#but dai's grown enough that he's willing to share it. his life his dream his heart

[dnangelic]

last cap comparison but this panel is always so good to me because a) dark's absolutely evil anime villain face b) daisuke's dialogue talking about how dark's always there for him to completely offset that and c) dark's grip

[tumbleweed-writes]

hi babe. from your smut prompt list can we have #50 #52 with Chibs? thank uuu

Homecoming: Chibs Telford X Reader

18+ of course.

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When Y/N had fled Santa Monica heading up north to the idyllic little town of Charming, she’d only had the intention of wanting to be closer to her older sister. Lyla Dovorak was technically Y/N’s half sister. They shared the same mother and were only a couple of years apart.

Lyla was barely two years old when Y/N was born. 

Their mother, Ruth, had a tendency to approach romance with the strange idea that perhaps getting pregnant with her romantic partners might keep them around. Of course this had never worked in her favor.

Ruth tended to pick men who were more interested in getting laid than actually sticking around after the afterglow faded. She’d not gone for guys who stuck around when things got difficult. 

Lyla’s father had left as soon as the pregnancy test had turned blue which had been a problem as Ruth had been barely sixteen then and her baby’s father had been about to turn twenty and according to Ruth wealthy enough to make it seem as though there was no way he’d fathered a child with white trash like Ruth.

Y/N’s father had not been much better. The man had run off with the single neighbor, who lived in the mobile home across from them, when Y/N was two which had been a problem as he’d  left Lyla and Y/N home alone for their mother to find after she’d gotten home from her waitressing gig.

There had been a revolving door of men after that, but Ruth had at least been done with attempting to keep a significant other via pregnancy. The men had not been the nicest and Lyla and Y/N had been forced to see a few things that they were not psychologically prepared for. 

Needless to say Lyla’s and Y/N’s homelife as children had not been without dysfunction. 

Y/N and Lyla had both long ago accepted that their mother’s choices were born out of a low self esteem and probably a bit of immaturity thrown into the mix.

The woman had mellowed out with age. Ruth had finally settled down with a decent guy; some trucker named Lou who was not entirely in the best of health, but at least treated their mother with respect and had been willing to take on two step daughters even if the women were grown adults and well past the age of feeling that they needed a dad. 

Lyla and Y/N had both unfortunately had their own unfair shots at love. 

Lyla’s ex had left when she was pregnant with Piper. Lyla had been a young single mom desperate to make ends meet doing something more profitable than waitressing like their mother had done.

Lyla had found that sex work was the best way to make ends meet. Working for Cara Cara was not Lyla’s dream career but she was smart enough to know that her looks could pull in plenty of money and she needed to strike while the iron was hot.

Y/N herself had always been the more reserved sibling. She was shy and less likely to ever be comfortable expressing her sexuality as openly as Lyla did even for a paycheck.

She’d taken a creative path going to cosmetology school and earning a license. She’d thought she could work for movie studios but had only landed a job in a nice salon. She did not do hair and nails for Hollywood starlets, but instead took care of upscale clientele.

It was a cushy job and she was well paid for her services. It was not what she’d been hoping for though.

Her romantic life had also been riddled with disappointment.

She’d dated immature guys who were not ambitious about anything other than playing video games all day or intense guys who only cared about hitting up the nightclubs and engaging in illicit substances. 

She had a tendency to attract men who did not respect her nor appreciate her attempts at love.

Her biggest disappointment had pushed her up north. 

Y/N had been engaged to a long time boyfriend who on paper had seemed like a great match. He was actually ambitious when it came to his career. He didn’t do anything more than enjoy the occasional glass of wine. He had charm and was conventionally handsome. He’d bought her a large diamond engagement ring and made all sorts of promises about the future. 

Unfortunately he had proven to Y/N time and time again that he did not appreciate her nor respect her. 

Their relationship had consisted of him breaking her heart repeatedly; claiming he was a changed man and then proving he’d not changed at all. It had become a cycle. They got back together, he cheated, he blamed her, she broke up with him, he came to her crying claiming he wanted to change, and she took him back. Then the cycle would start again.

Y/N knew it was pathetic taking him back over and over again knowing he would disappoint her each time. 

To be honest, Y/N felt nothing but pity for the girl she’d been back then.

The final straw had been her fiance fucking someone who Y/N had regarded as being her best friend in their bed. 

Y/N had walked in on it and that had been enough to end the cycle.

She’d taken off to the safety she knew her half sister could provide her in hopes that her heart would mend itself in a new environment.

She’d not been anticipating finding love. Love had been the last thing on Y/N’s mind.

Chibs Telford had not been looking for love either, so imagine his shock when he’d entered the clubhouse and spotted the pretty young woman playing red hands with Kenny Winston. 

He had gotten the strangest sense of fondness as he observed the young woman yank her hands back just in time to avoid having them slapped by the youngest Winston boy before Piper Dovorack had taken Kenny’s place proving that he did not have as quick of reflexes as his aunt.

Chibs had barely had a chance to question her presence as Lyla and Opie had entered the room making the introductions for him. 

Chibs was surprised to admit that he’d felt the strangest sense of relief at the realization that Auntie Y/N was not just here to help Lyla prepare for her wedding to Opie the next year, but was here to stay as she’d signed the lease on an apartment and had taken a job at a salon in town.

He knew he’d have to be blind not to admit that she was an attractive young woman. He had spotted an attractive figure even if she’d been wearing dark denim overalls and converse over a tight little tank top given that she’d dressed for comfort due to the fact that she’d spent her morning moving into her new apartment. She’d not been wearing a spot of makeup but he’d found she had an attractive complexion that showed a few signs of freckling due to too much sun. Her hair had looked soft and her skin had seemed as though it would feel pleasant under his touch. 

He’d felt foolish for admiring her as much as he had. He had a feeling Lyla would be displeased that he had been thinking about how soft and perfect her little sister would feel under his body. 

He’d been unaware that Y/N had found the older Scotsman appealing. He was not like any man she might have previously found alluring. She wanted to blame the accent, but she had to admit that he was charming. It was in the way he’d shaken her hand upon their introduction. A voice in the back of her head had insisted that it was obvious by the way he’d held her hand that he knew how to treat a lady. She’d found that he had a nice smile and kind eyes. 

She’d of course noticed the scars along his cheeks but had found that she could not find them to be evidence of danger. If anything it was a sign that he’d been at the receiving end of cruelty and she felt that she would be callous to make any judgment based on a past injury. 

A voice in the back of her head had told her that she might be kind of screwed when it came to a guy as appealing as Chibs.

The feeling had only grown when she’d realized how good Chibs was with the Teller and Winston children as well as her nephew Piper. There was something quite alluring about a guy who was good with kids. He was willing to goof off with them and show them affection and it was adorable.

Y/N’s trips to the clubhouse had become a little more frequent than she anticipated, especially once Gemma had taken a liking to her partially due to Y/N’s willingness to take Gemma on as a hair client and maintain Gemma’s highlights for a cheaper rate than she’d been getting at her previous salon.

It had also helped that Y/N had provided Abel Teller with his first haircut which had made Tara fond of her. Her willingness to trim hair for any Sons who might show interest had endeared her to the MC.

When Lyla visited the clubhouse, Y/N always followed. Soon enough Y/N had received invites without Lyla being included.

Chibs had told himself that he didn’t have time to focus on Y/N’s visits to the clubhouse.

Soon after the Sons' return from Belfast Ireland, the majority of the MC had been arrested and placed serving a 14 month sentence out in Stockton.

Chibs, Opie, Kozik, Piney, and a few prospects had been left to keep the club afloat. 

He’d told himself that any strange sense of fondness he felt for Lyla’s little sister was only a distraction from his responsibilities to the Sons.

He had to admit she was a glorious distraction though. He found her to be pleasant to look at and even more pleasurable to speak to. He’d found that he  maybe went out of his way to chat with her and flirt more than a little when she was around.

Much to his annoyance he was not the only one who found her to be a pleasant distraction. He’d noticed the heart eyes that Kozik and a few of the prospects had sent her way.

A couple of the non-patched club hang-arounds had also taken notice of Lyla’s pretty sister.

When one club hangaround had trapped Y/N in a conversation during a Friday night party, Chibs had swooped in and saved her from the conversation by insisting he had something to show her in the garage.

He’d had to present that something he wanted to show her as an innocent invitation to share a joint on the roof of TM Auto. To his relief, if she'd sensed he was jealous about the attention she’d been receiving from the men around the club, she had not called him out on it.

She’d maybe spilled her heart to him on that roof, opening up about the reason she’d moved from Santa Monica, the joint making her feel relaxed enough to be blunt. “Nothing prepared me for coming home to the man I intended to marry only to find my best friend riding him out in our bed. I knew something was going on between them with all the time they seemed to be spending together, but I was naive enough to hope that they’d just been trying to get along for my sake. I always thought they hated each other and were trying to get along because I’d assumed they both cared about me. They proved to me that they fucking got along alright. They’d been fucking behind my back for months. I wanted to drag the bitch off his dick by her hair. I wish I had yanked her out of bed and beat her face in.”

“What’d ye do?” Chibs had dared to ask, surprised to find that he felt a sense of hurt for Y/N as he listened to the story. He did not miss the pain in her voice. The thought of her feeling betrayed by two people she had loved bothered him.

“I just threw my engagement ring at them…and screamed…there was a lot of screaming.” She remarked, rolling her eyes.

She paused, shaking her head taking another deep hit off the joint before passing it back to him. “If I could go back, I would have at least trashed some of his things…maybe I would have scratched those stupid pans he’d never let me use…He was a chef, my ex fiance. He was really paranoid about me touching anything he bought for the kitchen. I should have taken a freaking SOS pad to those stupid pans and stolen some of his knives or something.  I was too hurt to be vengeful at the moment.”

“Aye, fer what its worth he probably wasn’t worth the energy. The real punishment is him losin a lass like ye.” Chibs blurted out the words leaving his lips before he could stop them.

The reaction she’d given him made his heart skip a beat. She’d leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, her voice soft. “You’re a sweet man, Chibs Telford.”

“Filip, Love.” He blurted out thankful it was dark enough that she could not see the flush to his cheeks.

“Filip?” She dared to ask, he nodding his head the words leaving him.

“Aye, That’s my name…Ye can call me that if ye want.”

And she had taken his invitation to call him Filip not noticing the teasing comments it had earned him from his brothers who had overheard it nor the raised eyebrow from Gemma, Tara, and Lyla.

Chibs had wanted to make his move on Y/N more times than he could count but a voice in the back of his head told him that she was fragile due to how her last relationship had ended.

He’d told himself that he was in a fragile place as well. Fiona had just a month prior sent him a request for divorce proving that even with Jimmy O’ out of the picture that their marriage had no chance of continuing.

He’d signed the papers willingly but it had still been an upsetting end to a chapter of his life. 

He’d told himself that Y/N and he were both vulnerable and starting anything up with one another would be ruinous for them both.

The chance to challenge that decision had come when Lyla had shown up to TM Auto looking pissed off, the words leaving her lips as she stared up at Opie. “My sister’s fucking ex fiance showed up last night. She slammed the door in his face but he won’t get the clue. He’s practically harassing her at this point. She needs some back up.”

She’d barely had the chance to say the words before Chibs had been taking off towards his bike the words leaving him. “Where is he?”

Opie had followed Chibs, ignoring the exchanged glances among their brothers over Chibs eagerness to jump into action at the mere mention of Y/N being harassed by her ex.

When Chibs and Opie arrived at Y/N’s place they’d found her ex holding her wrist all too tightly, the pair clearly arguing as she struggled against the man’s hold.

Chibs had acted fast, stepping forward his voice holding a dangerous edge. “Ye best back off her, Lad.”

Y/N’s ex had stared up at Chibs and the kutte on his back, his eyes widening just the slightest at least smart enough to sense danger. He spoke trying to sound more confident than he felt. “This is between my fiancée and me.”

“Ex fiancée. I’m only sayin it one more time, Ye let go of her and get the fuck outta her life.” Chibs growled, stepping closer.

Her ex had proven that perhaps he was not as bright as he should have been because he released Y/N squaring up to Chibs forming fists. “Are you going to make me leave, Scotty?”

“Aye, I am.” Chibs had snapped, throwing a punch before her ex even had a chance to act.

There had been a few thrown fists and some chaos as the two men decided to have a full blown fist fight.

Y/N had done her best to verbally break up the fight but Opie had stepped in physically breaking up the fight. 

In the end, her ex fiance had been beaten down and freaked out enough to leave her apartment. Opie had followed to make sure that the guy left and stayed gone.

Chibs had wound up with Y/N pressing a bag of frozen peas to his swollen eye while forcing him to hold a bag of carrots to his knuckles. She had scolded him as she assessed his injuries.

He could still remember her words. “That was a horrible idea, Filip. How do you know my ex isn’t going to call the cops? Noah is a sore loser. He’s competitive. It’s stupid how competitive he can get. He doesn’t like losing. He wouldn’t even let me win at Monopoly. He has this stupid male pride that he refuses to set down for even a second. You beating the crap out of him is most likely just going to make him more determined to win me back because he can’t stand the idea of losing. If he calls the cops what are you going to do, huh? The last thing you guys need is another member of the MC getting in trouble with the cops. How could you do something so impulsive and dangerous and so fucking sweet?”

He’d decided that the best way to end the browbeating she was giving him was by leaning in his lips pressing to her’s, his voice sounding so certain. “I’m only sweet fer ye, Love. I think yer well worth the arrest risk.”

As soon as his lips had met hers she had returned the kiss the bags of frozen veggies easily forgotten.

The kiss should have been the step they needed to take to get together but his cell phone ringing had broken the spell they’d been under.

It had been club business of course.

As soon as the call had ended Chibs’ logic had kicked his romantic heart to the ground, a voice in the back of his head reminding him that Y/N was too vulnerable to fall into this with him. He was not going to use her as some rebound.

He was a criminal and he would bring her nothing but heartache, the voice had insisted. He was not the kind of guy who she needed to put her heart back together. 

He’d barely said goodbye leaving her apartment only blurting out something about the club needing him.

He’d ignored her after that. He’d ignored her for a month and it had broken both their hearts.

The invite from Lyla to another Friday night party had been the straw that broke the camel's back.

Chibs had thrown himself into croweaters as an attempt to shut his stupid heart up over the subject of Y/N. It had not been working. Every woman he took to bed was compared to what he told himself he could have with Y/N. The croweaters paled in comparison to the wonders of Y/N. 

The sight of Y/N walking into the clubhouse with Lyla had been a bittersweet sight for Chibs Telford. Y/N had been wearing a little black mini skirt that made her legs look glorious and he’d wanted to go right over to her and drop down to his knees while begging her to give him a second chance.

Chibs Telford was a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be though. He’d pulled a blonde croweater with impressive implants into his lap and pretended that he didn’t notice the hurt in Y/N’s features.

She’d told herself she was stupid for feeling hurt over him. Chibs Telford was just a man; a stupid attractive man with an accent she found comforting and a touch that made her heart do funny things. He was a man she’d felt so protected with. He was a man who had listened to her spill her heart about her ex over a shared joint. He was the man who made the prospects and club hang-arounds back off when they were getting too enthusiastic and obnoxious with attempts to hit on her. He was a man who made her laugh and was wonderful with her nephew and soon to be step niece and nephew. He was a man who she had previously viewed as being the sweetest man she’d ever met.

She didn’t know what asshole had body-snatched Chibs Telford, because his behavior over the last month had proven to her that he was not a sweet man.

She told herself she should not be surprised that Chibs had turned out to be less than what she’d hoped for. Chibs Telford was just another disappointment for her.

She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he had hurt her. She had welcomed Kozik when the blonde Son had taken a seat by her at the bar and had struck up a conversation with her.

She’d given him a tired smile between sips of her whiskey and cola as he leaned in and spoke to her. “You’ve not been around much lately. It feels like I haven’t seen you in weeks now. Are you okay? I hope I’m not overstepping by commenting that you seem sad”.

“You aren’t overstepping. I am sad.” She commented, shrugging her shoulders, hating that she couldn't resist glancing Chibs’ way. 

She felt her heart twist unable to ignore that he now had a croweater on either side of him, his hands roaming their bodies, both women stroking his hair and his thighs clearly giving him the attention he wanted. The sight made her feel nauseated. 

Kozik caught her line of sight, moving between Chibs and her, as he spoke. “I guess that’s what’s been keeping you away…I figured as much. I’ve noticed he’s been weird lately, avoiding you. Anytime he hears you’re around, he disappears…if it's any comfort, Chibs is kind of an idiot. Not even kind of one, he’s a moron. I don’t think he’s worth the heartache, Babe. I know I have the reputation for not being the brightest guy around here or at least according to Tig I’m kind of a dumbass, but even I can see that Chibs has been a real dick to you for about a month now. He’s not worth feeling sad over if he is comfortable making you feel this awful.”

“You aren’t dumb, Kozik. I’m sure you’re right. I think I just got my hopes up with him. Isn’t the first time I got my heart set on some asshole and it probably won’t be the last time.” She commented having to admit that Herman Kozik’s words were comforting even if she was not entirely sure her heart wanted to believe that Chibs was a totally irredeemable asshole.

Kozik spoke nodding down to her almost empty drink. “Let me get you another.”

He waved at the croweater behind the bar who happily provided her with an overfilled glass. Kozik spoke again, his voice picking up a hint of confidence. “I promise I’m not trying to swoop in while you’re vulnerable, but I can promise you that not all guys in a kutte are total assholes. I think I’m a pretty good example, not to toot my own horn. Trust me, Babe. Maybe Chibsy just wasn’t man enough to admit that you’re a catch, but his loss could be my gain. No pressure, just saying, you’re a real great girl and I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers.”

She was surprised by the laugh that left her, it felt good to at least know she was desirable.

Chibs’ clear rejection of her had wounded her ego. It had been bad enough that he’d been ignoring her after that shared kiss at her apartment. It had only felt worse to realize that he didn’t even have the balls to reject her verbally. 

He dodged her phone calls and disappeared the second she showed up at the clubhouse. She’d not missed how he’d seemed to have a croweater around more often than not the few times she’d dared to show up to a Friday night bash with Lyla.

She had thought about confronting him over what an absolute asshole he was being. She was not going to chase a man who didn’t want her though. She was done chasing men who didn’t appreciate her. 

It would be one thing if he told her the kiss had been a mistake and he wasn't into her. 

It felt worse to have him just treat her like she’d never been important at all. 

She had begun to question if there was something wrong with her. There had to be something fundamentally wrong with her if every man she attracted proved that he did not want her and preferred the company of other women.

She did not notice Chibs’ eyes on her as Kozik leaned in closer, the blonde reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she replied to the comment. “You seem like an alright guy, Herman.”

“Ouch, just alright, and Herman? Two blows in one compliment.” He was quick to remark the statement, working another laugh from her, making Chibs blood boil.

She rolled her eyes, the smile still on her lips as she spoke. “Hey, it is your name. For the record, I don’t think you’re swooping in. Maybe you have a point. His loss might be your gain. We might have to test the theory.”

A few of the drunker party goers had decided to take advantage of the low eighties love ballad playing over the jukebox in the corner of the clubhouse and dance.

Kozik saw an opportunity, he quick to speak. “Oh, I’d like to test it out, Even if I’m only alright? Do you think you might be willing to humor Alright Herman with one dance? You know, soothe my bruised ego?”

She found that she was caring less about Chibs and his croweater friends as she took Kozik’s hand allowing him to pull her over to join the other drunk slow dancers.

Chibs watched his blood boiling over as he watched Kozik pull Y/N close, his arms wrapping around her resting against the small of her back. He watched Y/N hold on to the man, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

They were pressed so close to one another and the sight made Chibs want to vomit.

He watched them sway they carrying on a low conversation that seemed to be working the occasional smile and laughter from Y/N.

A voice in the back of Chibs’ head told him that he had no one to blame but himself. He had pushed her away and straight into the arms of another man. He made his bed and had to lie in it now.

He felt a louder stubborn voice speak up insisting that no he did not have to lie back and accept the misery.

He had to fix this. He had to at least try to fix it.

He shoved the croweaters off him feeling disgusted that he’d let this go on for so long now. He was deluding himself into thinking he could fall back into encounters with croweaters as though it would silence his heart. His heart wanted what it wanted and he was just breaking it by denying it what it desired. 

He held his head up high making his way over to the couple clearing his throat louder than necessary.

Y/N gazed up at him, sending him a look that he was certain could kill him if such a thing were possible. She spoke disdain for him clear in her voice. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to ye.” Chibs blurted out cringing at the comment knowing that this was not the best way to broach this subject.

She rolled her eyes quick to respond, the hurt evident in her voice. “I’m busy, Chibs. You seemed like you were pretty busy too. You should get back to the croweaters before someone scoops them up. Make sure you use protection. There’s a strain of gonorrhea out there that’s antibiotic resistant. You might be an asshole but I wouldn’t wish an untreatable STD on even you. ”

Chibs grimaced at the comment part of him wanting to give up and admit defeat. He’d fucked it all up and she had no interest in him fixing anything.

He held back the desire to give up though telling himself that he had to man up and do what he should have done that day they’d kissed at her apartment. “I might be an arse, but I wanta explain myself, Love. Can ye give me the chance to at least do that. If ye still hate my guts after I talk to ye in private, then ye can come back in here and I’ll leave ye alone forever.”

She sighed surprised as Kozik pulled back from her the blonde looking just as defeated as Chibs seemed to feel. It seemed that the blonde Son knew he was attempting to woo a woman who belonged to someone else even if she was pissed at that someone else. “I’ll still be here, if you decide you hate him. I don’t want to stand in the way of anything. I’ll give you guys a moment.”

She sighed wanting to snap that she was sick of men telling her what to do. She wanted to snap at Kozik that he was betraying her by leaving her to talk to Chibs.

She scoffed, crossing her arms as she turned to head to the club’s entrance. She called out behind her, her voice annoyed. “Come on, Dumbass.”

Kozik and Chibs exchanged a glance neither sure who she was speaking to. With as pissed off as she seemed it could be either one of them. She rolled her eyes as she clarified. “Are we talking or not you Scottish idiot.”

Chibs stepped forward, his heart racing as he struggled to comprehend everything he wanted to say.

They’d made their way out to the cool night air settling against some picnic table as Chibs had spoken. “I know I hurt ye.”

“No shit.” She snapped, he cringing at the comment as she took a seat at the picnic table shivering in the cooler temperature. She should have brought a jacket.

He spoke again, a heavy sigh leaving him. “Ye seemed vulnerable, Lass and then there I was swooping in kissin ye.”

“I kissed you back. I felt far from vulnerable.” She remarked running her hands through her hair frustrated by the comment. Did he really think he was protecting her?

“Aye ye did. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t ruin ye though.” He remarked sitting down on the picnic table beside her thankful she didn’t shove him away.

She gazed over at him, confusion joining her irritation. “What do you mean by that?”

“I jus got divorced, Love. Ye jus ended a long term engagement. I was afraid we were seekin out a rebound in each other…and I ain’ the kinda guy ye should be reboundin with. Guys like me aint good at mending hearts. Figured we’d just break each others hearts all the more.” He explained as though it was the most obvious thing on the entire planet.

She rolled her eyes fast to challenge the statement. “It wasn’t a rebound for me, Chibs. I can’t speak for you, but I didn’t kiss you because I was looking for anyone to fill a hole in me that my ex left. I kissed you because I really like…I liked you, I really liked you. You were sweet and I felt nice around you. I felt protected when you were around. You made me smile. You were good to my nephew and my soon to be step niece and nephew. You are good to my sister, you treat her like family. I liked how good you are to the people you love. I liked the way you spoke about your daughter…how much you love her. You have a good heart. I kissed you because I had hoped I had a place in that good heart of yours.”

He felt his heart ache at the words a cruel voice in the back of his head taunting him with how badly he’d fucked things up the night they’d kissed. He sighed, his throat growing tight. “I’m a criminal, Lass. Pretty sure yer smart enough to put the dots together…ye have to know Lyla is marryin Opie and marryin into an outlaw club…I guess I told myself that even if it wasn’t a rebound that I thought ye deserved more than an outlaw biker.”

“That’s bullshit. If I deserve more then that means my sister deserves more. I’m not going to sit back and let anyone tell me that my sister and I are settling on less than we deserve. I am a grown woman, Filip. I don’t need any man telling me what I deserve or don’t deserve. I am capable of making that choice on my own.” She scolded him, her voice holding a hint of venom.

He felt his shoulders sink at her words having the sense to at least appear as admonished as he felt. 

He let out a shaky sigh spilling his heart to her all the more. “I know I made that choice fer ye and it wasn’t fair. I disappeared on ye…I threw myself into tryin to distract myself…let the club whores distract my heart from what I wanted. I never claimed to be a smart lad or at least one that aint prone to self sabotage. I really like ye, Love. All this fuckin distraction with the croweaters, it aint workin…It jus makes me feel more wretched. I know I’m hurtin ye and I feel like shite fer it. All my heart screams it wants is ye…and I royally fucked that one up. If I could take it back I would. I wish I could go back a month ago and ask ye out on a proper date…make it clear I wanted more than jus a kiss.”

“You can’t take it back.” She remarked her voice soft the words making his heart crack all the more.

He told himself that this was it. She was going to walk away from him. She was probably going to choose Kozik. The man was sweet on her. She was going to go with the Son who was sweet on her and leave the one who had hurt her in her dust. Chibs knew that he would have no one to blame but himself for losing her. He told himself he would have to sit back and watch his brother have what he had lost. 

She spoke again, taking him by shock. “Just because you can’t take it back, doesn’t mean you can’t repair it.”

She paused, spotting the look of astonishment on his face as he hoped against hope that she was going to give him a shot to make this right. 

She spoke, giving him hope. “This might be something I regret…don’t make me regret it, Filip. I like you…I still like you even if I’m really angry with you at the moment. I can’t tell my heart who to give love to though. Hearts are dumb like that. I am not saying that we’re going to be picking up where we left off…I am willing to let you try to win me over, just…just don’t make me regret this Filip. Don’t disappear on me again. Just be the man I thought you were; be the sweet guy who is willing to punch out my ex and the guy who kissed me like I was the most delicate thing on the planet. Be that guy.”

He reached out his hand grasping over hers the words leaving him. “Aint goin to make ye regret it, Love. I am goin to try so hard to be the lad ye hoped I was. I will do anything it takes.”

The soft kiss she’d pressed to his cheek had soothed his heart, promising himself to keep true to the words he’d said.

He had proven himself time and time again. He had proven he was the man she wanted him to be.

Soon after Opie and Lyla had married Chibs had enlisted Happy to tattoo a crow onto Y/N’s right wrist showing the world just who she was to him.

After a little over a year of dating and a choice to move in together, Chibs had given Y/N another token proving what she was to him.

The engagement ring was a delicate diamond on a silver band and it had been slipped on her finger with a nervous proposal from him and an enthusiastic yes from Y/N.

Y/N was pleased to say she’d found love with Chibs Telford. Her current fiance was a thousand steps above her ex-fiance.

Chibs Telford had proven to her that he not only respected her but he did not take any love she gave him for granted.

The affection and devotion she felt for Chibs had made the run Chibs had left for a week ago feel all the more soul crushing.

Y/N missed her fiance. She missed everything about him from the way his voice sounded, to the way he smelled, to the way his touch felt.

Her heart ached for him.

Her heart was not the only thing aching at the moment.

She was pleased to say that Chibs Telford was a phenomenal lover. She’d never been so sexually fulfilled in her entire life.

She had always been shy about sex, but Chibs had helped her leave her comfort zone.

The amount of toys they had in their nightstand in their bedroom proved that she had left her comfort zone.

One of those toys was currently sitting beside her on the sofa in the living room as she debated if she should settle on touching herself to mildly satisfy the sexual tension coursing through her or if she should just take a cold shower and forget it.

The toy was one of the very first toys Chibs had surprised her with. It was a simple vibrating wand.

He’d gotten it for her once she’d shyly admitted to him that she had never owned a vibrator of any shape or form. Her ex had viewed it as competition. 

Chibs had presented the toy to her, the words that left his lips sounding far too cheeky “I see it as more of a tool at our disposal, Love. I know nothin compares to the real thing, but I want ye to find all the ways ye can feel good. I want us to find em together sometimes too.”

The wand had been used pretty frequently both with and without him present. 

Other toys had joined the mix; a rabbit vibrator, a pair of vibrating panties that had originally been bought as a joke that had found some use, a jeweled little plug that made her feel so full when he buried it in her backside and buried his cock in her pussy, a pair of nipple clamps that featured a clamp for her clit which Chibs had shown her could be a lot of fun when he flicked at one of the taunt chains, a pair of cuffed restraints they’d both been strapped to their bed with, and an innocent looking blindfold.

Needless to say, she was feeling far less bashful about sex at least in the privacy of Chibs’ and her bedroom.

She sighed staring down at the toy only knowing it made her think of all the other toys in their bedroom and all the things they’d done with those toys.

She could distinctly remember the latest toy Chibs had brought home with him; a spreader bar that held her thighs open leaving her spread and presented for him even when he overstimulated her.

She moaned at the thought of him over stimulating her. The man would edge her with the vibrating wand for what seemed like way too long before finally giving her what she wanted. Once he gave her what she wanted though he would overdo it making her cum over and over again until she had more than enough.

He felt her clit throb at the memory of the last sexual encounter they’d had before he had to leave for a run to the Salt Lake charter.

They’d laid back in bed, his fingers buried in her crooked just enough to hit her gspot so perfectly over and over again. She had squirted. It was the first time she had ever done such a thing and he’d been far too smug even when he’d had to explain to her and reassure her about what had just happened.

She had been mortified sure she had wet herself and he’d proudly explained to her what he’d just managed to do to her.

Though her sister was very much involved in the adult industry, Y/N could admit she was a little more innocent when it came to that type of thing.

It wasn’t as though Lyla and she discussed Lyla’s job. Y/N actually tended to be pretty shy and naive when it came to certain sexual acts. She’d always felt nervous in bed and her past partners had not encouraged her to step out of her comfort zone.

So, she would absolutely be the first to admit she was pretty innocent when it came to several sexual acts and the possibilities available to her in the bedroom. 

It was something Chibs had found he viewed as adorable and alluring. He liked corrupting her just the slightest. He had shown her so many things about her body and what it was capable of and she adored him for it.

She sighed, pulling her damp panties from her body allowing them to drop to the floor beside her and yanking Chibs’ t-shirt over her head.

She dropped it by the panties running her hands along her body. She sighed, sinking into lust.

She imagined Chibs being here with her in the moment and pictured his low Scottish brogue praising her for being so good for him.

He remembered all the filthy things he whispered to her trying to make her blush “fuck that’s it, that’s my good girl.” “Look at ye, that’s my little slut.” “Gorgeous Lass, takin my cock like its all yer made fer.”

She ran a hand down her body sliding her fingers between her slit moaning at how soaked she already was. Her head fell back, her eyes closing as she sunk further into fantasy.

She thought of him kneeling between her thighs staring up at her as he ate her pussy like it was his last meal. The man had a gifted tongue and fingers. His lips were just as gifted too. He made eating her out a full mouth and finger affair. He didn’t care how messy it got or how much he moaned against her clit. He would practically rub his face against her center as he lapped at her eagerly. He never minded how drenched she’d get, seeing it as a reward for how good he was doing.

She blindly reached for her toy flipping it on its lowest setting running it along her breasts, her nipples standing at attention.

She remembered the last time he’d used the nipple clamps on her and the proud smirk on his lips as the buds of her nipples stood at full attention. He’d enjoyed the squeal that left her as he tugged at the chain connecting the clamps praising her for how gorgeous she looked.

She ran the toy down her body pressing it against her clit, taking it away just as quick it almost too much. She whined, tempted to go get her vibrator and ride that instead but decided the wand would have to do at the moment.

She felt so worked up she had the slightest feeling that any tiny hint of stimulation would get her there. 

She ran the toy back along her clit sliding it up and down it and along her wet slit a gasp leaving her his name clear on her lips. “Filip, Baby, oh fuck.”

She whined, keeping up the stimulation turning up the toy once she got comfortable enough with the current setting for it to no longer feel as good as she wanted.

She moaned, focusing more on her clit, the words leaving her, her mind only on one man and the thought of him inside of her making her feel good. “Filip, fuck yes. Your cock is so fucking good, so fucking big, yes, Baby.”

She toyed with her nipple tugging it with her free hand imagining his teeth and lips locked around her breast tugging at the nipple. 

“Filip, Baby, please. Oh my God, Filip. Fuck me.”

The voice that sounded out took her by shock, the toy falling from her grasp, her head shooting up and her eyes popping open. “Fuck, Lass. This is a fuckin beautiful welcome home.”

She stared up at her fiance, her cheeks flushed from more than arousal. 

“How long have you been standing there?” She sputtered out wanting to sink into the sofa cushions and disappear.

“Not long, long nough to hear ye praising how big my cock is though. Ye thinking bout me, Love? Ye playing and imagining me?” He asked in an amused tone mixed with a clear tone of arousal.

She spoke, deciding to be blunt despite any lingering embarrassment she might currently be feeling. “I've been horny all day, and I need you fix it"

“Ye have only been horny today, Love? I’ve been gone all week.” Chibs teased, unable to stop the groan from leaving his lips at her comment.

She gave him a smirk deciding to be a little bolder knowing it was not a lie. “Believe me, I’ve been aching for you all week. The second night you were gone, after we got off the phone, I took a bubble bath and played with myself under the running faucet. The night after I rode my vibrator while wearing one of your work shirts.”

“Fuck, Love. Ye didn’t call me durin this? I woulda given ye some encouragement and let ye know just how much I was humpin my hand over ye.” he exclaimed easily imagining all the scenarios she was describing to him.

She spoke spreading her legs further for him running her hands along her thighs teasingly as she spoke. “You didn’t find relief anywhere but your own hand?”

“Fuck no, Love. Ye know we have a policy of our own fer when I’m on runs.” He remarked her body and heart aching for him all the more.

She knew some ol ladies followed a what happens on runs stays on runs policy. That mindset did not work for Y/N and Chibs though. She had made it clear to him that her body was the only one he was allowed to find release in. If he strayed on a run, she was gone. Infidelity was unacceptable to her.

He’d been quick to reassure her that he had zero intention of finding release with anyone but her. He knew her past with unfaithful romantic partners. He was not about to make her experience that heartache again. He only had eyes for her and was not ashamed to admit it.

She spoke, her hands running up her body along her breasts, Chibs watching with parted lips he resisting the urge to lunge for her just yet. She spoke her voice needy. “I missed you so much, Filip. The toys are fun, but you’re better.”

“Aye, yer so much better than my hand Love.” He insisted his cock straining against his jeans all the more.

He’d been rock hard from the second he’d walked through the front door and found his fiancee playing with herself on the sofa moaning his name. It was not the welcome home he’d been anticipating but it was incredible all the same.

She spoke needing to say the words. “I need you right now, couch, kitchen floor, anywhere, just take me now."

With that he lunged towards her, dropping down to his knees, his lips meeting hers. He moved down her body at a record pace pressing open mouthed kisses to her skin praises and words of adoration leaving him.

He reached her bare center, his face burying against her pussy a pleased moan leaving him.

He stroked her slit with his tongue reaching up to spread her lips before diving in. He lapped at her with enthusiasm proving that there would be no slow work up or teasing on his end. He was determined to make her cum.

She whined his name, her hand pressing to the back of his head keeping him in place though it was clear he had zero intention on moving from her pussy.

His fingers pressed into her core, two and then three at a time, he thrusting them as he focused on her clit. He pulled his face from her pussy continuing to finger her as he spoke. “Fuck, yer so soaked. How worked up were ye, Love?”

“So bad, Filip. Been thinking about you all day. I missed you so much. Stupid Salt Lake taking you away.” She whined, the latter comment working a chuckle from him.

“Aye sorry, Lass. Some lads in the fuckin Salt Lake charter needed some straighten out it was makin shite tense between em and a few other charters. Clay wasn’t goin to let me stay home.” Chibs remarked a groan leaving her as she spoke. 

“You can talk club business later, Filip. Please don’t mention Clay or the Irish or any of that crap while your fingers are buried in my cunt.” 

He snickered at the comment nodding his head. “Aye fair nough.”

He reached down grabbing her forgotten toy, a smirk crossing his features. “Remember how fuckin shy yer were when I brought this home. Had to show ye how to use it to make ye feel good, had to encourage ye to get yerself off. Ye would start feelin so good and then ye’d get all shy and back off. Had to tell ye how fuckin stunning ye look when yer making that pussy feel good. Never thought I’d walk in ye playin with yourself so proud moanin my name.”

“I was thinking about what we did before you left. How dirty and good it felt.” She moaned, Chibs rewarding her with a nip to her thigh.

“Aye, it was so fuckin filthy, and ye loved it. Ye come such a long way from the firs time I had ye, Love. Ye look so innocent and sweet but we both know ye love all the shite I taught ye. Ye even learned a few things all on yer own, aye?”

She nodded her head frantically not helping but to feel herself preen at the praise in his voice over how much she’d figured out about her body all on her own. 

“I have, I figured out so many ways to feel good, Filip. Never felt so good in my life.” The comment earned another nip to her thigh followed by murmured words of love. 

He spoke, removing his fingers making her whine. “Relax, Love. Jus gonna play a wee bit. Then ye can have what ye really want.”

She didn’t have time to beg him to give her what he was promising right this instant as he pressed the vibrating wand directly against her clit, turning it up.

The action caused her hips to jolt forward, her head falling back a moan leaving her. He spoke, a smirk crossing his features. “Shite, look at ye. Such a sensitive clit, always forget how sensitive the wee bud is.”

She whined wanting to point out that she highly doubted he forgot. She couldn’t work out the words though he rubbing the toy across her clit in a circular pattern making her moan all the louder.

She ran her hands along her breasts tugging at her nipples, an approving groan leaving him “Shite, Love. Those perfect tits. Dreamed bout those tits on a nightly basis while I was in Utah.”

She gasped as he continued to toy with her his name sputtering from her lips. She may have been good with her toy, but Chibs was a master with it.

She pulled her hands from her breasts reaching out blindly wanting some contact with him. He reached up, with the hand that was not currently occupied, allowing her to lace her fingers with his.

He pressed kisses against her thigh as he continued to toy with her whispering words of praise to her perfect, stunning, hot, wet, incredible. 

She moaned, the heat beginning to build in her knowing she was risking cumming from this so quick. She had been so worked up and the toy was turned up so high, so much higher than she’d dare to ever turn it up. Chibs apparently sensed it he turning up the toy all the higher, his voice filled with praise. “Yer fuckin gorgeous Mo luaidh. Come on, cum on this toy and I’ll give ye my cock.”

She whined the words egging her on he not letting up turning the toy up to its highest setting her thighs quivering the coil that had been tightening up in her absolutely breaking as she fell apart against the vibrating wand.

She cried out as she came Chibs moaning at the sight wanting to commit it to memory. Her hips rocked against the toy eagerly, her thighs trying to squeeze together he keeping a hand on her thigh keeping her legs parted as he navigated the toy through her orgasm.

She whimpered struggling to pull back from him as she came down from her orgasm and the sensations became uncomfortable.

He pulled the toy back flipping it off a proud smile crossing his features at the sight of her slumped back against the couch, her body damp with sweat and flushed from arousal.

He took her by surprise as he spoke, giving her thigh a playful smack. “Turn round, Lass. On yer knees love, rest yer top half on the cushion.”

She moved her body feeling wobbly, her center aching for whatever he was about to give her even if she’d already cum once already.

She did as he instructed he rewarding her with a playful smack to her backside the act working a moan from her lips. He groaned, giving her bottom another smack to the other cheek his voice teasing. “Naughty Love. Shite, yer so ready to take anything I’ll give ye, Aye?”

“Uh huh.” She remarked knowing she was too fucked out and needy to form a more eloquent reply.

He leaned down, angling his body unable to stop himself from licking a long stripe up her pussy it looking so plump and inviting from this angle.

She gasped his name leaving her lips he speaking praising her. “Such a fuckin wet pussy.”

“Just for you.” She whined the comment earning her another smack to the backside.

He worked quick resting on his knees behind her, he losing his clothing. He stripped his kutte and shirt from his body, tossing the kutte onto a recliner by the sofa and letting the shirt fall to the floor along with his weapons.

He managed to kick his shoes off the action clumsy but she thankfully remained bent over the sofa unable to see how much he lacked grace in his movements.

He reached down, unfastening his belt and unzipping his jeans. He kicked them from his body allowing his boxers to follow along behind them.

He rested against his knees again taking himself in hand running his cock along her center coating himself in her wetness. 

A needy moan left the both of them at the action they both practically shaking with desire.

Chibs managed to speak as he positioned himself at her center gazing down at where their bodies were about to connect. “I love ye.”

“Love you too Filip, so much.” She gasped not having a chance to elaborate more as he pushed forward her hot wet center enveloping his hard cock.

He groaned as he entered her inch by inch his movements torturous, she resisting the urge to back up against him and push him along. 

She had a feeling such a movement would earn her a smack to her backside. She knew he intended her to feel every inch of him as he slid home.

He had missed her and wanted to appreciate the sensation of sliding into her warm body after a week without this.

He grunted as he finally thrust up to the hilt, her body feeling heavenly around his aching cock. She was dripping wet and she was so hot and silken around him that he almost wanted to cry.

He placed his hands on her hips giving himself leverage as he began to rock in and out of her finding a slow sensual pace making sure she felt every inch of him as his cock moved within her.

She whined digging her fingers into the couch cushions, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.

He spoke his voice gruff as he soaked up the sensations of her. “Jeysus, Love. Missed ye so much. Yer all I fuckin thought bout when I wasn’t doin club shite.”

“Missed you so much, Filip. Love you.” She managed to gasp the comment earning her a moan and a I love you in return.

She rocked back against him the sound of his skin meeting hers mixing with soft moans and praises from him. 

She soaked up his praise, the words washing over her like a caress: gorgeous, mine, my love, perfect pussy, best thing that ever happened to me.

She whined wanting to insist it was him who was the best thing that had ever happened to her, but the feel of him inside of her practically took her breath away. She had zero idea how one man could be so incredible in bed, though she knew he had plenty of experience under his belt.

The thought did not fill her with jealousy. She knew she was the only one who he took to bed nowadays. The thought made her feel cherished and adored.

She knew that no man had ever loved her as deeply as Chibs Telford. He made sure she was aware of this sensation of being loved each and every day.

He groaned the adoration he felt for her making itself known. “Oh, Love. So fuckin good to be home. One week was one fuckin week too long. Missed this pussy.”

“Just my pussy?” She teased the comment earning a smack to her backside, the sensation of pain mixing wonderfully with the pleasure coursing through her center.

“Missed all ye, Lass. Missed holdin ye at night. Missed kissing ye. Missed havin ye on my bike. Missed hearin ye laugh. Missed every fuckin thing bout ye.” He moaned his fingers digging into her hips as she rocked back against him all the more enthusiastically.

He rocked back against her picking up his pace the words leaving him. “Gonna fuckin make ye my wife soon. Shite, Love. Then I’m gonna fuckin miss my wee wife everytime I gotta leave fer a fuckin run.”

“Gonna miss my husband.” She gasped the comment, working a quicker pace from him, the words making him groan.

He snapped his hips against hers all the quicker his movements getting rougher the need he felt for her taking over the desire to enjoy the sensation of being inside of her.

She reached down finding her clit the action making the sensations washing over all the more intense.

He groaned as it hit him what she was doing, his hips speeding up at an even rougher pace. “Fuck yes, Love. So fuckin clever making yerself feel good on this cock.”

She whined at the praise she working her clit all the more enthusiastically knowing just how to move herself along closer to release.

She whimpered her toes curling at the pleasure coursing through her the mix of his cock sliding in and out of her at a more brutal pace and her fingers on her clit almost too much. 

She could feel her end building up in her once again that coil tightening inside of her threatening to snap at any second.

He spoke encouraging her able to sense just how close she seemed to be getting. “That’s my love. Shite, Mo luaidh. You gonna cum fer me? Aye, ye gonna show me jus how good I feel in ye?”

“Uh huh.” The words left her she once again too lost in lust to care if she sounded dense.

The orgasm hit her harder than she expected the waves of hot pleasure washing over her with incredible intensity, her center fluttering around his aching cock working praises from him.

She whined, falling limp against the sofa, her hand falling weakly from her clit as she shuddered from her release, she feeling like ragdoll at the moment.

Chibs took her by shock, pulling out of her a hiss leaving him as the cold air hit his cock.

He took her in his arms pulling her down to the floor, his lips pressing to hers.

He laid her back against the floor yanking a decorative pillow from the couch for her rest her head against. 

He positioned his cock at her entrance, his voice thick with lust. “Gonna fuckin cum fer me one more time, Love.”

She whimpered the words leaving her a whine escaping her. “I can’t, Filip.”

“Aye, ye can do it, Love. We’re gonna have a wee bit of help.” 

She furrowed her brow, lost as to what he meant by help but she got her answer as he reached out, finding the toy he’d already used on her pressing it between them.

She whined shuddering against him as he thrust his cock back home flipping the toy on making sure it was pressed against her clit.

She cried out the sensation so intense. She wrapped her arms around him digging her nails into his back wanting to reach for anything to steady her, as he began to thrust in her.

He grunted at how tremendously soaked she was and how he could feel the toy vibrating as he pressed his cock in her, the sensation feeling just as intense for him.

He spoke his voice gruff and demanding. “Yer gonna cum fer me one more time, Love. Yer gonna fuckin clench round this cock and let me fill ye up.”

“Filip.” She only managed to gasp, his demands making her clit throb her body promising she was going to give him exactly what he was requesting.

He spoke his words breaking he clearly struggling to hold out for her. “Fuck, Love. Is this what ye pictured while ye were…fuck…while ye touched that pussy…fuck, while I was gone, Aye? 

“Thought about how good you feel, thought about you taking me everywhere.” She gasped, causing him to nip at her neck.

“Everywhere, Love?”

She gasped, becoming too lost in pleasure to care if it was embarrassing. “At the clubhouse on the fucking pool table and at the bar, at the garage over the hood of a car, on your bike, fuck, in every room of this house in every position.”

“Fuck, Love.” Chibs groaned, turning up the wand all the higher causing her to cry out she knowing it would not be much longer.

She dug her nails into his back leaving scratch marks in her wake, her clit throbbing like a broken tooth against the toy her head falling back a cry leaving her.

He spoke encouraging her. “That’s it, Lass. Cum on this cock, Love. Ye look so fuckin gorgeous when ye feel good. Ye deserve to feel so good.”

The third orgasm of the night hit her like a brick to the head coming out of nowhere. It washed over with with intensity tears leaking from the corners of her eyes at how strong it felt.

The orgasm wracking through her frame was all it took for him to reach his own end his words filled with an equal mix of adoration and filth. “Fuck such a good girl takin my cum. Love ye, Lass. Shite. My perfect Love takin my cum fer me.”

His cock throbbed in her spurts of his release spilling into her with an magnitude that he was almost certain he’d not felt since his first few sexual encounters as a much younger man. 

He groaned against her his hips thrusting weakly as his release seeped from him in hot ropes making her whine her hands running up and down his back encouraging him as he found his release.

He felt himself relax against her his cock feeling spent and his body feeling heavy. She whined it taking him a moment to realize the toy was still buzzing away between their drained bodies.

He reached down whispering apologies and words of praise as he removed the toy flipping it off and tossing it aside.

She wrapped her arms around him, unwilling to have him pull from her just yet. Even as his cock softened and he slid from her his release seeping from her center, he refused to part from her just yet.

He rested against her she not caring if the weight of his body over hers was slightly heavy. She felt protected and adored in the moment.

He groaned, pressing his lips to her sweat damp skin whispering praises to her before she reluctantly allowed him to pull from her.

He rolled over onto his back not caring if the wood floor below them was hard and cold. He opened his arms for her, she cuddling up to him resting against his chest.

He ran a soothing hand up and down her back chuckling as he realized just how heavy her eyes were growing. “That’s my love, all fucked out jus the way I like er.”

“Missed you so much, Filip. Don’t leave again.” She murmured against his chest, sleep threatening to take over.

“Can’t not leave fer runs, Lass.” He responded, chuckling a bit at the low whine that left her and grumbles of it not being fair.

He pressed his lips to hers reassuring her. “Me leavin fer club shite jus means I get to come home to ye, Love. If ye keep welcomin me home like this then it’ll make me missin ye while I’m gone sting a little less.”

She shook her head a huff leaving her, she not helping but to tease him. “If you leave again anytime soon and I welcome you home like this again I have a feeling I’m going to be walking down the aisle with a bun in the oven.”

He chuckled at the comment pressing a kiss to her temple, the words taking her by shock. “Aye, can’t say I’d be disappointed if ye did.” 

She felt her cheeks flush at the comment, unable to deny that she wouldn’t quite mind it either.

She gave his shoulder a pat, her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. “Welcome home, Filip.”

“Aye, happy to be home, Mo bheatha.” He remarked sleep flooding his own vision. 

He wasn’t lying, if this was how she welcomed him home then it would make the next run he was forced to go on feel far less miserable.

------

mo bheatha = my life

mo luaidh = my darling.

[saphirered]

Dancing Legends

I seem to have misplaced some of the requests (or tumblr has eaten them) but here's Full Moon and Witches from my prompt requests! Let's dabble into some Illyrian legends and longing. 😘

Last light approaches. The solstice is approaching and first festivities have started, the preparations sparking that excitement. Nevertheless the people of Velaris make haste. These are the last days of darkness growing ever darker. The longest night approaches and that alone is reason enough to celebrate. Many tales surround the solstices, the darkest days too. Parents tell their children about kindred spirits in the night when nightmares haunt them as often as they share the legends of monsters lurking in the shadows. Not all that looms in the shadows is good-willed. Over the centuries many of these monsters were given names and faces in the horrors Prythian endured. Some still haunt the dreams of those who endured. 

Azriel. Another name whispered in these stories. Another demon in the shadows, and one who has snatched away many a victim never to be seen again. Azriel, not but a visage through shadowy tendrils, the glow of a sharp weapon reflecting in eyes so wicked, they promise death. The tales have certainly grown, the perspectives too. Rarely is he deemed the hero of these grand tales but if anything it’s become amusing. The opinions of others matter little to him and as long as he has a reputation to keep so he shall. Only those close to him will hold the light to his face and see his truth. Those are the people he loves and cares about. They see kindness in the flicker of light. They see the blue glow in the darkness illuminate a soft half-smile and unquestionable affection. He will let them lead the path through darkness lantern in hand and know they have nothing to fear, even when the shadows dance and whisper around them. One such lantern-bearer follows a different path cast in silver light of moon and stars. 

Azriel didn’t mean to follow you. He wasn’t. Not really. You’re just very quick and it’s very busy and far away when his shadows sung so sweetly of your presence but a few streets down. They’d taken to that in the past months; always notifying him when you were close. They like you, almost as much as he likes you, almost as much as you like him. Cauldron… when you told him of your affections he might as well have been swallowed by the darkness but you found your way to him. Since that confession on your midnight walk across the Sidra, things have been good. A graze here, a longing look there, a couple of kisses too but as life does, he was whisked away longing for your presence, your touch, your very soul every passing second, it made it all so much more difficult. Not that he’s used to doing things the easy way anyway. When he saw you across the street finally, basket in arm, talking to people, moving from market stand to shop. He draws nearer still weaving through at a leisurely pace, simply to absorb your grace, the way you go about your day without a worry in the world. Finally the crowd recedes and he’s able to catch up. 

“Took you long enough.” You say to the air. Azriel is confused. You seem to be talking as if someone walks next to you but there’s no one there. No one but him. His shadows sing such lovely songs; of your glee, the way you raise an eyebrow and turn on your heels. When you face him he notices one resting in your palm. The tiniest sliver of shadow, coiling and dancing with joy. Traitors. Azriel bites the inside of his cheek for a second; a poor attempt to control those micro expressions you’ve caught onto. 

“They like you. I don’t blame them.” The way your smile shines like a thousands stars and beckons him closer, he but follows along these urges coming to cup your palm. Your skin is cold to the touch but you don’t seem bothered as you subconsciously lean closer, your shoulders slackening just a little. You make it seem so easy. Even more so when you stand on your tiptoes and press your lips to his cheek ever so gently. 

“Regardless, I hope my wandering doesn’t keep you from whatever you were doing.” Completely unbothered you loop your arm through his. The sliver of shadow joins the others happily now you’re close to him, to them. They trail alongas much to you as they do to him. Whatever he was doing seems so insignificant now he’s here with you. You have taken up every single thought passing through his head. The full moon is your guide and had Azriel not been so honed in he might as well have lost track where or when he was. At least he’s aware enough you’re taking him to the shores. The breeze tells him so because it tussles your hair ever so lightly like only an ocean breeze can. He should be thanking the sprites of nature for this gift. 

“I think you care as little about my previous destination as I do.” There’s a smugness in his voice, one you’ve learned to chalk up to him being a know-it-all, when he knows he’s right. He is right. You won’t deny it. While you would love to hear him talk about his day, you care very little about what you’re keeping him from if it means he’ll remain at your side a moment longer. Azriel had been whisked away from you for far too long already. If it truly was urgent he would have said so. Perhaps that makes you selfish. If it does so be it because if it means he remains at your side willingly, if he chooses you, who are you to deny the both of you?

“Perhaps so but that does not make it less polite to ask.” You all but scold him. While your voice reads offended, your eyes gleam with playfulness; the shine in them, the lines at the corners growing more prominent all a sign of your amusement. 

“Manners and niceties are not my strong suit.” You scoff at his retort and quickly cover your lips to hide your smile. 

Azriel gently stops and you follow suit, looking up at him when he takes that hand from your face and reveals your lovely lips. First he kisses your knuckles; not but a graze. You let out a soft breath, a gasp if he dares assume. That’s when he steps in closer, fingers dance across your cheek and as if clockwork you tilt your head lean up and press your lips to his. A sweet kiss. And another follows. When Azriel pulls away and sees the look in your eyes he knows he would never refuse you anything. He will certainly not refuse you this. His hand settles on the small of your back pulling you to his body, the other tangles into your hair and when you look at him the way you do he leans in again, this time revealing what he had kept under lock and key: the true desperation of his longing for you. You deepen the kiss, fingers dancing across his shoulder, settling on the base of his neck, playing with the hairs at the back of his head and moving up, trapping him within your loving. 

But all good things have to come to an end. A clearing throat not too far away makes you pull away. He would have preferred to ignore it, to abuse that dark reputation just enough to spark hesitance upon approach but it’s too late. You mutter an apology, lace your fingers with his, pick up the basket you must have dropped he knows not when and pull him along the streets closer towards the shore. 

“You and your manners.” He laughs. “So where are we going?”

“We are going to the shore because it’s nice and quiet- don’t look at me like that-“ You once more scold him but stop, placing your palm flat against his chest. “You’ll have to be more patient.”

“If that is your promise I’ll do as you say.” He goes to lean in but your palm keeps him just out of reach. You don’t have to say the words because they practically echo through his head; desperate much? The answer is yes. You quicken your step and thus he has his answer too. 

You know how to pick your spot. It’s a climb down some rocks and while you could have asked Azriel to fly the both of you to stable grounds, you choose not to. Be it stubbornness or simply the look in his eyes whenever he sees you step from one jagged rock to the next, basket in hand and balancing with the other. You’re no trained warrior from the Illyrian mountains battle worn to keep your step and while he is sure he could catch you, is always close enough, there is this fragment of doubt. What if you hurt yourself? What if he’s not quick enough? What if he fails? Doubt flashes through his eyes but then he sees your smile and knows; you’re safe with him. He is safe with you here on your way to the waves at night. The crashing, push and pull of the water echoes through his mind as it does through the sand banks and hollows between stone. You’d once called it the song of nature; beckoning as it is dangerous. You compared it to him jokingly, claiming his song very much similar to this one. 

Once your feet touch the final edge of the rocks, where the sand blends in and the shallows meet, you take of your shoes, set them besides your basket on an elevated level. You without much of a splash or complaint about the frigid cold step into the ankle deep water. You suck in a breath, casting your gaze to the sky. You’re divinity embodied, the radiant moonlight telling the story of your beauty, your grace. Had Azriel not the restraint he had he might as well have fallen onto his knees in front of you ready to worship your very being, your every whim and whine and want. You have truly enthralled him. Then your gaze casts to him and he is frozen until you stretch your fingers towards him. An offer to join. Slowly he follows suit. You watch his every move with inquisitive eyes as much as he did you before. 

“There’s stories you know, about witches of old dancing in the shallows of rivers and oceans. They asked for favourable tidings, for the waves and tides to wash away all that stains and settles rot within the soul. They ask the stars to light when they see the paths no more. It’s said they danced to a song none but them could hear under the last full moon of the year.” You explain as Azriel unlaces his boots, sets them aside next to your basket. You have to hide your amusement when he was none too prepared for the freezing water. He steps closer to you until you lace your fingers with his, letting the others brush along the line of his shoulders. Your warmth is inviting as ever and the desire to be close to you grows ever stronger. 

“Stories of witches. Tall tales and superstitions to keep Illyrian warriors in line.” The beat of his heart echoes like the strings of a waltz or perhaps it is your heartbeat. Azriel grew up with the stories too. He’s not one to settle for tall tales as truth but he knows every myth and legend holds some grain of truth. You’re no witch though. You are not a thief in the night to steal the newborns and use their bones for your dark machinations. You’re simply just you; perfect and glowing and beautiful. You’re enchanting in your own way and might as well lure him to his death. He would not question it. Perhaps you are the witches from the fairytales after all. 

“I never took you for the superstitious type. If these dark magics frighten you so, feel free to abandon me here and I shall see to my grand witchcraft myself.” You jest and turn on your heels, taking a stride away from him but by your interlocked hands you are spun further and back into Azriel’s embrace, your entwined hands between the two of you, his free hand settling upon your hip softly tracing the curve. While the move was a surprise and left you to catch your breath eyes wide, you recover quickly. You curve your spine to look up at him with defiance. 

“Send me away and I’ll leave you here. Say the word and I’ll be gone.” His lips are awfully close to yours. You can feel the breath of his every word on yours like a breath of life itself. He dips, your cheek to his barely grazing as he whispers. “Answer me.” 

Shivers run down your spine. You know he can feel it too. Your fingers slide up the side of his neck until they lace into his hair grasp tightening just enough to make him aware, and then you pull. He catches his breath as you force him to look upon you. Your lips part and so do his. That beat grows louder. You hear it too because when you step back he steps with, if not forced by that very beat, then by your hold on him. Another step and another, bare feet moving through the water with the push and pull of the waves. It matters not if he knows the dance. You do and whatever pulling force that guides him keeps you close to him. Your grasp on his hair loosens and you brush aside a stray lock from his face before you guide his lips closer to yours. So close yet not close enough. Each step that follows takes you just out of reach, but then finally with a twirl he pulls you back in. Finally your lips find his and you do not hold back. You welcome him fully. That dance continues interlocked, hands wandering, lips clashing, and tongues dancing that ancient waltz you’ve been waiting for for far too long. It is yours now. 

[cr3sswellsgf]

never both/pragmatic - nejiten week '24

day 1 - saudade (portuguese) The feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia. A yearning for happiness that has passed, or perhaps never even existed.

Tenten was surprised when she got the dinner invitation in the mail. She supposed she shouldn’t have been, though. It was just about time for the Team Gai monthly dinners—the weekend of the 15th of every month. Every month, on the fifteenth (or the weekend that corresponded or was closest to it—for practicality purposes), Gai-han would meet up at a local diner and have a meal together. They’d catch up and discuss how their weeks were, complaining about mundanities such as an annoying grocery store run or the pipes being frozen again due to the harsh Konoha winters. They might even share the details of their last mission—with Neji being a newly appointed Jōnin, it delighted Gai to listen to his student, whom he’d nurtured from a cynical little twelve year old, constantly angry at the world and stuck in his ways, to a mature, level-headed young adult who had finally begun to have faith in life. Who had finally allowed himself to dream and hope and love and laugh and everything in between.

It delighted Gai even more so when he’d notice, through the little passing details in Neji’s stories, that the Hyūga had subconsciously adopted some of Gai’s ways when leading a team of his own. It got him thinking how it would be for Neji if he were to ever lead a squad of Genins, someday. How his own experiences as a Genin and how Gai’s tutelage might subconsciously pass on to that new squad. Out of the three of them—Lee, Neji and Tenten—Neji was the least likely to verbally express affection. He wasn’t particularly good with flowery words, and he often struggled to articulate such feelings, courtesy of his upbringing, so it was much easier for him to show affection through his actions. He was always willing to go out of his way to help, even in small, almost unnoticeable ways such as filling up an extra water bottle just in case someone forgot to fill up theirs (usually Gai, ironically enough). Buying candy for Tenten if he noticed (which he always did) that her mood was down. Making time to spar with Lee despite their packed schedules, if only to indulge in that nostalgia and spend time with his friend, in their own special way.

He was dependable. Kind.

Contrary to what some might think, Hyūga Neji was so very kind. He was undeniably good, and it showed in his actions. It bled through to his morals and how he conducted himself.

So for Gai to have his legacy passed on so tangibly, subconsciously no less, and to be able to see that with his own eyes… It was a feeling of accomplishment unlike any other. No amount of successful S-Rank missions or victories could trump the feeling of knowing you made a difference in someone’s life. Of knowing your influence on someone changed the course of their life for the better, even if only by a little bit.

This would be the first Team Gai dinner since Neji had died in the Fourth Great Ninja War.

This would be the first Team Gai dinner as a squad of three, not four.

Tenten looked at the invitation again. It was from Gai-sensei, inviting her to the local yakiniku place they’d been to so often in the past. Sometimes they’d go after missions, and Gai would treat them to reward their success, or even to uplift them after a failure; to remind them that there’s always a next time. Sometimes they’d go for celebrations—birthdays and rank promotions and such. And sometimes it was simply an excuse to see each other again, amidst all the responsibilities of being older, more dependable shinobi. Sometimes it was just an excuse to enjoy each other’s company and be together, if only for a night, like they’d grown so accustomed to in their earlier years.

It had been so long since Tenten had met up with Gai-sensei and Lee, outside of formal business of some sort. It was just too painful.

Over the past year or so after the war, Tenten and Lee alternated taking care of Gai. After the many months he spent bedridden in the hospital, during which they would alternate visiting him almost everyday, it was a given that one would see Gai strolling around the village in his wheelchair, accompanied by one of his former subordinates. It was like an unspoken agreement had been signed between Lee and Tenten: always one of them, and never both. It was easier that way.

When one of them was alone with Gai, it was easier to pretend that the two absent teammates were off doing their own thing. It was easier for Tenten to pretend, if only for a little bit, that Lee and Neji were off training at their usual spot, and it was easier for Lee to pretend that Tenten and Neji were taking a stroll around the village, or even hanging out at a tea shop, like they’d taken to doing at some point down the line. It was easier to ignore that gaping hole Neji’s death had left behind. That missing limb that overwhelmingly hindered the movement of the body as a whole. It was easier to ignore than to try and adjust to it—to the missteps and phantom pains and jerky movements.

Too soon after the war, shinobi were forced to take on new roles and responsibilities befitting the new needs of the village and the Allied Shinobi Forces as a whole, which put their grief on the back burner, and at some point, they eventually got too caught up with their own lives (which was, as much as Tenten hated admitting it, somewhat of a coping mechanism to deal with the loss of someone so significant) that they stopped seeing each other and meeting up. In the process of ‘dealing with’ (i.e. forgetting) and moving on from the loss of Neji, they ended up moving on from their bond as a team and all the memories they’d shared. It was easier to cut each other clean off and fully move on from team Gai as a whole than it was to try and pick the pieces back up and reconstruct it, this time wholly aware of the missing member.

That’s why, over the past year or so, Team Gai had let the distance get between them. They surrendered to it. Let it cause a chasm between them and then some. It was better for them to drift apart with love and goodness and grace and well-wishes in their hearts than to let the grief overwhelm them and drive a vicious wedge between them, like it had during those days immediately after the war. The way Tenten saw it—and she felt that Lee no doubt thought the same��it was better for Team Gai to dissolve naturally and amicably.

And for a while, that worked. Terrifyingly well.

The world had already begun to move on from the War, and the village was mostly rebuilt. People—shinobi and civilians alike— were rebuilding their lives and getting used to this era of peace. It was weird. It honestly still felt surreal most days. Tenten—any shinobi in general—was so used to being on edge all the time, and constantly preparing for the worst. Her fight or flight response was always either on edge or at the forefront, waiting like a dog poised to strike. But now, there was no war anymore, and though the effects of it could still be seen and felt everywhere, people were starting to acclimate. She didn’t need to conceal knives on her person anymore when going out. She didn’t need to sleep restlessly anymore.  She would be okay. She was okay.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

At the last second, Tenten reached for her mascara again, unscrewing it and giving her lashes one last coat. She knew it was probably unneeded, but she did it anyway, and she felt better. She was still getting used to that—doing things for the sake of doing them, knowing they served no real purpose.

Tenten was… pragmatic. Very much so. And don’t get me wrong, that is a wonderful quality for a shinobi to possess, but Tenten found she no longer needed that. Well, not as much anyway. Her pragmatism had helped her solve countless problems successfully in the past, and it was one of the reasons she and Neji worked so well together. They were both sensible, if not a little hard headed at times, and they understood each other. To their friends, it always seemed like those two were moving in a rhythm inaudible to everyone but themselves. They were best friends, in every sense of the term. They somehow always knew what the other was thinking, and what to do. And part of that was because they were similar in that way—stubborn, sure, but willing to compromise when the situation called for it.

Pragmatic.

Which is why Tenten says her pragmatism helped her in the past, but she would be the first to admit that it also held her back from many things.

‘It would be too difficult,’ or, ‘Our backgrounds are too different.’ Or perhaps even the worst one, ‘We’re probably better off as friends.’

All things Tenten had said to herself in the name of being realistic. Pragmatic.

All excuses Tenten used to hold herself back from doing what she wanted to do, just for the sake of it. Shinobi fell in love. It was nothing unheard of—I mean, they were human after all. It was expected, even. Everyone was harrowingly aware of the risks being a shinobi entailed, and for most, quitting was not an option, so it was up to them to decide whether or not they would pursue a romantic relationship. 

It was up to them to decide which they were going to sacrifice: a chance at love, or their career. Because, in their world, it unfortunately had to be one or the other.

The choice was obvious. The pragmatic choice was obvious.

And both Neji and Tenten were pragmatic.

So they chose their careers.

When faced with the choice of being best friends and continuing to toe that line like they’d been doing for so long, or being lovers, and discovering an entirely new part of themselves—tasting an entirely new flavour they hadn’t even known existed—they chose the former. Because it was always one, and never both. And that was fine, for a while.

In fact, if that had been the end of it, Tenten imagined, perhaps terribly and selfishly, then maybe the aftermath of his death wouldn’t have been as hard. And maybe that made her a terrible person. Maybe she was terrible for wishing he’d never confessed and they’d never kissed. Maybe she was terrible for wishing he hadn’t given her a taste of what she longed for for so long, only to cruelly take it away before either of them were ready. And she knew it wasn’t his fault, but part of her couldn’t help but blame him. And maybe that made her a terrible person; she didn’t know.

But for now, she was content with doing small, pointless, impractical things like putting on another coat of mascara, just for the sake of it. She’d swallow the lump in her throat and put on a brave face and walk out, and she’d do things just because she wanted to. Just because it made her feel better.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

They’d both shown up.

“Hey,” she greeted, once she’d spotted the two green-clad men waiting by the entrance of the restaurant. She’d gotten there a few minutes early, but here they were, arriving even earlier. 

“Tenten!” It was Lee.

While Lee had jumped at the opportunity of this dinner, craving the nostalgia like it were a physical thing, Tenten was a bit hesitant. Still, they had both shown up. She smiled. How very predictable of Team Gai.

Maybe things weren’t that different after all.

It was awkward at first. After exchanging pleasantries, they entered the restaurant and took their seats at the reserved booth. The thought of making small talk with people that were once so engraved in each other’s very being was unbearable. The view of the vacant seat at the table was also unbearable—it had been so long since they’d met up like this for dinner that, when Gai-sensei was making the reservation, he accidentally asked for a table for four instead of three. Force of habit.

But they managed.

“How have you been, Tenten?” Gai asked, voice mellow. Him and Lee had remained pretty close through it all, partly because of Lee’s self-imposed duty to care for Gai most of the time, and partly because those two had always had a special bond that not even Neji and Tenten could get between. Tenten shrugged noncommittally, replying with that customary reassurance that made it seem like she was very busy while simultaneously downplaying whatever it is she’d been busy with since she’d last seen them. He nodded kindly, and the three of them started chatting mindlessly about nothing in particular. It was obvious that they were ignoring the elephant in the room. Neji’s loss—his absence at this table—was so palpable it was almost taking up the space of the would-be conversation.

“I miss him,” Tenten sighed, almost bluntly. Flippantly. She didn’t know what reaction she was expecting, but the willing avoidance was getting suffocating. She knew everyone was thinking that, so why didn’t anyone say it?! Why couldn’t anyone give her that relief? Why was everyone—her included, she realised belatedly—so hell-bent on forgetting him, when he had been such a core part of who they were for so long? She missed him. She missed talking to him— about him. She didn’t like that no one brought him up anymore, as if he’d never even existed. He deserved to be celebrated and remembered, for God’s sake! That was the least they could do for him.

“Me, too,” Lee murmured, uncharacteristically resigned. “It’s unbearable, most days.”

Immediately, pressure built up behind Tenten’s eyes, and she vaguely regretted putting on more mascara. “Yeah,” she whispered, almost in wonder, “it is.”

And surprisingly, that was what broke the tension.

Or maybe it wasn’t surprising or weird or unexpected. Maybe that made perfect sense. Because Team Gai was never one for stuffy formalities or beating around the bush—they knew each other too well for that.

Gradually and ever so tentatively, the dinner took on an air of normalcy, and things were almost like the old times—almost. They were able to actually speak to each other again for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, without being snappy or short-tempered, or feeling like their words weren’t reaching through to the other person. They were finally able to acknowledge their loss together, and weirdly enough, it made them feel lighter than they had in ages.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“It’s getting late,” Tenten yawned, stretching her arms over her head. “We should probably go before we get kicked out.”

With a frown, Lee responded, “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

They, reluctantly, said their goodbyes. She’d originally thought this would be awkward, but she realised with a pang as she was walking away that she didn’t want to go. 

“Tenten!” Lee called out from a distance away, and she turned around.

“What is it?” she called back.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

Her breath hitched, and the only thing she could do was nod vigorously and hope he saw it.

She would be okay. They would be okay.

[lau219]

Hope

Part 1

…………………………………………………………………………….

​It had been eight months that they’d been living like this, all together in the cramped little apartment, taking turns sleeping on the one bed, using the one bath, making meals each day. And as unnatural as the entire situation was, it grew to feel somewhat normal and domestic, like one big, mismatched family. They’d been thrown together without any prior knowledge of each other, but the time together had allowed for a closeness to form amongst them all. It served the situation well, as any onlookers and bystanders were easily convinced that the two couples were meant to be together. Little did anyone know that they were all a part of this harrowing situation.

​But there was a big part of her that didn’t want it to be an act. She kept this a secret, of course, not even sharing with Marie how she felt. But over the course of the last eight months, a warmth and devotion towards Josef had grown within her, and that soon grew even more into what she was afraid was love. Every time she allowed herself to acknowledge it, she just as quickly admonished herself. How could she be so foolish as to let herself have these feelings? This situation was fabricated, and not permanent, and, in the most basic form, it was an act. She had been a part of similar situations before, albeit not quite as lengthy or involved, but never had she ever let emotion cloud her. Until now.

​It wasn’t just one thing; it was everything about him. Quiet, stoic, and intense, he was always reserved and practical, but he was also thoughtful, kind, and ever the gentleman. He was dedicated and focused, and at first glance, one might think enough experiences had caused him to be hardened, as he gave little away. But over time, she had come to learn him, to understand his looks and his body language. He was hardened, in fact, but not by what he’d been through, exactly. Moreso, it was the fact that he’d had to go through any of it at all. He was sad. Sad that this was the life he had to live, that any chance of normalcy had been robbed from him long ago. She could tell that each day, he functioned somewhat on automatic, trying to ignore the fact that this was what his life was. And it hurt so much to watch because he was such a good man.

​He didn’t deserve that, she thought. None of them did. When it came down to it, they’d all been forced into this life, unaware of how much it would consume them and chart their courses for them. Had any of them known, they’d never have agreed to be involved in the first place. But war brought about all kinds of scenarios that no one would have ever dreamed of, and it would be a safe bet to say that their former selves would never recognize the people they were today.

​Yet, she always remained hopeful. Hopeful that this would one day end, that normalcy, or some sense of it, could be hers again – could be for everyone. She refused to let herself completely resign to the idea that her life could end this way. And she tried so hard to make others believe the same. As she and Josef would walk together, she’d insert a hopeful remark here and there, trying to lighten the weight he carried that was always felt but never seen. When he’d talk about things he’d hoped for as a younger man, he always said it with the finality that it would never be. She couldn’t bear to hear it, and so she’d do as much as she could to try and bring a smile to his face, to offer him hope. She willed him to believe it, but she had the fear that she hadn’t been successful.

​At the same time, though, she did her best not to overstep. She knew she had no right to project anything onto him, and outside of the occasional times when they got more personal, she did her best to mind her own business. The less she provoked, the better, she thought. Just let them be, she thought. She again reminded herself that she had no right to be a part of their real lives.

​However, no matter how much she’d reminded herself of that, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from falling for him, and she felt ashamed for letting it happen. He was everything she could want, and she found herself daydreaming of another world, one in which they’d met naturally, where his handsome face wasn’t always tinged with sadness, and where he chose to be around her because he wanted to be, not because he had to be. Of course, he’d never made her feel as if he didn’t want her around, but it wasn’t as if any of them had a choice. But there were times when, for the briefest moments, she’d catch him looking at her in a way that made her heart forget their situation, that felt like he saw her as she hoped he would. In those moments, she’d had to stop herself from reaching for him.

​She had awoken that day with a new resolve to ignore it all and simply focus on the task at hand. It had been easy enough earlier in the day, as she and Marie had been away from the apartment all day to retrieve information from various intel sources. They’d even had a scare when gunfire had rung out at a storefront as they’d walked by, but it turned out to be from a disagreement between two shop owners, one of which apparently lost his temper. Her heart had raced as they’d thrown themselves to the ground, and it seemed almost comical now that she was unscathed.

​When she and Marie had arrived back at the apartment, both Josef and Jan immediately jumped from their chairs where they’d been sitting at the small dining table, having heard about what happened. Marie and Jan had rushed to each other, meeting in the middle of the room for a heated embrace, yet she stayed at the doorway. After watching them for a moment, she felt Josef’s eyes on her, and when she looked to him, his expression was one she couldn’t read. He almost seemed to be, dare she say, restraining himself, and her heart pounded when he opened his mouth to speak. But almost immediately, he decided against it, and she simply gave him a small nod before turning back around to remove her coat and hat. She then went to the bathroom to splash some water on her face before excusing herself to go downstairs to the landlady’s apartment.

​She was grateful she had agreed to watch the woman’s small grandbaby for a few hours, needing the distraction. She had hoped to have Marie for emotional support after all they’d been through that day, but as she carried the baby back into the apartment, she found her and Jan putting on their coats and heading for the door she’d just come through.

​“There’s a band playing at the pub down the street,” Marie explained as they stopped on their way out. “Won’t you come with us?”

​She said nothing, simply gesturing to the baby on her hip.

​“Why on Earth did you agree to that?” Marie asked. “How long?”

​“It’s only for a couple of hours,” she responded. “For all that woman has done for us, the least I could do was allow her a short time’s peace to visit her husband at the hospital. Besides, it will be nice to have a little lightheartedness around here.” She looked at all of them, including Josef, who stood in the kitchen, leaning against the sink. “I think I may cry if I have to spend another night around all of you.”

​They all had laughed, but she noticed how Josef’s expression had quickly returned to a serious one. Although she’d turned away, she could still feel his eyes on her as she’d said goodbye to Marie, waving the baby’s small hand at her and Jan as they’d rushed down the stairs. She had then closed her eyes briefly and silently inhaled a deep breath, steeling herself before closing the door and turning around. Josef was likely highly annoyed that a baby would be disrupting his evening.

​“You didn’t care to join them?” she’d asked him.

​“No,” he’d replied simply, still standing across the room.

​“Well, I’m sorry to do this to you,” she apologized. “I thought for certain that I would be alone, or at least that it would only be Marie and myself. I didn’t mean to disrupt your evening.”

​“It’s fine,” he’d replied, and when the baby suddenly cooed and grabbed her finger with a squeal, the hint of a smile spread across his face as he watched her laugh.

​“It suits you,” he said, looking between her and the baby.

​Her eyes shot to him at his words, a blush dancing across her cheeks as their eyes met. The moment felt suffocatingly intimate, and she had to look away from him. Fortunately, the baby was making enough noise to keep away an awkward silence, and when he stretched his arms out towards Josef, she smiled.

​“I think someone likes you,” she said to Josef, allowing herself to look at him again. “Would you like to hold him?”

​A look of hesitancy crossed his face, and he didn’t move away from the sink. Nevertheless, she walked to him with the baby, stopping in front of him and smiling.

​“Go on,” she encouraged him quietly. “It will be good for you.”

​Josef glanced at her again briefly before looking down at the baby. She shifted him in her arms and then passed him to Josef, who gave one more look of uncertainty before awkwardly taking him from her. Their bodies brushed as she helped him adjust the baby, and she guided his hands to where best to hold him. After a moment of awkwardness, Josef seemed to (almost) happily surrender to the situation, and when she saw the two of them smile at each other, she physically had to turn around and look away, the entire sight being too much to take. But when the baby squealed again, she turned back around.

​“Alright, let’s take you in the other room, shall we?” she said to the baby, not allowing herself to look at Josef again. Keeping her eyes lowered, she gently took the baby from him and turned around, walking into the sitting room and making the baby comfortable on the floor.

​The few hours passed without incident, and she managed to keep the baby happy and entertained, singing to him and making him laugh, bouncing him on her lap or walking around the room with him. Not once did she let herself look beyond the room for Josef, and, in fact, he’d been so quiet that by the time the landlady had knocked on the door to retrieve the baby, she’d nearly forgotten he was there. She chatted with the landlady at the door for several minutes before stepping back inside and closing the door. As she turned into the kitchen, her eyes met Josef’s, who was standing near the sink again, watching her. Her heart pounded, but rather than indulging herself in foolish thoughts, she headed towards the bedroom, grateful for the distraction of the baby’s extra blanket that the landlady had left behind. She’d return it to her tomorrow, she thought, and she picked it up off the bed and carefully began folding it. But soon, the sound of Josef stopping at the door caused her heart to skip a beat.

​“In another life, I’d make you my wife,” he said quietly.

​Her heart completely stopped, and when she turned around and met his eyes, she briefly forgot how to breathe.

​“What?” she whispered, hardly able to form the word.

​He stepped the rest of the way into the room, stopping in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers.

​“In another place, in another time, I would make you my wife,” he repeated. “You would be mine. You would have my children. And you’d let me love you.”

​She could hardly comprehend what he was saying, her blood pounding in her ears as she looked at him. Yet, she couldn’t stop her own words that came next.

​“I would never have to let you,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “I would willingly be yours...in an instant.”

​Josef’s jaw clenched as he reached for her, his hand slipping behind her neck and gripping it firmly with possession.

​“You would?” he asked.

​“I am,” she replied. “I’m yours.”

​He shook his head, stroking the back of her neck as he pulled her closer.

​“Not here, not now. It’s been taken from us.”

​“No, Josef,” she said as she shook her head, tears silently running down her cheeks. “It can happen. Here and beyond.” She raised her hands and gripped his shirt. “You speak so certainly about impossibility. What about the opposite? You have to have hope, Josef. Don’t live as if you’re already dead. Please!”

​Looking down into her eyes, he slipped his hands to her cheeks, cradling her face. His eyes were full of love and heartache. With the direction his life had taken, never did he expect to find a woman like this. A woman so full of love and compassion, yet so strong and resilient. Someone who had every reason to be mad at the world, but instead was full of light and kindness and beauty, and who grasped at hope. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to find her, resigned to the fact that his life couldn’t be that way, and that it would in all likelihood be cut short at any moment. What was the point of love if it was met with death? But she had made her way into his heart against all odds.

​Pulling her even closer, he closed his eyes tightly and rested his forehead against hers. For the first time, he allowed himself the tiniest sliver of hope for beyond all this. Hope for a life with her in his arms. A life where the good swept away the bad.

​“I love you,” he whispered to her.

​Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stroked his hair.

​“I love you,” she echoed back to him. “So much that it hurts. But we have to believe that there’s a future beyond all this. We have to.” She pulled back enough to look at him, touching his cheek as he continued to hold her.

​“Make me,” he said as he looked into her eyes. “Make me believe.”

​When their lips met, her knees buckled, and Josef held her against him as they both became lost in each other. Hope, love, and desire rendered each of them helpless, and as they made love, time seemed to stand still, their bodies and their emotions connecting in a painfully beautiful way. When the room fell silent, Josef held her against him as she drifted off to sleep. As the light of the moon shone through the small window and highlighted her beautiful face, he clung to her tighter. Clung to her, and to hope. The hope that, somehow, they would come out of all this on the other side. Together.

Part 2

@neonpurplestars89-blog

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew)Chapter 7

Word Count: ~9,934

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; violence; blood; minor smut

Description: Love is not a precursor to marriage. Nor is it a requirement. Love matches are rare. Even rarer are those who grow to love one another.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact.

Sorry this took a little longer than expected. The holidays are crazy 🫠

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

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131 AC- Dragonstone

Marriage is an institution. It is the oldest institution in existence. The very foundation of polite and chivalrous society. It can be characterized by duty, affection, and fidelity though the latter two are rare to find in most unions. Love is not a precursor to marriage. Nor is it a requirement. Love matches are rare. Even rarer are those who grow to love one another.

For those fortunate enough to be born high in society we marry those who we are told to. Duty and love are like oil in water in most unions. Perhaps the institution is kinder to those who are less fortunate. Matrimony can be a joyful gift to those lucky enough to have been blessed by the Maiden, but so few are.

Liberation within its sacred vows is few and far between. This is the case for women especially. A woman is first the property of her father and then later her husband. Devoting her life to both. She lives in service of others. To be a devoted daughter to birth her husband's heirs. When she fails that duty she is shamed. Cast aside if not physically she is mentally iced out. She is looked down upon. Reprimanded for her faults, but when she succeeds she is the embodiment of the mother herself.

Marriage of course has its benefits for women as well as men. It offers the chance for a legacy. A way of serving past death. Cheating the very nature of mortality. Life is fleeting, but we can live from beyond the grave. Through our children, we go on. We endure for them so that we may preserve in some fashion or another. It brings legitimacy to children created within its union. The role of marriage at its heart. We all have our parts to play.

Naerys went into her marriage with the same expectations as most highborn women. She did not ask for much. She knew her duty. She was to bear her husband a male heir and at least a spare. She was to educate her children in the customs of old Valyria. If the Gods willed it she would fill the halls of Dragonstone with plenty of children to go around.

There had been a time when she had seemingly failed this duty, that the princess had thought she would have to share her husband with another, but that time had thankfully passed. Though doubts lingered in the back of her mind, the past was the past. She could not change it. Nor would she wish to. Her deck had been set. The cards had been handed out. She would make the best of the hand that she had been dealt. It had not been a bad hand in the end.

Where the first five years of her marriage had been hectic, full of uncertainty and pain, the past eleven years of Naerys' marriage had been as close to felicity as she had ever reached. Daemon was a loyal and attentive husband. Though he could be hot-headed and brash he was a passionate and devoted man. She could not complain. She had more than she could have ever dreamed of.

Nothing could beat her husband's smile when he was thrilled with her or something else that excited him. The way his violet eyes crinkled up at the corners brought light to his pale face. His boisterous laughter filled her up, warming her up on cold nights as he held her in his arms after a heated round of lovemaking.

Her uncle's consideration of her needs was unparalleled. Over the years he had grown to value her opinion above all others. Seeking her council for decisions or problems that arise with their vessels and Dragonstone’s small folk. The day-to-day of their household was left mostly in Naerys' care. An arrangement that worked out the best for both.

Rarely did Daemon miss their evening rides on Silverwing and Caraxes around their island. Nor the chance to recount each other’s days over a cup of warm mulled wine while they sat by the fire. The Targaryen couple relished the time that they spent in each other’s company. Whether it be sharing a simple meal in their chambers solar, reading texts of various natures to each other, or a shared bath to wash off the stress of the day. Daemon always made time for his little wife no matter how busy their days got.

When Naerys had given birth to Daenys and no sons had followed after she had grown weary, her husband had not seemed to mind that his heir came in the form of a girl. Her strength regrew from his conviction. Their daughter was a blessing from the Gods. A miracle that they cherished above all else. Anyone who asked the Rogue Prince’s true opinion on the issue of his lack of sons would receive a firm challenge. “Why would I wish for sons when I have my little dragon?” They would not make the mistake of questioning the prince again or his daughter's position as his heir.

A sweet sentiment, but Naerys had held out a silent hope that her womb would quicken again the first three years after Aenys birth. That the maesters had been wrong. That she would be able to give her husband a son and heir. Praying to the mother every time she lay with her husband and he released inside her that his seed would take, They had not been. By the fourth year after their son's tragic birth, it became clear that Daenys would remain their sole living child.

Daenys was a vivacious girl with a charming disposition. She excelled in needlepoint, dancing, and court etiquette as well as high Valyrian, literature, and ancient histories. She found politics and sums to be tedious, struggling especially with the latter, but she rarely gave her septa or Maester Orly's much trouble for it. Much to her father's disappointment, and her mother's relief, she did not enjoy swordplay, but she had grown to love archery almost as much as her daily rides upon the slender dragon she had named Moonbeam.

Though the young princess had her mother's looks she had inherited her father’s stubbornness. Preferring to do things as she saw fit though she could be persuaded to see the merits in others' opinions if she was given enough reason to. Daenys was a true daughter of House Targaryen. Every inch the Valyrian beauty, standing tall with her silver curls, honey complexion, and violet eyes she had inherited from her father. Her loveliness only grew with each passing name day. The young princess was shaping up to be a fine lady of impeccable breeding.

While Daenys may not have been an ideal heir due to her sex, no one could doubt her legitimacy or her position as Daemon’s successor. She had no brothers. No other siblings legitimate or otherwise. The young princess was the sole living natural-born child of both of her parents. There could be no question of who would inherit Dragonstone after her father would depart from this earth. This was not the case for her older cousin.

The question of legitimacy was presented with Rhaenyra. The presumed heir to the Iron Throne. The firstborn daughter of the king. Born from Viserys first marriage to his late cousin Aemma. Though Rhaenyra was undoubtedly her father's eldest child, the king had since remarried. Her stepmother had given birth to four children, three of whom were sons. Viserys long hoped for heirs. Their births should have pushed her further down the line of succession except they had not and the crown princess remained heir.

Every heir has certain expectations. The continuation of the family line is one of them. Under threat of disinheritance, Rhaenyra had been married to her Velaryon cousin the late Ser Laenor. In their many moons of marriage, she birthed three sons. The eldest two, Jaecerys and Lucerys, had been named the future heir of the Seven Kingdoms and the future Lord of Tides respectively. In the king's mind, his line and Rhaenyra’s position as the heir appeared secure.

Despite Naerys' cousin claiming each dark-haired pug-nosed son Rhaenyra bore, the question of the legitimacy clung to them. Ser Laenor’s proclivities were well known. Whether the two had tried to work past his urges if the Velaryon heir was truly sterile was not known to the realm at large, but regardless of the finer details, everyone knew who really fathered the realm’s delight’s children. They were unquestionably the baseborn sons of the crown princess sired by her late lover and good brother Ser Harwin Strong.

Lord Corlys and his lady wife Princess Rhaenys said nothing publically to contradict Rhaenyra’s son's parentage for the sake of their granddaughters. The little strong sister twins, Baela and Rhaena were set to marry Jace and Luke. The elder was to be the queen of the seven kingdoms while the younger lady of Driftmark was like her grandmother before her. Privately, it was obvious that Rhaenys was less than enthused at her good daughter's lack of discretion. The fact that she had turned to her late daughter's husband as a means to provide herself with heirs had further soured their relationship.

In the wake of Ser Laenor’s death, Rhaenyra and her children fled from Driftmark. I can not bear to be in the place where my husband has died. I am so alone here uncle. All I have are my sons. An excuse and a plea. It was what she wrote to Daemon. Keeping true to his word that there were to be no more secrets between he and his young niece-wife, the Rogue Prince read over the contents of the letter to Naerys as they were preparing for bed.

When he had finished, Naerys expected her uncle to return to his writing desk. Wasting no time to extend an invitation to Rhaenyra, he kissed the worry lines that had appeared on her forehead and tossed the letter into the fire. Pulling her silver coils back from her little brown face before he bent down to capture her sweet mouth in a kiss. He began to pull the loose tie to her gown to reveal the sheer gown underneath. She shivered in the cool night air that had seeped into their solar, but she did not suffer for long. Warming up under her husband’s amorous attention.

“Ao emagon daorun naejot zūgagon issa dōna riña.” You have nothing to fear, my sweet girl. Naerys' husband wrote back to Rhaenyra in the morning. He offered her their condolences once more, but he did not offer her a place by his side in Dragonstone’s halls.

Not receiving the reply she had hoped for, Rhaenyra and her sons made their way to the Vale. Having heard of her plight Jeyne Arryn, her cousin for her the princess's mother had been an Arryn, and Lady of the Eyrie offered her a place at her hearth.

The Warden of the East was a virtuous woman who held little love for those who sought to usurp a woman’s rightful position in favor of their male relatives. She knew all too well what it was like to be looked down upon for her sex. Her own cousin Ser Arnold Arryn had twice risen against her to claim her Inheritance.

Her opinion remained low among those who sought to replace her cousin as heir due to her sex and her children's questionable legitimacy. She dismissed the claims of Rhaenyra’s son's bastard status as harsh untruths. “Your sons have inherited the Arryn look, my dear princess.”

Lady Jeyne Arryn and the crown princess got on well enough with the exception of one subject. Prince Daemon Targaryen. Lady Arryn's distaste for the Rogue Prince had been well known. She had never held a high opinion of the man, but what little regard she had held vanished after the death of Lady Rhea Royce.

“She believes I killed that unfortunate woman who I happened to have been tied to for her inheritance, little one.” Her husband's first wife was a topic that only came up a handful of times in their marriage. It was for all intents and purposes a cold barren union that had embittered them both. The two had only slept together a handful of times and saw each other with little frequency. A stark contrast to the affections he held for his niece-wife.

Naerys sometimes wondered, mostly to herself, if her uncle had done away with Lady Rhea. True enough, Daemon was away from the Runestone at the untimely death of his first wife, but he hated the woman and he hated that he was not allowed to take another for a wife. He had wasted no time in demanding his baby niece's hand in marriage when she finally succumbed to her injuries. Flying to Driftmark to claim his prize for enduring a frigid marriage bed for so long.

Curiosity got the better of Naerys when she asked in a haze of lust and Dornish Red one night if he had. Daemon laughed before breathing into her ear as he thrust his middle and index fingers into her cunt to prolong her peak. Pulling out his digit from her overspent heat when she began to whimper. Bringing their combined spends to her slightly swollen lips. A love-drunk look overtook her husband's pale face when she eagerly suckled on the pads of his fingers. “If my brother had not let me have a taste of you I would have.”

Naerys had been told that Rhaenyra would hear no ill words against her beloved uncle. “It is not his fault dear cousin. My uncle would have never turned me away had it not been for another who has crawled in his bed and takes joy in whispering fables into his ear.” Lady Jeyne spoke no more on the subject.

The Eyrie for a time became a place of diversion for the crown princess. Her cousin was gracious enough to let her have a run of her own household. Giving her the freedom she so desired as long as she did not interfere in her role as Warden of the East.

Still, life in the Vale grew dull for Rhaenyra. The ancestral seat of House Arryn was beautiful, but a small remote castle. Served the purpose of defense well, but for entertainment, it fell short even in comparison to Dragonstone which sat in half isolation. Guests were few and far between besides the young lady Strong‘s who on occasion would fly upon Baela’s mount Moondancer to visit their betrotheds.

I confess that I have grown weary of this place. Though Lady Arryn is kind, the Eyrie is not home. The crown princess had written once again to their uncle. It was Naerys who extended the offer of a visit to Dragonstone’s shore. It was in part born out of her duty as a mother.

Daenys was fast approaching her fifteenth name day. The young princess was a beauty, an accomplished dragon rider, and possessed an overall sweet disposition. She did not lack for admirers, however, her eyes were firmly set upon her cousin Aemond. A fondness that was returned in kind.

“She’s too infatuated with him.” It was said as Daemon glared at Aemond from the high table as Aemond spun Daenys around the great hall during their nephew's last visit. “And you are encouraging it little one.” The Rogue Prince had tried to separate the two after Prince Aemond had asked for his daughter's hand in marriage. An act that had ended poorly.

“Iksan ojūdan mijegon zirȳla nuncle. Wed zȳhon naejot issa isse se tradition hen īlva lentor.” I am lost without her nuncle. Wed her to me in the tradition of our house. The young prince had promised her parents that he would not remove his future bride from all that she loved. Daenys preferred the quiet tranquility of Dragonstone’s smoky shores. The Red Keep with its gossip and foul air held little appeal for the princess. Aemond truth be told found his father’s court to be tiring. It was no place to raise children. He knew that all too well. This had been the final straw for the princess’s father.

“My dear nephew, I’d sooner wed my daughter to a pig than you. At least then we’d get a meal out of it.” Daemon sniggered at his nephew who had dropped down to his knees with his sword clasped firmly between his hands in a show of fealty. The older prince's face turned to stone as he sneered down at the red faced one eyed prince. Daemon ordered him to take leave from Dragonstone. “Your nursemaid will be missing you.” A pair of guards flanked Aemond on his involuntary march to Vhagar. Taking flight without so much as a being allowed a goodbye to his young love.

Daenys had given her parents the fright of their lives when she flew from Dragonstone in the middle of a storm without so much as a trace. They had begun to expect the worst until a raven arrived from the Red Keep informing Naerys and Daemon of their daughter's whereabouts. The young princess had made the trek in perilous weather, a course of action which her cousin had advised her not to undertake, to entreat upon her uncle’s goodwill. Surely he would force his brother's hand and allow their union to take place.

When the appeal was posed by the young lovers to the dying man he was said to have turned away from his son to gaze upon his young niece with a slight look of confusion. Taking her unblemished hand in his frail one with an apologetic smile on his face. “I do not think that is wise Naerys.”

The broken-hearted young princess was retrieved from the capital with haste by her father and barred from leaving so much as her chambers without the presence of at least one of her maids. Daemon threatened to send for her old septa, but Naerys was able to calm her husband. “It was a mistake. She has learned her lesson kepus.”

Daenys complied with her parents' demands without complaint, but she was a restless girl. Her spirit would rally again. She would not be satisfied until she had gained what she wanted and Aemond was unlikely to give in unless he was told to by the young princess herself. The will of youthful pride and passion could not be underestimated.

It came as no great surprise when Daenys came to her mother begging for her help. “Ziry mazverdagon issa sōpagon muña.” He makes me laugh mother. The young princess broke down into sobs as Naerys stroked her silver curls. “Nyke kostagon daor jikagon va mijegon zirȳla” I can not go on without him.

Daemon had not mellowed much with age. Remaining every bit as stubborn as the Rogue Prince of his youth. He disliked Aemond as a match for his daughter and his opinion of him was unlikely to change, but perhaps if Daenys affections were to transfer to another of another they could move past this. Young love was fickle enough. The first passions of youth could fade just as quickly as they began.

“It is good to be among family again uncle.” In the fortnight that Rhaenyra and her sons stayed in Dragonstone’s stone halls she had made herself quite at home. Taking up residence in the Sea Dragon tower, far enough away from Naerys and her family’s residence in the Stone Drum, the princess, and her children were given free roam of the place.

Naerys was reminded of the early days of her marriage when Rhaenyra had been a constant presence in their home, though to her relief her husband did not seem half as interested in his niece this time around. He in fact had left the entertainment of the crown princess to Naerys. “You brought her here little one.” Daemon had told her with a teasing smirk when she had grumbled about her cousin's ways. Having to sit through sewing circles, dinners, and gatherings with a pinched-faced Rhaenyra had been a less than joyous experience, but for Daenys she endured it.

“Joffrey has grown so very fond of Daenys.” The three Targaryens peered down from the courtyard rafters to gaze upon their children in the training yard below. Rhaenyra and Naerys stood on opposite sides of Daemon who had pulled Naerys hand in his. A sight that had drawn the older princess’s attention as revulsion was written clearly across her pale face.

The Rogue Prince echoed the crown princess’s sentiments as he continued to draw circles with his thumb into the back of his wife’s hand. “It is truly a shame that she has no brothers.” It is a shame that your wife has given you no sons. Naerys stifled, but that did not go unnoticed by Daemon.

“As it is a shame that you had no daughters.” The crown princess’s lilac eyes brightened for a moment before her uncle continued on. “Or silver-haired sons.” Rhaenyra gave a tight-lipped smile before making her excuses. Leaving back for the safety of her guest chambers in Sea Dragon tower.

That night Naerys confessed her plan to her husband. Joffrey had not been her first choice for her daughter's potential betrothed, but she had run out of options. Daenys had found fault with every boy she had tried to thrust their daughter's way. He is too dull mother or he is too arrogant or I hate his laugh. While Rhaenyra’s youngest son was a well-mannered boy, she did not know how much longer she could take from her cousin's leering presence.

“Send them away.” Daemon had laughed lightly as he pulled her into his lap. Placing his forehead to hers. “Īlva byka zaldrīzes does daor raqagon joffrey isse bona ñuhoso nor does ziry ūndegon zȳhon hae mirros tolī than nykeā mandia. Ziry jorrāelagon daor dīnagon nykeā bastard.” Our little dragon does not like Joffrey in that way nor does he see her as anything more than a sister. She need not marry a bastard.

Naerys had dreaded telling her cousin to leave from Dragonstone’s shores. She had never been good at confrontation. Preferring to avoid it at all costs. The princess had found silence to be the best course of action when dealing with something or someone unpleasant. In the end, there had been no need for her anguish over the issue.

Two ravens arrived at Dragonstone. The first from Driftmark. The second from King's Landing. Both told the same tale. Lord Corlys Velaryon had fallen ill. A fever. Sudden and unexpected.

The Velaryon lord could not leave his bed. His wife Princess Rhaenys and their eldest granddaughter, Lady Baela, worked tirelessly to nurse him back to health. Rhaena spent most of her days praying for her grandfather's recovery in Hide Tide’s sept. It was when his condition took a turn for the worst that his brother chose to strike. The balance that they had crafted was steadily collapsing.

Ser Vaemond had always held firm to the belief that it was he and not Rhaenyra’s sons who was the rightful heir of the Driftwood Throne. He was Lord Corlys’ only living brother. He was the commander of house Velaryon’s navy. He was a true Velaryon with the undiluted blood of old Valyria running through his.

Though he had some minor disagreements with his nephews all had been in agreement that Lucerys Velaryon and his brothers were really bastards born of Strong seed. They were unfit to rule over them as the Lord of the Tides nor would they suffer through the embarrassment of house Velaryon being headed by a bastard welp of a whore. The Velaryon men had put aside their differences in support of their uncle's claim. It was with one unifying mind that Ser Vaemond, his sons, and his five nephews set sail for the Red Keep.

Naerys had always suspected that Ser Vaemond and Ser Otto Hightower had struck up a bargain with one another. They had a common enemy. The Driftwood Throne and the Iron Throne could be theirs respectively if Rhaenyra’s heirs were officially declared illegitimate. Aemond’s letter to Daenys all, but confirmed their unspoken agreement.

Tell your mother not to worry sweetling. My grandsire will be proceeding over Ser Vaemond’s petition. The king is too ill to leave his bed. Mother believes that we have worn him out from our little ambush. Naerys doubted that her uncle had been informed of the events that were transpiring around him.

Rhaenyra had been unfortunately present when Daenys had been made to read the letter aloud when they broke their fast. “I beg you uncle if you had or still have any love for me please save my boys.” With tears streaming down her face she implored Daemon to see to her children's “safety.” The crown princess’s sons were sweet true enough, but there was not enough sentiment to warrant defensive action. Their lives were not forfeit if they were publicly declared bastards.

Daemon agreed to it. “I would want Viserys to do the same for Daenys' little one.” His simple reply when his wife had asked why. Naerys did not object. If it gave her husband piece of mind that he had done what he could for his great nephews and their mother she would not dare try to sway or guilt him into changing his mind.

It had been suggested by Rhaenyra that she stay within the confines of Dragonstone when they were gearing up to leave for the Red Keep. “We will not be very long dear cousin.” She took all too much pleasure in ordering her around as she moved to smooth down imaginary lines on their uncle's riding leathers.

“My wife could talk some sense into him niece.” Daemon flicked Rhaenyra’s hand away. Naerys knew that her husband could care less for the fate of Ser Vaemond or his kin. However, he was not unaware of his niece-wife’s sentiments. For all his faults the Velaryon knight had been true to Naerys. She could not remember her father, but she could recall every instance that Vaemomd had tried to serve in his absence. She had to try to save him from his own self if she could. Naerys did not spare her aunt another look as she climbed upon Silverwing’s back and took to the skies.

The Dragonstone party arrived in Kings Landing well before Ser Vaemond and Alicent had been the ones to welcome them when they had arrived in the courtyard of the Red Keep. The queen gave a curt greeting to her good daughter before pulling Naerys to the side reiterating what her son had written in his letter. “The king is ill. We do what we can, but it is in the Mother's hands. My father will be the one to make the final verdict.”

Rhaenyra demanded to be taken to see her father almost immediately once the children had left to find some amusement. “I wish to see him.” Naerys could not blame her. If she was in her position she would request the same. The crown princess's visits to her father in the ten years since she had left had been minimal. The Red Keep of her youth was gone. The emblems and regalia of house Targaryen had been replaced mostly by the religious doctrine of the Seven. One was hard-pressed to recognize the castle.

Rhaenyra tried to leave Naerys waiting in the solar outside of the king's bed chambers, but Daemon chastised the crown princess with a frown upon his brow. “She is my wife Rhaenyra.” With a glare thrown in her cousin's direction, she conceded, not even bothering to hide distaste at being reminded of her position in comparison to the Lady of Dragonstone.

True enough the king was confined to his sick bed. The room was kept cool and the shudders were drawn so as to keep the sunlight from streaming in. A gauze covered half his face and the half that was exposed was gaunt and pocket marked with sores.

Viserys had not even recognized his own daughter until she had identified herself. “I am here with Daemon father.” Naerys ignored the omission as Daemon took her small hand in his. As he gazed down at his elder brother she was reminded of the worried look he wore during Aenys birth all those moons ago. The king seemed to come alive upon seeing his daughter and brother's faces together no doubt, but It was not long before a coughing fit overtook him. They left him to the care of maesters then.

Rhaenyra tried to collapse into Daemon when they exited the king's bed chambers. Feigning fatigue and exhaustion as she tried to push aside Naerys hand so that she may be encircled in their uncle’s arms, but the man brushed her off. The crown princess had to grab hold of a nearby chair to keep from falling. Turning to his wife he gave her hand a squeeze and placed a kiss on her soft cheek. “I’ll check on our daughter.” The man still looked like a lost boy as he made his way to search for their daughter. Daenys would set him to rights or at least provide him with enough of a distraction so as to keep his mind off of his brother.

The rest of the day leading up to the petitions passed by slowly. Princess Rhaenys, Lady Baela, and Lady Rhaena arrived not long after the Dragonstone party. While Naerys was glad to see her aunt and little cousin it was not their arrival that she anxiously waited upon. It was not until well in the afternoon that Ser Vaemond and his party finally arrived. At the Lady of Dragonstone’s behest, the queen had brought the Velaryon knight to his niece's guest chambers after she and her father briefly spoke with him. A courtesy that she would not forget.

“You are a Targaryen niece, this does not concern you.” Ser Vaemond tried to dismiss Naerys fears, but she would not let him. She had no dragon dreams, but something told her that this would not end well. The Stranger encircled the Red Keep. The princess could feel that it was not for the ailing king. “I have already received a lecture from one woman of your house. I will not listen to another.” Rhaenys was well-meaning, but she was not a Velaryon. Her interest lay with her blood the Lady Strongs. She would support the bastard's claim as long as her granddaughters sat beside them.

“Was my mother, your sister not a lady of house Velaryon? Was my grandmother, your aunt, not a lady of house Velaryon as well?” Naerys may have the blood of the dragon, but she was just as much if not more so a Velaryon. “Se uēpa, se drēje, se nēdenka.” The old, the true, the brave. House Velaryon’s words. Words she carried in her heart alongside Fire and blood.

“I am your blood. I beseech you uncle. Do not do this.” Naerys would not see the ruin of her mother's house due to her uncle’s ego. This scheme all hinged upon a delicate balance that could topple over at any moment. A set of what-ifs that could turn against him as quickly as they had turned for him. Rhaenyra may be a woman with bastards for heirs, but she was not without her allies. All it took would be a word or two in her favor and Ser Vaemond would be done for.

The Velaryon commanders' friends were few and far between. Ser Otto was loyal to what would put him closer to the crown. The shrewd hand of the king would abandon her uncle without so much as blinking the moment it no longer served him to be his ally. The queen had been kind to her, but her kindness only extended so far. Her interest lay with her children.If she thought that lending her hand would endanger their position or herself she too would turn her back on Ser Vaemond.

Daemon would not speak in support of Ser Vaemond. To do that would mean that he had abandoned Rhaenyra and her cause. He would not defend her Velaryon uncle unless Naerys were to somehow tie her fate to his. Her husband would stop her before it came to that. If Lord Corlys were to recover, there was no telling what he might do to his brother upon finding out that he had “usurped” his chosen heir. It was not too late to turn back, but time was running out.

“It is for house Velaryon that I do this niece.” Ser Vaemond made his way to the door, but his violet eyes softened. A rare moment for the proud man. Naerys was reminded of when she had been a girl. A distant memory of her letting her cry into his arms during her mother’s funeral played back in her head. “Nyke would dōrī deny bona ao issi aōha muñnykeā’s tala. Gaomagon daor ivestragī aōla forget bona.” I would never deny that you are your mother’s daughter. Do not let yourself forget that.

Ser Vaemond was lost to her as he left her chambers with a sad smile, clearing his throat before softly closing the heavy oak door. His fate lay with fickle Gods who had hardly been known to show mercy. Naerys crumbled to her knees as she let herself give in to her emotions.

The petition had been surprisingly short, but the ramifications were not so. Naerys was made to stand near Rhaenyra and her sons. The pale woman ambushed her on the way to the Great Hall. She reached out a hand out to grab hold of her forearm. “I need your strength aunt.”

Wearing a smile as her claws dug into her cousin's skin the crown princess dragged her across the Red Keep as if she were her lap dog. By the time they made it to where Daemon and Daenys stood on the opposite side of the queen and her three eldest children in the throne room Naerys felt her arm go numb from the pain.

Rhaenyra only let go of her grip when Daemon barked at her to release his niece-wife. Taking hold of her forearm to soothe the blotchy brown skin. “Look what you've done.” It looked worse than it felt, but Naerys was likely to be left with a dark bruise by morning. The crown princess apologized, stumbling over her words under her uncle’s dark stare. She was spared the worst of the Rogue Prince’s anger when Ser Otto called for the petitions to begin.

Ser Vaemond was called first to speak. Blood was his argument. Blood is what it all came down to. His blood was pure. The blood of the seas, the blood of old Valyria. He was his brother's rightful heir, not some bastard boy with no blood ties to House Velaryon.

Rhaenyra tried to cut the Velaryon knight off. Reminding the court that Luke was the son of Ser Laenor Velaryon. Lord Corlys' only son. He was a Velaryon just as much as his great uncle. His claim was the true one, but he was a Velaryon in name only. The queen reminded her that she would have her chance to speak. The crown princess quieted with a glower at Ser Vaemond who sported a self-assured smirk across his dark brow, but it was she who the Gods shined upon.

The king was announced not a moment after Rhaenyra began her defense of her son. The throne room went silent. The chamber's occupants and petitioners stood in shock as they gazed upon their ailing king. Even the crown princess looked surprised at her father's sudden appearance.

In the light of the throne room, Viserys looked worse than he had in his shrouded bed chambers. He wore a golden mask strapped to his frail wispy head in replace of the gauze that had covered the decaying side of his face. He stood low with the help of his cane hobbling over to the throne. A startled Ser Otto had no choice, but to hand judgment over to the king.

All attempts at assistance were shooed away until Viserys dropped his crown. Daemon swooped in to aid his brother up the steps leading to the Iron throne. Placing his crown upon his head when he finally sat upon that infernal chair. The brothers exchanged a look before her husband made his way back to where they stood. Naerys knew that all was lost for her uncle.

The king had more of his wit than he appeared. From where he stood Driftmarks succession was settled. Naerys glanced over to see Alicent’s face mirroring her own unease. The princess went to clutch at her daughter who returned her grip with a comforting squeeze.

The king called upon Rhaenys to speak. She was the only one who knew what her husband wanted. She would speak for the dying man. All eyes turned to her. It would be on her word that would deal the final blow.

She might have been swayed to support her good-brother had not Viserys arrived. The queen that never was would not have protested too much had Ser Vaemond offered her one of his eldest grandsons for Lady Baela. As long as her granddaughters, her blood, was not cheated of their inheritance she would not have cared who sat claimed the title of Lord of the Tides. It is what Naerys would do, but the king had arrived.

It came as no great surprise when Rhaenys reiterated her and her husband's support of Lucerys' claim. Calling the boy Ser Laenor’s true-born son. Reminding the court that her granddaughters were to wed Rhaenyra’s sons. Lord Corlys’ blood would appear to sit upon the Driftwood Throne twice over. The matter was once again settled with Viserys reaffirming his grandson’s position as heir of Driftmark upon his grandfather’s death.

Or at least it would have been settled had Naerys uncle been able to put aside his vanity. Ser Vaemond could have walked, but he would not give in so easily. He would not allow anyone, especially a king who championed his daughter at the expense of his own sons, to dictate the fate of House Velaryon. His sons and nephews echoed his protestations.

Naerys tried to go to her uncle, but Daemon grabbed her uninjured arm. Pulling her into her before bending down and whispering into her ear. “Bisa iksos daor ao vīlībagon byka mēre.” This is not your fight little one.

The king warned Ser Vaemond. Reminding him that Lucerys was the grandson of a king. His grandson. The Velaryon knight should have remembered his place as the second son of a second house of Valyria, but he still would not fold. The Velaryons may not have dragons, but they had the blood of old Valyria flowing through their veins as well. They had survived centuries of trials and were stronger for it. They would not be brought low if Vaemond Velaryon had anything to say about it.

“Her children are BASTARDS!” Shock once again rained across the throne room as Ser Vaemond roared the accusation at Rhaenyra and her sons. The color had drained from the crown prince's face as she scowled at the Velaryon knight. Naerys felt her heart quicken as she squirmed in Daemon's hold. “And she is a whore!” Time seemed to speed up and slow down. Everything happened all at once

The king called for Ser Vaemond’s tongue. His daughter for his head. It was Rhaenyra who got her wish. Calling upon Daemon to carry out the sentence. The Rogue Prince glared at her as his wife clutched onto the arms he had wrapped around her. He turned both her and Daenys into his chest so that they would not see the Kingsguard who struck off the Velaryon knight's head. A clean break. The great hall's occupants flinched away from the blood spray. Naerys felt her own blood rush through her ears as she turned back around to face what was left of her uncle and the court.

Ser Vaemond’s sons, Daeron and Daemion stood frozen in shock. Ser Otto and Alicent, who had done the same as Daemon in shielding Helaena, looked horrified at the sight of the severed head which had landed a few feet away from them. Aegon had turned his head to avoid staring at the headless knight's body. The warm pool of blood nearly touched his boots. His brother wore a startled expression on his pale face, but he was not able to turn his silver head away from what was once Vaemond’s head before it and the rest of his remains were gathered to be fed to Syrax.

The hall descended into chaos as protests from Naerys' Velaryon cousins were shouted out at the king and Rhaenyra. Ser Maltine and Ser Rhogar, the oldest of the lot, led the charge. Their uncle was a knight of house Velaryon. He deserved a proper trial not whatever this farce had been.

Ser Vaemond had been guilty of nothing except daring to speak the truth and claiming what was rightfully his. The princess’s sons were bastards. Everyone could see that with their dark hair and pug noses. There was not a drop of Velaryon blood in them. No dark Valyrian gentility or grace that those of house Velaryon possessed. They looked more Strong than their true-born lady sisters. Rhaenys clutched both her granddaughters closer to her then. Staring down her good nephews with a stone face. Daring them to speak another word on Baela or Rhaena.

There were no other words to be spoken. At least not by Naerys' cousins. The five Velaryon brothers were seized by members of the Kingsguard. One by one Viserys ordered their tongues to be cut out. No one uttered a word in their favor. Not even Daeron and Daemion who still stood paralyzed from their father's beheading. Their shock no doubt spared them from joining in their cousin's fates.

For the second time within the span of less the posturing of the overly ambitious could have ended there, but when one feels above even the Gods it is hard to stop them. Viserys was on the verge of dismissing the court when Rhaenyra chose to strike.

“My aunt should be questioned, your grace.” Rhaenyra moved over to position herself at the foot of her father's throne. Bending her head slightly in a mockery of fear as her voice trembled with what Naerys supposed was her best attempt at unshed tears. She should have anticipated that her cousin would not miss the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

“For what reason, niece.” Daemon spat the words at Rhaenyra. Viserys echoed his inquiry. Standing up as best as he could to gaze down at his brother and daughter. “What crime has my wife committed?” The crown princess did not flinch as her uncle moved his hand to Dark Sister as he walked toward her with a dark glimmer. One could hear a needle drop as the hall held its breath.

“For conspiring with the late Ser Vaemond to usurp my son's rightful place as heir to the Driftwood Throne.” Penitent was not a look that suited her cousin. It merely came off as posturing. Naerys held her tongue. She would not let pride be her downfall as it had her uncle. She would not let her words be used against her though she did not hide her disdain at the show her cousin was putting on. Not even the king appeared to believe his daughter's tale. Only a fool would believe her accusations. She would let her be her own destruction

“You were there when your daughter received that letter uncle.” Rhaenyra turned her lilac gaze towards her second-born half-brother briefly before turning her attention back to her uncle. Reaching out a hand to calm him. To make him see her reason, but Daemon was not moved.

“You saw how she reacted.” Daenys stirred at the mention of herself and the attacks on her mother's character, but Naerys stayed her daughter. Rhaenyra wanted a reaction from them. The younger princess would not allow her cousin to gain one up on her.

“A frightened niece concerned for her uncle’s safety, that is what you saw. I would expect you to know the sentiment well.” Daemon's grip tightened on his sword. Twisting it slightly within his grasp. “Ser Vaemond raised her since she was a girl. Have you forgotten that? It was not an attack on you and your sons and you know that Rhaenyra.”

“She has forgotten her place uncle!” Naerys did not have to wait long for her cousin to spiral. Her patience had one out in the face of Rhaenyra’s petulance. “Questioning the legitimacy of Luke means to question the legitimacy of his brother, the future king! To question my right to my father's throne. She knows the truth!”

The emotion was thick in Rhaenyra’s voice though Naerys doubted that it came from a place of true sorrow. “She stands to gain everything from this and yet you defend her!” Daemon. It always came back to her husband. Her cousin would never leave her alone as long as her husband remained outside of her hold, but her threats and schemes would only work if the man himself willingly went along with them.

“What do you stand to gain from this Rhaenyra?” Daemon sneered down at his niece. Luring over her as his violet eyes blazed with barely contained fury. Some members of the Kingsguard went to unsheathe their swords in defense of their princess, but Viserys ordered them to hold their ground. “Everything you have ever wanted I imagine. You truly do not see yourself. Be careful what you sow sweet niece.”

“Enough of this!” The king bellowed, standing up from his throne with as much celerity as he could manage in his poor condition. Weariness was evident on his cadaverous face. “You all will cease your bickering at once. The matter is dealt with. There will be no more talk of this. Naerys has committed no crimes except that of acting like a frightened child.”

Viserys turned his attention to his young niece and grandson. “Your daughter is still in need of a husband brother as is Joffrey in need of a wife Rhaenyra.” Daenys paled. Her mother had to tighten her grip on her so that she would not collapse under the weight that was yet to come. From the corner of her eye Naerys spied Aemond stiffening at his father's words. His pale eye landed on Rhaenyra’s son who shifted under his young uncle's glower.

The king seemed to miss the rage upon his second son as he managed a half smile showing off an assortment of rotting and missing teeth in his gummy mouth. “Have them wed after Lucerys and Rhaena.” With that, he dismissed the court. Inviting, or ordering, his family to a private dinner in his apartments so that they may finally put to rest the last of the bad blood that lay between them over good food, drink, and merriment.

Naerys had not realized she had held her breath until they had left the stifling walls of the Red Keep's great hall. The princess tried to catch the eye of her late uncle’s sons, but they remained in a daze as they headed for their fleet that would take them back to Driftmark’s shores with their now silent cousins. Rhaenys and her granddaughters trailed after them, no doubt sending them off before they would ready for tonight’s feast. Daemon ushered her and Daenys back to their chambers before they could be ambushed by either Aemond or Rhaenyra.

The first held his sister's hand as he turned his head towards their daughter's departing figure. His mother and grandsire trying to gain his attention. The latter stood with her sons flanked by two members of her father's Kingsguard. No doubt the king put them there as an act of caution. Her eyes darted with want between her uncle and irritation at her cousin.

“I will not marry him. I will not. I shall not.” Daenys repeated. Her violet eyes watered over as she turned her gaze toward where she had last seen her one-eyed prince. The willowy princess had to be held by both of her parents lest she bolt off. “Gaomagon daor mazverdagon issa dīnagon zirȳla kepa.” Do not make me marry him father. Daemon shushed their daughter. It was not a discussion they would have in front of prying eyes within the king's halls.

Naerys had wanted to leave the Red Keep. “I can not stay here. I wish to go home kepus. Now.” The princess did not care if she sounded like a child. She did not want to be here where she was picked apart or where her daughter was made to play along with petty ruses. Where Rhaenyra watched her as if she was the prey waiting to be slaughtered.

Her husband simply gave her a sad smile pulling her silver coils back from her brown face to place a kiss of placation on her forehead. Daemon promised that they would leave in the morning. It was better to indulge the dying man than to make an enemy of him on his deathbed.

They would sort out the issue of Daenys betrothal once they were within the safety of their own stone walls. After all, it was likely that his brother would die before she would be forced to marry Rhaenyra’s bastard. Naerys would have protested had she not seen the rage still in her uncle's eyes. He was not so easy to forgive her cousin's games at court.

Dinner that evening was a strange affair. The tension and disquietude from the petition proceedings had yet dissipated. The Stranger still clung to the foul air of the Red Keep. It was as if a pot had been left on the fire too long and its contents would boil over at any moment. Burning all those who happened to be within reach.

All were in attendance, except Rhaenys. Her granddaughters apologized for their grandmother’s absence. Claiming that the older princess was fatigued from the stress of the journey as well as the care of her husband.

Viserys called for his family to put aside their grievances for his sake. Pulling off his golden mask so that they may gaze upon his true form. Naerys did her best to hide her revulsion at the sight. She had to grab a hold of her husband who sat to her right to regain her composure. Her uncle had become a walking corpse. The king's right eye was lost. The cavernous tissue of his socket stood in its place. One could see straight clear into his corroded mouth from the flesh and muscle that had long since wasted away. Her uncle would not be among them for much longer.

A mummery of goodwill was exchanged between the factions of Viserys family. First between Alicent and Rhaenyra who toasted to one another and their respective houses. After a minor scuffle over a pass made at Lady Baela by Aegon, Jace toasted his uncle's good health. Recollecting their misspent youths with hope for friendship between them in the future. Alicent’s eldest grumbled in agreement.

Helaena toasted to her little cousin's future marriages.“It isn’t so bad, mostly. He just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk!” The only sincerity among the farcicality. A round of chortles passed between her grandsire and Daemon. The rest of the guests in attendance wore a mixture of confusion, embarrassment, and horror at the princess’s speech.

The mood lightened for a time. Though Naerys remained disillusioned with all that was around. She would not celebrate after all she had witnessed. Shoving the food pushed in front of her aside. Daemon’s eyes softened, but he did not say anything. Merely taking her hand in his to caress the back of it. She could not eat with a heavy half frightened heart.

The king called for music. Dancing commenced with Jace asking for Helaena’s hand which she eagerly accepted. Her husband was more interested in the wine in his cup than his wife who was led across the king's solar by their nephew. Joffrey looked as if he might follow his elder brother's lead with his newly betrothed, but when his eyes met his one-eyed uncle's glare he thought better of it.

All too soon Visery was taken ill by his exertion after the day’s events. Not a moment after he was carried off to bed a pig was placed in front of Aemond. What possessed him Naerys did not know, but Luke laughed at the sight of his uncle’s irritation. Old wounds had reopened. The merriment and masquerading stopped. The pot finally boiled over.

The one-eyed prince called for a final tribute. Raising his glass, an action that his elder brother readily copied, to toast to his nephew's health, before drawling on. “Come, let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.” Daenys let out a little giggle though thankfully Naerys did not think that anyone heard apart from herself. The air became thick with apprehension. Jace dared him to repeat his words, but Aemond was not intimidated by the younger prince. “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

A brawl ensued between the Strong boys and their uncles. Jace threw the first punch, though Aemond did not so much as stumble from it. The dark-haired prince slid across the floor from his uncle’s shove in retaliation. Luke made to get up from his chair, but he was pushed down by Aegon into a serving platter.

Joffrey was to join his brothers, but Daenys held his hand to keep him from the fray. The self-willed Baela had to be held back by her own twin sister Rhaena. Guards had to restrain Jace and Luke as Alicent chastised her son for his lack of restraint, but that did not stop his taunts.

The children had to be sent to their rooms. Aemond would not leave for his own quarters until Daemon made his way over to him. Whispering something unintelligible in Valyrian to his nephew with a slight smirk on his pale brow. The younger prince backed down with a huff of annoyance. Leaving from his father's solar with a lurching gait.

Alicent looked, but Daemon wasted no time in grabbing hold of his wife’s hand. “We are leaving little one.” Her husband bent down to give her a small smile. Naerys felt lighter as he led her back to their own chambers. Imagining the smoky shores of her birth. They should have left Rhaenyra to defend herself, but it mattered not now.

“Uncle.” Rhaenyra called out running after them. One could never get rid of her. She was like a rat clinging to a scrap of wood after a shipwreck. “My father is ill. He needs you. He needs us.” With each word, she sounded more out of breath than the last. “ We can not leave now!”

“Do not worry niece.” Daemon had not slowed his stride as he brought them to a brisk pace. His long legs did most of the work for his wife whose short legs could not keep up. Rhaenyra had height on Naerys but she had grown soft in the belly after Joffrey's birth. She easily grew breathless at their speed. “We will be leaving, not you. You may stay here with Viserys if you like. I think it would do him some good. The Gods know what that Hightower woman has done to him.”

“This den of vipers.” They had finally come to a stop at their guest chamber doors. Rhaenyra wasted no time yanking Naerys' bruised arm to pull her away from their uncle. The younger princess let out a hiss of pain, but she did not notice nor care. Her lilac eyes were overtaken by desperation when she tried to turn Daemon to face her. Rhaenyra failed to take note of the dark look growing on his face or the tick of nerve on the unscathed side of his neck as she continued on.

“You would leave me here? You saw what happened today. They will never stop coming for me uncle. Not unless I give them an heir of unquestionable Valyrian blood. Not unless I have your—” Naerys froze when Daemon gave in to his baser nature. His eyes had blackened over as he reached out a large hand to grab hold of her cousin's neck. Pinning her to the oak door of their chamber. Rhaenyra’s hands flew up to protect herself, but it was too late.

“Yes, Rhaenyra I would leave you here in a den of vipers where you accused my wife of treason.” Rhaenyra clawed at their uncle's hand as his grip tightened. The princess's sputtering coughs bounced off the keeps stone walls. Her face was turning a light shade of blue from the lack of oxygen. “I would leave you here when you continue to make a mockery of yourself at my Naerys expense. At the expense of my marriage.”

Naerys thanked the Gods that there were no guards within earshot as Rhaenyra’s choking grew louder. Thanking the Mother that her husband did not have Dark Sister with him either. She shuddered at the thought of what he might have done with it. “Heavy lies the head that wears the crown Rhaenyra. One could so easily topple under all that weight.” The younger princess remained stock still at her uncle's actions until she realized what he still might be capable of even without his sword.

“Stop.” Naerys cried out. The emotions of the day crashed around her as her pleads began in earnest. “Please kepus, stop. Please. Please stop. Daemon stop!” Rhaenyra may have a childish fixation on her husband, but she did not deserve to be harmed for it. Not at the hands of their uncle who had been in part responsible for her delusions, but she was not so instant either.

“Find someone else to give you your heir's niece.” The Rogue Prince finally released her at the sound of his name on his wife’s lips. His eyes returned back to their violet shade. As he took hold of Naerys hand Rhaenyra fell to the stone floor in a coughing heap. Her throat likely burned as she tried to regain control of her breathing. A red Daemon-shaped handprint graced her pale neck. Though it looked painful, the bruise would likely be no worse than the one she had inflicted upon her cousin-aunt before Ser Vaemond’s fateful petition.

“Do you not think I have not tried?” Rhaenyra crooked out. The whites of her eyes were as red as her neck. Tears bumbled at the surface as she let out a snort. The crown princess turned her bloodshot eyes towards the younger princess with venom, but only briefly before she landed her cloudy gaze on her cousin's husband.

“Even with Harwin. I couldn’t see any man but you. Ao lua īlva hen īlva biarves kepus.” You keep us from our happiness uncle. What pity she had for Rhaenyra disappeared. Naerys let her husband tug her inside with him before shutting the door to their chambers. Leaving her cousin to her misery.

Ao3 Link:

Tags: @misssilencewritewell @parizparis @thanyatargaryen @i-love-morally-gray-characters @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bubblebuttwade @beggarsnotchoosey @m-indkiller @pearlstiare @green-lxght @lazypinkpig @mvrylee

[mags-writes]

Sunlight || Part I

Summary: frank comes to stay

Series Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical swearing, first time writing x reader, no use of y/n, no beta readers we die like ray nadeem

Pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

PROLOGUE/MASTERLIST || PART I || PART II

Three knocks on the door meant Matt was coming home with someone he trusted.

It meant you could speak freely with him.

You'd been living in his apartment for a little over three weeks now. Seamlessly blending in with his routine which felt like nothing to you and meant everything to him. You knew him and every move he'd make before he made it and you could tell that he was doing his best to make up for lost time. He'd ask you questions about your childhood that you shared with your Matt and pick up on your morning routine before leaving for the office.

"You're out of wine again." You called out from the couch.

"I wouldn't be out of wine if you didn't day drink." He called back.

"It's happy hour somewhere." You said more quieter as footsteps rounded from the hall and out popped someone you thought you'd never see.

"Amen."

"Frank freakin Castle."

He looked at you, barefoot, with bare legs, and in an oversized shirt. He raised a single eyebrow that as per usual, had you willing to risk it all.

"So, you watch the news." He commented, watching closely as you playfully rolled your eyes and scrunched your nose for a second.

"Not quite." You answered, pushing yourself up from the couch. "You haven't told him?"

"Told him what?" Matt asked walking around you towards his room. You spun the top half of your body around to give him a pointed look that you knew he could feel. Frank tilted his head, unconsciously following the movement of your shirt riding further up your thighs. "Okay, okay. No, I haven't told him details."

Matt gave a cheeky smile as he dropped off his bag in his room and then made his way to the kitchen.

"Told me what, Red." Frank asked, straightening up in time for you to turn and face him.

You frowned with a smile, not used to hearing him speak.

"I'm not from this dimension." You answered, your frown dropping and leaving the smile. "At least that's what your Avengers are saying."

Frank jokingly raises his eyebrows and points a finger to his chest. "My Avengers, huh?"

It makes you let out a surprised giggle that has Frank giving you a soft smile.

"Wow, Matt, your Frank is pretty skilled." You joked, turning to give Matt a look before smiling at Frank again. "He talks and he can smile. I didn't know they could do that."

Frank laughs, paying close attention to the way your cheeks bloomed with heat at his attention.

"Well, just like you," Matt handed Frank a beer before turning back to you with a warm smile. "Frank here continues to surprise us. He's on the straight and narrow these days."

"Oh?" You tilt your head at Frank's bashful smile. "What's that? Only four dead bodies this week?" You joked lightly with the sweetest of smiles he'd ever seen. "Don't tell me you're goin' soft, Frankie."

Frank smiled at the name, setting you with a heated look before looking you up and down, then bringing the beer to his mouth.

"Not on your life, sweetheart." He answered gruffly, taking a sip.

The gruffness you were used to but the smile was something else. You genuinely didn't think it was possible for Frank Castle to smile and you thought the ability to speak the English language had been beaten out of him. His hair was long enough that it curled and his beard had grown out enough that everyone would actually call it a beard. You were used to seeing him in his standard army cut, shaved at the sides, and clean-shaven, with a godlike jawline every woman in a two-mile radius dreamed of mounting. It didn't help that he had a nose that was made for riding.

"You're more scruffier than I'm used to." You mused out loud before you could catch yourself.

"I'm more scruffier than I'm used to," Frank grunted, bringing a hand up to the beard and giving it a rub. "Don't suppose you've got a spare razor, do you?"

Matt swallowed his beer, giving a nod and his own little grunt.

"Yeah, absolutely." He said, moving in the direction of his bathroom. "I'll show you and you can get settled in."

They walk passed you, Frank keeping his eyes on you as he passed.

"Keep the hair." You call out over your shoulder.

Frank turns back to you, keeping eye contact before nodding slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

You don't mind Frank calling you that.

"Frank's going to be staying for a while." Matt made you jump after coming back out of the bathroom with Frank, having not heard him as he came out. "He's got a job in the city so he won't be here during the day but he's going to be around, is that alright with you?"

"Not much I can do about it, it's your apartment." You answered taking a seat on the couch again.

Karen got a promotion at work so she was able to pull some strings for you to be hired on as her research assistant. Decent money to work from home so long as you kept the hours up and stopped ordering takeout all the time but it left you all by yourself in Matt's apartment. At first, you were thrilled. Now you missed bumping shoulders with rude New Yorkers.

"We don't know how long you're going to be here so I want you to feel comfortable. If you don't want him in here I'll tell him to get lost." He said earnestly and for a moment it was like you were back home. Like there was no gap between the two of you.

He did have a point. No one knew how long you would be here for. Would you suddenly pop back to your dimension or would one of those sorcerers that worked with Doctor Strange come looking for you and portal you back? Part of you didn't want to go back, as cruel as it sounded. There was always some lingering tension between you and Foggy, some insecure thought that he was stealing Matt from you in college and him thinking he could never live up to the friendship you shared with Matt. It bled through to your relationship with Matt and every now and again it made things tense between the three of you. With the way Karen came into your lives you thought she was a murderer and she never really let that go, giving you a side eye every time you messed something up.

But that wasn't the case with Foggy and Karen here. To them you know Matt better than the back of your hand and you make him laugh. You make them laugh. There's no tension. It was great here. And now Frank Castle actually fucking talks to you. Who would want to leave?

"I'm more concerned with where he's going to sleep." You said, leaning back on the couch. "I'm already on the couch."

"Well, there's two couches." Matt chuckled. "I'll take one, he takes the other, and you get the bed."

"I am not sleeping in your bed, Matthew." You deadpan without missing a beat. "I know who's been in there."

Matt chuckles again.

[merwgue]

Since I'm going to be tamlin this Halloween and I refuse to dye my hair since I'll look like I've seen god if I go blond and I refuse to wear a wig since It'll make me look like I'm bald with only 5 dollars and a dream to buy a wig. So I'm cosplaying as younger tamlin, who in MY world biologically had brown hair but shapeshifted into blonde in the later years and here's why:

Word count: 1k

In the early years, when Tamlin still had the wild energy of youth and a head of unruly brown hair, there was a boy. His name was Mathew. Mathew was everything Tamlin wasn’t: a diplomat from the Autumn Court, fair-skinned with a constellation of freckles across his nose, and hair the color of freshly fallen autumn leaves, somewhere between the brightest gold and softest orange. He carried himself with an easy grace that seemed almost effortless, his words always carefully measured, his smile never a fraction wider than it needed to be.

Mathew had come to the Spring Court as part of some formal delegation, just another formality in the endless chain of political maneuvering that Tamlin had grown up with. Back then, Tamlin was young, brash, and chafing against the expectations placed on him as one of the heirs to the throne. He spent his days hunting, riding, trying to outrun the weight of the future that loomed over him. But one afternoon, hiding from his duties in the gardens, he saw Mathew laughing with some courtiers by the fountains, and for the first time in his life, Tamlin felt something that wasn't the heavy grip of expectation.

Their meetings started innocently enough—a polite exchange in the halls, a shared glance across the banquet table. Mathew had a way of looking at Tamlin that made him feel seen, not as an heir, not as a weapon or a title, but as just... Tamlin. And it was in those stolen moments, behind the hedges of the garden or in the quiet alcoves of the palace, that something tender began to grow between them.

But loving Mathew was complicated. This wasn’t a time or place where love like theirs was spoken about openly. For Tamlin, heir to the Spring Court, and Mathew, a diplomat meant to embody the values of the Autumn Court, there was no safe way to be together. Yet, they found a way to keep their secret. They became adept at slipping away unnoticed, at disguising their affections as mere friendship in public. They hid notes inside books, whispers exchanged during dances, hands brushing under the table. For a few precious years, they were happy.

Then the war began. And with it, everything changed.

Tamlin’s family was ripped from him in the most brutal fashion, leaving him not just an heir, but the sole survivor in a line of blood and power. In those dark days, it was Mathew who kept him anchored. Mathew who stayed up with him through endless nights, pulling him back from the edge of despair when grief threatened to consume him. It was Mathew who urged him to keep going when Tamlin could barely stand under the crushing weight of his responsibilities. Slowly, with Mathew's help, Tamlin clawed his way back to something resembling life. And for a moment, it seemed like they could finally have the freedom to be themselves.

They decided to make their relationship public, bracing themselves for the fallout. Tamlin knew the risks, knew that he was gambling not just with his heart, but with Mathew's safety. But Mathew was brave, braver than Tamlin had ever been. "Love should never be something to hide," he’d said, his eyes fierce and bright. And Tamlin believed him.

But not everyone was so willing to accept them. In the Autumn Court, Beron, notorious for his cruelty, saw Mathew’s love for Tamlin as a stain on his court, a betrayal that could not be ignored. The decree came down quietly at first, whispers among the nobles, the hunts for any who might support them. Then it grew louder, fiercer. And in the chaos of war, when lives were already being torn apart, Mathew was hunted. They came for him not with the fanfare of public execution but with the cold precision of a vendetta. They cornered him in the forests, where the light through the trees made his hair glow like fire.

Tamlin wasn’t there when it happened. He heard the news in the aftermath, the details coming to him in pieces. Mathew had fought—gods, how he had fought. But they were too many, and he was alone. When Tamlin found him, it was too late.

After that, something inside Tamlin broke. It wasn't just grief. It was the suffocating weight of having tasted love and lost it to hatred and cruelty. For weeks, he wandered through the ruins of what his life had become, through the ashes of a war that had taken everything from him. When the dust finally settled and the wall went up, separating them from the human lands, Tamlin was left with a void that nothing could fill.

It was then that he made a quiet decision. He found a bottle of dye, the same shade as Mathew’s hair. It was a ridiculous thing to do, and he knew it wouldn’t bring Mathew back. But it was his way of carrying Mathew with him, of wearing a piece of him every day. When he looked in the mirror and saw that pale gold hair staring back at him, it hurt, yes, but it also reminded him of the boy who had once been brave enough to love him.

And when Lucien came, with his tragic past and the fire of Autumn in his eyes, Tamlin knew what Mathew would have done. He would have offered a hand, a place to belong, without question. So Tamlin did the same. It was the least he could do for Mathew, to carry forward that spirit of kindness, of love that knew no boundaries.

TELL ME THIS DIDN'T EAT YALL, TELL ME I DARE YOU🤣

[bts-0t-7]

Breaking Bonds | PJM | Chapter 2

Pair: Fae Jimin x Nymph reader 

Summary: Stripped from your own birthright, you suffer at the hands of your people. But after all, you couldn’t blame them. Having enough, you left in the middle of the snowy days but things didn’t go as you planned. Jimin, pulled by an unspeakable force, ventures out into the blizzard to find a body face-first on the ground. Your love and connection is forbidden - looked down upon. But the both of you are willing to try. However, where there are dreams there are prices to pay. How will the both of you push through? Can the both of you do it?

Genre: Strangers to lovers, fantasy au, Jimin is the CROWN PRINCE (I mean-), angst, kidnapping, smut

A/N: AHEM - 👀 that's all the warning I'll give HAHA

WC: 3774

Heartbroken was truly not the right word to use while describing Jimin’s current state. 

He went around his duties like a ghost, refusing to sleep in any other place than your room even if it was freezing cold to him, and cried himself to sleep almost every other night. 

Hurt. 

He was hurt. 

Jimin could understand why you chose to leave. After all, he read your note. He knew he understood your intentions but he tried. He had hoped that you wouldn’t. His mother was barely in the picture, preferring her group of ladies rather than staying in his quarters and having some bonding. She was almost a non-existent figure in his childhood life. It was only when he started taking up his duties during adolescence, did she appeared more. 

His father and grandfather were always too busy fighting on the battlefield and when his father finally came home, Jimin was disregarded like an old rag doll. With the King in perfect condition, the young and naive Crown Prince was no longer being held at the throat for possibly taking over the throne. 

The only parent figures he had were the maids and servants in the castle. When he was young, they would sneak some snacks for him before bedtime and they would eat together as they watched the night sky. More times than not, stories would be told then. During his adolescence, some of the councillors would give him extra help for his homework. They would teach him the laws and ways of the kingdom not by books, but by actions. 

During seasonal festivals, the servants would always pair up with an undercover guard to bring him out of the castle - even if it is just for a few hours - and let him explore what would be his when he ascends. 

Jimin is forever grateful to those who took care of him growing up, some of them barely eighteen years old. But he had always craved a different sort of intimacy. Nobody could replace the absence of his parents but as Jimin grew older, he had wished that he would find the one for him so that he could shower them with as much love and care as the servants had for him. 

But as he came of age and after so many years of mindless finding, Jimin had started to give up until he found you, lying face first in the snow. He was drawn by an unspeakable force to venture into the depths of the forest that day. He was in the middle of his afternoon duties when he looked out into the vast snow and felt it. 

Jimin had initially wanted to ignore it but it got stronger the more time passed. So he went to the stables and settled his horse, trotting the both of them in an unknown mark. He observed where he was going, of course - southeast, with little turns and ups and downs. 

Until he saw your body on the ground. 

His heart stopped. 

That day, he figured out a new type of fear - One that was bone-chilling. 

He ran back to the castle and summoned as many well-known physicians as he could. And while you were bedridden, he carefully nursed you back to health, feeding you morsels of the forest that were saved in the kitchen. He picked out the rarest fruits and collected enchanted waters from the streams up ahead to bathe you. 

The both of you had grown a lot closer in those times, conversations revealing a shared desire for peace and unity between both your kingdoms. He kept you farthest away from his parents, and while nobody in the kingdom was oblivious to you being protected in the walls of the castle, they were of your connection. 

His people knew that he always had a soft spot for nymphs - just like he has for many other things. But fearing for your life, Jimin dared not share the connection he learned - a sacred bond of both the heart and the soul. He knew that you could feel it as well, many times preferring to lay on him rather than beside him. 

But history had to dictate that nymphs and faes were eternal enemies, their alliance forbidden. 

And the unexplainable feeling that coursed through his body when you left him - left him feeling completely… shattered. 

You weren’t certain which direction you were going.

You were never good with directions.  

Even worse without a compass, you walked on foot until it turned dark. 

You knew that you had to find shelter soon or the possibility of you being eaten in the middle of the night by some rouge animal would probably be higher than whatever tree you were resting on. Turning back, you decided that the cave behind the waterfall you had found was probably the best bet. 

A loud howl spurred you on, warning you of the troubles in the woods. As carefully as you could, you ran back in the direction of the waterfall. But you were running for more than fifteen minutes and you were sure that the waterfall was not more than a seven-minute walk away. You could still hear the sounds of the rushing water before you started but now, you couldn’t hear a thing. 

Stopping in your tracks, you panted hard, hands on your knees as you fought to catch your breath. In the snowy weather of the continent, there resides the deathly ghost leopards. They hunt when the sun sets, white fur easily blending into the snow of the surroundings. They are so silent that even your pointed ears cannot hear a thing. The only time you know that you are staring at it is when you look into their green eyes, glowing in the dark. 

When you were younger, your parents would always use the story of ghost leopards eating you up if you ventured into their territory to ensure you stayed in during the night. Now you truly wished you had just stayed at the waterfall when you had first found it. Because staring into the glowing eyes was not how you wanted your life to end. 

Your head bowed down as you cowered. Ghost leopards know no bounds on magic. 

They are known as the Balancers. These specific animals and plants are almost human-like, where they are not mystical beings nor are they completely mortal. They balance out the good and evil. But they too, have their seasons. Within the caps of the snowy mountains resides one of these.

Ghost leopards hail from the same element you came from but you were from two different sides of the coin. And while some nymphs have snow leopards as their spiritual partners, the both of you did not get along. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll just… leave.” You slowly backed away, keeping your attention trained on the ground. “Please just don’t eat me.”

But life wasn’t on your side it seems. 

The leopard in front of you leapt, precisely knocking you down as a shriek exploded out of you. You fought for your life as gigantic teeth clamped down on your arm and large paws scratched at your back. You started to fade out when the clashing of swords and hushed voices was the last thing you heard.

Jimin looked out of the window in his office. He felt a sense of gut-wrenching ache to go into the depths of the forest, much similar to the feeling the day he found you. But he knew you wanted nothing to do with him and therefore, brushed it off as his overprotective and clingy feelings. 

Softly sighing, he ran his hand through his hair and closed the curtains, turning to the bed. Your scent was slowly wafting out of the room and even your pillow, being the most heavily scented item, was starting to fade. Still, Jimin snuggled into the pillow, bringing it to his nose and letting your scent calm him down. 

It wasn’t until late in the night that the night shift guards returned, causing a much louder ruckus downstairs. It was shouting and clashing that Jimin woke up to. Squinting at the grandfather clock, Jimin registered that he had only slept no more than four hours. Groaning, he flipped himself onto his stomach and tugged the quilt higher. 

But it was the prolonged yellings that finally dragged him out of bed. He had half a piece of mind to go down and reprimand them for making so much noise, so late in the night. Jimin had put together that they were probably celebrating a big catch that the night shift must have brought back from their rounds. 

Just as he was tugging on his tunic, a guard, hands bloodied and face pale barged in. Jimin was immediately awake. Perhaps he thought wrong? 

Instinctively, he grabbed his sword that he had left leaning against the wall when the guard went, “Highness, there is no need. No monster is in sight.” Jimin was confused. If there was no killing needed, why are his hands full of blood?

“You are needed at the infirmary, Your Highness.”

Jimin didn’t put down his sword and walked out of the room. The guard followed him closely behind, footsteps rushed as the both of them headed down. Jimin should have been more alert, should have better sniffed around at the man to gain some inkling of what is going on because he was not ready to have another sight of you on the hospital bed. You looked like you were bleeding from every inch of your body, blood covering your arms and hair. 

His physicians were trying their best to staunch the bleeding but Jimin could just hear it. It wouldn’t stop. The wounds were to deep. 

“Who-” Oh, he was beyond furious. He would kill anybody who hurts you and his primal urges are urging him on a hunt right now. 

“It was a ghost leopard, Your Highness.” The same guard who led him over said. “We heard screams and ran over but the leopard already had its fangs down.”

Jimin loves animals but he would truly like the skin that leopard dry. 

Taking deep breaths, Jimin pushed a few physicians aside, commanding his powers forward. Small wisps of flames licked up your arms as they went in and out of you, before sealing your wounds. Your body was tense and twitching throughout the time. Jimin could only imagine what it is like for you. He was fire and you were ice. The polar opposites. 

As Jimin stepped back, he let the physicians fret over you once again. He never thought that he would have to see you lifeless on the bed, again. The first time had broken his heart so much he refused to move from his spot, worried that you would wake up the moment he leaves and there would be nobody beside you. The maids had finally convinced him to take care if himself when his father called him over for a council meeting at the main palace. He made it back just in time before you woke up. If he had been any later, you would have probably screamed bloody murder by then or jumped out the window, forever never making an appearance. 

But the worst of it was always seeing you on the bed, lying there, unmoving. And now that he has experienced your bubbly nature, it felt even more heartbreaking. His brows pinched as if they couldn’t stand the silence between the both of you. You were always saying something, always teasing him - and although he gets irritated, he would never dare say he didn’t like it one bit. 

Jimin felt like the whole tortuous process had started once again, waiting for any sign of response from you. Luckily, this time, it took you no more than two days before surfacing. Jimin was dead asleep when you had awoken and he had no idea until you had shaken him awake. 

“Jimin… Jimin.”

His brows furrowed. Why do people never let him sleep?

“Jimin.” He felt soft hands caress down his cheeks and he puffed them, turning to snuggle deeper into the pillow. Light laughter broke him out of his sleep-deprived state. It was a laughter he hadn’t heard in a while and your rings felt like absolutely harmony on his ears. 

His eyes shot open only to stare back at your frosty blue ones. Unbelieving, he pinched himself, wincing at the pain that shot up his arm. “Ouch…”

Your hand landed on his biceps with a smack. “Why would you pinch yourself, dummy?”

“I’m truly not dreaming?” He saw your brows furrow. “Truly?”

Your smile turned sad as the light left your eyes. “I’m sorry.” You got up into a sitting potion, hands dropping into your lap as you wrung the quilt between them. 

Jimin didn’t dare to probe the thin string between the both of you, allowing you space to speak. 

“I’m sorry. I know - It’s just that you deserve better and our bond will always be looked down on. I wanted to give you a better life rather than having to constantly hide and step on eggshells around the council and your family. Your kingdom is already unhappy as it is, I did not want to create more problems.” You hang your head, bearing your neck to him. But this is not Jimin. 

Jimin does not want you to feel like it is a necessity to apologise to him. He understood your train of thought and Jimin didn’t want you to be the one making all the decisions for him. 

“I just - I thought that it would have been better for you if I left and -”

Jimin tilted your head upwards, staring deep into your eyes. “What is good for me is a decision I choose to make for myself. And I choose you. For better or for worse, through thick and thin, I choose you. I do not need you, but I want you.”

Jimin searched your eyes for any form of discomfort before asking, “Do you want this?”

Silence followed the both of you and Jimin felt his airway close up. 

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds but it easily felt like minutes. But Jimin kept silent - gave you space to think, to feel. Until your eyes cleared up and your voice was solid when you answered, “Yes. I want this.” 

Jimin’s breath got knocked out of him for the umpteenth time in the past few days. 

“Then it is this you will get.” Jimin brought your hands together, linking your pinkies as a promise. “We will be part no longer. I will not hide you or our relationship. I am yours.”

You nodded back at him. “I am yours.”

Jimin brought his palm to your cheek and moved closer. At a hair’s breadth away, Jimin stopped. “Are you sure?” He didn’t want to put you through anything you didn’t want but he has truly waited a long time for this. 

It was within a moment that he felt your lips on his. 

It was a tangle of limbs from then on. Nobody knew where it started and where it stopped. 

The bedroom door closed and only a small opening was left on the windows to allow some form of ventilation. Silent as it was, the servants and whatever guards who were not on duty were all sleeping.

You bit your fisted palm as you threw your head back and writhed around. But it was difficult when his very touch ignited a type of fire within you, dragging pleasure through your skin. 

“Mine. You’re all mine.” Jimin whispers into the night. Your hips instinctively pushed up, grinding against his length. 

“Please, please.” You begged, feeling your senses beginning to blur. You needed him close.

Jimin let you go, unbinding his hands from yours and sat up, stripping himself of his clothes. Without any form of restrictions, you reached for him, hands gliding down his toned body. You have never seen more than what was above and it was safe to say, you were thoroughly satisfied just from staring. 

Jimin remained upright, allowing you to explore his body as he did with yours. Your taste still lingered on the edges of his lips as he licked it, savouring the remains. Your hands glided over his body - fingers, palms, and lips. He watched as you traced every outline with that shiny look in your eyes. 

You took extra notice of the spots that he was most sensitive to - constantly arching his back, neck exposed. 

Jimin felt himself weaken in pleasure as you proceeded to lie over his body and worship his aching length. At this point, half of his rational brain was denying that he had never done this before but the other half of him was passed out from the pleasure. Just the moment your mouth engulfed his length, he was done for. 

“Oh, Jimin… God -” Your moans reverberated around, causing him to grip the sheets to find some slip of control. You abandoned his length and moved down to his heavy balls, hand remaining to jerk him off. He was so wet already, pulsating in your hand. 

“Ah - Oh, Y/N, it feels so good, ah.” Jimin moaned, face scrunching up from the force of keeping himself intact. “Ah, Y/N…”

It wasn’t long since you had gone down on him but Jimin was already grasping at the sheets, pulling them off the edges as he fought for his breath. He never knew this type of hunger from you but hell - who was he to complain? 

“Y/N - Ah - Slow down, please.” Jimin’s voice was hoarse, the pace of breathing ruined. His eyes were glassy as they looked down at you, completely blown out. Your hunger was well taken but Jimin felt oversensitive. 

But the wicked gleam in your eyes that Jimin had learned to learn was not a good thing, made him gulp. His begs have the opposite effect on you and instead of giving him a break as you took him back into your mouth. You took him down as far as you could go, hitting the back of your throat as his groomed hair tickled your nose. 

“Ah - No, I -” He throbbed in your mouth. God, he was big and you could feel him pulsating. 

Jimin whimpered and threw his hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the next loud moan that threatened to escape him. He struggled to leave your wet warmth but your sharp nails had forced his hips back down onto the bed and worked him into overdrive. Throwing his head backwards onto the pillows, Jimin squeezed his eyes shut as pleasure coursed through him. He was already lying down but he felt his knees tremble and buckle, growing tense and lax at the same time in your hold. 

As he whimpers his pleas for a break as you push him into oversensitivity, you slip off his length and kiss at the hard planes of his abdomen. Its strong structure rippled under your lips as you watched Jimin fight for air.

“God, I’ll have you for breakfast every day.” You moaned, drawing patterns with your tongue over his lower abs, occasionally dipping lower. You were not too far behind your mate. Panting and gasping for air, you look up at him with love-drunk eyes. 

Jimin swallowed heavily of whatever saliva there was left in his system - which was essentially, close to none - and met your gaze. Your blown-out eyes and messy hair - everything about you, captured his attention. 

God, you looked so pretty with his cum staining the sides of your lips. 

Jimin grabs your face and pulls you up onto the bed, meeting your lips halfway with a kiss. He thought he couldn’t get any happier but oh, how wrong was he. As your tongues tangled, playing a game of push and pull, he feasted on his lingering taste on your lips. 

Carefully, he positioned you on the bed, ensuring that your arm would not be in a compromised position. And a few seconds later, the remaining of your clothes had found itself on the floor, in a pile, beside Jimin’s own set. As he kissed you passionately, his length breached your walls as he rocked his hips into you in a desperate rhythm. 

If it wasn’t that his lodgings were the farthest from the main palace, the servants and guards would have heard the both of you by now. But even so, Jimin’s kisses kept you silent for most of the time and you dared not complain. 

As the both of you lay in bed, hands playfully caressing each other, you bathed in the presence of peace. And beneath the stream of moonlight that shone into the room, Jimin curled a tendril of your frosty hair, murmuring, “Y/N, I cannot change the past but I can change the future. For us, for our future, I promise you that I will try.” He brought his lips to your head. “We will rewrite the history of our kind. Love, not hatred, that connects us once again.”

Tears filled your eyes as you snuggled deeper into his hold, “I truly hope to believe that, Jimin.”

“We will try. We will look forward, not back, and try.” For the night, Jimin brought his arms around you as if to protect you from any other sources. “What’s mine is yours, and so your burdens are no longer just yours to bear. We have each other now.”

But peace, was a distant dream - and love, came with a heavy price. The court had already long figured out the connection between you and Jimin. Outraged by the fact that their Prince would choose a bond that was forbidden - an abomination in the eyes of history. The council feared the alliance of fae and nymph, for they were the ones who urged the breaking in the first place. And now, three generations later, they see it as a threat to their power. 

[stackslip]

funniest and saddest thing in akis arc is right after aki meets kishibe after returning from hokaido and kishibe is like man living with them has to be a handful WHICH IS COMPLETELY TRUE we just followed a whole chapter of denji and power being utterly insufferable. like the absolute worst most exhausting duo of feral kids who aki cannot leave unsupervised for 5 seconds before they start eating week-old funerary offerings because as chaotic as they are individually as a duo they literally become 5 year olds who chop off limbs for fun. and akis like reluctantly WELL yeah theyre awful but like, theyve done so much progress, power no longer flings veggies across the room and very occasionally once in a blue moon denji actually pays attention to what i say. its so fucking funny kishibe is like "man youre a saint theyre exhausting. i mean i like them but boy are they tiring." and instead of bitching about it and agreeing aki fucking DEFENDS them. like "they dont shit over the furniture anymore, thats big progress, im proud of them." the bar is so low but listen theyre doing their best.

:readmore:

and then its followed by the immediate gobsmacking bitchslap of aki asking kishibe if he can abandon his life-long dream by withdrawing the trio from the gun devil expedition. his sole goal in life for years, it is so close, and he knows he has so little time left at all, and he gives it all up there and then. right after his trip with power and denji, the one they bullied him to join in. right after having to scold them and rein them in for two days straight like toddlers. less than a month after being confronted with the possibility of a world where neither of them are alive, and realizing that he cannot bear that possibility. it doesnt matter that he would be able to die finally fulfilling his dream of destroying the gun devil, of avenging all his losses, of going in peace. the idea of denji and power dying there, or being left with nothing when hes gone... its enough for him to give it all up. he's willing to spend whatever time is left seeing them fuck up his apartment and squabbling and just.... living, free of fear or danger. his sole goal now is to die with the certainty that they will both have a long and happy existence, that he'll have protected them and fulfilled his role as an older brother. he is fine with dying still! he has accepted it as long as theyre ok. he saw these two gremlins who were supposed to be everything he hated, he grudgingly himself take care of them bc he was asked to, grew used to them being in his life. and then he grew to love them, to love how much denji enjoyed his cooking, to love how power played with her cat, to enjoy their squabbling and appreciate the efforts they did make. these two feral strays with no manners grew to trust and rely on him, they started sharing the chores (with much complaining) and allowed themselves to be vulnerable with him, they clung to him when he wanted to leave for hokkaido. and aki fucking gives up on revenge! he gives up on fighting! he will not live for much longer, but he wont spend his remaining time on taking down the creature that has haunted his life. because he isnt alone now, he has a family hes grown to love and who loves him. he will spend these last few weeks teaching denji to cook himself, making sure power learns healthy eating habits. he will sit at the table and share meals with them and savour every last moment. its the only thing he wishes for anymore, he has nothing else, and yet he has more than he ever thought possible.

he finally allowed himself to love, to give up on revenge, to be at peace. its fuckjng gutwrenching that makima took that away from him, that he died not only as what he hated, but burdened with the knowledge that it was too late and that his family would suffer. he was willing to give everything over and over again, spent his last minutes begging for a way for power and denji to be happy. for power to live, for denji to not be burdened with grief and guilt. he never blamed denji when the future devil told him about how aki would die, he inherently knew that it would not be of the boys own volition and that it would wreck him. mere minutes left, spent begging for power and denjis lives. he didnt even get to realize or fight back, he didnt get to say goodbye. he died a mockery of himself, turned into an instrument of pain against his family. he died as a shambling corpse whose instincts guided him home, only to unknowingly destroy that home. he died because from the very start, makima *intended* him to love power and denji and take care of them, she was building this edifice so that the collapse would be that much more devastating. he died because makima understood the power and pain of real relationships and love, and it was all in the goal of punishing denji for being chosen by pochita. it was all because she never had it herself, and wanted it so badly, and aki and power were merely dolls for her to get what she thought she deserved. its so fucking cruel and evil and it is so fucking tragic for everyone involved including her.

but man akis arc is not "a lesson in the futility of revenge" or a punishment for his early singlemindedness. he did realize these things. he had them in his hands. he was going to succeed, he was protecting his family until the end. it's just that makimas control was so absolute, her chains so strong, he never had a chance anyway. none of them ever did!

[bippot]

On The Same Paige

Story Summary -> Jake is preppy and charismatic and dumb and talkative, which is the complete opposite of Beth's niece. Why do they work so well together then?

Tags -> Opposites Attract, Dorks in Love, Love at First Sight, Fluff, Shyness

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Jake was a generally happy go lucky guy. People often told him he was like the human version of a golden retriever but he'd grown up with one and, in his experience, Starsky was a really intelligent and well behaved pup so he didn't think of himself that way.

The dog he felt that suited his personality the best was a beagle. He was fast and friendly and, though he wasn't traditionally smart, he was really skilled in one particular area - hunting for beagles, and racing for Jake - and who doesn't want to have the same personality as Snoopy?

He had an awesome life. He was living his childhood dream. He was a god damn NASCAR driver! He lived in a really nice apartment. He had enough money to make sure his family lived comfortably, and had plenty left over to spend on useless little trinkets that had no purpose other than making him smile. Like, his collection of Hot Wheels would make any little boy jump with joy and that's so sick!

And as of five months ago, he had a girlfriend. That was a big change for him. None of his other romances had ever lasted that long. It was a change, that was for sure, but a good one. If Jake was honest, he'd always be more sad and self-pitying than he let people see whenever his previous relationships fell apart.

For as long as he could remember, he wanted someone to share the good life with. And after so many false starts, he was so surprised when Y/N stuck around. He was planning to keep her around as long as humanly possible, if she was willing to.

They'd met when Beth gave her niece a tour around Bobby Spencer Racing one day. Y/N had just moved to the area and her aunt was forcing her to spend as much time together as possible. Beth hadn't let Jake know that someone was accompanying her that day, so he had not been prepared for the most intimidatingly beautiful woman he'd ever seen to be introduced to him on one random work day.

Y/N walked right in with a leather jacket and completely stoic face, her combat boots making a slight echo in the garage as she strode across the concrete floor, and Jake was drooling. He'd always had a big boner for two fictional characters - Trinity from The Matrix and Belle from Beauty and the Beast - and he'd soon come to find out that Y/N was a mix of the two.

On the outside, she was Trinity. Lots of black. Leather. Tiny sunglasses perched on the top of her head. She looked like she owned clothes with a lot of straps and corsets and safety pins. But on the inside, she was a lot softer. She was quiet, not because she was rude or uncouth but because she was shy, and was far more likely to be found in a reading nook than out at a goth rave.

If Jake was like a dog, Y/N definitely was like a cat. She even owned a British shorthair and he could see the similarities between pet and owner.

"Am I dreaming?" He mumbled to himself but said it far too loud and both women picked up on it. Beth nudged him and pointedly shook her head to discourage him from whatever flirting was about to fall from his lips so he settled for a happy "Hi, I'm Jake."

"I'm Y/N."

Everyone else had only received a wave. Jake had gotten two whole words out of her. Beth was astonished. Y/N sometimes would still be all quiet around members of her family that she'd known since she was born, yet she'd chosen to speak to a famous pro athlete within seconds of meeting him. With Y/N's disposition and Jake's fame, Beth never would've expected that.

And she never would've expected that her niece continued to speak to him either. At lunch, Beth left Y/N for two minutes to yell at Kevin for something stupid he'd done and she came back to find the pair chatting away. Well, Jake was mostly doing the chatting but Y/N contributed the occasional hum or laugh or affirmative comment.

Why not give them some alone time? Beth retreated back into Kevin's office and watched through his blinds at what was unfolding before her.

What Beth didn't know, however, was that Jake had charmed Y/N enough that she gave him her phone number. He immediately added it into his phone and started a text chat. Then, they began calling each other every chance they got. One date was arranged. That went well. Then a second. A third. Fourth. Fifth... on and on. They soon got to the point where Jake spent more time at her home than his own.

His coworkers didn't know the extent of his relationship with Y/N, but Jake had been acting like such a lovesick idiot - more of an idiot than usual - that they assumed that things were going well. Beth frequently grilled her pal with so many questions, yet he stayed tight-lipped because he knew Y/N was a private person and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable.

As a teen, Jake had been a jock who was prom king, captain of the soccer team, and spent his weekends at whatever party he could find. Y/N had been one of the emo kids who had her nose in a book and earphones glued into her head.

Even the way they dressed was so vastly different. Jake liked yellow and baseball caps and workout gear. Y/N was more accustomed to messy eyeliner and leather jackets with patches on them and combat boots. She thought he looked adorable. He thought she looked badass.

It was Taylor Swift with a side of Metallica. Cars. The Evil Dead. Arthur the Aardvark. Are You Afraid of the Dark? They were very different people. So, how the hell did they end up together? And why were they still going strong?

As soon as Jake used his key and walked into her house, he knew Y/N was around somewhere. Her shoes were neatly placed in the foyer and her jacket hung up on a hook. It was no surprise when he found her on the couch, sitting criss-cross applesauce with her nose in the book she'd been reading in bed the night before.

"Hey, pretty girl," he greeted, walking to the back of the couch and leaning down to kiss her temple. She smiled up at him, the light in her eyes bright and kind. He felt his throat tighten at the sight of her.

"Hiya, Jakey," she replied. "Did you have a good day?"

"It's better now I'm with you."

Yes, it was one of his lines. It was cheesy. And he'd said it to women before, but those times he'd been trying to charm the pants off them. With Y/N, it was true. Her cheeks still got a shade or two pinker, though, and that was the desired reaction.

Sitting in the corner of the couch, he opened his arms wide and waited for her to crawl in and nestle her head on his shoulder. Like always, it didn't take long. Her head fit against his collarbone as if they were sculpted to perfectly go together.

Ozzy, Y/N's cat, was joining the embrace in no time. It had taken him a while to grow to like Jake. Hell, the first time Jake came into contact with the sour puss, Ozzy scratched a few shallow cuts into Jake's cheek. After so long, now they'd come to a truce.

"Hey, Oz. How you doing, buddy?" Jake cooed, stroking behind the cat's ear until he began to purr. "You miss me?"

The cat's reply was a little nip on the hand. "I'm going to take that as a yes."

Presumably as an apology, Ozzy licked at the two little tooth holes he'd just made - or maybe he was savouring the drip of Jake's blood - and hit Jake in the face with his tail before jumping to the floor and running under the kitchen table.

"Ozzy might not have, but did you miss me, baby?" He asked, brushing some hair off Y/N's forehead with gentle fingertips.

"Always do," she replied, closing her book and placing it off to the side so he'd get her full attention. He leaned in, closing the tiny gap between them into an even tinier gap, and nudged his nose into hers affectionately.

"How much did you miss me?" He asked, his voice a little deeper than usual.

Whenever he sounded like that, it made her pulse do funny things. Especially when he let his hand rest on the side of her neck, his thumb rubbing back and forth over her jaw line.

"A lot," she admitted, her voice getting a bit breathier than intended.

"Yeah?" He let out a huff of air. "Then where is my 'welcome home, Jake, I missed you so much' kiss? The one I'm dying for?"

Y/N tilted her head up so she could place a sweet peck on his cheek. Clearly, that quick press wasn't enough since Jake got a hold of her chin and held her in place so she could shy away from the big, sloppy smooch he planted on her lips.

"I missed you too, baby," he said before going back in for another kiss that Y/N gladly reciprocated. She melted against him, her body soft and pliant for hands to roam over, his fingers finding their way underneath her t-shirt to rest on her bare skin.

After a few minutes of being pressed up against him, she pulled back and broke the kiss. "Are you going out tonight?" Y/N asked, her voice muffled by the way he was chasing her lips with his.

"Kev did say that some of the crew were meeting at The Pit Stop later on. But, I wanna spend my night with you."

"I'd like that, but are you sure you don't-"

He stopped her before she could go on. "I'm sure, beautiful," he said, leaning in to kiss her again. "I wanna be glued to you all night long."

That sounded nice. Yet, she knew he was an extrovert. He used to go out clubbing and hang out with his buddies and do all kinds of things. Ever since he'd met her, they'd spent a lot of their time at home, just with each other for company.

"What if I came with you?"

"To The Pit Stop?"

"Yeah, would you like that?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," he beamed, his entire face lighting up. "Are you sure you want to go with me? You don't have to-"

"I want to go."

With Y/N on his arm, Jake spent the evening getting a beer or two with his coworkers and Beth would come to realise how the couple worked as she watched them interact.

Throughout the evening, Y/N spoke a bit more. And then a bit more. She kept tucked into Jake's side as his coworkers asked her so many questions but she answered them all without cowering away or clamming up. If anyone happened to take a peek under the table, they'd see Jake's thumb rubbing comforting circles in Y/N's palm any time she was pulled into a conversation.

Then, the moment some of the crew went up for refills and less eyes were on them, Jake was giving Y/N a soft kiss on the temple and whispering, "You're doing so good," against her skin.

"You think?" Y/N asked, her voice hushed.

"I know, sweetheart."

Her cheeks reddened and she tried to push his head away, but Jake wasn't having it. He got a hold of her waist and tugged her into a hug, attacking her cheek with a bout of mushy kisses until she was a giggly mess.

"Stop it, Jakey. Stoooop," she whined, although it was half-hearted and she was smiling through it. He stopped so he didn't make her uncomfortable with all the PDA, but couldn't help the way his fingers were itching to gently tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

So, he did exactly that and was rewarded with the sight of Y/N's big, round lovesick eyes looking right at him. "Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For making this less scary."

"Anytime, baby," he replied, giving her another quick kiss on the temple.

From the bar, Kevin nudged Beth at the display and muttered, "That's disgusting."

"Disgustingly cute!" Beth giggled and punched Kevin in the bicep. "Y/N always was a lonely kid, this is a nice change."

"Yeah, at least we don't have to worry about getting him STD checked every other month now," Kevin joked, getting another hit for that comment. "Ow! Ow, watch how hard you hit me with those man hands of yours! I have sensitive skin, you know!"

Y/N nodded her head in the direction of her aunt. "Are they a thing?" She asked Jake, having noticed the pair huddled together.

"No. Not yet."

"But they will be?"

"Yeah, once Kevin gets the balls to fess up."

Eventually, the group outing fizzled out for the night and everyone went home. Their confusion about whatever was going on in Jake's personal life completely figured out as they'd endured how content and relaxed he looked in Y/N's presence.

Despite how different they were, it was impossible now to see them as sole beings. They were a pair, and it was clear that Jake had been waiting for a day like this to come to fruition. A day where he'd finally found someone to exist in the metaphorical passenger's seat in the vehicle that is called life.

*Click here for my Adrian Chase masterlist (including Jake Martin and Jeffrey Steinberg), or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

[swbumblebee]

Personally, I don’t think grown up Anakin and Qui-Gon would get on, at all. Qui-Gon’s expectations seem ridiculously high and I imagine he’d find Anakin lacking in control and temperament. And Anakin’s need to be constantly informed and in the loop with plans and decisions just wouldn’t work with Master “The force told me too” and “Ask for forgiveness rather than permission” and I think would lead to a lot of bitterness.

With this in mind, here’s a Snippet Of Nothing about what, or rather who, they do have in common:

One would think, having one’s beloved Master return from the Force fifteen years after the fact would be amazing, wonderous, and the answer to all of life’s problems.

And it was, at first. Obi-Wan Kenobi (once he had regained consciousness after a slightly embarrassing fainting spell) had wasted no time picking up where he’d left off, relishing in the more experienced Master’s wisdom and knowledge. Their rhythm had been slightly off for a short while certainly, but it stabilised as they both adapted to their new roles; not as Master and Padawan but as colleagues and friends. Qui-Gon’s steady presence at his back once again bolstering Obi-Wan in times of need.

It was similar for most of the other Jedi who had known Qui-Gon, and some who hadn’t; Despite his eccentricities and dislike of explaining his reasoning, most recognised a man who had much to offer the order and were happy to have him back once again.

Some, but not all.

It had been a very disappointing moment for Obi-Wan when he witnessed Anakin and Qui-Gon, the two most important people in his life, seem to mutually come to the decision that they were incompatible. An unstoppable force and an immovable object.

It happened gradually: the first few times they all met Obi-Wan had been delighted to simply sit and watch them be enthralled with each other, basking in their lineage’s completeness. But little by little, over the course of a couple of shared missions and many shared meals, it became clear that it was not going to be the partnership of the Councils dreams and instead devolved into snaping and pettiness as they lost patience with each other’s completely opposing viewpoints and styles.

It was a real shame, because as two of the most skilled and powerful members of the order, it made a lot of sense to pair them as mission partners.  

With a buffer, of course.

And so, Obi-Wan Kenobi now had two fully grown Jedi to babysit and keep out of trouble on a regular basis…

“We need to stop at Samutis”

“Why? We don’t have time.”

“The Force wills it, young one. We will stop”

“No we won’t! You can’t just-“

Obi-Wan shook his head at his smug Master and irritated former student for about the millionth time as he crossed the hanger.

“Anakin” he barked. “Get in the ship. And you” he turned his ire on his old mentor “Stop winding him up” he scolded.

The older man opened his mouth to argue and Obi-Wan simply held up a hand.

“We will stop if you can come up with a flight plan that means we get there with enough time” he compromised.

Compromising and adapting seemed to be all he did these days, constantly trying to balance the two large personalities out and disappearing into the middle ground.

It was exhausting. And so incredibly frustrating.

“Something has to be done Mace, I can’t go on like this!” he whined into his rapidly disappearing second pint. The other Council Member gave him a sympathetic look from across their usual table in the Happy Tankard.

“You’re doing so well” his friend reassured him tipsily. “They’re just – they’re just different, they’ll come around. They just need something to bond over.”

Obi-Wan snorted.

“They most cert – certainly will not” he retorted. “They’re completely, completely different on everything.” He grumbled taking another swig of his ale. “Though once they did agree on how much they hated my plan. That was a nice moment I suppose” he added thoughtfully.

Mace arched an eyebrow.

“Did that plan happen to involve you? Maybe…in danger?”

“Well, I suppose, why?” The younger Jedi thought for a moment.  

His irritating friend just shook his head.

“Classic Kenobi” he said with a sigh.

“Oh shut up.”

---

The busy Master didn’t get the chance to think on his friend’s words before he was once again on a mission with his two favourite pains in the ass, and it had once again, gone sideways.

“m’fine” he managed to rattle out between chattering teeth as the clone medic he’d been leaning on passed him to a comrade who continued all but dragging him to the medical tent. “Legs are jus’ a bit wobbly” he tried to explain as he shivered in his freezing wet clothes.

“No Sir, you’ve been shot twice.” the medic corrected him in a long-suffering tone.

“Hmm?” Shot? Then why was he so wet? And cold?

“You’ll be fine sir, just stay with me.”

The moment Kix got hold of him Obi-Wan felt himself getting more and more distant from the situation, noises and feelings happening around him as he floated above it all on The Good Drugs.

“Where is he?”

“What happened?”

And then two familiar voices cut through the haze.

“Sirs I need you to be calm he’s-“

“Obi-Wan!”

“Master!”

“M’fine” he mumbled quietly into his lovely soft pillow. “M’ok.” He tried to prop himself up to look at the two worried faces in front of him, but it was terribly difficult.

“Jus’ tired” he reassured them.

“He was shot off a gun tower and into a frozen lake” someone explained in clipped, unhappy tones. Obi-Wan turned baleful eyes on Kix.

“Wasn’ my fault” he muttered.

“I know Sir.” Kix gave him a gentle pat on the leg. He turned to Anakin and Qui-Gon, now crowding the room. “I’ll be right outside. Do not, under any circumstances, agitate him” the chief medic instructed sternly.

“They’d better go then” Obi-Wan mumbled, smiling a little at his joke and simultaneously waving a clumsy hand to beckon them closer.  

“Obi-Wan-“

“Master-“

He patted the hand he now appeared to be holding.

“S’alright, you’re allowed.” The hand was squeezing his now. “Brilliant” he attempted to explain. They were so brilliant. 

He tried to look at them but the room was now spinning. Obi-Wan could feel two presences brush fondly up against his own in the Force and he chuckled. They were so achingly similar.

“Wish you’d get along.” He said with his eyes closed. Guilt flooded the force and he attempted to bat it away but the hand holding his own stopped him. “Just need to find something to agree on” the wise council master explained.

It really was that simple.

He could hear the two of them speak, he assumed it was the usual defences and excuses, but couldn’t be bothered to pay attention.

They were so stupid.

“Stupid.” He explained with a quiet sigh, before leaving them to it and having a well-deserved nap.

---

Everything was less fuzzy when he woke up.  As a reflex, he cautiously began stretching limbs and tensing muscles, taking stock before fully committing to consciousness and everything it brought with it.

Ow! Hmm not quite 100 percent. Never mind, he’d delt with worse. 

“None of that now.”

An admonishing voice to his left has his eyes flying open in surprise, blinking at the bright lights of the medbay, and the form of his old Master, sitting next to his bed watching over him with concern in his eyes.

“Hello there”

His voice was gravelly, and it took a lot of effort to speak, but his characteristic greeting prompted a relieved smile from the older Jedi.

“Good afternoon. Here”

Obi-Wan took the offered cup of water gratefully, as a large arm came behind his shoulders to prop him up whilst he drank.

Anakin bustled into the room with a bundle of something in his arms, his eyes lit up when he saw his Master awake, but seemingly doubted his ability to answer a simple question, he addressed Qui-Gon.

“How’s he doing?”

“Better, but in need of much more rest.” his former Master answered just as Obi-Wan opened his mouth.

“Right yeah, I figured.” Anakin placed the bundle down to reveal a flask of tea, some kind of lunchbox and an extra blanket, a particularly fluffy one.  

“Here, thought you might like some bits” he said by way of explanation, giving Obi-Wan an uncharacteristically shy smile, placing the tea and food on the bedside table and throwing the other end of the blanket to Qui-Gon, on the other side of the bed.

“Oh thank you Anakin that’s very kind of-er…” Obi-Wan started smiling gratefully, only to pause as his two companions shifted the blanket across him and started tucking it comfortably.

“What…is happening?” he asked, mildly alarmed as he watched the two move around him, now plumping his pillows, straightening his blankets and filling the water jug.

Qui-Gon shrugged.

“Just making sure you’re comfortable” he said unhelpfully, pouring out the tea and producing a book from somewhere in his robes. Obi-Wan’s current read.

Riiight….

Anakin, nowhere near as cool under his Master’s gaze, flushed a bit.

“We just…thought you might some stuff.”

His dubiousness must have shown on his face because Qui-Gon chose that moment to make a strategic exit.

“Reast well Obi-Wan, we’ll be back shortly.” And with that they were both gone.

The baffled Jedi tucked up in bed stared at the door for a few seconds longer.

What in the galaxy?

---

His recovery was, unfortunately, far from complete (in Kix’s view) when they reached Coruscant, and Obi-Wan was ordered to rest and recuperate for a further few days.

Usually, this involved Obi-Wan promising to be on his best behaviour, and then promptly breaking that promise the moment Anakin and various medical professionals turned their backs.

But not this time. This time there were two of them.

And so he had spent the last two days more comfortable than he had ever been; lying on the perfect arrangement of cushions and blankets in a perfectly clean living room, with a constant supply of tea and books and holos and company.

It was weird.

Extremely weird.

But before his thoughts could turn into a full-blown existential crisis, the door chime went.

“No”

Both Anakin and Qui-Gon pre-empted his shuffling to get up with an unwarranted telling off. Qui-Gon going so far as to hold out a hand as if to push him back into the sofa nest.

“It-“

“Come in!” Anakin yelled at the door. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Anakin-“

“Good evening”

The curious form of Mace Windu appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raising in surprise at the occupants of the room.

“Hello Mace” Obi-Wan greeted flatly from his nearly horizontal position.

“Master Windu”

“Mace”

There was a strange silence as they all took each other in.

Mace’s lips twitched up in a smile.

A very knowing smile.

Bastard. I hate it when he’s right.

Obi-Wan scowled at him, physically nudging away a plate of biscuits and metaphysically batting away the two concerned and suspicious force presences that filled the space around,

Ugh.

He was pleased, in one way, that the two most important people in his life were finally getting along.

He was displeased, in many other ways, that they had bonded over ensuring he was aggressively taken care of.

Bonding indeed.

[tteokdoroki]

WHEN THE COOKIE CRUMBLES. | I.MIDORIYA.

ʚ♡ɞ SYNOPSIS: following a series of unfortunate events, misunderstandings and years of pining after your pro hero friend— all it takes is one batch of cookies ‘n cream frosting for the two of you to finally get together.

ʚ♡ɞ PAIRING: izuku midoriya x fem!reader.

ʚ♡ɞ WC: 16.3K.

ʚ♡ɞ RATED: mature, 18+, mdni.

ʚ♡ɞ GENRE: pro hero!au, bakery!au, angst, fluff + smut.

ʚ♡ɞ CW: please read ! mutual pining, brief panic attack, heavy smut, soft sex ( characters aged up to twenties ), heavy food play!kink, praise!kink, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), fingering ( female receiving ), guided masturbation, exhibitionism, virginity loss, cumplay.

ʚ♡ɞ A/N:  hi loves!! im FINALLY posting this belated b-day fic for deku! this was a part of @rat-zuki's  the deku agenda escapes no-one collab. thank you annie for letting me take part!! sorry this was so late ‘n be sure to check out everyone else’s works!! ily guys, i missed writing for deku so i hope you enjoy! 

ʚ♡ɞ masterlist | requests | kofi

there are three three key stages to baking a cake. the dry ingredients, the wet ingredients and the all important frosting on top.

there are three key stages to anything really; a failed relationship, a breakdown over school or work— and even life itself. a beginning, a middle and an end. childhood, the weird teenage years where you tell your mother it’s not just a phase and that you really are destined to marry whatever idol you had hanging on the back of your bedroom door...and then finally; adulthood. the confusing cesspool of responsibilities, like taxes and groceries mixed with proper adult emotions and scenarios that didn’t allow you to throw a hissy fit when something didn’t go the way you planned…

at least that’s what society would tell you.

you would argue that you never quite made it to adulthood, the kind age of twenty three not quite visible in your smile lines just yet; especially with the youthful round off to the shape of your face. you hadn’t followed the correct rite of passage into being a grown adult either— having dropped out of college three years shy of graduating to pursue your real, yet childlike dream of owning a bakery. as it turned out, the IT degree your mother had bestowed upon you wasn’t really your thing and as the responsible adult she was; she had thrown a fit about you dropping out, although your father and step mom had been more than willing to support you. hitoshi shinsou, your best friend, followed you in pursuing your career too— something about a stupid childhood pact that meant wherever you went, he would follow.

your quaint little bakery tucked away in the cosiest of street corners in downtown musutafu had been the creme de la creme of your life thus far; business booming when you first took off, aged twenty, and has been keeping yours and shinsou’s heads afloat ever since. with your grandmother’s recipe book tucked under your arm, customers travelled from near and far to try the wondrous goods of the cookie crumble bakery ( a name that took you and your purple haired companion half a bottle of vodka to create ).

it didn’t matter where people were from or what burdens they carried on their shoulders when walking into your humble bakery— all that they knew was the welcoming scent of warm manuka honey and freshly baked bread—free of judgement to ease their souls. grownups became children again, finding solace in classic childhood treats like battenberg cakes and jammy dodgers while teenagers became mature on their first dates; treating one another to a slice of romance in the form of red velvet cakes to share with that week’s allowance. parents became heroes to their children with gapped-toothed smiles when treating them to your healthy, low-sugar goodies that wouldn’t rot through the rest of their teeth while pro heroes became civilians; relaxed and at ease.

yes, pro heroes.

you were lucky enough to have such esteemed guests visit your place regularly— having been uncovered after the cookie crumble bakery became a popular destination for teachers to give gifts of sweet treats to the pros after visiting schools. Once they had a bite of what you had to offer, the heroes would always come running back for more.

pro hero deku, otherwise humbly known as izuku midoriya, was one of your favourite guests; he found himself addicted to your grandmother’s decadent chocolate brownies after being gifted them by a group of teenage girls he’d saved— coming in biweekly for years to try whatever caught his eye in the display cabinets that day. it was only natural— and pretty fucking typical — for you to have developed a raging crush on the man, falling for the honeycomb freckles on his cheeks and the gumdrop sugar laced into the smiles izuku sent your way, making you weak in the knees as they tugged at your doughy and easily manipulated heart.

you couldn’t help it, izuku was so warm.

made you feel special and gooey on the inside like a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. shinsou would tell you that you were whipped, from the way you gifted the hero with an extra of whatever he was ordering despite the fact that you both knew he could afford it. he was just so warm. yet you were a baker and izuku was a hero and in his world there was never any room for a civilian like you.

so you busy yourself with creams and custards for your favourite glazed danishes— ignoring yourself and your annoying friend shinsou in favour of settling for the position of izuku’s little baking friend.

“your crush is coming, sugar,” shinsou tells you with a lazy smile, leaning over the counter during his break from waiting tables and chatting with the old ladies in the back corner. the ones who love him and give him hard boiled candies and call him sugar.

you jump up from your place behind it, eyes shooting to the door with its charming little bell swinging from side to side— alerting the entry of the pro hero ( who, if any bigger, would break the tiny door frame of your quaint little establishment ) tired from work but a smile still on his face.

“a crush, huh?” izuku hums, lips quirked up curiously, dampening his darling expression— his buff frame joins shinsou in leaning over the counter, strong arms crossed and showing the flex of his muscles from under his teal hero suit. he must have come straight from work to see you, or rather to see if you’d gotten his order finished like you said you would. nonetheless, your heart flutters.

snapping back to reality, you make an attempt to shake your head— waving your arms in protest before your purple haired friend can speak for you again. you fail. “little yn has a crush on someone, don’t you?” his eyes speak for his teasing tone.

“oh yeah?”

oh no. “definitely not,” you reach over and slap a hand over shinsou’s mouth. apron catching on your display cabinet and making you stumble, body flaming with embarrassment. izuku chuckles. “i don’t have a crush on anyone. don’t be stupid. i’m too busy running this place all by myself.”

you scowl at hitoshi, who only offers you a measly shrug as you slowly pull your hand from his mouth and izuku laughs a little harder at your interactions, having known you both for just over two years.

“ouchie, you know i help you run this place too.” your best friend says to you, winking.

“it’s true,” izuku adds after a slight pause, looking like he was going to say something else before changing his mind. he's grinning now, however. “i’ve never seen anyone entertain old ladies like shinsou does!”

both men give each other a knowing nod. shinsou speaks next. “exactly.”

“what? hitoshi, oh my god...whatever,” you deflate with defeat, withdrawing your body from the two men and avoiding deku’s sweet gaze as if you might melt when he looks at you. “i’m gonna go and grab your cheesecake izuku...neither of you, try to get into any trouble while i’m gone,” you let your eyes flicker to the pro hero briefly, allowing yourself to bask in his attention only just before retreating to the back room to retrieve the matcha cheesecake he’d ordered for his mother’s birthday.

you fan yourself on the way there, hoping to cool the heat that flushes through your body from the pro hero’s presence.

izuku is warm, but you’re drawn to his warmth like an ant to sugar.

whenever baking a cake, you advise combining the dry ingredients first.

no matter how many times a day you find yourself doing it, sieving together mixes of flour, salt, baking soda and other dry things is always a process you’ll find soothing. fine combing the ingredients with a sieve whilst adding air to your soon to be cake— much like breathing life into a creation, nurturing the very thing you created—much like love. in a strange metaphorical sort of way,

you were always careful with baking soda however; a teaspoon too much could destroy even the most cared for of things. practically explosive. it could cause a whole cake to blow. it reminded you of those science experiments you would do as a child, mixing the dangerous combination of vinegar and baking soda until it imploded.

much like a certain friend of izuku’s that you knew.

katsuki bakugou was like an explosion, from his hair to the nature by which he worked. you hadn’t known him very well, he’d stopped by the bakery once or twice and other times you’d seen him prowling the streets for villains and other menaces to society— but you’d never given him more than a short wave and nod, in fear of setting him off. it’s not like you could stop him and have idle chit chat about how in love you were with his childhood rival.

“how much longer am i gonna have to wait for this damn cake?” dynamight hisses from a two seated table relatively close to your usual location at the bakery’s counter. his words are directed towards no one in particular, but are brittle and hang in the sweet scented air.

you look up from your place; assembling a box to have the cake ready to go after having it decorated quickly and letting your calm stare settle on the hot headed blonde, bored expression cast over well-aged features. his order had been placed at the last minute and izuku had warned you that his childhood friend was extremely impatient even when it came to the most fragile of things— but you hadn’t minded, it only meant the green haired hero would be spending more time with you during the wait.

“not long now mister kacchan— i mean lord, sorry king, dynamight...sir!” you squeak at the mean glare he sends your way, shifting his upper body so you have his full attention. your eyes shoot to deku’s face, still warm as always, inviting and safe— an apology woven into the green constellations of his own orbs. you hadn’t meant to let the old nickname slip...it was just, izuku had told you bakugou’s childhood name with an air of fondness one night when he’d stayed to help you close up while shinsou lay sick at home. the air and softness to his voice that night was something you just couldn’t forget. “it’s just chilling in the fridge for now… i’ll need it to be cool in order to add the filling between the layers, otherwise it could melt from the heat of the sponges!”

since the cake was ordered so last minute and bakugou couldn’t care less about the type, you’d gone with your grandmother’s classic strawberry victoria sponge—a cake made for any occasion, especially since he hadn’t disclosed that to you either.

bakugou’s ruby gem eyes flick over your form, up and down...up and down...most likely judging you for your chocolate smeared apron and flour dusted cheeks. he tuts, pressing a closed fist into his own, yet, scarred cheek before leaning its respective arm against the table, looking away from you and allowing your body to sag with relief. “damn nerd, been hangin’ around with the civilians way too fuckin’ often,” katsuki says gruffly as he nods his head over to you. “‘specially this one, startin’ to rub off on ‘er,”

the pair of you visibly stiffen, the box you’d been making clattering to the floor from your slippery butter hands and temporarily freeing you from the evil clutches of katsuki bakugou. the nerve of him! to put you and izuku in such a situation; you in particular, one off-handed comment like that and someone, anyone could get the wrong idea. pin-pointing you as the little civilian girl who clings way too much to everyone’s favourite and soon to be number one hero. who knew bakugou could be so upfront? had shinsou blabbed to him? you wouldn’t be surprised, your menace of a best friend usually handled affairs with the explosive pro. ducking your head, you miss the way bakugou smirks knowingly and the way red flares up against deku’s cheeks, bubbling brightly beneath his freckles and creating the illusion of stars against a pink summer’s night sky.

bakugou thought it was funny how oblivious the two of you were and if he was going to be stuck here waiting on a damn cake he sure as hell was going to make the best out of it.

composing himself with a cough to clear his throat, a slap to his rival’s stupid head and a roll of his broad shoulders— izuku picks up the conversation again at a less awkward point. “so kacchan, what’s this cake for anyway? you’re usually not one for sponges,” he asks, and you hum happily to yourself at the cheeky lilt to your crush’s tone. he wasn’t wrong however, in all the times bakugou had visited the cookie crumble bakery; he’d only ever gone for the smaller and healthier options like granola bars or oat and raisin cookies. never anything as pretty nor refined as this.

“s’not for me, y’fuckin’ shit-stick!” the blonde grunts in his own defense, heat flashing across his cheeks as izuku gives him a taste of his own medicine. not so cocky now are you lord dynamight… or whatever the hell your stupid hero name is, you muse in your mind. “s’for kirishima’s welcome home party tonight. he’s coming back from that long-ass mission abroad ‘n racoon eyes said he’d be mad if i didn’t get him a stupid fuckin’ cake for his stupid fuckin’ surprise party.”

“you don’t like surprise parties, kacchan?” deku teases, with a bright smile that you catch in all its glory— smile so high on his cheeks it almost locks away those precious forest eyes you love so much.

“no i don’t like fuckin’ surprise parties, get off my dick nerd.”

the interaction between the two heroes reminds you somewhat of a lover’s quarrel— bringing an amused grin to your cherry lips. “kirishima? as in… the red riot?” you interject without meaning to, your mind away from you as you make quick work of evenly slicing the two sponges in half, piping fresh cream from the centre of the first half — moving outwards. you follow the cream up with a layer of strawberry jam, freshly sliced strawberries and your secret ingredient— white chocolate shavings. you repeat the process smoothly after stacking one layer on top of the other, the boys watching you closely. it was probably for the best that you had interrupted them as well; as though not to disturb your afternoon round of customers. the two stop and look at you, bakugou nodding his head silently. “and you’re throwing a party for him?”

“‘course i fuckin’ am!” the explosive pro looks to you, sending a shiver of nerves down your spine— your incredulous tone having perhaps offended him slightly. or maybe it was because you’d hit a nerve like he had with you and izuku, you would know, you would recognise having a defensive stance over your harboured feelings anywhere.

“that’s sweet of you,”

“whatever,” the silence flickers between you both with bakugou’s seemingly finalising words, and deku doesn’t know if he should step in— feeling an impending explosion from his old friend. but instead, katsuki surprises you by standing from his seat, reaching your shaking form in three short strides to poke his nose in the way you begin to decorate the top layer of red riot’s cake. he points to the way you’ve swirled red food colouring into the cream icing on top, smirk evident in his voice as he speaks. “you a fan or somethin’?”

you blink, surprised, and look behind the large hero to deku, who stands rigid with a face twisted into an expression you can’t quite read. “of who? red riot?” your question earns you a grunt from bakugou. “uh, yeah, sure! ‘m a fan of all of you guys really, it’s an honour that you’re even standing here in my bakery!”

“s’not what i asked, flour girl,” bakugou prides himself in the pun, eyes trained on the delicate way your fingers move to perfect the gift to his friend. “you a fan of shitty hair or not?”

you bite your lip, lifting the hand you’d used to pipe finishing swirls of pink cream on top of the cake ( adding strawberries to each one before assembling the box around the finished piece ) and wipe your brow, thinking of an answer. “y-yeah! i guess i am!” you sigh, breathless with relief.

“then yer invited to his party, shitty hair’d like to see his fans.”

you jump back in shock, flustered that the pro hero is extending an invite to his friend’s party to some plain jane like you, and shake your head vigorously as you let bakugou heave the cake over the glass counter. “oh no,” you excuse yourself as quickly and politely as possible. “i couldn’t, partying isn't really my scene and i couldn’t intrude on something personal like that—!”

your hurried words enter one of katsuki’s ears and fly out the other, an unimpressed mask falling over his defined features. “i weren’t askin’. i was tellin’. yer invited ‘n i expect to see y’there for shitty hair. b‘sides deku’s gonna be there.” the blonde tells you like a stonewall not willing to budge an inch. you’re left with a wide open mouth, floundering like a stupid fish as the great god of explosions and dynamite or whatever the fuck it is leaves your bakery swiftly, accompanied by the swing of the bell.

you turn to deku who only plates up a sheepish grin, fingers finding the back of his neck as he rubs it gently. “i will be there,” he affirms softly, getting ready to leave as well. “it could be fun, just us two and kacchan’s raging crush on kirishima, huh?”

just us two.

“yeah,” you nod, replacing your bewildered expression with a shy smile. “i’ll meet you there, then?”

deku hums approvingly, filling your body with warmth as he approaches the door, offering you a little salute while his hand makes contact with the handle. “i’ll text you the address.”

the warmth is still there even when he’s gone and the words izuku uttered leave tears in your cotton candy heart.

just us two.

the stone path leading up to dynamight’s private neighbourhood and home crunches underneath your combat boots like praline, as you walk towards the source of his welcome home party for red riot. nerves flitter through your bloodstream too, making the fabric of your tartan dress all too tight and a little itchy against your skin.

maybe you should have changed.

the words run through your mind, but are often counteracted by the thought of how much effort you’d put into your outfit just hours before. the fabric of what you wear matches the colour of your crush’s hair— a detail you hoped that deku would notice when you met him in the party. “i look good,” you tell yourself in an attempt of self-reassurance, repeating the praise shinsou had drilled into you hours prior as he helped you to get ready. he could tell how worried you were about going to a party where every guest had some kind of celebrity status and possibly earned more than what your bakery was worth— but you deserved to be there as much as the next person; besides parties were the perfect environments to get to know your crush— apparently. especially if you could get him alone.

that piece of advice, you know hitoshi had pulled straight off of wikihow.

it’s the thought that counts, you suppose.

squeezing the box of cookies you’d caved in, making them as an extra gift, you continue to follow the bass boosted thumping of music towards what your phone told you was bakugou’s place. you’d acquired his address, in a text from your companion deku— your heart practically dropping out of your ass while you buffed out your eyeshadow, forcing your purple haired friend to answer for you. no matter how many times you’d texted izuku for orders and pick up dates, your still heart raced at the sight of the green heart emoji next to his name.

you couldn’t help but wonder if he would be excited to see you too, even though it had only been a few hours since you’d last seen each other— you couldn’t help but dream up scenarios of what your night would be like. would his trusting emerald eyes drop to the form of your outfit? would he compliment you, tell you how pretty you looked and how he was so glad that you came? would you sneak away from the crowds to a quiet room where you’d tell him ‘i like you, izuku,’ and seal the night with a gentle kiss?

it’s this train of thought that helps you reach the mansion much faster; bakugou’s lawn is littered with pro heroes and empty red solo cups alike. you’d never pegged bakugou as the type of guy to throw a party like this— the handful of times that you’d met him indicated that he preferred his own company and that of a select few...but maybe these were the lengths he’d go for someone he cared about. for kirishima.

and it made you think back to those warm forest irises and sun kissed freckles; and how much you’d be willing to do the same for izuku if he asked.

you make your way up to the front door fairly quickly after that; ringing the buzzer and taking the opportunity to peer through the glass windows on either side of the door, checking out the life of the gathering inside while you wait. it seems so fun, with booze flowing and choruses of laughter practically shaking the whole neighbourhood and you shift on your feet at the possibility of actually enjoying yourself tonight.

the door finally opens and you jump, snapping back to the person who now stands before you. a security guard stands in the spot where the door once was— clipboard in arm, dressed in all black. you don’t blame katsuki for hiring security, although they were all pro heroes and could most definitely handle themselves, too many high profile people in one place could definitely become a cesspool for villain activity.

“name and invitation.” the security guard states simply, jaw set in place and beady eyes squinting down at you from behind darkened shades. offering him a polite smile, you give him your name and watch as he flicks through what must be the guest list on his clipboard. his brow raises before speaking again. “you’re not on the list, do you have an invitation?”

“o-oh,” you stutter, brows furrowing. although you had only been invited at the last minute, you would have thought bakugou or at least midoriya would have taken care of any details like this. though, you couldn’t entirely blame them, they were pro heroes above your friends and acquaintances. “uh—can you check again? i’m a friend of izuku midoriya’s…”

recognition sparks within the security guard’s eyes but he doesn’t budge; letting the party bustle behind him. “i just checked, you’re not there.”

“wait!” you squeal as he moves to close the door, suddenly flustered by this new information. “can you just— check again? i should be there, really, i’m a friend…”

“sure you are, sweetheart.” he says rudely, flicking his gaze down to the guest list once more but barely checking through it, finding amusement in the way you sag with defeat before moving to shut the door again.

it’s with this you realise that this guy thinks you’re just another crazed fan trying to sneak into a gathering of famous people, famous heroes with a lame excuse of being their friend. you wonder how many other girls have tried this on hero security before and decide to switch to a different and hopefully more convincing approach.

shoving your foot into the door, you huff and muster up as much confidence as possible, trying not to lose your balance by hopping on one foot and holding the box of baked goods in both of your hands. “i’m the caterer, i made the desserts for the party and brought along some more. i need to check on dynamight’s cake, so if you could please just go and get him so we can clear this whole thing up!” you cry, annoyance slipping through the cracks of your tone but you try to keep your cool and hold up your box, hoping this lunatic will see the resemblance between your logo and the one on your cake box inside.

“you think no one’s tried that excuse before? you’re not on the guest list, you don’t have an invitation. now scram, punk, before i call the police.” the security guard leans down to your height, jabbing a finger into your chest and making you wobble. “you can ask dynamight yourself. in your dreams. i’m not leaving this door for you to sneak in.”

embarrassment starts to bubble under your skin as guests both inside and outside of the party start to notice your predicament— you’re putting up so much of a fight but you don’t even like parties, drawing unnecessary attention to yourself. you’d like to say you didn’t know why, but that would’ve been a giant fib. you’re still here because of your raging crush on izuku midoriya and the way he looked at you with pure excitement when you said you’d see him at the party earlier today.

so you ground yourself, ready to lay one out on the security guard when glass shattering behind him disrupts your flow. the pair of you turn your heads only to spot deku stumbling down the stairs, standing over the shattered pieces of a now broken vase. “oh fuck, kacchan’s gonna kill me,” he giggles to himself with a slight slur to the edge of his words. his beauty is like a ray of hope to this bleak situation— a tight black shirt splayed across his chest and arms, tucked into cargo pants of a matching shade. you’ve never seen him dressed so casually before, tattoos intertwining with the scars his hero costume usually hides.

you can’t help it, voice bubbling up before you can stop yourself. “izuku, hey! think you could help me out?”

“you know this chick, mr.midoriya?” the guard grunts as you make a weak attempt to step through the entryway and meet with the pro hero, forcing you to stop in your place. for a second, your eyes lock with deku’s and it feels as if electricity has started to crackle in the air. his cheeks are rosy just as they were that day in your bakery and your heart hammers in your chest just at the sight of him.

“don’t think so!” he hiccups quickly, smiling big. he’s tipsier than you thought. the world around you crumbles and you feel like a knife has been shoved straight through your chest— stopping the very organ keeping you alive from beating. from feeling. even when drunk, you’re not even memorable to the hero you’d befriended over the last two years. were you really just another civilian? like bakugou had called you back at the bakery, like the security guard thought you were? a cloud of betrayal settles above your head, laced with hurt as you back up on the doorstep. “nice outfit though! the green… ohmygod, the green reminds me of my hero costume!!”

it’s not long until deku becomes distracted by the yelling of his friends located deeper within the party and you watch him stagger away with humiliated tears welling in your eyes. “sorry kid,” the security guard hums, using his size to back you up and out of the door some more. “better luck next time.”

“right,” you say, voice shaking, hurt now twisting through your bloodstream. shifting the box in your grip you shove it towards the guard before he has a chance to lock you out of the party for good. “c-can...can you just make sure bakugou and kirishima get these? i promise… i promise ‘m just a baker,”

you walk away without giving the security guard an opportunity to mock you like you were some stupid fan— quickly making your way as far from bakugou’s house as physically possible, putting great distance between yourself and izuku. it hurts to breathe, the world falling away from you and you feel so silly. to have believed that you were something significant in the life of a pro hero, in the life of izuku midoriya himself. there were probably tonnes of people just like you in his daily routine, providing small and irrelevant acts of service to punctuate his busy days of saving lives.

you were just a baker and he was a hero. you knew that, you always knew that.

you weren’t special to him, like he was to you.

realisation and panic settle in the base of your rib cage, crawling through your lungs and sticking to your throat like webs of black tar. you can’t breathe. you have to get out, you need to go home. the dress you wear, colours of forests and ferns like izuku’s hair and eyes are a pungent reminder of the truth and suddenly feels too tight around your body. somehow you stumble out of bakugou’s gated neighbourhood and frantically search through your mini backpack for your phone; desperate to call shinsou. you could do with his comfort right now.

your best friend picks up after three rings, voice heavy with sleep when he answers. “what in fucks name do you want—?”

“toshi,” you say, holding back a fresh wave of tears just from hearing his voice over the line. “can you come...c-can you come pick me up, please?”

you hear shuffling on shinsou’s end, possibly him sitting up in his bed and adjusting his phone in his grip. “what? why? i thought you were at blasty bitch’s house party—“

“please,” you reiterate, hoping the emotion in your voice is enough to grab your best friend’s attention. you don’t want to talk about your embarrassment for the night, you don’t want to think about it either. “pleaseplease, just come get me...toshi, i wanna go home,”

“text me the address sugar, i’ll come get you.” he tells you sternly, hanging up the phone.

you wait for only twenty minutes in the cool night air before shinsou’s rust bucket rolls up outside the gated community and it takes everything you have in you not to burst into tears once again. your childhood best friend jumps out of his car; hoodie in hand to pull over your head before guiding you back with him and strapping you into your seat.

no words are exchanged as he drives you home, it’s silent when he unlocks your bakery and takes you to your apartment on the top floor. the same treatment is given as he wipes away your makeup, runs you a shower and helps you change for bed. you’re so grateful for hitoshi shinsou, you’d be sure to thank him with baked goods later on when you weren’t numb from crying.

he liked your apple danishes best, the ones without green apples.

you decide as you fall asleep, you’ll always hate the colour green.

after mixing all things dry for your cake batter; you’d usually work on the next step of wet ingredients. a sad mixture of milk and eggs and oil— grim to look at, gross to feel.

you suppose that’s what’s been resonating with you the most recently. getting over your crush on izuku has been one of the most awful experiences of your life thus far— you exaggerate but feel that it’s true. you feel sluggish more often than not, screaming your frustration and tears into your pillows before the day’s begun and you have to open up the cookie crumble bakery for business.

embarrassment, anger and sadness roll in heavy waves over your body— hitting you at the most random moments during the day whenever the party incident comes to mind, making you cringe and retreat to the back room in the middle of serving customers, often leaving shinsou to carry the brunt of your work. he understands for the most part, checking up on you when you’ve been gone for too long or he thinks that you’re crying...but his patience is wearing thin even as your best friend and exhaustion sets itself in his eyebags at a greater rate than usual. there’s only so much that he can take on to be there for you during this situation.

you just want to get over him, stupid, sunny, warm and gorgeous izuku midoriya. forget that he ever held your heart between strong hands and powerful fingers and move on with your life instead of feeling like crap for the stunt he pulled. but for some reason, you find yourself holding on to the slow treks in the evergreen woods of his eyes and his inviting smile, you cling to the moments you’d spent laughing with him over the counter and having him keep you company on late shifts.

you couldn’t let him go even if you tried, even if midoriya hadn’t called or texted you within a week of seeing him shit faced at the party.

even if he hurt you, you didn’t want to be the normal girl who let izuku midoriya pass by without another word.

“incoming at nine ‘o clock,” shinsou mutters to you as he briskly walks past your position at the counter, replenishing the breakfast muffins, and slips into the back room. you barely have time to look at him nor give him your confused frown before the little bell at the doorway goes off and someone steps into your bakery.

whipping your head over at the sound, your blood runs cold at the sight of the man who’s been avoiding you for damn near a week straight. “hey yn,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head and undercut like he always does. deku looks good, sweat lining his brow and cheeks tinted pink as if he’d been out on a run and decided to swing by. your suspicions are correct when you get the scope on his outfit, plain khaki shirt and grey joggers— showing off everything he has to offer.

but you won’t allow yourself to be tempted, building walls up and around your cookie cutter heart. “mister midoriya,”

“c’mon yn, please don’t be like that,”

“‘m not being like anything izuku,” you sigh and you can see his posture sink a little as you continue your work of filling up the trays of sweets in the display cabinets. spending way too long fixing details that don’t need fixing— anything to keep your gaze away from the face of the hero who could crush your heart if he wanted to.

the hero’s mouth opens and closes as he ponders his next words— not used to the way you give him a cold shoulder. “then please don’t ignore me,” izuku says with a pleading tone and you mentally curse shinsou for leaving you alone with him, already wanting to plunge back into the swirling sea of dartmouth twinkling in his orbs. “i want to apologise to you, for the other night…and just...try to explain things,”

stopping your work, you glance up at deku and wait for him to speak. “go ahead,” you say expectantly, giving him a chance before you change your mind. part of you can’t help debating it briefly...if he’s undeserving of your forgiveness, especially after how you were treated by both him and the guard who’d humiliated you— while the other doesn’t want to be trapped in this fog of resenting izuku.

he takes a minute, taking out his headphones and pausing his running playlist, you wonder if he’d taken a run today to sort through his words, adding your bakery to his usual route. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said to you that night,” deku starts, idly fiddling with his fingers. “you know i wouldn’t ever forget you on purpose and if i had known kacchan hadn’t figured things out with your invite...if i hadn’t been so drunk either, i would have vouched or left with you. i was just so drunk that i lost my head and...hurt you in the process,”

you mull over his words as they feed at all parts of your heart, making you want to forgive izuku—and you could. you could if he knew exactly how he made you feel and acted accordingly. cracking each of your fingers in preparation to spill your guts out to deku, you take a deep breath. “you really did hurt me, izuku...you made me feel small, insignificant,” you mumble, voice barely above a whisper so that your early morning guests can’t hear. “like i was unworthy of being your friend? purposefully or not it felt like you didn’t want to know me and despite how long we’d known each other...like i was just another civilian in your life. it really sucked, especially when you didn’t reach out to me after,”

there’s a beat of silence as the weight of the world lifts from your shoulders, and you already feel so much better having expressed how you truly feel.

“i’m sorry,” izuku whispers to you again, reaching over the counter to grip one of your hands. “i value your friendship so much, and hurting you, someone i care about, is one of the worst mistakes i’ve ever made. it’s no excuse for me to have been so drunk, i never get like that and so fast…wish i had a better explanation for you aside from the fact that i was nervous.”

you feel the sentiment to his words, but there’s a burning question on the tip of your tongue. “i think i can forgive you, i just need to know why’d you drink your nerves away?” you ask him light-heartedly.

izuku taps his nose, shaking his head but relief floods his veins at your willingness to accept his apology. “can’t say, it’s a secret for now.”

at that you smile, he may not be ready to tell you now but you’ve had enough of the heavy stuff to last you. just glad that muggy feeling is no longer crawling down your spine. there’s a flutter in your rib cage, like a butterfly from izuku’s forest has been set free in your body when you realise your hands are still linked and shyly pull away— both of you with flustered expressions. deku steps away from the counter, ear-splitting and a golden smile on his face as he stumbles over the nearby table, alleviation hanging in the air between you.

“i should uh, get going. i’m so sorry again,” he tells you, abashedly trying to fix the chairs and table he’d tripped over. “hero duty calls!”

“quit apologising, nerd and get outta here,” you giggle, heart squeezing at the adorable nature of your friend. although you know that despite the hiccup...your feelings for him are still there.

giving you a nod, deku quickly makes his way to the door— ready to walk out when he stops and waves to you for attention, seemingly remembering something. “oh and before i go! could i place a quick order? i need some cupcakes and other treats for a baby shower. for a girl friend of mine. i really can’t stay much longer to discuss the details! but i’ll text you?”

and then for the second time, involving the one and only izuku midoriya and the clutches of your feelings...your world breaks like shattered glass and egg shells. a girlfriend. your crush, the man you’ve been pining over… has a girlfriend. and you feel as if you’ve been pushed right back to square one. being insignificant enough to have been forgotten and not been told about izuku’s brand new relationship. what did it matter though? you were only his friend. this whole visit, this whole week apart was probably to plan a gentle way to break down the news to you. and still deku let you pine over a lost cause. you barely have time to respond to him before izuku is out of your shop and down the street— leaving you to revel in the massive blow he’s just delivered to your achy-breaky heart.

a girlfriend. someone you’ll never be for him.

“so i take it that went well?” shinsou asks you cheerily, hand on your back as he emerges from his hiding spot in the back room. he pats your shoulder once before returning to the sweet old ladies he usually waits on— without a clue of what’s just happened up front.

you stare blankly, feeling broken yet again as you look to the order text izuku has just sent you.

“yeah, it went splendidly,” you mutter weakly to yourself, clutching your chest as your heart crumbles to pieces in its place.

weeks go by and barely anything has changed.

despite apologising for hurting your feelings that night; deku’s actions fail to replicate his words and you bottle up poisonous sips of resentment towards him. you can no longer look into his eyes whenever he’s around, you stop seeing lush mint forests and fairytale land but instead stormy sage waters swirling with inner hatred. you can’t stand to look at deku knowing how much of a fool you were to think you could mean something more to him, to have fallen for him.

you throw yourself into working alongside shinsou, keeping yourself busy with baking and packing orders around the bakery. but your heart remains stung despite every cake you ice and every cookie you bake...it was hard and it didn’t help that izuku came around almost every other day thinking that your friendship would proceed on a normal level. you knew that if you lost izuku it would be your own fault; for letting your feelings get in the way of being there for someone so important to you— someone who’d taken their bare hands and forced you apart to make home in the shell of your body and your life.

he acted as if the air between you hadn’t changed and that the cells in your body weren’t trying to force him out and reject his sweetheart candy persona. how could he? when every second spent in the four walls of your bakery he was asking for another one of your specialty bakes for another special occasion for the girl of his dreams that he’d forgotten to tell you all about. a birthday, a baby shower, whatever it was that the hero needed; you baked it for him. and it could have been so easy to tell deku no, but you were too far gone in the candyland of love to say it.

and like the final stage of baking a cake was the icing, your final straw with izuku midoriya had been the wedding cake he’d asked you to make.

he was marrying this girlfriend of his that you’d never met, having a baby with this girl you’d never met.

it hadn’t taken you long to lock yourself in the back room; forcing yourself to work in izuku’s new commission for nights on end. your customers missed you, shinsou would tell you after closing up shop at eight pm and joining you in the kitchen— but there were no words, positive ones at least, that could roll over your tongue to make conversation with. your best friend worries for you, you know that, it hurts for him to not be able to console you in the way that you need— to soothe the burn left by izuku midoriya from his hot sugar grip.

you need closure and that’s why he makes the call.

for you it’s just another night; working on this stupid fucking wedding cake that makes you want to scream or burst into tears just by looking at it— makes you want to smash it to pieces as you layer sponge on top of sponge— smoothing the surfaces over with homemade cookies ‘n cream buttercream. working quietly, you don’t miss the way the doors to the back room creak open and the heavy footsteps that come with it.

“i already told you toshi,” you mumble, annoyed, letting your words twist with the still chill air. “i’m fine, i just want to get this stupid wedding cake done so i can go home and never have to see izuku midoriya again!” you feel triumphant by the end of your words, finally admitting the root of your sadness to yourself and your best friend— thinking that with this cake would come the last of your romantic woes. but something about the stillness to the room feels off, it lacks the crackle of a sarcastic comment from your best friend… something along the lines of ‘about time’ and ‘i knew it’. the words never come and the foot steps you’d heard earlier make no attempt to come closer to you.

it’s the silence that makes you look up.

and when you do, you’re met with fern hair and forest eyes and the constellations of cancer written across well aged cheeks. “izuku,” his name falls from your lips like a forbidden word and as soon as the warmth in your heart comes, it goes. you turn back to your work— focusing on crumbling more cookies to pair with your italian meringue buttercream.

“hey,” he says gently, as if what he says will break you. “shinsou called, he’s worried.”

and you care? is what you want to ask him, is what you fight with your tongue to say and swallow it down. because for weeks all izuku has done is take and take and take from you. surely he knew that he was the last person you wanted to see right now. so it’s silence that wins, that you choose and you return back to making the frosting.

deku waits for what seems like an eternity for your reply, but steps closer to your table and workstation when you don’t— sighing. “i’m kinda worried too, yanno,” are you? “...you’ve been so busy, i’ve barely seen you as of late. i just want to make sure you’re okay,” they all seem like sweet little lies, spun like cotton candy to muffle the loud noise and pain in your ear but you continue to stay silent.

reaching you, the pro hero takes a stance opposite you— looming over the other side of your work table while a heavy quietness bounces in the distance between your bodies, punctuated only by the sounds of your ingredients mixing. “i’m sorry.”

“do you even know what you’re apologising for?” you yell brokenly, finally piercing the tension flooding through the room with your butcher's knife— letting it rattle against the walls and push both you and izuku up against them. “do...do you even know what you’ve done?” the tail ends of your words are much quieter this time, and you watch as deku steps back— frightened by your outburst. remaining mute, his eyes search yours frantically for an explanation before you have to give one to him yourself. because if he doesn’t, it’ll show you that he truly doesn’t know how he hurt you and somehow; that causes a brighter pain to sting at the candied organs in your chest.

“i—“

dropping your spoon, you clap a hand over your mouth, begging the higher power that izuku doesn’t see the way your lips tremble as if you’re going to cry. “oh god,” your voice is muffled and weak, “you really don’t know… oh god i’m so stupid,” izuku doesn’t reach out for you nor does he make a move as you pull back away from the table. “you use me, get a girlfriend and keep on using me to make these little gifts and treasures for her that she’ll remember for life...when i was here, falling for you this entire time. and i thought you felt the same… i thought that you knew…i thought that you knew that i was in love with you...”

you gasp; confession to your crush out in the open before you can grab its tail and prevent it from ever coming out. all at once you feel crushed and humiliated— shooting your gaze away from the situation.

“you’re in love with me?” deku breathes steadily, but you don’t dare to look at his face for the way he might pity you.

shaking your head and blinking away salty tears, you sigh. “i think you should go back to your fiancé. i don’t know why shinsou called you. you don’t need to be here,”

“fiancé?” izuku chuckles wetly into the cool air filling the room, making you look at him. the corner of his cadmium orbs are creased with laughter lines and his lips are pulled back into a gentle grin. you feel demeaned, how could he laugh at you at such a time? “you mean ochako? oh my god…the stuff you did for me? you mean the babyshower and the wedding cake?”

“who?” you ask sternly, quickly wiping at your eyes and cheeks. “what?”

deku leans over the table to get a better look at you, frowning at your tired and puffy eyes but still looking at you with all that warmth he has for years. “ochako’s a friend from highschool, she recently got engaged to another friend of mine, iida— after finding out they were pregnant,” he explains to you softly, hoping that your sniffles calm down. “they hadn’t had the time to organise everything on their own, but i knew your bakery and its goods would go down a treat at their baby shower and wedding, so i took the liberty of ordering for them myself. they’re traditionalists, they just got everything in the wrong order.” he jokes at the end.

and just like that, the realisation clicks. “you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“no, yn,” izuku laughs again, rounding the table to grab your wrists— towering over you, with a gaze so fond as he directs it down at you. “ochako isn’t my girlfriend, nor my fiancé. i was kind of hoping someone else would want that spot,”

“that so?” your tummy churns, butterflies fluttering throughout but your body flushes with stupidity. you think back to weeks ago, when deku had asked you to make something for a girl friend of his— he had literally meant a friend who was a girl. what an idiot, you think to yourself, misreading izuku’s poor wording like that and causing all this grief.

the air shifts and you feel izuku’s familiar warmth surrounding you despite the cold in the back room. the hold he has on your wrists tightens and pulls you into the firm of his chest— not caring if you stumble. letting one of your wrists go, izuku tilts your head by your chin up to face him with just a thumb and a forefinger.

“i love you,” is what he answers you with, “you’re the one that i want,”

before you can say anything else to his confession, midoriya presses his lips against yours in a gentle chaste kiss— causing you to let out a muffled ‘mmf’of surprise. the action is sweet but all too short, with his teeth sinking into your lower lip as he pulls it back gently; giving you the choice to either kiss him or pull away. you need his lips on yours again, that insatiable hunger for sugar and dopamine driving you forward as you kiss izuku for a second time— tongue grazing over the swell of his lips, fingers tangling in the wildness of his hair to keep him close to you. deku welcomes you into his mouth with a sweet sigh, arms dropping to your waist and his large hands squeezing your hips.

your tongues work together instead of fighting, sliding across one another in a deep lover’s kiss and deku takes your lip lock as the opportunity to lift you onto the metal table— being mindful of your cake and work. “‘m sorry,” he says into your mouth, kissing you with more fever, growing handsier by the second.

“what for?” you sigh, tangling your fingers in his baby hairs— arching into all of midoriya’s touches.

one of deku’s hands moves to cup your jaw and the other to undo your apron from behind your back, making your breath hitch. “for hurting you, i didn’t wanna,” his nose brushes against yours and you can feel his peppermint breath against your cupid’s bow. “‘n i still did it...twice,”

you lean up to give a quick smooch to the pro hero before you, hands feeling out the bulk of his muscles from his shoulders to his slender waist— mapping out his body and basking in the reality that he is yours. “then ‘m sorry too, for making this situation what it was,” you breathe weakly, licking your lips nervously.

deku shakes his head, forehead resting against yours. “if it weren’t for you, i wouldn’t have gotten my shit together to tell you that i love you,”

your body vibrates at the three words. he loves you. the very sound of the syllables sets a fire alight in your lower belly and all you want to do is be close to him—press yourself against him and just feel everything that is izuku midoriya. you let him pull off your apron and push the cotton shirt you wear underneath up and over your head, his scarred hands are warm against your exposed flesh as they pinch at your sides. deku drops his lips from yours to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, some nip at your skin causing deep bruises to blossom underneath your skin— marking you in a signature of his name with midnight blue and purple ink. the others are wet, izuku’s tongue curling over spots of your flesh looking for the ones that are most sensitive.

you flinch when his heated pink muscle flicks over your pulse point, nails only just scraping the surface of your shoulders. all of a sudden, izuku clamps down with his teeth on that same area— pulling a shaky gasp close to a moan from between your plush rapturous lips. “oh? sensitive here, babydoll?” the hero asks you, darkened eyes twitching up to your face. you can only manage a nod, tilting back your head and creating more room for him to work another mark into your skin. his hair, soft and fresh-scented, tickles your neck, heightening your responsiveness to his activity at your throat. “you’re so pretty here, with my marks on your skin. wonder how pretty the rest of you looks,”

“y-you can see it, take it if you’d like,” your head tips back in offer, at his words, giving him more room to cast his claim in bruises across your neck and shoulders. his praise rattles in the base of your ribcage and disrupts your candied heart in its place, sending it into a series of flutters. “i’m yours now,” using a single knee, deku pushes your thighs apart, letting him lead your body into position… trusting izuku, you follow him willingly into the forest, just as you would with anything.

this time he catches you before you fall, with ghostly soft touches and gentle whispers— he pulls you by your thighs to the edge of the metal table until your bodies are close enough that you can lose yourself in the towering trees and lush green. you watch with innocent eyes, while the darkness takes over the woods in deku’s own, embers of lust starting to burn at the outer edges of an evergreen eutopia.

“i want you to be mine, in ways that no one else can have you,” deku tells you seriously, an expression of clement hunger smoothing over the mask of his freckled face. the forest fire burns even brighter, catching on mosses as your hands reach up to twirl with baby locks of the hero's hair. casting his gaze down, a little off to the left, deku takes a deep breath and lets his large hands slide up to the band of your bra—you choke on air tinged with the scent of him, thinking that he’ll remove it— but instead, cautious thumbs slide under the lavender and flower designed lace and rubs where your breast meets your ribs. you realise there, that the green haired hero is asking in his own way, for permission. “i’ve always wanted you but i was scared, scared to break you and make you crumble with the life that i lead,” izuku’s voice lowers an octave, growing heavier and heavier the more he lifts your bra away from your chest as if he’s weighing up the options of leading you off of the gingerbread pathway and to a place of sin.”i just don’t want to hurt you more than i already have,” he finishes, eyes fluttering shut.

cupping deku’s face now, you brush your thumbs over his stardust cheeks bringing him down low to lick the luminous orange flames of his fire— to soothe the burning and the hesitation he feels. “you can’t hurt me anymore, izu, you can take me,” you reassure him, pressing a kiss to his cupid’s bow. “we’ve waited this long, i don’t think i can last much longer without having you closer,”

that’s all he needs, all the permission izuku midoriya needs to pull you into the cracklingfire and burn any traces of you that lie unclaimed. “then let me take care of you,” izuku promises, bending to his knees in front of you, the green haired man’s hands slide warmly up the plains of your back—he traces your spine before reaching the clasp of your bra and unhooking it with ease, the material falling at your front. the emptiness of the back room does nothing to hide the beefy groan deku lets out. it could be the air or the fact that you’d managed to pull the sound from his lips that causes goosebumps to rise on your exposed skin. you allow him to pull the rest of your bra away, his breath soothing the chill against your tits before bulky arms snake around your middle.

he takes one of your hardened nipples between his teeth, rolling it between them carefully as shiny green eyes shoot upwards to follow your reaction. midoriya smiles around your bud at the way your face twists; nose scrunched cutely and eyes fluttering shut as if you’ve never felt such a sensation, before a quiet mewl escapes you.”izu,” you say pleadingly, not quite sure of what you’ve asked for— your untouched body a playground for the love izuku has to offer. “gimme, more…” at your request, his tongue lolls wetly over the swell of your breast as he takes it fully into his mouth and coats your skin in a glaze of his own saliva. he can taste the vanilla on your skin, it drowns him in waves but adds a lustrous fuel to his fire.

wrapping an arm around the back of deku’s head, you draw him into the blistering heat of your frame, holding him as he suckles on your tit and starts to grope at the other— massaging the fleshy mound between his thick and scarred fingers, kneading it to coax more of your song and darling moans. there’s awe dotting the ferns of his eyes, dripping like liquid gold from his eyelashes, and when he bites down on your flesh, the point of his teeth draw shapes into your skin.

you squeak like a little nymph and izuku finds himself becoming addicted, savouring how you twitch just for him. “you taste so good, you sound like an angel,” the hero praises you, pulling away from your bruised chest and remaining connected to you only by a clear string of his own spit, “you must be an angel, there’s no way someone like you falls from heaven just for me,” he tattoos the words into the spot between your breasts with similarly wet kisses from before. “you’re my angel now, kay baby?”

you whimper, again sounding like an angel’s song. “yes ‘zu, yours,”

if izuku had been a spirit of the forest, a demon of sorts then maybe you really were the angel that he needed to calm the rustling leaves— or maybe his flames would consume you and your wings whole, causing you to fall. the scalding heat of his mouth works on your unattended breast—giving it the same loving treatment that makes you writhe against the work table, nearly knocking the frosting you had been working on away. curiously, izuku releases your nipple, one hand beginning to graze your cotton panties from underneath your uniform skirt, your last item of clothing remaining. the one by your chest dips into your cookies ‘n cream frosting, beginning to smear it over your untreated breast. it’s cold and sticky on your skin, contrasting between the temperature that rises between the two of you.

“zu, s’cold,” you mumble, starting to curl in on yourself, gripping the shoulder of his shirt tightly to ground yourself. deku hums in content, latching onto your chest again where he's painted you like a canvas with the icing and the vibrations shoot straight through your body, down to your core—a patch of damp forming at the crotch of your panties from where he’s started to rub at you in sweet circles. “w-wait izu,” you simper, tone of your voice small and precious as the pro hero squeezes your clit, tip of his finger running over the length of your clothed slit. the sensation that builds in the depths of your core, like a pressure waiting to be relieved.

pushing a finger against your entrance from over the material, izuku watches in fascination as the spot of your arousal grows darker and larger, sweet honey seeping from between your folds.”what is it, babylove?” he asks you, as puffs of his hot breath begin stimulating your sex, your hips jump up against your will— body overcome with the fire.”does it not feel good to be touched like this?”

escaping from your hold, the pro hero finally falls to his knees in front of your parted legs— pulling his working digits away from your stained panties in awe, a thick string of clear essence being the only thing that connects him to you now. “i’ve never…” you pant, heat prickling underneath your skin like a thousand tiny stings. a feeling that's foreign and painfully seated just above your abdomen, desperate to be licked and soothed by izuku and his flames. “please, i’ve never..” if he would just explore the woods of your body then maybe you could garner some relief, but only feel taunted when the pro hero swipes more of the frosting against your panties and slots his mouth against your aroused cunt, tongue darting out to suck on your juices through the sticky material.

“c’mon sweet girl, spit it out, you can tell me,” izuku coos into your slick, groaning with debauchery at your taste. his nose bumps at your sensitive clit, sending waves of bright and brand new euphoria through your body.

“i’ve never been touched like this before, izu,” you squeal out at last, letting the syllables rush out of your mouth underneath slurs of pent up saliva— not even bothering for a pause in the middle. the green haired male pulls back from the solace between your thick and doughy thighs, eyes widening with shock as he realises how much of your innocence he’s burned away through forest fires already. a thick smog of ash and lust hangs heavily in the air with the weight of your next words. “i’m a virgin…”

“you’re a...you’ve never…” he dares to ask, rubbing smooth circles into your thighs, your skirt falling back into place over your sex. the fabric does nothing to hide the saccharine scent of your puffy and potentially virgin folds, and midoriya feels himself twitch with cupidity in his pants at the thought of being the very first into your garden. visions of you opening up for him like a blossom against his forest floor makes the blood pumping through deku’s body swelter with an undying need to take you; he wants to be the first to have you break and fall apart against his fingers and cock and maybe his tongue after everything he’s put you through. he almost feels undeserving.

“no,” you turn your head away from your newfound lover abashedly, liquid shame brimming in your eyes. “t-there was only one time in college with shinsou, we only used our hands but he...he was the only one who got to...to cum…”

izuku grunts in disapproval at the thought of your sweet cunt being touched by anyone besides him— even if it had been before he’d even met you. standing once more, the pro hero cups your cheeks with his sex tainted hands and brushes away your tears, thumb slipping passed your strawberry licorice lips and forcing you to taste the mix of your essence, frosting and tears. “no need to be embarrassed babydoll,” he says, dazed and distracted by all that you are.

fuck.

you’re so pretty, so obedient sucking on his digits with hesitant doe eyes. “we can fix that, yeah?”

you nod around his thumb until it's clean and hum with anticipation. “uhuh,” you mumble, blindly trusting izuku—because he’d promised never to hurt you again, because you knew that he would take care of you.

“good girl, now let’s get you out of the rest of these clothes, babylove.” deku pulls his thumb from between your lips, chuckling at the pout that smooths over them and leans down to capture them in a kiss. his scarred hands make quick work of pulling off your skirt and peeling away your panties that stick to your sex. you shiver when cool air hits your bare cunt, crying out for something to keep you warm. izuku knows that you yearn for his fire in the woods to drag you in and take your spirit as prisoner— so he rushes to shrug off his t-shirt before uniting your bodies and wrapping one arm around your shoulders, keeping you to him, the other dipping to toy with the treasure locked between your plush thighs. “shinsou used his fingers on you, right?”

“yes,” you say breathless, drawn to deku in a similar way a moth is to a candle flame, basking in his heat. “but i didn’t get to cum,” you remind him.

only then does the green haired pro send you one of those smiles, the ones where the constellations on his cheeks shone bright... the ones that you had always believed were saved especially for you, making you feel warm inside, because now you knew that they were. “then i’ll have to show you what it’s like to have a real man’s fingers pleasuring you, angel. you’ll have to wait a few dates before you get to feel my tongue on you though, baby,” deku whispers a breath’s width away from your ear, sending shivers down your spine as the calloused tip of two of his fingers circle your soaked entrance. “give me your hand angel, let me teach you,”

you writhe nervously against the metal table, dropping your hand to join izuku’s at the entrance to your awaiting cunt and let him guide your smaller-than-his fingers to your swollen clit. rubbing smooth circles into your back, your tits pressed salaciously against his sweaty pecs, the hero instructs you to draw dainty shapes onto the puffy nub, letting you jolt in his arms and grip his flexing bicep. “hah, zu...that feels nice,” you babble clumsily, brain growing hazy as the first shocks of ecstasy filter through your bloodstream. “zu...s’supposed to feel that good?”

your question makes him wonder how innocent you really are, if it's so much so that you’d never even buried your baby fingers into your own cunt and gotten off before...maybe with the success of your bakery, you just didn’t have the time. his chest swells with pride and his cock with need at the idea of being the one to knock you down a few pegs of purity— another sinner’s smile pulling at midoriya’s bruised lips. “of course it is, little love,” he chuckles, aiding your hand in stimulating your honeyed bud faster, helping your flower to bloom, more of your arousal to gather in your pussy lips. “oooh you like that don’t you? ‘course my little angel does, so naughty. just wait until i stuff my fingers inside that darling lil hole of yours.”

“don’ wanna wait, wanna feel you inside me now,” you drawl with impatience and teary doll eyes, yet again, lifting your hips as you ink star shaped patterns onto your sex. “‘m wet for you izuku, i know that… i can take your fingers,”

the hero spreads your folds with two digits, looking eagerly with darkened chartreuse orbs as your viscous juices pour from your empty hole. “fuuck baby, you talk so dirty for someone who hasn’t been fucked before,” duku grouses erotically— far more turned on than you’d thought. “spread those thighs, that’s it...nice ‘n wide babylove, keep playing with your clit for me...so fucking pretty…” you do as he says, legs nearing the edge of the table as you roll your clit to your heart’s content, lewd sounds echoing throughout the room as deku eases a single digit past your entrance—immediatley curling it to get a feel for your velvet walls.

“ohmygod—fuck ‘zu,” comes your needy whimper, the grip you have on his bicep tightening, nails digging crescent moons into his manuka honey skin.

“yeah? you like that? how do you feel ‘bout ‘zuku giving another?” he says and pushes his lips into a mock pout while concentrating hard on making you see stars, airily asking himself more so than you as he slips another digit into your hot cunt alongside the other—scissoring them in order to stretch you open and prepare you for his cock. “grab hold of my wrist, want you to control how fast or slow i fuck this pretty little pussy with my fingers, kay?”

an answer barely escapes you aside from a weak nod— following deku's gaze to the way your sex sucks him in and covers him in all of your liquid. it’s so dirty, the way the pro hero lets you control his hand,practically riding his fingers and grinding the seat of his palm against your clit, the action dragging you through the winding trees of ecstasy. he curls them against the spongy spot deep within your walls, making your thighs twitch and eyes cross lewdly. every thrust of his fingers earns a gush from your little cunt, weeping at the stimulation.

deku thinks you’re the most precious little thing, a delicate fairy tucked away into his neck—breathing heavily, strings of saliva hooked to the roof of your mouth while you grasp and grip his body for your taking. he mumbles sweet nothings into your hairline things like ‘that too fast, sweetheart?’ or ‘tell me if it’s not enough, babylove,’ his sweet honeysuckle words sending tingles down your spine and fluttering through your sex— deku stroking you into the shape of him.

the weird feeling in your belly from earlier returns, building up in slow stacks and twisting like rope inside of you. izuku holds you to the edge for hours, or that’s what it feels like— pumping scarred digits in and out of you at an impressive speed, telling you it would feel better if he made you wait for what was to come. “so tell me, is it true that he never made you cum like this?” the pro hero’s voice drops an octave, deep and rich like expensive chocolate and he shakes off your hand around his wrist, taking control of the pace at which you’re given pleasure.

“feels weird ‘zuku,” you cry, tummy starting to burn with every push of his fingertips againstyour g-spot, relentlessly scissoring their corresponding digits inside of you every time. “s’too fast, can’t… don’t think i can hold it..!” your legs shake violently, willing to close but izuku pins one down to the table and casts his gaze to where your body meets his hand, watching eagerly for something to happen.

“let go for me now, promise it’ll feel so good,” midoriya sighs and a scream tears in the base of your throat as the rope in your tummy finally snaps and the weird pressure that had been building up finally shoots out of you— more specifically from your sticky and squelching pussy. eyes rolling to the back of your head, clear liquid spirts from your sex in streams, pooling underneath your ass and running down the length of your slit— sliding between your lower cheeks. deku doesn’t stop even though you’re overstimulated and gushing like a river, thumbing fast and random shapes into your raw clit until your stream stops flowing and finishes splattering against your thighs along with izuku’s pelvic bone and hand.

you can’t stop shaking through your release, which pools on the floor and beneath your bum, allowing deku to cradle you into his bare chest and rock you in his arms until you’re grounded. “good girl, did so well,” soft praise is not wasted on your ears as you nuzzle into his addictive, sweet and tooth rotting warmth. “my virgin baby’s a squirter, huh?” slowly but surely, the hero lets you go to take a peek between the globes of your thighs— watching your face for any signs of discomfort when he touches you. his forest hair tickles your inner thighs when he dips his head to your cunt, grunting at the overstimulation when his tongue traces your folds to clean up your orgasm— making you grip his hair harshly.

and when izuku stands up and gives your cunt a second to calm down— his lips find yours in an overheated kiss that sets your body alight for him once again. under the mint sherbet flavour on his tongue, you find yourself. like candy and rock salt laced with izuku’s taste, unlike anything that's ever graced your tastebuds before.

the kiss lasts very little before the hero pulls away, fingers twisting with the knot on the grey sweatpants that he wears. a dark spot grows on his front from his leaking tip, cock hard against his inner thigh. you frown, wondering how long deku had been like that as he tended to you. how was he able to hold back? you surely would have lost your mind in his position— while your heart feels bad for leaving him alone and unattended, what’s left of your working conscious craves to see what hides behind izuku’s waistband and your mouth waters at the very thought. before your mind can catch up with your hands, you reach for his v-cut hips and attempt to run your fingers over his prominent dick print, yanking at the grey fabric to reveal what you’ve been waiting for.

“fuck, love,” izuku hisses, letting you roll down his sweats and boxers in one go, but snatching up your hands before you can jerk him off. “wait, just wait baby…”

he places your hands on his chest, the deep green of his eyes form a stern warning of ‘no’, despite the heavy heat waves of desire that radiate off of his well-built body. drool pools on the palette of your tongue as you watch his cock slap against chocolate and carved abs, precum smearing between them and his tip an angry shade of ruby red from arousal. “but izu..wanna help you like you helped me,” your lips push into a tempting pout, accentuating the devoir in your tone.

but deku continues to shake his head, his heart beating rapidly deep within the twisting timber land of his ribcage— protected by oakwood and tree branches that only you can figure out a way through. “another time babylove, when i’ve gotten a chance to take you on a real date,” he sighs, an immodest sense of agony drawn across his features and sewn into freckles. your heart soars and beats hard in your pussy, succulent hole clenching and causing nectar to drip from your forbidden flower. izuku fists his cock with one hand as he gently pushes your body back against the cool metal table, your back arching away from the frigid feeling giving him an erotic view of the soft mountains of your chest bouncing ever so slightly.

once you lay flat on your back, the hero presses his body over yours— trapping you between the cold surface and the blazing temperature of his body as if he were the sun… accompanied by his abs rippling against your tummy and hardened shaft sliding between your scalding, drenched folds. deku’s sticky tip skims dangerously over your bud, rewarding the silent back room with a pair of overwhelmed and eager moans. both of your bodies tremble, tortured from holding back. your hand searches for deku’s in the tangled heap of firewood limbs, fingers link during the sloppy afair of your grinding sweaty bodies— and you think you might cum again, just from the quiet whimpers your lover breathes into your ear and the sensation of him pushing his hard on against your quivering sex.

“want me to put it in now, baby?” izuku coos, his words are like delicate icing against your skin but his eyes speak of carnivorous obsession when he pulls back to look at you... as if he’s going to bathe you in every sense of him and drown you through your mind, body and soul. the keen smile he gives to you when you nod a little, warms your heart, to know that he loves you this much. “s’gonna hurt a little bit, so let me know at any time if you want me to stop, you got that?” giving deku’s hand a squeeze in acknowledgement, your breathing deepens as he lines his cock up with your entrance, tapping his tip against your virgin hole before pushing against it, slipping into you with a slight resistance.

you don’t want to resist anymore, you’ve spent so long running through the woods and away from its demon that carried your feelings for izuku that you’re so tired of trying to push him out. tears, salty, begin to well in your eyes at the pain of deku’s cock breaching your walls for the first time— the weight of him burns almost uncomfortably, he’s so much bigger than you anticipated and you dig your nails into his skin, enough to draw blood, in order to cope as you whimper wetly. “izuku!”

“shhh babylove, i know…’m so sorry. i know,” deku tries to comfort you, hating the way you cry for reasons other than feeling good. your pretty eyes are screwed shut, locking away the gems he treasures so much. he wants to stop, he should stop— he promised to never hurt you in any way shape or form ever again, but here you are clamping down on him with this tiny and wet virgin cunt...and he feels so fucking good.

midoriya should feel guilty for liking the way your body wriggles under his in slight pain, the way you drip and feel so fucking tight around him even though he’d given you his fingers.. you’re barely even half way down him, trembling legs loose around deku’s waist while he holds his hips back from cantering all the way into you. “it’ll all feel so good in a moment, promise you sweet girl,” deku slurs, already pussy drunk as he manages to sheath another inch into you. suddenly, he perks up with an idea and his fingers that remain free lean away from your bodies and dip into your frosting—he smears it against your neck and valley between your breasts before reaching between your impossibly close bodies and rubbing some into your clit.

“izu...wh-what are you doing?” comes your small voice, a sweet melody to the sluice noises your sex makes with every trace of izuku’s fingers against your frosting covered bud. already you feel looser, velvet walls beginning to welcome his dick instead of reject it, bliss building up in your veins instead of that uncomfortable sting.

midoriya continues to play with you there, easing the burn as he puts out hurtful flames, choking on his groans with every flutter that ripples through your increasingly wet hole. “trust me, s’gonna help, doesn’t that feel better already?” with every circle drawn against you, your juices mixing with frosting, comes another inch of deku’s cock pushing against unused and ribbed walls until he’s right at the hilt, finally buried all the way inside of you. like before, izuku leaves you seated right on the edge of another orgasm, both of you stilling to revel in the way your bodies finally connect and make one whole. izuku waits for you, for the throbbing pain to fade away as your pussy adjusts to his size, pressing butterfly kisses across your face while you stop your run from the forest just to feel. “i’m going to move now, okay angel? it might hurt again,”

“c-can you make me cum, would that help?” you whisper into the chill air, hips shifting beneath deku’s as he starts to draw his own back. a non-committal ‘yes’ is uttered against your neck as he prepares to take you, tongue beginning to roll over your skin to distract you and taste the frosting that covers old love bites. you don’t know what part of your question he’s agreeing to, but you don’t care— for deku brings back the stimulation of your clit right at the same time as his cock pulls away from your selfish walls and stretched out hole. “ohmygod!” you squeal in surprise, a small orgasm washing over your body like waves on a shore, you spill honey and molasses against your gooey sexes, providing deku with the lube he needs to make love to you properly.

“god, you’re so pretty when you’re cumming for me, babydoll…” izuki tells you with a dizzy and seraphic gripe, driving his hips forward to fill you up again. his face ducks into the other spots where he’s laid frosting over your skin, its sweet vanilla flavour tangling with the salt from the light layer of sweat that coats you too. deku makes quick work of licking it up in order to distract himself, because if he sees the way your angelic face twists with newfound arousal and thrill, he’ll lose his mind and fuck you too hard to cope. that or he’ll burst and cum before he’s even had a chance to take you to high heavens. “‘m gonna fuck you now, promise to make you feel good.”

looping your arms around the back of his neck and losing yourself in the depths of his soft dartmouth hair, your words come out as susurrant in the darkness of the back room— catching in your throat and trembling towards their end as deku sets a slow and intimate pace to his thrusts. “you could never make me feel anything other, izuku...please give me your all,” you feel his cock pulse, sheathed inside your gummy walls mid-thrust, blood rushing through your body with every passionate rock of izuku’s body into yours. he overwhelms you, the demon in the forest taking your hand and pulling you through the canopy into divine devoir, telling you with the rustling leaves and the groans of your trees, of your izuku...to accept the love and lust he has for you.

tanned skin, cut deep with scars, feels slippery, slick against yours as izuku’s cock takes the dive into your virgin heat— the heavy vein on the underside of his shaft mapping out new pleasure points inside of you and committing them to memory for the next time you make love. the next time won’t be the last, nor will any time after that, because after years of chasing, deku doesn’t plan to let you go. the words hang like mist in the air he breathes over his lips, but his body tells them better, the way he leaks and lines your inner cunt with his aroused signature is enough to say what he can’t.

so instead of speaking, he grunts and groans into your neck, between your bouncing breasts and shoulder blades as he draws on them with dollops of frosting and bites or nips, or sucks it away until blossoms of purple and darker shades form against your sweaty skin. the air around you grows humid, the scent of vanilla and cookies and sinful sex beginning to waft through it. izuku slips in and out of your puckered hole with newfound ease, the clear and gooey strings of your last orgasm clinging to his cock and your puffy pussy lips help to guide him, to follow the channel of your cunt and claim it as his own. “you’re so wet, you’re so good, takin’ a big cock like mine and all on your first try,” deku simpers between the bruising paintings he leaves against you, barely audible against the slow build of skin slapping against skin and your sexes squelching in combination. “can’t believe i’m the first to claim you, gonna be for your first for everythin’,”

although your pupils are dilated and darkened from your epic high on lust, your gaze falls onto izuku’s face and how it twists with impassioned heat, his brows furrowed with concentration while he churns up your insides and shapes your pussy into the form of his weighty girth— making it so that no one can pleasure you the way that he does and that when you look at his face, you only see constellations in the night sky of his forest, ones that tell you… you’re getting high of off sex and balls that slap against the curve of your ass. you’re high off of dopamine flooding your brain with every jam of izuku’s blunt and angry red tip against your g-spot. you’re high off of him and the love you’ve been harbouring for him all this time.

“want you to be my one ‘n only,” you tell izuku earnestly and through hiccuped mewls— your hips lifting to suck more of deku into your cunt now that you can, and the only burn that you feel is the one from his hot body, stuck to yours along with the stacks of delectation in your lower belly. all caused by izuku midoriya himself. you’re grateful that shinsou wasn’t the one to have taken this from you, that you’d steered clear of lonely one night stands and random passionate flings. because all that waiting, all that longing meant that you could share this loss with deku, to start a new path into the untouched clearing with deku.

there’s no one else you could imagine holding you like this, pumping their cock into you so hard that your juices stream from your pussy and decorate his balls, especially when his tip kisses your cervix. there’s no one else you could want, except for him. “n-no one else can have me like this,” you say, earning a stuttered breath from deku.

you feel his cock twitch from your words, curving up to press against the soft spongy spot that has your creamy cunt choking him out. “don’t...d-don’t say stuff like that while i'm inside you baby...makes it so much harder,” izuku whines with tears docking in his eyelashes. he could cry from how good your hole feels clamping down on him. the hard ruts of his hips into yours, strokes of his dick against your molten sugar, gummy walls start to slow into rough grinds— his hips moving in smooth circular motions and pelvis rubbing harshly against your clit. “you make me wanna lose control,” deku can only soothe himself by slathering another patch of frosting against your collarbones, fangs sinking into the flesh and pink muscle scooping up what he’s laid down.

“you can with me, you can do anything you want with me...jus’ wanna feel you izu,” you lament zealously, pushing against izuki’s chest until he’s leaning up right and you’re able to sit up and rest back against your palms on the metal table creaking beneath you. at this change in position, you’re both able to see the exact point at which your bodies meet and witness the sheen of creamy white that’s started to gather at the base of izuku’s cock every time it pumps in and pulls out of your dripping, greedy mound. the pro hero can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the sight, increasing the pace of his languid rolling hips just to see the way your pussy responds before spitting onto his cock and creating more dirty deluging sounds. the slick paints his strong thighs and stains yours as izuku grabs ahold of them and pins them down to the table to keep you spread.

reaching for the ruined bowl of cookies ‘n cream icing, you dip two fingers into it and move your upper body forward until you’re close enough to drag them over midoriya’s neck and your lips are within inches of latching onto his skin. “f-fuck, sweetheart, what are you doing?” deku mutters, spit pooling on his tongue, ready to drip it onto your sexes as they slap together— the sound echoing through the empty backroom.

“wanna try to make you feel the same way i do, wanna mark you too,” you say, voice barely audible over the way he ploughs into you with new vigor, bullying and bombarding your insides, turning them to nothing but mush and sending shockwaves of delight crackling through your veins. without missing another beat, you latch onto deku’s neck and suck, attempting to paint midnight blue into his skin and lay your own claim.

teeth and tongue abuse the spot on his neck, sweat dotting the pro hero’s brow and adding to the humid bubble surrounding your bodies dancing passionately in the dead of the night. “atta girl, you’re so good to me...shit,” izuku curses into your hairline, large hands going from gripping your waist to dancing up your back so that his fingers are able to grip at the roots of your hair and force you closer to his neck to give him a hickey. the drive of his cock into your sopping pathetic pussy never lets up, making a home for itself in your raw and used sex.

when you pull back to admire the flowering roses of blue you’ve created against deku’s timbre skin, he groans basily from deep within his throat— the sound vibrating through the cavity of his chest and shooting straight down to your creaming core. “you’re gonna kill me with this cunt, sweet girl. gonna ruin me so ‘m only ever thinking of you...is that what you want?” deku practically sobs, enchanting you and tilting your head to face his so he can place a lingering and sugar coated kiss against your wet lips.

his emerald eyes are crystalline with love and lust for you, and you alone, making your tummy warm and your candy cane heart turn to liquid sugar. you can taste the saltiness of tears on your tongue as your mouths slot together perfectly but you can no longer tell whose pellucid teardrops are whose and where they’re coming from as your bodies stay tangled, moving against one another in sticky and sensual movements. “‘s all i’ve ever wanted, for you t’be mine and for me t’be yours,” you say broken down by sheer yearning for the man you’re making love to— accepting harder assails of deku’s heavy girth inside of you.

“then i’m yours, fuck everything else, my heart is yours, angel.” izuku affirms, panting avidly into your mouth as his hands drop to the globes of your ass to pull you back and forth on his dick. after one last dollop of frosting and another delphinium flower sucked into your lover’s shoulder you lean back on your elbows, and match his thrusts with jumps of your hips into his, watching as streams of your arousals seep to the table beneath your bodies. you begin to head down a winding path in the smokey woods, the wildfire from before having surrounded you until your senses are overwhelmed with one another and you’re both climbing to your peaks. “can feel you ‘bout to cum, you’re chokin’ my cock...gettin’ so fucking tight around me,”

“take me to heaven, izuku,” you plead him with glass stained eyes, taking in his rosy star cheeks and his handsome face— a matched expression of craving scrawled across it. “wanna cum on your cock for the first time,” you clamp down hard on deku, pulling small ropes of precum from his tip while you chase him into the blinding white flames— coaxing him to take all of your body as you offer it up to him. you want him to cum, to be the only cause of his pleasure from here on out. “wanna feel everythin’ with you...”

pushing you to lay back, deku cages your body against the table, letting it rock from the sheer force of his hips ploughing into yours as his angry cockhead bares down hard against your cervix. his golden arms flex as they hook beneath your thighs, to drag you up to meet his unforgiving pace and izuku presses his forehead to yours, emerald stone eyes shining with tears beneath artificial white light before he speaks “i can’t— fuck, baby… i can’t hold back...need to cum soon, i can’t fucking hold back when i’m with you,” he stumbles over everything that he says, lips slipping over yours in slow and lazy motions unlike how he pounds into you. midoriya cups your head with one hand, pulling you flush against him and the other descends the planes of your flesh to toy with your clit once more. “i love you so much, you know that right? fuckin’ love you…”

“you love me?” you ask him in a moan, though you already know the answer. you also know that hearing him say it may push you over the edge for the final time. “please say you love me— f-fuck…say you love me, zu,”

brushing a thumb over your left cheek with the hand that cups your head, izuku offers you one of his warm smiles— reminding you of all the reasons you fell for him, reminding you of the sanctuary of your bakery and all the nights in it that you’ve shared. “i love you angel,” he whispers, slipping his lips against yours for one final kiss before the earth beneath you shatters and the gates of heaven open just for you; his tongue grazes yours in the heat of your mouth as his dick brushes up against your g-spot, launching you into your high. you cum hard, the life in your lungs swept away from you as every single one of your neurons fire at once. you moan loud, the sound swallowed by midoriya while his stuttering thrusts guide you through your orgasm— release gushing out of your hole and staining his tummy and pelvis.

you’re still coming around when izuku falls into his own high, his pretty green eyes locked away as they screw shut— whimpers coating his lips like glaze as your spasming cunt leads the way through his orgasm. “cum for me zu, love you s’much...keep comin’ for me,” you coo to him sleepily, love flooding your veins as he humps you desperately and pulls out at the last minute to paint your soft tummy with his potent white seed; letting it slick the spot where your abdomens meet while his cock twitches and softens between you.

silence lays thick in the air aside from your laboured breathing and the soft smooches the pair of you give to one another. izuku chuckles breathily into your neck, using his arms to pull away and hover above you. “it’s about time, huh?’ he says, kissing your nose with a lovestruck grin.

“mhm,” you nod, reaching up to brush your thumbs over his freckles, memorising every one of his details to convince yourself that everything is real and that pro hero izuku midoriya really does love you, the clumsy little baker girl. “it only took us two years, a couple thousand of my bakes and a bowl of frosting.”

“but i wouldn’t have had it any other way,” izuku tells you fondly, finally pulling off of you and helping you to sit up. he’s about to scoop you into his arms and take you up to your apartment above the bakery so that the pair of you can shower and rest; when his phone goes off from somewhere in his discarded sweatpants. locating it and bringing it over to you along with his shirt, he lets you slip on the material and lean over his shoulder to read the text alert— which makes his face flush with red and causes you to burst out laughing.

— INCOMING TEXT FROM HITOSHI SHINSOU:

are you guys done yet? midoriya i know i sent you over to fix my best friend but fucking her a floor below me isn’t exactly what i meant. whatever, just make sure you fuckin’ sanitise my kitchen before opening hours tomorrow. losers.

[eulchu]

LET'S TALK: DREAM AND THE DREAM STANS

PART 2: DREAM. TO THE ANTIS

so. let's be real. dream has made mistakes. he's been very stupid and very inexperienced in the past. that's something we all acknowledge. no surprise here, even dream himself does.

i'm not going to make this post to advocate for dream rights or talk about his growth as a person. there's plenty posts that talk about that. i'm sure i've made one or two. instead, i want to talk about something a little more... controversial.

see, i would be totally fine with the general internet making dream own up to his fuck ups (if only it wasn't so fucking repetitive. move on, people. this isn't celebrity.com talking about the possible haylor 10 year reunion, whatever the fuck that means). totally down, super dandy, if people wouldn't hold this guy on such different grounds to the rest of the internet.

let's talk now about the dehumanization of dream: dream, who was 20 when he started. who was terrified to lose the very thing he'd read books for, lost sleep over and studied to the very t to achieve. who hadn't had one PR class in his entire life. who woke up one day and found half the world had turned against him.

why is it that dream's side of things is never considered? no one is ever willing to put themselves in dream's situation, except his own fans, who get automatically dismissed for being dream stans. if we're gonna talk about dream's fuck ups, can we at least acknowledge the world's fuck ups with dream? the narrative has been pushed to extremes, to the point where dream, the very main character of his own controversies, feels like a passing trinket through his own array of hate comments and death threats. emotionless and inhumane. 2-dimensional.

comments like "the reasons to dislike dream continue to multiply" and "with big popularity is, of course, gonna come some hate" defy the whole point that many of those who critique dream are trying to make. how can you hang dream for 'enabling toxicity' by 'not doing enough' and then completely condone toxic actions sent his way? not in a completely direct way, maybe. they're not saying it's okay. they are, however, discussing it with a tone of normality that enables such behavior.

stans will claw your eyes out in an attempt to defend their celebrity, or if they think it will benefit them. these people though? their only purpose is to make him feel bad about himself. people make fun of him for saying "it's not my fans, it's people who hate me" because they think, okay, it's not their fans, but it HAS to be someone else's fans. because that's fandom logic. it's NOT. it's no one's fans. there's not one movement behind dream's antis, except their shared desire to see dream have a mental breakdown, or worse.

no one ever acknowledges this. it goes beyond fandom culture discussions. when i read the title of a video called 'how dream became a target' i was expecting to see a little more than just "stan culture was his downfall" because it wasn't. i wish the general commentators who do research to put out videos like this one would take one second to realize that this isn't about fandom culture. dream IS the target. not of stan failure. he's a genuine target crowned by thousands of people who have no connections to fandoms or fan culture.

it's genuinely scary to think that a 22 yo has to endure real and serious threats against his life for existing. this isn't some silly one direction stan who tells you to die because you didn't correct someone's name correctly. this is grown people who want to see dream dead no matter what he does and says, simply because their hatred runs THAT deep. completely unfounded. no one's ever fucking willing to talk about that. at this point i'm not sure any of them are even aware, or if they care enough.

what's with the double standard? people who praise themselves on having 'critical thinking skills' go and contradict themselves, displaying such a case of personal bias that is, frankly, embarrasing to read. i don't think we're asking for much. i don't think wanting dream to be treated like a human being is too much of a stretch. in fact, dehumanizing someone to that extent makes you far worse than anything dream's ever done.

[britishboystm]

Yoga Antics | Fred Weasley 18+

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut 18+ (minors dni!), unprotected vaginal penetration, male masturbation, kissing, swearing, fluff

WC: 2.9k

Summary: Y/N gets into yoga. Now Fred wants to get into Y/N...

A/N: A little something something while y’all wait for the next chapter of TDWM. Enjoy ya horny bastard!

•••

Stress management was something that you had grown to value a great deal in your free time. Even more so when you wound up marrying a Weasley twin.

It wasn’t that you didn’t absolutely adore your husband. You loved him with every fibre of your being. It was true however that sometimes you just needed a moment to yourself to unwind and recuperate, especially when living with such a hectic personality like Fred.

On the hunt for new tactics to tend to your mental health, you came across yoga, a muggle activity that Hermione had been raving about once her and Ron came back from her hometown during the Christmas break. She had said that her mom got her into it and how it made her stress levels drop drastically.

Admitly, you were skeptical at first. The idea of twisting and contorting your limbs to relax your racing mind seemed ridiculous. A simple spell should have been able to do the trick just fine, but alas one did not exist for such a thing, so you were left with not much to work with.

Hoping to persuade you, Hermione handed you a book from across the kitchen table while Ron and the twins laughed about some absolute nonsense in the living room of your home.

“Trust me Y/N. I’m usually a cynic myself about these things, but when I tell you yoga changed my life,”

She quickly glanced over at the boys to make sure their attention was averted elsewhere before leaning in so only you could hear.

“You would not believe the sex I’ve been having. Ever since I started doing yoga, I’ve been able to do things with my body that I could never imagine even in my wildest dreams.” Your eyes expanded instantly upon hearing her saucy confession. It was very unlike Hermione Granger to be so flippant about something as personal as what her and her husband did behind closed doors.

“Hermione!” You squeaked out as you shot your hands up to your flushed cheeks, embarrassed at the thought of your brother in law and best friend/sister in law in any kind of compromising situation. The image was now ingrained into your brain, an image you could easily do without no less.

Hermione lightly giggled but quickly covered it up with a cough when she noticed Ron and the twins look over at the two of you with interest.

“Everything alright ‘mione?” Ron asked, clearly oblivious to the raunchy conversation taking place between the whispering women.

“Nothing, go back to whatever you were doing.” She spoke, pursing her lips to hide a smirk. He gave her a look that read what are you up to over there? but quickly dropped it when he turned back around to continue the conversation he was having with his older brothers.

“I’m serious though, it has been an absolute godsend. I’m sure you and Fred can both get something out of it.” Your cheeks grew an even deeper red at the thought of what all of that might entail.

“Thank you for the advice Hermione. I’ll keep it in mind.” Maybe you would give the book a quick look through, if you were able to find any time during your insanely busy schedule.

“Love, time to head out?” Ron spoke as he stood up from the couch and brought over his finished cup of tea to the sink for washing later.

“Yes, we best be going. Remember what I said Y/N.” She nudged the book further towards you and got up to pull you in for a warm embrace.

“I’ll see you soon.” You spoke, giving her a warm friendly rub on the back before she went over to the door to get her ballet flats on.

“Y/N, always a pleasure.” Ron came over with a dopey smile, opening his arms to give you a big bear hug.

“Bye Ron.” He then headed over to Hermione, giving her his arm to hold on to as she struggled to get on one of her shoes.

“Only thing I’m good for, it seems.” Everyone laughed as Hermione rolled her eyes and smacked him the chest playfully.

“Oh shut it Ronald,” She jeers before opening the door.

“Bye!” The couple speak in unison as they head out the door, Fred closing it behind them.

“Well, I best be off too. I think I’ve left poor Angelina with the kids long enough.” George let out a sigh, bracing himself for what he knew he would be coming home to.

“Good luck with that mate.” Fred chuckles as he pats his brother on the shoulder.

“Bye love,” George speaks as he comes in for the usual kiss on each cheek with you.

“Bye George. Tell Angie we say hi.”

“Will do.” And then he makes his way out the door, Fred once again closing it behind him. He then turns around and looks down at you, a sly smirk dancing along his lips.

“Alone at last.” He groans before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Gah! You big idiot, if you drop me I swear to Godric!” You screech out. Fred let’s out a laugh before abruptly bending his knees, pretending to lose his grip on you. Your hand comes in contact with his back with a loud smack.

“I’m serious Fred, don’t do it!” He chuckles again before plopping you down on one of the couches in the living room. He shifts about so he was now straddling your waist. His hair, which he had been growing out, covered his face slightly. You brought your hand up to caress his light stubble ridden cheek.

He sighs out in contentment and flutters his eyes shut, leaning into your touch and kissing the knuckle of your thumb.

“Hi.” You say sweetly with bright sparkling eyes as you begin to twirl his fiery red locks between your delicate fingers.

“Hi.” His soft voice makes your stomach flutter. To this day you still experienced the same excitement you would get when you first started dating Fred back in school.

“Can we have sex?” He asks out of the blue.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his request. Ever since you tied the knot, the mystery and suspense your sex life once had began to simmer. Being upfront about both of your wants and needs became a part of the beauty of your marriage. No secrets were kept and no childish games were played. If one of you wanted it, all you had to do was ask.

“Only if you carry me, ‘m tired.” You spoke, going back to playing with his hair.

“Works for me.” His face lit up as he lifts you up off of the couch and carries you bridal style up to your shared bedroom.

You had to admit, Hermione was right.

The morning after that visit, you began to read tidbits of the book she gave you.

Not wanting to answer a billion questions, you kept the material out of your husband's sight. You knew he would become super curious and make you explain everything to him, and having just begun learning yourself, you decided it was best to keep it hidden away. Again, this concept was feorgein to the wizarding world so you couldn’t blame him.

It really did work out perfectly. Once you felt that you had gotten the hang of it, every morning after Fred left for the shop, you would set up in the living room and practice your yoga.

It honestly felt awful at first. Your body was so tight and tense that you had almost given up completely after your first time doing it.

But not wanting to throw in the towel so early, you kept it up until you began noticing a slight change in your body. Little things like being able to touch your toes or go into a deep lunge were gratifying and it almost became a bit of a drug to you. Not to mention it helped you sleep like a baby.

Fred was also starting to notice a difference. Knowing you were tight all over, sex usually consisted of fairly mild positions that didn’t put to much of a strain on your body. But that one random night in which you were suddenly able to bring your legs up to wrap around his neck as he pounded into you set off alarms in his head.

You had done something and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

That was a while ago.

Since then, you had fully converted to a life of zen, and yoga was your remedy to all of the worries that plagued your mind. Mornings were becoming easier and easier to face as Fred would shut the door behind him and you would pull out your yoga blocks and mat.

And this morning began like any other. The sun seeped through your white translucent curtains which made Fred groan in irritation. He hated getting up in the morning.

He turned over to face you and slowly opened his eyes, watching you shift about and slowly begin to wake up yourself.

“What time is it?” You spoke, nuzzling your face into his bare chest.

“7:15.” He was able to croak out in his scruffy morning voice.

“Off to work then?” You asked, finally looking up at him with this innocent and soft look that never failed to make him turn into a puddle of emotions.

“Off to work indeed.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, flopping on to his back to allow himself to wake up more.

“You're going to be late if you don’t get a move on.” He smiled at this before deciding to scoop you up into his arms so you were now laying on your stomach on top of him.

“George can manage for a bit can’t he?” He asked as he moved your crazy morning hair out of your eyes so he could get a better look at you. Your chin rested against his sternum as you rolled your eyes.

“Remember last time you tried to pull that stunt? He threatened to hex you.” Fred winced at the memory.

“Better not then huh?” He grimaces slightly, already knowing the answer to his question.

“Well unless you are willing to have your hair be green for the next year, then yeah I wouldn’t. Now stop stalling and get your arse up!” You say, pinching his hip which makes him arch up slightly underneath your touch.

“If you do that again I may never get out of bed.” His smirk would usually get to you but no one could ever get between you and your yoga sessions. Even Fred Gideon Weasley.

“Nice try Casanova, that isn’t going to work this time,” You lifted the sheets off of both of you and got out of bed to take a shower.

Later that morning, Fred ran over to you, pressing a kiss to your temple before grabbing a orange from the fruit bowl and rushing out the door for work.

You smiled knowingly, waiting for at least a minute before jumping up from your spot on the couch and ran back into your bedroom. Never in your life had you been so excited to wear spandex.

Once your setup was organized, you quickly got into child’s pose, hoping to give your begging joints and muscles a gentle wake up. It felt so good that the groan you emitted covered up the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Fred was back.

He had come from downstairs, having forgotten important paperwork he had to fill out for some possible investors. But the heavy package of documents seemed to have slipped his mind for a second time when he came across your arse stretched out in the bent over position.

His trousers tightened almost instantly and his finger had to come up and tug at his shirt collar that had suddenly become too tight.

Unaware of his presence, you continued your late morning with no care in the world. Feeling satisfied, your body moved up into a downward dog. Your lower legs and ankles gasped out in gratitude as you slowly leaned deeper and deeper into the upside pose.

That’s when you saw him.

Between your legs, you were able to notice a pair of brown dress shoes, one tapping away impatiently. Your eyes went wide and your throat let out a squeak, making you collapse to the floor and quickly turn to look up at your amused and very turned on husband.

“So this is what you’ve been doing when I’m away?” Your cheeks were all flushed, partly from the blood rushing to your face when you were upside down and partly due to Fred looming over you in a dominating stance.

“Fred I-.” You quickly tried to cover your tracks. Explain that it was a stupid thing Hermione told you about and that it didn’t matter.

“Hush love, I’m not mad.” He said through a relaxed chuckle.

“You’re not?”

“How could I? You are so fucking fit babes.” Your cheeks burned stronger and your eyes flitted down to the mat beneath you.

“Hey dove, no need to be shy. I liked what you were doing there. What was it anyway?” He was now crouched in front of you, lightly tracing his thumb against your cheek.

“Yoga, supposed to make you feel less stressed and more flexible.” You could see the gears turning in his head.

“Oh so I have yoga to thank for the amazing shagging we have been having recently then?” His comment made you giggle, making him swoon in return.

“Show me more. I want to watch.” God he knew how to make your stomach twirl. His face was no longer soft, but rather dark and naughty. The lust that was connecting the two of you caused your leggings to dampen. You shifted, now feeling slightly uncomfortable with sitting in your own wetness.

“What, you feeling uncomfy? Here I’ll help.” Before you could respond, he laid you on your back and dragged you towards him along the mat, his hands gripping the back of your thighs.

“Shall I take these off then?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in question. He was playing a game and he knew he had already won.

“Yes please.” Your voice was breathy and soft. He aggressively grabbed the waistband of your legging and tugged them down your legs.

Once they were in a wet mess somewhere in a corner of the living room, he bent down between your legs to pull you in for a kiss. Your hands went up to his hair and your legs wrapped around his torso, slightly grinding up into him.

His lips detached from yours and he looked down to notice your desperate actions.

“Awe love, you all worked up now?” He was obviously teasing you. Hell if anything, he was more bothered then you were, but he was always better at keeping his emotions below the surface.

“Want you to show me what you were doing again. This time in your undies babes.” You nodded urgently and turned yourself around, going into a cow position.

His heavy breathing and warm palms on your arse cheeks made his presence very much known.

You pushed back slightly, hoping he would get the hint.

“Patient, I’ll deal with you in a minute. Want to see more first.” Gaining some power, you got up and pushed him back, indicating for him to move onto the couch, giving him a front row seat to what would become his favourite show.

You pulled out every suggestive pose in the book. At one point, when you were able to look over at his reaction, his tie had come undone along with some buttons and his hand was fisted around his cock.

He looked heavenly sitting there, one arm draped along the top of the couch and his head thrown back in pure pleasure. He should have been back to work by now but neither one of you cared.

“Fuck, keep it up love.” You wanted his finish, not his hand so you stopped your performance and crawled over to him, kneeling between his spread open legs.

Without speaking a single word, your mouth opened wide, your tounge stretched out in a plea for his cum.

“You want me down your throat darling?” You nodded, eyes shut in patience. His groans increased and your palms began to sweat as anticipation grew all through your body.

But nothing came.

One of your eyes opened in confusion only for you to be met with him coming off of the couch and pushing you back into the mat once more. He stretched your legs open wide and moved your thong to the side. There was no time to adjust as his length rammed into you. Instantly gripping his biceps you let out a cry of submission and pleasure.

“Feel so nice and warm. Want you nice and wide for me when I finish yeah? Are you going to finish with me little dove?” You could only let out a wail of acceptance as you sobbed.

His drilling quickened and quickened until you both finally were able to come as one, something you had yet to achieve in your relationship. He let out a surprised laugh at the accomplishment before collapsing on top of you in exhaustion.

“Thank Merlin for yoga.” He spoke through heavy breaths.

[ibijau]

Oh, here's a prompt! Nie Huaisang travels back in time to ensure that Jin Guangyao stays away from the Jin sect. When he gets back, he's disturbed to find that not only is Meng Yao now his stepbrother (or has at least become a very respected disciple of the Nie sect), but is also now engaged to Lan Xichen. Cue screaming and/or fainting. But at least Minjue is still alive, right?

It was surprisingly easy to make it all happen, much to Nie Huaisang's surprise. In stories time travel was always so complicated to orchestrate, with so much to plan for... but Nie Huaisang had just done it, and it seemed to be working well.

His first stop had been to Meng Shi, shortly after the birth of her son. He could have gone back further and prevented her from ever having that son, but... but at the end of the day, he'd been impossibly fond of Meng Yao even if he'd grown to hate Jin Guangyao. The solution, then, had been to visit his mother and make sure she didn't fill her son's head with impossible dreams.

It had taken some money to get Meng Shi out of the brothel for a few days, and she'd been quite suspicious of him at first. But Nie Huaisang had been a gentleman, and she'd warmed up to him a little. She'd even given up on trying to seduce him once he'd explained that while not opposed to feminine charms on occasion, he mostly cut his sleeve. She'd acted quite sorry for him when he'd explained that actually, he'd just gotten out of a long relationship that had ended badly due to some trust issues and a the betrayal of a man they'd believed to be their friend. Meng Shi had shared a few stories as well, some her own, most her colleagues'.

By the time they'd arrived in Lanling, Nie Huaisang had become quite attached to Meng Shi, and decided he might change his plans a little, depending on what would happen in the next few days.

Meng Shi was not happy to meet other women who'd had the dubious pleasure of sharing Jin Guansghan's bed. She was even less happy to talk to them and learn that none of them, not a single one, had ever received money or attention again after he'd left them, not even those who'd had a child. One of them, the servant of a powerful family of merchants, had gone begging at the door of the Jin sect when her three years old daughter had fallen sick with something nobody understood. She'd been sent home under threats of a beating if she ever showed up again, and her daughter had died.

That had been nearly four years earlier. Jin Guangshan hadn't been sect leader yet, but he'd been his father's favourite and most spoiled son, so he would have had the power to do anything he pleased, including sending a doctor to his daughter, or having her brought into Jinlin Tai to make sure no dark spirit was attacking her. He wasn't even engaged to his wife at the time, so it was impossible to use her to excuse his lack of care. And he'd known about the child's sickness, because he'd happened to be passing by when the mother came begging for help. It was he who had ordered she be sent away, annoyed by her crying.

Meng Shi had gone paler and paler as that poor woman told her tale of sorrow, clutching her son tighter against her chest. When Nie Huaisang and her had returned to their inn, she had asked him why he'd wanted her to meet those other women.

“I just don't like what he's doing,” Nie Huaisang replied, a little embarrassed that he hadn't thought she might get curious. It was stupid of him. Meng Yao surely couldn't have gotten his brains from his father after all.

Meng Shi, sitting on her bed, rocked her infant son in her arms in silence for a moment.

“They were all weak,” she said after a while.

“Who?”

“Those other women. They were all weak.”

Nie Huaisang tensed, fearing that she might announce she was cut of another cloth, that she would persevere where they had given up, but Meng Shi only sighed and kissed her son's forehead.

“He picked them so they were young and would have no one to turn to. Servants and prostitutes and unwanted daughters... he picked us so we'd have no one to turn to when he'd abandon us, no one to defend our honour and force him to pay for the children he made us have. Women like us, it's our own fault for getting pregnant in the first place, isn't it?”

Nie Huaisang stared at her, and realised she was right. He'd been so busy collecting names, he hadn't paused to wonder if there had been a pattern to Jin Guangshan's actions.

“Are there any more you want me to meet?” Meng Shi asked.

“No, she was the last one.”

“Then I suppose we'll started heading back to Yunping City tomorrow. I'll have to make new plans for...”

“No, we're not going back,” Nie Huaisang announced, startling her. “It's too unfair if you go back, you deserve better. Both of you deserve better!”

She blinked a few times, and gave him an amused smile, still rocking her baby. She didn't believe him, of course. Nie Huaisang could hardly blame her for that. After her last experience with a cultivator...

But Meng Shi really did deserve better. Nevermind that in a future he hoped to have now prevented, he'd desecrated her body to get back at her son, this was a different thing. Meng Shi was not a bad person. He'd once thought her guilty of ambition at least, but after a couple weeks in her company, he realised she'd just been desperate for a chance to escape her lot in life. He couldn't really hate her for that, even if it had led to such tragedies after her death.

Nie Huaisang liked her now that he'd met her, and he couldn't condemn her and her son to a worse fate than what they'd have known without him.

He needed a plan.

He needed a smart plan.

He had a plan.

“So, I might have lied a little, you're going back to the brothel,” Nie Huaisang said, earning an unimpressed smirk. “But not for long! I'm going to try something but... would you be willing to lie about who sired your son?”

“Why not? At this point, the truth won't get me much.”

“Perfect. Then I'm going to warn my sect that I have fathered a child, and that I'm unable to care for it at the moment. I'll have to write to them but... but I know Nie zongzhu will immediately send for you. He'll probably ask after me, he hasn't seen me in nearly a decade, but I know he won't have forgotten his cousin Nie Xingyu, and he'll do what's right for my son and his mother.”

And there was no risk of the real Nie Xingyu ever returning to ruin that story, Nie Huaisang knew. His father's beloved cousin, who'd become a rogue cultivator after an argument with their grandfather, had actually died a year or two before Nie Mingjue was even born. A Night Hunt accident, one which Nie Huaisang had discovered by chance while investigating some of Jin Guangyao's crimes. But he remembered his father always hoped to see Nie Xingyu return, always speaking so highly of that cousin who had been almost a brother to him.

Nie Huaisang's father would be delighted to meet his cousin's son, and if “Nie Xingyu” asked for it he would buy Meng Shi's contract in a heartbeat. It would only be a matter of convincing sect leader Nie then, and Nie Huaisang wasn't worried about that. His father had kept all the letters his cousin used to send and read them to his sons, so Nie Huaisang was confident he could imitate his prose and handwriting, not to mention he too carried the Nie seal to mark that letter.

At worst, if it didn't work, Nie Huaisang could always find the money somewhere to buy that contract in person and try to find somewhere to leave Meng Shi, but he'd rather know that she and Meng Yao were safe and sound in the Unclean Realm.

Meng Shi, of course, looked unimpressed by his plan. She still thought he was lying, or trying to sell wonders like other men before him so they could share her bed for a reduced fee, or demand more of her than they'd paid for. Nie Huaisang didn't mind. If people's opinions of him mattered, he would have chosen a different way to avenge his brother, wouldn't he?

-

It took nearly a month after Nie Huaisang had brought Meng Shi back to her brother, but one morning, from the room he'd rented across the street, he saw a small group of Nie cultivators go in. His father was among them, and when they excited the building, he was carrying little Meng Yao in his arms and chatting cheerfully with Meng Shi who seemed shocked at this turn of events.

Unseen by her Nie Huaisang smiled, and went to activate the talisman that would take him back to his own time. Hopefully this would have been enough to save Nie Mingjue. And if it hadn't... well, he knew how to travel to the past now.

-

Nie Huaisang opened his eyes. He was in his room, and yet not. This was what used to be his room when he was young, before he became sect leader. A little smaller, a little more private, with a view on a small private garden where he kept his favourite birds. Hisroom, the one he'd always preferred, and had only abandoned in a desperate attempt to be the leader he'd thought his people would need. If he still lived in this room, then it meant Nie Huaisang wasn't sect leader.

Delighted by this apparent victory, Nie Huaisang sprung to his feet and rushed out of the room, only to run head first into someone.

He'd ran into that person enough times that he knew them instantly, even before seeing their face.

“Well someone is in a hurry,” Nie Mingjue said with a laugh.

A laugh.

Nie Mingjue was laughing. Nie Huaisang couldn't even remember the last time he'd heard his brother laugh like this. Not since the Sunshot Campaign, he thought.

“Your cousins haven't arrived yet,” said someone standing just a step behind Nie Mingjue, her voice also full of laughter. “You didn't oversleep, don't worry.”

It took all of Nie Huaisang's willpower to look away from his brother (Nie Mingjue, happy, laughing, healthy) but he managed it, because that other voice was a little too familiar.

It was odd to find Meng Shi in her fifties when just a few hours ago, Nie Huaisang had seen her in her early twenties. Her hair had turned grey, there were wrinkles on her face, and she had exchanged the bold colours she used to wear at the brothel for the muted tones the Nie sect favoured. It suited her. Growing old suited her, if only because she would never have had the chance, had Nie Huaisang not changed her fate.

“I think he's not quite awake yet,” Nie Mingjue teased when Nie Huaisang stared too long, poking his little brother in the shoulder. “But at least I don't have to drag him out of bed. Can I leave the rest to you, auntie?”

Meng Shi smiled, and assured him she'd make sure Nie Huaisang was ready for his cousins' arrival. Nie Mingjue thanked her and left. Nie Huaisang almost ran after him, suddenly needing to touch him, to hug him, to make sure this was real, that he had truly...

“Now it's finally you,” Meng Shi noted, earning a curious glance. “I've realised a few years ago that you looked oddly similar to the man who helped me. Too similar to simply count it as family resemblance. But until today, you didn't look quite right either.”

When Nie Huaisang could only blink at her, she laughed.

“I thought so. I've been wondering for years, but... you did something to change what was meant to happen, didn't you?”

“I did. I wanted... I needed to save certain people.”

“Your brother,” Meng Shi guessed.

Nie Huaisang nodded.

“And my son?”

He nodded again. “Where is he? Is he well? He learned cultivation, right?”

Meng Shi smiled proudly. “He's one of the best in his generation, people keep telling me. He's married now, and living with his husband, but they come visit often. They wanted me to come live with them in the Cloud Recesses, but it's too cold for me over there, and I like the friends I've made here in Qinghe, so I... is something wrong?”

Nie Huaisang nodded, then shook his head. “His husband?”

“A-Yao is married to Lan zongzhu,” she explained. “I would have preferred if he'd married a woman, but Lan zongzhu is a very good husband to him, and they always seem so very happy when they're together. It's all a mother can truly wish for, isn't it? To see her child settled and happy.”

Nie Huaisang said nothing.

He did not run back into his room, didn't hurriedly prepare some ink so he could draw another time travelling talisman and set things right. It was tempting, so tempting. But Nie Huaisang resisted that temptation, and forced himself to smile.

“I'm so happy for them,” he mumbled after a while, and hoped he would learn to mean it.