#because they aren’t supposed to look like they belong

[virulent-scum]

Mercymorn The First with eyes like a sandstorm on Mars

[homophyte]

mmhhgm 2 AM thinking about HRT…………..perhaps my urgency is influenced by the belief that my transness only becomes acceptable after certain parameters are met and that it is in some way inappropriate to present myself as a trans person while being pretransition . something radical about the exposure of the whole process instead of being one of those instagram transes who pop into existence 7 years on T and post top surgery

[klemen-tine]

Blowing Raspberries

Batfam x Male!Reader Platonic

@jaythes1mp Sorry this took so long and is not all in one part! But here is the first half.

Part 2

TW: Break in, Child Abuse (not the Batfam), and neglect

Publicly, Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson is the oldest Wayne sibling. Taken in by Bruce Wayne at 8-years-old, he is the first child and the oldest. In the eyes of the law and adoption papers. In the eyes of the Wayne family however, the oldest sibling title belongs to Y/N L/N. Similar to the Drakes, the L/N’s live on the other side of the Waynes, and similar to Tim, Y/N had been left home alone… a lot. 

Which meant he was over, a lot. So much so, he had his own room, Alfred made him a plate for every meal, and he was aware of their little nightly activities. Y/N L/N was a needed normalcy within the Manor, reminding them that there is more to life outside of crime fighting. 

“Did you see that new cafe?” Y/N asked, looking into Dick’s exhausted eyes while resting his chest against Jason’s head. Dick shook his head, “No. Why?” Y/N pouted, “Because you guys literally broke their windows last night.” Jason winced, remembering the shattering of glass and wide-eyed stares as he handled some thugs. 

“Please tell me that isn’t the cafe you wanted to go to today.” Dick buried his head in his hands and begged every deity that it was not that cafe. Y/N has been talking about it for weeks and finally found a time where all their schedules aligned so they could do it. 

“It was.” Jason and Dick groaned while Y/N stared at them with an annoyed expression. His arms that were wrapped around Jason tightened in a mocking chokehold, knowing that if Jason wanted to he could easily get out and have Y/N pinned. Dick groaned again, “Is… is there somewhere else you want to try?” 

“Not really.” ‘Fuck!’ Jason and Dick stared at one another, trying to figure out a way to still have this day with Y/N. If they don’t hurry, the vultures will swoop in and suggest something that will catch Y/N’s attention and– 

“Y/N, how about we got to the petting zoo.” 

“Dami!” 

“Buzz off short stack!” Y/N thumped Jason’s head with his chin, “Don’t talk to Dami like that.” The youngest Wayne smiled victoriously while his two older brothers glared at him. Dick looked offended and Jason was actually ready to strangle him. Y/N shook his head, “Dami, aren’t we going on Friday? I’m picking you up from school to go.” Damian scrunched his nose, “We can go twice.” 

Y/N couldn’t help but to chuckle, “Hmmm, those rabbits are cute.” Jason’s grip tightened, “The new bookstore in downtown! There’s a new bookstore that is supposed to have a cafe attached to it.” Damian scowled at Dick perked up, “Yeah, I forgot about that.” Y/N hummed, staring at Jason in concern, “Jay, you hate downtown.” It’s full of rich snobs and people who have nothing better to do than walk the streets in designer clothing. 

Jason made a face, “It’s our day with you, I’m fine with it as long as you’re there.” Dick gagged and Damian looked ready to chuck a knife at him. Y/N blinked at the younger man in shock before laughing, “That’s cute, okay. Let’s go there then.” He released Jason from his hold, unwrapping his arms from Jason’s neck and standing tall. Dick smiled at Y/N, who was talking to a pouting Damian and ruffling slicked back hair. 

“Alright, Y/N, I'm assuming you’re ready.” Unlike the Wayne brothers who had a father that did not care why they landed on the NEWS or magazine as long as they didn’t kill anyone, Y/N’s father was different. For someone who was always gone, he had a firm hold and opinions on Y/N’s life. 

Bruce may not care that his kids go out looking like they haven’t showered in three days, but Y/N’s dad has ordered the maids to get rid of all the ripped jeans Y/N had because the paparazzi made an opinion on them when Y/N wore them. Jason remembers listening in on that call, and numerous other calls from Mr. L/N, as he hollered at his child he did not care about. 

“You are a L/N! If you still want that last name then you will dress like a L/N!”

Unlike Dick and Jason who are dressed in jeans, Y/N is dressed in slacks and a nice polo shirt. His hair was clean and styled and the shoes he wore still shined. The aesthetic is called ‘old money’ and boy did Y/N have that. He and the Wayne siblings have become the newest trend setters in Gotham. 

Whenever the paparazzi caught them together it was always Old Gotham vs New Gotham. Slacks vs Jeans. Hair combed vs natural. Clean vs Rugged. L/N vs Wayne. 

They were the topic whenever they were out together, which was a lot. The only reason Mr. L/N hasn’t said anything is probably because Bruce is keeping his mouth shut about the child-neglect and abandonment. Point is, seeing the Wayne kids and L/N son together wasn’t odd, in fact there were jokes of Bruce Wayne adopting him, but they still always turned heads. 

“Y/N, I am telling you that is a horrible choice and you’re not gonna like it.” Said young man raised an eyebrow at Jason and tutted disappointedly, “Jay, you haven’t even read it.” The guy motioned at the cover, “Look at it! Dick! Come ‘ere and look at it!” The other made only a side glance at it and sighed, “Y/N… this is only going to lead to problems.” 

“It is literally a book about romance.” Jason screwed up his face, like someone had shoved a lemon down his throat, “But like… young adult romance. Read the classics.” 

“I have read the classics. You have read me the classics. I read them in class and if I have to read how Ms. Elizabeth Barnett falls in love with Mr. Darcy one more time I’m actually going to throw myself in traffic.” Dick agreed with Y/N on that, remembering all the time he had to read the damn book. 

“It's Elizabeth Bennett.” 

“Jay, I swear to God.” 

“Are you sure you read them because there’s no way someone who’s read them would get that name wrong.” 

“Little wing–” 

“–Dickie, maybe. But not anybody else.” 

“–Excuse you.” Y/N snorted at the now bickering brothers, watching in amusement as Dick pulled Jason’s ear and Jason to Dick’s hair. Sighing, Y/N stepped between the two. Y/N L/N is possibly the only person, other than Alfred, who would dare do such a thing. Fear was absent on his face as he calmly walked into the dog fight, and helped release their bites with gentle tugs and stern words. 

“Enough. The line is picking up at the cafe, so let's checkout and head over.” Y/N is the person who quells the fights and mends the bonds. The only person in the Manor that knew how to communicate their feelings and help others realize and communicate theirs. 

He is the kind, patient, and understanding older brother of the Batfam. Always paying attention to other’s needs and always willing to listen to someone vent their frustrations and offer sound advice. Y/N is –

“–And what about the company?! How come the sales are low this month?” 

“Father, they are riding average, it’s just the last month was a boom because–” 

“I don’t care about last month! Why are the sales low this month?!” 

– not Bruce Wayne’s ward, and therefore there isn’t much he can say in this scenario. Bruce listened and watched  Y/N slouch as Mr. L/N continued to scream and berate him from across the world. He watched the exhaustion take over Y/N’s features and the way his forehead creased, Bruce knows that a headache is now present. 

“If you still want the company then you better act like it! Enough of prancing around like the money you spend is yours!” Y/N is grateful his father hung up after that, because Y/N had a clapback to that and he’s sure his father would fly back from wherever he is just to smack him around for saying it. 

Setting his phone down on the coffee table, the weight of the conversation making his shoulders sag and melt into the armchair with a huff. Bruce chuckled at the pout, “For what it is worth, fluctuating prices are normal in businesses. As long as it doesn’t go too low, you are fine.” Y/N smiled at the man, fixing his posture and picking up the mug of coffee. 

“You heard all of that?” The man can still remember when he first met Y/N. The property alarm was triggered, and when Bruce and Alfred went out to investigate, an 8-year-old Y/N was there, his hands holding the wild raspberries and his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. 

He huffed at the memory, making Y/N give him a weird look. Bruce had been grateful to Y/N’s impromptu trespassing, because when Dick came into his care, a now 10-year-old Y/N had welcomed the traumatized and blubbering 8-year-old. Something Bruce had little to no idea how to handle. 

Then Jason came and that was a wild ride, followed by Steph, then Tim, and now Damian. That's just the Robins. It doesn’t include the others that have become family but never took the Robin mantle. Y/N had been there through it all, and welcomed each one with a smile and open arms. At the same time giving Bruce a raised eyebrow and icy glare that screamed, ‘Really? Another child?’ 

Y/N never faulted Bruce for his lack of communication, but he did let the man know repeatedly that while words may start fires, they can also put them out. Y/N had laid it on him one time, after a particular nasty fight with Dick and Jason. 

“For a man who loves using his vocabulary to start arguments you sure don’t have the vocabulary to fix them. What are you, a toddler?” 

Mending things with Y/N is always easy, because Y/N does not hold grudges. Not to mention having the emotional intelligence of a therapist, Y/N was always in-tuned to his emotions and whether he was projecting or not. Or if anyone else was. Living in a manor filled with people who have traumatic backstories and skeletons in the closets, Y/N has become the voice of reason and unbiased opinions. Similar to Alfred, just without the sass. 

“Do you still like raspberries?” Bruce asked, and Y/N nodded, “You ask this every time a celebration of some sort comes up and the answer is always the same. Yes, I still love raspberries.” Y/N had once confided to Bruce, over a glass of wine, how he had asked his father if he could paint the bookshelves in his room. Little did Mr. L/N know that the color would be burgundy, the closest color to a raspberry he could get without poking someone’s eye out, and when his father found out he had the bookshelves removed and set ablaze. 

Y/N got his ass handed to him when Mr. L/N came back from his trip, and was then prohibited from decorating his room without prior approval of design and permission. 

Bruce had the bookshelves in Y/N’s room in the manor painted burgundy, and when Y/N saw them, it was like watching a child be told that they were not the bad child. The relief and the path to healing across his face as he took in the bookshelves.

The man watched Y/N sip his cup of coffee, watching how exhaustion seemed to seep off of him like cologne and fill the air with his tired and somewhat annoyed state. Phone calls from Mr. L/N we’re never received well by anybody, and Jason and Tim have more than once thought about sending the hateful man a few messages. Damian offered to ambush him when he came home. 

Y/N quickly shot those down.

Tim came from nowhere, his face screwed tight and body tense. Y/N gave him a once over, before making space for the college student on the couch. He gave him a worried look-over, “Is everything alright?” Tim melted into Y/N’s side, huffing and grumbling about something. 

Bruce’s phone vibrated, and it was a message from Tim sent before he got down here. 

‘It’s in Cabo.’ Bruce huffed, already knowing that if Tim was listening then so was everyone else. Referring to Mr. L/N as an ‘it’ seemed to be everyone’s favorite pastime. Everyone but Y/N’s, but as long as it wasn’t said around him then it was fine. 

“You’re going to the Gala, right?” Tim asked and Y/N nodded, “Of course, when have I ever missed one?” Tim continued to grumble a bit, but relaxed into Y/N’s side as he ran his fingers through Tim’s messy hair. God he loves it when Y/N does this. There was barely anything better than Y/N’s head massages, easily lulling him to a calm state as everyone mentally prepared for the Gala tonight. 

When Y/N had turned 13, that is when he started showing up to the Galas representing L/N Industries, and he would be in Bruce’s care while there. Whoever Bruce met, Y/N was expected to make a great impression. Bruce never missed the way Y/N would sometimes stare at the Wayne kids in jealousy as they got to do whatever they want, while he is forced to be an adult and try to win other adults over. 

Then forced to be yelled at afterwards by his father on the phone afterwards for something miniscule. Either someone commented on a piece of clothing, or how he wasn’t smiling, anything that was negative Y/N got yelled at for. It was like Mr. L/N didn’t know how to do anything else other than yell at his child. 

Tim took no offense when the fingers in his hair stopped moving, and Y/N’s body became limp. The other was knocked out on the couch, napping away the stress and enjoying the weekend. Unlike Tim who had Bruce’s help when managing Wayne Enterprises, Y/N is all on his own. Learning from his dad’s assistant, and also Bruce’s, Y/N was basically alone when his father had forced him to take the mantle. In face only, because as far as Mr. L/N was concerned, the company’s profit was still his profit. None of it going to Y/N, except as a monthly allowance. 

Jason had once said he should just stop managing the company, and if his father loved it enough, then he’ll take over. Y/N chuckled-the bags under his eyes were deep and he had just gotten over a stress cold- and he said that although his father may care a lot about the profit, it was his late mother’s company and he wouldn’t want to embarrass her soul by purposefully failing. 

However, now all that company did was cause him stress and make him sick more frequently. Bruce had said it was probably stress from his father, and not so much the company, but that didn’t stop them all from wishing the company would just go away. 

Tim looked up Y/N through his eyelashes, taking in the similar dark circles they both shared and how Y/N looks paler than usual, and he knows that Y/N’s health would only get worse if they targeted the company. His oldest brother would do everything in his power to keep the company afloat, and it would be devastating on both sides. Y/N would run himself ragged trying to keep it alive and that would mean less time with them. 

“Let him rest, Tim. He needs it.” Everyone has asked Bruce if he plans to do something. However, there isn’t much Bruce can do now that Y/N is an adult. He’s offered a room in a manor for Y/N to stay at forever, but Y/N has always been a bit hesitant about leaving the L/N’s home. Bruce can understand why. 

Aged blue eyes observed the steady rise and fall of Y/N’s chest, and he wondered if there was anything that could convince Y/N to stay here. 

++++

“Mr. L/N, what a surprise.” A surprise it is too, because instead of Y/N being here, it is his father. The one who was in Cabo earlier today. The man smiled, looking nothing like Y/N’s, and he held out a hand, “It has been a while. I figured it was time to show my face and give my son a rest.” Dick stared at Mr. L/N in shock and weariness, not liking how he said ‘his son.’ If it was a jab at Bruce, it didn’t land. Brucie Wayne, the social bug he was, laughed and clapped his hand on Mr. L/N’s shoulder. 

“Is Y/N not showing up?” The man’s eyebrow twitched, “No, unfortunately he felt under the weather so he’s taking a break.” Dick’s eyes narrowed, and Bruce’s smile faltered, “Is that so? How unfortunate, he’s fun to talk to.” Mr. L/N’s smile tightened, “Indeed.” 

The Gala was tense, at least it was for the Wayne family, because Y/N never misses a Gala. Never. Dick saved a slice of raspberry cheesecake, for when Y/N comes over tomorrow. He’s going to be upset that he missed a fresh slice, but knowing Y/N, he’ll worry about missing the Gala. The cheesecake will act as reassurance that no one is mad. They just had to wait until tomorrow, when Y/N will show up. 

Only he didn’t. Dick can’t remember the last time he hasn’t seen Y/N in a 24-hour period, but he does know that he didn’t like it. Almost like there was a force keeping his shoulders tight and chest heavy. Looking around, he could already see the effects it was having on others. 

He didn’t answer his phone, and when they called the L/N Manor, it was one of the maids picking up and stating that Y/N was either out, sleeping, or feeling under the weather. Which doesn’t make sense because when Y/N is sick, he is always over at the Wayne manor. No one makes a better chicken noodle soup than Alfred. 

They let it go. Maybe Y/N wants to be home because his dad is home? 

Then the next day, there was still no Y/N. Not a text message, not a phone call, complete radio silence. Following radio silence while on patrol, radio silence from Y/N had to be one of the more terrifying forms of silence. 

There was nothing. His father left late last night, and usually that would mean Y/N would be over. He would be over complaining about his dad and how he needs to work harder. He’d get a stress cold that would last for two days before he would be back to normal.

Every phone call, every text message going unanswered. 

‘Y/N, I swear I’m about to break into your house. Please answer.’ The threat was real and Dick meant every word. He’s talked Jason, Damian, and surprisingly Tim from doing it but now four days of radio silence was enough to make even Bruce stir-crazy. Batman has become a little more violent throughout the week, and Bruce Wayne a little more stressed looking. 

‘Hey! Sorry for the silence, I’m just not feeling too well. I’ll see you in another few days.’ Everyone read the text message, and everyone’s mind filled with the same idea. 

“Honestly, with how often he’s with us you’d think he knows better than to lie.” Damian’s nose scrunched, eyeing the message as if it spit in his face. Tim shrugged, “It just means he’s hiding something.” 

Bruce said nothing, falling into the role of silent protector. 

“You are not actually going over in your Bat costume are you?” 

In the L/N Manor 

Y/N walked  the dark hallways back to his room. Under his arm was a book and in his other hand was a cup of coffee, still steaming and warming his fingers. The lightning that occasionally flashed filled the area with white light, casting long shadows and creating an eerie atmosphere. 

When Y/N was younger, he used to sprint back to his room. He hated how dark and silent the hallways are, reminding him that he is alone in a place that does not want him. When he whispered to Dick that he was scared of the lightning, Dick had told Bruce and sure enough Y/N would be spending nights at the Wayne manor whenever it was forecasted to thunderstorm. 

Y/N had gotten over the fear, but he still occasionally slept over when the forecast predicted rain. Just because he no longer feared it, didn’t mean he liked it. 

Pausing to look out the window like some gothic prince trapped in a tower, Y/N recalled the argument he had with his dad. The older L/N making a surprise visit and berating his child when he first saw him and when he left. Y/N wondered if with the allowance he was given, if he could just move out. Apartments in the upper end of Gotham were expensive, and he’d never hear the end of it if he moved to East Gotham. 

Not to mention, if he did leave to move out on his own, he’d be further from the Wayne family. Sure, Jason and Dick live on their own, and it wasn’t like Tim or Damian needed him around all the time, but it was home for him. 

Maybe, he’s the one that needs them.

Lightning flashed and there was another reflection in the window. 

“Ahhh!” Y/N threw his cup of coffee at the stranger behind him, and only paused in throwing the book when he saw the familiar cowl. 

“Bruce! What the hell?! Oh my God, oh my God, I think I just lost like 10 years of my life.” Y/N clasped a hand over his heart, trying to calm the organ. Taking deep breaths, he finally managed to steady his heart beat and scrunched his nose at the older man. To which, Bruce Wayne glared back, “What happened to your face?” 

‘Oh shit.’ Y/N sighed, “Nothing Bruce. I just fell, but what are you doing in my house? Did…did you break in?” Y/N tried to get around the taller and bigger man, but Bruce grabbed his arm. He spun Y/N around and thanks to the flash of lightning, Bruce’s jaw clenched at the fading bruises on Y/N’s face. 

“Did F/N do this?” 

“Bruce, I told you I just fell.” The lenses on the cowl narrowed, and Y/N saw the frown grow on the man’s face. Sighing, Y/N scrunched nose and winced when a bruise scrunched with it, “Honestly though Bruce, how did you even get in here? No, how did you even guess this hallway?” 

“You’re rooms this way.”

“Ahhhhh!” Y/N screamed and ran into Bruce’s side for protection against the voice. 

“Dick! Ho-wha- why are you here?!” 

“We were worried.” This time Y/N only flinched, and whirled around to see Damian in the Robin costume. He gaped at the pre-teen, “Oh my God, you all are just spawning out of nowhere.” Damian grabbed his hand, and Y/N couldn’t help but to hold the youngest’s hand. Muscle memory. 

“Y/N, you’re face,” Dick whispered, gently tracing the swollen and discolored skin, “We thought you were sick.” Y/N smiled, leaning into the palm of Dick’s hand, “I was. I’m just getting over it, as for the bruises… Like I was telling Bruce, I just fell.” 

Damian’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened and the oldest sibling smiled down at him, “What’s wrong Dami?” The youngest gave a small glare through the lenses of the Robin mask, “I find your lies insulting and belittling, Y/N. The truth would be appreciated before things get more drastic.” 

“...Excuse me?” Y/N tried to remove his hand from Damian’s grip, and panicked when Robin refused to let go. 

“Y/N, please be honest. What happened?” Dick, in his Nightwing costume, rested his hands on Y/N's shoulders and tried to coax the truth out of the person he sees as his oldest brother. It only made the other tense, and tried to get out of Damian’s grip. 

“Guys, you’re scaring me.” 

“Y/N, what happened?” Bruce’s voice did nothing to ease the fear that Y/N was experiencing, and for the first time ever in the time he’s known the Wayne family, Y/N didn’t want to be around them. He struggled some more to get away from them, but with Robin’s grip on his hand, Nightwing’s hands on his shoulders, and Batman’s gaze keeping him in place, Y/N found it harder to move. 

Batman sighed, and with a nod that Y/N would have missed if he wasn’t focused on the man, Nightwing’s hand moved closer to Y/N’s neck. The other’s eyes widened, his one free hand moving to stop Nightwing. 

“Wa-”

“Good night, Y/N.” His vision went dark and the only thing he registered was a pair of arms catching him before his body hit the floor. 

++++

Y/N woke with a start, in a very familiar room, with raspberry painted bookshelves and dark sheets. His arms shot up to his face, and bandages rested on his cheeks. Looking at his arm and seeing the sleeves of his pajama pants, Y/N closed his eyes in misery and knew that if he were to lift the sleeves, there would be bandages. 

Sitting up, Y/N grunted and rested his forehead in his hand. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” 

“Jay…” Y/N watched the other carefully, watching the taller and bigger man silently move across the room to sit next to him. His nose scrunched, “Your brothers and father have some explaining to do. Where are they?” Jason shrugged, “Out. Don’t worry about that, but Y/N, why did you hide this from us?” Y/N stared at Jason for a bit, processing the question and sighing irritably. 

“Cause it's not a big deal. This was the only time and–” 

“One time is still too many times!” Jason yelled, startling Y/N. Wide E/C eyes stared into Jason’s furious blue eyes, the slightest hint of green starting to slowly take over. Y/N gulped, “Jason, it’s fine. I am here now, right?” He reached out and grasped Jason’s larger hand, watching the other calm down with deep breaths. Those blue eyes of his seem to fall on every bandage across Y/N’s face, before looking back down at their clasped hands. 

“Everyone was a mess, you know that right?” Y/N chuckled at him, chalking it up to Jason being overdramatic, “You guys are too funny. I know me going radio silent wasn’t appreciated, but you don’t need to guilt trip me further.” 

“I’m not joking around, Y/N. Everyone was a mess.” There was something in Jason’s tone that had Y/N pausing. His E/C eyes landed on Jason and watched how those eyes continued to glow green. The larger man took a deep breath and seemed to calm whatever raging thoughts he was having, “But it's fine now, because you are here.” Y/N furrowed his brow, but smiled nevertheless, “Yeah.” 

Silence overtook the room and Y/N is still unsure how to proceed. It wasn’t rare for the Batfamily to be a bit… dramatic. For fucks sake Bruce dresses as a giant furry and terrorizes criminals. However, there was something in Jason’s tone that had Y/N stilling. Contemplating his next words and wondering if they were the correct ones to say. 

“You’re awake.” Y/N’s head snapped to the door and standing there was Damian. He gave a smile to the youngest Wayne, “Damian, you're not one to usually enter without knocking.” The youngest strolled over and eyes Jason’s and Y/N’s hands, “I heard you two talking and figured it would be okay if I entered.” Y/N pursed his lips, “Well, true but Dami you should still–” 

“Father wants to talk to you, after dinner.” Green eyes met E/C and there it was again. A glint of something sinister lurking underneath the green. Y/N gulped and outstretched an arm. His palms up like he was approaching a dog, asking to pet it. Damian took the invitation and fell into Y/N’s embrace. Crawling onto Y/N’s bed and into the space underneath Y/N’s arm and against his chest, Damian nuzzled into the space with a content smile. 

Y/N felt his heart rate spike, something alerting him that he is surrounding himself with something dangerous. Which is preposterous. Yeah, Damian was a little psychotic and so was Jason, but they wouldn’t harm Y/N. They wouldn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it. 

Yet, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong. 

“When is dinner, Dami?” The younger boy hummed, “At 5:30.” Y/N glanced at the clock reading 5:25. Sighing, gently nudged the two away, “C’mon we have five minutes. Alfred will be upset with us for being late.” Damian grumbled while Jason outwardly expressed his discontent. When Y/N fully stood up, he noted that his clothes were different. 

“Who… who changed me?” Jason shrugged and Damian continued walking. Y/N looked back down at the sweatpants he was now wearing and the oversized shirt. None of which are his. 

“I-I should change first–” 

“C’mon Y/N, no one cares.” 

“Indeed, Drake has shown up before looking horrid. You look wonderful, like always.” Y/N said nothing to address those comments, but the time clicking on the clock had Y/N forgoing dressing and instead grabbing his house slippers. Damian was quick to grab his hand and Jason walked behind like he was protecting Y/N from something. 

The walk was silent, and there were some bruises on Y/N’s body that had him wincing sometimes. Nevertheless, when the sound of chatter began to echo through the halls, Y/N controlled his expressions and braced for the question and answers he wanted. 

“Well, look who finally woke up,” Dick joked and Y/N rolled his eyes, “I don’t want to hear that from the people who broke into my house.” He said it as a jest, but some part of Y/N wanted to mean every word he said. The three culprits didn’t even pretend to look guilty. 

Y/N gave Bruce a pointed look, he busied himself by pouring himself, Y/N, Dick, and Jason wine. Damian released Y/N’s hand to go sit at his respective seat, between Tim and Bruce, while Y/N took his between Bruce’s and Dick’s. Dick smiled at him, “Happy to have you at dinner. They have been quiet for the past few days.”

“If that is your way of saying I talk too much Dick, may I remind you who is the reason we had to enact a five minute quiet period during meals before.” The man laughed, unbothered by that little fact being thrown into the air. 

Dinner continued with the usual chatter, arguments, snide remarks, and dirty looks. Y/N’s absence was barely brought up, and instead he got filled in about what he missed while he was radio-silent. No one questioned the bruises on his face, or the now open secret that Y/N had tried to keep quiet about. 

“Y/N, please see me in my studies.” Bruce gently squeezed Y/N’s shoulder and Y/N followed, thanking Alfred as he did so and waving to all the brothers. The walk was tense, and something kept stirring in Y/N’s stomach that he was walking into something dangerous. Not a trap, because a trap means Y/N didn’t see it or feel it coming. However, he can feel this one. He can feel this one coming, something that would have his life changing, and yet he still kept walking forward. It’s the Waynes. His family. 

They wouldn’t do anything he didn’t like. 

Bruce’s study was as dark and aesthetic as Y/N remembers. A dark oak wood desk, bookshelves, the laptop and monitors, and papers. Y/N rarely set foot in here, mainly because there was never a need to, but he remembers being young and playing hide-n-seek in here with Dick. 

Bruce turned and gently cupped Y/N’s bruised face, turning it slightly to take in each discolored patch of skin and open wounds. Y/N smiled, “Bruce, it’s fine. I’m fine. You and everyone else are just being overdramatic.” 

“Is that what all of this is? Us overreacting?” Y/N gave a nervous chuckle at Bruce’s tone, one he’s heard when the man was Batman. 

“I mean, considering you broke into my house, that seems excessive.” Bruce released Y/N’s face and walked behind his desk, and motioned to a stack of papers. 

“Y/N, if entering your home is considered excessive, then I don’t know how you are going to handle this.” 

“Break in, Bruce. It was a break in, and what are you talking about?” Y/N picked up the paper, and quickly scanned the document. Bruce watched the color drain from Y/N’s face and horror take over those bright E/C eyes. They flickered from the top of the page back to the bottom, and then to Bruce and back to the paper. 

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed, trying to form words he was desperate to say. 

Wayne Enterprise Acquires L/N Industries

Bought. Bruce bought L/N Industries. Bruce bought the company from Y/N’s father, because Y/N isn’t the owner, and there is no way in hell that Y/N would have ever signed off on that. His mother’s company, now just a part of the Wayne monopoly. 

“Wha-what is- Why- Bruce! Bruce, what the hell is this?” Eyes filled with betrayal and anger as Y/N glared at Bruce. The man sighed, “It is as it says. L/N Industries in now under Wayne Enterprise-” 

“But why?! You’ve never shown any interest in the company.” Bruce wasn’t interested in L/N Industries. Wayne Enterprise was not a monopoly, and they didn’t buy companies unless that company was already going bankrupt. Bruce was interested in Y/N’s health, and vengeance. 

“Don’t take it personally, because it's not at you.” Y/N rolled his eyes, “It sure feels like it. Bruce, you know what this company means to me, you can’t just–” 

“Well I did.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze head on, “The company is not in your name, you do not reap the profits, this acquisition was not a jab at you.” Y/N knows who it's a jab at, and he understands why Bruce is angry. However, it does not excuse the fact that this was a jab at the L/N family. 

Y/N clenched his jaw, “There’s no way he just signed it over like that.” Bruce handed him another piece of paper and sure enough, there was his father’s signature. Y/N stared at the inked lines, wondering just how had Bruce gotten that signature so quickly. 

“Blackmail really makes people move faster than the Flash.” 

“Wha… what blackmail?” Bruce raised an eyebrow and Y/N closed his eyes in misery, “Bruce, I get it. I do. He’s not a good father, but you didn’t have to buy the company. He’s literally going to ret-”

“You and I both know he would never retire. You would be working to the bone for him while he reaps all the profit.” Y/N rolls his eyes, and opens his mouth to say something but Bruce cuts him off, “Do NOT roll your eyes at me! Y/N this is serious.” 

Momentarily taken aback by the tone of voice, Y/N stared at a fuming Bruce. He processed the reaction and felt the heat in his stomach return, “Excuse you! You literally bought my family’s company, kind of if not really kidnapped me, and broke into my home! I have every right to be upset, let alone roll my eyes at you.” 

“That place wasn’t your home and you know it.” 

“Doesn’t change anything! That's like saying a break-in at a hotel room doesn’t count because the person doesn’t live in the hotel room.” Y/N could feel his heart rate pick up, and the reality of it all began setting in. 

“Holy shit. Fucking hell Bruce.” 

“Language.” 

“Do not ‘language’ me! Bruce, what the actual hell! All of this is way out of proportion for what happened.” Bruce slammed his hands on his desk, making some papers fly and the cup holding his pens fell. Blue eyes filled with rage glared at Y/N, “You can’t even say what happened! He hit you, Y/N. He beat you like a dog, and animal abusers still go to jail. He’s getting off with only losing the company. 

“And I know that those bruises are the only ones we do see!”  Y/N glared at Bruce, fighting back tears and biting his lips. Bruce sighed, his shoulders deflating and a pained expression on his face. He walked around the desk and hugged Y/N, bringing his son close, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I am. You’ll still be running the company, and will have a final say in things. It's just… God, Y/N. Not hearing from you and then seeing you like that...” Bruce took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions, "It was terrifying, Y/N. How could I let you stay there when all of that was done to you?"

Y/N wrapped his arms around Bruce, ignoring the feeling of dread of doing so. He ignored how Bruce’s arms tightened around him, “Oh Y/N, please. Please stay here where you are safe.” 

He didn’t want to admit that it sounded more of an order than a request. This was Bruce! His father in everything but blood and paper. 

“Just… just please don’t do that again.” 

“It won’t happen again. I promise.” 

______________________________________________________________

Not a whole lot of Yandere, but thats why there will be two parts! Not just one.

[azsazz]

All's Well That Ends Well

Hockey!Azriel x Figure Skater!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: our figure skater bby would totally wear azzies jersey over her pretty sparkly dress if he wanted her to 🥺

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,044

Notes: Belongs to the Shut Out & Penance & Out of Order world

_________________________________________

Raucous clapping and cheering surround you.

Your chest heaves from exertion, but it’s a good feeling, one that goes all the way to your bones, one you know will linger for days. That’s okay, because you nailed your performance today. This competition is in the bag.

The smile you’d been forcing onto your face for the entirety of your routine turns into a real grin at the noise. You pull yourself from your ending stance, taking a quick skate around the rink one last time, waving to those in the stands. The energy in the arena is insane and you’re really feeling it, a splitting smile on your face that falters when you meet the familiar hazel gaze of Azriel.

He’s not supposed to be here.

The Velaris Bat’s have one of their most important games of the season tonight against the Springview Wolves, their rival team of almost four decades. You have no idea how the feud started and don’t care to know; something about a broken bone or a girlfriend being stolen, you have no idea and didn’t care to listen when Cassian tried explaining it to you one night at the local dive bar you’d run into a few of the players at. 

You’d turned right the fuck around when you saw them and pulled out your phone to text your friends to meet up with you somewhere else because you see enough of the hockey team whilst having to share one rink, but Azriel had caught you before you could dip outside and all but dragged you into the back alley for some precarious touching that you were not going to say no to.

You’ve been a little tense lately leading up to your competition. No one would have blamed you for what you did with the sexy hockey player.

Azriel looks proud. There’s a slight lift to the corner of his mouth, the most emotion he’ll show in public like this, even though he thrives off of the chaos of the arena when he plays. His hazel eyes sparkle as they track you, how you only have eyes for him as you skate closer, a frown on your face, no doubt wondering why the hell he’s here instead of warming up for his own game that’s set to start in a few minutes.

He couldn’t miss your performance, though. The one you’ve been raving about all semester. The one you were worried about all night a few nights ago when his head was buried between your legs. Not even that could keep you from thinking about your performance today, immediately after he’d drawn multiple orgasms from you, you went right back worrying.

Shifting on your skates, you fly toward the door. Ice sprays when you shift, stopping abruptly before passing through the door, ignoring your coach in favor of rushing over to where Azriel’s standing stock still.

“What are you doing here?” you exclaim, falling into his arms when he opens them. Your heart flutters at the feeling of his strong hands warm on your hips. He’s here, he’s really fucking here.

He’s dressed in his hockey gear, and it’s clear that instead of hitting the ice with his team he’s snuck to the finally finished rink to watch your routine. 

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” he whispers, and Azriel can’t help but pull you further into him. Can’t help but to dip down and capture you in a kiss so searing that it fully takes your breath away. It’s a little awkward, because of all of the padding he has on, but the both of you make it work. He adores the blush that stains your cheeks pink when you pull away, and it really is a shame he has his cup on right now, because his erection is pressing painfully against it. “Cass and Rhys are covering for me. I couldn’t miss this.”

“Really?” Tears fill your eyes. He’s proven himself to you, time after time, that he’s here for you, even though the both of you aren’t anything more than friends who like the feeling of each other’s fingers and tongues, hands, and intimate parts. “But your game, it’s important.” 

“I’ll make it before puck drop,” Azriel reassures, “If I leave, well, now actually. I just needed to see you. Wanted to give you this.” You hadn’t noticed the jersey hanging over his arm, but when Azriel holds it up, showing off the number eight and his last name to you. “I hate to cover up your dress because you look sexy as fuck,” he murmurs, drinking you in once again. The feeling of his hot gaze makes your knees weak. “But I’m a selfish man. I can’t have anyone else looking at you like this, baby. And I want to see my name on your back.”

Fuck, does he have a way with words.

“Okay,” you breathe, letting Azriel help you into the black and purple jersey. It drapes long over your body, the fabric swallowing you, but you don’t care because the look in Azriel’s eyes is pure fire. “How do I look?” You ask innocently, giving him a twirl and reveling in his agonized groan. 

“Tell me you’re mine tonight,” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into him by the fabric of the jersey. You move into him easily, wrapping your arms around his neck. Azriel’s breath is hot across your lips, and if you weren’t in the middle of a competition, you’d let him take you right now. “We’ll both have something to celebrate.” 

Your brows furrow in confusion and Azriel grins, tilting his head to the scoreboard behind you with your scores. You currently hold the top score for the competition, with only a few skaters left to go. Holy shit you’re in first place. 

You squeal, jumping up and down in his arms. Indeed, you’ll have something to celebrate tonight, when the Bat’s take home their win, and you with your own.

“Yes, Az. I’m yours,” you whisper, accepting his kiss. “Now, go beat the Wolves. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You better be,” Azriel says with a wink and a teasing pinch to your ass. “I need my good luck charm there to help me win.”

_________________________________________

Hockey!AU Tag (will be tagged for any hockey fic, no matter paring):

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @blackthorngirl @i-am-infinite @feerique

[zylev-blog]

Danny has a new rogue. The man is going by the name of Freakshow, but most of the whispers he’s heard have labeled him as the Joker. The Joker pings as a liminal, so Danny has been trying to find him. Problem is, the Joker doesn’t stay in Amity Park. The man is mobile, and the more Danny leaves Amity Park, the more he’s hunted by the GIW. This makes it harder to hunt the man, but he knows that Joker is dangerous. Unstable.

And he really hates clowns.

He’s chasing the Joker through New Jersey when a red blur knocks into him and drags him away from the Joker. He has enough sense left to realize he’s being moved in superspeed before he’s head butting the man holding him and turning intangible out of his arms. He hears the man in red groan and hold his bleeding nose.

“Wait.” The man in red pants, “The Joker is dangerous.”

“I know he is.” Danny tells him, “That’s why I’m taking him down.”

“You’re not working with him?” A man in black asks.

“What? No!” He gestured to himself, “I don’t have this getup because of him, you know. I’m a dead kid. A ghost. He’s messing with the living while carrying traces of the dead, and that’s wrong, you know? Once you kill so many people, it offends the dead and we have to intervene. Once you pass that point, the dead takes your soul. He’s already on his way there.”

“You don’t look dead.” The man in black says while the man in red looks away from him.

“Yeah? And you look like a bat. You don’t have room to talk when you look like a furry.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m Flash and this is Batman.” Flash introduced himself and his partner, “We and the Joker are from another dimension. We’re trying to take Joker down before he merges our dimensions and takes over both of them.”

“Ugh, not more interdimensional bullshit.” Danny swears. “You can call me Phantom, by the way.”

“You don’t seem suprised about this.” Batman prompts.

“Yknow, after the fifth attempt at interdimensional war you get used to it. This dimension has the most… uh, what did they call it? Oomph? I think it means like, this is the most powerful dimension out of all of them. It doesn’t take long for us to kick them back where they belong. But this Joker dude, he’s persistent.” Danny shrugged.

“I know Joker the best.” Batman told him.

“As long as Joker ends up back in his dimension before he merges ours.” He grimaced. “Been there done that once, it wasn’t pretty to undo. It nearly destroyed both of our dimensions, but some things aren’t supposed to be merged.”

“To work together, we need to know what you can do.” Flash glanced at Batman.

“Do you want a list?”

[lady-ashfade]

Bound By Birth

The yandere boy’s reaction to you being their sweet, smaller twin and being obsessed.

Characters: Lucerys Velaryon, Jacaerys Velaryon, Aemond Targaryen.

Theses aren’t complete HC’s just some I thought about, but if you want a part 2 or a fic based on it please let me know.

Warnings: Yandere tendencies, Obsession, Possessive, Targaryen ways if you know what I mean, stalking, a bit hinted or nswf a bit but nothing is said that much!

Aemond Targaryen

As soon as Aemond came out of the womb he had lost this sense of warmth and comfort, like he knew you weren’t with him. The new born screamed until you had entered the world a few minutes later and the room felt silent from his crys, only to be full with yours.

From his first breath he knew he belonged with you.

We all know aemond had no dragon that hatched from the egg so he lost that feeling but he had you. The gods had blessed him with something far greater then any dragon he could ever have. Needless to say he thinks of you as his to have since you are his twin.

Little man is possessive from the get go, like he can not bare to be away from you. So you always had him following your trail everywhere you went.

Aemond felt heartbroken when your egg hatched and his had yet too, only to discover the egg was never going to hatch. He was beyond jealous. He and you were supposed to have everything alike, dress the same, eat the same food and share the same toys.

But then that’s when it clicked into his brain you are his dragon. Yes, the gods did this on purpose.

No matter the gender his mind always pictured your wedding day.

Hates it when you train with your dragon and he can’t. Like gets really upset. He does get picked on but you’re there to save him, making him fall harder.

He swears one day he would protect you.

Aegon and the other boys are out of the question for him. You aren’t allowed to hang out with them at all, and if you are? He will pull you away quickly without a word and drag you off away from them.

When he gets his eye taken from him he couldn’t handle your eyes looking at him. Feels ashamed for the curse now on his face because he can’t be handsome or beautiful for you.

But the joy he feels inside when you weep beside him and hold his hand, he feels some sort of pride that you care for him deeply.

Female twin:

Knows you are meant to marry him. He doesn’t even have to convince Alicent very hard to wed you because she needs you to stay safe.

Matching your dresses to his outfit all the time.

He trains to impress you one day, maybe protect you in a fight. If you are ever watching the boys practice he will try his hardest which sometimes leads to him embarrassing himself. But you are there to smile and kiss his cheek with grace.

After that the two of you grow, well he changes into a different man but you stay the same sweet girl.

Aemond has become your protector. Always behind you and glaring at anyone who passes a glance that isn’t welcome. Man is ready to kill with just one word.

Since he is older his mind grows and he can’t stop noticing how beautiful you really are. The body, the hair, or just the sound of your sweet voice. He is addicted and can’t wait to have you as his wife.

Is a beast at fighting now. Gets a boost when you watch from above and see him win every time. Cole is his wingman and will pair him up with someone to put on a good fight just for you.

Male twin

Knows the gods made you smaller and younger then him just so you can be his. From the time he realized what marriage was he was thinking of you.

When you are younger and training he hates embarrassing himself around you, like hated it. Or when you’d pair up with the other boys, even Aegon. Aemond will hate to spar against you and he couldn’t imagine hurting you. But this is more time he can bound with you.

When he loses his eyes- Boy is more angry that he doesn’t look more like you now. You were his twin brother and are supposed to look the same. Aemond does feel the same when he sees you cry for him and tell him he will be okay. But he’s gained a dragon now. One to protect you.

Aemond is just glaring at people while you’re just smiling at everyone. Two separate handsome boys.

He doesn’t care if you’re a boy, you are his twin and he is meant to have you. He hates the thought of you marrying a woman, or anything- Will not share you with anyone.

You both match clothes all the time and he makes sure to tell the servants to dress you both alike or he will be angry.

He is still your protector at all cost and will let nobody harm you in any way. Not his sweet brother.

Just as well, when he grows his mind picks up on your handsome face, your smaller height. He feels better about himself because he could easily overpower you, being the bigger male twin does something to him. He loves it when you get angry at how you can’t grow as much muscle or height as him.

You both train together and he will teach you. Sometimes he will let you win, other times he wouldn’t because he loves you looking a bit sad- You might not be as big or strong but you have speed and can move away from him quickly. He loves to praise you for the smallest things.

Lucerys Velaryon

As I have said in my past fics he is a clingy boy. From birth he loves you because you are his partner in life and he knows it.

Lucerys does cry a lot when he is away from you, but he is also a happy baby as long as he is near you, just like aemond. I think at the young age he just knows you’re his twin.

I picture you however being the first one to walk and he’s just on the floor trying to follow you. Throws a tantrum when you walk away. But, his first steps are when rhaenrya tries to get him to walk and he does…only to walk passed her and over to you.

Growing up he follows you around like a lost puppy. Clings to you where ever you go and if you don’t give him your attention, he will find a way to get it. He does get jealous when jace is around because he’s older, boy just wants you to pay attention to him.

He has planned many pranks with you. Might even do a few on you but feels bad immediately afterwards.

When your father “dies” he realizes his role is to take on driftmark and he fears it. So he gets more possessive after that.

Hates being called Bastard but when someone calls you that? Boy is pulling you away and telling his mother for just the slightest judgement against you. Might even get daemon on it because he is more ruthless.

He tells his mother when he was younger to betroth the two of you and she sees how much you two love each other. However when you both get older he yells at her that he will not marry anyone else but you, no matter what. And he never disobeys her but this was different and she knows he telling the truth.

Even if you are a male he will take no wife. Because that means she would be yours as well. But let’s be honest, rhaenrya is planning to betrothed the both of you to someone. 

He kisses your cheek all the time or holds you hands, doesn’t really care who’s watching.

He still pranks you however, like taking your books and holding them above your head.

He is more clingy then the rest of them but not as dangerous- Well, not himself but will get others to do the dirt work.

Male twin:

He knows he’s small but he’s still young, but you? You’re shorter then him and less muscular and it makes him happy. Because that means he can protect you better then you can yourself.

He compares his frame to yours constantly, you’re such a smaller boy and he picks on you a bit. Not mean, but he can be a bit cocky at times.

You already know you both have matching outfits- Every day. Even pjs.

You both used to spar with each other all the time because it was so much fun, and he didn’t like you going against anyone in the fear of you being hurt.

Older sparring is fun because he isn’t that good at it and you’re almost just as bad. From any age he is so embarrassed to mess up in front of you. But maybe if he beats you then you can praise him for it.

Also, he can be alone with you and no one bats an eye because you’re both boys. So he can be as affectionate as he wants.

But nothing really changes for being a boy or a girl in his eyes, he’s just the same with both.

Female reader.

Younger him thinks it’s like a book about a princess and prince, just like the ones your mother read to the two of you.

Because you’re a female he gets more jealous of the males in his family, not saying he doesn’t for male you but this is different. You can easily be betrothed to any of them, he hates it.

Begs your mother to have you as his wife from a young age as well. It’s your birth right to be his bride. And again this means he has no use of another wife because you can have children. There is no one else he wants.

Matching dresses to his outfits and if you want to wear something else? Pouts. He can’t bare to not be in the same color as you.

Sparring is different because he is so terrified of hurting you. He will not even use force on his swings, but a few low hits. You can cry and get angry he isn’t trying but he wouldn’t care.

Kisses you in private all the time, “You’ll be my wife one day.”

Glares at any male that talks to you, even his brother. Tugs at your hand and just joins at your hip.

You can’t be alone together…Unless he sneaks in your room. Will just hold you until you both fall asleep.

Loves to braid your hair. Like he learns just for you.

Jacaerys Velaryon

He is the first born, so he knows he’s missing you. He, just like the others, is waiting for your presence.

Somehow even baby him wiggles closer to you in the cradle. They had to put you two in the same cradle because he wouldn’t stop fussing about being away from you.

He is more calm at this time, like if you get picked up? He’s going to watch but he’s just chilling unless you are out of his sight.

Loves to show you his toys, even though you have seen them so many times. Loves to share them with you too.

Have you seen those videos of babies hugging each other? Literally him with you.

He isn’t as different from the other two at this point.

Jace learns he is to become king and always calles you the future queen/king. And I mean actually correcting his mother or anyone else.

“The gods put us together, it stays that way.”

Loves when you hold his arm or chase him around playing tag.

Hates Aegon or aemond. He’s okay with lucerys, just don’t give him more attention.

Knows he is a bastard and that makes you one too and he fears for you the most.

Older him is just as bad if not more.

Tails behind you and always have his hand around your waist. Always doing everything together.

Even baths, not in the same room but at the same time- And he’s tried to be in the same tub. But going to clothes, studying and to the same sheets as you.

Gets angry if it’s even mentioned that you would marry someone else. Yells about how you will role beside him and no one can change that.

He’s kinda angry a lot when it comes to you. Wouldn’t really let anyone get too close, like not even your personal time. You want to read a book? Okay, he will be in the corner doing his own thing.

But he’s sweet to you always unless you say you can’t marry him, then it’s just him pushing you to think you have no choice.

Male twin

You think you can get away from this man? Um no, he is always near you.

From a young age he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. Can’t play without him, can’t study without him, or train. Anything you do is what he is doing.

Training with younger him isn’t that bad- Well, okay it’s a bit. He really loves to win against you and does the most. He wouldn’t hurt you but if you fall it isn’t his fault, you should be praising him for being so strong.

Dressing the same each time and will literally throw a tantrum if not. Saying the future king demands it.

After a few years, I think he might be the most possessive about you. The only time you can leave him or go somewhere in the castle is with his mother.

Man is always with you every step, linking your arms.

You already know he is picking on you for being so much smaller then him. I see him as such a cocky man for some reason. Saying things like

“You can’t get that, let me.” “I’m surprised you can even pick up a sword.” “How can a man be that small?”

Training with him older is him teaching you- Mostly useless stuff so he can still win. Just like when he was a kid, loves to win against you.

Matching outfits with you.

Boy knows you are to be king with him and will not stop at anything to get that point across.

Female twin

Boy is holding your hand as you lead him anywhere or him you. He with not leave you for anything.

Matching your dresses to his colors or you wearing his favorite colors- Or him just picking them out for you. If jace doesn’t like your dress he will make you change it.

Is ready before you get done in the morning and comes in as soon as you get your dress on, much to his dismay because he could help you change.

Wouldn’t let the maids touch your skin or go anywhere. The only place that can help you with is your hair and clothes. Loves to let his hands linger on your neck while he places a necklace on you. Or helping you pick everything out.

Escorts you everywhere you need to go. He isn’t afraid to have a tight grip on your waist if you try and get away from him. Can and will gaslight you anytime he wants.

Just like the others he already told his mom he will marry you. You think he will care if she says no? Ha, he wouldn’t care.

While he is studying you are in the corner or with your mother.

He doesn’t really like your time with the other children but is kinda okay with it. Only if you pay attention to him more.

Sneaks into your room at night and will kiss you for as long as he can. Holds you close and brushes your hair until you fall asleep. Doesn’t even care if he leaves marks on you so the others can see.

He does kill in secret if need be or gets them killed by guards, maybe even by daemon or rhaenrya.

Daemon has taught him a few things on how to wow a woman and how to keep you in line, even things to do to you in bed.

[mooooonnnzz]

holy shit world/insure made me sob. would you consider doing a part two ? i’m imagining stan and ford telling dipper and mable childhood stories with the reader. they’re vague about it, saying stuff like “they aren’t here anymore” so the twins just think read died. then reading coming back through the portal and they connect the dots. omfg i’m obsessed with this concept.

Word/Insured Part 2

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

☆ GUESS WHO FINISSHHHEDDDD!!!

☆ this'll have 2 parts so it's easier to digest, since it's lawnngg so if it abruptly ends, that's just me splitting it

☆ 4,5k words

☆ gender-neutral reader

☆ possible tw: drinking to cope, mentions of suicide, gagging and descriptive chewing? and just angst

☆ srry this lowk kinda took long to write both keyboard and mouse just died on me when i was writing this so i had to find an old keyboard oops

☆ if this does well, i'm considering on making hcs of reader adjusting back to their home dimensions and diving deep into the twins n their trauma !!

☆ that's all. i hope you all enjoy! :3

✶ Stan and Ford hadn’t talked to each other since your disappearance. The anger and hatred that Stan held onto was enough to deter him from even granting a glance at Ford who tirelessly tried to get Stan to talk to him. He’d begin the conversation with ideas he’s thought through the night prior, ideas that most likely secured a chance on bringing you back. But Stan wanted nothing to do with him. His head was shrouded with your screams, the way you yelled out for Stan instilled such a soul-crushing guilt on Stan; he wasn’t sure he’d properly function as a normal human being after this. Not to mention, you and Stan were two peas in a pod, spending 10 years together after the collapse of their family truly brought the pair together, closer than they’d ever thought they would be. And now Stan is going through the same grief he felt when he was kicked out of the house, Ford doing nothing but sparing a sorrowful glance to him as he shouted for his brother, anticipating Ford to do something; to clean his name and everything would go back to normal. But instead, he turned his back on him. The situations were massively different but the pain was eerily still the same. 

✶ Stan would spend majority of his nights clutching your belongings close to his chest. He didn’t care if it looked weird, those were the only things that he had left of you at the moment. Nights were spent crying himself to sleep, envisioning different scenarios where he had caught onto your wrist and pulled you back to the ground, where it was safe, where he was there to protect you. He couldn’t let his mind linger on the idea of you being stranded in another dimension, helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. The mere thought of it sends his heart crumbling down to his palms, all shredded and shattered beyond repair. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you. To keep you safe from harm's way, he betrayed that very promise by leading you to the place where you were taken away from him too soon. And that alone gutted him. Ford would hear Stan sobbing into the night and all he did was lay there in his bed, submitting himself to the torture to hear his brother’s wretched cries. Because, this was his fault. Stan wasn’t shy to tell him that almost every waking moment of the day when he has the chance. The guilt haunts him.

✶ Verbal arguments were pretty common between the pair. Stan mainly started them when he was pulled out of the haze he was in and roughly back to reality. A reality where you weren’t around anymore and that irked him, because who else was at fault other than his idiotic brother? “Do you ever wonder how more lively this house would have been if ya hadn’t pushed [Name] inside the portal?” His tone was harsh. They carried thick venom to them, his words permanently burning their way into Ford’s brain. “Not this again,” Ford’s heart quivered. He had just recollected himself from yesterday's fight and now Stan wants to barrel through another one? Ford avoided Stan’s glaring eye contact. “Stanley, I told you many times before. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for screwing up, I’m sorry for being the reason why [Name] isn’t here anymore.” Ford’s head tilted back, his eyes staring longingly at the ceiling. “You don’t know how much this eats at me, Stanley.” He blinks away the tears threatening to escape, his head lowering back down to meet Stan’s fiery stare. “But I beg of you, please. Don’t hate me for it. I can’t lose you again, not after losing [Name].” The look in Ford’s eyes was something Stan would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. He looked so broken, so shattered, the shell of someone who once was a prodigy at everything he touched was now crushed to bits; pieces of him scattered, lost to time. Stanley’s anger faded into a mellow irritation. Shifting his hands awkwardly on his chest, his face softened ever so slightly. “Fine,” He grumbled, rushing past Ford, their shoulders roughly rocking against each other. Ford sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. This was a new development. A spark of hope flickered in Ford. 

✶ Alcohol and cigars were Stan’s life vest. He’d rob a few packs of beer and down them within two days. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it distracted him from everything that was happening, right? Stan was pretty much drunk every day, and if he wasn’t, he was out on the porch smoking cigars, hoping that one day Ford would find him dead on the floor with beer cans surrounding him, his last moments spent thinking about how much he missed you. Stan wasn’t an angry drunk much to Ford’s surprise, considering how he spent his times where he was sober yelling at Ford, rather he’d rot away on the couch or floor, silently crying to himself in a puddle of his own tears. Many times Ford would have to pick up Stan, rest him on the couch and try to sober him up. And it wasn’t an easy task to do, picking up Stan with his weak arms was a workout for Ford. “Why couldn’t I save them?” Stank drunkenly babbled out, his head swaying side to side. “Don’t move too much, Stanley. You’ll give yourself a headache.” Ford warned, propping his head up with a pillow. “If I wasn’t so slow, [Name] would still be here.” Stan hiccups, his eyes glistening with tears. No matter how many times Ford hears Stan painfully talking about you, it still hurts the same and even more. “It’s not your fault, Stan.” Ford said, pulling a blanket up to his chest. “It’s not yours either.” Stan’s hand patted Ford on his face, thinking that it was his head. When Stan pulled his hands away, tears were streaking down Ford’s cheek. Hearing Stan tell him that it wasn’t his fault healed a piece of him and that quickly triggered the waterworks. “There, there, brother.” Stan patted Ford’s back as he sobbed into his hands. “It’s not my fault,” He repeated in loud sobs. “It’s not your fault.” Stan echoes. 

✶ Ford handled his grief and stress by huddling himself in the lab, isolating himself from Stan’s drunken state and researching his work. Trying to find loopholes that he can tie them close with a workaround, with a quick fix that would bring you back. Cans of beer were discarded around his lab, just the same as upstairs. But he wasn’t downing beers like Stan, he chugged one or two to dull out the ache in his heart, to keep it from distracting him. He knew when to stop and limit himself. He wasn’t dependent on alcohol. Sleep was something Ford considered useless. That would only distract him from his work, from his progress. Stan walked into the lab, puffing a gray smoke of air out onto the air. Your absence has bestowed so much despair onto the pair and he hadn’t realized until this very moment. Walking over to Ford, he placed a hand on his back. He was messily sleeping on top of his work, glasses hanging off his face, mouth open, drool dribbling down to his arms and paper. His dark circles were so dark and he was unshaven, chin stubbly with hair. Has he been getting any sleep? He wouldn’t know because he’s always drinking the day away. Stan internally groaned at himself. Not only has been neglecting himself, he’s been neglecting his brother. Burning out the cigar, he grabbed a blanket from upstairs and draped it over Ford. “Sleep tight, Stanford.” He said, gingerly squeezing his arm. Stan sat right next to him, wanting to keep him company and dozed off. When morning came, Ford awoke to Stan’s head colliding with his chair. For that one morning, Stan’s snores were music to his ears. 

✶ “S-Stanley!” Ford’s body lunges up from the couch when he sees Stan briskly pass by him and into the kitchen. “I-I’ve done some research and I-I think I found a way to get [Name] back!” He stumbles over his words, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on his foggy brain. The only thing that is keeping him up as of now is coffee he had been taking in shots for the past few days. The way he moves is fidgety and erratically and Stan takes notice of that. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself in a mug, he leans his back against the counter. “You need sleep, Stanford.” He brings the rim of the mug to his lips, his eyes never leaving Ford’s trembling figure as he takes a big gulp from his coffee. Ford couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Stan spoke to him! It was measly four words, but that’s more than he has ever said in the past five months, that wasn’t angry nonsensical words that were being thrown at him or depressing drunken babbling. “No, there’s so much to be done.” Ford runs a hand through his unkempt hair. “You need to hear me out. We need to find the other two–” Stan shushes him. “I won’t talk to you until ya sleep, Stanford. Don’t you bother trying to back out from this.” He looks at Ford with a stern expression, almost the same one Mom wore whenever he warned Ford to not do anything stupid in the backyard with Stan. “B-But!” Stan doesn’t hear his weak objections, he’s already out of the kitchen before Ford can conjure a good enough excuse. With a groan, Ford trips over his own feet while he makes his way back to the couch. Pushing all his research and books off the couch and onto the floor, he topples over the couch. When his head crashes on the soft plush of his sofa, his body automatically shuts off, revealing how dangerously tired he was. His eyes fluttered close and it didn’t take long for him to crash out on the couch. Stan came in to check on Ford and was pleasantly pleased to see his twin at last getting the rest he deserved. 

✶ Clinking his fork idly on the ceramic plate, Stan watched Ford make breakfast. Originally Stan was going to prepare breakfast, but Ford saw he was cooking and pushed him out of the kitchen, telling him that it was “his treat,” Stan couldn’t even utter a single word to him. He just wanted simple scrambled eggs and toast and now he’s left to fear for his life as Ford concocts a science experiment for his breakfast. “And for you breakfast, Stanley.” Ford swoops in, leaning forward as he shuffles the plate of food onto the table. “Scrambled eggs and buttered toast,” Ford smiles knowingly, placing his breakfast down. He had the same breakfast but the crust of his toast was cut off. “I don’t even know why I doubted you.” Stan scoops up the scrambled eggs with his fork and shoves it in his mouth with giddy excitement, a display of emotions Ford hadn’t seen in over 10 years. Who knew a simple breakfast would get him so happy? “Still being a baby about the crust?” He points to Ford’s crustless buttered toast with his fork, mouth muffled with food still being chewed in his mouth. Ford cringes at the sight of mashed up food in Stan’s mouth, suppressing a gag as he nods his head. “Chew your food before talking, Stanley! We’re not kids anymore.” He rasps out, his palm covering his mouth, his body shuddering with full body heaves. “Alright, alright!” With a loud gulp, he swallows his scrambled eggs. “Happy now?” Said Stan with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe not,” Using his other hand, Ford pushes the plate of eggs away. “Don’t want to eat anymore,” Stan shrugs, pouring the scrambled eggs on the plate. “More for me!” As Stan is chowing down on his eggs, Ford regains his composure. Though, he couldn’t watch Stan eat his eggs without the image of the yellow goopy food in his mouth so he averted his gaze to his hands. 

✶ “[Name] sure had grown up the last time I saw them.” This was Ford’s feeble attempt at sprouting a conversation with Stan, but he soon regretted what he said when he realized the fragility of the topic. Stan blinks, stunned. A beat passes and Ford’s ready to divert the conversation to another topic when Stan replies with a weird look on his face Ford can’t quite catch. “Well, yeah,” Stan looks off to the side. Ford lets out a breath of relief, Stan wasn’t upset at the mention of you. “They left with me when you and Dad kicked me out and we haven’t seen each other since then.” There’s a distant look in his eyes when he speaks, his words carrying a light anger to them ever so slightly. “How were th–” Stan shoots up, the chair skidding behind him. “Just because we’re all chummy now doesn’t mean you get to ask all about [Name].” The sudden shift in his emotions slapped Ford right in his face. “I’m sorry.” Ford whispers. Stan clicks his tongue, uttering to himself before shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry.” Stan rubs the sides of his head with his fingers. “Let’s not talk about them right now, okay? I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Stan pulls the chair to him and sits down. He rests his head on his fist, eyebrows pinched together with a long frown on his face. “I didn’t mean to blow up on ya like that.” Stan looks Ford in the eyes, and he could see the sincere sadness swimming in his eyes. “It’s okay, Stanley. Why don’t we talk about what you do for a living?” With that, they eased themselves into a comfortable conversation, with a few hiccups here and there, but in the end, the twins both had a soft smile adoring their faces.

✶ The repairing of the portal was a stepping stone that repaired Ford’s and Stan’s relationship. They weren’t going to lie and say that their relationship now was perfect, they still had their moments of anger and differences, but with a lot and a lot of patience, their bond was soon regaining its spark. “Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan slapped a sloppily written plan on how to fix the portal in front of Ford. “What is this?” Ford looked at the piece of paper like it was garbage. “A plan to fix the portal, isn’t it obvious?” Stan snatched his paper back up, eyes speedily reading his work, doubting his work. “Stanley, that is unnecessary. I have the blueprints to fix the portal.” Discarding his plan, he slapped his hands enthusiastically, rubbing them together. “Alright! So where are they?” Ford sucks in a breath. “In the other journals.” Stan nodded his head slowly, as if that information was already obvious. “And where are the other journals?” Ford coughs into his fist, speedily saying; “I hid them.” Stan looks at him weirdly. “Can’t we just unhide them?” Ford rubs a hand up against his prickly cheek. “That’s the thing. I may or may not remember where I hid them.” Closing his eyes, he braced for the gust of angry yelling. “you WHAT?!” Stan’s hands flew to the side of his head. “How do you forget where you put them?!” Stan made a mental note to mark down how many times Ford screwed up, so far he has two. He has a long way to go before he could be anywhere near Stan’s record. “I was in a flurry of panic! I wasn’t thinking straight.” Stan groaned, smacking his face with his hand. “Was it at least in Gravity Falls?” Stan had his fingers crossed. “Yes, obviously.” A triumph “Yes!” leaves Stan. “Okay, let’s get digging then!” 

✶ Stan severely underestimated how truly difficult it would be finding one of the books in a forest that seemed like it stretched out for miles. Every turn looks the same and whenever he’d think he’s making progress, he’s right back where he started, at least he thinks he is. Frustrated, he bangs his head on a tree. The sound of metal clanging rang in his ears and shook through the tree. He groaned, holding his head with one hand as he curiously examined the possible metal tree. “Stanley!” Ford came running to Stan’s side, panting heavily. He wasn’t used to running for more than 5 seconds, and that was evidently proven with his flushed face and out of breath wheezes. “This tree is metal,” Stan notes, taking a few steps back, winding his leg back and hammering his shoe into the tree. The tree simply shook, the metal sound nowhere to be heard. “What?” Stan can feel his brain heating up, he couldn’t make any sense of this. The tree he kicked felt like a tree, not some metal contraption. It was only when he knocked his head—An idea springs to mind. Leaning his head back, he slammed his head on the tree. Shocked noises sputter out of Ford as he watches Stan rub the sore spot in his head. “There’s something here,” He gestures to the general area where he smashed his head in. “I can see that!” Ford walks up to the tree, knuckles gently knocking on the metal plate that was disguised as a tree. His hands move around the tree, searching for a way to open the plate. His fingers snag on an elevated piece of tree and with his fingertips, he swings it open, revealing a control panel. The memories of constructing this rush to his mind. “I remember now!” He flips a switch, his head turning over to where the large log rested. In front of it, a patch of grass was pulled back to unravel the hidden place where book three was. Ford eagerly snatched the book in his hands, showcasing it to Stan. “Great job, Stanford!” He claps Ford’s back. “So where’s the other one, you remember?” Unfortunately for the both of them, Ford doesn’t remember. He had seemed to bury most of his memories after meeting Bill Cipher, anything beyond that point was an empty mess for him.

✶ With the two books in hand, they managed to tinker and repair the damage to their best efforts. After each exhausting night in the lab, he’d attempt to pull the lever in hopes that whatever they did that day would work and to their utter disappointment, it never dislodge from its spot. “Man,” Stan wipes his forehead with his forearm, sweat glistening on his arm. “For a brainiac like you, I would’ve never imagined you being terrible at building this!” Stan barked with a laugh. Ford scoffed, his attention laser focused on fixing a part of the machine. “How did you manage to build the portal in the first place?” Stan wondered, the flashlight he was using to help Ford see what he was doing began to steer away. “Stanley,” Ford snapped. “The light!” Stan jolted up in surprise, the light quickly going back to Ford. “Sorry,” He sheepishly said. “But seriously, how did you build this?” He looked at Ford curiously. “I had an assistant.” Ford mumbled, a leak of oil dotting his clothes. He hissed, grabbing a tool off the ground to fix whatever started leaking. “Had? What happened?” Ford hummed happily. He had fixed the leak. Placing the tool back down to the floor, he directed his attention to Stan. “He quit.” Ford scratched his head, unintentionally smearing oil on his cheek with his hand. “Why?” Stan tossed him a piece of clean cloth, silently motioning to his cheek. Ford took it, wiping his cheek with the cloth. “He, uh,” If Ford told Stan that he went inside the portal momentarily and came out completely traumatized, Stan would go berserk on him knowing that you went inside the exact portal that mentally ruined Fiddleford. Ford did not want to go back to the arguing and suffocating silence so he lied. “He just thought what I was doing was unethical.” That wasn’t a complete and total lie, but it was far from the truth. Stan bought the lie fortunately for Ford. “Glad at least someone had the brain to call a quits!” 

✶ Before they knew it, they were tremendously low on money. Stan was the unfortunate one to discover this revelation. On a quick supply run, Stan had gone to the grocery store and stock up on some food. When the cashier rang up him, totaling his price to 30 dollars, Stan had pulled out a penny, paper clip and a wrapper. Mentally cursing Ford for spending all his money on unnecessary science stuff, he weakly smiled at the cashier. “Can you hold onto my groceries for a quick second?” The cashier nodded their, a big bright smile on their face. “Of course, stranger!” And right when Stan was going to snag the groceries bags in his hurried rush, a woman spoke from behind him. “Hey, that’s no stranger! That must be the mysterious science guy in the woods!” She points, gathering a crowd around Stan. “Ah, no. That’s my nerdy twin brother.” Stan says, causing the crowd to coo in interest. “There’s two of them?” Someone in the crowd asked. “He probably cloned himself just so he could do two things at once!” Someone else said. “That’s probably what happened. I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack.” Toby Determined spoke up. “Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!” Daryl added. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up in there!” Pa said. Susan perked up at that. “Oh, me too! Do you ever give tours?” 

✶ A sly smirked pulled to Stan’s face. He had the perfect idea. “Yes, I do give tours! Ten…no-no fifteen bucks a person!” The crowd erupts in cheers, waving their green bills around. “Is it possible we get to see the man of mystery himself?” Susan questions. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” Stan eluded them to think that there was no possible way to get to Ford to gauge their reactions. And what they gave him sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. “You know what?” The crowd lightens up with hope. “Fifty bucks if you all want to see the man of mystery himself!” Another boisterous cheer from the crowd. “And what did you say your name was, twin of mister mystery?” Stan smiled proudly. “Stanley, Stanley Pines.”

✶ The crowd bustles into the shack, ooo’s and aaa’a left their mouths in awe of the place. “Step right up folks to a world of,” he pauses for a moment thinking. “A world of enchantment!” He gestures to all the wild findings. Grabbing a dial box with two antennae, he showcases it to the crowd. “Behold! The um, nerdy science box.” Susan looked at it with interest. The device rumbled to life and zapped her in the eye, rendering it closed. “Ah, my eye!” She covers her closed eye, stumbling back. “Uh, I can assure you, that is no way permanent!” He offers an uneasy smile. “I paid sixty five dollars for this!?” With Susan’s comment, the whole crowd erupted in complaints. Quickly thinking, he grabs a skeleton and makes a half-assed joke where the last customers didn’t make it out alive. The crowd laughs at his horrible joke and Stan smiles. “What is with all this ruckus?” Ford walks in, irritation evident on his face. “Is that him?” Someone excitedly shrieks from the crowd. “Oh my god, it is! Take my money!” Wads of dollar bills get thrown at Stan who was making a great effort to make sure he caught all of them. “Stanley, what did you do!”

✶ After answering a few questions he was coaxed into, (they stroked his ego), he kicked them out, accidentally saying that they could return another time before closing the door, smacking himself in the head. “What was that?” Stan turned over to Ford,  buckets of money shoved inside into his shirt. “I got us money! And look how much we got!” He pulls a ten dollar bill from his stack in his shirt. “Stanford, this the best thing that’s ever happened to us so far.” Ford looks at him, unsure. “I’m not a fan of ripping people off,” Stan’s hands fall to his sides. “It’s their choice to throw money at me like a madman. Listen, if we get more money, we can stock up on good materials to fix the portal, like really good parts and we can finally bring [Name] back.” Ford stewed in his thoughts for a little more. He hated to admit, but Stan was right. With a little more money, they could be sailing straight to victory with a higher chance of your return. Ford let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but I don’t want you to mess with my stuff, got it?” Stan beamed brightly. “I promise!” He broke that later on. 

✶ Gradually, the scary shed in the woods turned into a tourist spot people would frequent. Together, they advertised the shack by plastering various signs and posters all over the woods. They even went as far to tape advertisements onto people’s windows. Ford wanted to use actual beasts he had found in the woods to show to people, but in the end they all ran away, horrified for their lives. Ford was respectfully peeved because when he’d glance over to Stan, he had somehow had the crowd hanging on to every word that spilled out of his mouth. And when he’d show the crudely sewed animal he had made within five minutes before the tour started, they all gasped in delight, their money flying to him. “How do you do it?” Ford asks as Stan closes the door, reveling in the pool of money he had made. “I just say whatever comes to mind.” Stan shrugs. “But none of your stories make any sense logically! How did they believe in a half beaver half bat?” He gestures to the taxidermy animal. The beady eyes were slowly sliding off its face, leaving a trail of glue. “Hey, the people love to spend their money on things that are obviously fake, weirdly enough.” The door rattles with a knock. “Wanna take this next crowd? I gotta sort this money.” Against his will, not really, Ford opens the door and flashes an award winning smile he had learned from Stan. Cash was already being shoved in his face. At least he earns money for looking good. Ford attempted Stan’s whole shtick and to his very surprise it worked! It wasn’t as good as Stan’s performance, but it worked well enough that people were swarming him with cash. His bitterness from before was quickly washed over and he continued on his act. When the crowd dispersed, satisfied with their tour. Stan was there in the middle, clapping widely. “That was some good acting there, Ford!” Ford smiled, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m only doing this cause we need the money.” 

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz if you wanna be added to my taglist, dm me or comment! <3

Next ->

[solbaby7]

Seen

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: possible swearing but this is mainly just fluff, maybe a splash of sexual tension but I love a good slow burn when it comes to azzyboy

summary: Nosy by nature, you follow a few stray shadows somewhere you know you don’t belong—better not get caught

—

You shouldn’t be here.

You definitely shouldn’t be here.

But everytime you stopped, tried to turn back and go where you came, those little shadows stopped you. Wrapping around your legs like snakes, pulling at your clothes and gently pushing you forward down a dark hallway with only one door.

You knew you shouldn’t have touched it.

But the little shadows twisted the knob for you, door opening with a slow creek.

“Absolutely not,” You say to the hovering shadow, unsure if it could understand you but the way it curled around your shoulders and urged you forward seemed like a “actually, you will”.

It was a little colder in here, a room filled to the brim with all sorts of treasures. Weapons hang neatly against the wall above the fireplace, swords sharper than the jagged rocks weathered by the crashing tide deep below the mountains. Armor and fighting leathers of all sizes and stitching hang on a rack in the corner, perfectly clean save a few random holes—war wounds you concluded.

But whose?

The answer becomes more apparent when you prod a little further, carefully observing rare books; some with languages carved on the spine you hadn’t even known existed. Paintings hang on the wall, some of landscapes, a few of the Night Court, but one makes your eyes widen—the painting Feyre had made for Azriel.

You step back immediately, the shadow holding at your arm to brace you. “I really shouldn’t be in here.” You whisper at it, fixing the papers on the desk you’d stumbled into.

“No, you really shouldn’t.”

Your body freezes, hands stuck in place over the little wooden figurine you’d knocked over and the profanity that slips out is nothing above a whisper. “I swear I wasn’t snooping.”

It definitely looks like you’re snooping, hands all over personal paperwork that once you squinted your eyes to look at, you realize they’re reports; mission debriefs, important information that you certainly shouldn’t know and the whine that pulls in your distress, Azriel actually finds kind of cute. “Okay.” There’s no reading the expression on his face, dark hair tumbling down his shoulders. His shirts unbuttoned, golden brown skin capturing your attention and you force your eyes away before you get caught up in the giant wings tucked behind him. “Why are you here?”

Your fear morphs into anger, pointer finger jabbing at the two shadows slinking about your feet, nearly fully hidden if it weren’t for the smoke like wisps that curled in the air. “They made me, I swear. I didn’t even open the door.”

Azriel says nothing, wings ruffling when he beckoned them, silently commanding they return but the shadows don’t obey. They hide behind your frame, flitting about your clothes and one settles around the back of your neck like a sleepy cat. “Interesting.”

“They’re kinda cute,” You admit softly, eyes transfixed on the newest addition to your shoulders and when your fingers come to touch it, it feels cool. “—if they weren’t so naughty.” As if remembering you’re not alone you look back up, hand lowering back down to your sides as you stand there awkwardly. “But, I suppose I didn’t exactly fight them that hard—I was a little curious.”

“Dangerous thing, curiosity. People have killed over less.”

It takes everything in you not to step back because even though the words are slightly threatening, they aren’t untrue. “I apologize—I’ll go now.”

“If you weren’t actually snooping through my papers,” Azriel begins, the shadows attached to him preventing you from going any further and the two connected to you reach out to the others—bumping against one another like bees communicating where the most pollen was. A few more reach out to you, curiously prodding at your clothes, your hair, curling around your arm and gliding through the gaps of your fingers. “What were you looking at?”

You answer quickly albeit a little distracted by the smoky darkness crawling up your shirt and around your neck. “I was—“ Your breath catches when they squeeze a little, blush fanning. “Can you get them off please?”

“Believe it or not,” You dare look up at him and find that he looks just as flustered as you by his shadows. “I’m trying but they’re not really responding to me at the moment.”

Panic is evident on your face and the swirling gems containing the true extent of his power behinds to glow a little, shadows being pulled back like a magnet no matter how hard they latch on. “Does that happen often.”

Azriel’s hand reached out, snatching at one that dared try to pull away. He doesn’t look at you when he tucks it back with the others. “No.”

There’s a pause, a silence that’s not exactly uncomfortable but you still feel the need to fill it when you skim over parts of the room you hadn’t been able to explore before. “What is all of this stuff?” You’re moving before you can tell your feet to stop, settling before a glass cabinet filled with all sorts of precious gems, glimmering necklaces and two neatly hung dresses and though neither are quite as high quality as the stones; your hand still hovers over them, fingertips millimeters from the shiny glass. “It’s beautiful.”

You don’t hear anything for some time, too entranced with the golden arm cuff that had been carefully designed into a vine with detailed leaves and stems that seemed to grow the longer you stared at it. “They’re for,” Azriels voice is low, clearing his throat when his breath catches slightly. “—they were for my mother.”

Were.

You don’t look at him, granting him the gift of privacy because it was obvious this wasn’t exactly an easy subject and even more clear that procuring this many words from him was a feat in itself. You hum instead, trying to appear as casual as possible as you appreciate items not meant for other eyes—treasures meant for a someone who was no longer with us. “She must’ve been lovely—probably a bit complex,” You say without thinking. “Probably really kind too and good with nature,” You add, looking back at the arm cuff.

A blush forms when you finally turn to face him again, his mouth is slightly agape and you can’t quite put your finger on the way he’s staring at you. “You get all that from some jewelry?”

You scoff as if they’re your own, defending them like you’d picked them yourself. “They’re not just jewelry. Look at how intricate the pieces are,” You point at them, never touching the glass in fear of leaving a fingerprint or possibly breaking it. “Each and every one of them probably look careful thought and planning and endless hours of time spent bringing it to life. The care; the love put into them it’s—“ You let out a breath, realizing how fast you were talking and how quick you were breathing. Suddenly, you feel shy with his eyes studying you. “It’d be a disservice to just call them jewelry when it’s so clear her soul’s in every piece.”

Azriel’s not a man of many words, so you don’t force them. Instead you dip you head in farewell, returning the clingy shadows and making way to leave when you hear a whisper so soft you nearly mistake it for the wind. “I thought so too.”

[slu7formen]

But imagine homewrecker!Luke x fem Aphrodite!reader, where reader’s already in a relationship but Luke just wants her sooo bad, so he flirts with her when no ones looking, teases her, and absolute shits on the man shes’s with in every opportunity he gets (there’s a scene from Avatar legend of Korra where she says to Mako “yeah, but when you’re with her you’re thinking about me, aren’t you?” And I can see him saying the same thing to her while giving her the most devius smirk EVER) she’s only “human” so she gives in eventually and it could be smut in the end (could you pretty please write something like this <33)

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

idk who you are but you’re a genius, I fucking love you for this

warnings: luke’s a home wrecker but that OKAY because it’s him, also he’s so mean, kinda possessive, mention of masturbation, lil smut towards the end (oral, f receiving)

₊˚⊹♡

Another night. Sleep, the supposed thing he´s been wanting all day, remained out of reach. It had been like this for weeks, a relentless torment that gnawed at his insides with the intensity of a starving Furie. And who´s fault was it? You.

He groaned against his pillow, the sheet sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty torso. Night after night, it was the same, but he couldn´t help himself, how could he keep himself from thinking about you? Being an Aphrodite´s daughter, you simply stood out from the rest, but there was something more.

The way you carried yourself; applying the smallest amount of makeup that managed to accentuate your features, making your eyes sparkle and your lips look impossibly kissable. Your voice, seductive even when you didn´t mean for it to be. Even the hideous orange camp shirt, a piece of clothing that seemed designed to make someone look dowdy, couldn't diminish your aura. He could practically smell the faint scent of your perfume, a mix of coconut and something inexplicably you, that lingered in the air even after you’d left.

It was an obsession, a problem. He wasn´t naive though, he knew he wasn't the only one who felt this way about you. How boys tripped on their own feet and walk straight into trees because of you, but that was then. Because there was a tiny, slight problem now.

You were taken.

The feeling was hot and acid. You weren't his to have. You belonged to someone else, a possession proudly displayed by your ever-present boyfriend, a hulking son of Ares who never seemed to leave your side. And Luke shouldn’t feel this way, he knows it. He shouldn't feel the hot wave of need to break the guy´s jaw every time he saw you with him.

You were happy, he was sure of it, you showed it. Your mother was the goddess of love, so you surely enjoyed it when you had it wrapped around your hands. But with him, you could be even happier. You deserved more. You deserved him. Luke let out a low growl, no-, he deserved you.

Luke could take everything you had for him and more, things that he was sure, your boyfriend couldn´t, and never will be able to.

He should feel scared about some Hypnos kid sweeping into his dreams accidentally and taking a glimpse of his dreams. How he wanted to begin to play, to have his own fun. He was determined to play for keeps.

And you, his prize, would be his reward.

Luke wasn't stupid. He wouldn't blatantly flaunt his desires in front of your man. No, his approach was far more subtle, a slow burn.

It started with those little greetings. A passing "Hey there, pretty" as he walked by you on his way to archery practice, his armor straps purposefully being adjusted in a way that accentuated the broadness of his shoulders. You'd respond with a simple "Hi" a smile playing on your glossy lips as you continued your conversation with your sister, both of you blissfully unaware of the first move in his carefully calculated game.

He began weaving himself into your periphery, appearing near you at mealtimes, offering unsolicited help with chores, lingering just a tad too long during conversations.

It couldn't be denied, Luke was undeniably handsome. You always knew he was attractive, a dark-haired rebel with an edge that appealed to a certain kind of girl. He had a way of carrying himself, a cocky self-assurance that some could find arrogant, but others, like you, couldn't help but find strangely magnetic. Being a daughter of Aphrodite, you were keenly aware of the power of charm, and Luke possessed it in spades.

You found yourself strangely drawn to it.

But he had to act faster than that.

He'd find you reading under a tree, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting an ethereal glow around you. He'd saunter over, a slow, predatory grace in his movements.

"Mind if I join you, beautiful?"

You looked up, rolling your eyes playfully. "My boyfriend's gonna kill you if he hears you calling me that" you chuckled, flipping a page of your book.

Luke, for a split second, allowed a flicker of irritation to cross his features, quickly masked by a sardonic smile. "Blame it on your mother, then. I can't help but speak the truth."

You couldn't help but bite your lip, a laugh bubbling up in your chest as he settled next to you comfortably, arm bumping your own.

"What are you reading?" he asked, his voice dropping a fraction lower as he leaned closer, the scent of leather filling your senses.

You mumbled the title, the close proximity of his body making you uncomfortably aware of the heat radiating from him. It took him a hot minute to open his mouth again, a almost mockery sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back on his elbows.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping even lower, "Your boyfriend doesn't seem to be around much lately."

You bit your lip, a mixture of annoyance and something else entirely bubbling within you. "He has his own training schedule, Luke" you pointed out, your voice taking on a slight comprehensive edge.

He nodded slowly, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Of course" he drawled, stretching the word out like a piece of taffy. "But it´s been quite some time, right? Does he always leave you alone like this?"

You shrugged your shoulders. “He doesn´t” you stammered. “He´s just-, busy”

Busy. In summer. Gods, you were so…

Fucking cute.

He couldn't help but find it incredibly mesmerizing and astonishing, the way you were so transparently in love with your boyfriend, a love that Luke was determined to break, piece by piece. It only fueled his perverse desire to rip that very love away, to replace your blind devotion with a burning desire for him. He didn't want to break your heart — not exactly. He just wanted to re-route it, to steer its affection towards him.

The once-casual hangouts became more frequent. Tonight, you found yourself huddled next to him at the flickering bonfire. You chat casually, occasionally finding yourself hypnotized by the way his adam´s apple bobbed up and down every time he spoke.

“New skirt?” he then asked. He knew he shouldn't be looking, shouldn't have allowed his gaze to drop to the way the fabric clung to your thighs, drawing his attention to the delicious way they were pressed together ever since the moment you sat down. Yet, he couldn't help himself. The image seared itself into his memory, a forbidden fruit he desperately wanted to taste.

"Yeah" you chirped, a playful lilt in your voice. "You noticed?" There was a glint in your eyes, a spark of something that made his pulse quicken. Had he ever noticed your clothes before? Gods, yes, he knew every article in your meager wardrobe — the worn out oxford jeans, the simple white t-shirts that hugged your curves just perfectly, the tight cargo shorts, and now, this new skirt that showcased your legs in a way that made his blood run hot.

But he wouldn´t tell you that.

"Of course I noticed" he replied, forcing a casualness he didn't feel.

"Really?" you pressed, looking down at your clothes.

"You're impossible to miss” he pointed out. “It´s pretty” one of his fingers playfully tugged at the edge of your skirt, stealing a short giggle from you.

Your smile faltered for a moment though, a flicker of something crossing your face that Luke couldn't quite decipher. “He didn´t notice, you know?” you say.

A smug satisfaction bloomed in Luke's chest. Now, what could be better fuel for his twisted plan than a little unspoken resentment towards your oblivious boyfriend?

"Didn't notice?" he feigned obliviousness, milking the moment for all its worth.

"The skirt" you explain, kicking your feet playfully in the dirt. "Don´t really know why I care, though. He doesn't pay much attention to these things”

There it was, the confirmation he craved. Your fucking dumb boyfriend was failing you in all the ways that truly mattered. And Luke, oh, Luke was more than happy to fill that void.

In the mean way.

"Well, he's an idiot then" Luke stated firmly, his voice low and intense.

“Luke” you whined.

“What?” he cut you off with a humorless laugh, the sound tinged with a bitterness that made you uneasy. "Is it because of his busy schedule?" he mocked, his eyes narrowing. “Can’t say nice things to his girlfriend?”

You stared at him for a moment, your gaze unwavering. Your brows furrowed in a frown, and you tilted your head slightly, studying him with an intensity that made Luke suddenly feel analyzed. You leaned in, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. The movement brought you closer. His breath hitched a second as your eyes met his, framed by those long, mesmerizing lashes. It was as if you were looking not just at him, but right through him, searching for something.

"Why do you hate him so much?" you blurted out, the question tumbling from your lips before you could stop yourself.

Luke scoffed, the sound harsh and dismissive. "I don't hate him" he stated, but his voice lacked conviction. You raised your eyebrows, hiding a smile forming on your lips. “Hey, I mean it” he insisted, playfully pushing at your shoulder. "Just… feels like you're with someone who doesn't pay attention to you" he continued, his voice low and intense.

The casual tone he used, disarming and friendly, made you physically jolt a little. Luke managed to bite his tongue, swallow the jealousy and anger like a thick pill. He was a master manipulator. He wouldn't play his hand this early.

Unease settled in your stomach. "It's not always like that" you mumbled defensively.

"No?" he countered, his gaze unwavering. The firelight danced in his eyes, you couldn't help but look away, his intensity a little too much to handle.

"No" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper. "It's not his fault he's not interested in the things I like."

"Yeah, but you’re interested in everything about him, right?" Luke pressed, his voice soft but laced with something like a challenge, making you think twice before you answer.

His words hit a nerve, and you found yourself looking down at your lap, picking at a loose thread on your skirt. He was right, of course.

The silence stretched. A slow, teasing smile played on Luke's lips. He saw the doubt creeping into your eyes, the seed of discontent he'd been carefully planting beginning to sprout.

"You should find someone else, sweetheart" he said finally, his voice a husky murmur. He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair that had escaped your braid and gotten caught in your earring.

You met his gaze, your eyes wide and searching. The playful banter had completely vanished, replaced by a tension so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.

"There are a couple of guys out there," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "who would kill for you to even look at them." He punctuated his sentence with a quick wink.

You breath out a nervous laugh, heat flooding to your cheeks. "You're such a drama queen, Luke" you finally managed, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"’M not sure about that" he conceded, leaning back slightly, but never taking his eyes off you. "But sometimes that´s what you need. A little drama, excitement. Could make you see things a little clearer”

Days went by, and the conversation with Luke replayed on loop in your head.

´Drama. Excitement´

On the surface, everything seemed fine. Your boyfriend was kind, reliable, everything you thought you wanted. It felt comfortable and safe, yet… predictable. That sparkle that Luke talked about, that was absent.

You´d try to shake off your thoughts. One moment you'd convince yourself it was all a silly game you were willing to play. The next, you'd find yourself lost in a daydream, picturing Luke's dark eyes burning into yours, his voice, his touch. You tried to maintain a facade of normalcy, telling yourself he was just a friend, a confidante.

But the traitorous part of you craved more.

Luke, meanwhile, felt like a predator closing in on his prey. Your growing confusion fueled his ambition, every stolen glance, every conversation, a victory in his twisted and sick game. He watched your boyfriend with growing contempt, the sight of his hand roaming in the curves of your body making him clench his fists in rage. It should be him, Luke, pulling you close at night in his bed, whispering in your ear. He yearned to see you smile for him. He yearned to claim you, to make you his own for once and for all.

So his façade started to fall off. His possessiveness became more blatant, his touches lingering a fraction of a second too long. His calculating approach was slowly giving way to a burning need, a possessive hunger he couldn't suppress much longer.

One night at the bonfire, while everyone enjoyed a good time and shared laughter and music, Luke didn´t see you there. He shifted his gaze to his surroundings, his attention snagged on the figure of you nestled deeper into the shadows.

As usual, you were captivating, your animated expression and rapid-fire gestures suggesting a heated conversation with someone unseen. The distance made it impossible to discern the words, but the set of your jaw and the slight flush creeping up your neck told a clear story – you were arguing.

Then he noticed. It was your boyfriend.

And as soon as he saw you storm off in anger, alone, into the woods. He followed.

He kept a safe distance, ensuring you wouldn't notice his presence. The woods, shrouded in darkness except for the occasional sliver of moonlight filtering through the leaves, were easy to navigate for him. Finally, he spotted you. You were huddled on the floor, your knees drawn up to your chest, a muffled groan escaping your lips.

“Hey” he called out softly.

You spun around. Luke´s figure stood behind you, hands in his cargo pockets, the shadows painting his face. “Hi” you reply, getting on your feet again, turning to him.

He knew what he wanted to say, what he needed to say for you to dip into his arms. But he was good at playing dumb too, so he waited a little more.

"Um… is everything alright?" he asked, feigning concern.

You crossed your arms over your chest, a shadow of your earlier anger flickering in your eyes. "Yeah, just…" you trailed off, searching for the right words. "Feeling the need to punch something that's not my boyfriend's face."

A sardonic chuckle escaped Luke's lips. "Now that's a feeling I can relate to," he said, taking a tentative step closer. You shot him a glare. “That´s a joke, sweetheart” he added. He didn´t manage to make you laugh, but you rolled your eyes and your lips curved into a small smile.

You leaned back against the rough bark of a tree, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Luke's voice asked, gently. He was standing a few feet away from you.

"It's been like this for days" you finally began, your voice thick with frustration. "And it's my fault. He says I'm acting weird, different, like something's in my head” You sigh “And maybe he's right."

Luke followed your gaze as it drifted to a patch of wildflowers growing at your feet. "So he just can't stand you having second thoughts about your relationship?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

You bristled at his words. "I never said I'm having second thoughts," you defended, a spark of defiance igniting in your eyes.

"But you are" he countered, his voice low and steady.

You shook your head, the movement sharp and jerky. "No" you insisted, a tremor in your voice betraying a touch of uncertainty. "I don't want to leave him, but…" Your voice trailed off, and you shifted your gaze, avoiding his eyes. "That conversation we had," you continued softly, your voice barely above a whisper, "what you said. It got me thinking."

A surge of satisfaction coursed through Luke. Bingo. He'd managed to plant the seeds of doubt, to make you question a relationship that once seemed solid.

"Yeah?" he pressed, his voice barely a murmur, encouraging you to elaborate.

You paused, your brow furrowed in concentration. It was strange, you were confiding in him, this boy who was practically your opposite. Yet, his words had resonated with you, stirred something you hadn't quite acknowledged before.

"Or maybe you're just trying to get to my head 'cause you never liked him" you suddenly accused, a hint of suspicion coloring your voice.

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "Maybe" he admitted shamelessly.

Doubt flickered in your eyes, chasing away the spark of defiance just as quickly as it appeared. "What are you trying to do, Luke?" you asked, your voice dropping to a soft whisper. "It feels like you're always trying to say something else to me," you continued, your voice barely above a breath, "but you never do."

The way you spoke, the vulnerability in your tone, it wrapped around Luke's brain and squeezed. His ears popped, a strange sensation accompanying the warmth that spread through his chest. You noticed. You saw the shift within him, the way his carefully constructed facade began to crack.

"Do you want me to be honest?" he finally asked, his voice husky and laced with a dangerous honesty.

You nodded, mesmerized by the raw intensity radiating from him. Gods, you were so naive, so blissfully unaware of the storm brewing within him. Luke wouldn't, couldn't, reveal the full extent of his obsession. He wouldn't confess to the months he'd spent dreaming about you, the way he'd snuck into your cabin late at night to steal something from your dresser, just to have a piece of you close. He wouldn´t confess how he let his mind race to the most sinful places, digging into thoughts about you that would eventually leave to him jerking one off in the bathroom.

He wasn't going to scare you away. No, his plan was far more subtle, a slow seduction that would eventually have you falling helplessly into his arms. He was going to peel back his facade just enough, letting you see a glimpse of the man beneath the rebellious exterior, a man who craved you and would treat you the way you deserved.

So he took another step closer.

"I can't stop thinking about you, yn" he confessed, his voice a husky murmur that sent shivers down your spine. The words hit you like a physical blow, unexpected and raw. A scoff escaped your lips, a nervous reaction to the sudden shift in the dynamic. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

“Gods, Luke, you´re-,” you cut yourself off when his fingers brushed against your chin, gently tilting your face back towards his.

"It's true" he continued, his voice laced with a desperate honesty. "And I can't handle the fact that you're with someone who doesn't deserve you."

“Don´t be ridiculous, Luke” you say.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze roaming over your face. "You're perfect, yn" he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "So beautiful, so smart. And you know it. Yet you settle for someone who takes you for granted. That's a little dumb of you, isn't it?"

The last sentence, delivered with a playful smirk, should have stung. It should have made you angry. But instead, a strange warmth bloomed in your chest. Perhaps it was the forbidden nature of the conversation, the way he was making you feel like a coveted prize.

And a terrible truth dawned on you - you weren't entirely innocent in this either. You had been feeling the same pull towards him, a flicker of something that went beyond friendship. You had enjoyed his attention, his way of seeing you, of truly seeing you.

But the reality of the situation slammed into you. "I have a boyfriend" you finally managed to say, your voice laced with a desperate attempt at determination.

He let out a chuckle, easily stepping on the thought of your boyfriend like some slug. "That´s a reminder to nobody but you, sweetheart"

Another tense silence. Luke raised his hand, placing it on the rough bark of the tree behind you, effectively trapping you.

"I know you've been thinking about what I said" he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of doubt, any flicker of vulnerability. And he found it.

Doubt, like a poisonous vine, slowly crept through your mind. His words, his raw honesty, had shaken the foundation of your relationship.

"But you think too much of it, angel" he continued, his voice a seductive coo. He used the nickname with such ease, as if it had always been his right.

He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking to a hair's breadth. His hand reached out, a single finger tracing the delicate outline of your jawline.

"There's nothing wrong with having a little fun sometimes" he whispered. "It's what you want, after all, right?” he tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. "Nobody's going to judge you" he continued, his voice a seductive promise. "It's just you and me. A little secret between us."

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Every fiber of your being screamed that this was wrong, a betrayal of everything you held dear. Yet, a part of you, a selfish, yearning part, craved the thrill he offered.

"Don't get me wrong, Luke" you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I… I want this" you confessed, the words catching in your throat. "But I can't. I'm taken and you know it." The words tasted bitter on your tongue, a lie even to your own ears.

A slow, evil smirk spread across his face. It wasn't the dangerous kind of thrill you craved, but a chilling realization of the game he was playing.

"Oh, I get you, sweetheart" he said, his voice dripping with a mockery that made you flinch. "But when you're with him, you think about me, don't you?" Gods, he'd caught you. You couldn't deny it. Even with the guilt gnawing at you, the truth was undeniable.

Luke leaned closer, the space between you shrinking with each passing breath. He tilted his head, his curls tickling your cheek. He wanted to kiss you. You knew it, felt it in the way his lips hovered a breath away from yours.

And he stayed there, asking, as your breaths tangled together in shared exhales.

"But this is wrong, Luke" you whispered, your last attempt to hold onto the remnants of your sanity.

“No, it´s not” he breathed out, and in a swift motion, he grabbed you by the back of your neck and smashed his lips against yours. The other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him.

It already surprassed your expectations the moment you felt his lips against yours. His desire was palpable, but it didn´t manifest as an animalistic manner. He was tender, passionate, and incredibly intoxicating.

His lips moved against yours in a way that left you breathless, his tongue pressing against yours and making it´s way inside your mouth with the fiflthiest wet sounds.

It was so delicious. You couldn´t imagine you´d find actual taste in someone´s lips, but whatever it was that Luke had on his, you wanted it all the time. He was hungry for you, pressing your back against the tree more and his hands travelled down to your hips, pulling you into his own.

But then you remembered; your boyfriend could be looking for you. "Luke?" you said. As you tried to speak, to convey some restraint, Luke´s kisses grew more insistent, refusing to let you utter a word. You attempted to push him away, but you only managed to rest your hands on his chest, pulling him closer instead by gripping fists on his shirt.

"Luke" you managed to call again. "We shouldn´t" you managed to murmur in between kisses, your words a weak attempt to resist the pull of his desire. But Luke only smirked into your lips, then started to softly, slowly, trail kisses down your neck.

"Just a little more, angel" he whispered against your skin a low and deep voice.

The sensation sent a shockwave through your body, each one drawing a sigh of pleassure from your lips as you instinctivily threw your head back, offering him more. The sensation was electric, leaving you squirming with anticipation under Luke´s skillful touch.

And then, he dropped to his knees.

His lips started to trail kisses on your knees and thighs, gripping on the soft flesh with his eyes up, looking at you, devouring you.

"Luke, no. Not here" you whispered, placing both hands on his shoulders in an attempt to resist the overwhelming power of his kisses. But he simply sushed you, drawing soft circles on your knees with his thumbs.

"Shhh" he cooed softly. "It´s okay, sweetheart. I´ll make you feel good, I promise" he reassured you, resuming his kisses up your legs.

You moaned when his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive part of your inner thigh. His hands found their way underneath your skirt, his touch already making you grow in excitement. He pulled your panties to the side with a confident ease.

Your clit was almost throbbing. Swollen and desperate for attention; he felt it the moment he dipped the tip of his finger on your entrace to coat over your sensitve bud with your own arousal.

"I´ll make you see what´s worth it, baby. Who is" he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with desire as he leaned in, dangerously.

"I´ll make you feel what the little bitch of your boyfriend can´t"

Your heart raced against your ribs at a scary pace. Partly because your boyfriend, or anyone, could walk into the scene, and partly because Luke´s head was burried in between your thighs, and he showed no signals of stopping anytime soon.

He was enthusiastic about it; gripping onto your legs and squeezing at the soft flesh as his tongue circled and licked in between your folds. You knew there was more to that, more that he wasn´t gonna show you yet, he was only getting started.

You moaned out loud and tugged at his curls when he pulled your lips apart with his thumbs and pressed a wet kiss straight to your clit, pulsing and desperate for attention, just like you were.

"Such a pretty girl" he planted a quick kiss on your inner thigh. "He doesn´t make you feel this good, does he?"

[thecharacterchronicler]

Snow Lands On Top (Pt. 2) || Coriolanus Snow X Reader || Smut

Outline: It’s the first round of the presidential elections and Coriolanus Snow’s results aren’t as good as he hoped. Fortunately, you’re there to give him an outlet for his frustration.

Word count: 3’081

Warnings: pregnancy (TTC), marriage of convenience, very explicit ROUGH smut.

Author’s note: I wrote this as a second part to There Will Come A Ruler, since a few people asked for it. I also wanted to thank you all for all the love I received since I started posting on this page a few days ago, it means the world to me! Still blows my mind that so many people bothered reading what I wrote! ♡

(( Part 1 - There Will Come A Ruler )) - (( Part 3 - Insatiable )) - (( Part 4 - The Bitter Taste Of My Fury ))

It only was your second time stepping inside the tall skyscraper that hosted your husband’s office - and headquarters. When the elevator doors opened in front of you, you instantly felt trapped, probably because the lobby was more crowded than what you expected. Even if something inside you was screaming for you to turn around and run the other way instead of losing yourself in this den of vipers, you had no choice but to do what duty required of you. You plastered a smile on your face, the one too bright and too joyful to let how miserable you really felt show, and entered the crowd, recognizing some familiar faces and greeting strangers pretending you also knew who they were. If they had been invited today to Coriolanus’s office, it meant they were important to him so you had to consider them as important to you as well.

“Hippity hoppity, there you are, little dove.” A voice sounded behind you. You heard it as clear as day despite the ambiant noise all around you, and a cold shiver ran down your spine. You turned to face who it belonged too, smiling even brighter to conceal the uneasiness you always felt around such an eccentric character.

“Volumnia Gaul, it’s good to see you again.”

“It’s been too long. But I suppose you’ve been quite busy trying to fulfill your duties.” She said, throwing a knowing glance down to your stomach.

“Of course, there’s never a dull moment since I became Coriolanus’ wife.” You smiled, in yet another attempt to conceal your lies. You had been miserable and bored during most of the year you’ve been married, and although you were good at acting by now, the way Dr Gaul stared at you made you feel like she was seeing right through you.

“You should bring her to the front, people need to see you together.” She said, looking up to someone behind you.

You felt him before seeing him, his hand finding the small of your back and his tall frame appearing next to you, your shoulder brushing against his side. You lifted your gaze up to look at your husband, but he didn’t look down at you, focusing his attention on his mentor instead, the only thing letting you know that he had noticed you was his hand pressed against your lower back.

“Of course.” He agreed, with a nod. Dr Gaul’s eyes landed on you once more, something unsettling in the way she suddenly stared at you.

“My offer to examine her still stands, if you want me to run a few tests on her and figure out why you haven’t conceived yet.”

Your blood went cold. Everybody knew how deranged Volumnia Gaul could sometimes be, she was as cruel as she was extravagant and it only seemed to get worse the older she got. She had left her place as the head gamemaker of the Hunger Games to Coriolanus and had retired from her scientific career, but she still ran bizarre experiments in her lab, for her own enjoyment… And you definitely didn’t want to be one of them.

“It won’t be necessary.” Your husband assured her, allowing you to breathe again with relief. “It’s not her fault but mine, I’ve been too busy with the games and my campaign to properly invest time into expanding our family.”

Dr Gaul was about to reply something but was cut off by the sound of the television increasing in the speakers. Coriolanus guided you in front of the large window in his office’s lobby, as everyone seemed to step out of your path.

He was smiling, handsome as ever in his dark red suit and you smiled too, pressing yourself closer to him when you noticed the cameras filming you from across the room. It must have been a perfect picture to showcase to the entire nation, a seemingly loving couple standing in front of the nicest view of the Capitol, surrounded by all their supporters as the reporters on TV were about to announce the winner of this round of the elections.

All eyes were on the television as the results appeared on the screen. You held your breath, waiting for Coriolanus’ percentage to go up but it only did a brief jump and then stopped, largely losing to his opponents. You turned to look at him, waiting for a reaction, and so did everyone else present in the room.

True to himself, he held his head high, standing even straighter as he remained stoic, not a single change of the expression on his face to betray his disappointment. But, even if you couldn’t say that you knew your husband that well, you still knew that he must have been crushed by such a bad result. He had worked so hard for this, put up such a show for the people and so did you, his defeat felt like your own.

It startled you when you felt his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your hip. He was tense, you could feel it , but he was still smiling at the crowd, gracious in defeat. He even spoke a few words, only disturbed for a brief second when he noticed the cameras packing up instead of transmitting his speech, the viewers probably more interested in hearing what the victors of this round had to say rather than listen to your husband.

Coriolanus kept his tight grip on you, as if holding you was the only thing that could keep him from snapping. Some of his supporters came to him to offer him some words of encouragement in replacement of congratulations and he handled each conversation with polite manners.

“At least if you don’t win, we get to keep you as head gamermaker.” One lady said, trying to highlight the good in the situation but Coriolanus only gave her a tight smile in return.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out but maybe it just shows you’re better at working on the Games, they’ve been delightful to watch ever since you took over.”

“At least if you don’t have to keep campaigning you can focus your efforts on the next Hunger Games and come up with a show even better than last year’s !”

The very reason of his bad ranking at the election kept being thrown to his face, people simply preferred him as a game maker, so that they could be sure to be entertained by Coriolanus’ genius ideas to make the show an annual event rather than see him becoming president and be bored in front of their television once a year. The other thing that didn’t work out for him, as you understood, was the fact that he didn’t seem as relatable to the people since he didn’t have a family to care for and protect while his opponent, Festus Creed, already had three kids with his wife Persephone. Maybe they loved each other…

Once people were done offering their sympathy, you felt Coriolanus’ warm hand leave you, your skin a bit sore from the intensity of his previous grip on you. He rushed through the crowd, even ignoring a man who tried to address him and went to his office, shutting the door behind him.

Nobody seemed to notice, nor care, that your husband had felt the need to isolate himself but you did for some reason. Maybe it was because you knew how hard it was to keep smiling and nodding at everyone when deep down you just wanted to scream and run away. In the crowd, you met Dr Gaul’s gaze who had also noticed, watching you with careful attention, as if she was waiting to judge the way you’d react.

So of course, you smiled. At her. At everyone.

You followed the same path as he did, stopping by the man who had attempted to speak to him so that he could speak to you instead and maybe ease off his vexation at being ignored by your husband. As hard as it may be to keep going once the facade of perfection crumpled, it was necessary - now even more than before - to make sure all his allies continued supporting him.

Once he seemed satisfied by the small talk you shared, you kept moving, trying to seem as relaxed and detached as you could, until you had the opportunity to slip inside the office, mostly unnoticed by the crowd still mingling in the lobby.

“Coriolanus, I…” You started but stopped yourself when you noticed all the files scattered on the ground. Your husband was leaning over his desk, his back turned to you and you could see him breathing deeply and rapidly, his shoulders moving up and down with tension.

Suddenly, he threw the remaining of what was on his desk down, with one long motion. More files flew up in the air before landing on the ground, a glass container of pens and pencils broke on the wooden floor and shattered to pieces, flying off in every direction like a tiny bomb explosion. His desk light also tumbled to the floor, making a noise you were sure others had heard too.

You had the instinct to take a step back, your hand finding the knob again in order to retreat far away from his wrath... But, when he buried his face in his hands, he suddenly felt a lot less threatening and a lot more vulnerable, making you decide to stay.

“You might have lost this time but maybe it’ll work out next time.” You told him, softly. You wanted to comfort him, as had everyone else already, but the way he dropped his hands and looked at you with a dark glare made you question your decision.

“Always so positive.”He stated, bitterly, as if he was disgusted by your hopefulness. It wasn’t often that you got to see him without a charming smile on his face and a confident posture, in fact, it was the very first time you had been able to read him so easily, his emotions on display exactly as he was feeling them.

“It’s just one set back, for now they think you are too young, too good at your job, but maybe you’ll be elected next time. Maybe it’ll be in ten years. Maybe in thirty. But you will be president.” He shook his head, a cynical smirk on his lips.

“What makes you so sure ?”

“… Because Snow lands on top.”

His eyes darkened and he launched himself at you, crossing the path between the two of you in rapid strides so that he could capture your lips in a ferocious kiss. It left you breathless for a moment, the way his mouth was covering yours with feverish kisses, his arms around your waist to pull your body against his.

It was your second real kiss. Only the second one since you considered that your marriage had been sealed not with a kiss but with a signature at the bottom of a contract.

You pressed your forehead to his, trying to create some distance between you so that you could catch your breath and attempt to have a coherent thought about what was happening but he didn’t let you, giving you one last consuming kiss before his fingers tangled with your ponytail and he pulled, hard enough to force you to your knees in front of him.

You kneeled, looking up with expectant eyes. It was his way of showing you what he needed. He wanted to be revered, to get rebels to bend the knee in front of him, to be worshiped and relived from the anger and frustration he always locked up inside himself, with no way of letting them out.

You reached for his pants, swiftly undoing them with your eyes never leaving his pale blue ones, staring at you with a silent wrath still setting his gaze ablaze. He tugged on your hair again, forcing your chin up so that he could touch your face with his other hand, forcing a thumb passed your lips. He attentively watched you as you opened up your mouth to take it in, gently sucking before releasing it with a soft bite.

You saw him smile at your compliance, even though it was ended by a bold gesture. You were the perfect mix of obedient and fiery to make him lose his mind, and you both knew it.

He reached down to the pants you had opened for him, pulling his already hard erection. You resisted the urge to look at it, remembering how big it had felt in your hand and inside you, worried that his size might change your mind about giving him what he wanted. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed to his as you opened your mouth wide, ready to welcoming him there.

His tip glided on your tongue, his length not even entirely filling your mouth when you felt it hit the back of your throat. He shuddered with pleasure, a soft curse leaving his lips, followed by the sound of your name.

You felt a jolt of electricity in your body, a strange pride warming you up at the thought of pleasing him. You ran your tongue over his tip, tasting the saltiness that was already dripping from him in anticipation of his release. He cursed again and his hand moved to the back of your head, holding you firmly in place as he began thrusting back and forth.

You tried to relax your jaw and breathe through your nose as his hard length slid on your tongue, but when his movements increased in speed and in strength, you felt him reaching deeper down your throat and you couldn’t help but gag, tears welling in your eyes in consequence. But, even though he was still very carefully looking at you, watching the way he was fucking your mouth without mercy, he didn’t stop or slow down, only attempting to have an even firmer grip on you.

Another curse word fell from his lips, betraying how close he was to finding relief but, instead of shooting his load on your tongue as you were expecting him to, he rapidly pulled himself out of your mouth, heavily panting in front of you.

You used this opportunity to catch your own breath and wipe the mascara stains under your eyes, feeling the soreness of your lips caused by the unforgiving friction he had created.

“Get up.” He demanded, which made you realize he had let go of your hair. You obeyed without hesitation, even taking a step closer to be in his reach again. He immediately took advantage of the proximity, roughly pulling your dress up above your hips and bringing his hand to your center, pulling your panties aside so that he could run a finger across your soaked folds. A satisfied grin appeared on his face, as he removed his hand and brought his finger to his lips, tasting you with a hungry gaze.

You felt your whole body buzzing with excitement, your eyes following the path of his tongue as he licked his lips, seemingly enjoying what he had just tasted. You were so ready for him, you would have begged if he asked you but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t ask for anything, he just took whatever he wanted, the way he wanted… And at this very moment, you couldn’t have been more okay with it.

His hands came to your bare hips and flipped you over so that your back was turned to him. Then, he pushed on your lower back, silently instructing you to bend over for him, which you did.

“Hold on tight.” He advised, his voice low with lust. You looked for something to do so but only found a tall bookshelf in front of you. You still gripped the sides of it, knowing it wouldn’t help you that much but you could already feel him pulling your panties to the side again.

Without a warning, he shoved himself inside you and you welcomed him, your wetness allowing him to slide all the way in with his first thrust. You bite your lip to avoid letting out a moan, very aware of the noise and chatter still coming from right behind his office door.

He completely pulled out before slamming inside you again, burying himself as deep as he could and you loudly gasped. He adjusted your position with a hand on each of your hips, gripping you so hard it was almost painful but you understood why once he repeated his action, thrusting so hard you would have lost your balance if he wasn’t helping stabilize you.

“Come on, let me hear the lovely sounds you can make.” He requested, mercilessly repeating the same movement.

“I can’t… They’ll all hear us…” You panted, a strangled moan catching in your throat when he hit deep, exactly where you needed him to.

“Good, I want them to know I’m fucking my wife.” He breathed, clearly enjoying himself too. “Show them you are mine.”

You felt dizzy at his words. Or maybe it was from the intense pleasure building up at your core. A few more of his rough thrusts and you came undone, loudly expressing your bliss as he released himself deep inside you. You both stayed connected for a moment to catch your breath until he pulled out, adjusting your panties and pulling your dress back down before taking care of putting his spent erection away.

You turned around to face him, meeting his gaze and noticing how his eyes had softened, like they had been drained of all the emotions he kept hidden behind them at all times, a clean slate to endure the rest of the evening.

To your surprise, he leaned over to kiss you. Not with hunger this time but with a tenderness you didn’t expect, like he was grateful you had been there for him.

“Was I too rough with you ?” He asked you, in a whisper, almost as if he was ashamed to say it out loud.

“Yes.” You nodded, appreciating the concern that immediately appeared on his face but you reassured him with a smile. “And I absolutely loved it.”

He smiled back, looking at you like he was seeing you in a new light. You weren’t strangers anymore and, for the first time, you were both starting to think that your marriage wasn’t such a fatality after all.

(( More ))

Previously in this series:

Next in this series:

[pinguwrites]

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔' 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒆 ⸻ Chapter One

series masterlist. next chapter

𝒑𝙖𝒊𝙧𝒊𝙣𝒈 | francis mosses x reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 1.5k

Warnings: none

A/N: I promise it'll get more exciting later lol

The elevator dinged, and your heart raced. It was dark out, and so the lobby was dimmed — that blue hue that came right before the sun’s rising. After peeking a small look to the side, you quickly went back to the newspaper you were reading, as if you hadn’t noticed the sound at all. Though you didn’t need to hear or see to know who it was. No one else in Sama Place got up this early, except perhaps for you. It was you and Francis Mosses, every day alone at five in the morning. Perfect, wasn’t it?

“Mornin’,” he said, tipping his hat slightly. It was white, with the words “MILKMAN” etched onto the front. If anything, that added detail made him look even more handsome — uniformed, well-put-together, with just a hint of authority. Everything you liked. 

“Good morning, Francis,” you greeted, resting your elbows on the desk in front of you. Placing the newspaper aside, you focused your attention on him, but when he approached you, he took it between his fingers and flipped to the page you were at. 

“Crossword? It’s a bit early for that,” he mused, eyeing all the columns and rows you filled in. It was a hard one, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Besides, what else were you supposed to do, stare at the wall waiting to say ‘hi’ to the next person who came by?

“I like puzzles, they get me thinking . . . you know, you should do something like this, too.” Francis furrowed his eyebrows, just slightly. “Not puzzles, necessarily. But a hobby.”

It just occurred to you at this very moment that he probably did have a hobby, but as someone who was just a doorwoman, you weren't privy to that information.

“I’m sure you do,” you added with a chuckle. “It’s only that I never see you doing anything but work. You’re so tired all the time. How much effort does being a milkman really require?”

He bit his lower lip. “More than you think. I used to get up at one.”

The idea that whatever company he was working for forced him to do this made you upset. Francis deserved nothing but freedom and long vacations and waking up to brunch, not whatever coffee he drank in the morning to get himself going. 

“One?” you repeated, absolutely stunned. “Well, I’m glad you managed to change your shift. Most bosses I know aren’t flexible with that sort of stuff.”

“I was actually doing fine with my original hours. I just changed them because . . .”

“Because what?”

He thought for a moment, his cheeks dusted pink. “Wanted to enjoy the world a little. Can’t very well do that if you have to sleep at seven in the afternoon.” He paused. “I have to go, I’ll see you later tonight, ma’am.”

“Alright. Have a nice day, sir.”

You watched as he left, a longing gaze. In your mind, you imagined spending time with him, whether it be to see a movie or just walk around the city. You found that highly unlikely, though. Mostly because you could never bring yourself to ask him, and never thought he would ever ask you. 

+++

“Really?” you said, a little disappointed. “I’d hate to see you go.”

Dr. William Afton shrugged, a grin across his lips. “I mean, it’s quite the modern idea, don’t you think? I think there ought to be more family restaurants out there. And with my engineering background, I think I’m just the right man to create something fun for children.”

“Your idea sounds like a science fiction novel,” you admitted, “but I like it. What does Mia think?”

“Oh, I had to convince her a little, but in the end, she’ll do as I say. Besides, we’re not moving very far. Just closer to the suburbs.”

You nodded. “I’ll miss you. Make sure to stop by again when you can.”

He agreed and went on his way to finish moving the rest of his belongings to his car. It was silly to want him to stay, but that was how it felt here. Everyone knew everyone, it was like a family. You’d made more friends here than you ever did before. Change wasn’t something you enjoyed.

+++

The day had passed by quickly. You took your lunch break and then went straight back to work. You made a few calls to make sure things were in order. If anything was wrong with the plumbing or if the wallpaper had chipped — things like that — it was your responsibility to fix it. Taking calls for potential renters, being in general a polite and pleasant person, it all came with your job. 

It was unusual for a woman to hold this kind of position. Women barely worked at all. Most were housewives or teachers or secretaries. The fact that you even got this job at all was a miracle. And the fact that the people in this building were so pleasant was a blessing.

After your father died you thought everything was over. He left you a house, a small, one-story building with a nice lawn and a small backyard. It was closed off from the rest of the street, the way he liked it. Away from others, with his own peace. You supposed that trait passed down to you. Other than a simple conversation, you preferred to be by yourself rather than out with a large group of friends, partying at risqué clubs. Besides, even if you liked that kind of stuff, your father would never have approved. 

You were dependent on him, right till the very end. Though you graduated from college, you didn’t know how to get a loan from a bank, drive a car, or even do your taxes. The easiest thing to do was to find a husband, but it was just so difficult. When you saw that sign outside of Sama saying ‘HIRING NOW’ you knew that was where you had to go. A new start. New opportunity. For the first time, you could make your own money, support yourself, and live the life you want.

You sighed, thinking about everything as you leaned back in your chair. The weather was hot today, so you set the fan beside your desk on. It was blowing through your hair, the coolness brushing against your skin with relief. It made your skirt rumple at the ends, but whenever it did that you just straightened it out, pulling it over your knees once more. 

“Hey,” a voice said behind you. 

Startled, you sat up straight, only to realize it was just Anastacha, the girl from the second floor. She lived with her mom, who was a cook at a restaurant, but apparently trying to make it as a chef. She had pigtails in her hair like always and was wearing a simple plaid dress. 

“You scared me,” you said, tone both playful and scolding. “Don’t do that again.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, but she didn’t seem very sorry. “I need help with my homework. Mom says you had a good education, and that if I ever needed help I could just come to you.”

You smiled warmly. “Sure. Pull up that chair over there, and I’ll see what I can do.”

You looked through the folder. It was just basic algebra, nothing too difficult. You remembered doing this in middle school. For the next ten minutes, you both read through each problem and solved it together. She had a lot of questions — annoying ones — but it was fine. She was just a kid, and you were happy to help.

Just as you were explaining the last part to her, the front door opened. 

It was Francis. 

Distracted, you glanced up and down his body. Was it odd that you found him the most beautiful man ever? His long, Roman nose, and his smooth, pale skin. The way the veins in his hands flexed every time he moved them, the light blue dress shirt that hugged his slim, muscled arms, and that dark, tousled hair, widow’s peak dipped in the middle of his forehead.

He passed by you with a short nod. It almost hurt that he didn’t bother to stay longer, but you could see the bags under his eyes and his sluggish movements. He was tired. And to be fair, so were you.

When the elevator door closed, Anastacha exclaimed, “Oh, he likes you!”

“Shh!” You didn’t need people hearing that. “He does not. Do you want to finish this or not?”

“He does,” she insisted with a giggle. “You saw the way he looked at you?”

“You can’t determine things based on a single look.”

“Yes, I can. Mr. Mosses is nice, but he kind of just ignores everyone. He doesn’t do that with you.”

The thought that Francis may like you was an intoxicating one. He was just a man, one that you never exchanged many words with, yet he managed to make you feel all sorts of ways. Was it possible that Anastacha was right? That he really did like you?

“I bet you like him, too.”

You glared at her. You did not need Anastacha spreading rumors about how you were in love with the milkman, however true that may be.

“No, I don’t. Focus.” You pointed the pencil back at her homework. “Now, in order to find x, you have to subtract . . . . . .”

Taglist: @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

[s-lverwing]

01. SIN

pairing. aegon targaryen x velaryon (targaryen)!reader x maelor targaryen (aegon’s twin).

summary. thoughts weight heavier than ever as you realize what’s expected from you; having a secret relationship with the king’s heir isn’t one. destiny can be defied, but duty must be followed.

word count. 4.8k (sorry). ao3 link

warnings. angst, targcest (niece and uncle), manipulation, toxic relationships. heavy pinning. kind of infidelity? english isn’t my first language and i haven’t read the books.

a/n. i got this idea from watching domina hehe and i thought it would be fun to explore this little idea i had of aegon having a twin brother that looks like a hightower. i stretched a bit what happens from driftmark until viserys dies, since i was missing more years . so this is aegon being 18-19 me and the reader is one or two years younger than him . and helaena and aegon aren’t paired yet because i don’t have the heart to make her bear children at 14 yo .

The night was still, as if the very walls of the Red Keep were holding their breath. Not even the usual footfalls of the royal guards echoed through the dim lighted corridors, nor did the familiar murmur of chambermaids’ gossip snake its way to your ears. The rat catchers had already done their work in the lower floors, leaving behind a silence that felt as suffocating as it was unusual.

Yet it wasn’t the silence that weighed so heavily on your heart—it was something deeper, something that clawed at your insides and left an acrid taste in your mouth. The Red Keep, once a place of grandeur and life, now seemed to pulse with a strange, ominous energy. You could feel it in the air, thick and oppressive, and you couldn’t help but link it to King Viserys’ worsening condition. He was a shadow of his former self, a walking corpse whose very presence seemed to taint the air with decay. The stench of his rotting flesh clung to him like a shroud, especially when mixed with the smell of milk of the poppy. He was nothing but a walking dead, a man who no longer belonged among the living. It almost served as a reminder of the state of the Kingdom.

The court was no longer the vibrant place of your childhood memories. It was a place of whispers and shadows, of secrets buried so deep they festered in the dark. You could feel the weight of those secrets pressing down on you, a burden you were not ready to carry but could no longer ignore. The responsibilities you had once tried to deny now loomed over you like a dark cloud.

And then there was Aegon. The mere thought of him brought a new kind of tension to your chest, one that was equal parts longing and dread. What you shared with him was a dangerous game, one that could end badly only for you. The risk was immense, but so too was the pull you felt towards him—a pull you could not resist, no matter how much you knew you should. You knew all too well what would happen if the rumors spread, if someone caught the two of you in a compromising position. There was no place for such reckless passion in the Red Keep, no room for fleeting romances or secret rendezvous. Not when you weren’t cunning enough to know how to hide away from their prying eyes. You were being watched, judged, and weighed against the expectations of a world that would crush you if you strayed too far from the path laid out before you.

Ser Otto Hightower’s words echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of the duty and honor that were supposed to guide you. He had been the only Hightower to show you any semblance of kindness after Lucerys had taken Aemond’s eye. It was a kindness that clung to your memory like a fragile, half-forgotten dream, overshadowed by the cruel realities that had since unfolded. Like a small mercy.

You couldn’t help but feel trapped, suffocating under the weight of expectations you had never wanted. And yet, you could not bring yourself to let go of Aegon, no matter how much you knew you should. The risk, the danger, the sheer madness of it all only seemed to draw you closer to him, even as you felt the noose tightening around your neck.

And as you stood there, alone in the drowning darkness of your chamber, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep this up—how much longer you could pretend that everything was fine when, deep down, you knew that everything was about to fall apart.

The quiet creak of the wooden doors took you away from your thoughts, but you didn’t turn from the window. The night outside was as dark and impenetrable as your own thoughts. You didn’t need to look to know who had entered; Aegon’s footsteps were as familiar to you as the beating of your own heart, an echo of years spent together in a world that seemed increasingly distant now. His scent, a heady mix of wine and something uniquely him, filled the room, bringing with it an uneasy comfort that had long since become part of you since this started.

He approached with a lazy grace, as if the world and all its troubles were mere trifles to him. His arms snaked around your waist, drawing you back against him, his head finding its place on your bare shoulder. The cool night air from the window kissed your skin, but his warmth was a balm you hadn’t realized you’d been seeking. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, a fleeting gesture that could be mistaken for affection, followed by a soft chuckle that was as intoxicating as it was disarming.

Aegon was in good spirits tonight, or so it seemed. His presence was magnetic, his charm an irresistible force that pulled you into his orbit despite the undercurrent of dread that always lurked beneath the surface. You knew this tenderness, however sweet, was a precarious thing—a mask that could slip at any moment to reveal the tempest underneath. Yet you leaned into him, seeking solace in the closeness even as it threatened to unravel everything you held together so carefully.

But then, like a gust of wind extinguishing a flame, his smile faded, replaced by a frown that marred his angelic features. You didn’t need to see his face to feel the change, to sense the tension coiling in his body as if he were holding onto something fragile, something that could slip through his fingers and shatter beyond repair.

It was as though he was clutching at a dream, trying to hold onto a world that was slipping away from him. And you, too, were caught in that current, powerless to change the course of the storm that was surely coming. The weight of unspoken words, of a future that neither of you could control.

“You’re far away,” Aegon whispered, his voice barely breaking the stillness that had settled over the room like a heavy shroud.

Before he could say more, you gently took one of his hands, bringing it to your lips and pressing a tender kiss to his knuckles. His skin was warm, soft, since he strayed away from sword training. It felt weird, as though the chasm that had opened between you was something that could not be bridged by mere touch. “I’m tired,” you murmured, the exhaustion lacing your voice with a fragility that felt almost foreign to you. “It’s been a long day.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze probing as he turned you around with an effortless grace that belied the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, his tone soft yet edged with something darker, an undercurrent of fear, perhaps. His hands lingered on your waist, grounding you, but also anchoring you to him and the chaos that comes with it.

A sad smile tugged at your lips. You searched for the right words, the right way to explain the gnawing dread that had taken root in your heart. It wasn’t your intention to hurt him, but how could you speak the truth without doing so? “I worry,” you confessed, each word heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. “I worry about everything. In fact, I think I often worry enough for the both of us.”

Your words hung in the air, a fragile admission that seemed to echo in the stillness of the chamber. The night was your sanctuary, the time when you could be together without the prying eyes of the Red Keep, even from the Gods, yet even this sacred space was not immune to the growing tension that lay between you. You felt the strain of it, pulling at the threads of your bond, threatening to unravel the delicate balance you had managed to maintain for so long.

Aegon’s expression darkened, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t quite grasp. His brow furrowed, as if he were trying to understand a riddle that had no answer, his grip on your waist tightening imperceptibly. “You worry too much,” he said finally, his voice barely masking the frustration that simmered just beneath the surface. “You worry about things that don’t matter, that will never matter”

But the conviction in his voice, once so reassuring, now felt hollow. You could hear the echo of doubts in your mind. How could you tell him that his recklessness, his disregard for the very things that weighed so heavily on your heart, was tearing you apart? How could you make him see that while he was content to drift through life, you were being dragged under by the currents of responsibility, duty, and the looming shadows of what was to come?

Aegon pulled you closer, his hands tight on your waist, but the embrace felt more like a cage than a comfort. “You’re living in a fantasy,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “A fantasy of duty and responsibility that was never meant for us. We’re meant to live, to enjoy what we have, not to worry about what others expect… because we’re never going to be enough”

His words cut deeper than any blade could. Aegon’s indifference to his own fate, his refusal to see the consequences of his actions, was a stark reminder of how different the two of you truly were. He lived for the moment, for the fleeting pleasures that numbed the pain he refused to acknowledge. But you couldn’t escape the weight of the future, the crushing burden of knowing what was expected of you, of him.

“You can’t escape it,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “No matter how hard you try to pretend otherwise, it’s coming for us, Aegon”

“You’re always worrying,” Aegon muttered. “You’re starting to sound like my mother—always telling me what we should be, what we should do, as if we’re some perfect vision of duty.” He sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you stop making everything so complicated?”

“I’m sorry—” you began, your voice trembling with the weight of your fears. “But I’m afraid, Aegon. It’s terrifying, this situation. Everything… don’t you realize?” You tilted your head, searching his face for any sign that he understood the turmoil that gnawed at your insides.

“We’re alright,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “It’s you who’s making it difficult. You’re the one living in this fantasy—this fantasy of duty and faith, and everything being just— so we don’t repeat the mistakes of those before us. But it’s suffocating.”

You felt the tension coil tighter in your chest, the pressure building as if you were on the edge of a precipice. “Aegon, this isn’t just a fantasy. It’s our reality—our future. The mistakes of the past haunt us because they were real, because they had consequences. We can’t just ignore that.”

"Aegon—" you began, but before you could say another word, he silenced you with a sudden, fevered kiss. His lips crashed against yours with a force that spoke of desperation, the unmistakable taste of wine lingering on his breath. It was typical of him—this reckless need, this hunger that never seemed to be sated. His kiss was all-consuming, a fire that threatened to burn you from the inside out, and though you knew you should resist, his touch was woven so deeply into the fabric of your being that it felt impossible to pull away.

For a moment, you let yourself drown in him, in the way his hands moved up your waist to your back, seeking the laces of your sleep gown with a familiar urgency. But just as quickly, the sole thought of him lost in the arms of strangers, drowning in wine just the night before, flashed through your mind. The memory hit you like a cold wave, pulling you back to the surface of reality, and with a wrenching effort, you pushed him away.

Aegon stared at you, a frown creasing his brow, confusion mingling with the remnants of his frustration.

"Alicent—" you stammered, grasping for anything to say, your voice faltering under the weight of the lie. "She’ll be here early in the morrow," you continued, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears.

He knew it was a lie. You could see it in the way his eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger passing through them, but he said nothing. The silence between you stretched thin, taut with unspoken truths and the ever-widening distance that neither of you could bridge. His frustration, his anger—it wasn’t just at you. It was at everything, at the life he was trapped in, at the expectations that crushed him. But that anger, that resentment, was now directed squarely at you, the one person who had always been his refuge, and yet now felt like just another weight dragging him down.

And you felt your own heart ache with a sorrow that words couldn’t express. You loved him—Gods, how you loved him—but that love was starting to feel like a chain.

Aegon let out a chuckle, the sound tinged with a bitterness that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That never worried you before,” he said, his tone almost mocking.

You held his gaze, your own resolve faltering under the weight of the truth you were about to speak. “Can you imagine what they’ll do to me if they ever find out about us?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you pressed a finger to your chest. “How shame and rage will rain upon me, Aegon?”

“That’s not going to happen,” he replied, his voice firm, dismissive, as if sheer will could bend the world to his desires.

But you shook your head. “There are bigger things than us, Aegon,” you said, your voice soft yet heavy with the burden of inevitability.

He rolled his eyes. “What could happen? My mother asking me to marry you?”

“That’s the best-case scenario,” you admitted, a fleeting hope lingering in your words. “But if she doesn’t want to marry my brother to Helaena, what makes you think she’ll marry me to you, the King’s firstborn son?”

“They’re bastards,” he spat out, a familiar venom in his words.

“—As much as I am,” you whispered back, the words cutting through the air like a blade. “This is going nowhere, Aegon,” you continued before he could respond, your voice filled with resignation.

And yet, despite everything, despite the certainty that this was all leading to ruin, you couldn’t let go. Not of him, not of the love that, for all its flaws and dangers, had become the very blood in your veins. But now, you couldn’t help but wonder if that love was worth the price you were bound to pay; since this affair was doomed from its beginnings.

Aegon’s expression morphed into something indecipherable, a mask of internal conflict as though he was waging a silent war with himself between the urge to remain and the compulsion to escape. His hesitation was palpable, yet ultimately he opted for departure, unwilling to incite another confrontation that would only drive a deeper wedge between you.

“Where are you going?” you demanded, your voice a cold lance piercing through the darkness, laced with fears.

“You clearly need to reconsider things,” he said, his voice firm and filled with resignation. “You’re entangled in this ideal of the perfect daughter, the flawless princess. We’re not going to get what we desire regardless”

“So you’ll leave me alone?” you asked, the weight of the words feeling like a burden on your tongue. And you couldn’t get angry at him for choosing to leave. It almost feels like you pushed him away.

Aegon’s silence was deafening, his only reply a weary exhale. He cast one final, fleeting glance over his shoulder, a look that seemed to carry an entire world of unresolved emotions and discontent. Then, without another word, he turned and slipped out of your chamber with the same quiet stealth as his arrival, leaving you alone with the heavy stillness of your room. The silence that followed was deafening.

You couldn’t imagine a life without him but the day will come — you’ll be betrothed and taken to some place you hate. And he will be betrothed too. That’s how destiny works for all of you.

The same destiny it’s the reason he opted to numb his running mind with wine and prostitutes… once more.

“Rūklun skoriot se bantis rāpa vūjigon tolvie rūklon,” Helaena voice echoes through the small garden. Her tone always dreamy and soft, like a haunting beautiful dream.

You can’t remember when was the first time you both laid on the soft grass; when was the first time she sang for you; when was the first time she entertained you with her bugs. Now her head is laid on your stomach, as she holds a small creature in her hand. Just admiring them, and you’re glad she’s your friend. She does have that capacity of looking beyond, of truly admiring other beings.

She leaves the small bug on the grass, as she continues her soft singing; “Pōnta ȳdragon isse rāpa tolīmorghon, gūrēñagon gīda isse se zōbrie,”

Helaena is equally glad for your friendship, as you understood her. As she felt cared for; she doesn’t feel like she’s the weird girl everyone claims her to be. For her own family doesn’t seem to care so much about her. You both hear tales and stories… whispers, rumors.

When Viserys and Alicent had welcomed their first son, a healthy, silver-haired heir, they had not anticipated the arrival of a second child so soon after Aegon. Though young and aware of her duty to provide the King with heirs to secure the bloodline, Alicent was overwhelmed. Yet, when her weary and anxious eyes met those of her newborn son, a profound sense of tranquility enveloped her. Aegon would grow to be the King’s heir to the throne but Maelor shall be hers. Forever.

Then came the only girl, and the rest… All but one raised in the most hostile ambient a child can grow.

But she had endured, alway pushed aside. Just a princess, whose fate was to get married to some Lord and be exiled away from home. “Jēda, iā lyka dīnagon, pālegīon pōja jaedos ezīmagon iōrves,” She continued with her soft and haunting voice.

Unease began to creep from the pit of your stomach. Helaena’s singing, usually a balm for worries and terrors, now seemed powerless against this overwhelming dread; this was something you feared nothing could shake away.

Strange days were merely the beginning. They would haunt your sleep, echoing in the dark with the lullabies of Targaryens ghosts.

“You’re such a fool—“ A hushed and forced through teeth phrase came out of Helaena’s grandsire; Otto Hightower.

In an instant, your head whipped around, and Helaena sat up. You didn’t need to see to know what the commotion was about—Otto was dragging Aegon toward his chambers, his grip firm and unforgiving. The sight made your stomach churn with fear, casting a shadow over your thoughts. The King’s alleged heir had a way of making your skin crawl. You haven’t seen him in a couple of days after your fight.

She gazed at you, her lips parting only to release the haunting melody: “Pōja istin jehikagrī ēnka sir rāpūltan, isse iā rāpa, lyka nārhēdegon” (Their once bright hues now softened, in a tender, quiet loss).

Soon, the groans and heavy footsteps melded with the birds’ chirping and the distant murmur of voices from the hallways. Yet, the garden remained an isolated enclave, housing only Helaena’s ethereal song and your tumultuous thoughts. A palpable silence descended, compelling you to whip your head toward her.

Alicent’s only daughter was already regarding you with eyes brimming with worry and regret. It was uncommon for her to look at you this way, and the intensity of her gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

“Sealing the bond,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “One will drift away, the other will be chasing phantoms for an eternity” The innocence of her phrase was a dagger to your gut, making you want to retch, as you tasted bile on your tongue. Desperation clawed at you, and you fled, seeking refuge in the only place that could never offer you peace.

The room reeked of stale alcohol and sweat; a reminder of the first and last time you visited an inn. The once repugnant scent was now a grim familiarity. Each morning you arrived early, loyal as a hound and pristine as a dove. But not this morning; delicate petals from the garden were still tangled in your hair. You smell like fresh cut grass. And you’re late.

Aegon lay sprawled on his bed, utterly naked and feigning sleep. He was waiting, because even if he played the role of an idiot, a part of him still cared.

You swallowed hard, “Aegon?” Your voice trembled, a fragile thread of hesitation woven through it. Fear of him was not the issue; it was the looming dread, the haunting sense of something profoundly wrong, lurking just beyond the edges of your understanding.

The mere sight of him being humiliated by any member of his family or by himself was something you’ve become to accept, to make peace with. Aegon hasn’t been on a leash since he was a kid; since his father proclaimed Rhaenyra as his legitimate heir. And so he decided to indulge in the pleasure of the flesh… and alcohol — a sweet but ultimately lethal form of enjoyment. And the fact that he has harbored feelings for you doesn’t even move him into change. Not because of you, but for him. He deserves to be respected and the honor of a house such as the Targaryen. Though, he’s not even respected by his own kin. By his own parents. Viserys was old, probably had an ounce of love for him which burned when he had realized he didn’t need more children to secure the bloodline. His firstborn was still very much alive; even if he was a woman. And Alicent only cherished his twin brother.

Aegon often wondered what it would be like to be the one born looking like a Hightower—instead of being a living reminder to his mother of the sacrifices she had to make, of her stolen childhood, and of every unavenged wound. Would he then be wanted as much as Maelor is? Deep down, he knew it was a futile dream. He tried not to care, but the fear of being crushed under the weight of everyone’s expectations gnawed at him incessantly.

After all, Maelor, has much more of a tender temperament and Aemond’s intellect and wit, which seemed to embody everything Aegon was not. His eyes were a warm, inviting brown, complementing his auburn hair—a perfect reflection of Alicent. He looked human, soft, approachable, and kind. In Aegon’s eyes, Maelor was the epitome of what Alicent desired, a role Aegon could never fulfill.

You dusted off your pale dress, swallowing down your rising frustration and anger. It wasn’t in your nature to be quick to anger, to point the finger, to blame others for their mistakes. But today, his actions felt unbearable. “Do—Do you even care?” Your voice sounded pathetic, a desperate plea for recognition, affection — just to be seen by yout lover.

He didn’t bother opening his eyes. Everything was too bright, too loud for his liking, especially after Otto Hightower’s sermonizing. “Uhm—? Ah, oh,” He yawned, shifting to make himself more comfortable in bed. “Yes, sure.”

His indifference sparked a surge of anger within you, the bile rising to tinge your throat with its bitter taste. “I’m being serious.”

“Don’t speak so loud…” He groaned, dismissive. But he was the one who sought comfort in your arms the last time you saw each other. “You should go, I don’t want any of your services”

It makes your blood seethe, each word from him striking like arrows piercing through your heart. The indignity of being called a whore stings with a venomous edge.

It was always a struggle to engage in conversation with him when he was saturated with the remnants of last night’s excesses. But today felt especially grueling; your patience is unraveling, eroded by the relentless tide of his cruelty.

You approached his bed, standing close enough to block the sunlight that accentuated his handsome features. You wanted to scream, to hit him, hoping that maybe then he would love you, maybe then he would strive to be better and meet your expectations. But Aegon wasn’t a fool; he knew you were the only one who forgave him every single time, without him even trying. Gathering all your courage, you spoke the words that had been festering within you: “You’re pathetic.”

So you think that too? He knew everything couldn’t be perfect. Aegon understood he was doomed, marked by fate’s cruel design. He knows this truth intimately… yet, despite everything, he clings to hope with a desperation that borders on madness. Because you’re the only one seeing him with different and softer eyes.

He can’t think because his mind is flooded with guilt, of everything that happened last night… Of everything he’s ever done to you, whether good or bad. “Go pester Maelor, he looks just like me. I’m sure he can entertain you… Maybe he won’t pleasure you as well as I do. But after all, all whores are the same, I’m sure he won’t mind”

Tears gathered at the corner of your eyes. His cruelty cuts deep, making you question if any of it is worth it—the sacrifices, the hurt, the strange looks, and your bleeding heart. Are they worth the fleeting moments of bliss? He’s capable of loving, and being kind — he has shown you that. Sometimes you like to fool yourself thinking that he actually cares about you, that maybe he thinks you’re more than just a pawn following everything he says… More than just a girl staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Thinking maybe, just maybe… he actually sees you.

But it’s the indifference, and his insolent words that creates a wall. One you’re too tired to try and bring it down.

You snort, deciding to play his game, ethough you know it will keep destroying everything. “Maybe I will, Aegon. Maelor has more honor in his little finger than you’ll ever have. You just wallow in your own filth.”

You speak with distaste, the words hurting you as much as they hurt him, because they come from a place of anger, a vengeful side you despise. It makes you want to throw up; the mere idea to succumb into your rage.

You turned around, unable to bear looking at him. If you meet his eyes, you’ll collapse under the weight of your own emotions and beg for forgiveness, even though it’s not your fault. You just wanted to make amends. “Do you know you’re throwing everything away, Aegon?” you ask, your voice trembling with the weight of despair. You don’t expect an answer. He already knows.

“I’ve been on my knees, begging for some kind of forgiveness from the Gods, for even the slightest hint of their consideration,” you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of raw, unrestrained anguish. “Yet you persist in pushing me away. I’m on the brink, exhausted, uncertain if I have anything left to offer. I’ve sacrificed so much, endured countless trials for you, and now you cast me aside as if I were nothing.”

Each word was a dagger, cutting through the fragile silence with a bitter clarity. The raw pain in your voice seemed to resonate through the cold stone walls, echoing the deep fissures in your heart.

Unable to sustain the crushing burden of your sorrow, you turned abruptly and fled the room, covering your face and red rimmed eyes with your hands. The guards who opened the gates offered no solace, their stony expressions betraying no empathy. The heavy silence of the Red Keep was a stark contrast to the turmoil within you. You knew Aegon’s chambers were a sanctuary at this hour, shielded from the prying eyes of the court, save for the ever-watchful presence of Alicent.

“Princess,” a voice cut through your despair. You halted abruptly, your heart sinking as you recognized the only Hightower-looking son of Alicent. His eyes were filled with a mixture of curiosity and pity — not like he cared about you.

“Alicent is looking for you,” he said, his tone imbued with a sense of quiet urgency.

You lowered your hands, exposing your tear-stained face. The pain was a palpable force, constricting your throat and making it difficult to speak.

“Did Aegon do something to you?” he asked, his concern etched into every word, but the shy smirk betrayed him — not that you would catch it.

“No—no,” you choked out, shaking your head as if to dispel the crushing weight of your emotions. “I’m just—” The words faltered, it was not only pointless but dangerous to explain. “Where’s Alicent?”

— next chapter

[redstarwriting]

the clash | vii. i wanna be sedated

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, you(?) hating hobie, anxious hobie, panic attacks, mentions of death, threat of main character death, giving blood, negative self-talk, ANGST

a/n: another short one, but that’s because it’s about to get intense. there’s a possibility the series may be ending within the next two chapters, but we shall see what happens! please enjoy this one, and i promise it won’t be all angst the rest of the time lmao there will be a pay off, next chapter should be LONG and give a smidge of happiness

previous chapter: vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

now reading: vii. i wanna be sedated

next chapter: viii. love you to death

───────────────────────────────────

Hobie stares at Miguel. He can see his lips moving, but he can’t hear what he’s saying. All he can hear is his heartbeat and the blood rushing to his head. Kill? This other version of him was meant to kill you. Does that mean he’s going to kill you now that he killed him? No. No that can’t happen. He won’t let it happen.

“HOBIE!”

Hobie realizes he’s gripping the desk in front of him. His eyes are wide, and his heart is beating faster than he has ever felt it beat before. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, swallowing nothing. His throat is dry. Miguel hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder. “Hobie, can you hear me?” He nods, staring ahead of him at his hands. “I think I might know what you’re thinking. You won’t kill them. You aren’t going to take the place of Hobart on their world,” he assures him, and Hobie tries to control his shaky breathing. “You have to calm down,” Miguel says in probably the gentlest voice Hobie has ever heard from him. He forgets he’s a dad sometimes. And that he also has gone through some shit. He nods again, trying to take in what Miguel just said. He accidentally snaps two pieces off the desk with how hard he’s gripping it. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “You were trainin’ ‘em to stop him.”

Miguel nods. “I was.”

“Does that mean I can still save ‘em?” Hobie looks at him, and Miguel sighs. “Maybe… but–”

“But what?” Hobie frantically asks, and Miguel frowns. “The Venom symbiote was supposed to take over as the Spider-Person for their world as Hobie Brown… if we defeat Venom…”

“Please don’t tell me…” Hobie whispers, and Miguel nods. “There is a 100% chance their world will collapse. It’s the final canon even in (Y/n)’s story.”

“No…” Hobie shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, there has to be a way! We can do somethin’!”

“Hobie…” Miguel starts, but Hobie turns his head towards him, suddenly angry. Ready to fight. “And you were just gonna let this bloody shit happen?! You care so fuckin’ much about the fuckin’ canon that–”

“HOBIE. No! I wasn’t going to let it happen. Why do you think I put so much time and effort into helping them?! I’ve been trying to fix it!” Miguel yells, “I know you might find it hard to believe but I’m not a fan of an evil symbiote taking over the world of someone I’ve been mentoring for the past month.” Hobie looks down again. “What if they just… stayed with me? In my world?” “Hobie, if their world disappears, they disappear,” Miguel explains and Hobie shakes his head. “No. Find out a way to make ‘em stay! You can do that! You have tech and all the shit to do it! We can save ‘em!” Hobie is screaming at this point, and Miguel stares at him for a moment. He sighs, rubbing his face, distressed. “There… might actually be a way,” he says. Hobie nearly falls to his knees. “How?”

“I’ve been developing something to change the genetic code of someone, making them appear like they belong in another universe. My thought process behind it is if Miles did it with the spider from Earth-42, we can do it here as well,” he explains, typing something into his computer. Hobie watches the screens. He reads everything happening in front of him, but it’s a little hard at this particular moment as it feels like everything is kind of crashing down around him. He is able to get some basic information on how Miguel would do this, though. “We’d just need somethin’ from my world, then?” he asks, and Miguel nods. “Yes… but unfortunately the process can be… painful.”

“How painful?” Hobie asks, and Miguel glances at him. “Are you willing to do anything to save them?”

“Yes!” Hobie says, and Miguel nods. “We tested it on inanimate objects until we were sure it would work, then we tested it on animals. And while it always turns out fine in the end… the process is difficult to watch. Their molecules will be rearranged and changed, tearing them apart and piecing them back together. Can you sit by and watch that happen to them?” Miguel asks, and Hobie gulps. “I can try…”

Miguel holds up a smaller device, showing it to Hobie. “What you do is you take anything from your universe, inanimate, and put it in here. I’ll also need a blood sample from you.” Hobie then notices that he’s still gripping the pieces of the desk in his hands. He opens his hands, and the remains of the desk fall out of them and onto the floor. Miguel hands the device over, and Hobie holds it, tossing it back and forth in his hands. “What do I do with this?” “I just told you,” Miguel says, glancing at him. Hobie stares at the little device in his hands. Right. He did just tell him. He hasn’t felt this scatterbrained in a long time. He takes off one of his pins from his vest, sticking it inside. It whirs and shuts tightly. Miguel takes it back from him and nods. “This should work perfectly. Now, I need some blood from you. We’ll perform a blood transfusion with the blood from your world to stabilize them as the genetic splicing takes place, luckily with the technology we have here on Earth-2099, the transfusion should take no longer than 3 minutes,” Miguel explains, as he begins walking toward his lab. Hobie follows him, quieter than he’s ever been in his entire life. Miguel glances back at him. “Are you okay to give some blood?”

“Yeah. Should be nothin’,” he mumbles and Miguel nods.

Miguel motions him to sit in a chair so he could get some blood from him. He sits. “You know, this is the first time you’ve done what I’ve said without fighting me on it,” Miguel says as machines start up, preparing Hobie’s arm for blood extraction. Hobie scoffs. “Come off it, mate,” he mumbles and Miguel shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

“I’m still Spider-Man. I can be responsible or whatever,” Hobie says as the machine takes some of his blood. “Mhm. Apparently, you can,” Miguel says, and he looks at him. “So, you like them, huh?”

“What?”

“(Y/n)? You actually ended up liking them?” Miguel asks again, and Hobie shrugs one shoulder slightly. “Guess so,” Hobie mumbles, and Miguel shakes his head. “The blood extraction should be done soon. How are you feeling?”

“Bloody brilliant,” he mumbles, and then sees Miguel’s face. “Buck up, bloke. I’m fine,” he answers and Miguel nods. “I’ll get everything ready. Bring them here, and we’ll figure out the rest. If it’s the worst case scenario, let me know. I’ll send back-up.”

Hobie stands, giving Miguel a nod, and walks out of the lab. The blood extraction did make him a little light-headed, but he doesn’t have the time to sit around and wait to feel better. He’s lost in his thoughts. He let his anger get the best of him, and in doing so, put you in danger. That was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to protect you and getting that asshole out of the way was the best way to do it. He thought it was the best way, at least. But it turns out that that asshole was him. And now you’re in even more danger than you were before. If that symbiote bonds with you… He doesn’t wanna think about it. Symbiotes can fuck up a host. He’s seen it happen. He doesn’t want you to have to go through any of that. And to top it all off, Miguel was saying how dangerous this symbiote is. Does that mean if it bonds with you, it’ll kill you? And is it like his symbiotes where noises drive it crazy? How did he fuck up this bad? 

He's torn out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. “Hobie! Hey!” Gwen yells, landing next to him. “Alright?”

“I’m good. You should have seen it, Miles, Pav, and I took down Doc Ock after he escaped from prison, it was crazy. We could have used you and (Y/n),” she starts rambling off and he just listens. “Sounds great,” he mumbles, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “You okay? You seem a little… down.”

“’m fine,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t believe him, but she knows he’ll talk about it when he’s ready. Miles and Pavitr appear shortly after, talking to each other about how they did a move together that was ‘so cool!’ and how they need to show Hobie it as soon as they can. “Right, great talkin’ to you all, but I have to go visit (Y/n),” Hobie says, fiddling with his watch to open a portal to your world. “Oh, are you guys on speaking terms again? About damn time,” Miles says, and Pav leaps up and down with a little clap. “Have the two of you accepted your feelings for each other yet?” Pav asks, and Hobie just glances at him, not saying anything. Usually, he would tell him to piss off. But he’s not about to do that when he did realize his feelings for you. So he just stays quiet.

The three of them look at each other with wide eyes as Hobie steps through the portal and into your world without a word.

As soon as he’s back, the air feels a little… different. Maybe it’s just him coming to terms with what he’s done, though. He’s unsure how much time has passed since he left, but a quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of your room tells him he’s been gone about three hours or so. He hears a soft meow and looks to see Shadow peeking out from behind a small crack between the wall and your fridge. “Hey, Shadow,” he says, crouching down and holding his hand out. Shadow cautiously approaches him, sniffing his fingers before walking into his hand. He pets him and looks around. “(Y/n)!” he calls your name but gets no response. Strange.

He hears another meow and looks down at Shadow who is staring at your balcony doors. The curtains have been pulled over them, but he can see that one is open from the wind blowing the curtain inside. He sees the silhouette of someone on your balcony, but if it was you, you would have been saying something to him by now.

He gets a bad feeling.

He slowly stands, and Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr end up coming through the portal. “Shh,” Hobie says, holding up his hand and pulling his mask over his face. The three of them glance at each other as they realize something is wrong, too. Hobie slowly walks toward your balcony doors, pushing the curtain out of the way and seeing your form facing out towards the city. You seem to be in your suit, as you’re shrouded in black from head to toe. But it looks like a new suit. Pav, Miles, and Gwen follow him, on edge the whole time. He stares at you for a moment, but you stay still.

“(Y/n)?” he says your name, and he sees your head tilt slightly, signifying you heard him. “Is that… you…?” he asks. You turn slowly. His eyes widen and his heart drops. He was too late. He sees a toothy grin spread across what was supposed to be your mask and clenches his fists as he hears Venom laugh. “(Y/n) can’t come to the phone right now,” Venom says, their otherworldly voice causing the four spiders to prepare for the worst. “But I would like to thank you, Hobie Brown, for freeing me of my constraints.”

Hobie has a flashback to his fight with himself. “The glass…” he mutters, and Venom lets out a laugh. He feels the world close in on him. His hands shake. He was too late. You were already taken over by Venom. As if reading his thoughts, Venom smiles at him, muttering the words that make his heart stop.

“You led me to them.”

───────────────────────────────

『 tag list 』

@444neapolitain @afraidofshrimp @arianalovescatss* @aroaceg @astrok1dz @baefy3764 @casmosmoon* @ch6ntt* @chill-guy-but-cooler @cl0udyw4ter @cursedbitchboy @d1nne @death-and-rebirth-again @dotheyevenknowmars @epicy0n @f1shb0nez @faerieluuv @fisshil @fukingsad @fushiguropleasesteponme* @frankintheoceann​ @friendly-reject @g4bb1​ @hisdarlingabsurdity @idk-i-draw @imarealfungi @imobsessedreader* @ineedsomeconfidence @inkthgoat @iwillrisefromthefire @j3st3r-13 @jayelyyynnn* @jingliuu @jinxedleo​ @jjkclub @katiebug0603 @kenqki @ken-zah​ @khaleesihavilliard @kittekat420 @kitty-kei @lacunaanonymoused @lightning-wolffe* @localbeidousimp @luxlibsonwannabe​ @madusas-girlfriend @marshallowy @marsyay78 @messylxve @miss-hon3y @miss-puregotti​ @mistpx* @miwagila @monsterroonio​ @moon-shampoo* @naarra* @nikabearr @notbluees @notplutos* @pookiesnatcher @queen-of-the-bored @queen-of-the-grapefruits @romeomahbromeo @sadbitchhours400* @sammywammy1​ @scoliobean @shittingonyourgrave* @sillylittleguyinc @simplefools* @siriusly1 @sparklyphantom​ @srystix​ @stars4salem* @starshine145* @stevenknightmarc @sxftiebee @tacogirl96​ @tengen-fourth-wife @thatweirdgirlsposts @tobanditto​ @umiexe​ @user2772636​  @valee1xoxo* @wannabe-fic-reader @weyrrii* @wheeeelys @woahrin* @xoxobabe* @zero-boxes

*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

if you asked to be on the taglist and i forgot, i’m sorry :( feel free to leave a comment on this or message me separately and i’ll get you right onto it!

[itsallyscorner]

Coffee Talk | H.S

pairing: boyfriend!Harry x fem!reader

warnings: it’s supposed to be like a podcast episode so it’s a little long and has a lot of dialogue—just did some experimenting, lmk what you guys think :)

overview: Harry is a guest on your podcast.

a/n: Clearly, I’ve been listening/watching a lot of podcasts. I just like hearing people talk. Reader’s co-host, Mable, is inspired by Selena Gomez <3

Coffee Talk Ep. 96: (Y/n)‘s Boyfriend, Hobama, and Marriage

“Hello friends and welcome back to another episode of Coffee Talk! I’m your host, (Y/n), and I hope you are all doing well!” You waved at the camera doing your usual intro.

You did a drumroll with your hands on the table and continued, “Now, we have an exciting episode for you guys today. You have been asking—basically begging—for us to get this person on the pod and it’s finally happening today! So grab a blanket, get some snacks, and get comfortable, because this is gonna be a fun one!”

The video cuts to your co-host, Mable, who is sitting across from you on a loveseat.

“I feel like we should build the tension before we tell them who it is.” Mabel chimes in, stirring her Starbucks cup (whose label has been covered since you guys aren’t sponsored by Starbies).

“That was a really good segue for Roll Call, Mae.” You pointed out, calling her by her nickname.

“I gotchu, babe.” Mable assured you, throwing a wink in your direction. You laughed and adjusted your legs up on the couch you were on, “Right, so obviously, we have Mable across from me. How are ya, Mae? What’s the coffee order today?”

Mable smiled at you and crossed her legs, “Well since you asked so kindly. I’m doing very great this morning (y/n/n) and I have a caramel macchiato today.”

The video then cuts to Ryland who had a “bitch please” look on his face, “Mable’s only happy because she got laid last night.”

“RYLAND!” Mable screamed in shock, the video cutting to her reaction. The room erupted with laughter as she flipped him off and let empty threats stumble out of her lips at Ryland.

“YOU LITERALLY TEXTED IT IN THE GROUP CHAT!” Ryland stressed, leaning over the table to get closer to Mable. The video moved to you taking a long sip of your coffee while a familiar tattooed arm rested behind you on the couch.

“Clearly, the energy is through the roof today in the pod—we’ll probably get to Mable’s sex life in a bit.” You paused, smirking at your friend, “But back to roll call, we’ve got Ryland on cameras and sound. Ryland, how are you pookie?”

Ryland posed at the camera in front of him and waved wildly at it, “I’m doing swell stinkabutt.”

“What’s your coffee order today—actually Ryland doesn’t have coffee today, he has juice.” You explained to your listeners. Ryland held up his green juice, “Yeah, I’m on a juice cleanse everyone. Me and Sean are going to Aruba in a few weeks and I refuse to work out, so I’m drinking juice instead.”

“You look great Ry.” A voice off camera chimed in. The voice had a distinct accent that could only belong to a specific someone. Ryland smiled at the person, “Thanks Ha—wait I was just about to spoil who it was.” He immediately clasped his hand over his mouth with wide eyes.

“Y’know what, we’ve made you guys wait long enough.” You sighed before continuing, “Our guest is very special to me. He’s a recent Grammy winner, one of the biggest artists in the world, and he happens to be my boyfriend; please welcome to the pod mister Harry Styles!” You cheered, causing everyone in the room to clap. The video finally cut to Harry who was sat next you on a blush pink couch nursing a pastel yellow mug.

Harry adorable scrunched his nose and waved at you all bashfully, “Oh, stop it.”

“How does it feel to be on the pod, Harry?” You asked, turning your body towards him. Harry nodded and looked around the room, “I’m happy to be here, love, thanks f’having me. Also, I like what you’ve guys done to our shed, s’very comfy.”

“I totally forgot we were in your shed.” Ryland chuckled.

“Oh yeah, to everyone listening or watching, we’ve been filming this podcast in Harry and (Y/n)’s backyard.” Mable explained to the audience with a chuckle.

“It’s not a problem honestly, I’m glad you guys are getting some use out of it.” Harry assured you all as he glanced at the decorations around the room. There was an old school looking blush couch in the center of the room, which was across from a burnt mustard colored love seat. While the walls were painted a darker shade of matcha green with fairy lights strung along it.

Harry was seen glancing at the rug as he toed at it with his socked foot. “Where’d y’get the rug?” He asked you.

You peeked at said rug, “Your mom picked it out when she was helping me furniture shop here.” Harry’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape as he leaned back into the cushion, one of his legs crossed beneath him and the other hung off the couch.

“So Harold, what’s the coffee order today?” You motioned to his coffee. He proudly held the yellow mug up and smiled at the camera, “I’ve got my usual black coffee, courtesy of my lovely girlfriend.”

The camera panned to you hiding behind your Starbucks cup trying to hide your heated cheeks.

“And what do you have today, love?” Harry returned the question, naturally fitting into the conversation. You looked at the label on your cup, “I have my usual coffee order—H actually went out on a coffee run for me and Mable, so thank you bubs.” You answered, the corners of your mouth quirked up.

“They make me sick.” Ryland fake gagged.

“Aren’t you also in a relationship?” Mable narrowed her eyes at him. Ryland rolled his eyes at her, “Yeah, but they make me sick in a good way, like the wholesomeness is just too much.”

“What the fuck..”

Harry grinned at Ryland, “Y’gonna be fuckin’ puking by the time we’re done then.”

The camera cut to Mable smirking at you, “I find it so weird how you’re being so quiet.”

“Me?” You pointed at yourself amusingly. Harry glanced at you and visibly scooted closer to you. The sound of equipment being moved can be heard over the audio since Harry attempted to discreetly move his mic stand next to yours.

“Yes ma’am.” Mable nodded. You placed your cup on the round coffee table beside you.

“I don’t know why, but it just settled in that this is us, kind of like hard launching our relationship to the public.” You softly answered, hands fiddling with your (Harry’s) loose knitted sweater.

“But everyone knows you guys are together.” Ryland stated, confusion etched on his features. Harry rose his hand to answer. You giggled at him and nudged his arm, “You don’t need to raise your hand to speak, hun.”

“Sorry.” He shook his head.

“Don’t be.” You chuckled, allowing Harry to continue. “Everyone knows, but we haven’t been very public, y’know? We like keeping things between us. Like, this is the most public we’ve ever been.” He gestures to you guys sitting beside each other.

You chimed in jokingly, “Yeah, this is our first time sitting next to each other—like ever.”

Harry nodded along, “I’m shitting m’pants right now.” He stated, causing a few chuckles in the room.

“How much persuasion did it take for (Y/n) to get you on the pod?” Mable asked Harry, sipping her coffee. Harry’s brows furrowed as he stared at the ceiling.

“Not much. She asked and I was like—yeah, I’m down.” He answered, shrugging his shoulders for emphasis. You chuckled at him and added, “He’s forgetting the part when he admitted that he’s been waiting for me to ask him to guest star.”

“Have you really been waiting?” Ryland questioned your boyfriend. Harry’s brows raised as he exclaimed, “Yes! I bloody have! You guys literally had my sister on here before me!”

You all laughed at his slight frustration, “I swear it wasn’t on purpose!” The camera cuts to you and Harry, your hand squeezing his knee.

“Wait so did you guys meet through Harry’s sister?” Mable asked you both, she then was quick to add, “If you guys don’t mind me asking!”

You waved her off to assure her it was fine.

“We met through his stylist Harry Lambert.” You began before pointing to the camera, “Shout out to Lamby by the way!” Harry followed suit and instead waved at the camera with a lopsided grin.

“Anyway, Lamby and I know each other through work. We’re under the same company and we do similar things, etc. One day he invited me to come out to one of H’s shows, I didn’t have anything better to do, so I decided to go.”

“We met before the show though, remember?” Harry gently interjected, using his arm behind you to tap your shoulder. You nodded, “Yeah we did, I was fortunate enough to meet him before he went out on stage and we got on really well—“

You looked at Harry, “We probably spent about five minutes talking, right?”

“Yeh, it was pretty quick. I don’t know if you felt it at first, but like—Y’know that feeling when you kinda just know a person is gonna have some kind of impact on y’life?” Harry wondered aloud, hands waving around to try and get his point across. Mable and Ryland nodded, making sounds of agreement.

“It was like that and I thought about it the entire time I was on stage. After that everything seemed to fall into place and the rest was history.” Harry finished, smacking his hand on his leg. Ryland was the first to speak, “So after the concert did you try to always come up with an excuse to go to his shows or did you try to persuade Harry Lambert to invite (Y/n) more often?” Ryland pointed between the couple in front of him.

You and Harry stared at each other, his brow raised at you while your eyes squinted at his. Harry stuck his pointer finger out, “Well I got her number after, so I didn’t have to make any excuses for her to be at my shows. I’d invite her, she’d come and watch, then we would hang out after. Sometimes when we were in the same place, we would meet up too.”

“I’m assuming this went on for months?” Mable looked between you and Harry.

“Yeah, but the thing is, he was touring and I was working. So we had to be in different places all the time.” You clarified. Harry picked off where you left, “We managed to make it work though, I don’t think either of us were going to give up that easily.”

The video caught you and Harry gazing into each other’s eyes momentarily.

“Absolutely.” You agreed, scrunching your nose at him, similar to what he did earlier. Mable pouted at the two of you, “You guys are so cute.”

Harry quietly thanked her as he situated himself on the couch again. While Mable and Ryland gushed about how much you guys were “goals”, the famous singer got even more comfortable on the couch. He placed his mug down and leaned his body against your side, he softly took your arm and held it against his chest so you were holding him. He leaned the mic lower so it was closer to him and was mindful of where his feet was to avoid bumping his mug on the floor.

“I’m just curious, but what are like the weirdest rumors have you guys heard about yourselves?” Ryland asked, moving the conversation along.

“I don’t have any.” Mable shrugged.

“Maybe that guy last night can share some, should we call him?” You sang, jokingly pulling out your phone. Mable groaned and slapped her forehead with her palm, “I hate the both of you.”

“I’ve heard stuff about us, but I really think this rumor would be more fun to talk about.” You pondered. Harry shifted his head on your chest to look up at you, “Wha’ rumor?”

The corner of your lip turned into a smirk as you simply said, “Hobama.”

Harry suddenly threw his head back and bursted out laughing.

“Like President Obama?” Ryland screamed in shock, his brows raised to his forehead.

“I honestly don’t know how it started. It randomly popped up on the tabloids and followed me around for years—till this day, might I add!” Harry tried to clarify.

“I feel like it got even worse when Graham asked you about it.” You chuckled, fingers mindlessly playing with Harry’s brunette curls.

“What did Graham ask?” Mable leaned towards the couple.

“He asked if it was true that I had a sexual relationship or affair with Obama—I knew they were gonna ask me about it prior to the show being filmed. But at the time I was like fuck it and just went along w’it.” Harry started, “I didn’t know that it would become an actual thing.” He deadpanned, sending a look at the camera.

“Have there been any Hobama signs at any of your recent shows?” Ryland squinted his eyes at Harry.

“Not a one.” Harry paused, “But after this episode airs, I wouldn’t be surprised if I see a couple in the crowds.”

Mable crossed her arms, “Your shows are very interesting—in a good way—of course.”

“Thank you.” Harry grinned, “Yeh, we’ve got a lot of things going on. Every night it’s like a giant sleep over with a bunch of friends. We sing songs, we dance—“

“Trauma dumping!” Ryland interjected excitedly. Harry gestured to the man opposite him, “Right, we do therapy sessions.”

“Don’t forget the gender reveals, proposals, and helping them come out.” You continued to list, Harry nodding his head at every thing you said.

“Harry’s like a Swiss Army knife, he just does everything.” Mable joked. Ryland sighed and rested his chin in his palm, “You’re so talented.”

“You’re better at controlling cameras and all the sound equipment than me.” Harry acknowledged, raising a brow at him. Ryland snapped his finger at the Brit, “You’re so right, thank you, Harry.”

Harry placed his hand on his heart, “I gotcha man.” You then raised your hand, catching Harry’s attention, “Yes, m’love?”

“Can I just say how proud I am of you and like how insanely successful the tour has been?” You sat up, making Harry sit up as well. He remained close to you, wrapping his arm back around your shoulder. Though your statement made him pout at you, “Y’make my heart feel fuzzy.”

Mable and Ryland audibly awed at the both of you.

“No! Like seriously, it makes me so proud to see how much of a safe space your concert is to all you fans and anyone who steps foot into those shows.” You placed your hand on his tattooed arm and gave it a small squeeze. “I don’t think you realize how much of an impact you make on people’s lives, like we all appreciate you so much and I just wanted to remind you of that.” You shrugged, shrinking into your own shoulders.

“C’mere.” Harry said dragging out his words as he pulled you into a hug, this time he held you and your head was tucked into the crook of his neck. Instead of letting you go, Harry helped you get comfortable in his arms.

“While we’re at it, I just wanted to say how much fun I’m having right now. Thank you guys for having me” Harry gestured to Mable and Ryland across from him then turned to you, “And thank you to you for allowing me to be in your workspace and sharing it with me. You’ve always supported me throughout everything and now I finally get to support you and your craft, so thank you for trusting me to be here.”

Now it was your turn to pout, though there was a twinkle in you eye, “Thank you, H.” You hummed as Harry pecked your temple.

“I’m rooting so hard for you guys, you have no idea.” Mable said from her seat, the camera cut to Ryland who agreed.

“Yeh, I guess we like each other a lot.” Harry joked. You smiled softly at him.

“I don’t wanna intrude but is there a possible wedding in the future?” Ryland asked. It was silent between you and Harry, the both of you staring at each other before answering.

“I think so, I have some pretty high hopes.” You answered. Harry made a sound of agreement, “I think when everything calms down we’ll figure it out, but without a doubt it’s definitely in the cards.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and added, “Let me release the fourth album and then I’ll put a ring on it.”

The camera cut to you blushing with wide eyes, clearly taken off guard by your boyfriend’s comment. Mable and Ryland were quick to react, sending you teasing looks and screaming “oooo”.

The corner of Harry’s mouth lifted into a smirk, turning his head to look at you he asked, “How’s that sound?”

You scrunched your nose (adorably, Harry might add) and pretended to put some thought into it.

“Sounds like a plan, but on one condition.”

Harry’s brows raised as he waited for you to continue.

“You have to release Medicine.” You said, Harry caught on to your banter and feigned an annoyed sigh, “Babe, we’ve talked about this.”

“Fine, then can we get a puppy?”

“Of course we can, darling, we’ll have one by tomorrow morning.” Harry jested, sounding incredibly posh.

You turned to the camera apologetically and spoke directly to your boyfriend’s fans, “Sorry guys, I tried.”

Though in reality, you knew that Harry would release Medicine in a heartbeat if you asked him to.

[lesbians4lottienat]

Maybe you could write something with Natalie where her and r have a casual relationship, like they go to the same school and take some classes together, they hook up and hang out sometimes, Natalie stays at r house when she's having problems at home and ends up developing feelings for r and doesn't know what to do with them, I know there are some fanfics like that but I really like this dynamic.

of course! i strayed slightly from the usual plot lines, but i hope you still enjoy !! :] also my apologies this took so long and is so short! i struggled a lot with this one :’D

Casual

You and Nat have a casual, unlabeled relationship. She finally realizes that she loves you when you’re there for her at her lowest.

slightly implied fem!reader but can also be read as gender neutral. hurt/comfort. mentions of abuse. mentions of nat’s dad’s death. mentions of self sabotaging behaviors. implied angsty ending.

Nat can’t remember how it started. She can’t remember when she first saw you or your first conversation with one another. Can’t remember what you even talked about. All she knows is this: you're always good company when she’s feeling particularly down but needs to sober up during soccer season.

You both found comfort in each other's company for the night and a small serving of romantic affection, enough to convince yourselves that you didn't need an actual relationship. It was a transaction, yes, but one based on mutual understanding and respect. She was outcasted for being a drug-addicted burnout, and you were the one student at her school kind enough to still talk to her.

The two of you would occasionally hang out after school or be partners for a project, but you belonged to different social circles. You, with the preppy crowd who often shamed her for things she didn’t do. She knew you defended her, but a part of her wished you would distance yourself from them. Meanwhile, she was with the junkies and outcasts, who mocked your clothes and ‘stuck up attitude’ (which, in reality, she’d never met anyone kinder than you. Who they had been talking to, she had no clue.)

She always waited for you to come to her. Perhaps it was a pride thing, but she couldn’t force herself to go up to you and ask for what she wanted directly. No, she’d much rather have you scrambling to figure everything out yourself.

This all changed, however, on a particularly rough night for Nat. You see, her mother and she had been in a particularly rough spot ever since her father blew half of his face off. Their strained relationship was worsened by the fact that they both blamed Nat for what transpired. So, yes, maybe her mother had taken up her father’s old violent habits. Add that along with her new boyfriend who despised when Nat was home, and you get the rather unfortunate picture.

She limps through the rainy culdesac, because of course it was raining on top of her being bloodied and beaten, and makes her way to your house. She knows your room’s on the second story. She groans internally and begins scaling a tree by your window. It takes much longer than usual, as she’s injured and exhausted. When she finally makes it onto your roof, she knocks much harder than she means. Wincing at the sound, she prays that you aren’t already asleep.

The window’s curtain is pulled back immediately, and she’s met with the sight of you in your stupid matching pajama set, holding your lamp defensively. Ah, right. She supposed it did seem like she was either a feral animal or a burglar. Upon seeing her, your gaze softens, but only momentarily. The tender look in your eyes is soon replaced by worry. You shove your window open and pull her through, leading her into your bathroom.

You patch her up in silence, ignoring the occasional sob that racks her whole body. You know she doesn’t want to talk about it. You know you’ll eventually get it out of her. As you finish patching her up, you look at her with your big, sad eyes. She sighs, looking away and wiping at her eyes. You hold your hand out to her; at first, she’s not sure what you want. She holds her hand out to you uncertainly, and to her surprise, you gently kiss her knuckles. Then, you lead her into your room, making her comfortable under your comforter.

Once snugly wrapped in a blanket cocoon, you do something that confuses Nat. You press a soft kiss to her forehead, then move to her busted lip and press gentle, chaste kisses on all of her wounds.

“...what are you doing?” she eventually rasps, and you look up sheepishly. It’s clear you're embarrassed and don’t want to say it, but she’s too curious and tired to let you off easy right now.

“You know how, uhm, when we were kids, my, uh, my mom would kiss our scrapes and stuff better?”

Nat feels her heart flutter. She nods slowly, not breaking eye contact with you.

“I’m kissing it better.”

She stares for a second, then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When you don't move, she tugs on your shirt sleeve.

“Keep going,” she says, although it sounds much more like a plea than a command. You get to work quickly.

Nat thinks to herself that it's nice. It's nice to have someone to patch her up, worry about her, and kiss her wounds better. Now, she realizes that your relationship goes so much further than person-I-hook-up-with-to-pass-the-time. She realizes she loves you as the two of you lay in your bed. She loves your dorky jokes, preppy clothes, and stupid, bright smile. The realization is exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Still, she allows herself to enjoy the moment, nestled into your side as you run your fingers through her hair. You cup her cheek, and she instantly leans into your touch. Oh, she’s so screwed. But at the moment, she doesnt care; it’s just you and her, and your beautifully confusing unlabeled relationship.

The following day, when she wakes up, she’ll leave early. She’ll avoid you for a while until you confront her with your big, sad eyes, and she’ll hate it. Hate that she could ever cause that expression on your face. She’ll push you away, she’s sure. Say something stupid and make you hate her. But for now, she’s in your bed, safe, comfortable, and in love. And for now, she could live with that.

[backtothefanfiction]

Crushed | Peter x Reader x Harry imagine

Summary: Your boyfriend sometimes has anger problems, but this is the first time he’s ever taken it out on you. Thank the lord his best friend was there to step in.

Warnings: angst, jealousy, unintentionally angry abusive boyfriend (it’s Harry’s illness), protective friend, needle, strangling, a little bit of infidelity (it’s just one kiss)

Word Count: Maybe 1.5k-ish (wrote in app and can’t really check. Was supposed to be a quick on but…)

A/N: this is an apology story as my other longer stories still aren’t ready yet. I needed some angst and this idea just popped into my head, soooo, let’s go.

To say your boyfriend had a bit of a temper was an understatement. It was something he got from his father along with his rich kid entitlement. He wasn’t always like this. He was usually nice. He took great pride in having bagged you for a girlfriend and loved showing you off to people. However he wasn’t stupid. He knew how people looked at you when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Jealous. Your boyfriend was easily jealous. He’d catch guys looking and would be quick to remind them who you belonged to. An angry stare here, smashed glass and punch in the face there, but he’d never taken it out on you.

That was until his father died. Suddenly Harry had even more feelings than he knew how to deal with. Often multiple feelings at the same time. That and the fact he was dying. You weren’t supposed to know, but you’d overheard him talking to Peter about it. He’d been coming around a lot more since Norman had died. He was an old friend from when Harry was a kid. You thought it was good for him, he seemed a little more at ease despite the doom and gloom. You got on well with him too. He was kind and easy to talk to. He seemed to be the only guy Harry didn’t seem threatened by around you. That was until tonight.

You had all gone out for dinner. Harry had seemed off for the whole meal but you thought it was just because of his illness. Heck, maybe his anger was just another part of his illness. He was quiet and logical, all the way through the meal. He often looked between Peter and you as you spoke so easily to one another. You seemed to laugh at every single one of his jokes and Harry could have sworn he saw a particular warmth and sparkle to your eyes.

He was silent the whole cab ride home and kept shrugging you off whenever you asked him what the matter was, his fingers flexing over his knees. When Peter asked the same question he just ignored you both and looked out the window.

You had both said goodnight to Peter when you had gotten out of the car.

“You gonna be okay?” Peter quietly asked you as Harry began to make his way to the front door of the building.

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded. “Good night Peter.” You smiled before quickly following after your boyfriend.

Being in the elevator with Harry felt like being in a pressure cooker, the higher the elevator got to the penthouse, the more tight and constricting the air felt; until you reached the top and he seemingly began to explode.

You watched on as he made a beeline to his Fathers alcohol, knocking back shot of whisky after shot of whisky and shouting about Peter.

“I saw the way he looked at you…. And when he touched you….” He ranted jealously as he paced back and forth across the floor as you sat frozen on the sofa.

You watched as the veins in his neck began to bulge slowly turning a darker shade of green. He was beginning to scare you.

“Harry, maybe I should go home.” You tentatively said standing, grabbing your coat off the arm of the sofa where you had placed it and folding it over your arm.

It was like he fully remembered you were in the room. And not in a good way. His eyes were completely black as they locked onto you. “And you,” he snarled, “you like him back don’t you sweetheart. The way you giggle at his jokes and fix his clothes and-“

“Harry. Harry stop. You’re scaring me.” You tried to say as you stumbled backwards towards the door. You were trying to not make sudden movements, trying to keep your energy calm and placate him long enough to get out the door but it was no good. Harry was gone.

Your back hit a large pillar and he was on you in seconds, his hand around your throat as he began to squeeze. “Harry!” You tried to say but it was difficult with how tightly he was squeezing. You couldn’t breath, you began to make choking noises as your finger nails reached to claw at the back of his hand. “Harry.” Your voice was high pitched and raspy. “I don’t… please.”

There was a loud thud as the front door burst open, Peter rushing in and tackling Harry to the ground. You gasped as oxygen flooded your lungs and your legs gave way, your body collapsing into a heap on the floor. Tears pricked your eyes as your chest heaved, panicked coughs wracking your body. Your vision was patchy as you tried to watch Peter and Harry, wrestling on the ground.

“Harry! Harry!” Peter said as he pinned his friend to the floor. “Harry, look at me! This isn’t you! Stop it,” Harry just kept fighting though, his body writhing underneath Peter’s, but Peter didn’t budge.

“Get off me! I hate you! You’re fucking my girlfriend!”

“Harry!”

“Get off me!”

“Harry this isn’t you. I wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do that. Harry!”

Harry’s wails were animal like.

You knew you had to do something to help. You remembered the medicine Harry was secretly keeping in his desk drawer. Your legs felt wobbly as you tried to stand, hobbling into his office in the next room. Your fingers were frantic as you opened the desk drawer and took out a vile and fresh needle. You rested your weight against the desk as you readied the shot.

“Peter. Here use this,” you said almost defeated as you made your way back into the other room.

You had no idea how Peter was able to hold down the still thrashing Harry and take the needle from you with such steady hands. Peter wasted no time in pushing the needle into one of the bulging veins in Harry’s neck, quickly administering the medicine that began to take immediate effect. Harry’s body went limp as he calmed, his eyes closing as if he was relishing in the relief. The veins in his neck seemed to settle and the green track marks began to recede.

Peter’s body collapsed to one side on the floor, removing his weight from Harry’s body. When it was evident Harry was out for the count and sleeping off his episode, the brown haired boy finally turned to you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, scrambling across the floor to where you too had collapsed, adrenaline beginning to dissipate.

You groaned slightly as you blinked away your tears and rubbed at the ghostly feeling of Harry’s fingers at your neck. “Ow.” You said hoarsely as Peter’s hands reached out and tilted your chin up and turned you in the light to get a better look at your neck.

“Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.” He said.

“I thought you went home.” You croaked.

“Don’t try and talk.” He said. “Come on.” He reached out for your hands and pulled you up off the floor, walking you towards the kitchen where he sat you on one of the stools. He grabbed you a glass of water and told you to take small sips while he put Harry to bed.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You asked when he came back into the room.

“I thought I told you not to try and talk.”

You simply shot him a look in response.

“He’s gonna be fine. Well, he’ll make it through the night anyway.” Implying that although Harry was alive now, Peter might just kill him himself tomorrow for what he had just done to you.

You couldn’t help but look at Peter differently then. He’d saved your life. Harry was about to strangle you to death and he’d saved your life. “Peter?”

He raised his eyebrows at you in a way that said ‘what did I tell you about trying to talk?’ But you ignored him.

“Thank you.” You said, settling for a whisper.

He gave you a small smile. “Come on. Let’s get you to a doctor and get that throat looked at.”

You quickly shook your head no, but instantly regretted it, wincing as your throat protested against the movement. “No Doctor. They’ll report it. I don’t want him getting in trouble.” You tried to say, but your voice became more strained as you tried to get the words out.

“Fine. Fine.” Peter said, raising his arms in front of you in a calming manor, trying to ease the rising panic in your eyes. “Okay. But I am taking you home. And I’m never leaving you on your own with him again.”

“Peter, what he said about-“

Peter shook his head cutting you off. “Not now.”

He wrapped his arm around you as he guided you back through the apartment. He grabbed your coat off of the floor and placed it over your shoulders, before he placed a protective hand to your back once more and lead you out the door.

******

When you got back to your parents apartment, Peter took you all the way up to the door. Your hand froze on the door handle, key halfway to the lock when you turned back to him with tears in your eyes. The reality of the night was finally sinking in. You worried at your lip before you asked, “Will you stay?”

“I uh,” he stammered, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, what would Harry say?”

“Peter please. I don’t care… I’m scared.” Your voice said vulnerably. “Please.”

His hand reached out to cup your cheek. His thumb smoothing away the tear that rolled down it. “I can’t. I wish I could but I can’t.”

“Because of Harry’s jealousy?”

“Because he’s right.”

His words stun you. They put a stop to your tears as curiosity forms inside you instead. You try to speak but he stops you.

“He’s right to be jealous.”

“Why?” Your voice is a barely audible whisper.

“Because I’m falling for you.”

You’re not sure why you do it. Maybe it’s the shock of everything. Maybe it’s because he saved your life and you feel like you owe him. Maybe it’s because you really did have feelings for him too. But you lean forward and kiss him. It’s short and sweet. Delicate.

His hand hovers at the side of your face. You know he wants more. And if it wasn’t for Harry, if it wasn’t for everything that had just happened he’d take more. But he fights it. And so do you.

You know you shouldn’t ask again, not after you just kissed him, but you are more scared to be alone right now than not say it. “Please stay. I promise I won’t do that again. Just, please don’t leave me on my own.”

He hasn’t got the heart to say no to you again. He simply gives a small nod, his hand indicating for you to open the door, a silent promise that he’d follow.

You both agreed he’d sleep on the cushioned bench under your window. You had gotten him a blanket and pillow before you crawled into bed. You both just stayed there in your positions across the room, staring at each other, you lying down, him just sat, his back leaning against the wall next to the window.

You didn’t know when you had eventually fallen asleep, but when you woke up, Peter was gone and the window had been left slightly open. Your neck felt stiff and all you wanted to do was roll over and forget everything had happened. Everything except for that kiss.

As your lips tingled and a fuzzy feeling settled into the pit of your stomach, you knew one thing for sure. Your boyfriend was a dick and you were definitely crushing on his best friend.