#i think i'm done with linking every tag

[eupheme]

— you’ve got me wanting you

[part iii of sugar, sugar] | [part ii] [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 7.4k

tags: jealous/posessive!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, wingman!wade, flirting, feelings, (another short) miscommunication, immature humor, light angst, use of alcohol, threat of violence, use of alcohol and smoking, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, PiV, creampie

As the days pass, you think your time spent with Logan is pretty much perfect. Well... almost.

(Or - a dash of insecurity, some badgood advice from Wade, a near-fight at a bar, and the confession of overdue feelings.)

Those two nights spent with Logan turn into more.

The days are bleeding together, blurring. You fit well with him, you think. Together in Wade's apartment - spanning that space between their chatter and silence. Softening edges, though you think he's softened, too.

A stray cat coming around. 

Bristling, with narrowed, untrusting eyes. Slowly learning that he can lean into your touch. 

Your days since have been spent humming as you work. It had been an anchor once, this routine of yours. Getting up early used to give you something to get up for. Enjoying the whirlwind of prepping, measuring, making, decorating. 

Now - you're grateful for how quickly the day passes because it means you can't overanalyze. Because it means by the time you catch your breath at the end of the day, you're already heading home to him. 

Takeout was brought over to their apartment. A crappy movie with a hand curled around you, sending your heartbeat racing. The night ending at yours, hours between dusk and dawn spent learning every inch of each other. 

You think it's pretty much perfect.

Well... almost.

“Do you think Logan likes me?”

It slips out of you. Something that’s been worrying at you, a splinter trapped just beneath your skin. You regret asking almost immediately - the sun glinting off the silver needle as you push it through the lycra suit. 

“You mean the guy that’s been fucking your brains out for the past couple weeks?”

“Wade.”

“Oh, sorry.” He lines his knife up, poking a hole in the top of his styrofoam container - coaxing the waitress from lunch to give him a ‘take-home-margarita’. A cheerful “baby knife!” as he sheathes it again,” I mean the guy that’s been having totally-chaste-and-appropriate adult sleepovers with you?”

You understand what he’s getting at. Stalling, holding up his suit - another gash sewn shut with black thread, “You sure this is okay?” 

“Mhmm,” He hums, “Gives me that bride-of-frankenstein vibe I’ve always wanted. Besides, anything is better than before.”

“You insisted, you helpless little man-baby.” Al adds, from her lounge seat, “Learn to dodge.”

Wade splutters - your lips twitching, as you work.

“See what I live with?” He gripes, “Maybe the two of you outta trade. It’d be cramped, but I bet the three of us could sardine it.”

“You wouldn’t last a week without Althea,” You snort. A beat, before you gather the courage to circle back to the topic at hand, “And besides, that’s just it. I’m not sure he wants to sleep with me." 

The summer breeze feels better up here, on the roof. The whip of the wind cooling you, as you work your way across the once-again battered suit - propped up against the brick parapet. 

“Okay, time out. Missing link here.” Wade gives you a sideways look, before his head pivots, "You cannot hit me with this fake virginal act when I literally heard you two fuck an hour after you met."

A beat, "And like, pretty much every day since then. I think I even heard a howl last night-"

Your eyes roll, "Wade. He’s not a werewolf, he did not howl-"

"Well, not anymore.” Wade smirks, “And funny that you assume I meant the Moan Wolf, but I could have meant you-"

You groan, head cradled in your hands, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, we'll keep it down. It's just-"

It’s just you’ve been here before - this liminal space between an excellent physical connection, and more. You've done the hookup thing - casual, friends-with-benefits, lonely strangers. Thought you had learned how to keep your emotions in check, especially with those past experiences.

But you’ve never met someone like Logan before. 

He makes you feel bare. Soft-hearted and stripped down - wearing your feelings on your sleeve. Opening yourself up - only for your fingers to brush up against a brick wall, in return. 

Wade must catch your tone because he sets down the styrofoam container - the pink umbrella tucked against his ear. 

"Alright Sugarbuns, tell Papa Bear what's bothering you." 

You grimace at the names, another flicker of regret lingering in the corners of your mind. But you find yourself talking. Letting those worries flow from you in a rush.  

But Wade would know, wouldn't he? It's his friend, after all. 

"He leaves after."

His eyebrows raise, and you continue, "I mean, he'll stay for a bit but he always winds up on the couch by morning.  I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and he’s out there. I mean, I thought he'd want a bed, after where he's been staying, no offense-"

Thought he’d want to stay with you. 

You nudged at it once. Getting nothing more than a grumbled excuse about not sleeping well, something about nightmares. Something you accepted, only to find him tucked in your bed a few days later - curled in your sheets when you had rushed back to the apartment after leaving your phone. 

Hadn’t wanted to push, even if it confused you. Wouldn’t he want comfort, after a bad dream? You always did. 

"Offense taken, Blind Al and I are excellent bedmates," Wade interrupts, "But please, continue."

His joke eases you a little. Risking a sideways glance, finding him already looking at you.

“I like him, Wade. I just really want this to work out.”

He hums, sympathetically. Knowing all too well the complexities of like and love. How you feel deeper than you’re letting on - he always was perceptive, after all. 

A beat, before your head turns. 

"Do you think it's me?" 

He does laugh then, his shoulder leaning to bump yours, "Sugar, you have a two-hundred-year-old boyfriend who's gone through a massive amount of trauma and has an alcohol problem, and you want to know if it's you?"

"Fuck." The heels of your palms press into your eyes, "Okay, okay-"

"I literally traveled through the void with him, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles-style. The John Candy to my Steve Martin, and even after saving the world he still wanted to kill me."

"Wait," Your head lifts, "Why would you be Steve Martin in that scenario?"

“He’s the main character, as am I.” He barrels past your question, "The point is, if he didn't like you, you'd know. You just need to be-"

"Patient." You finish, "Yeah, I know." 

And you do know. Even since that first meeting, you've known that he's been eaten up inside. Cracks of the man beneath leaking through his gruff exterior, as you had sat together on that couch. 

But Wade called him your boyfriend, but he's not. Not really - no conversation to indicate that's how he saw himself. 

It just left you confused. Vulnerable. Enough that you did dumb shit like this - going to Wade for romantic advice. The man who proposed with a ring pop and thought that a prostate orgasm was a sign of being soulmates. 

"Maybe you’re giving him too much. Withhold a little," Al interrupts, making you jump, "That's what landed me my second husband. Begged for it like a dog, and was married the next month. God rest his soul."

Wade mouths an exaggerated “what the FUCK" at you, before shooting a dark look in her direction - only just then seeing her smirk.

"Oh, you’re joking? She came to us for help and you’re joking-” A sniff, as Wade turns back, "So anyways, don’t do that. Do something normal. Like internalize it, until it makes you snap."

His face screws up, as he adds, “Or, maybe try it? That bricked me up a bit-”

"Or,” Al adds, “Maybe you should just talk to him, Sugar."

Althea always knew how to cut to the chase and give the hard advice you needed to hear. You just wish you weren’t afraid of the answer.

‘You’re both right,” Your head dips against Wade's shoulder, “I owe you. Again.”

Silence lingering, though it’s not uncomfortable. Leaving you to think about what he said.

The suit passed over to him, when you tie the final knot, “Done.”

“Thanks,” A beat passes, as he gives you a sideways look, “Any chance you want to cash in on that favor tonight?”

You know better than to agree without more info - an eyebrow raising as you wait.

“Vanessa is coming over tonight.” Wade gives you a meaningful look, “It would be great to have the apartment to ourselves for a bit.”

The serious tone does not last, as he smirks, “I fully intend to break my months of celibacy the second the opportunity arises.”

“Months?” You hadn’t realized it had been that long. Thought he would have moved on, in some ways. 

“Years, actually,” He adds, casually, “Turns out my obvious romantic hangups plus this-”

A gesture at his face,” Are a total boner-killer. As well as having an elderly roommate, apparently. Especially one who won’t leave.”

You shoot him a sharp look at the self-deprecation, Al’s voice cutting through.

“I told you, I’m hitting the casino for singles night.”

“Okay. I can drop Al off and pick her up,” Your mind is already racing ahead, “And Logan and I can go out to dinner or something.”

The prospect is exciting. Despite the time spent together, you haven’t really gone on too many dates yet. After your long hours and his rotating work schedule, your meetings have mostly been late-night. Quick meals whipped up in your kitchen. A rotating pile of delivery menus. 

“That would be great.” He smiles, “Thanks, Sugar.”

“Of course.” You smile, before adding, “What are you going to make?” 

A frown, when he hesitates.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to wing it.”

“I wasn’t winging it,” He protests, “I was going to hit up ol’ reliable.”

“For a second-first date? You can’t do takeout from Buns and Roses.”

A sigh, as you turn to face him, tugging out your phone, “You should make something nice. I have this recipe bookmarked for engagement roast chicken. I’ll help you-”

He tugs your phone out of your hand, scrolling through the eight-paragraph opener before the start of the recipe. 

“Make this for her, show her you’re serious-,” You start.

Wade finishes, with a smile. 

“-and there’ll be a cock ring on it before midnight.”

You keep catching yourself looking at him.

It’s almost embarrassing how bad you have it. Still not used to seeing Logan like this - away from your small apartment. 

Seeing him at work was different - a very cognizant realization that you were on the clock. The counter between you like a barrier, even when you slip a coffee and pastry across it. A lightning-quick kiss pressed into his cheek. The relentless teasing from your coworkers, after. 

But here - crammed in a booth, his hand slipping just under the hem of your dress, a palm curved against your thigh - it’s something else, entirely. Even in this dark corner, you have to resist letting your hands wander. Eyes flicking to the deep cut of his button-down flannel - dark hair peeking out from the curve of his white tank. The blue and grey pattern pretty against his skin. 

A curl of smoke pours from his lips, a cigar fit between two fingers. 

Logan had been curious to find you in the apartment when he got home. The aroma of the roast chicken wafting through the space, as you talked Wade through the last steps. The slow sweep of his eyes over the pretty sundress you wore, tugged from the back of your closet. 

It hadn’t taken much convincing, when you asked him to get dinner out with you. Even with Althea in tow, safely dropped off for her night out. 

“This is nice.” You smile, and his eyebrow lifts.

A glance around the room.

Dinner spent at a local pizza joint - stories shared, wound between updates about his new job at the local lumber company. About Laura, who you met two weeks ago. So much like Logan that it still catches you off-guard. Shared expressions, shared tempers. 

You think that it must have been hard for both of them, this reunion. That comparison between the Logan in this world, those memories that stay with her. She views him the same - even you can see that. He’s told you it came as a shock, but it’s easy to see how he’s warmed, with time. Finding joy, within the shared grief.

The conversations spill over into a bar you know well. Unsure what to do with yourselves with the order of “staying away”, the sun still setting when you had stepped inside.

“Not sure nice is the word I’d use, sweetheart.”

“Anywhere is nice if I’m with you. I am sorry, though. I know it’s not-” Your hand waves, shyness creeping in as you lean into his shoulder, “Wasn’t sure where else to kill some time. Dopinder and Buck run a tight ship, it’s really not so bad.”

“Mm. Guess this is nice, then.” He corrects, a hint of a dimple as he smiles, “But you let me take you somewhere safer next time, yeah?”

“I’m safe with you.” 

You miss the way he looks at you, as you take a sip of your drink. The brush of his fingers against your skin. His voice going low, goosebumps rising as he murmurs in your ear. 

“How much longer do we have to stay out?”

A question that’s been on your mind as well. 

“Well, Al’s thing is over at ten,” Your teeth worry at your lip, “But, I guess we could sneak back early. It’s just, Wade-”

“What about Wade?” 

It’s unfair, how he crowds you in the booth. Torso twisting to face you. The warmth of his hand - how you’re aware of each and every movement he makes. It takes you a moment to answer.

“Wade is… Wade,” You manage, “But he doesn’t really ask for much. I owe him, you know?”

“You owe him?” He chuckles, “He’s lucky you stuck around after he tried to give you cocaine-”

“Hey,” You smile, “That was Al.”

That had been your second run-in with your neighbors. Only desperation had sent you over to the apartment, needing a cup of powdered sugar for a personal favor. Under-estimating how much you needed, in your rush to finish some cookies for a friend’s baby shower. 

Meeting Al instead. The powdered substance swapped when her roommate had rearranged the apartment as a prank. Only Wade bursting from the bathroom, a towel slung low from his hips, had saved you from disaster. The nickname had formed when you hadn’t written them both off. 

“And besides, Wade was the one who introduced me to you.”

Logan’s expression softens, “That is something, isn’t it?”

He holds your gaze for a long moment. Eyes drifting lazily down to your lips, with a low hum, then further. It sends a heat blooming in your cheeks, an unconscious press of your thighs together.

“I’m, um, gonna let Dopinder know we’re heading out.” You breathe, “He’ll worry if we irish goodbye.”

“You sure?” He husks, with another exhale of smoke - and you can feel the heat rising from your cheeks to your ears. 

“Yes,” It comes out breathy.

“Um, yeah. You finish that, and I’ll be right back.”

Your elbows pressing into the sticky bartop as you wait - watching Dopinder work his way through pouring pints of beer for a crowd of bikers, all in dark leather.

A glance over your shoulder, finding the booth tucked in the corner. The dark head of hair, the expanse of his shoulders - a thick arm slung across the back - as Logan waits for you. 

It makes you smile, and you almost miss the bump of a shoulder against yours.

“Oh!” You squeak, shifting to the side to make room, “I’m so sorry, I-”

The apology dies on your tongue, as you glance up at the man leaning against the wooden post at the end of the bar. Eyes drifting over the black field jacket, up to dark eyes. 

“Been a while, darlin’.” 

You inhale a breath, in surprise. Close to two years ago, if you remember right. Numerous meetings spread out over months, before he slipped out of your fire escape and into the early morning.

No note, no text. Walking out just as suddenly as he had appeared.

It had never been anything serious - he had made that clear - but you can’t pretend that it hadn’t hurt. 

“It has,” You agree, a low twist in your belly, “How have you been? Didn’t think I’d see you outside Hell’s Kitchen.”

Unable to help that flicker of worry, even after everything. It’s always been ingrained in you - thinking of others more than yourself. 

“Should ask you the same,” His eyebrow arches, “This isn’t your kind of place. Taking up mercenary work, beautiful?”

“I’m here with someone.” It comes out clipped, a glance over your shoulder - the nerves eased when you spot his form.   

“Mountain man?” 

A scoff - lip curling over sharp teeth, “Taking you to a place like this… You can do better than that. You can do-”

“You?” It’s your turn for your brow to raise, “We both know how that goes, Frankie. This-”

A pointed finger, gesturing around the room, “Was my idea. Things are different. I’m different.”

There’s the hint of a smirk - dark eyes that drag slowly down. Flicking back up to yours, as his voice pitches low, “I’m sure some things are the same.”

Your head shakes, “Not like that.”

There are lingering shades of purple that fade to yellow across his cheekbone. Never was good with this. All that time spent glancing out your window, waiting for him to show up, battered and bloody like he used to. All he did was keep you out, keep you at arm’s length.

Maybe that’s why you’re afraid of it happening again. A little shake of your head - a reminder that you need to be patient like Wade said. Logan isn’t him.

“I know what I want, and it’s-” The words die, as you look for him, again. Finding only an empty booth - your stomach tying up into knots. 

A palm touches at your hip, a chest pressing snugly against your back. Startling you, as you breathe, “Logan.”

“This asshole bothering you, sweetheart?” It’s growled out, Logan’s eyes fixed on the other man. 

“Nice guard dog.” There’s an amused appraisal - narrowed eyes, tongue trapped against teeth. “He do tricks as well?

The fingers at your hip curl, the smallest tug backward to bring you closer. The words ground out between bared teeth.

“You watch it.”

Christ. This was bad, you need to find your tongue - and quickly. 

You twist, a hand resting on his chest. Only now does Logan’s eyes drop to yours, the tight pull to his features only just ebbing.

“This is Logan,” You smile, your palm pressing over his heart, “He’s, uh, my-”

And for a brief second, your words fail you. The tension is thick enough to cut, acrid in the air. Would labeling this right now send him running? 

The man cuts through before you can finish.

“Frank Castle.” His eyes flick back to yours, as he adds, “Sure you can guess how we know each other.”

The muscles beneath your palm twitch. A light pressure against your hip, urging you away from the bar - the words low in your ear, “Alright. Let’s go.”

A nod, and you’re giving Frank a tight smile - letting Logan guide you towards the back. No more than a step taken before his voice cuts through.

“You still got my number?”

You shoot him an exasperated look, “Frank-”

“Gonna be back in town for a while, baby girl.” His arms cross, as he leans, “Call me when things don’t work out.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before a fist closes around the collar of his jacket. Logan stepping into his space, a forearm shoving Frank hard as he pins him against the post.

“I’ve had enough of your bullshit, bub.”

Fights are common in Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children, but you can’t say you’ve ever experienced one. Fear licks inside you, meeting Dopinder’s equally worried gaze as he starts to rush over.

Frank’s smile is dark, “You don’t want to start this.”

It’s met with a growl. Silver points peeking between the dips of Logan’s knuckles, the fabric straining in his tight grip.

“Fucking try me, you piece of shit.”

There’s a metallic click - the press of something cold against Logan’s groin. 

“Should shoot your dick off for that.” 

“Okay!” You shove between them, then. A hand on Logan’s arm, tugging - the other at his neck, trying to guide him back to you. 

“Hey. It’s okay,” It’s softer now, soothing, “Baby, let’s go.”

His hazel eyes are wild when they find yours. Face twisted in a snarl, deepened with the shadows cast in the dim room. Blinking, as he comes back to himself. A dark look as his arm eases - stepping away.

This time, it’s you that leads him towards the back exit. Something gritted out as you leave that you miss, but sends Logan bristling. An apologetic look thrown at Dopinder, before you’re stepping together through the swinging door, into the wood-paneled hallway. 

Ducking down one of the hallways, next to matching doors leading to bathrooms, and a storage closet. An exit sign, gleaming red at the end. 

The music and voices are muffled. His face silhouetted in the light of a vintage beer sign, his features outlined in gold as his back presses against the wall. A gritted, inhaled breath.

You haven’t seen him like this before. Seen him mad several times. Grouchy and annoyed with Wade. The sharp temper that hid his hurt when he thought you didn’t want him.

None of those moments match him now. You’re not sure what to make of it - the way your skin prickles. Something in your belly flutters, a warmth that drips from behind your ribs, settling low. You never wanted anyone to get hurt. But that look in his eyes, how quick we was to find you - it makes you inhale a breath.

“We-,” You start - your fingers still curled around his bicep, “We should talk about this. You okay, Logan?”

His eyes flick to yours, jaw working. The fury has bled from them, the sharp etches in his face easing, even as his expression stays guarded. 

“Yeah. ‘m fine.” Logan rasps, “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

A beat, before it slips from him, “Was he one of the ones Wade scared away?”

“What?” It takes you a long moment to remember. Your brow pinching, as you shake your head,” Frank? No. It was-”

The pull of his brow is back, his frown deepening with your explanation. 

“It was just casual.” You finish, lamely, “It wasn’t anything. Never was.”

“Didn’t sound that way.” It’s gritted out. 

His head turns, eye contact dropping. A hand, raking through his hair - pushing the dark strands back, “Listen. If you want to go with him, it’s fine.”

You’re left stunned for a moment. His jaw working, hands jamming into his pockets. It’s defensive - it’s familiar. 

“I don’t want to go with him-” You start, but it only makes him sigh. 

“Then what were you gonna say, Sugar?” The look he finally gives you is searching, “I’m your, what-, your neighbor?”

“No!” You cry, “I was going to say you’re my boyfriend, but you’ve never-”

Logan’s pitches low, “I’ve never what?”

Your shoulders droop. Curling around yourself, as you lean into the wall next to him. He leans, matching your height - trying to catch your eyes. 

“I don’t know, Logan.” It’s almost too quiet to hear. He might have, if he had been anyone else. “I told you I liked you the day after meeting you. But you…”

A little shake of your head, “You keep everything so close to your chest. You leave in the night. It’s okay, I just… sometimes I don’t know what to think.”

When his arms cross this time, there’s something in his eyes. A dark glimmer, the tug of his lips.

“You think that I don’t like you, sweetheart?”

A tilt of his head, a sharp edge slipping into his tone, “You think I wasn’t ready to tear that asshole limb from limb for talking to my girl that way?”

Something low in your belly twists, desire thrumming in an echo that radiates through you. A sharp inhale of breath at his words.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You manage, transfixed.

It’s easier, this time, for him to step into you. Hands ghosting along your neck. Tipping your face to his, so you can’t look away. Can’t miss what he tells you.

“If-, if I open up.” It comes out hushed, his words soft and low, “You won’t like what you see, Sugar.” 

You reach for him - fingers curling around his wrists, “I like what I see just fine.”

He huffs. The barest hint of a smile, before his expression goes solemn. 

“This,” The word is punctuated by the way his thumb sweeps against your cheek, “Never goes well for me. Sleeping on the couch puts me between you and anything coming through that door.”

Your pulse races with the remorse in his words. He’s touched on the barest of details of his past. Those small moments shared in the night you met, riddled confessions in the late nights that have followed. 

“And the things I dream about-,” His eyes go hazy - lost in a memory, “They pull me back. I don’t want to hurt you because I can’t tell them from reality.”

The words slip from you automatically, without thought. Guilt floods through you, an ache from wondering - doubting. 

“You won’t hurt me.” 

“I will.” He breathes, “Sweetheart, I will. It’s not an if, it’s a when.”

Your head shakes - a stubborn set of your jaw, “You won’t. Please don’t shut me out, Logan. Please try…”

He huffs - eyes dropping to your mouth, as he leans. Hands slipping to cup your head, angle you to meet the press of his lips. A soft sigh that you swallow, something tender in the way he draws you to him. A hand curling around your back, splaying between your shoulder blades.

“Give me some time, okay?” Logan murmurs, when the kiss breaks, “Let me draw out the first good thing I’ve had in a long time. Just for a little longer.”

“Don’t have to draw it out.” Your body still curves to his, anchoring yourself to him. A hand touching his jaw so this time, his eyes have to stay on you.

“You deserve good things, Logan.” Your mouth brushes his, “Let me give them to you.”

The sound he makes is almost wounded, as if he wants to protest. 

As if he wants to believe you.

Breath ragged, as his hands trace down to grip at your hips. Leaning into you, your touch. What you offer him. A thigh fitting between yours, nudging against your core - and you think surely he must see how your eyes darken.

The rapid flutter of your heart, how it races for him and only him.

“Yeah?” He husks, as if reading your mind, “You ready to get out of here, Sugar?”

“Bathroom.” You breathe.

“Can’t wait that long.”

He’s on you the second the door swings shut. Fingers twisting at the lock, as his head dips - mouth finding yours again.

There’s a desperation to his kiss this time. One that you match with the way your palms trace up his chest. Fingertips at his neck, tugging him to meet you.

A thrill shoots up your spine. You’ve never done anything quite like this before. The space behind your ribs is soft and tender from his confession - already breathless before he deepens the kiss.

Backing you up against the old, chipped vanity that lines the wall. The stalls hanging open - empty as his hands trail down your spine. Fitting beneath the curve of your ass, tugging you up to fit on the counter. 

Finding your jaw again - guiding your lips to his, meeting the sweep of your tongue as he fits between your thighs. 

“Been wanting to get my hands on you all night.” He breathes, against your lips, “So fucking pretty, you know that?”

It sends a pulse through you, down to where you’re already responding to his touch. Your knees close around his hips, urging him closer. 

“Logan, please,” You hum, fingers tugging at his belt buckle. A palm pressing against the front of his jeans, where his cock strains against the denim. 

His moan is ragged, bucking into your touch. Fingers tracing up your waist. Letting your tits fill his palm, as you work him free.

“This okay?” Logan rasps, eyes half-lidded, “Pretty fuckin’ filthy, sweetheart.”

It’s hard to hold back a moan of assent, when his lips presses against your neck. Open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, the scrape of teeth pressing into your jugular.

“Good,” He growls against your skin, “Would’ve bent you over that fucking bar if you’d let me.”

It’s possessive. It makes you shiver - a sweep of his tongue, the suck of lips as he marks you. The sharp sting of his bite fading into sweet bliss. 

“Need you.” Your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking. The lightest of tugs to bring him closer, your thighs inching further apart.

He groans, “You have me.”

The pretty dress you wear is pushed up to your waist. His palm cupping you, feeling your warmth before he’s tugging the fabric of your panties to the side. 

Need rushes through you. A heave of your chest against his as your mouth meets his, greedy. A tilt of your hips, a leg lifting to hitch around his waist. Your hand curling around the edge of the counter, the other guiding the tip of his cock against your slick folds.

“Hold on, honey.” Logan’s fingers slip against your pussy, nudging inside, “Gonna be sore.”

“I can take it,” You insist, pleading, “I can take you, wanna feel it.”

His eyes darken. A little inhale of breath, watching as your lips part as two fingers press deep. Your teeth already sink into your bottom lip, muffling a whine.

Slipping them free, after crooking inside you. Wrapping his hand around his cock, a rough stroke to smear your slick around him. Lining the tip up with your opening, as his hands fit against your waist. His hips pressed snugly against the chipped counter, as he begins to tug you to meet him. 

You can feel every inch, as he moves you. He splits you open, your shoulders arching against the dirty mirror as your nails bite into the laminate. A hand pressed against his chest, as you urge him to go slow. 

A held breath coming in a rush, as he slips deeper inside you with a grunt. Filling that ache you’ve been carrying - your eyes dropping down to watch the slick shine of his cock. Sinking into you with the slow saw of his hips, a clink of his belt with movement. 

“Just for me, yeah?” He rasps, a hand drifting down. Fingers splitting where he fills you, drawing slick tips up to circle your clit.

“Just you.” You nod, breathless. Rocking into his touch, taking more as you adjust to the weight of him inside you. 

His teeth flash white, in the dim room.

“That’s my girl.”

The moan you’ve been holding back slips from you, as you clench down hard around him.

He hums, “You like that?”

“Yes.” You whine. Reaching for him, as he tugs you closer. The slow plunge of his hips turning into a shallow grind.

Fingers circling and pressing, in rhythm with the heady drag of his cock against your walls. Your fingers grasping onto his arms, his shoulders - the kiss is messy when he meets the tilt of your head. 

Leaning into you as his tongue licks into the cup of your mouth, your tits pressed up against his chest. A broad hand slipping from your waist, curving against the swell of your ass and squeezing.

“That’s it,” He rumbles against your mouth - eyes half-lidded. A groan when you nip his lower lip - grinning at the way you gasp, when his hips surge forward, “Atta girl, taking me so well.”

Each swipe against your clit feels like a countdown - hips angling until he finds that spot inside you that makes your teeth click together. That slickens him up even further, until he’s pounding into your wet, tight heat. 

Your fingers pinch down. Breath going short, until you’re panting. Unable to do more than buck into his touch, as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you.

“Couldn’t even wait to get home,” Logan growls, “Needed this cock so badly, didn’t you?”

“Needed you,” You whine, hips rocking to meet his. Eyes fluttering shut, as the winding pressure builds, “Fuck, needed you. Gonna make me-”

The words break on a bitten-back whimper. Your muscles go stiff, bracing yourself in his arms. 

“Want you to look at me, sweetheart.” He coos, with that steady roll of his hips. Nudging deep inside you each time, as his fingers circle against your clit, “Eyes on me when you come, alright?”

Your answer is a breathless nod, as you listen. 

You don’t think you could look away if you tried. Not with him right in front of you. So close you can see the pull of his brow in concentration, the pretty shade of his eyes. 

Fixed on you, as his lips part. The soft pant and grunt as desire throbs in your veins, your fingers curling into a fist in his flannel.

“Come for me, baby.” He urges, “Wanna feel you, let me fucking feel you come.”

It’s there, swirling inside you. Liquid heat between your thighs, yanking you to an invisible edge. Leaving you to dangle, breath held -

“Oh my god, Logan-“

You’re falling - clenching down hard around him. His name is a chanted prayer as he fucks you through it - a ragged, pleased sound rumbling in this throat as you pulse around his cock. The slap of his hips growing louder, more wet as your release coats his cock. His base and balls sticky, when they press flush to your cunt.

“That’s it,” He growls. Fingers leaving your clit, so he can grip your waist. Drive into you harder, chasing his own impending release.

“Come on, that’s my girl.”

It’s pulled from you, sweet and smooth.

“Yours.”

Logan’s moan is ragged, coming from low in his chest. His pace stutters - the steady thrust turning sloppy. A messy rut of his hips, grinding himself as deep as he can before he finds himself again. 

You forget the dingy bar. The flickering overhead lights. Filth and phone numbers scrawled on the walls. Everything narrows down to him.

How he holds you. Looks at you -  so much said in the way they soften. You don’t know how you ever could have doubted. 

Blinded with uncertainty. Fears from before, that will no longer have a hold on you. 

“Logan,” You sigh, your heel digging into the curve of his ass. Eyes still on his, as your plea slips from you, “Fuck. Don’t pull out.”

You want to feel him. The throb of his cock when he comes deep inside you. How he lingers, slick and dripping from you - now, and later, and tomorrow. 

A gritted-out groan, as the sharp tempo increases. Fingers pinching hard enough to bruise, and you’ll wear him there, too - fading marks against your hips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks - that look back in his eyes. Pupils blown wide, as his lips part with a groan, “Gonna be my good girl, gonna fucking take it?”

“Mhm,” It pitches high, as you nod. 

“Fuck.”

It comes out choked, as he loses himself in you. One, two, three thrusts, and Logan is growling - hands slipping down to tug you flush against him, as he spills inside you with a muffled shout. 

Hips grinding himself deep into you, his words a rough rasp in your ear, “Take it. Just like that.”

He pulses inside you, filling you with each twitch of his cock. Marking you fully, as he tests his teeth against your shoulder. A moan, as your thighs hitch around his hips - nudging him deep, where you’re wet and warm and wrapped around him.

Leaving him to grind every last drop into you, slumping back when his grip finally loosens. Your limbs feel like liquid lead, head tipped back against the glass. A groan muffled against your neck, as your fingers slip beneath the tugged-open flannel.

Nails scratching along his back, the tight muscles beneath easing.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Logan hums when he finally leans back - and you already miss his hands on you, as they shift to brace against the counter.

It feels cruel that he teases you like this. When you swear you can still feel the throb of his cock inside you. When he’s still sheathed to the hilt.

You groan, “Don’t make fun of me, Logan.”

“‘m not sweetheart,” He huffs, eyes going soft.

“I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

There’s something off about your apartment - he can sense it the moment they make it to the landing. 

This is exactly what he had been trying to tell you. The when, not if, something will go wrong. His senses flickering into overdrive, nostrils flaring. 

Catching the light that creeps from under the door, when he knows you clicked it off. His hand automatically leaves yours, reaching out to tuck you safely behind him.

“Logan?” There’s confusion in your voice, a hand at his shoulder.

He shushes you, his words a low growl.

“Someone’s in your apartment. Stay here, sweetheart.”

There’s the soft snick of his claws, your fingers untwisting from his shirt. A breath, and then his hand is closing around the knob - a sharp jerk of his fist as his shoulder slams into the wood.

Teeth bared, as he bursts into your apartment with a snarl. 

All that fury bleeds to relief, and then disappointment.

“How’d you get in here?” Logan grits, his claws sheathing. 

Your voice joins his, from where you had peeked around the doorframe, “You okay, Wade?”

Hazy, morose eyes peer back at him - a hand lifting to wiggle “baby knife” at him. A newly-opened bottle of your cooking sherry in the other - a plate balanced on his chest, filled with a half-eaten chicken breast and vegetables. Legs stretched out on your sofa, Dogpool curled between his ankles. 

“She didn’t show,” Wade mutters, with a miserable smile, “Didn’t want to be alone.”

Logan can’t help the soft flicker in his chest when you go to him. Sinking to your knees by the couch - moving the plate to the coffee table, lifting Dogpool into your arms. She licks your chin as Wade lets loose a long, drawn-out sigh - flipping to face the back of the couch. 

"What was the point of the first two movies?" The words are muffled into the fabric, "Why would Disney do something like this? We were picking out baby names for fuck’s sake-"

“I’m so sorry,” You soothe - a hand on his back, “What can I do to help? Can I get you anything?”

Wade’s head turns to the side, with a long sigh.

“Thor’s phone number.”

“How about I take this,” You tug at the bottle, until it loosens, “And I text Peter? We can have a movie night, okay?”

He turns further, until he’s facing you again, “Even that one you hate?”

"Don’t hate it." You sigh, “It’s just so sad. I don’t know why it’s your favorite.”

“It’s not my fault they made that tree star look so goddamn delicious.”

You’re beckoning Logan over, a gesture to take his place. You hand on his arm, beseeching - but you don’t have to beg this time. The snarling dog inside him calmed - the fury from the bar and from the hallway ebbing at your touch. He can still feel your lips against his, when his eyes close.

The uncomfortable itch of opening up oneself still lingers, but it’s soothed by the way you smile at him in thanks. By the words that he still clings to.  

Logan has to fold himself into the space, knees folding. Mary Puppins tucked in the crook of his elbow - his other hand patting against a curved-in shoulder. 

Sincerity, as he offers, "Tough luck, bub.”

“It’s her loss.” You call, thumbs tapping away a message. 

“Her loss.” Logan echos, “You’re… you’re a good man, Wade. It’ll work out.”

It comes out clumsy. It always does - he never had a silver tongue like the Professor did. His edges as sharp as his claws, never one to waste words if his fist could do the job. 

Wade flips back over. The hint of a smile, “That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Before his eyes are flicking over to where you pace, voice lowering.

“And I gotta ask, did you maul Sugar? What is with that mark on her neck?”

Logan huffs, lips twitching.  

“We’re all set,” You smile, “Your Emotional Support Peter is on his way. He’s bringing Al and some ice cream.”

A glance his way, the question written so plainly in your eyes - the lift of your brow. “That okay?”

It’s not the way he imagined this night going.

Had thought he’d take you to bed when he got back. Take things slower, this time.

Using his touch and the greedy press of his mouth to make sure you understand that he heard every word you told him. That he meant each one he said back - make sure you never made the mistake of thinking he didn’t care for you again.

But when he looks at you - how you’re ready to sweep into the kitchen to make some popcorn, he thinks-

That he might just prefer this. Even as messy as it is. 

He smiles back. 

The couch is crammed with far too many people. Five squeezing into a space meant for three at best. You’ve been half perched on his lap all night, his arm slung over your shoulder - tempted to pull you the rest of the way.

A couple months ago, his skin would have crawled to be this close to others. Would have peeled himself away with a scathing word and a sharper bite.  

But something softened him, during his time in this world. Days, to weeks, to months. 

Couldn’t go back, he knows that now. All the wishing and TVA TemPads couldn’t undo what was done - he’s known that for a while. It would take a long time, but he could try to come to terms with what happened. Try to do better, moving forward.

Starting with himself. A scrap of paper - snatched from a bottom of a flier with a brightly-printed 12-step program, shoved deep into his leather jacket pocket. Relearning how to be patient with others, and even more so with himself. Trying to listen what you and Wade told him.

He’s done walking away from things. You make him believe that whenever, if ever, he manages to open that tightly-sealed lid… you’ll stay.

The thought is one that he'll cling to.

“Alright. Enough bullshit.”  

It’s announced, as the credits roll - breaking him out of his thoughts. A creak of the couch as Wade shifts - crammed between you and Al, his head twisting on her shoulder to peer over his way. 

“‘m being serious now.” He insists, though the words slur together - the bottle stolen back during the movie and drained, “I’m so happy my two besties are falling in love, even if I am a jealous little bitch.”

A gasp, as he remembers - a reaching over to pat Peter’s shoulder, “Not that I’m forgetting about you, sugar bear. You too, Blind Al. I’d be just as happy if you two were dating. It'd be like a less fucked-up Harold and Maude."

A derisive snort from Al. 

Peter smiles, “Just happy to be here, pal.”

“Anyways, life sucks balls. Big, fat, sloppy, wet, balls, but goddamn if seeing you two happy doesn’t fill me with hope.”

Logan can hear the hitch in your breath. The pressure of your fingers, entwined with his. Embarrassment flickering across your face, when you are unable to help glancing his way. 

Exasperation and something else mixing in when you meet his gaze. Something soft and tender and directed so solely at him, that for a moment - he forgets to breathe.

Falling in love, huh?

Yeah. He might just be. 

a/n: i adore frank castle, haha. i thought he would be a fun person to pull in for a jealous!logan scenario - and thank so from the bottom of my heart for all the love on sugar, sugar - I honestly had no idea so many of you would like it, and I can’t tell you how much it means to read your sweet asks and comments 💖 this is all I have planned for them right now, thank you for letting me share this series with you!!! (though I am definitely not done writing for logan!)

[gurugirl]

I need a breeding kink blurb PLS 🙏🙏🙏

⛔️ WARNING ‼️ SMUTTY SMUT BREEDING KINK SIZE KINK ALL THE KINK (enjoy 🤭) + plus a link to an audio porn on tumblr to really get into that wet pussy sound 🙈 I'm so sorry in advance but I am in fact ovulating according to my calculator and this was... Anyway there's no plot, this is basically only smut. PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU'RE NOT INTO THIS KIND OF THING THANK YOU

587 words

😈😈😈😈

"Oh baby... look a'you... getting stuffed so deep. Loves getting her little pussy filled up and bred yeah? Need Daddy's come honey? Need me to put more babies in this belly? Fuck you til your tummy's swollen, your tits are full of milk, and pussy ruined?"

"Mmm..." you tried moaning but you were out of breath and your gargled noises were stifled by the way he was plowing into you, long and heavy strokes that dipped into your guts and punched the air from your lungs. All you could do was lie there with your legs spread apart as he fucked the life from you. His fat cock was making your walls ache he'd been going at if for so long.

"Can't speak, little mama? Don't want the kids to hear do we? That's right... just let daddy fuck you til your come hole is full of my sperm and let it sink in deep so I can knock you up over and over again. Likes her pussy stuffed with cock and come and her womb full of babies..."

Harry loved it when you were pregnant. You already had two kids and he was raring to go for a third. But so were you. You loved watching him be a dad. And you'd love to see him holding another tiny baby again - your tall, tattooed, and strong husband holding that delicate bundle against his chest with tears in his eyes, humming a tune and swaying slowly back and forth. Just for that, you'd give him as many babies as he wanted.

"Already had you stuffed with all my cream this morning, now here you are all sweaty and gagging for more. Fucking need it don't you? Gonna take my come honey? Little mama wants it, yeah?"

You could barely nod but you managed to knock your head back and forth. You were exhausted after he'd already given you two orgasms but now you could feel him coming to his end, his arms were shaking and his thrusts were getting sloppy with that big cock twitching as he stretched your walls. His impressive size was addicting.

"You ready? Think you can take another load?"

"Mmmm..." a pathetic wet mumble fell from your lips as Harry choked out a groan, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake the kids and you felt him throb and throb as he dropped his mouth open wide and pasted his hips against yours, unloading hours and hours worth of vital come into your womb, his balls emptying every drop inside of you.

You were very much done for by the time he pulled out but Harry wasn't. He angled your hips up with a heaving chest and stuffed himself back inside, holding his shaft to keep steady as he fucked his come into you, "There we go. Let's get that all in there," he watched as he dipped inward, keeping you full of his sperm, wet squelches (NSFW LINK - opens up a tumblr audio porn, no visuals 😈) coming from your pussy with the way he was plunging back into you to make sure his come didn't leak out, "Get that pussy fed and happy," he hissed as he pumped in gently, his cock sensitive to the touch after his orgasm.

He enjoyed the view of it... your shiny puffy pussy wrapped around his thick shaft as he pushed his come back inside you until he couldn't stay hard any longer. You were sure that was baby number three.

Feedback/Thoughts | Ko-fi | Main Masterlist | Patreon

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

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[astonmartinii]

witchy business | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: reader x oscar piastri

oscar's gf is a lil kooky but she puts solstice to good use and mainfests some luck for her bf

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 31,094 others

yourusername: you're not really sisters if you've never done a ritual together ...

view all comments

user1 she's so mother

user2 i can't wrap my head around how her and oscar came to be but i love it

oscarpiastri don't have too much fun without me :(

yourusername tell your team to take out the no ritual clause from your contract i swear they're safe landonorris i heard your latin once IT IS NOT SAFE yourusername falsehoods !!

user3 does this girl have a job or is she just cosplaying ahs coven full time

yourusername i'm a florist, do you want my social security number and tax returns too?

danielricciardo any way you could like turn me into a real honey badger for a couple hours that sounds fun?

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 490,568 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: some time off well spent with my love

view all comments

user10 i am once again asking - how did this happen?

user11 it's actually a really cute story they apparently went to school together and she still does a weekly bouquet for his mum and grandma. they're og sweethearts all that opposites attract jazz

landonorris don't even get a photo credit with all the trauma i experienced for that pic

oscarpiastri bro you barged into my room and took a photo? landonorris i didn't see any sock on the door oscarpiastri it was my own house?

yourusername i love every moment together with you

oscarpiastri that sentiment goes both ways xx user12 god i am so alone

f1teaandgossip

liked by 14,098 others

f1teaandgossip: with lando and oscar being reported as frustrated, how long do you think it'll be until they're linked with moves elsewhere and do you think the updates will improve the car?

view all comments

user15 they don't deserve this

user16 i don't wanna be that person but this is karma for what they did to daniel

user17 i honestly think magic might be our only chance

user18 @yourusername pls work some magic

yourusername on it 🫡 user19 now that's my favourite wag

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 58,451 others

yourusername: the full moon is here and i'm bringing some luck to my baby

view all comments

user20 mother is here to save the day i know that's right

landonorris if this works i'll never say you're scary ever again

yourusername *when it works have some faith in the moon lando landonorris yeah i don't think i wanna mess with the moon

user21 that moment when the mcl60 is so bad that you start to believe in witchcraft

oscarpiastri i love you so much (p.s. thank you to the girls as well, i'll cover the next candle order)

yourusername i love you too honey - we're rooting for you yourbff1 we love you oscar yourbff2 i don't understand your sport but i love the wages cause candles !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

charles_leclerc so are you adept in curses? asking for a friend....

maxverstappen1 sure. yourusername i don't (but i can give you a good luck crystal) charles_leclerc i'll take anything at this point

mclaren

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri and 808,458 others

mclaren: WOOOOOOOOOOOO WE TAKE A 2 - 3 FINISH IN HUNGARY 🇭🇺 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

view all comments

user26 i am bamboozled

user27 so .... it worked?

landonorris i have never said a bad word about y/n's hobby NEVER I LOVE YOU Y/N AND I LOVE THE MOON

oscarpiastri she's still MY girlfriend mate landonorris i am aware i am merely stating my appreciation for her

user28 i know the team just finally got their shit together... but YAAAAS WITCH SLAY

yourusername so so happy for you guys

oscarpiastri i love you so so so so much xxxxxxxx

user29 y/n is my driver of the day

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 68,349 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: i love you so. forever proud.

view all comments

user31 fave couple FOR REAL

landonorris fine yall are so cute

oscarpiastri finally, only took a few months

user32 i need something like this in my life

oscarpiastri i love you more.

yourusername anything for you. even asking the moon for help with cars.

danielricciardo once again i am asking to be turned into a real honey badger for a couple hours

maxverstappen1 i think it's time to give up danny

note: idk what this is but lol i had fun - i shall get to the requests next, hope you enjoy !!!

[yun-fangz]

Jongho twitter links — Dom Ver.

pairing: jongho x fem!reader

a/n: you guys already knew this was coming, i just can never get him out of my mind!! he needs to start paying rent atp. will be making a sub version for him; possibly for each member as well if this is well received, let me know your thoughts 😪 these are all also from my personal bookmarks too hehehe, i did my research

side note: i was going to make a post to see who wanted a tag,,,,,,,, im too impatient so im posting rn sorry!!! if you do want a tag for any of the other ones let me know :)

masterlist.

warnings + links under the cut!

warnings/tags: nsfw links (duh lol), pussy spanking, size difference/kink, fat cock jongho (i'm a very big advocate), bratty reader, rough!dom!jongho, fingering, piv penetration, possessiveness, breeding, brat taming, overstim, fingering, manhandling... uh yeah! jongho can match your freak ig

jongho having to spank you back into your place like this after acting out all day, your poor pussy and ass were aching but you couldn't stop leaking all over him.

jongho loves teasing you like this. rubbing you through your panties until it becomes unbearable, forcing you to to push him where you want him.

overstimulation was a normal thing for jongho, you had already come so hard but he kept on playing with your quivering pussy, spreading your juices and fucking it back into you hard. let's just say it didn't take long for you to come again. link.

jongho and his fat cock holding you open like and stretching you out like this. with your head lolled back onto his shoulder, you could hear every groan and moan come out of his mouth.

jongho using you as a cocksleeve, his arms around you as he quite literally lifts you onto his thick cock. link.

jongho restraining you by the arms as he ruts into you, his face buried deep into your neck as he chases his high. link

jongho loves teasing your entrance with his cockhead, smearing his precum all over your pretty little lips before eventually pushing in ever so slightly. this was the easiest way for him to make you drunk off his cock. link.

jongho fucking the brattiness out of you, his hands carded through your hair, pulling you back onto his cock. link.

you we're just so fucking impatient, jongho had no choice but to bend you over like this. if you were so bold to ask for his cock while he's playing with his friends, you can get fucked in front of them. link.

jongho holding your frame down with one hand while the other is fingering you ruthlessly. you had already come twice but he decides when you were done. link

jongho fucking you hard and fast like this, you already knew you weren't going to be able to walk the next morning.

a little on the softer side, jongho was just so in love with you, he took his time fucking you slowly and kissing all over your neck/chest. he'd whisper sweet nothings and praises into your ear as he makes love to you. link.

EXTRA:

these are some links that i think of jongho however i don't feel like writing/i already have something similar

link.

link.

link.

a/n: as always, went a lil overboard....... hehehe but it's jongho who cares lol. see you in the sub ver :)

[holysupesbatman]

SuperBat Fic Recs

Woaaaah boy. I was in the Superbat tag and saw someone asking for recs and I got about 5 fics in before I realized that wouldn't fit in a reply and decided I should just make a whole post. I feel like I've read half of the Bruce/Clark tag on ao3 at this point and yet I still find more every time I look.

As a note, this post is heavily editorialized. These are all fics I've personally read and are here because I liked them and they come from my ao3 bookmarks. If you want better details about the fic, follow the links and check them out 🤷‍♀️ I'm a picky reader so the fact that it's on the list says a lot, though our tastes may vary.

Onto the recs! I'll organize them by ratings and then by length for simplicity and at the end I'll recommend some of my favorite SuperBat authors for further reading!

🦇

Rated: G

Uno Reverse by WixenBurr (~7k rated G) is really cute and fluffy

Summary: The batkids are trying to set Batman and Superman up. Unfortunately Bruce Wayne wants to date some rando news reporter named Clark Kent.

Rated: T

Know You Better by rotasha (~6k rated T)

super fluffy and cute. I adore this fic. Summary: Clark asks Bruce on a date, not knowing he’s a famous billionaire. Bruce says yes, because this is the first time this has ever happened to him.

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173 (~13k rated T)

This one is SO much fun – Nobody believes Clark after he meets the supposed "flirty, stupid, entitled drunk" playboy billionaire Brucie Wayne when he says he's actually "clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive."

Saudade by liodain (~20k rated T)

OK THIS ONE MAKES MY HEART MELT IT'S SO FLUFFY AND SWEET I CAN'T. Like put this on your re-read when you're sad and need to feel like love and goodness exist list. Bruce breaks down in Kansas in 2006 years before BvS and meets young Clark.

fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace by Resacon1990 (~23k rated T)

It's just 20k of Clark simping for Bruce. That's it. That's the fic. He's a golden retriever and he's in love, Your Honor. Bruce is not unaffected, but the pining is glorious.

summary: Or, five times Clark finds himself falling for Bruce, and the one time he does something about it

Mr. Romantic by Pandamomochan (~24k rated T)

ft Established Relationship SuperBat. Summary: Clark gets tasked to write a Valentine's Day article. The end result has every single women throwing themselves at him. Clark has always been patient with the drove of Brucie fans. Will Bruce be as mature with Clark's sudden popularity?

How to Date a Superhero by @solomonara (~25k rated T)

Technically a series of fics. Pure fluff. 1. Someone spots the Batman kissing Mild Mannered Reporter Clark Kent. Hijinks ensue. 2. Superman kissed Bruce Wayne in full view of several dozen phones. Now the whole world, including Lex Luthor, knows Superman has a boyfriend. But that's okay. Batman has a plan. 3. Deleted scenes from the How to Date a Superhero series, ruthlessly cut in most cases to prevent the Robins from taking over.

In every sense of the word by froggy-o (bobafiend) (~29k rated T) From the author's summary: Alternatively titled "Why Wonder Woman is on the verge of losing her fucking mind."

I swear this fic is just Diana's eyebrow twitching as she watches Bruce and Clark start dating and she's let in on both their civilian identities meanwhile Superman and Batman are on the watchtower arguing and disagreeing about basically everything on the daily. In the name of Justice, of course. The identity porn is on a whole other level and it was done so well.

Get Over It by rotasha (~32k rated T)

heh this one has plenty of identity hijinks. Sooooo funny. Summary: Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish (~96k rated T)

hehehe... the batkids set up a dating profile for Bruce and catfish Clark. It's more of a blind date for Bruce (not that he had any idea he was going on a date at all), but who has Clark been texting for the past several weeks??? Oh yeah. The kids. What follows is as follows. Still with capes!

Rated: M

Guardian Dog by BombusBombus (~22k rated M)

Summary: There's something wrong with Clark Kent. He has to be a villain, right? A threat? He doesn't behave like a normal person, no matter how handsome or clever he may seem.

grasp his heart (once and for all) by liodain (~32k rated M) soulmate AU fic. Pretty emotional LOTS of identity issues going on there like so much. Kinda high on the drama and angst there honestly but it was a cute read. Summary: Bruce Wayne doesn't believe in fate.

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter (~33k rated M)

love me a fake dating AU. Summary: It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Strangers When We Meet by Trista_zevkia (~63k rated M)

ANOTHER soulmate AU! This time feat. Kryptonian Biology hehehe. Summary: Clark Kent thought he was straight, until Batman kick started something. The question is what did Batman start? Is Brucie Wayne able to explain it to him?

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat (~77k rated M)

OK NO LISTEN this is one of my all-time favorite fics EVER. It's so meta and so funny. Clark is us. We are Clark. Clark is writing RPF for the Bruce/Batman ship and he's very convinced it's real EVEN THOUGH he has a huge crush on the Batman... let the hijinks BEGIN.

Rated: E

Embracing Destiny by Mithen (~8k rated E)

This one is just really really cute. Summary: As a member of the Legion of Super-Heroes in the 31st century, a teenaged Clark learns a stunning secret about his own future: he and someone called "Batman" will be legendary lovers.

perfect strangers by susiecarter (~15k rated E)

like. bruh. susie did it again. This tag says it all: communication failure. I love this one though. Summary: Batman and Superman are fucking. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are a great cover for fighting crime, and also might be dating. Bruce and Clark have no idea what they're doing; but they definitely aren't going to be able to talk themselves into stopping.

Relinquishing Control by foxyk (~25k rated E)

afsfwsdfhishdfksj no words. Read the authors summary and then just go read the fic:

Superman worries that if he lets go he'll injure his partner. Batman knows better. Batman worries that if he lets someone else in, he'll hurt them. Superman knows better.

Picture Perfect by TheSaltiestDog @the-saltiest-dog (~26k rated E)

this one is cute and then horny on main but also just so fluffy. Clark sees Bruce in a new light through candid shots, then proceeds to take lots of candid shots as they begin a relationship. Cue schmoop, fluff, smut, and – you guessed it! –Miscommunication!

A Night Off and sequel A Day Off by Mawiiish (~37k combined; first part is E, second is T)

One of my all-time favorites. My bookmark says 10/10 would read again soooooooo... 👀🤷‍♀️😅🥵

Bruce is enjoying one of his few nights off when a very persistent young man offers to buy him a drink. At first he's apprehensive; he's just here for a good time and this Clark seems to be looking for more than that. Then again, what harm can one drink do?

Clark wakes up to an empty bed and despite Bruce being honest from the start, he's still disappointed.

The Downsides to a Secret Identity by liodain (~42k rated E)

I'm currently reading this one – the summary from the author says it all, it's so good but sooo drama:

Bruce Wayne has taken a shine to Clark Kent, but Clark is more interested in the Bat of Gotham. The Bat, however, has it in for the Superman in a big way. Clark should probably have considered that before falling quite so hard. They're working together to track down some missing Kryptonian weaponry, after all...

50 Shades of Wayne by susiecarter (~161k rated E)

No but listen, this is actually so full of plot and emotional depth and not as much smut as you might think. It's a full-scale retelling of Batman v Superman but without them knowing each other's secret identities. I read it in one go... the reveal? Maybe the best I've ever read. Soooo many emotions. It's one of the few times I've read BDSM in a fic and it actually felt in character. I wasn't sure I would read it when I started, but it was a compelling read and extremely well done. Honestly, I'd read it again.

SuperBat Author Shoutouts:

susiecarter @susiecarter

liodain @liodain

Resacon1990 @sassyresacon1990

shipyrds @burins

Mawiiish @superbattrash

rotasha

Mithen

[scoobydoodean]

I have 2 spn accounts, a Deancentric blog that ships Destiel and another account that unintentionally follows a lot of Samgirl blogs. So one blog follows majority Deangirl blogs and the other incidentally follows a lot of Samgirl blogs. And here's the major difference I've noticed on the different dashboards.

Deangirl dashboard: Great meta analysis. Beautiful art. Level 1 and 2 headcanons (largely based in canon). Pro-Dean. Stumble across reblogs of Deancrit. Bitter Deangirl blogging. Generally fair portrayal and discussion of the positive and negative traits and actions of Dean, Sam and Cas. Deanhater anons.

Samgirl dashboard: An entirely different pool of beautiful art. Whole lotta woobie!Sam art where Dean is his abuser. Deancrit about Dean being an abuser. Bitter Samgirl blogging about how people will find any excuse to hate Sam. "How can anyone be Samcrit he has done nothing wrong ever." Level 5 headcanons (you literally ignored canon to make that up). More about how Dean is Sam's abuser. So many posts about how awful Samcrit is. "Do Deangirls really think that Dean cries himself to sleep at night thinking that ppl thinks he doesn't know how to read." I have yet to see any actual Samcrit posts (not even links or reblogs from Sam defenders), not even after literally searching the Samcrit tag for it. The Samcrit tag is full of Samgirls crying about Samcrit and no actual Samcrit. "Samgirls are feral, but we need to be bc of the hate ppl throw Sam's way."

I literally have to block so many people on the incidentally Samgirl dashboard bc I'm not on Tumblr to randomly stumble across a post on how Dean is a toxic stalker who abused Sam by changing Amelia's number in his cellphone. Do you have any idea on why Samgirls seem to feel so attacked all the time even though I literally only ever see *them* attacking Dean?

If you dig deep enough into any fandom, you will encounter people who fetishize "helpless victimhood". Some fandoms attract more people with those particular proclivities than others. Supernatural and Sam in particular attracts people who hold those sorts of aesthetic interests because of his relationship toward accountability versus Dean's.

Dean is a character with an overactive sense of responsibility. He blames himself for the Lindbergh baby and unemployment and every child murdered by a shrtiga from 1990 to 2005 because he went to play an arcade game when he was 10. He also blames himself for things like Jessica dying and Sam not being in school. Other characters pile on this blame frequently. John blames Dean for Sam getting hurt (1.18). Ruby tells him (and Sam) that Sam is a weak baby who won't psychologically survive without Dean there to protect him (3.11). Meg alleges that Dean is "dragging Sam everywhere" (1.16). Sam rewrites reality from 1.05 to 1.21 to make Dean responsible for his burning desire for revenge. Cas and Zachariah and Gabriel blame Dean when Sam breaks the last seal because he didn't stop Sam in time. Sam blames Dean for him drinking demon blood first because Dean wasn't there to protect him and then—in a complete 180—because Dean is smothering (4.04, 5.05). Dean generally absorbs blame when it is piled at his feet because he has been blamed for things he couldn't control for most of his life and thus he feels guilty and responsible for things even when him being responsible makes no logical sense. He's never a victim of anything—everything is always on him.

Sam, on the other hand, tends to eventually deflect blame because he can't handle the gnawing bite of it for long. It reminds him too deeply of being left isolated and alone as a child and the feelings of otherness and wrongness he developed through that neglect. When his actions ultimately have consequences he didn't foresee and/or that he finds undesirable, it makes him feel ugly and unaccepted and he can't face it so he eventually finds a way to make what happened someone else's fault—usually Dean's fault. Nothing is ever on him. He's always at least a little bit of a victim and Dean always carries at least partial responsibility for his decisions (1.21, 1.08, 4.04, 5.05, 8.23, 11.01)

In other words, Sam has an under-active sense of responsibility and Dean has an overactive responsibility and that dynamic—driven by their childhood experiences—places them into a vicious cycle of blame being cast onto Dean for Sam's decisions and Dean absorbing it. Dean absorbing it reinforcing the narrative for samgirls with a victimhood fetish that Dean deserves blame and that Sam truly is a helpless baby. They never watch what actually happens on the show to see whether this narrative that Dean is responsible for everything and Sam is a helpless baby lines up with the actual events that occurred onscreen because why would they? That would ruin their enjoyment. Sam isn't interesting to them outside of his capacity to be mourned as some sort of helpless martyr. And yes—they will cry and moan about how horrible and unfair Sam's suffering is, but it isn't because they're having a bad time. They're having a great time. They love thinking about Sam that way. They wouldn't be here blogging about it day in and day out for the last 20 years if they didn't actually want to see exactly what they're seeing.

Related tags of note:

#sams motivations

#taurus sam in the flesh

#In which Sam is not a helpless little waif with his hands cast over his eyes being carried along by the tides of the immutable sea

#sam the hunter

#sams follower/leader false dichotomy

#parentification

[unforth]

Alright not to like liveblog my breakdown on main but yesterday was a really bad day after a really bad, like, 4 months, and I've hit a bit of a breaking point and one of the only things in my life that can give is running @mdzsartreblogs , @tgcfartreblogs , @svsssartreblogs , @erhaartreblogs , @tykartreblogs , and @cnovelartreblogs , so that is what has to give. It's been a 99-out-of-100 days thankless job. A small number of people do say thank you and yall I appreciate you so much (HUGE shout-out to the artist I met at Flamecon who gifted me a zine when I said I ran these blogs, @bonesblubs you rock) but I have never done an act of fandom labor simultaneously this labor intensive yet this invisible before and, uh. It sucks. I spend an hour or more a day on this every day, if it's under 2k hours since I started the first of these in September 2020 I'd be shocked. And I do it because I love it but doing it means I don't have time or energy to do other things I love. And I really don't want to just quit, but I can't keep this up.

In a last-ditch effort to try not to just give up, I'm making the following changes:

1. Only watching one tag per fandom for the MXTX fandoms. I am going to check *only* #tgcf, #svsss, and #mdzs. Artwork posted to any other tag, I will not see unless a mutual reblogs it.

2. Reduced tagging (even more). I'm only going to tag characters and maybe overarching au type (eg, "modern au," "fantasy au"). I'll no longer tag creatures. I will continue to tag the same common trigger warnings I already tag.

3. If a work's appearance doesn't make it obvious what it is AND the tags aren't clear, I'm not going to reblog. I can't keep spending 5 minutes or more trying to figure out what I'm even looking at, scared that if I guess wrong the artist will get mad at me for mistagging their work. If I do reblog, I'll tag only the artist name and/or whatever else I can identify for sure.

4. I am no longer going to follow #link click. The fandom is just too big. I've started dreading checking it. If I was more into it and less busy I would make another spin off just for it but neither of those is true. (The art is so good, I hate to do this, but. If you love link click, highly recommend the main tag, lots of great stuff there.)

5. I will no longer tag any non-cnovel content in the art/post. Like, if someone draws, idek, Xie Lian and Marinette from Ladybug, I'm not gonna put any tags for Marinette, just for Xie Lian.

6. Basically if I run into something hard to tag or confusing or unclear, my new policy is I'm not gonna fricken bother.

I think those are everything but idefk, I cried for 3 hours last night and got 4 hours of sleep so I'm mostly fueled by exhaustion and desperation right now and my memory is even more fried than usual.

How artists can help. This is obviously all optional. You do you. But since some people might want to know what would make my life easier, I'm sharing. I'm not claiming I feel entitled to dictate how people fandom or anything like that.

1. Put the tags for the character(s) and ship(s) early in the tag list.

2. If you make art for a fandom that isn't one of the big ones (right now the only big danmei fandoms on tumblr as far as I can tell are the MXTX fandoms and maybe 2ha) I am begging you to use my tracked tag #cnovelartreblogs

3. Do mdzs art? Tag #mdzs. Do tgcf art? Tag #tgcf. Do svsss art? Tag #svsss.

4. Not only artists, but everyone, *please* stop tagging fandoms not discussed and/or depicted in your post. It's gotten to be stupid common for people to blanket the danmei fandom tags with posts only about one fandon (like, svsss-only works also being tagged mdzs and tgcf and 2ha for some damn reason). This isn't about just my sideblogs tbh this is just fandom etiquette that seems to have been forgotten or never learned by many. Tagging unrelated fandoms isn't "reach," it's annoying. People go into the #mdzs tag to see mdzs, not whatever not-mdzs stuff people have decided to tag for ~reach~, and seeing the same post in 8 tags, none of which it's related to, is so damn irritating, and makes scrolling the tags looking for content that IS relevant take that much longer. Knock it off.

Okay. I think that's as much as I'm prepared to meltdown where everyone can see. Thanks in advance everyone for your understanding, and apologies to everyone about to see this 8 times as I reblog it to each sideblog.

At least I'm not tagging it to everywhere. 🤣🤣🤣

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 4

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 5k

warning; /

notes; heyy, I hope that all of you are doing fine ! Here is part 4, pretty calm chapter but I think that you will like it ;))) To be honest I'm already done writing the story, I might change some details because I'm still not really happy about some parts but the overall storyline is finished. Otherwise don't hesitate to comment or ask to be on the tag list ;)) I'm always super happy to see your feedbacks and comments on the story. See you soon, bisous bisoussss

here is the link for part 3 or part 5

---

Wrapped in the warmth of a thick, fur-lined cape, you made your way through the vast and unforgiving landscape that led to the Winter Court. The journey had been long, the cold biting at your skin despite the layers of wool and leather beneath your armor. Your boots crunched through the snow with every step, the sound a constant reminder of the icy terrain you traversed. The fur trim of your cape brushed against your face, shielding you from the harsh winds that howled through the mountains.

Your outfit was designed for both warmth and practicality—leather pants tucked into sturdy boots, a long-sleeved woolen tunic layered under a thick, high-collared vest, and over it all, the heavy cape that provided not just warmth, but protection from the elements. The fur-lined hood of the cape was pulled low over your brow, keeping the icy wind from nipping at your face. Gloves made of soft, supple leather protected your hands, though your fingers itched for the familiar feel of your weapons.

The landscape around you was breathtakingly beautiful, despite its harshness. The snow-covered mountains rose like jagged teeth against the clear, cold sky, their peaks piercing the heavens. The ground beneath your feet was a blanket of pristine white, unmarked by any sign of life save for the occasional tracks of a snow hare or a fox. The air was crisp and clean, filling your lungs with a chill that was both invigorating and biting.

As you neared the Winter Court, the terrain began to change subtly. The trees, tall and ancient, were dusted with snow, their branches heavy with the weight of winter. The air grew colder, the wind sharper, as you approached the heart of Kallias’s domain. The palace, when it came into view, was a marvel of ice and stone, a structure that seemed to rise organically from the frozen earth itself. Its spires glistened in the weak sunlight, the walls shimmering as if carved from a single massive block of ice. It was both awe-inspiring and foreboding, a testament to the power of the High Lord who ruled within.

As you entered the grand hall, the cold air seemed to intensify, but you were prepared for it. Your breath misted before you as you walked, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the ice-encrusted walls. The interior of the palace was no less magnificent than its exterior—glittering chandeliers of ice hung from the ceiling, casting a cool, ethereal light across the room. The floors were a mosaic of frosted tiles, and the walls were adorned with intricate carvings that depicted the history and power of the Winter Court.

Kallias awaited you at the far end of the hall, his tall, imposing figure clad in robes of pure white, trimmed with silver. His eyes, as cold and sharp as the winter wind, met yours as you approached, and he offered a nod of acknowledgment.

"Y/N," he greeted, his voice as icy as his surroundings. "I trust your journey was without incident?"

You inclined your head in respect. "It was, High Lord. The Winter Court is as beautiful as ever."

Kallias’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "It is. And I am eager to see the weapon you have forged for me."

With a practiced motion, you unclasped the leather strap that secured the long, narrow case at your side. Carefully, you lifted the lid, revealing the weapon within—a glaive, forged from the finest steel, its blade gleaming with an icy blue sheen that seemed to capture the essence of winter itself. The hilt was intricately designed, resembling the ancient, snow-laden trees of the Winter Court, with delicate, frost-like etchings that trailed along its length. At the base of the hilt, a crystal embedded in the pommel caught the light, glittering like freshly fallen snow.

Kallias’s eyes gleamed with appreciation as he took in the sight of the weapon. He stepped forward, his gloved hand reaching out to grasp the hilt. The glaive fit perfectly in his hand, its weight balanced, its craftsmanship flawless. He swung it once, the blade cutting through the air with a sharp, crisp sound that resonated through the hall.

"It’s exquisite," Kallias said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You’ve outdone yourself, Y/N."

You bowed your head slightly, a smile tugging at your lips. "I’m glad it meets your expectations, High Lord. It was an honor to craft something for the Winter Court."

Kallias’s gaze lingered on the weapon for a moment longer before he turned his icy eyes back to you. "It more than meets my expectations. It surpasses them. You have a gift, Y/N, and I’m fortunate to have been able to commission such a weapon from you."

There was a moment of silence as Kallias continued to study the glaive, the air between you filled with the mutual respect of two artisans—one of ice, one of steel. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly.

"You must be tired from your journey," Kallias said, his tone shifting to something more cordial. "Please, stay as my guest. You are welcome in the Winter Court as long as you wish."

You inclined your head again, appreciating the offer. "Thank you, High Lord. I may take you up on that, but I must return to the Night Court soon. There are other matters that require my attention."

Kallias nodded in understanding. "Of course. But for now, rest. My stewards will see to your needs."

With that, he handed the glaive back to you, and you secured it once more in its case. As you followed the steward who had been summoned to lead you to your quarters, you couldn’t help but marvel at the power and grace of the Winter Court—its beauty, its cold, unyielding strength. The journey had been long, but the successful delivery of such a finely crafted weapon made it all worthwhile.

As you were led to your quarters, you wondered what the days ahead would bring, knowing that whatever challenges lay before you, you were more than prepared to face them.

After a much-needed rest in the luxurious quarters provided by Kallias, you found yourself summoned to dinner with the High Lord and his wife, Viviane. The invitation was delivered with the same formality and grace that characterized the Winter Court, and you dressed accordingly, choosing an outfit that was both practical for the cold and respectful of the occasion. You opted for a tailored, high-collared tunic in deep blue, paired with fitted leather pants and sturdy boots designed for both warmth and movement. Over the tunic, you wore a vest of finely stitched leather, its dark hue matching the rich blue of your tunic, and lined with fur for added warmth. A thick, fur-lined cloak draped over your shoulders, adding the final touch of protection against the biting cold.

The dining hall itself was as magnificent as the rest of the palace, with walls of ice that seemed to glow in the soft candlelight. A grand table made of polished, dark wood stood at the center, set with fine crystal and silverware that sparkled under the light. Kallias and Viviane were already seated when you arrived, their regal presence filling the room with an aura of quiet power.

Viviane greeted you with a warm smile, her blue eyes sparkling with kindness. “Y/N, it’s a pleasure to have you join us. Please, sit. I hope the accommodations were to your liking?”

You returned her smile, inclining your head respectfully as you took the seat offered to you. “Thank you, Lady Viviane. The accommodations were perfect—your hospitality is most generous.”

Kallias nodded in agreement, his expression calm and composed. “We are glad to hear that. You’ve traveled far, and your work has been extraordinary. You deserve the best.”

As the first course was served—a delicate soup made with winter vegetables and fragrant herbs—you found yourself relaxing into the atmosphere. The warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth, combined with the rich scents of the food, created a sense of comfort that was almost surprising in the cold grandeur of the palace.

As the meal progressed, Kallias leaned back slightly, regarding you with an inquisitive gaze. “Tell me, Y/N,” he began, his voice casual but laced with curiosity, “are you finally settling down? It’s not often we hear of someone as skilled as you staying in one place for long.”

You smiled softly, nodding as you set down your spoon. “Yes, I’ve returned to my roots. I’ve settled back in the Night Court, where I grew up. It feels right to be back home, even after all the years of traveling.”

Kallias’s eyes sharpened with interest, though he remained composed. “The Night Court, you say? And how has that been? Is it… a unique place, from what I’ve heard.”

You nodded again, careful with your words. “It’s been a good experience, returning to the Night Court. It has its own charm, and I’ve found a certain peace there that I didn’t realize I was missing.”

Viviane, ever the gracious hostess, leaned forward slightly, her gaze warm. “It must be wonderful to return to your roots after so long. I can imagine it offers a sense of stability, something to hold onto.”

“It does,” you agreed. “After years of traveling and crafting for different courts, it’s good to have a place to call home again.”

Kallias seemed to consider this for a moment before his expression shifted slightly, a more contemplative look in his eyes. “Y/N, do you see yourself as a blacksmith for the rest of your life?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment before responding. “I’ve dedicated most of my life to the craft. It’s something I’m deeply passionate about. But… I’ve also wondered if there’s more I could do, especially now that I’m settled in one place.”

Kallias nodded thoughtfully, as if weighing something in his mind. “With your skills and the relationships you’ve built across the courts, have you ever considered becoming an emissary? You already have a good rapport with most of the High Lords, and your experience is invaluable.”

You blinked in surprise, the idea not one you had expected to hear. “An emissary?” you repeated, trying to imagine the shift from blacksmith to diplomat. “It’s not something I’ve considered before… but I suppose it could be an interesting path.”

Kallias was about to continue when he seemed to catch himself, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course, that’s a matter for Rhysand to consider. While our relations with the Night Court are… decent, I’m not one to aid in growing another court’s power.”

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, and you couldn’t help but smile in return. “I understand, High Lord. And I appreciate the suggestion, though. It’s something I’ll have to think about.”

Viviane reached out, placing a gentle hand on Kallias’s arm. “Don’t mind him, Y/N. He’s always thinking three steps ahead, even during a simple dinner.”

Kallias chuckled softly, inclining his head. “Indeed, but it’s worth considering. Your talents shouldn’t be confined to one craft alone, no matter how extraordinary it may be.”

The conversation continued in a more relaxed manner as the evening wore on, the three of you discussing everything from the beauty of the Winter Court to tales of your travels. Despite the formality of the setting, there was an ease to the dinner that you hadn’t anticipated—a warmth that contrasted pleasantly with the cold elegance of the palace.

As the dinner came to an end, you felt a sense of satisfaction not just from the meal, but from the knowledge that you were appreciated here in the Winter Court. The suggestion of becoming an emissary lingered in your mind, a seed planted by Kallias that you knew would take root in the days to come.

For now, though, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, grateful for the hospitality of the Winter Court and the new possibilities that lay ahead.

Later that evening, after the dinner with Kallias and Viviane, you found yourself back in the comfort of your room. The luxurious quarters were warm and inviting, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as you settled into a plush chair by the window. The view outside was breathtaking—a serene expanse of snow-covered mountains under a clear, starlit sky. The quiet beauty of the Winter Court seemed almost surreal after the intense conversations of the day.

As you stared out at the snow-draped landscape, your thoughts began to drift back to the events that had transpired before your journey here—specifically, the night with Cassian. The memory of his broken wings and the dark curse that had infested his body sent a shiver down your spine. You had dealt with injuries before, but nothing quite like that. The sight of Cassian in such a vulnerable state, combined with the pressure of having to save him, had shaken you more than you cared to admit.

You couldn’t help but wonder how Cassian was doing now. Madja was a skilled healer, but the curse had been something different—something darker and more insidious. You hoped that your efforts, combined with Madja’s expertise, would be enough to see him fully recovered.

But your thoughts didn’t linger on Cassian for long. Instead, they wandered to Azriel—his overprotective reaction when you mentioned your journey to the Winter Court. You had been taken aback by the intensity in his eyes, the way his voice had tightened with worry when he insisted that you couldn’t go alone. It was unlike him, or at least unlike the composed, stoic Azriel you had come to know.

A small blush crept up your cheeks as you recalled the way he had draped his jacket over your shoulders before flying you home. The warmth of the leather, combined with his proximity, had stirred something in you—a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now. Azriel was undeniably attractive, with his dark, brooding looks and those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to see right through you. But more than that, he was one of the most skilled warriors in Prythian, a member of the Inner Circle, and someone who carried a weight of responsibility that few could comprehend.

You let out a small sigh, feeling a mixture of admiration and frustration. Azriel was everything you weren’t—an elite warrior, trusted confidant of the High Lord, and part of a circle that wielded immense power and influence. What were you, in comparison? A blacksmith, skilled in your craft, but still just someone who worked with metal and fire. You had traveled far and gained respect across the courts, but it was hard to shake the feeling that Azriel was somehow out of your league.

You couldn’t deny the attraction, though. Every time you thought of him—his calm presence, his quiet strength—it sent your heart fluttering in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. But you reminded yourself that someone like Azriel wouldn’t be interested in you, not in that way. He was dedicated to his duties, and you… you were just a blacksmith. 

Still, the memory of his protective concern lingered, the way his eyes had softened slightly when he insisted on flying you home. It was a gesture that spoke of something deeper, something that made your heart ache with longing.

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away. It was foolish to dwell on such things. Azriel was a friend, and that was enough. There was no sense in imagining something that could never be.

But even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help the small, wistful smile that tugged at your lips. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to Azriel’s concern than simple duty. Perhaps there was a connection there, one that went beyond the roles you both played.

With a sigh, you stood and walked over to the window, staring out at the endless expanse of snow and stars. The Winter Court was beautiful, but your mind was already drifting back to Velaris, to the Night Court, and to the people who had become an unexpected but welcome part of your life.

And as you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future held—for you and perhaps most of all, for Azriel.

—— 

Back in Velaris, the shop was quieter than usual. Without the rhythmic clang of metal on metal or the hum of the forge, the space felt almost too still, the usual lively energy dampened by your absence. But that didn’t stop Alex from doing his best to keep things running smoothly. He was darting between customers, expertly answering questions and showcasing various weapons with the kind of enthusiasm that belied his young age. Stellan, your faithful direwolf, was sprawled out near the counter, watching the activity with an expression that could only be described as long-suffering patience.

A particularly persistent client had been lingering in the shop for the better part of an hour, his eyes darting around as if expecting to spot you at any moment. He was a tall, lanky man with a nervous energy, and he had been pestering Alex incessantly.

“Are you sure she’s not here?” the man asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his tone edging on desperation. “I need to speak with Y/N directly.”

Alex, who had been maintaining his polite demeanor with admirable restraint, forced a smile that was beginning to strain at the edges. “As I’ve already mentioned, sir, Y/N is currently away on business. She won’t be back until next week.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as if Alex were trying to trick him. “But I really need to speak with her. Can’t you just call her? Or maybe she’s in the back?”

Alex’s forced smile twitched, and he muttered under his breath, “On the name of the goddamn Mother, I’m going to hit him.” He forced his voice back to a more polite tone as he said, “I’ve already checked, sir. She’s definitely not in the back. And no, I can’t call her—she’s in the Winter Court. They don’t exactly have a postal service for emergencies.”

The client frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. “But this is important! Can’t you at least take a message?”

“Sir,” Alex said, his voice straining to maintain its politeness, “I’ve taken five messages from you already. I promise I’ll give them all to Y/N when she returns. But for now, there’s really nothing more I can do.”

The man didn’t seem convinced and opened his mouth to argue again, but Alex had reached his limit. He could feel his frustration bubbling up, and he was just about ready to scream when the shop door swung open with a loud creak.

In walked Cassian and Azriel, both of them cutting imposing figures as they strode into the shop. Cassian’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, and Azriel’s intense gaze swept over the scene, quickly taking in the situation.

The persistent client froze, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the two warriors. Cassian’s expression was one of barely concealed amusement, while Azriel’s was much cooler, a silent but clear warning to the man that he was pushing his luck.

“Is there a problem here?” Azriel asked, his voice light but with an edge that sent a shiver down the man’s spine.

The client swallowed hard, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Azriel’s presence. “N-No, no problem at all,” he stammered, his previous determination evaporating. “I was just… uh… I’ll come back later.”

With that, the man all but bolted for the door, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to leave the shop. The door slammed shut behind him, and the shop was suddenly filled with silence, save for the faint crackling of the forge in the background.

Alex let out a long, relieved sigh and leaned against the counter, wiping a hand across his brow. “Thank the Mother for that,” he muttered.

Cassian chuckled, walking over to ruffle Alex’s hair. “You handled that well, kid. He was lucky he didn’t push you any further—looked like you were about to go feral.”

Alex grinned up at him, his earlier frustration melting away. “I was close, really close. But thanks for the help! Can I interest either of you in a fine sword? Or perhaps a dagger? We’ve got some new arrivals that are really top-notch.”

Azriel, who had been leaning casually against the counter, let out a soft chuckle. “Not today, Alex. We’re not here to shop.”

Cassian, still grinning, shook his head. “Yeah, as tempting as it is, we’re actually here to see if Y/N’s back yet. We wanted to check in and see how things are going.”

Alex’s face brightened at the mention of your name. “Oh! No, she’s not back yet. She should be here by tomorrow, though. I haven’t heard anything from her, but she always keeps her word.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Good to hear. We’ve been worried about her, especially after everything that happened before she left.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened slightly at the mention of recent events, but he remained quiet, his gaze drifting around the shop as if lost in thought.

Alex, ever the perceptive one, caught the shift in Azriel’s demeanor and quickly changed the subject. “But hey, if you want, I can show you some of the stuff she’s been working on! I know she’s got some special orders that are almost ready. You might even find something you like.”

Cassian laughed, clearly charmed by the boy’s enthusiasm. “Maybe another time, Alex. We’ll just wait for her to get back. But thanks for the offer.”

Alex nodded, a little disappointed that he couldn’t make a sale but still pleased that the two warriors had stopped by. “No problem! I’ll let her know you were here as soon as she gets back.”

“Thanks, Alex,” Cassian said, giving the boy another affectionate ruffle of his hair before turning to leave. Azriel followed, but not before giving Alex a small, almost imperceptible nod of appreciation.

As they walked out the door, Alex watched them go, a satisfied grin on his face. Stellan, who had been observing the entire exchange with his usual calm, gave a soft huff as if to say, “Finally, some peace and quiet.”

Alex glanced down at the wolf, chuckling softly. “Yeah, I know, boy. It’s never boring around here, is it?”

Stellan’s only response was to close his eyes and settle back down, clearly content now that the shop had returned to its usual, slightly chaotic but always interesting, routine.

As Cassian and Azriel stepped out of your shop and into the bustling streets of Velaris, the evening air was cool and refreshing, carrying with it the scents of the city—freshly baked bread, the distant aroma of spiced meats, and the crisp tang of the Sidra River. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the cobblestone streets and the elegantly curved buildings.

Cassian glanced over at Azriel, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, you didn’t have to scare the poor guy so much back there. He practically ran out of the shop.”

Azriel shrugged, his expression unreadable as usual, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “He was being persistent. Alexander was close to losing his patience.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of life. “True, true. That kid’s got more fire in him than most people twice his age. But I have to admit, it was fun watching you in action. You’ve always had a knack for that brooding intimidation.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched slightly. “It wasn’t intentional. I just wanted to make sure the shop was running smoothly while Y/N is away.”

Cassian’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of Y/N… you’ve been pretty protective of her lately, haven’t you?”

Azriel’s step faltered for just a moment, but he quickly recovered, keeping his gaze focused ahead. “She’s been through a lot. We all have. I’m just making sure she’s safe.”

Cassian chuckled, clearly enjoying this line of questioning. “Come on, Az. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been watching out for her. And don’t think Rhys didn’t told me the way you reacted when she mentioned going to the Winter Court alone.”

Azriel’s expression remained impassive, though his eyes darkened slightly. “It’s my job to protect the people in this court, Cassian. You know that.”

“Sure, sure,” Cassian replied, waving a hand dismissively. “But this feels a little more personal, don’t you think? You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Azriel remained silent, his gaze focused straight ahead as they continued walking. The streets of Velaris were alive with activity—couples strolling hand in hand, children playing, vendors calling out their wares—but the conversation between the two warriors seemed to create a bubble of quiet tension around them. Cassian, always one to lighten the mood, decided to press a little further.

“You know, Az,” Cassian started, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “it’s not like that little kiss she gave me means you’re out of the running.”

Azriel shot him a sharp look, his eyes narrowing. “That wasn’t a kiss, Cassian. She was removing a curse. You know that.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of amusement. “Hey, I’m just saying—if you’re worried about competition, don’t be. That ‘kiss’ doesn’t mean you’ve lost your chance.”

Azriel shook his head, resuming his walk. "It's not about that. Y/N deserves someone... better.” 

Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically, catching up to Azriel with a few quick strides. "Oh, here we go. The 'I'm not good enough' spiel. Az, you’re one of the most honorable males I know. You're brave, loyal, and let's not forget, you have that brooding mysterious thing going on that females seem to love."

Azriel shot him a skeptical look. "Being 'brooding and mysterious' isn't exactly a selling point."

"Maybe not for you," Cassian quipped, "but trust me, it's working. Besides, Y/N isn't the type to be swayed by titles or power. She values character, integrity, and someone who sees her for who she truly is."

Azriel sighed, his gaze distant. "Even so, with everything in my past, the things I've done... I don't want to burden her with that."

Cassian placed a firm hand on Azriel's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Listen to me. We all have our demons, our shadows. Y/N included. But that doesn't mean we don't deserve happiness. You can't keep punishing yourself forever.”

"She is… different. She’s strong, independent. She’s been through so much, yet she doesn’t let it define her. I admire that.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “She is all of those things. And she’s got a good heart. But, Az, you know it’s okay to feel something more. You don’t have to keep everything locked away.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might brush off the conversation entirely. But then he sighed, a sound that was barely audible but heavy with unspoken thoughts. “It’s not that simple, Cass. She’s… well, she’s remarkable. But she’s also tied to things I don’t fully understand. And after everything… I’m not sure it’s right to complicate things further.”

Cassian looked at him, his expression serious for once. “You’re overthinking it, as usual. Sometimes, it’s okay to just… let things happen. If there’s something there, you’ll figure it out. And if there’s not, well, at least you won’t have any regrets.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, but Cassian could see the conflict in his eyes. Finally, Azriel murmured, “I don’t want to be a distraction for her. She’s got enough to deal with, especially after what happened.”

Cassian grinned, though there was a note of understanding in his voice. “You’re not a distraction, Az. If anything, you’re probably one of the few people who can help her with whatever she’s dealing with. And, just so you know, she’s not out of your league, no matter what you think.”

Azriel remained silent, the internal battle evident in his eyes. The bustling sounds of Velaris seemed to fade as the two friends stood in the midst of the crowd, locked in a moment of understanding.

After a beat, Cassian grinned, attempting to lighten the mood. "And besides, if you don't make a move, I might just have to swoop in. You know, for the sake of not letting such a wonderful female go unappreciated."

Azriel snorted, a rare genuine laugh escaping his lips. "I'd like to see you try."

Cassian winked, clapping Azriel on the back. "That's the spirit! Now, how about we head to Rita's and grab a drink? Maybe by the time Y/N returns, you'll have mustered up the courage to tell her how you feel."

Azriel smirked, his shadows swirling playfully around him. "Only if you're buying."

"Deal," Cassian replied, leading the way with a swagger in his step. "But remember, the next round's on you, especially if it gives you the liquid courage you clearly need."

As they made their way towards the river, laughter and camaraderie enveloped them. Yet, beneath the teasing and banter, the seeds of self-reflection had been sown in Azriel's heart, leaving him to ponder the possibilities that awaited with your impending return. 

tag list: @annamariereads16 @hanatsuki-hime @elsie-bells @shizukestar @rose-girls-world @brit-broskis-cole-fanfic @faridathefairy @elsie-bells @faridathefairy @wolfbc97 @rcarbo1 @kitsunetori @hufflepuff-pa55 @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @sometimeseverythingsucks @dream-alittlebiggerdarling

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

[pigdemonart]

Battle Subway Depot Agents (by pig-demon)

When I made designs for these guys last year I didn’t really think they needed colored references/master post, but since then I’ve drawn them a lot! Also people have added them to their fanfics and drawn fanart! So I figured it was time I made a post for easy ref. :]

These designs are obviously free to use, just give credit (and link me your work if you're comfortable, because it makes me happy to see!) All I request is to stay respectful to their pronouns and skin colors, ya knooow… 👍 note: The pokemon on their cards are all companions, not the ones they use on the Battle Subway. Except Jackie...the litwicks are just there to fill space/give them company.

More info under cut:

Edit: Important disclaimer:

These are again my designs/interpretations for the agents. Please don’t treat them as canon or as the only, quintessential designs for these literal background npcs. Many people have done takes on them before and after me, even back in 2010. It feels silly to ask, but due to past experience, I ask that you please DONT hunt down anyone that does a different take on the depot agents!! 👍

Tags:

I'm gonna start tagging them individually, but for now all Depot Agent comics and art on this blog are tagged under Depot Agents.

Height chart:

I’m not too strict about heights, so I don’t really care about actual measurements. Here’s an approximation of what I tend to visualize though:

Sexualities/Gender Identities: I don't have official labels for each and every agent because I like keeping things fluid for characters to develop these traits on their own. However, as a queer person, I enjoy designing characters who are also queer, therefore I can safely say none of these characters are straight. The ones who are set in stone are Ramses (gay man), Cloud (lesbian woman,) Jackie (non-binary.) Furze uses he/they pronouns but their gender is undetermined. I also welcome anyone giving the agents a different gender identity to suit them (as long as it's done respectfully.)

Notes about each agent...

Cameron:

- Cameron dyes parts of his hair blonde and keeps other parts in black. This is because he is a big fan of Elesa and her fashion choices.  - Though there have been a few occasions to meet his idol, he is always way too nervous to approach her, feeling deep down that he'll mess up somehow. - He practices modeling poses in secret. He loves flourishes and flare, but is simply too insecure to put it on display. - Of his coworkers, he gets along the best with Furze. He's the easiest to talk to because Furze will do most of the talking. - Cameron is easily intimidated — even mean Pokémon can make him nervous. Though, his two worst fears are being left in a room alone with Jackie, and being left alone in a room with Isadore. - He takes advantage of his height to sometimes hide behind some of his coworkers. - Cameron is much better at Pokémon battles than he gives himself credit for. Emmet and Ingo were pleasantly surprised by this, since Cameron was promoted to fit a temporary role on the Battle Subway. They happily made him a permanent member when he proved himself capable. - His Dwebble (Pebby) is secretly very strong, and rushes to protect Cameron when it can. Cam sometimes thinks Pebby helps him feel more confident in himself too.  - If he stumbled into any of his coworkers outside of work, he would simply explode of embarrassment. - He is the youngest child and only son of his family. He lives in his own apartment in Nimbasa.

Cloud:

- Cloud (like Ramses) knew the twins when they were very young. - She used to be an ace trainer in her youth, even going so far to compete in the Pokémon league. Winning and becoming the champ was the most important part of her journey, but something happened along the way that changed that outlook. - It seems with age, her competitiveness has mellowed out. However, she maintains an intense energy when battling.  - Her favorite types are Psychic and Flying types. Swoobat (Sweetie) is her ace.  - Her favorite hobby is baking, and she often bakes sweets for the crew. She knows all their favorite flavors by now! - She prioritizes keeping a friendly relationship with all her coworkers and thinks of them fondly. She considers Ramses family after all the years of working together!  - She is a big fan of Brycen's movies and can recite the lines. - She lives with her wife in Anville. - Cloud loves doing maintenance work both at home and in Gear Station. She enjoys bringing her own tools and industrial flashlight.

Furze:

- Furze only has one volume setting (mid loud,) but he finds himself feeling right at home when talking to either one of the twins. - Furze has ADHD, and this is reflected in some of his habits, most visibly is his fidgeting when sitting still for too long. - He rides a bike to work every day. When he is late, Cloud clocks in for him so he doesn't get in trouble. - This is a kind of a guy that sits crouched gargoyle style on chairs. Only outside of work, of course. Bad posture could get him in trouble. - While working on the Battle Subway, there will be times Furze feels sorry for his opponents and offers to quietly let them pass anyways. This...has also gotten him in trouble. :[ - He went to the same elementary school as Isadore in Castelia. Though Isadore seems to have forgotten their short-lived acquaintance, Furze has not. This is part of the reason Furze claims they are in fact good friends!!! - Furze is the middle child of a big family. He lives with his mom and takes care of her, along with his many Darumakas and Darmanitan. All of his Pokemon have famous trains names. - He collects model trains. Naturally.

Isadore

- Isadore had plans to become the station master the moment he was hired as a depot agent, but alas... (sad trumpet sound.) - As a youth, he was more interested in science and engineering over Pokemon battles. He enjoys the strategizing aspect, at most. Not so much the competitiveness. - In addition, his Pokemon are all rescues and not used for battling. He's had his Watchog (Winston) since he was in his late teens. - His Electrode (Gregor) and Voltorb (Leonard) were rescued from the likes of Team Plasma. - Isadore admits he understands Pokemon better than humans. This has been apparent his whole life. - In spite of acting like a sitcom villain, Isadore cares about the management of Gear Station and the safety of the passengers to an incredible degree. He sees it as a personal life goal to assist in the management of Gear Station, as well as the success of the Battle Subway. - Though it pained him to become a subordinate to the twins, he begrudgingly accepts it for the greater good. - His almost militant efficiency certainly made up for his years of antagonizing the twins before they became the bosses. Ingo and Emmet understand this better than anyone. - Isadore keeps tabs on all of the staff members. So he very well knows all their birthdays and makes it a point to celebrate it. This is by no means a -happy- or -festive- event. It's just customary. - Like Furze, he was originally from Castelia, but now resides in Nimbasa. Isadore's only family is his mom and she lives in his childhood home with their Stoutland. - Isadore would have probably been voiced by every glasses guy ever J. Michael Tatum had he not already been cast as dear Emmet lmao

Jackie

- Jackie is a mystery and they like keeping it that way. When they talk, it's practically impossible to determine what is a lie or truth, especially if the subject is themselves or their background. - They love scaring Cameron the most and will ask to be paired with him whenever possible. They claim Cameron is their "favorite coworker," while Isadore is the least favorite. - It's plain to see why -- Jackie is the only one that doesn't passively tolerate Isadore's tirades. - Though my comics sometimes may allude to Jackie being a ghost/supernatural, this is not confirmed nor canon. I just personally enjoy toying with the concept. : ) That being said...

- Item #: SCP 7453

- Object Class: Euclid

- Special Containment Procedures: The ████ ██████ is ██████ within ████-██████. - Ingo and Emmet choose to not question anything about Jackie, since it's clear they're one of the more efficient workers. However it can be a safety concern... - Cloud and Ramses have worked with Jackie for a long time, though they've forgotten somehow. They believe Jackie is a new hire since they appear to be young. - Anyone trying to make sense of Jackie's employee records simply can't bring themselves to any conclusions. It's better to ignore the inconsistencies. - Jackie has never been seen to leave Gear Station. Jackie has never been seen in anything but their uniform. Jackie has never been confirmed to eat, drink or blink. Jackie knows your secrets. Jackie thinks it's... amusing.

Ramses

- Ramses sometimes misses having a full head of hair, but he thinks his signs of age make him look distinguished. (he is correct.) - Ramses is sort of the "mom friend," making sure everyone's concerns are heard, as well as trying to keep the peace whenever a conflict might arise. - If another coworker is feeling low, Ramses will try to cheer them up with a lighthearted joke or offer advice if they'd like it. - When the twins were promoted to bosses of the Battle Subway, Ramses cried because he felt so proud. - In most circumstances, he is a very simple and logical man. He is quick to find solutions and tries not to fret over the little stuff. It's not good for his heart after all. - His ace is his Pikachu (Musa,) though the mouse is more of a lap pet now. At home, he also has an Audino (Sara) and a Manectric (Nubi) who keep Ramses' husband company. His Klinklang (Moli) is the only one of his personal pokemon that accompany him to work nowadays. - Ramses considers Cloud family. They are best friends and love having family gatherings outside of work. They also gossip a lot, and don't mind when Jackie decides to join. - Ramses jokes about looking forward to retirement, but really doesn't want to leave until he is physically incapable of working anymore. Gear Station is like a second home to him.

In-Game Quotes

The most important reference of all are their in-game quotes, of course, so I'm adding it to the post. A lot of their personality traits can be extracted and interpreted from these few lines. And I personally love that about Pokemon NPCs -- there's a lot of room to explore and play with. Some appear very obvious. Cameron practically announces that he isn't ready for the battle that's about to ensue and seems genuinely surprised to win. Furze comes out the gate talking about the subject they actually care about, which is their job and their love for trains. The two of them are very easy to understand. Now, Ramses lines allude to a gentle and simple personality. He views himself with humility, and maybe even with a bit of humor comparing himself to a train and to his opponent to a station. If he loses he shows no signs of disappointment, he just accepts defeat with one last honest quip. It s also amusing to see the Depot Agents all use train metaphors to describe themselves since it falls in line with how Ingo and Emmet talk.

In comparison, Cloud does the same thing calling herself the terminal instead. Immediately, she is way more daring, though still keeping a sense of professionalism. To me, it's obvious she is competitive as she even admits she was expecting to win ("Ah...I didn't see it coming.") Jackie's lines are fun since it's up to interpretation if they are being literal or lying. It's almost like they are more interested in confusing/creeping out their opponent than actually beating them. To me, it gives off a mischievous vibe. Isadore's opener "There are only two roads in life." is a curious one because it almost feels like he is trying to be philosophical. Definitely a guy who views himself as an intellectual, regardless if that’s true or not. I like to think it's a saying he really believes in, and it applies to his life. The road he likes (long route) vs the road he hates (shortcut) -- fighting tooth and nail to become boss vs biting his tongue and accepting Ingo and Emmet as the Subway Masters.

Those are just my thoughts on how I write these characters. Please have fun playing with these lines too!

[sen-ya]

Life After Info Post

[Click here to access the Life After Digital Comic Book]

Summary: Two years ago, a viral outbreak rose the dead. Considering how his life had gone up to this point, surgeon Trafalgar Law figured this might as well happen too. When a supply run into the nearby city gets intercepted by a seemingly reckless and impulsive former patient, the dependable routine Law had settled into in this new life shatters. He finds himself exposed — his body out in the infected landscape, his conscious clawing to define what he believes is right, his heart begrudgingly deciding to find a new home on his sleeve. Maybe there’s more than a virus roaming the new world that can bring a dead man back to life.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, zombies/body horror (but lbr I am not good at making scary things look scary)

Relationships: Luffy x Law

Update Schedule: New page every Monday/Wednesday/Friday

Page Count: [37 posted | 55 drawn]

Latest Update: [7/21/24] WOWEE did I get myself carried away this morning. I just spent 5 hours organizing my comics and creating the digital comic book pages. I could have spent that time drawing or idk not doing what I do for my job, but I cannot be stopped. Anyway I blocked out 30 pages of this comic last week and they include the most intense action sequence I've ever done in my gotdang life. Wish me luck because I am nervous about tying down all my drawings lmao.

OLD UPDATES:

[6/29/24] HULLO! I'm doing so bad at keeping my masterposts updated lately I am sorry. All pages of life after are tagged life after if you're ever looking between masterpost updates! Also exciting update, I finally have figured out all the different plot points i'm gonna be hitting (yay!). I got hung up on something for awhile that made me not wanna work on this project, but I'm back at it. I think we'll end up with 6-7 parts! I have probably another 80-100 pages to draw lol. Also i got the app Magic Poser and it's AWESOME and I immediately used it to block out sets cuz MAN I hate backgrounds.

[6/10/24] HELLO. I'm sorry I've been shit at updating my masterposts lately. It's easiest to do from my computer, which I rarely use, and life has been happening. I also can't believe I bungled the queue and posted pg19 before pg18 i am very sorry 🤦 Eventually I'll have to turn this into an airtable base I'm sure, but until that day comes where I have like 100 pages of this comic we're stickin to the regular post lmao

[5/26/23] I got real caught up in doing summer of lawlu comics this week and this is the first week since the first week of April I haven't drawn new Life After pages and it feels weird 🙊

[5/19/24] More Luffy backstory comin' this week! :^)

[5/12/24] Updating now so get myself on schedule to update on Sundays like I had been with my other comic master post!

[5/8/24] Thank you to everyone who's liked/reblogged/comment on the first few pages!! It means the world to me that anyone's reading my silly little comics.

[4/28/24] HULLO. It’s happeninnng. I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this comic, and I gotta make this post so I can start queuing pages & link this in them! This is the most like….legit? Comic endeavor I’ve undertaken perhaps….ever. I’m very nervous about committing to how long it will need to be lol. This story is dear to my heart — zombie content is kind of my very favorite. I’ve always found it to be a great backdrop for exploring themes like grief, coping with change, community, and learning to live again. It’ll be a long haul but I hope you’ll ride it out with me!! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the first two pages. After that a page will post every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. As of this post I’ve completed over 20 pages so that I have a good lead on what’s posting and continuing to write, so I’m hopeful that’s a cadence I’ll be able to maintain. I’ll update this post weekly to include the most recent pages the way I do with my main comics master post. All pages will be tagged 'Life After' and I'll tag any pages with zombies in them with 'zombie' for blacklisting etc.

[littlejuicebox]

Heya!

I’ve been lurking for a while and had this idea rattling around in my brain - how do you think Astarion would be around a sweet & unassuming Tav but he can tell they’re FILTHY in bed, maybe flirting via tadpole?

Love your writing, hope you’re doing well

- 🌹

Tattoo

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for quite a while, unsure if anon will still see it! This mostly answers the prompt, I think. Perhaps a small detour lol.

Summary: Astarion thought you were an innocent, blushing virgin that night in the clearing. He misjudged you. And now you’re all he can think about.

Tags: smut, 18+, masturbation, tadpole fliritng, mentions of oral

Word Count: 1K

-----

It wasn’t until that night in the moonlit clearing when Astarion realized you had a tattoo. But of course, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to see your enticing bit of body art any other way.

His original intent had been to use his skills that evening in an effort to repay you for the regular feedings. His unique way of rebalancing the scales, as it were. But now that little tattoo, just below the curve of your hip, in the dip where your thigh meets your — surprisingly delicious — mound is all he can think about.

Astarion’s delved his hand in his pants more than once this week thinking about that vision alone. He hasn’t felt the urge to touch himself in decades, but the memory of that dainty bit of ink constantly taunts him throughout the day, stirring a desire he hadn’t known in ages.

He knows it’s ridiculous – it’s just a bit of ink, for god's sake – and yet, tonight he felt compelled to seek relief by wrapping his own pale hand around his cock and rubbing himself ragged once again. And now he’s sprawled in his tent, the remains of his spend still splattered over his abdomen, and his mind is starting to wander back to that night.

He’d seen tattoos on others, of course. In almost any place imaginable. Most of them were horribly done.

But you? Well, you’d certainly caught him by surprise.

You’d seemed the picture of innocence, made up almost entirely of wide, doe eyes and gullibility. Before his proposition, he’d been almost positive you were a blushing virgin. An easy target.

But to have a tattoo in such a salacious location? And then to have your hot, sinful mouth wrapped around his cock, worshiping it with your tongue, as if you’d never tasted anything better? All with those big doe eyes watching his every move and clearly delighted by his own pleasure?

He hasn’t had an experience quite like that for as long as he can remember.

And, well, looks could certainly be deceiving, couldn’t they?

The taste of your blood as he sunk his sharp fangs into your soft flesh while you’d found release had been intoxicating. Part of him wants to experience it again; the other part knows – and desires to avoid – what he will have to do to achieve that particular flavor.

At this point, Astarion isn’t quite sure if he wants to proposition you again or not. Sure, the first time was satisfactory. Perhaps even a bit enjoyable. But still—

Suddenly, the rogue feels a tugging on the edge of his mind, ripping him from his musings. He recognizes this sensation, it’s a tadpole mind link. But something about this is… different. It isn’t accidental, it’s intentional. Someone in camp is reaching out to him.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Good thing he’s immortal.

Against his better judgment, Astarion opens his mind to the call. And there you are, waiting for him.

"I'm surprised you’re still awake,’ You say, and the silver-haired elf is shocked to hear your voice as if you’re right next to him. Interesting.

‘How did you realize we could do this?’ Astarion asks, and he hears your entertained laughter tinkle in the background of his psyche in response.

‘Shadowheart and I figured it out sometime last week. We’ve only used it to talk shit about everyone thus far.’ You reply, clearly proud of your discovery and thrilled by your own behavior.

‘Everyone?’ The rogue asks, not pleased about being the topic of you and your apparent best friend’s judgment.

‘Almost everyone,’ You amend, and there’s a brief flicker of affection in your psyche towards Astarion that you’re certain he notices before you quickly stomp it down.

You feel a ripple of Astarion’s own satisfaction at your amendment. He’s glad to not be the topic of your more unkind thoughts.

‘What are you still doing awake, darling?’ The vampire questions, ‘You are normally the first one snoring.’

There is the smallest wave of offense, and then a resigned acknowledgement at the truth in his statement. A pause of the mental conversation ensues as you seem to carefully weigh your next thoughts and move around in your tent.

‘I can’t sleep. Too much excitement today, I think. Too much pent up energy,’ You start, and then flash a vision through your own eyes, showing Astarion as you look down at your own barren mound, ‘Care to come and help me… release some of the tension?’

Astarion can see the tattoo through your eyes, greeting him in a sensual hello as you drag your fingers down it, on the way to touch yourself. Gods damn it.

He wants to take you up on your offer, but then he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know what he wants. So instead he dances around the topic, avoiding an answer, with a flirtatious admission of his own.

‘I’m afraid I have taken care of my own needs for the night,’ He replies, flashing you the quickest view of milky white liquid now beginning to dry upon his stomach.

A ripple of disappointment on your end. And then another pause.

‘Well… even though I wasn’t extended the same kind offer, you’re welcome to watch me as I take care of my own needs for the night.’ You offer, now teasing between your folds more insistently. You send the rogue another vision of your needy sex and two fingers now shining with arousal, ‘Via tadpole… or in person.’

Astarion has never thrown his shirt on and walked across the camp faster. In his haste, he broke the tadpole connection. But you hear him coming and barely peel back the flap of your tent, displaying the briefest sliver of your naked form.

The vampire pauses for a moment on the outside of your tent, debating if this is the right move. You’re still touching yourself, he can hear the slickness of your sex from here.

“Hurry up, Astarion,” You whisper, somewhat impatiently, as the urge to find release builds within you.

Fuck it, he thinks. He wants to run his tongue along that tattoo again, even if that’s all he does.

He quickly delves into the tent and ties it closed behind him without another thought.

Eventually, he does drag his masterful tongue along that tattoo, and around many other parts of your tempting body, after he decides to help you find a second release.

Simply watching the first one had been enough to make you almost irresistible. He wanted to sink his fangs into you again. Perhaps in your thigh this time, if you’d allow it.

Like a tattoo, his nights tasting you left him permanently altered.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

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[sugarplumprincess2003]

I think as Derek fans we have done a disservice in choosing the perfect profession for him - like yeah, he'd be great at sports, fine being a deputy, and all, but like Derek as a fireman has so much potential! I have read only few fanfics where he has been a firefighter, and I want moreeee! Like being a fireman is perfect for him in any au - his family died in fire, he fights trauma, becomes a firefighter in NY, and yada yada. Hale family is alive! well, no problem - he was a jock in high school, he grows up, decides he wants to be the saving kinda guy, becomes a firefighter in Beacon Hills.

There is so much potential here. And ofc Sterek being the relationship would be the icing on the cake what with him either being a paramedic, EMT, or like whatever profession.

SO, this is a humble request to Sterek fanfic writers - please, please, write few fics with Derek as a firefighter.

Reason for my Firefighter Derek Hale obsession is this fic that I have read a million times and keep going back to - Fireman Derek's Crazy Pie [Cheeseburger Baby] (17698 words) by owlpostagain (couldn't find their tumblr blog link) Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Laura Hale, Scott McCall, Allison Argent, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Danny Māhealani, Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, Sheriff Stilinski, Talia Hale Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Underage Drinking, Misuse of Fire Alarms, Negative Zero Knowledge of Pie, This Was Only Supposed to be a Drabble, Fluff, Abuse of Italics and Parenthetical Asides, oblivious!Stiles, Oblivious!Derek, Lots of Oblivious!Trope, fireman derek, Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Stiles Summary: “He can't blame me for the fact that I live in a building full of people united in the singular effort to ogle Hot Fireman as often as humanly possible." Laura laughs, loud and echoing in the empty restaurant. "Hot firemen can make a girl do crazy things," she agrees, nodding towards her brother's name on the menu. "Derek won't let me date anyone from his company, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the eye candy." "Send them my way," Stiles suggests, finally loading up a forkful of pie. "Apparently I'm incompetent enough that I need to be babysat at all times, because it would be cheaper than dispatching a truck every time I try to use a kitchen appliance."

You can also check out the tag - Firefighter Derek Hale

[library-ghoulette]

Now There Is Nothing Between Us

Pairing: Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: second person POV, established relationship, VHS and chill, their first time, my kink is being loved and wanted, crying, reference to past heartbreak, hurt/comfort, discussion of sexual fantasies, pillow princess!Reader, oral sex (f receiving), handjob, p in v sex, coming inside (please fuck responsibly), Copia being tender, Copia fucking the self-doubt right out of you

Words: 2435

Summary: Anxieties about your first time with Copia rear their head at the worst possible moment, but luckily he knows just how to ease your fears.

A/N: I wrote this because I was stressing out about writing sex scenes for the first time in a long time, and I thought it might help to have my favorite Papa sweetly talk me through it. This was supposed to just be for me, but I'm sharing it for anyone else who needs a therapy session with their smut.

ao3 link

divider by @gothdaddyissues

“Amore mio, what’s wrong?”

The question takes you by surprise. You were mid-kiss when Copia pulled back, his mismatched eyes searching yours with concern.

“N-nothing’s wrong,” you stammer, reaching for him again, eager to pull him back in, keep his mouth occupied, so he can ask no more questions.

But he stubbornly avoids your advances, catching your hands in his and holding them between the two of you, restrained. He settles onto the pillow beside you, face-to-face.

“You think I know you so little that you can lie to me?” he asks. “That I can’t feel it when you’re all stiff?”

He pulls his shoulders up and grimaces in a comically horrified expression that makes you smile in spite of yourself, but still you say nothing, merely look down at where he holds your hands clasped in his much larger, much stronger, ones. He runs a reassuring thumb over your knuckles.

It was supposed to be a special night. At long last, it was supposed to be the night.

The two of you had gone from stealing glances at one another in the halls of the Abbey, to sharing friendly movie nights where you sat on opposite sides of the couch, both too timid to make a move, to significantly friendlier movie nights that devolved into heated kisses long before the end credits even rolled.

Each night, there would come a moment where the kiss would break, when a heavy pause descended and there came an unspoken question that you knew you had to answer.

Every night before, the answer has been no. You would remark on the lateness of the hour and go back to your own room. And there you lay awake, burning with thoughts of all of the things you could have done if only you had stayed. All the places where Copia could kiss you, could touch you, as you touched yourself.

But not tonight. This time, when that silent question made itself known, the answer had been yes. You had stayed, followed Copia to his bed, let him lay you down with a gentleness that spoke of brutal desire barely contained. Pressed yourself against him, returned his kisses, helped him shrug out of his sweatshirt and pulled his T-shirt over his head with obvious eagerness. You had thought that you were doing well, doing it right.

Apparently, you had been wrong.

Great. Now you’re on the verge of tears. Very sexy. Definitely not a surefire way to spoil the mood.

Copia is still looking at you, his unpainted face soft, searching, utterly open. You don’t deserve his attentiveness, his care. It makes you want to hide.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” He kisses your knuckles. “You are maybe having second thoughts?”

“No! No, I– I really want to do this.”

“But something is bothering you. And we’re not doing anything until you tell me what that is. Until we fix it.”

Why does he have to be like this? Why can’t he just let it go? 

“Tesoro, you can tell me anything. You know this.”

Copia has never given you a reason to distrust him, has never judged you or made you feel silly for any of your anxieties. Still, you struggle to put this into words. 

“I don’t know. I’m just a little nervous, I guess?”

I sound so dumb.

“It’s okay to be nervous! Is this…”--he casts about for a tactful phrasing–”your first time?”

Satanas, it just gets worse and worse.

“No, it’s not my first time. But it’s been… awhile.”

“What’s the saying? Something about riding a bicycle?”

But in truth, it’s more than just the fact that it’s been awhile. Things did not end well with the last person you chose to share yourself with. 

You’ve worked so hard to heal from that relationship, not reinventing yourself so much as peeling back layers of hurt, finding yourself again bit by bit. You’re better now. But even after all of that healing, after finding your place here with the Ministry, after the wonderful surprise of falling for Copia, the scars of the past have a way of lingering.

Maybe the deepest of those scars is the lingering suspicion that no matter what you do, no one will ever truly want you or love you again. And worse, that you can’t trust anyone who claims that they do.

“It’s just.. I’ve imagined this so many times, and I guess I’ve gotten a bit too in my head about it. Wanting it to be perfect. And I’m afraid of doing something wrong. Of not”--and here’s the heart of it, the scary, vulnerable thing that you don’t want to admit–“of not being good enough for you.”

And now you are crying, when all you wanted to do was fuck your boyfriend like a normal person.

“Oh, topina.” Copia pulls you close, rolling onto his back to nestle you snug against his chest. “How could you ever think that you’re not good enough?”

“But you could have anyone you want,” you sob.

“You flatter me,” Copia chuckles. “But say that is true. I can have anyone I want. And where am I right now?”

“Here?”

“Yes, here. And who am I with?”

You sniffle. “Me?”

“Yes, you. And there is no one else I would rather be with. You are so precious to me. I feel lucky to have you in my bed.”

Your heart flutters at his tender words.

“And what I want, more than anything, is to make you feel good. To give you the pleasure that you deserve.”

Something considerably lower flutters at that.

“Copia…” 

You wriggle out of his grasp and pull yourself up onto one elbow, one hand resting lightly on his chest as you bend to kiss him again. 

When you break away, he thumbs a stray tear from your cheek and insists, “But I only want to do that if you’re comfortable. So you have to tell me if something makes you uncomfortable, yes?”

You nod down at him. “Yes, Papa.”

He groans low in his throat at your cheeky use of his title, the sound stoking something low in your belly.

“You said that you have been thinking about this night for a long time, tesoro?” 

His hand, resting against your hip, grips you tighter, drawing you closer against him. When he speaks, his words resonate with a note of command. 

“Tell me what you’ve imagined. Tell me how to make this perfect for you.”

This should be mortifying. It should, more than anything else he’s said tonight, activate your urge to run away, to hide. It’s been so long since you’ve really given yourself permission to want, to desire, much less to voice those desires full-throated, absent of shame. You’re so afraid of sounding silly. Of being too much.

But you can tell how turned on he is by you, by the way that your body feels pressed against his, fuck, by the very thought of you entertaining filthy daydreams about him. He wants you. Just as much as you want him.

And so, you push past the shame you have no need to carry any longer, that you never should have been made to carry at all.

Even if you stammer at first. Even if you don’t sound as confident as you wish you did. You find your voice.

“I– I’ve thought about you touching me?”

Copia brings a hand up to caress your face, tracing a feather-light line from cheekbone to chin. “Here?” he asks.

“Lower,” you reply.

“Ah.” His hand trails lower, making you shiver as his fingers skirt along your neck, your collarbone, before finally cupping your breast through your top. “How about here?”

Your mouth falls open in a gasp when he squeezes gently, his thumb sweeping across your nipple. Almost as an afterthought he wedges one thigh between your legs. Even through fabric the contact sends a pulse straight to your core, and you can’t help but grind against him with a whimper.

“What do I do next? In your fantasies?”

“You take off my clothes.” You’re desperate to feel his skin on yours. “And– and you lay me down on the bed.”

He flips you over effortlessly and takes his time undressing you, carefully undoing each button and zipper, revealing your body bit by bit with utmost tenderness. When he hooks his fingers over the waistband of your panties and pulls the silky fabric down your hips, your legs, exposing you completely, he does so with what could never be mistaken for anything but reverence.

Your legs fall open naturally and Copia kneels between them, resting his hands on your thighs, awaiting instruction.

“And now?”

You know that you can have anything you want, but only if you ask for it.

It’s everything you can do to keep your voice steady when you say, barely above a whisper, “And then you go down on me.”

“With pleasure, amore.”

Copia settles himself between your thighs and presses a hand against your mound, firm and grounding, acclimating you to his touch before spreading your lips with skilled fingers and bringing his mouth down to meet your slit. He runs the flat of his tongue up through your slick folds, lapping up your arousal. When you look down at him, he meets your gaze and flicks his tongue over your clit, smirking when you blush and cry out in pleasure.

And then he begins his work in earnest.

You had imagined that it would be good, but your daydreams left you unprepared for this level of skill, for how he would relax into the task before him with a patient eagerness, savoring you, taking the time to bring you ever closer to your peak. 

“Fingers,” you beg, barely coherent, “I need your fingers, please, please, Copia– oh!”

He finds your entrance and presses a finger inside of you, never losing the rhythm of his tongue tracing tight circles around your clit. You’re soaked, and it slides in and out with ease, and it feels so good to have any part of him inside of you, even before he pulls out and then presses back in with another digit, crooking his fingers up to find that spot deep inside of you, hitting it just so as he sucks your nub between his lips, and you’re crying out and twisting your fingers in his hair to pull him closer, and–

Your orgasm overtakes you ruthlessly, wave upon wave of pleasure breaking over you, leaving you a gasping, trembling mess in its wake. Copia crawls up your body to kiss you, letting you taste your own musky sweetness on his tongue.

“Do you want to hear what I’ve been thinking about?” he asks.

You’re unsure of your ability to speak, but you nod eagerly. You’ve never wanted to hear anything more.

“I’ve been thinking about your hands.”

“M-my hands?”

“Sì, your beautiful hands. And how good they would feel wrapped around me.”

How could you do anything in that moment but oblige, reaching down to free him from the confines of his red sweatpants. His cock springs free, what seems almost painfully hard, and you watch with satisfaction as you pump your fist up and down his thick length and pleasure nearly overtakes him. Eyes squeezed shut, he’s clearly struggling to hold back, to stop himself from rutting into your soft palm and coming right now. 

“I’ve also been thinking about your pussy, dolcezza,” he pants. “How good it would taste. How pretty you would look playing with it for me. But mostly what it would feel like to spread it open and fuck it until you come around my cock.”

“Yes, please,” you beg, feeling as though you might die if you don’t get to feel him inside you right now.

The stretch is deliciously intense, even as wet as you are, prepared by his fingers and his tongue. He works himself into you inch by careful, patient inch, until he bottoms out with a groan.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and you nod your assent, whimpering a “yes” as you wrap your legs around his soft waist, urging him on.

You open more and more with each slow, shallow thrust that becomes faster, deeper. There is no room for your self-doubt anymore, no thought to spare for anything that isn’t Copia: his weight on top of you, his mouth against the side of your neck, the scent of his cologne mingling with the salty tang of sweat, the overwhelming pressure of his cock inside of you. 

He murmurs your name with what sounds like wonder, like disbelief that you want this and that you feel so fucking good.

And then he rolls his hips just so, finding an angle that grinds his pelvis into your clit, making you cry out sharply.

“Just like that,” you beg him, breathless, “please don’t stop, please—“

And then you are coming apart again, your head thrown back and your pussy spasming beyond your control.

It’s almost too much for him. He rears back from you, gathering you more firmly in hand, tilting your hips up and gripping your ass to hold you in place as he fucks into you, hard and rough. You’re still reeling from your orgasm as his pace becomes erratic, desperate, and with a sharp snap of his hips his cock kicks inside of you, filling you utterly.

He pulls out and collapses beside you with a sated groan, forearm thrown over his eyes as he comes down, chest heaving, spent cock softening against the curve of his belly. You fold yourself in under his arm, head pillowed against his chest again in a semblance of how you lay earlier as you cried. But now all you feel is love, comfort, and the pleasant soreness creeping through your lower body.

“Well, tesoro…” He settles his arm around you, tracing lazy circles on your skin with the tip of his finger. His voice is unspeakably fond when he asks, “Was that everything you imagined?”

It wasn’t, of course. Your daydreams hadn’t started with you crying awkwardly in his arms. In your daydreams, everything had run as smoothly as a scene in a novel, you the assertive heroine who always knew exactly what to say, without any help.

But maybe, you think, if Copia is the one helping you, that’s okay. Maybe you don’t need to be anyone but yourself, sometimes awkward and insecure, but no less beloved.

And so you are telling the truth when you say, “No. It was better.”

[drunk-person]

Lys the lovely (Modern Au) P.5

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x cousin!reader

Summary: One of the most talked about gossips among the lower class servants in Kings Landing is the fact (or not) that Aemond Targaryen got involved with his cousin Y/n Targaryen when they were both teenagers. Mainly due to the fact that at the age of 17 she was sent to Old Town overnight. Some employees claim that Aemond was caught between her legs. Some say that, like her father, she had had a horrible fight with her uncle and aunt and was sent away. And other than that none of this happened, she just became interested in the course offered at the Old Town conservatory. But now five years later, Y/n Targaryen is back, and rumors haunt those who favor them.

This chapter is a part of a main story The gossip, you can find the previous chapter, summary and general tags by accessing the link.

Summary of the chapter: Aemond and Y/n decide to escape for a moment alone in the most isolated place they know, but the world outside keeps turning.

Warnings of the chapter: 18+ mdni! Fluff, summer things, light alcohol consumption, couples trip, slight codependency, no description for reader.

Word count: 12.500 k

A/N: I hope you like the new chapter, I'm very happy and grateful for all the dear people who commented on the previous chapter, thank you very much, your comments inspire me! Comments and suggestions are welcome 💕

A/N²: I listened to several songs while writing this chapter, Summer Time Sadness by Lana was one of them, but one that really hit me and I listened to a lot was Little Talks of Monsters and Men, maybe you think it fits. I hope you enjoy the new chapter. 💕💕

❦❦❦

"Hey hey kings landing, Floris Baratheon showed up alone at the opening of Lyana Blackwood's restaurant. Apparently when they asked her about Aemond Targaryen she didn't seem very happy, and some even said she rolled her eyes at times when talking about him. Could it be that our once unshakable couple is going through problems?"

❦❦❧

The company was almost completely deserted when Aemond and Y/n went down to the parking lot, which was a good thing since the appearance of both of them was not what could be called presentable. Y/n's hair, previously perfectly tied in a bun with braids, was completely loose and with the braids coming out of the sides, her clothes were completely wrinkled and her legs were still trembling.

Aemond wasn't in much better condition, with his hair messy and his clothes disheveled, but the smile was constant on his lips. The older man rested his jacket on Y/n's shoulders, since the blouse was sticking to her sweaty skin and marking her beautiful breasts that belonged only to his eyes. She just smiled at him brightly as they rode in the elevator.

-I can't wait for us to be alone in Lys. - Y/n's excitement was visible as she got into the car, already taking off her heels and putting them in the bag, and also Aemond's jacket, hanging it on the seat.

-Do you know that since I left I haven't been to the beach anymore? I've missed the sea a lot. - The smile was constant as she spoke, it was almost that same innocent smile from childhood when they both discovered something new that excited them both.

Aemond felt almost physical pain hearing her say that with such joy. Every time he stopped, even for a second, to think about everything she had lost in the last few years, he felt bile rising in his throat with the guilt of not having done anything to stop it.

He knew there was more to it than Y/n was telling him, that she wasn't as okay with all of this as she seemed, but the idea of ​​pressuring her to talk without knowing if she was ready didn't seem right to him, and in the end, he didn't even know if he was ready to talk about everything that happened that night and in the five years that followed. He just wanted to see her happy, and be happy by her side.

-I heard there's a luau on the beach that's beautiful. - Y/n sighed, crossing one leg over the other and leaning towards Aemond. - We can watch the stars together.

-It's going to be wonderful. - He smiled sideways and gently squeezed her thigh. The oldest was driving while Y/n chattered excitedly about everything they were going to do at the weekend and looked out the window observing the city at night. Little by little, her brow furrowed as she observed the path that was visibly different from the one they had taken earlier.

-Where are we going, Aem? - Her voice was curious as she looked at him expectantly.

-Well, if we're going to take the weekend off to spend time together… let's make the most of it. - He shrugged, looking at her while stopping at the traffic light. - I'm going straight to the airfield.

-You swear? - She smiled excitedly and Aemond nodded.

-We'll take the jet from there and be in Lys in 2 hours at the most.

Aemond was giving that simple side smile as he said this, and Y/n jumped on him distributing kisses on his neck and cheeks, she only stopped when they both heard a horn and noticed the green light of the traffic light invading the car. He just rolled his eyes and huffed while Y/n laughed returning to her seat. The remaining path was not very long with the Aerodrome being located south of the city near Rhaenys hill, Aemond just stopped at a pizzeria on the way at Y/n's request and picked up a pizza to take away.

-Mr. Targaryen. - The pilot greeted Aemond respectfully as they entered. - Going to a business meeting?

The man's gaze changed instantly and he had to force himself not to choke when he saw Y/n next to Aemond.

-Not today, Captain White. - Aemond approached the man with a serious gaze. - I'm going to Lys with my cousin, and I would like your utmost discretion regarding this.

Faced with Aemond's completely serious tone, the man just nodded, avoiding looking at the two any longer.

-And when do you plan to return? - He still looked away as he questioned his boss.

-You can pick us up on Sunday night.

-Yes, sir. - The older man said, already going to prepare things for takeoff and leaving them alone.

-I know I already said that I love your business voice, but I'll say it again. - Y/n smiled, hanging onto Aemond's neck now that they were alone. - I love your business voice.

Aemond just gave a sideways smile and pulled her closer by the waist, leaving a peck on her soft lips, and then pulled her by the waist in the direction of the hangar.

A few minutes later, they were both already settled inside the private jet Targaryen just waiting for takeoff without suitcases, without giving any satisfaction. Just the two of them, without anyone else knowing.

After the jet took off and was stabilized, the two took off their seat belts and sat in front of the television with Y/n pulling the pizza box while Aemond took the TV control.

-No movies with historical drama. You know I hate sad endings. - Y/n protested, snuggling closer to Aemond. - Remember when they showed a movie about the story of Elia Martell in ancient history class? I cried like a baby!

-You were sad for days. - The oldest threw his head back laughing at the memory.

-That's not funny! - Y/n rolled her eyes. - Our stupid ancestor destroyed that poor girl's life.

-So, no Rhaegar as possible names for our future child? - He frowned, teasing her.

-No. Never. - Y/n replied smiling, until she opened the pizza box.

-Aemond I can't believe you ordered ham with pineapple pizza. - She pushed his shoulder, making him smile.

-It's delicious. - He shrugged as he reached into the box, taking a bite out of it.

-It's disgusting. - Y/n grimaced as she watched him eat a slice of pizza with the greatest amount of grace she had ever seen in a human being.

-Haven't you lost your childish taste yet? - He cocked his eyebrow ironically.

-First, I don't have a childish taste, this is just a matter of civility. - She pulled the pizza box back towards her. - And second, if that freak you dare call pizza has passed flavor to my cheese half, I will definitely kill you.

Aemond just smiled, rolled his eyes and pulled her by the shoulder closer to him while he selected any movie from the available menu.

The rest of the trip was short, since Kings Landing wasn't that far from the free cities, and the two took advantage of the time to just lie down together in one of the plane's seats while they talked and laughed. Aemond stroking Y/n's hair, and she clung to his chest as if he were going to disappear.

-Did you know that I always dreamed about that?- Aemond whispered against her ear and Y/n felt her chest heat up. - Since the day I started working in that room I dreamed of you sucking my dick like that.

-Really? - She rested her hands on his chest and raised her torso to look him in the eyes, and Aemond just murmured in agreement, nodding his head positively. - I left you a good memory then. - Y/n smiled smugly as she caressed his chest.

-You were horrible at this before. - He chuckled, rolling his eyes.

-You said I was great. - She hit his chest, now offended.

-Because I had never been sucked before in my life. But being able to compare your current self with your 15-year-old self, I can say that you were horrible.

-I should have bitten you. - She growled, hitting his chest. - I'll never suck your cock again in my life.

-We both know that's a lie. - He smiled ironically, grabbing her arm and pulling her in for a kiss.

-Am I good now? - She asked, resting on his shoulders and looking at him.

-So fucking good. - He murmured against her lips, still smiling mischievously, making her blush slightly and kiss him once more.

Y/n laughed and distributed kisses on his neck, chin, jaw and jaw, with Aemond pulling her closer and kissing her on the lips.

-We look like two rabbits in heat. - Aemond spoke between kisses and Y/n laughed, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

-That's because we miss each other so much. - She kissed his jaw.

-We've been like this since we found out we could have sex. - He raised his eyebrow at Y/n and she just laughed, burying her head even deeper into his neck, making Aemond pull her by the jaw for another kiss.

-Did you touch yourself thinking about me? - He asked maliciously against her lips and Y/n nodded anxiously.

-Almost every night. But it was never enough, I missed your fingers, your cock so much. - She pointed out, leaving kisses on Aemond's marked jaw and sighing against his skin.

-Touch yourself for me. - He asked against her strands of hair, practically rubbing his own body against Y/n's. - Just like you did in the past, let me see you touch that cunt, and then I'll give you all the pleasure you want.

And Y/n did, just like when they were first figuring out how to pleasure each other as teenagers, she lay back against the couch and spread her legs before him, languidly touching herself as she cried out Aemond's name. And when she finally came against his fingers, whimpering for him, Aemond kissed her and made good on what he had said.

After spilling himself inside her for the third time that day, Aemond lay panting over Y/n's tired body, trailing soft kisses all over her collarbone. He had forgotten how good sex could be, not just any sex, sex with Y/n. It had been so hard to stop, and now he was addicted again, it was like he was 17 again and all he could think about was fucking her, being inside her, kissing her whole body.

In the years that had passed, he had never felt desire for any other woman, at most he had used his own hand to pleasure himself while looking at that damn polaroid of Y/n naked and smiling lazily between the sheets. But he felt no relief because what he really wanted was her, the warmth of her arms, the sweetness of her words whispered in his ear, the wonderful taste of her lips that drove him crazy. And now he had all of that back and he couldn't stop.

❦❦❦

In Kings Landing Mayane Dancil had barely closed the door after arriving home from a long day of work and her niece had already jumped on her telling her about what had happened in the store earlier while she told her about what she had seen in Aemond's apartment.

-Didn't you tell his mother? - Milla asked in shock.

-But of course not! - Her aunt answered promptly, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. - We don't meddle in the bosses' affairs Milla, you should know that by now.

-It's one thing to gossip among ourselves about what they do, it's another to let them know what we do. - The older woman was very serious as she said those words. - What do you think Aemond Targaryen would do to me if he found out that I was telling his mother what was going on inside his house?

-Most likely I would put you out on the street. - The girl answered somewhat embarrassed while looking at a potted plant as if it were very interesting.

-Worse than that, it would guarantee that I would never get a job again. - She sighed and looked at her niece. - Do you know why I work for both brothers?

The youngest just shook her head at the question.

-Mrs. Hightower helped me get the job because she wanted me to tell her everything her children do. - The woman spoke in a whisper, as if Alicent could hear her. - But I never told her anything significant because I'm not stupid enough to think that woman would protect me from the wrath of her children if they found out something like that.

-Never forget our position, Milla. - Her aunt's voice was serious, but softer as she tucked a strand of hair behind her niece's ear. - We can have fun gossiping about their lives, but we can't interfere in the games they play.

-You saw what happened to Joy today, she almost got fired for talking too much in front of Floris Baratheon. - The oldest caressed her niece's hair. - Don't make the same mistake she did.

Almost immediately after she finished speaking, the cell phone rang on the screen, the name flashing brightly.

Mrs. Hightower

Mayane shivered and signaled for her niece to be quiet as she answered the phone using the most polite voice she had.

-Good evening Mrs Hightower, is there any problem? - Mayane held her breath after speaking.

-Whether there was anything strange in your son’s apartment today? - She raised her eyebrows at her niece as she spoke to the woman on the phone. - Everything exactly as always, ma'am, Mr. Aemond is a very organized young man.

-Yes, I'm sure. - She shook her head without even realizing it while she was lying. - Good night ma'am.

When the call ended, the woman finally started breathing normally again.

❦❦❦

Alicent knew that the maid was lying, she knew that it was impossible that she had not seen anything, but she could not force her to tell the truth.

-What are we going to do, father? - Her eyes were closed as she faced Oto.

-Are you sure about what you are talking about, Alicent? - The older man walked around the room with a thoughtful look.

-If this is true, we will need to intervene as soon as possible. For his sake and mine, the elections are coming up and it will not be well received by the party if it comes to light that my grandson has been involved with a cousin. The opposition will descend on this like the vultures they are.

-I don't know what else to do to keep him away from her. - Alicent's eyes were bloodshot as she picked at her cuticles. - He doesn't listen to me, and Viserys won't do anything about it.

-We will appeal to Aemond's ambitious side. - Oto poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass as he paced the room with calculated movements. - Remember what I told you at the last party meeting? It's still in his favor. If Aemond wants to take advantage of this opportunity, he'll have to distance himself from her.

-And if that doesn't work? - Alicent squeaked, looking at her father in exasperation.

-Then we'll go down the path of his loyalty to the family. - Oto smiled reassuringly at Alicent. - She may even have some power over him, but Aemond would never do anything that would harm my campaign or the name of the entire family.

❦❦❦

Y/n and Aemond fixed their disheveled appearance before exiting the jet, both with satisfied smiles on their faces as they walked down the stairs on the Lys runway. She decided to leave her hair loose, which now fell wildly down her back, much to Aemond's delight, who loved to see it loose.

As soon as they entered Lys Airport, they were guided to a counter where they were supposed to leave any electronics that could record images. Aemond had already left his cell phone and other belongings in the trunk of the car, and Y/n's cell phone had been forgotten in the hotel room for two days. After that, they went through the X-ray and were allowed to enter the country without any major problems.

-What hotel are we staying in? - Y/n asked after getting into the black car that was waiting for them at the exit of the airport at Aemond's request.

-Aegon said he came here once and stayed at the Lotus Flower, but I don't know if it's reliable considering the source. - Aemond said laughing and sitting very close to Y/n in the back seat while the driver remained silent until he was told to drive to the main streets, where the two got off at a busy square with a beautiful water fountain in the center and started walking.

The night in Lys was beautiful, Friday night and everyone was in the streets partying even though it was quite late. There were bars and restaurants packed with people having fun, and Y/n and Aemond just walked with their arms around each other smiling on the sidewalk and watching everything. People didn't have cell phones, cameras, or Internet in that part of the island, they were just themselves. They were just dancing, shouting, being silly, not caring that the next day all of this would be ruining their lives online.

Minutes later the two spotted a bar that was playing fun music and they both decided to go in to have a drink together before finding a hotel. The two drank about three drinks and the conversation that was already flowing naturally between them became increasingly excited as they talked a little more loudly and exchanged kisses, feeling loosened by the alcohol.

Aemond felt free. There was no one watching him, no one waiting for a slip to judge him, he was so mixed in among the people that no one gave a damn about who he could be. In Westeros, anyone who laid eyes on him would know he was a Targaryen by his hair, but in Lys… he was just another silver-haired guy, just like the bartender and half of the male population of the island. And taken by this thought and the extra confidence of the alcohol, he pulled Y/n by the hand to the dance floor.

Y/n didn't even blink, just threw her head back laughing as she went with him towards the dance floor.

-I hate this song. - She whispered in his ear while biting his ear.

-Yeah, but you're going to dance with me anyway. - Aemond pulled her firmly by the hip.

-Why? - She questioned him with her eyes shining.

-Because I'm asking. - He murmured against her lips.

-Egocentric. - Y/n sighed, kissing him on the lips once more.

The two then pressed their bodies together, smiling as they danced to the lively melody, slightly drunk on alcohol and joy, spinning and jumping around the dance floor amidst other couples without anyone stopping to look at them as if they were a tourist attraction.

The hours passed without them noticing, and both of their feet ached from exhaustion.

-Want to go find a hotel? - Aemond spoke in a slightly louder voice to stand out over the loud music after a few dances and a few more drinks later.

Y/n just nodded, laying her head on his shoulder, completely exhausted after the long day. The older man guided her by the waist to the exit to get to the car once again.

-Take us to a good hotel. - Aemond asked the driver while Y/n lay against his shoulder and closed her eyes, her hair falling in front of her face with the action.

It didn't take them even five minutes to arrive at a beautiful hotel facing the sea with a beautiful flower garden around it. And Aemond smiled softly when he noticed that Y/n had fallen asleep on the short car ride, and without thinking much he just picked her up in his arms and carried her into the hotel with ease while the youngest just snuggled in his arms.

-Only the honeymoon suite is vacant, sir. - The receptionist said after checking the system.

-Excellent. We will keep it. - He smiled slightly drunk, taking the key card between his fingers without letting go of Y/n who was still sleeping snuggled in his arms and heading towards the elevator.

When he got to the room he gently placed her on the bed with soft sheets and took off her sandals and clothes, smiling sideways as he admired her naked body. Aemond opened the door of one of the closets and took out a light pink silk nightgown and carefully put it on her, then laid her on the bed once more, leaving a loving kiss on Y/n's forehead.

Then he, equally tired, took off his own clothes, getting naked and lying down next to her, pulling her towards him and hugging her from behind, snuggling, putting his head in the gap of her neck and falling into a deep sleep soon after, completely relaxed as he was holding onto Y/n.

❦❦❦

Without a single worry in mind, the two slept almost halfway through the day, tightly holding onto each other while forgetting that there was a world outside.

Aemond, as almost always happened, woke up before Y/n and with a side smile he distributed kisses on her exposed neck, who just groaned and buried her face in the pillows.

-We need to get up if we don't want to waste the day. - He whispered in her ear, pulling her towards him while Y/n buried her face in his bare chest.

-Your feet are cold, Aem. - She grumbled as she snuggled even closer to him.

-Mnmm. - He just murmured and nodded, stroking her unruly hair.

-Give me ten more minutes and I swear I'll be ready to get up. - She begged against his neck with her voice hoarse from sleep, and Aemond, after a smile, got up, leaving a kiss on her back and heading towards the large bathroom.

Without Y/n with him, the shower was slightly quick, and when he came out with the towel wrapped around his waist, he noticed that neither he nor Y/n had any clothes for the day, since they hadn't even bothered about it when they left the day before. And with a sigh, he put on the hotel's fluffy robe and called the reception to request clothes from the hotel store in his and Y/n's sizes.

Almost immediately after Aemond hung up the intercom, Y/n stood up lazily and left a kiss on his jaw as she headed towards the bathroom to take a shower and start the day.

Aemond was sitting in an armchair, smiling as he heard Y/n hum softly during her shower, and he almost didn't notice the soft knocks on the bedroom door indicating the arrival of the clothes he had ordered.

After the second knock, he got up to open the door and receive the two orange bags with the hotel's crest engraved on them. And as soon as he closed the door and looked at the contents of the bags, he knew he was in trouble.

❦❦❦

-I won't use this even if I die. - Y/n said, wrapped in a towel, holding it tightly against her chest as she shook her head in disbelief at the sight of the clothes.

-Why not? - Aemond asked, holding the white shirt in one hand and the orange pants in the other. He knew the answer, but they were still the only clothes he had gotten.

-Because it's ridiculous! I'd rather go out naked than wear this, Aemond! - She frowned slightly, laughing at the clothes that were on the bed.

-It's not an option, dear. - He said, furrowing his eyebrows with a roguish smile and pulling her towards him by the waist.

-You can't make me wear those clothes. - She rolled her eyes, putting one hand on his shoulder while holding the towel against her chest with the other.

-No one will see you wearing this. - He chuckled against her hair. - I assure you, I'm not much happier with this than you are, Your Highness, but we don't have much of a choice.

-Aem… - She looked him in the eyes, pouting, and Aemond just bit her lip and pulled it.

-Let's go to a store after here and we can both choose something. - He smiled against her lips, squeezing her tightly around the waist. - If you're good, I can even let you choose my clothes.

– Do you swear? - She raised her left eyebrow, staring at him.

-I swear. - He murmured against the shell of her ear, making her feel goosebumps.

-Then let's get on with it, because if you stay this close to me, we won't be leaving this room any time soon today. - She smiled, pushing him away from her while pulling the clothes off the bed.

As soon as she put on her clothes and turned towards the mirror, Y/n burst out laughing and Aemond couldn't help but laugh softly along with her when he saw himself in the mirror's reflection. Both dressed identically, wearing white cotton shirts and bright orange plain baggy pants.

-We look like two inmates, Aemond. - Y/n writhed with laughter, looking at herself and him. - Didn't they even have shorts?

-They were missing. - Aemond scratched his head as he smiled and admired Y/n so smiling, wearing the ugly hotel clothes and with her hair still damp from the recent shower. - Let's go down or we won't enjoy the day at all.

-I look even worse than you wearing the necklace. - Y/n said as Aemond grabbed the wallet from the sideboard, then pulled it towards him and they both walked out the door still laughing.

-I already know! - Y/n exclaimed, stopping walking and staring at Aemond with wide eyes. - We were arrested because we stole the necklace! - She laughed, throwing her head back and laughing at her own joke, making the older man laugh too, but more restrainedly than Y/n, while holding her close to him.

Upon arriving at the reception, Aemond, now sober, rented a car to they could easily get around the island, a beautiful moss green convertible with retro-looking leather seats. And Y/n couldn't help but tease him about the fact that he was renting a completely classic car on a tropical island, making him smile sideways as he started the car.

-Ok, you can choose the store. - The eldest murmured, gently squeezing Y/n's knee, driving along one of the island's main streets with a smile while her silver hair flew in the gentle wind breeze.

-Gimme a moment. - She smiled, carefully analyzing the stores through the window. The brands were very different in Lys and she didn't know many, only the most famous Love & Grace, but she didn't see it there. And with a smile she asked Aemond to park after seeing a dozen beautiful dresses and other summer clothes in a simple display case.

-You better get ready to keep your promise because today you're going to be my personal model. - She practically bounced when she got out of the car, even briefly forgetting about the ridiculous clothes from the Hotel.

For a moment, as he got out of the car, Aemond looked around, afraid that someone would see them together acting so passionately, or that someone would see him wearing those clothes. But then he remembered where he was and smiled at Y/n, taking her hand in his to cross the street together.

-I told you I could choose an outfit. - He protested and pulled her closer to him, putting his arm around her back and holding her by the waist as they crossed the street.

-I’m pretty sure I heard clothes in the plural. - Y/n hummed. - And don't even try to fool me, Aemond Targaryen, I know you too well for that.

Aemond just smiled and placed a kiss on her hair. As soon as the door opened and they both entered, the store attendant chuckled and looked away slightly when she saw the two, and Y/n just looked at Aemond and curved her eyebrow as if to say "I told you so!" and the older one, in return, just pouted and shrugged in an almost audible gesture of "What can I do?".

And letting go of Aemond, Y/n went towards the smiling attendant who immediately tried to be serious.

-Good morning, I would like to try on the dresses that are on display in your window. - Y/n said, smiling friendly as she leaned over the counter. And the young woman, without looking her in the eyes, nodded positively, already heading towards the window to see what the pieces were, tripping on the way and regaining her balance while holding on to the counter.

-It's okay to laugh. - Y/n smiled again towards the attendant when she noticed the girl's nervousness. - We know we look ridiculous. - She made a face, pointing at her own clothes in a relaxed manner, and the girl smiled a little as she asked Y/n's size.

-What's your name? - Y/n asked as she looked at some clothes and Aemond had to hold back a smile, she hadn't lost her chatty manner.

-Arlie, miss.

-It's a very pretty name if you want to know. - She smiled at the girl as she pulled out two shirts that Aemond strongly suspected were for him.

-Ahem, let's go to the fitting room. - She pulled him by the hand, confirming his suspicions. - Try these on and I'll bring you some more.

The relief Aemond felt when he took his clothes out of the hotel was fleeting when he put on the shirts Y/n gave him.

-I brought black shorts out of respect for your goth side. - She said as she hung the shorts on the dressing room door and waited for him to come out already dressed.

-Speaking of which and paraphrasing you earlier today. - He paused dramatically and opened the dressing room door, coming out with the black shorts and bright yellow shirt. - I'm not wearing that shirt even if I'm dead.

He looked at her very seriously and Y/n burst out laughing at the same time, holding on to the door frame of the dressing room as she looked at him, making Aemond raise his eyebrows.

-I didn't expect you to use it. - She looked at him, still smiling. - That was just personal revenge for making me wear that. - She said pointing to her own clothes, and the older man, rolling his eyes, ripped the shirt off his head and threw it over her, making her laugh even more.

-I'm going to regret letting you do that…

-Okay, okay. - Y/n interrupted him with pleading eyes. - I'll be good now, I promise. - And when she kissed his fingers as she said that, Aemond felt like a string was pulling at his heart, and shaking his head negatively, he brought his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her in for a sweet, soft kiss before returning to the dressing room, leaving Y/n standing there smiling and looking at the door.

-I'll be much nicer now. - She spoke loudly, returning to the store's hall, making the older man smile to himself inside the fitting room as he waited for more clothes.

About forty minutes later, Y/n had already chosen clothes for herself and was just watching Aemond try on his with a look that mixed between pure love, desire and genuine happiness as he changed looked at the pieces with that serious and firm look directed at her, smiling every now and then as they talked.

-You're lucky we don't have much time to waste. - Y/n bit her lower lip as she admired him wearing the looks she put together, already dressed in a beautiful flowing lilac dress and wearing a green bikini underneath. - Or we would stay here forever.

-We already have more than enough for today and tomorrow. - He pulled her by the hips close to him. - Are you satisfied?

-For now. - She gave him a quick peck on the lips and pulled him by the hand towards the cashier, while Arlie passed the clothes. Y/n smiled when she saw a pair of black sunglasses that she knew would look perfect on Aemond. And still smiling, she turned him towards her with her fingertips and placed the glasses on his face, sighing at the result, making Aemond roll his eyes.

-I think it's fair that I at least choose your sunglasses. - He murmured, smiling sideways and Y/n agreed, narrowing her eyes.

-No funny business, sir.

Aemond rolled his eyes, choosing a nice pair of glasses that matched his own and placing them on Y/n's face.

-Excellent taste. - She smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror and Aemond just shrugged with a slightly shy smile as he paid the bill, making her smile even more.

-Bye Arlie, I hope you have a good day of sales. - Y/n waved to the attendant as the two left the store with their various shopping bags.

As she put the bags she was carrying in the trunk of the car, Y/n raised her eyebrows slightly when she noticed that Aemond had put their ugly hotel clothes in a bag from the store, but she ended up not asking him anything when she felt a soft kiss on the back of her neck as he closed the trunk and guided her by the waist towards the passenger seat.

-Where to now? - He smiled, squeezing her thigh as he maneuvered the car.

-I saw a lovely restaurant in front of the beach a few meters back. - She smiled, looking at him. - We can eat and then stay at the beach.

-Sounds really good to me. - Aemond then looked away at Y/n's body and smiled slightly. -This dress looks like the one you wore to my graduation.

-Do you remember? - She looked down analyzing her own clothes with a stupid smile on her lips.

-How could I forget, you were so suspenseful about this that it seemed like it was already our wedding day. - Aemond rolled his eyes with a smile. - And then there you were, more beautiful than any of the graduates sitting in the front rows, waving at me and smiling. I felt like it was more worth being there to admire you than for anything else.

Y/n's heart melted as she heard Aemond describe the way he remembered her that night. And with a smile she placed her own hand over his hand that was on her thigh while he drove and squeezed it gently in affection.

It didn't take them five whole minutes to get to the restaurant, and it really was lovely. With a beautiful bouquet of purple Bougainvillea climbing up the columns and tiles of the porch, making the place cozy and colorful, and several wicker tables and chairs spread across the polished wooden floor.

Aemond pulled out a yellow wicker chair for Y/n to sit on and after she did so he placed a kiss on her hair as he pulled out a chair for himself, sitting next to her and already picking up one of the menus on the table and analyzing it.

They both ordered salmon, but Y/n opted for a Mediterranean salad without onions while Aemond chose something with more green leaves. The lunch was light and peaceful with the two laughing and talking as they shared food from each other's plates even though they had ordered almost the same thing.

And after paying the bill, the two finally went towards the beach, which was empty in that part, but there were still some people talking or sitting in the kiosks, far from the privacy they both wanted.

-We can go to a more secluded place. - Aemond suggested. - We'll take a snack and have a picnic later.

Y/n's eyes lit up at the suggestion and she nodded, pulling Aemond by the hand towards a wooden kiosk covered with straw.

Aemond bought a wicker basket while Y/n chose some things they could take to eat, and in the end she ended up with fruit juices, two sandwiches, a bowl with a mix of strawberries and cherries and some crab cakes.

-Apparently they don't sell lemon cake in beach kiosks. - Y/n rolled her eyes as she put everything in the basket under the watchful eye of Aemond, who just smiled sideways at her.

The two walked and talked for what seemed like hours, until they reached a completely empty and quiet beach. Only the sound of the waves and their voices interrupted there, and with a smile Y/n spread the aqua green linen blanket that Aemond had recently bought on the sand for them both to sit on.

-Gods i missed this so much. - Y/n smiled as she felt the cool sea breeze against her face.

-You just stayed in the conservatory all the time? - He bowed his forehead. - Not allowed to go out?

-We had guided "tours" into town once every two months.

-But? From your tone I know there's a but.

-I was banned because the first time I tried to call you from a pay phone. - She huffed, feeling tears in her eyes as she remembered that horrible day.

-It's okay. - Aemond murmured against her hair after gently pulling her towards him. - We're together now, you're safe and with me.

-No one will separate us anymore. - He stated with certainty, looking into her eyes. - Do you understand me, Y/n?

She nodded, wiping away a tear and smiling at Aemond, giving her a hug.

-Want to talk about this? - He murmured against her hair as he stroked her back with his fingertips.

Y/n just shook her head slowly and then looked him in the eyes.

-I just want to be happy to be here now. - She smiled at the eldest and left a sweet kiss on his angular chin.

❦❦❦

The sunlight shone on Y/n's skin and Aemond enjoyed it as he ran his fingers gently over it. He could notice more clearly every little change in that body he loved so much. Some small light stretch marks that were not there before now went down her breasts and lodged below the fabric of her bikini and Aemond wished to see her naked under the sun so he could see them completely clearly.

And satisfying that desire, he untied the knot of the bikini top, pulling it down and he could see her breasts under the golden sun of Lys. Y/n didn't object, she just stood there with her eyes closed, feeling the touch of his fingers and enjoying the warmth of his gaze.

Aemond gently traced his fingers along the white lines that had appeared there due to the growth. The touch was not malicious, but rather adoration. Y/n's nipples gradually rose with his gentle touch and noticing this, the older smiled and placed a sweet kiss on her left breast, making her shudder.

And with a bigger smile he distributed kisses over her left breast, being meticulous in each small new mark that had appeared. And when he finished he gently sucked her nipple making her bite her lips and gasp his name.

-I'm taking care of you. - He answered simply as he moved to the other breast and did the exact same thing, making Y/n sigh, and when he finished and sucked her right nipple Y/n opened her eyes and pulled him into a slow and passionate kiss that in both of their minds seemed to last hours.

-When we're done I'll have recounted each of your freckles in case a new one has appeared out of my sight. - He promised, trailing kisses down her neck while Y/n tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer and closer until they were both hugging each other, Y/n's bare breasts pressed against Aemond's bare chest.

When the two finally let go of each other, Y/n stood up under Aemond's confused gaze, who frowned. And with a mischievous smile, Y/n removed the bottom of her bikini under Aemond's watchful eye. And still laughing, she turned and began walking towards the sea, completely naked.

-Y/n! - Aemond shouted her name, who just laughed, looking at him over her shoulder. - Seven hells. - He grumbled, mesmerized by the sight of her walking naked along the deserted beach under the sun.

-Come with me, Aem. - She called him with that melodious voice while making the come here gesture with her index finger, already entering the water and getting lost in the waves.

Seeing her there, naked in the middle of the sea waves, Aemond suspected that perhaps his cousin was a mermaid, or one of those mythical sea creatures he had read about, that bewitched weak-hearted idiot men. The way he couldn't contain himself in her presence couldn't be normal, there had to be something wrong with it. And with that thought, he took off his own shorts and went towards the sea where Y/n was waiting for him with only her eyes out of the water, and just by looking into her eyes, Aemond knew that she was smiling mischievously at him.

As soon as he approached, she entwined herself around his body like a vine, pulling him close and kissing him slowly.

-I think that in at least one place in the world what you do to me should be considered a crime. - Aemond murmured against her neck salted by seawater.

-Maybe, but I don't care as long as I have you. - She sighed, looking into his eyes and Aemond smiled, pulling her in for another kiss.

-How could you have spent 5 years confined in a conservatory and still be like this? - The eldest bit her lower lip, pulling it slightly.

-Have you ever heard the theory that repression is the best way to create rebellion?

-Good theory. - He kissed her again with even more passion.

-My mother would be so pissed if my ass appeared on the cover of a newspaper. - Aemond said, squinting after thinking for a few moments, making Y/n laugh.

-That's already happened to Aegon, twice, and he's still alive. - She laughed, hanging around his neck. - She'd probably kill you for your naked ass being next to my naked ass.

-Mmmm. - He just muttered under his breath while laughing and Y/n, taking advantage of the distraction, splashed water on him while laughing.

And as if they were children again, the two screamed and splashed water on each other, smiling and laughing amidst kisses and laughter. When they were both shivering from the cold, they got out of the water, still kissing, lightly biting each other's lips.

-You're the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. - Aemond tucked a lock of hair behind Y/n's ear, speaking in a low, soft voice, making her blush, and then he kissed her deeply once more.

And with her body still wet from the salty sea water, Aemond laid her down on the blanket on the sand and took her under the golden sunset of Lys, loving every part of her body with passionate kisses and sweet caresses while the last rays of the day's sun bathed their naked bodies.

-You're so beautiful.- Y/n sighed, looking at him with bright eyes and her head lying on Aemond's bare chest and her legs entwined between his, both comfortable under the starry sky while the only audible sound was that of the crickets. - The most beautiful man I've ever seen.

-Considering the last few years, I don't think there were many to compare it to. - Aemond joked, slightly laughing and Y/n rolled her eyes with a huff.

-You're the most beautiful Aemond Targaryen, just deal with it. - She lifted her head and her torso, looking into his eyes, speaking seriously, making him let out a nasal laugh and pulling her to lie back on his chest.

-I'm happy to be here with you. - He stroked her hair lovingly while admiring the stars. - It's like I feel alive again after years of living under anesthesia.

-It's funny you say that because I feel the same way. - She caressed his chest with her fingertips.

-Sometimes I don't know who I am anymore. I spent so much time pretending that I think I forgot, but when I'm with you I feel like I'm me again. Just me, without having to try hard for it, without having to think or pretend. - Y/n pressed her eyes tightly as she said this, and Aemond remembered what she had said the day before about pretending to avoid being punished and with that thought he hugged her tightly.

-No need to pretend. Not with me, I will always love you and accept you exactly the way you are. - He smiled softly, looking into her eyes. - Every characteristic of yours makes you my Y/n, and I would never change anything.

Y/n laughed, feeling tears in her eyes.

-Not even my total dislike for reading and dramatic movies? - Her voice was choked as she teased him.

-Maybe the books part. - He tightened his grip on her waist, making her laugh out loud and shrink against him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

-I'm hungry. - She murmured against his skin.

-I think we'll have a picnic under the stars then. - He chuckled, pulling the wicker basket closer.

❦❦❦

Y/n and Aemond returned to the hotel for a quick shower and a change of clothes since night had fallen and the youngest was anxious for them to go to the famous luau on the main beach. The two of them put on light-colored clothes and decided to walk since the beach where the luau was taking place was just a few meters from the hotel.

The beach was lit only by fire torches and moonlight while several people laughed, ate and danced to the soft music that was played on a guitar. Some women were weaving flowery necklaces and there were food and drink stalls. Y/n let go of his hand so she could walk around and observe things more closely.

When she returned smiling moments later, she was carrying a shell necklace that she had received from a stranger, and before Aemond could say anything, she put it around his neck with a radiant smile.

-It looks beautiful on you, Aem.

He just smiled and pulled her by the waist, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. The two of them bought a new blanket and spread it on the sand to sit and watch the stars and the sea while enjoying the music, sharing drinks and eating some food that was being served.

The youngest smiled, sipping a fruit drink and humming the same melody that was played on the guitar. And watching Y/n sway gently to the slow rhythm of the music, Aemond took the last sip of his own drink before getting up from the blanket and pulling Y/n to stand as well.

-Would you grant me the honor of this dance, My Lady? - His voice was gallant as he bowed, making Y/n laugh and throw her head back.

-Of course, my good sir. - She bowed with a wide smile as she joined Aemond.

The two danced barefoot on the sand of the beach under the silver moonlight, with satisfied smiles on their faces. Aemond pulled her closer and closer, while his hands grabbed her waist and hips firmly.

-I'm sure that wasn't how our ancestors danced. - She laughed against his neck when she felt a firmer grip on her hip.

-These are modern times, we can adapt some things. - He shrugged, leaving a gentle kiss on her neck and she snuggled even closer to him.

-You know, that dress looked breathtaking on you too. - The compliment flowed easily on Aemond's tongue as the two danced slowly, holding on to each other.

-Truth? - Normally Y/n didn't depend on compliments from others, especially when it came to clothes, but when they came from Aemond it was different.

-Yeah. - He assured, leaving more kisses on her neck and ears. - You're by far the most beautiful of all the people present.

-I can't even blame those assholes for drooling over you when you look so good. - He whispered in her ear and Y/n looked back to see two boys watching them, she just rolled her eyes and laid her head on Aemond's chest.

-They are idiots not for looking, but for thinking that maybe they could have a chance. - She looked at him from under her eyelashes and Aemond smiled, leaving a kiss on her forehead.

Suddenly Y/n felt the skirt of her dress being pulled and when she looked down she found a beautiful little girl with blond hair looking at her shyly.

-Hello dear, what's wrong? - Y/n crouched down looking into her eyes. - Are you lost?

The girl shook her head, her cheeks flushed as she smiled shyly.

-I need to choose someone to participate in the dance contest. - The girl smiled at Y/n.

-And you chose me?

- Only if you want to. - She smiled sweetly while looking at her feet.

-Of course I want to, it will be an honor. - Y/n smiled sweetly at her.

The girl's eyes lit up at the same moment and she offered her hand to Y/n who held it and then gave Aemond a smiling look before following the little girl.

Aemond walked towards the circle in the sand where the torches were positioned to illuminate the girls who were already positioned and with his heart pounding he watched his Y/n enter the circle with that charming smile that made anyone love her, and he knew even before the song started that she would be the winner.

And when the music finally started and everyone started dancing, she looked exclusively at Aemond as if she was dancing only for him, smiling and moving her hips and arms to the rhythm of the music.

As the competition progressed the music became more agitated and more lively and only Y/n and two other women were left. And when only she and a red-haired woman with green eyes were left, the man returned to the stage and asked the audience to decide which one had been better.

As soon as the man extended his hand to Y/n, Aemond applauded loudly along with several other people, and when she was declared the winner, the same little girl who had chosen her was called to place a crown of purple flowers on Y/n's head, who, after being crowned, picked the little girl up with a wide smile on her lips.

Aemond's heart warmed at that sight, and he remembered the dream he had once had as a teenager where he saw Y/n with a silver-haired girl in her arms, but in his dreams that girl was his daughter.

After letting go of the girl, Y/n ran towards Aemond, laughing and throwing herself into his arms as lightning flashed across the night sky followed by thunder.

-Seeing you with that flower crown makes me think that if we had been born centuries ago I would have fought in every tournament just to crown you queen of love and beauty. - He brushed his nose against hers, feeling a light drop of rain drip on his cheek.

-I don't know why I can't imagine you participating in tournaments. - She looked at him smiling from under her eyelashes, hanging from his neck.

-Maybe our lives would be easier if we had been born during the conquest period. - He murmured against her lips.

-Maybe. - She smiled slightly sadly, leaving a sweet kiss on the corner of Aemond's lip.

Little by little the two of them moved away from where the people were gathered, dancing alone in the dark even though they could no longer hear the sound of the music, only the sound of each other's heartbeats.

And slowly the fine drops of rain began to fall thicker and the two laughed with joy, spinning around the beach with the sand stuck to their feet as they felt the fresh, cold water running through their skin. Aemond grabbed her by the waist and spun her in the air, making Y/n throw her head back as she laughed with a bright smile on her face.

And at that moment bathing in the rain with Y/n on the beach under the moonlight, he didn't need to think much to know that he had smiled more in the last five days than in the last five years.

❦❦❦

The next morning, the two woke up shortly after sunrise, determined to make the most of the day before returning to Kings Landing. Their hair was still slightly damp from the night before, after they both ran back to the hotel in a heavy rain during the night, jumping into puddles of water formed on the cobblestones of the streets of Lys and exchanging passionate kisses.

The two said they would not stay in bed that morning, they would go straight to the shower, but after calling the reception and requesting breakfast, Aemond lay down again behind Y/n, rubbing himself sleepily against her thighs, which inevitably led to a round of lazy morning sex while they waited for coffee.

Y/n was still lying there panting and Aemond reluctantly pulled out of her, because as much as he liked to stay in contact with her after climax, there was something else he also liked. And positioning himself between her open legs, he watched with an adoring look as his seed dripped from her intimacy.

-Damn how I missed that. - He sighed in delight as he just admired between her legs. Little by little, he took his own seed with his fingertips and placed it back inside Y/n, only to see it drip from inside her once more as she panted.

After that, he kissed her belly and slowly moved up, making her sigh. He passed through the valley between her breasts, through her neck, until he reached her lips. He placed a gentle, smiling kiss there.

-I want to stay like this forever. Stuck with you. - Aemond laid his head on her chest, listening to the still agitated beating of that heart that proudly belonged to him. - Whenever I'm with you, I can't help but feel at peace with the world. It's like nothing can touch me or knock me down, like I suddenly became the strongest being on this earth.

Y/n stroked the older man's silky silver hair as she felt her heart race with each of his declarations, feeling loved and cherished with each word he uttered.

The two were interrupted by the knock of the maid who brought the breakfast requested by Aemond. Contrary to what was expected, the day had dawned very sunny, and after the rain the waves of the sea were visibly bigger.

And with a smile and many kisses spread across his face and neck, Y/n convinced Aemond to surf just like they had done on a trip to Driftmark when they were already teenagers, and he kept up the habit when they returned to Kings Landing. The oldest rented a board from a kiosk on the beach and the two went hand in hand towards the sea, this time staying in the main part as they didn't want to go too far from the hotel and the main streets.

-I haven't done that in years. - Aemond spoke in a voice a few tones higher to stand out over the loud sound of the waves breaking as he lay face down looking out to sea.

-Honestly, I think if you fell, I would laugh. - Y/n ran her hands through her wet hair, putting it back as she leaned on the surfboard and stared at Aemond.

-Would you at least help me get on the board again? - He raised his eyebrows laughing since the idea of ​​surfing had been hers.

-Probably! - Y/n left a quick kiss on his lips.

Y/n slowly moved away while Aemond went to the deeper side waiting for a wave. And when a particularly big one formed, he swam out quickly and managed to stand on the board while Y/n laughed, screamed and applauded. After leaving the tube, he jumped into the sea, submerging for a few moments before returning to the surface laughing and hitting the water with his fist.

-It was amazing! - Y/n shouted as she swam towards him, still smiling.

-Like riding a bike. - Aemond shrugged and Y/n rolled her eyes, pushing his forehead back with the palm of her hand.

-Always egocentric.

-Mmmm. - He pulled her close to him by the waist. - I can't avoid it. And now it's your turn, My Lady.

-No. - Y/n widened her eyes when she heard him say that, putting her hands on his chest and trying to push him away without success. - No, no, no.

-Just one. - He laughed, holding her against his chest as she struggled. - A small one.

-I never managed to learn how to surf like you and the others. - She rolled her eyes at the memory. - Did you forget? I was terrible, I fell off the board every time, even Uncle Corlys said I was a lost cause that time.

-Not for me. - He immediately denied it with a smile and a chaste kiss on her temple. - You're going to catch a wave today even if we have to stay here all day.

-I hate you. - Y/n looked at him sulkily while grimacing.

-I know that. - The oldest smiled and left a sweet kiss on her neck, already removing the board from his own ankle and passing it to Y/n's.

-If I drown, it will be your fault, Aemond Targaryen. - She grumbled as he helped her onto the board.

-I find it hard, you surf terribly but you swim very well.

Y/n just showed him the middle finger after hearing that and then grabbed the board again.

It took about two hours of instruction from Aemond, Y/n fell off the board every ten minutes. He laughed and she hit his chest with the palm of her hand and threatened to take the board off her ankle. When the sun was already stronger in the sky, she finally managed to stand on the board and with an exuberant smile on her face she surfed a wave for the first time, a small one, but a wave. The love and pride were visible in Aemond's eyes as he smiled and applauded the youngest.

-Fuck you Corlys Velaryon. - She screamed in ecstasy as she threw herself on Aemond, hanging onto his neck while laughing. - I did it, I did it. Did you see that, Aem?

-I told you I could do it. - He left a kiss on her salty lips and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

-Thank you. - Y/n gently brushed her nose against his affectionately as she smiled and looked at him from under her eyelashes.

In the middle of the conversation, the two didn't even notice that the board had come loose from Y/n's ankle and was speeding away into the sea. And with a very serious look, Aemond apologized to the kiosk owner, paying him some gold coins for the lost board while Y/n watched everything with her hands behind her back, biting her lips.

The two chose to go back to the hotel for a shower and after that, they had lunch at the same restaurant as the day before, since Aemond had liked the food and he was very picky about it. Y/n didn't even try, she just liked the fact that the restaurant was covered in beautiful purple flowers.

Lunch was full of conversation and laughter as the two remembered silly things and shared their order with each other as they liked to do, drinking a delicious wine produced right there on the island that Aemond assured Y/n that he would take at least two bottles back with them to Kings Landing.

-Damn, I forgot my wallet at the desk. - Aemond rolled his eyes after putting on his sunglasses, realizing he was missing his wallet as soon as they reached the restaurant's sidewalk, letting go of Y/n's hand and going back inside. - Wait a minute, I'll get it.

-Do you want to know your future child? - A hoarse and cold voice asked as soon as Aemond entered the restaurant, making the hairs on the back of Y/n's neck stand on end. When she turned around, she came face to face with an old woman with extremely white hair and violet eyes wearing completely black clothes that were very closed for such a hot day.

-No, thank you very much. - She smiled, taking a step away from the old woman who had approached. - I don't believe in these things.

-Your pain and suffering will suffocate you until there's nothing left if you don't let them out. - The strange-looking old woman grabbed her hand, looking deeply into her eyes, and Y/n felt her stomach turn with anxiety. - If your soul only pretends to forgive, without actually embracing its essence, your destiny will be covered in bitterness and will take away from you the one you love most.

-I didn't ask to know my future! - Y/n hissed very harshly, pulling her hand towards herself and letting go of the old woman with an angry look while Aemond, who had returned, frowned since it wasn't common to see her treating anyone that way.

-Let's get out of here. - She pulled Aemond by the hand as soon as she saw him practically dragging her towards the car.

-What happened back there? - He started the car while Y/n looked out the window without looking at him.

-I don't want to talk about it. - That was all she said, still without looking at him, and Aemond didn't want to pressure her about it, but he suddenly felt like he was invading her personal space, something he had never felt before and he didn't like that feeling.

The heavy mood that had set in after meeting the elderly woman gradually dissipated as they admired the beautiful landscape of Lys with the wind blowing through their hair, since the convertible top was open.

-We'll have to moisturize our hair when we get back or we'll end up looking like corn on the cob. - Y/n laughed, looking at herself in the car mirror while Aemond smiled sideways and squeezed her knee.

-Where are we? - She frowned when Aemond stopped the car at what looked like the entrance to a park.

-Earlier, the owner of the hotel told me that if we come that side we could see the fountain of the goddess of love. It is she who is on the coins. - He took one of the coins from the pocket of his black linen pants and handed it to Y/n, who finally paid attention to the local coin. It was oval and golden with the design of a beautiful naked woman with long hair and who looked like a mermaid in the center.

-She is beautiful. - Y/n smiled, taking the coin from Aemond's hand and holding it between her fingers with a smile.

The two walked through the lush gardens with enchanted looks, Y/n for admiring the garden and Aemond for admiring Y/n who was wearing a beautiful off-white dress that flowed down to her feet with a slightly transparent skirt that gave her an almost ethereal appearance in the afternoon sunlight. Seeing her walking and smiling amidst all those flowers was what Aemond thought was the closest he would ever get to seeing an angel.

-I've never seen such beautiful hydrangeas in my life, Aem. - She leaned in to smell the scent of the flowers, closing her eyes with an expression of delight on her face. - I'm sure Helaena would love to see this.

-Where is Hel living? - She smiled excitedly as she remembered her older cousin. - I need to go see her as soon as we get back.

-Near the exit to Rosby, facing Blackwater Bay. - Aemond also smiled as he remembered his sister. - She spends almost all her time at the beach.

-She's living alone?

-She adopted a huge dog named Dreamfyre. She was at an adoption fair in Driftmark on a trip Hel took to support an environmental project of Rhaenys. - Aemond shrugged.

-She must be beautiful.

-She drools all over everything, barks non-stop and ate half of Helaena's furniture. - Aemond rolled his eyes.

-That doesn't make her any less beautiful. - Y/n curled her mouth downwards and raised her eyebrows, making Aemond roll his eyes again as he pulled her closer to him by the hip.

After about ten minutes of walking through the beautiful park full of beautiful flowers and a huge number of fruit and ornamental trees, the two arrived at the center where there were a few people sitting on benches admiring the beautiful fountain.

It was all white with a statue of the goddess of love in the center, who now looked even more like a mermaid, but in this version she was holding a clay vase from which crystal clear water fell softly in calm noises.

-The natives say she grants love requests. - Aemond whispered into Y/n's ear.

And with a smile of satisfaction, love and hope on her face, Y/n closed her eyes and threw the coin that Aemond had given her earlier, and which had been pressed firmly in her hands until that moment.

-What did you ask for?

-So that I could be yours and you mine in this life and in all those to come. - She crossed her arms against his neck, joining her forehead with Aemond's.

-You wasted a wish asking for something that is already real. - He kissed her chastely on the lips, smiling when he felt that sweetness he loved so much.

❦❦❦

As dusk approached, Y/n and Aemond walked smiling and holding each other down the main street, trying out food and talking. Y/n had already bought three handmade dresses that she found in smaller stores while they were walking, and a beautiful dark blue shirt for Aemond.

As the sun was setting on the horizon, the two passed in front of a temple to the goddess of love and stopped to watch a couple leaving to the applause of several people. Apparently a wedding due to the clothes and happiness, the two held each other's hands tightly as they smiled at the scene before them. Aemond smiled and gently brushed his lips against Y/n's, then left a gentle kiss there while still holding her hand.

The two separated with smiles at each other and just stood for a few more moments on the other side of the street admiring the happiness of the newlyweds. Suddenly a very dirty and thin dark gray cat came limping down the street, Aemond's eyes instantly went in her direction and Y/n could see him getting sad almost instantly.

And with a sad smile Aemond crouched down and made a soft sound with his mouth, catching the cat's attention. She first looked at him suspiciously showing her teeth and exciting to get closer, and he insisted a little more still making soft sounds as he approached her.

-Calm down girl. - His voice sounded calm and confident, and Y/n smiled seeing the scene. Slowly he reached out his hand, and the little street cat let him touch her dirty and dull fur.

And Aemond took the chance he had been given and gently caressed her with a kind smile on his face.

-Poor little thing. You're probably starving. - His voice sounded sad as he observed the cat who had ribs protruding under her skin because she was so thin.

-Let's get her something to eat then. - Y/n smiled, placing her hand on Aemond's shoulder, who looked back with his eyes shining in agreement.

Aemond had always been passionate about cats, he had a fondness for them since Y/n had met him as a child. He always told her about how cats were intelligent and majestic animals, and when he was younger he was obsessed with the fact that some ancient civilizations worshiped them as if they were deities.

Unfortunately Alicent and Viserys never let Aemond have a cat, Viserys had an old dog named Balerion who was very territorial, and even though he stayed outside more than inside the mansion, Alicent said that he could hurt any other animal and wouldn't let them have other animals.

When Balerion died of old age, Viserys was devastated, but even so, animals were not allowed because Alicent always said that one of them might have an allergy. But that did very little to diminish Aemond's love for cats.

The two walked to a pet shop that they had seen a few blocks back, and when they got there, they bought food for the little cat who ate everything that was offered to her very happily under the watchful eye of Aemond who occasionally stroked her between the ears.

-Why don't you keep her? - Y/n asked when she saw how happy Aemond was with the dirty kitten.

Aemond automatically raised his eyebrows, as if her suggestion was completely absurd.

-I can't have a cat.

-And why not? - She asked gently as she stroked his arm who just stared at her in confusion.

-Because… - Aemond looked at her confusedly as he thought.

There was no Because.

-Aem, you're an adult now, you have your own apartment, you pay your own bills and you're responsible for yourself. - Y/n smiled encouragingly. - There's nothing wrong with doing something you want. Like finally having a cat.

Aemond smiled in disbelief, but that disbelief slowly turned into relief.

-I can do the things I want too. - He repeated to himself, as if Y/n couldn't hear. But she could, and smiled when she heard him say that.

Aemond then walked to the store counter once more to talk to the attendant who was visibly distracted while reading a book with an old cover.

-I'll want a cat carrier. - His voice sounded confident, and Y/n smiled as she looked from Aemond to the cat, who had followed him to the counter and was rubbing against his leg, purring.

❦❦❦

When the two realized it, it was already night, and at any moment Captain White would be waiting for them in the private hangar of the island's airport. Y/n felt her heart tighten in her chest just at the thought of returning to Westeros. Where nothing was private and everyone watched their lives with a magnifying glass, analyzing every mistake to try to separate them. It was as if the weekend had lasted a lifetime, but at the same time it had passed as quickly as a gust of wind.

-Hey beautiful, I have something for you. - Aemond walked through the door with a smile and a red bag in his hands, he had come down a few minutes ago to close the hotel and car rental bill.

-What is it? - Y/n arched her eyebrows, approaching and trying to look inside the bag, and when she saw the contents, her eyes sparkled with joy. - No fucking way. Is that Myrish chocolate?

-Apparently they don't just sell junk at the hotel store. - He smiled and then gasped, stepping back trying to regain his balance after the impact of Y/n jumping on him and distributing kisses all over his face while saying thank you.

Y/n threw herself on the bed, still smiling, with the bag in her hands, already pulling out one of the bars and peeling the chocolate. As soon as she put it in her mouth, she gently threw her head back and moaned with contentment, slowly licking her fingers where the melted parts of the chocolate had remained.

-If you keep going like this, we're going to have a problem. - Aemond raised his eyebrows, admiring her on the bed, and Y/n laughed, running her tongue over her lips provocatively.

-Teasing. - He rolled his eyes, discreetly adjusting his pants as he finished putting the things they had bought in a new brown suitcase.

-This is the best thing I've ever eaten in my life. I could cry because this chocolate is so good, all the other chocolates have been ruined for me, Aem. - She spoke happily as she ate and Aemond just smiled as he watched her genuine joy.

When the room phone rang with a warning that the car had arrived to pick them up, Y/n felt her own heart constricting in her chest with each step she took towards the door.

-What's going on, love? - Aemond placed the cat's transport box on the armchair and held her with both hands, looking into her eyes, and Y/n lowered her gaze, staring at her own feet, unable to say anything.

-You know you can talk to me, Y/n. - He murmured, getting even closer to her. - It's me, Aem.

-I'm afraid to go back. - Y/n sighed, tucking her head into the crook of Aemond's neck.

-What are you afraid of? - He pulled her so he could look into her eyes and could see the shine of tears there.

-That all of this will end. - She practically sobbed, her voice choked. - That they'll separate us once again. - A tear ran down her cheek. - To lose you.

-No. - Aemond spoke in a serious voice, holding her tightly close to him and looking into her eyes. - I won't allow anyone to separate us again. Never again.

-Do you swear? - She asked, still tearful.

-I swear. - Aemond promised as he wiped the tears that had escaped from his Y/n's eyes. - It will be you and me forever. Nothing will come between us, not again.

Y/n smiled slightly upon hearing this and hugged him again, resting her head close to Aemond 's heart and sighing upon hearing the agitated sound that came from there. That heart belonged to her, it always did. Just as hers belonged to him, and Y/n didn't know what she would do if, of all people in the world, Aemond broke it.

tag list: @afro-hispwriter @fan-goddess @strangersunghoon @zenka69 @callsignwidow @amanda08319 @alesswift-blog @marialikescherries

Final notes: Thank you to all of you who commented on previous chapters and asked to be tagged, I think you're all here. 💕💕

Ps: A virtual hug to whoever guesses who the dear cat that Aemond adopted is. Hahaha 💕💕

Tell me what you think of the story, it makes me very happy. 💖

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[kikker-oma]

Fan Joy July!

Coined by the sweet @isasan347 , Fan Joy July is an art challenge I've created for myself!

I will be drawing one piece of colored fan art every single day of July that corresponds to a scene in various Linked Universe Fanfics.

This challenge is meant to push myself to draw daily, give back to writers who make this fandom so much fun, and give others a chance to read something new they may enjoy 😄

I will be choosing some fics myself that I've read and enjoy, but I would love if others recommended their favorite LU fic. This way I can pick one LU fan fiction to draw for all 31 days. Feel free to self promote as well!

To recommend me a fic, please comment or reblog this post with the link so that I can see it easier. Please avoid sending asks if you can, just because I tend to get overwhelmed when my inbox gets full 🥴🥲 hehe

I'll be taking recommendations from April 11-30. After that I'm going to start drawing so that I can be ready to post in July! ( This is gonna take me a while so I need all the prep time I can get haha).

**I'm not asking anyone else to do this challenge, but I would ADORE if anyone wanted to join me! Even if it isn't for the whole month. **(I can be your excuse if you've ever wanted to draw for a writer but were too shy hehe)

I've also seen one or two writers interested in how they could participate. I think that maybe if there is an artist you enjoy you could write something for a drawing they've done? I know there are a ton of very talented LU artists in the fandom, so that could be a good challenge for writers 😀

--- General Notes:

Please note that I will only be doing 31 drawings and a recommendation does not guarantee I will draw for it ( I love you all, but I can only do so much)

I will be tagging my challenge as "FanJoyJuly" and will try my best to note posts appropriately

I will be tagging writers (if they have a Tumblr and I can find it)

I will be linking the story for each day in the post

I will not be releasing which stories I'm drawing for until I post them (for the DRAMA😉)

As we get closer to July, I'll create a master post and update it with each post I make in case people are interested in following along ❤️

Thank you all for the initial feedback for this idea, and I'm excited to get started!