleasure and you can't resist the urge to sit in his lap. Somehow, against all reason, he's hard again, as you grind against him. Fuck. He's so hot and sweet and amazing you just want to make him happy. How anyone could cheat on this fine man is beyond you.

“Um...not to assume or anything, but do you have a condom?” you ask sheepishly.

“I do, yes,” Seungcheol goes to his coat and brings a package.

“I mean, don't get me wrong, I love kids, but I think we should be responsible considering this is our first time together and you already have three of your own,” you're probably talking too much but oh well. Better safe than sorry.

“No, I understand. You're totally right.”

“Will you fuck me?” you inquire.

“Here? On the couch?” Seungcheol is in disbelief.

“Well...you were touching yourself here, but I guess it's whatever. Your home, after all.”

He chuckles, suddenly embarrassed again.

“Come on, let's go to my room.”

Seungcheol offers you his hand and you follow him upstairs excitedly. Is this really happening? Are you seriously going to do this with your boss?

He lifts your chin up because he notices you're not meeting his eyes out of nervousness.

“Look at me,” he commands you easily and you're on the verge of falling apart and he hasn't even undressed you yet. The power this man holds over you... “We don't have to do this if you're not ready.”

“It's not that. I do want this. It's just...I don't remember if I told you but I was also cheated on. A little before I came to work here. And like, I haven't been intimate for a while, so I'm nervous. What if I mess something up?”

“Okay, first of all, give me that asshole's address, I just wanna talk. And second of all...darling, I haven't been intimate since way before my divorce took place. Trust me, I'm a lot more nervous than you right now.”

You shake your head.

“Whatever you do, I'm sure I'll find it like super hot.”

Seungcheol laughs and tilts his head, kissing you again.

“You're so cute,” he whispers against your mouth. “I can't wait to ruin you.”

And just like that, it's as if a switch is flipped. He pushes you onto the bed and leans above you menacingly, a devilish smirk painting his pretty face. Seungcheol pushes your dress up hurriedly, touching you all over.

“You really thought you could get away with it, huh? Walking around my house in those dresses of yours looking so sexy? Tempting me?”

“N-no, s-sir,” you murmur, not knowing where the title is coming from.

“God, I'm such a cliché. An old man unable to resist the gorgeous young nanny...”

“You're not old, sir,” you try to reassure him. You're not sure if he's just engaging in dirty talk or is actually having some insecurities. He's still young in your eyes. Whatever the case, you're there for him.

“Don't lie to me, sweetheart. I'm too old for ya...I have three kids. What do you have, hm?” Seungcheol speaks while caressing your pussy through your panties.

“I have you, sir,” you smile and palm his dick teasingly.

He sighs wistfully and buries his head between your folds, licking and teasing until you're a soaking mess for him.

“S-sir, p-please...C-cheol, don't stop,” you cry out helplessly.

It feels so good, too good. He holds you down, hands gripping your thighs as you cum against his tongue. He barely gives you any time to recover as he rolls up a condom on his cock. You stare at him hungrily, impatient to have him inside of you.

Seungcheol is like the drug everyone warned you about. Once you have him, you won't be able to quit.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly in sharp contrast with his previous behaviour.

“Please take me, Cheol,” you would beg if you had to.

And take you he does, entering you deeply with his big cock.

“Fuck, you're so tight, barely fitting me in,” he speaks, stroking your clit in circular motions with his thumb, while he fucks you harshly.

“It's okay, I won't break, sir,” you try to convince him.

“What if I want you to break, little girl?” Seungcheol inquires, his voice half-joking, half-serious, as he.

“Then, I'd be happy to serve you, daddy,” the word slips from your lips before you could think twice about it.

“Daddy, huh? You need daddy to make you cum?” you are grateful he plays along instead of making fun of you in this very vulnerable moment.

“Yes, daddy, please, I'll do anything for you,” you promise in a daze.

“Cum for me, sweet girl, let daddy take care of you,” his deep voice is enough to bring you to the edge.

“Fuuuck, daddy...Cheol,” you mumble repeatedly, as white appears before your eyes.

You're shaking in his arms but it feels like flying.

“I've got you, angel, daddy's right here,” Seungcheol comforts you, as he rides out his own high, spilling inside the condom. Then, taking it off and throwing it in the garbage bin, he hurries back to you.

You make grabby hands at him and he envelops you in a hug.

“I'm here, sweetheart,” he kisses your forehead gently and you melt against his chest.

“Cheol...I think you just murdered me a little,” you laugh.

“Well, then, I better make sure I revive you, because I can't imagine my life without you.”

“Good. You ain't getting rid of me.”

“That sounds perfect because me and the kids would like you to stick around.”

“Oh God, the kids! What time are they coming back?”

“We've got time, don't worry, they should-”

“Daaaad, we're home!” you hear Dino's loud voice from downstairs.

“Fuck,” Cheol curses under his breath and the two of you hurry to make yourselves look somewhat presentable.

Once dressed and back in the living room, you can only hope that you're not too obvious about what went down. However, you can't stop yourself from glancing at Seungcheol and he's just as flustered as you.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” Dino greets you as if it's completely normal for you to be there. As if you belong.

“How was your time with your grandparents?” you ask, trying to act casual.

“We had so much ice cream!” Elsie squeals excitedly.

“Grandma and Grandpa took us to the park,” Chaerry starts telling you about everything they did in great detail and you are glad that the shy girl you first met is becoming a confident young woman.

Elsie is asking for more ice cream but Seungcheol is explaining that it's lunch time. Dino is painting the table with mustard and honestly, that's so on brand for him...

It is funny where desperation brought you. You realize this is the happiest you've been in a while.

Later, when Seungcheol catches you alone after spending the afternoon with the kids, he asks:

“I know we kinda messed up the proper order of things, but...would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Oh! I'd love that, Cheol. Is it okay to still call you that?”

“Yeah, it's alright.”

“What about in front of the kids? I'm not sure to what point you'd like to mix professional with...personal life.”

“In front of the kids is okay, too,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, do you know what Elsie keeps asking me?”

“What?”

“When will you make Y/N my new mommy?”

“Yeah, that definitely sounds like something Elsie would say.”

“So, um, no pressure. But I think you're more than the nanny to me.”

“Well, I would certainly hope so. I didn't raise you, mister!”

Seungcheol can't miss the opportunity for a joke. He takes hold of your hand and places it on top of his...very hard dick.

“You raised him, though,” he whispers.

“Mr. Choi!” you hiss, scandalized. “I mean...Cheol.”

“Did you mean daddy?” Seungcheol teases you relentlessly.

“Stop it, you deviant!” you shake your head. “Fuck, you'll never let me live this down, will ya?”

“Do you kiss your boss with that mouth?” he smirks.

“Don't mind if I do,” you reply and bring your lips to his.

A year passes by quickly. You love every day of your life. Whether it'll be spending time with the kids, or going on fun dates with your boss turned boyfriend, or having mind-blowing sex with said specimen, you are truly happy with how things turned out for the best.

With one tiny thing missing.

“Cheol, can I ask you something?” you mumble one evening, as you are playing with his soft, fluffy hair.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Seungcheol turns towards you, giving you his fullest attention.

“Have you ever thought about having more kids?”

“Hmm, it hasn't crossed my mind. I already have three kids. But it depends. Is that something you're interested in?”

“Not till now. But if it's with you, I'd love to have a kid,” you confess shyly.

“Well, then, let's make you a mommy,” Seungcheol quickly makes it his mission and for the first time, doesn't use a condom.

“Yes, please, daddy, give me your cum,” you moan wantonly, as he fucks you deep.

“Take it like the good girl you are, I'll give you all I've got, fuck a baby in ya,” he grunts in your ear, sounding even more excited than you are.

“I love it, feel so full,” you whimper and can't stop kissing him. You can't believe this beautiful man is yours and wants to give you another present.

“That's right, sweetheart, I'll stuff you full of it,” he moans and releases himself inside you. Your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, as you reach your high.

Seungcheol gently pushes the cum that's spilling out of your pussy back inside and lifts your legs up.

“Do you think it'll stick?” you ask doubtfully.

“Can't hurt to try again until it does,” he shrugs, determined to succeed.

Nine months later, as you welcome the twins into the family, you realize you've never expected to achieve so much happiness.

“You really had to outdo yourself and give me not one but two babies,” you playfully push Seungcheol's shoulder.

“Is it too late now to say sorry?” he grins nervously.

“Don't be. I'm more than satisfied. But you'll have to give me a raise!”

“I'll give you something better than that,” Seungcheol promises and pulls a diamond ring out of his pocket.

“Oh my God,” you are in shock.

“Y/N...you've given me more than I could ever hope to deserve. You started off as a nanny but you became my three kids' best friend and now, the mother of two more angels. You became my closest person, my source of joy, my sweetheart. Knowing that I can come home to you is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Will you do me the absolute honour of becoming my wife?”

“Yes, of course, yes!” you say through your tears and kiss him, as he slides the ring on your finger.

“Can I call you mommy now?” Elsie peeks her adorable head behind the door, followed by Dino and Chaerry, who are all excited by the good news.

“Congratulations, Y/N!” Chaerry greets you with a hug and whispers: “Thanks for taking one for the team and making our lonely old man. happy.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Seungcheol complains loudly.

Dino jumps on the back of his dad with a loud squeal.

“You better treat her right, Dad!” the boy warns. “Or I'll ketchup your room!”

“Why do I feel like I'm the one being welcomed into the family?” Seungcheol bemoans his fate but he's never smiled wider.

“You'll get used to it,” you joke. “Come on, guys, meet your new brother and sister.”

“Hii, babies!” Elsie and Dino jump excitedly around the twins.

“Oh, they're so cute! Aren't they so cute, Dad?” Chaerry coos at the babies.

“They are, but it's too early for you to think about how cute babies are. Look at me...I already have five. Isn't it tragic?” Seungcheol keeps messing around.

“It could have been twelve or something,” you play along.

“I can't imagine,” Seungcheol cries out indignantly. But deep down, maybe he can.

The End

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