#i thought the stakes were the same as the old show

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

Every time one of the Sunny cast is in something else that's marginally successful, you always see articles like "This proves it's time for It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia to end" and I need to be dragged out of the room kicking, biting, maiming because yes, while it's great the actors are branching out and I want them to be able to do so and get the recognition and respect they deserve for their skills, that doesn't mean there's not still worth in their other work, and what it all boils down to in the end is: people don't respect Sunny or all their skills already on display in Sunny, they never have and never will. To them, Sunny running so long is a 'blemish' on the record of their career, a growing mold they can't scrub clean, a shackle on the arms of ambition that's been dying a slow death and refusing to set them free, and not the incredible feat, work of passion, and still very much alive (and important to so many people) thing it really is.

And these people don't even have stake in the situation! Many aren't even fans, never understood what they were doing to begin with, admit to having only seen a few clips or episodes here and there, or, even worse, have been saying the same thing every single year even when Sunny WAS in its prime because they see something (especially of a certain genre and presumed quality) on that long, they only look at it on the very surface and default to expecting it to have continually gotten worse regardless of whether or not it has, and I won't argue Sunny hasn't had its share of speed bumps and slumps, but by god at every turn they have also worked to get over them—especially succeeding in their latest season balancing old Sunny with the new —and keep delivering new plots and new ways to work with these characters that they have put so much thought and love and work into over the years, and even though it's a comedy show, they deserve to be seen as more than just a bad punchline to an overused joke. Their life's work deserves to be seen as more than just a joke. Because it may not mean anything to the people writing the headlines, but it means something to a lot of people. And the love for creating it is still there. The love is still there. Anyway, woe, wall of text be upon ye, I hope Sunny lasts forever.

[x-mensirens]

Something about seeing the Godzilla Sentinel’s green ray in literally the first episode just……………………………

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭

Pairing Rockstar!Eddie x Reader | friends -> lovers

Summary Eddie comes back to Hawkins during a break on his national tour, and realizes he lost touch with someone he cares about deeply: you [angst and fluff]

Word Count: 2.7k

Above, a blue sky melts into orange, bearing a falling sun that makes Lover’s Lake shimmer. Tree branches rustle in the breeze. Until Eddie showed up at your door, whispers of his return to Hawkins had been just that. If you were still in the habit of calling each other regularly, you reckon you would’ve been the first to know. There’s no skepticism now, as the two of you sit on the tailgate of a cherry-red F-150. It’d been a gift from him to Wayne that he had on loan for the outing. This is a spot where campervans usually staked out for the view, but the universe must’ve known the evening belonged to you two. 

There were so many things you told yourself you were going to say when he got back from the road, but the words were hard to find. Elation and confliction had decided that your heart would be the grounds for their tug-of-war. Time had a habit of doing that, muddling feelings. Blurring old lines.  

“Does it feel weird?” you ask. They’re the first words you’ve spoken in a while. It takes Eddie a second to realize you’re talking to him. 

He straightens up in apology. “Does what feel weird?” The hole in his jeans gives sight to the bruise on his knee. You study it, imagining the many ways it could’ve formed. Knee-sliding on stage, most likely. 

“Being back in Hawkins,” you say, meeting his gaze. 

The immediate answer that poses itself on the tip of his tongue is no. Then it occurs to him that what you’re really asking is if it feels weird to be back with you. To that, there is no concrete answer. No such thing as black and white. There’s only technicolor when it comes to you, so vivid and complex that he wished it was as simple as a binary. 

“I don’t know if I’d use the word weird.” 

“Different?” you supply. 

He lifts a shoulder. “That’s a little more like it,” he says. “Coming home always is.” 

You hum, twisting the gold bracelet around your wrist. There’s a silver one around his own and his fingers are adorned with bulky steel rings. More tattoos have found a home beneath his skin as well. The longer you study everything new about him, the more a look that hauntingly resembles grief blooms on your face. As if something that once belonged to the two of you had been lost to the passing of time. When the same sense begins to swell within his own chest, he tries to snub it out the best way he knows how, beckoning whatever levity may be waiting in the wings.  

“But a lot of things stayed the same. Like Mike,” he starts. “I thought he would’ve called it quits by the time I got back, but he’s still kicking around at the auto shop. I was more surprised to see him than he was to see me.” 

After teaching Eddie the little his father failed to teach him about cars, Mike Summerdale gave him his first steady job the summer before his senior year. Working at Starcourt hadn’t held up, neither did Family Video or any other ‘boring’ employment. Mike’s Tire & Auto Shop was the only gig he sustained before the world had bigger plans. Eddie was the type who needed to move around, work with his hands, be challenged. Mike was one of the only people who’d been keen enough to discern that. 

Working at the shop not only gave him a sense of stability, but it also gave him you. The evening you came by for a last minute oil change on your parent’s Peugeot 504—ten minutes before closing—was the day he learned you were even funnier and more down to earth than what he’d gathered from within the stuffy halls of Hawkins High. 

A smile starts on your own lips. “He was probably ready to put his best man back to work,” you say. “Your hands are all pretty now.” 

Scoffing, Eddie turns his palms up as if he’s prepared to prove you wrong. There’s calluses on his fingertips from playing guitar, but not much else. His hands are nowhere near as rugged as they were when he was a mechanic. Back when you’d finally had enough of his indifference, you remember getting him a special cream and even rubbing it into his hands yourself when he puppy-dog-eyed his way into it. Some nights, long after you were supposed to have been back at your parents place, you’d be sitting in his living room with the TV glow illuminating your faces as the scent of eucalyptus lingered in the air between you. 

Eddie follows your hand as you reach over to run your fingers over his palm. “If I gave you a socket wrench right now, you probably wouldn’t even know how to use it.” You’re shamelessly teasing him now. It feels good. 

A genuine smile pulls on his lips, eyes brighter as he looks over at you. Even in his amusement, his next words are thoughtful. “Some things you don’t forget.” 

Sobering words, more like. Memories begin to roll in one by one until they avalanche and you can’t help but relieve yourself of the pressure by shoveling it over to him. 

“Do you remember the night we met?” you ask. “After that we were together all the time.” 

Back when time was all you had. Twenty-four hours wasn’t the same anymore. There were more responsibilities to fill it with, different relationships to entertain. For a while, the only thought ticking in your minds was when you’d get to see each other again. When the phone calls stopped, the care never went away. Neither did the curiosity, the stress of not knowing how the other was doing or where they were in the world. Those concerns continued to ring on and on, reverberating down the hallways of want that built themselves within your hearts. 

The rouge tear that streams down your cheek is the pioneer of more to come. Eddie swallows the lump in his throat when he sees it, hand twitching once in his lap. The next time, he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out to wipe your tears with his thumb. It’s a gesture meant to distract him from the fact that he’s the reason behind them. There’s no escaping the tidal wave of guilt that rushes in to drag him out to sea. You sniffle and shake your head to let him know that it’s okay, but his head is already under water. 

“I do remember,” it comes out quiet, thick. “The night we met—everything.” 

“Then what happened? What did I do wrong?” The wind is knocked out of him at that. “I know things changed so fast, but did everything before you left just get resigned to a spot on a timeline? Something for you to talk about to Rolling Stone?”  

Eddie tries to swallow around his guilt, but ends up choking on offense. 

“I never asked for any of this,” he asserts, hopping off the truck bed. “I may’ve begged God when I was a kid, but that’s ‘cause I didn’t know any better,” he says. “You don’t know what it’s been like. You don’t get to suggest that I stopped giving a shit.”

“Then what did you do, Eddie? Because that’s what it feels like.” You don’t mean to raise your voice, but there’s no way to reel it back in.

You can see the moment his stomach drops. It’s in the way his body grows tense, the faint color that rises to his cheeks, the light that wavers in his eyes. “You’ve been right here in Hawkins with all your friends and family three steps away. I’m the one who’s been in a new city every other night, cameras flashing wherever I go.” His voice remains level, but he talks with his hands like he always does. 

“I’ve been on autopilot for the past three months to make it back here with a semblance of sanity. So I’m sorry if I stopped picking up the phone to call. I was too busy trying to breathe with a goddamn elephant on my chest.” He paces away from you to run his hands through his hair. When he faces you again, he looks small. “This is all new to me. If you could just extend some grace.” 

Every word hangs heavy in the space between you. Which feels like miles. Eddie doesn’t huff or move or make any rash decision he’ll regret. He averts his gaze to refocus his attention on the lake. Its stillness feels like a mockery. There’s a dull thud as your feet meet the ground, followed by footsteps as you head into the woods. Despite every inch of you that wants to, you don’t look back. The feeling of his gaze is enough. 

He follows a few minutes after you’ve disappeared. The whole way, he wonders if his words were too harsh, if he’d gone about expressing himself the right way. The earthy crunch of his footsteps are soft as comes up behind you. You’re standing at The tree. The one everyone in Hawkins manages to come across in a lifetime, even if they decide not to leave their mark. The stories you heard about it growing up made it out to be a relic. 

Wound-Bearer was the name it had been given by a man from the class of ‘66, meant to immortalize the proof of love, romantic and platonic. Or at least bear a sign that it once existed. Looking at it now, more initials had been added since you and Eddie contributed to it your senior year. The carving stood out more than the rest, not because it was particularly noticeable or impressive, but because it was yours. Eddie stops a few paces away and spots it in seconds as he looks over your shoulder. 

Both of you hold your breath until you give in. 

“I didn’t mean to sound selfish. I’ve just been scared, Eddie.” You’re ashamed as you turn around to face him. “Scared that you didn’t want to talk anymore. That our friendship was fading away,” you say, scoffing a second later. “Now I sound like we’re in a movie.” 

A tenderness settles in his eyes that you don’t believe you deserve. “Our lives are a fucking movie,” he says, breathing out a chuckle. 

Things began to take off after he got scouted by the agent who’d flown out from California to visit family. You remember the dreams that had filled your head, each one of them somehow including you—you tagging along on the road, sitting front row at his shows, being right off camera during interviews. Reality proved itself to be nowhere near as sweet as your imagination. Later, when he signed to a label and was set for a national tour, the sacrifices of the limelight revealed themselves as pressing and real. 

Joining him in that new stage of his life meant leaving everything you’d ever known, bypassing university, being subject to thousands of eyes that just wanted to gawk. That’s why the day he left Hawkins was the day he left you behind. Even in his own mind, you not being his personal assistant was for the better. Him losing a sense of stability to chase his dreams didn’t mean you should be strapped to his side and subject to the same. 

At least you had a shot at creating a nice life for yourself. You were smart, talented, and someone worth building a life with. Music was all he had going. Leaving Hawkins was his only shot and it meant walking through the fire. 

A surprised sound escapes him when you crowd into his space to wrap your arms around him like he’s a soldier home from war. It’s the same type of hug Wayne had given him earlier that afternoon. It felt like love, like safety, like home. He melts into you, and the two of you stand like this until you remember that embraces aren’t meant to last forever. 

•••

Tonight, Eddie Munson takes it slow for the first time in his life. The speed limit signs on the side of the road dare him to go their limit. There’s hardly anybody on the roads to give him trouble for it either. It’s nice, the long way home always is. The radio plays low as the warm night air flows in through the widows. Eddie drives with his right hand, left arm hanging outside the truck. 

“Fuck, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he grouses as he brakes for a stop sign. There’s enough earnestness in his voice to make you startle as you track his gaze. 

On the opposite side of the street, the old location for Scoot’s Scoops sits idle with boarded windows and a dimmed sign. 

You heave a sigh. “They just relocated,” you assure, rubbing your chest to calm down. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Eddie’s eyes are apologetic as he looks over at you. “I damn near had one myself. Sorry.” He reaches over to squeeze your thigh before his brain catches up to his body. It’s a fleeting touch that warms your entire being and stuns you into a brief stillness as if he was electric. 

He shifts in his seat and clears throat. “Maybe we can go to the new location tomorrow. Get some ice cream.” 

You blink a few times, mind still fuzzy. “Yeah, that’d be fun.” 

The remainder of the ride is quiet. When he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex, you’re swift to gather your things into your lap, still buzzing. “Thanks for the ride back,” you say, biting on your lower lip as a loud silence stretches. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He wants to walk you to your door, but he fears he’s already overstepped. “Yup. G’night.” 

Eddie curses under his breath as the door snaps shut behind you. After running a hand down his face, a tube lipstick catches his attention in the passenger seat. It takes him a few seconds to grab it and follow after you. By then, you’ve already made it inside and up the short flight of stairs. When the door of the complex closes behind him, it cuts off a cacophony chirping insects. 

Upon making it to the second floor, there’s something intimate about seeing you standing under the dim, humming lights fiddling with your keys. It isn’t until you get the door open that you regard him. 

His smile is sheepish, unlike him in every way. “You forgot this.” He reads the label as if he hadn’t committed it to memory during his short trip up the stairs, “Strawberry Crush, New Hydrating Formula.” A boyish smile buds on his face as he holds it out to you. 

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much.” Contrary to your words, there’s no inflection of surprise in your tone as you take it from him. Forgetting hadn’t been a mistake. His eyes flit inside to get a glimpse of your apartment. “Maybe I can give you a proper tour tomorrow after ice cream,” you offer. 

Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets. “Sure, I’m down.”

He waits until you’re inside to walk back to his truck. You rush to peep out your living room window to watch him climb into the truck. He doesn’t pull away like you expect him to. Instead, he stays parked. Headlights shining, attracting moths and other flying things. The urge to see him one last time overpowers your better judgment in a fight that lasts all of five seconds. 

In record time, you’re back outside. He rolls down his window as you approach. 

“Forget something else?” 

“I did, actually.”

You rest your forearms on the window sill and he instinctively leans towards you, warm eyes searching your face trying to get a read. In another life, he sees your next move coming. In this one, it seems too good to be true: a kiss as soft as they come to the sounds of the night.

-

Any and all interaction appreciated. I see you <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

hiiiii I love your work so so much cannibal is my fav dragon!!! and I love the fic's you write!! and I was wondering what do you think reader and daemon's relationship? what would it be like you know with cannibal and caraxes added to the mix? also do you think that jace would end up falling for reader like aemond or no?

Cannibal has grown to be my favourite dragon out of all of them alongside Balerion the black dread and would love to do a mini series for him one day, but I don’t want it to feel as though I’m coping and pasting from my cannibal series and do something new.

Also I hope this is what you were after.

Daemon doesn’t make it easy for anyone to like him, neverless trust him wholeheartedly and he wasn’t going to make any exceptions for you, not by a long shot.

The relationship you’d share with the rouge prince is passive to say the least that you felt better when he was out of the room rather than in one. He’s just too much of a loose cannon for your liking and you didn’t take enough risks for his own liking, especially since you’ve claimed Cannibal, Daemon would’ve thought having him would make you more adventurous; only to feel discouraged when it did not.

If anything he probably saw you as Aemond 2.0, claiming a large dragon and all 💀

Daemon didn’t show fear when Cannibal was practically keeping you at a safe distance from him, shrugging it off as though it were a minor inconvenience, and head off in search of Caraxes.

Speaking of Caraxes and Cannibal, needless to say it would be best if they were kept apart from one another for there was not much love lost between the two considering who their riders were. Cannibal didn’t like anyone or anything near you, regardless whether it was dragon or human, he didn’t care as they shouldn’t get close to his human; meanwhile Caraxes cared about you or Cannibal about as much as Daemon did and would make that known however he could.

You and Daemon’s lacklustre of a relationship would be reflected in Cannibal and Caraxes as they side eye one another at every opportunity given to show their lack of trust towards one another. You swore you heard cannibal huff in amusement whenever Caraxes and Daemon got into trouble or exiled as it meant not having to deal with seeing that slim, sleek blood red dragon as often.

Again Cannibal doesn’t trust anyone but you, so don’t be surprised if Cannibal tries to take a bite out of Caraxes from time to time, only for Caraxes to escape every time, old habits die hard I guess.

Jacaerys on the other hand would probably have fallen for you the same time as Aemond did and would grow jealous whenever he heard his uncle speak about you as though you were already his.

You weren’t something to stake claim to as though you were nothing but a possession and Jace knew that he could treat you better than Aemond could, he could be your gentleman if you give him the chance, and he would never make you regret it as Rhaenyra raised him to be the pinochle of what a man should look like.

Jacaerys did not need you to claim Cannibal to realise his pre-established feelings, he need only look at you and be reminded of the kind of man he wanted to be for you, for he could see his future in your eyes and wants to make a start on it as soon as possible but was more then willing to wait for you no matter how long.

He would stand beside you, tall and strong, all the while looking at you from the corner of his eye now and then whenever you spoke up. Jacaerys didn’t make it subtle that he liked you, it was clear for anyone to see that this man was more than willing to walk through fire for you, should you ask it of him of course.

Jace’s lack of subtleness didn’t go unnoticed by Cannibal as he would watch the brown haired man practically follow you like a lovesick pup, making sure you were safe and guarded despite the fact that you could look after yourself, making sure you ate and so on to the point that Cannibal would growl at Jace; warning the prince of what would happen should he become overbearing.

[vor-leser]

Benny now an animal, I knew AM would let him play.

(Stuff about my own version of pre-monkeyification Benny below the cut because i have too many thoughts on this)

It's kind of hard to make heads or tails of any of the ihnmaims characters since the cannons of the different adaptations contradict each other so much, so I reconciled my own version of events in my head as to what I think Benny was like pre monkeyfication. I tried to fit everything from the comic, game and book in though.

Benny was a very masculine guy, excelling in every sport, and despising everyone who did not live up to his standard of what it meant to be a strong man. All his life, he tried to embody this ideal, not only marrying and having two kids, but going on to join the military. When he became general, he was known amongst the soldiers as an authoritarian punitive leader, often abusing those below him to whip the weak ones into shape. His ideals were solidified under the pressure of the continuing third world war, instilling a kill or be killed mentality into him. Eventually, he came to the realization that he was gay. However, because this reality threatened to break apart the way he viewed the world and his masculinity. With the mounting pressures from a chain of losses and his own internal struggles, he reacted by overcompensating and becoming more brutal than ever, leading him to kill multiple of his own men. Returning from the Chinese American War, he developed a severe case of PTSD. Constantly making him feel as if his life was at stake, he found himself unable to show any weakness. He hid his own war crimes thoroughly, all the while continuing to receive accolades from his superiors for his tenure. He constantly felt the need to not only hide his crimes, but also his sexuality, making him paranoid that people would realize he was a fraud. This did not only put a strain on him, but also on his family.

AM specifically chose Benny, because he embodied the many ways in which humanity tore itself apart through war, constantly finding new methods to make their own existence miserable for an imagined ideal.

At first, Bennys presence among the survivors proved very useful. Out of all of them, he had the most experience in dangerous situations and a lot of physical strength. His wisdom and leadership helped them a great deal, eventually though, they would inevitably disappoint him. Falling into his old patterns of behavior, he would berate Nimdok the most for his obvious weakness, saying he was holding them back. With time, he did the same with Ellen, Ted and even Gorrister, which formed a rift between himself and all of them. He felt as if he could rely on no one but himself.

Still, his usefulness irked AM. He had gotten one over on him too many times, but this would make his coming defeat even more crushing. It started with his mental state. Paranoia had already slowly crept up on Benny, but when he was forced to relive his trauma, it spiraled out of control. Being starved, beaten and defeated, he started to lose his humanity. His egoism, distrust and brutality, all born out a desire for survival made him a nightmare for the others. AM found it amusing, how he had turned Benny into a parody of humanity and its worst aspects, seeing it fit to strip him of his last remaining bits of humaneness, breaking his body into the shape of an ape-thing.

His spirits were now completely broken, being reduced to a bumbling fool. Even though his shame mellowed him out, there were still occasional outbursts. Now ironically enough, he had become the survivors greatest liability. Luckily for him, the others pity him and keep him around, a kindness he likely wouldn't have awarded them.

(Also drawing a guy thats canonically supposed to look handsome while making him resemble a monkey is hard :,) )

[seungminsleftear]

Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Word Count: 5470

Genre: angst

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years,, Reader is referred to as female and wife,

Trigger Warnings: Infidelity and Betrayal, Emotional and Psychological Trauma, Unresolved Grief and Loss, Intimacy and Relationship Issues, Family Conflict, Self-Worth and Identity Crisis, Anger and Violence, Emotional Isolation, Suicidal Thoughts or Self-Harm, Intimate Relationship Details

Author’s note: I have not watched season 4 and yet I know about Five x Lila… Kms

Spoiler: All you get is, There will be a part 2

Click here for part Two!

I MOVED ACCOUNTS THE REST OF THIS FIC WILL BE PUBLSIHED ON @seungminsbaldspot !!

They had been missing for a few hours now, and the anxiety was beginning to gnaw at your insides. You could only guess that Five and Lila had gotten caught up in a different timeline—something your husband was well-acquainted with doing. You tried not to think the worst. After all, Five was skilled, perhaps the most skilled among you, but the worry persisted like a shadow clinging to your every thought.

He had told you stories about when he was young, disobeying his father, and jumping through time. He saw the apocalypse, lived through it, unable to return to his original time. He would speak of the chaos and destruction, the sense of being unmoored in a fractured world. Then he told you about the moment the Handler found him, plucked him from that desolation, and invited him to join the Commission. And that's when he met you.

And oh, how he hated you.

You were, and still are, the complete opposite of that grumpy old man. You were always precise, a stickler for the rules, never one to color outside the lines. The Handler loved you for it—your discipline, your meticulous attention to detail, your unwavering commitment to the Commission's goals. You were reliable, the perfect agent, the kind who made her job easier.

He, on the other hand, was a wildcard. Reckless and unpredictable, he saw rules as suggestions rather than absolutes. He didn't care about the consequences, not when there were bigger things at stake—things only he could see in the chaos of time. He was a man who thrived in the midst of uncertainty, a constant challenge to your carefully ordered world.

But that was part of what drew you to him, wasn’t it? That contrast. The way he lived life like he was on borrowed time, like every moment was his to seize. You hated how he would disregard protocol, how he’d show up late to missions or disappear altogether, chasing his own ghosts through the folds of history. And yet, there was something about that fearlessness that fascinated you. Something about the way he could stare into the abyss of time and laugh, as if daring it to swallow him whole.

The Handler loved assigning the two of you missions together. You were the perfect team, each of you balancing out the other's weaknesses. She liked to say you were two sides of the same coin—your precision and his improvisation, your strategy and his audacity. Together, you were unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with.

It wasn't always smooth, of course. He had a way of getting under your skin, pushing your buttons in ways no one else could. He loved to rile you up, to watch that carefully maintained calm of yours crack, just a little. He’d tease you mercilessly, call you names, question your every move. But you never let it show, not in front of the Handler. You knew she was watching, always assessing, always deciding where her next move would take her. And despite your irritation, you couldn't deny that he had a knack for getting results.

And you hated that. Hated that he could bend the rules, defy protocol, and still come out on top. But the more time you spent together, the more you began to understand him, to see the method in his madness. He wasn’t just a reckless fool; he was smart, sharp, and had an uncanny ability to read a situation and turn it to his advantage. There was a reason the Handler kept pairing the two of you up, and it wasn’t just because she enjoyed watching the sparks fly.

You had never thought Five had cared so much about you—not until that one particular mission.

It had been a long day, the kind where the hours blurred together, each minute weighed down with tension and danger. You were both exhausted, having fought your way through the tangled threads of time, dealing with threats at every turn. Endless close calls, contact after contact, each encounter more chaotic and draining than the last. You were used to this kind of work, but that day felt different. Maybe it was the weight of the mission, or maybe it was something else—a premonition, a sense that something was off.

You and Five had been tracking a target across multiple timelines, chasing down a loose end that the Commission desperately needed tied up. The mission had seemed straightforward enough at first, but complications arose as they often did, turning what should have been a simple extraction into a drawn-out battle. After hours of fighting—ducking bullets, dodging blows, and navigating through the chaotic flow of time—you were growing weary. You prided yourself on your precision, your ability to remain sharp under pressure, but even you had your limits.

You weren’t thinking straight. The fatigue was getting to you, and in a moment of distraction, you let your guard down. It was only for a second, but that was all it took. A sharp pain tore through your side, and when you looked down, you saw the knife buried deep in your abdomen. The world seemed to slow around you, a haze of shock and disbelief clouding your vision.

You staggered, clutching the wound, trying to maintain your balance, but the pain was overwhelming. You heard Five shout your name, his voice cutting through the fog of agony. There had been a strange edge to it, a raw urgency that you hadn’t heard before. You had always thought of him as the consummate professional—gruff, detached, always in control. But now, there was something different in his tone—something almost frantic.

He was at your side in an instant, his figure blurring with the speed of his movements as he dispatched the remaining threats with a brutal efficiency that was startling even to you. His face was tight with concentration, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes that were usually so unreadable—were filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Fear, maybe? Or was it… concern?

“Stay with me,” he had commanded, dropping to his knees beside you. His hands moved quickly, one pressing against your wound to staunch the bleeding, the other rummaging through his coat pocket for something—bandages, maybe, or some kind of first aid. He was muttering under his breath, a stream of curses and commands, as if he could will you back to health with words alone.

You tried to speak, to tell him you were fine, but your voice came out in a weak, strangled gasp. The pain was spreading, a hot, searing sensation radiating from your abdomen and up through your chest. You could feel yourself slipping, the world around you growing dim and distant. But even through the haze, you could still hear his voice, sharp and insistent, pulling you back.

“Look at me,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. You forced your eyes open, focusing on his face—his furrowed brow, his clenched jaw, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, determined line. “You’re not dying here, got it?”

There had been a fierceness in his voice that surprised you, a kind of raw intensity that you hadn’t heard before. You’d seen him angry, sure, and you’d seen him frustrated plenty of times, but this was different. This was personal. And it was then that you realized: he wasn’t just afraid of losing a colleague. He was afraid of losing you.

“Five,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. You wanted to say something comforting, to let him know you’d be okay, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was reach out, your fingers brushing against his, a silent acknowledgment of his efforts, of his fear, of his care.

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, his gaze locked onto yours. “I’m not losing you,” he said again, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I’ve lost too many people already. Not you. Never you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the chaos around you fading into the background. It was just the two of you, caught in this strange, suspended moment, connected in a way that was deeper than words, deeper than time.

He worked quickly, efficiently, binding your wound with a piece of his own shirt, his movements precise and controlled despite the tension radiating from him. You could feel the energy building around you, the familiar sensation of time beginning to warp as he prepared to jump you both back to the Commission. His hands were steady, but there was a tremor in them that betrayed his calm façade.

“Hang on,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Just hang on a little longer.”

And then, with a blinding flash of light, the world around you shifted, the familiar pull of the time jump tugging at your very being. The pain in your side flared, a sharp spike of agony that ripped through your consciousness, but you held onto his hand, your grip tightening as you were pulled through the fabric of time.

When you opened your eyes again, you were in the Commission’s infirmary, the sterile white walls and the faint hum of machinery a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind. Five was still there, his hand still holding yours, his face pale but relieved. He didn’t say anything, just sat there, his eyes never leaving your face, as if making sure you were really, truly okay.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” he muttered after a moment, his voice rough, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “You scared the hell out of me.” Despite the pain, you managed a small smile. “Didn’t know you cared so much,” you replied, your voice weak but teasing.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a softness in his gaze, a kind of tenderness you’d never seen before. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head,” he said gruffly, but you could hear the relief in his voice, the unspoken gratitude that you were still here, still alive.

And in that moment, you knew that things had changed. You’d always been a perfect team, but now, you were something more. You had seen a side of Five you’d never seen before, a vulnerability he’d never shown anyone. And you knew, without a doubt, that he cared about you—deeply, fiercely, in a way that went far beyond mere partnership.

As you lay there, your hand still entwined with his, you felt a strange sense of peace, a quiet understanding passing between you. Whatever happened next, whatever dangers awaited in the tangled web of time, you knew one thing for certain: you wouldn’t face them alone. Not as long as Five was by your side.

Since that day, he had been inseparable from you. At first, you found it strange—his constant presence, the way he seemed to hover just a little too close, always watching, always ready. Five had never been the type to show affection, to offer comfort. He was all sharp edges and quick wit, a perpetual storm in human form. But now, there was a softness to him, a quiet protectiveness that he tried, and mostly failed, to hide. And you no longer minded. In fact, you found it endearing. You came to cherish his closeness, his silent support.

You liked the constant teasing and the bickering that filled your days, a steady rhythm of banter and back-and-forth that felt more like home than any place you had ever been. It was comforting to have someone with whom you felt so... normal, someone who could keep up with you, match your pace, challenge you in ways that no one else could. The loneliness you’d once felt in the vast corridors of the Commission faded away with him by your side, replaced by something you never thought you’d have—companionship. Friendship. Love.

Many years later, during a quiet moment in the middle of another mission, Five finally confessed that he loved you. It wasn’t a grand declaration, nothing like the romantic stories you’d heard growing up. It was simple, almost matter-of-fact, the way he said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had been stitching up a wound on his arm, your fingers deft and practiced, when he suddenly blurted it out.

“I love you,” he had said, his voice gruff but sincere, his eyes not meeting yours. For a moment, you thought you had misheard him. But then he looked at you, really looked at you, his expression more open and vulnerable than you’d ever seen. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” he added, softer this time, as if testing the words.

Your heart had skipped a beat, and you found yourself smiling, a real, genuine smile that you hadn’t felt in years. “I love you too,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was the truth, the simplest and most profound truth you had ever known.

Not long after, he asked you to marry him. It was as unceremonious as his confession of love, almost awkward in its delivery. You were in the middle of cleaning your weapons, preparing for yet another jump, when he looked over at you, his brow furrowed in that familiar way of his. “We should get married,” he said, as if he was suggesting you grab a cup of coffee.

You blinked, taken aback by his suddenness, but then you laughed—a soft, genuine laugh that felt good, felt right. “Yes,” you said, without hesitation. “Of course, yes.” There wasn’t a doubt in your mind. The life you’d built together, the bond you shared—it was more than enough.

The two of you quietly eloped, keeping your marriage a secret from the Commission. It wasn’t their business, after all. They didn’t need to know about the life you were building together, the small moments of happiness you stole between missions, the way you found comfort in each other’s presence amid the chaos of time. You had your little secrets, your private world carved out of the madness, and you intended to keep it that way.

And when Five decided he needed to go back to his family, “The Umbrella Academy,” you didn’t hesitate. You went right along with him, standing by his side as you always had. You knew how much he had sacrificed, how much he still carried with him—the weight of his past, the ghosts of his mistakes. But you also knew that he had found a new purpose, a reason to keep fighting, to keep moving forward. And wherever he went, you would follow.

And with that, you find yourself back into the present. You’re pacing around the room. Every minute feels like an hour, and every second that ticks by without a word from Five or Lila makes your heart pound harder in your chest. The silence is broken only by the occasional murmur of conversation or the soft shuffling of footsteps.

Then, suddenly, the air around you seems to shift. A low hum fills the room, and the familiar tingling sensation of a temporal disturbance ripples through you. Everyone turns toward the source, eyes wide with a mix of hope and apprehension.

A flash of blue light erupts in the center of the room, and for a moment, it’s blinding. You shield your eyes, your heart leaping into your throat. When the light fades, you blink, trying to clear your vision, and then you see them—Five and Lila—standing there, slightly disheveled but very much alive.

The two of them share small, strained smiles, a strange new tension between them that wasn't there before. Diego rushes at Lila, hugging her tightly, his strong arms pulling her close. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispers, his voice breaking, betraying the tough exterior he usually maintains. Lila laughs softly, but it sounds different—almost forced—as she returns the embrace, her eyes darting briefly to Five.

Five stands apart, his expression carefully neutral, he struggles to make eye contact with anyone — especially you. He scans the room as if searching for a distraction, his posture stiff, his hands clenched at his sides. "Good to see you're all still in one piece," he mutters, his tone flat. When his gaze accidentally meets Lila's, he quickly looks away, as if the sight of her is too much to bear.

You smile at Five, offering a small nod. You both aren’t much for public attention, and you hoped a subtle acknowledgment would be enough to connect, to let him know you’re there. But Five never meets your eyes. His gaze is distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Your smile fades, replaced by a furrowed brow. What’s your deal, Five?

You feel a knot of worry tighten in your stomach. Something is off with Five, more than usual. You’ve known him long enough to recognize when he’s hiding something, but this is different. It’s like he’s shut down entirely, locking everyone out—including you.

The others, caught up in their own reunions, don’t seem to notice the tension radiating from Five and Lila. Diego pulls back from Lila, holding her at arm’s length to look her over. “What happened to you two?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the subtle changes in their appearances—the slightly haunted look in their eyes, the way they seem older somehow. “You’ve only been gone for like 4 hours”

Lila’s smile is tight, almost brittle. “Feels like a lifetime,” she says with a small, hollow laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. Her gaze drifts back to Five, and for a moment, there's something almost like longing—or maybe regret.

Five flinches at her words, just barely, but enough that you notice. He looks down, his jaw clenching. “Doesn’t matter,” he says quickly, cutting off any further questions. “We’re back now. That’s all that matters.” But his voice wavers slightly, betraying a crack in his composure.

You step forward, unable to keep the concern from your voice. “Five…what happened?” you ask softly, hoping to reach him, to break through whatever wall he’s put up.

He finally looks at you, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that makes your heart sink. “Drop it,” he snaps, a sharp edge to his tone that makes everyone else in the room go quiet. The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable, the unspoken tension between him and Lila now impossible to ignore.

Lila clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, maybe we should all just… take a breather,” she suggests, trying to lighten the mood, but there’s a nervousness in her voice that makes it clear she’s not as relaxed as she’s pretending to be. She glances at Five again, and you see it now—how her eyes linger on him just a moment too long, and how his jaw tightens in response, his expression guarded.

Diego, picking up on the strange atmosphere but not fully understanding it, frowns. “Did something happen between you two?” he presses, his eyes narrowing as he looks between Five and Lila. His gaze drops to Lila’s wrist, and his eyes widen slightly. “You hate wearing bracelets,” he points out, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Lila instinctively pulls her wrist closer to her side, but not before Diego catches sight of the handmade leather bracelet. “No, I like them,,” she says but her voice lacks conviction. Diego shakes his head, his frown deepening. “Yeah, you do. You traded the one I gave you for a vacuum, remember?” His voice is heavy with accusation, his eyes now fixed on the bracelet. “Where’d you get that one?”

Diego’s eyes narrow even more, his gaze shifting to Five. "Did you make that?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. The question hangs heavy in the air, charged with accusation and disbelief.

Five’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he glances at Lila, then back at Diego. His jaw is set, his posture rigid. “I sure as hell didn’t make that bracelet for you,” he replies coldly, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. There’s a finality in his tone, a hint of something unresolved but unapologetic.

Your breath catches in your chest, a painful tightness forming there. He made it… For her…? The thought is like a dagger, twisting in your gut. You blink, trying to process the revelation, the reality of it sinking in like a stone. A handmade bracelet—something so personal, so intimate.

You glance at Five, but he’s not looking at you. His gaze remains locked on Diego, unwavering, as if bracing for whatever comes next. A storm of emotions swirls inside you—betrayal, hurt, confusion. The room seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in, the air thick and suffocating.

Diego’s gaze shifts from Lila to Five, and you can see the pieces slowly clicking into place for him. His face hardens with a mix of realization and fury. “Did you screw my wife?” he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The words explode into the room like a bomb, the air suddenly charged with tension.

Five’s eyes remain steady on Diego, his face an unreadable mask. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something—anything—but Diego’s not interested in hearing it. His fists are clenched at his sides, his entire body radiating a barely restrained fury.

“You did, didn’t you?” Diego’s voice rises, each word heavy with the weight of betrayal. "All this time, and you—you were cheating on me?” His accusation shifts to Lila, his eyes burning with hurt and anger.

Lila quickly steps between them, placing a hand on each of their chests as if trying to physically push them apart. “Guys, let’s not do this right now,” she urges, her voice firm but laced with a hint of desperation. “This isn’t the time or place.”

You stand frozen, disbelief washing over you. Your mind reels at the weight of Diego’s words. Cheating? The idea feels like a punch to the gut. You’ve spent countless years with Five, fought battles by his side, faced the end of the world more than once. And he gives it all up—for what? For his brother’s wife, over the course of seven years in another timeline?

Your breath catches, a sharp pain blooming in your chest. You try to swallow it down, but it’s too much, too fast. The reality of what you’re hearing—of what Five has done—feels like a betrayal deeper than anything you’ve faced together. The walls seem to close in around you, the weight of the revelation pressing down on your shoulders, threatening to crush you.

You look at Five, searching his face for some sign of denial, of regret—anything that might soften the blow of this new reality. But he’s still staring at Diego, his expression unyielding, almost defiant. His jaw is set, his eyes cold and distant. There’s no apology there, no remorse—just a cold, hard acceptance of what’s been done, of what can’t be undone. The sight of his indifference twists the knife deeper into your heart.

You feel your chest tighten, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Your hands are trembling, fingers curling into fists at your sides as you fight to keep yourself together. You want to scream, to cry, to lash out and demand answers. But you know it won’t change anything. The damage is done, and the betrayal runs too deep. You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.

You shake your head, unable to look at Five any longer. The pain is too raw, too intense, and being in the same room with him feels unbearable. You can’t handle this—not now, not like this. The walls are closing in, the air thick and suffocating. Your heart is pounding in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of what’s been shattered between you.

Without another word, you turn on your heel and leave the room, your steps quick and unsteady. You feel the eyes of the others on you as you push past them, but you don’t care. You can’t stay here—not in this room, not with them. Not with him. The hallway stretches out before you like a lifeline, and you move toward it, your movements frantic and desperate, as if putting distance between you and Five might somehow ease the ache in your chest.

You stumble into the hallway, your vision blurred by unshed tears. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you need to get away. Away from the pain, away from the betrayal, away from the suffocating weight of it all. Your feet carry you down the corridor, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you fight to hold back the sobs threatening to break free.

You finally reach an empty room, but as you reach for the door, you realize with a jolt that it's the one you and Five share. The one where you slept beside him last night, completely unaware of the storm that was about to hit. The memories of your shared moments—whispered conversations, late-night confessions, stolen kisses—flood back, now tainted with a sense of betrayal and loss. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the doorknob, but then you push it open and slip inside, closing it behind you.

The moment the door clicks shut, you collapse against it, your legs giving out beneath you. You sink to the floor, your back pressed against the wood, and the tears finally come. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks, and a broken sob escapes your lips. The room is quiet, painfully so, and the sound of your cries seems to fill every corner, bouncing off the walls and echoing back to you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold the pieces of yourself together, but it’s no use. The dam has broken, and the flood of emotion is too strong to contain. You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. You cry for the loss of trust, for the betrayal, for the love you thought was unbreakable. You cry for everything you’ve lost and everything you can never get back.

The bed looms in the corner of your vision, a cruel reminder of the intimacy you once shared with Five. It’s still unmade from this morning, the sheets tangled from where you both slept. You remember the warmth of his body beside you, the way his hand would always find yours in the dark. The way he would hold you when you were scared, whispering promises of forever. Promises that now feel like lies.

You lift your head, your eyes red and swollen from crying. You look around the room, and all you can see are the remnants of a life that no longer feels like yours. The books on the nightstand that you read together, the photos on the wall of happier times—all of it feels like a cruel joke, mocking the trust you placed in him. The room, once a sanctuary, now feels like a prison, filled with ghosts of a past that will never return.

As the tears flow, you realize something with a cold, hard clarity that cuts through the haze of your grief—nothing will ever be the same again. Not between you and Five, not between any of you. The damage is done, and there’s no going back. You feel a hollowness settle in your chest, a void where your love for him once lived. You wonder if you’ll ever feel whole again, or if this betrayal has shattered you beyond repair.

It’s been a few days since the cheaters blinked back to your timeline. Each day has dragged on, an endless cycle of numbness and pain. The initial wave of tears has subsided, replaced by a slow-burning anger that simmers just below the surface. How could he? How could she? The questions run through your mind on a loop, feeding the fire that burns inside you.

You try to go about your daily routine, but everything feels off, wrong. The house feels different—colder, emptier. The others tiptoe around you, unsure of what to say, how to act. They’ve seen the hurt in your eyes, the way you flinch whenever Five enters the room. They’ve heard the way your voice trembles when you speak, how your words are laced with a bitterness you can’t seem to shake.

And then there’s Five. He moves around the house like a ghost, his presence a constant reminder of the betrayal. He tries to talk to you, but you can’t bear to look at him, let alone hear what he has to say. His words mean nothing now; they’re empty, hollow, like the promises he once made. You’ve built walls around yourself, high and impenetrable, to keep him out—to protect what little remains of your heart.

Your anger grows each day, festering like an open wound. It fuels you, giving you strength when the pain becomes too much to bear. It’s the only thing that keeps you going, that stops you from collapsing under the weight of it all. You cling to it, because without it, all you’re left with is the emptiness, the loss, the heartbreak.

We have been married for years, you think bitterly, and yet we never even once slept together, let alone him see me naked. How in the hell could he have fucked Lila over the span of seven years? The thought is a searing ache, cutting through the numbness that has settled over you. He always said we were too busy for such nonsense.

The double standard gnaws at you, a relentless, cruel irony. All those times he claimed there was no time for intimacy, no room for such personal moments because of their dangerous, high-stakes missions. And now you have to grapple with the fact that he found time for Lila—time to build a relationship, to share moments that were supposed to be sacred between the two of you. It feels like a betrayal of not just your love but the very essence of your marriage.

You remember the conversations where he would dismiss your need for closeness, brushing it aside with promises of better times to come. “We’re too busy,” he’d said, “We have a world to save.” Yet here was the proof that when it came to Lila, the rules were different. The lies, the excuses, all of it crashes down on you, leaving you gasping for breath.

The anger is raw, a jagged edge that you can’t seem to smooth over. It’s not just about what Five did; it’s about the betrayal of trust, the violation of promises made. The fact that he could share himself so completely with someone else, while withholding even the smallest gestures of intimacy from you, cuts deeper than any physical wound could.

You pace the empty room, the anger simmering, demanding an outlet. It’s a fire that consumes everything in its path, burning through your hope, your trust, your love. And it leaves behind a desolate landscape, a place where you’re forced to confront the stark reality of what’s been done.

How could he justify this? you wonder. How could he reconcile the intimacy he shared with Lila while claiming there was no time for us?

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Daydreaming

fluffff plot: Satoru Gojo doesn't ever depend on anyone but himself, but waking up next to you is starting to make him feel a little... in love? content: it is like brain rotting fluff. waking up together, reminiscing the love story, mentions of Geto, reader referred to as his pretty girl, yayyyy word count: 1.5k satoru gojo x reader note: a bit of a drabble i cooked up rly quickly but honestly i love it so much I love gojo happy in love. kind of inspired by daydreaming by harry styles if you wanna listen to that!! <3 love u

Satoru Gojo has never been one to depend on others.

His entire life, he has been put on a pedestal by the entire Jujutsu society. He has the weight of the world on his shoulders, solely due to qualities he was born with. He has always been expected to never depend on anyone as the world relies on him and his abilities. How weak would he be if the so-called "Strongest Sorcerer" ever needed any aid? So many eyes watch his every room that if he shows any sense of weakness, the existence of the world as humanity knows it may be at stake. He has learned through his training, through his old best friend Suguru Geto, through all of the losses, through every battle, through every decision he has ever made - he learned he was the only one he could truly depend on.

Gojo wants to help others - that's why he became a teacher. So others can grow strong, and they can save each other and themselves. To make up for his weakness getting the best of him; because he depended on his best friend, and it got the best of him. The next generation will at least be protected in a way his never was, and they will never have to feel the pressure Gojo finds himself under.

That's where you come in.

Golden sunlight gently embraces your features, emphasizing your beauty in such a vulnerable state. Your mouth is slightly agape, breathing quiet and evenly paced. You are at peace, dreaming sweet dreams about kittens pitter-pattering through the most gorgeous meadow with you.

Laying beside you and holding you in his arms now as he has been all night, Gojo admires you and the way the sun dances across your face and highlights how perfect you are. He watches the way your pretty eyelashes flutter every now and then, how your delicate fingers lay against your white bedsheets, how your messy hair sprawls across your pillowcase in a way that frames you to perfection. Your cheek is a little squished against the pillow, making your face look all cute and his stomach fills with butterflies, flying at high speeds and knocking into everything in their way.

Gojo can only think one thing as he watches you sleep: you are so beautiful.

You were in the same class as Gojo, only in Kyoto. While you weren't from one of the three great sorcerer clans of the jujutsu world, your lineage was decently known and well respected. When the two of you met, he thought you were cute, of course, but you were best friends with Utahime and she absolutely hated Gojo. At the time, he had no interest in anything other than meaningless flings and sex, anyway - which, from the rumors he'd heard around that that was not your thing (rumors being what he'd been told after bothering Shoko every single day with questions about you and what you are interested in, just because he wanted to hook up and not at all because you were the most beautiful person his six eyes had ever had the blessing to land upon and he never thought love at first sight was real until the moment he first saw you). Something about you had him holding back because deep down, he knew if he stepped too close to you, he would be completely sucked in, vacuumed sealed in your presence in an blink, and unable to control or stop it.

A couple years after being alumni from Jujutsu Tech, you ended up in the same place as each other - teachers at Tokyo's Jujutsu High. You moved after some conversations with Yaga who believed you were the perfect fit for a teacher at his school. You agreed, much to Gakuganji's dismay (though, you never liked the old man, so you were happy to be away from him finally). Gojo, still grieving his and Geto's friendship, tried his hardest to stay away from you at first. He resolved to put every ounce of his cursed energy into becoming stronger and saving as many as he could. He couldn't have any distractions, and he had been doing well with his plan ever since Shinjuku.

But once you were there, he was swept off of his feet almost instantly. He couldn't even try to stop it, because as strong as he was, he was weak at his knees just from looking at you. He knew you were special, but his eyes would never tell him exactly why, and he had to find out for himself or he would - as he had convinced himself - die.

He was over the moon for you. He tried to keep his distance, but how was he supposed to control himself when you kept talking to him at work, asking questions and requesting his help? At some point, he had found he memorized the crinkle in your eye when you smile, the way your cursed energy blended with his, and the curve of your upper lip that had always looked so delicious that he predicted it would be the best sweet he'd ever taste (which he eventually was able to confirm).

After very obviously swooning over you for about a year, Gojo found the courage to ask you to dinner, to which you asked why it took him so long to ask, and then you said yes to the date after that, and to the one after that, and to the one after that, and so on.

Which brings him to today - several dinner dates and a few coffee dates and one willyoupleasepleasepleasebemygirlfriend later. It's still early in the relationship, the time where it's all so fresh and new, and you are trying to figure out each other. At this point, you have practically moved into Gojo's home, with the excuse that it was closer to the school and on the way, so why not stay there all the time and bring all of your belongings with you - even your cat?

Satoru Gojo stares at you and starts to think that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be able to live without waking up to this everyday.

Maybe he could let himself depend on this. On you.

Maybe this is what love feels like.

The realization reverberates in his mind as he takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself as he feels like he's dreaming alongside you. Your eyes crack open, growing more conscious as well as increasingly aware of your boyfriend's intense stare. You turn to look at him, confirming your suspicions, then cover your face to block his view.

"Hi, baby," Satoru quietly speaks, smile on his face spreading from the how adorable you are. "Sleep well?"

You smile at the softness of his voice - one that he only uses with you. "Woke up to you staring at me, creep," you tease. Satoru lets out a breathy laugh, watching as you reveal your face to him again. He reaches a hand to move a strand of hair blocking your eyes, allowing himself a clearer view of you.

"Sorry, you're just so pretty. I can't help myself, my pretty, pretty girl. 'm so lucky," Satoru coos. He tucks the strand behind your ear, bringing his hand down to your cheek. He leans your head toward his and places a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent way of telling you he loves you.

Eventually, he'll find lots of ways to tell you he loves you without even speaking the words. Eventually, he will shower you with everything you could ever want, buy you sweets on missions, open doors for you, keep you safe, everything he can do to show how he feels about you to the world. Eventually, he will tell you those three dangerous words - and right now he is thinking of some extravagant ways to - but now is not the time.

Right now, he needs to savor this and savor you. Stressing about the so-called "L-Bomb" can be done later. Right now, he just wants you.

"Toru," you chastise, dragging on the end of the nickname only you can call him. It's a teasing scold, one full of sarcasm and sleepiness, and it made Toru's smile widen even more. He stares at you, his eyes uncovered and taking all of you in, no barrier between the two of you. No blindfold on, no sunglasses on; he lets you see all of him without filter, something so few are every granted permission to have a peek at.

You stare right back, somehow even more lost in his eyes than he is in yours. They truly are mesmerizing. They draw you in and have since the moment you first shared a glance with them - if someone told you his eyes had some magic love potion with no antidote, you would believe them. You lean up, landing a quick peck on his lips, and smile up at your boyfriend.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

The Satoru Gojo never needs to depend on anyone for anything, but sometimes, Your Toru just needs you. His pretty girl.

thank you for readdinnggggg i hope you like!

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

The Winter Formal - Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Forced to be your annoying, arrogant academic rival’s date for your university’s Christmas Formal was already a nightmare in itself. Getting drunk? Now that was just a recipe for disaster.

Pairing: Modern! Aemond Targaryen x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: profanity, angst, some talks of drunk violence, academic dumb idiot rivals to lovers, lovesick Aemond, p in v sex, degradation, face sitting (f!receiving), tiddy play, use of 'atta girl' (pls let me know if i missed anything)

Word Count: 6.92k words

A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) MAY THE AEMOND NATION PLS ARISE, bcuz this is for you guys ;)

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

For as long as you could remember, you had always hated Aemond Targaryen’s guts. 

Maybe it was a hatred programmed in you since birth, but it made little sense, since your mother and Aemond’s mother, Alicent Targaryen, had been inseparable companions since high school. It was your mother who supported Alicent throughout her marriage, acting as a close, trusted confidant during her clashes with their old friend and Alicent’s new stepdaughter, Rhaenyra, and throughout her miserable marriage. They had even gotten pregnant at around the same time, your mother with you, and Alicent with Aemond, and they were sure that their children would share the same strong bond as they had. 

So, it had been quite unfortunate, and ironic, when you and Aemond ended up being each other’s number 1 enemies. 

You disliked plenty of things about him: how he always thought he was the best in the room, and actually had something to show for it - always coming in at the top of the classes you shared. History, geography, mathematics, english…bloody hell. It hurt worse when he always flaunted the results in your face. 

Got a 98 for English? Aemond would get a 99, shoot you a taunting sympathetic grin and said: “Better luck next time.” He knew you were always actively seeking a chance to beat him, and he found a certain sort of thrill in it, in taunting you. 

That little fuckhead. 

It was a nigging thorn in your side, since you always strove to be the best that you could at everything. And you were always so, so, close. 

Yet not close enough. As you were made to watch Aemond on stage every year at your school’s academic awards ceremony, a smirk on his face, looking like an overly self-righteous pufferfish as he lifted his first place trophy in the air. Like he had just won some fucking world championship. Meanwhile, you had to stand backstage, gritting your teeth and fisting the fabric of your uniform in your hands as you waited to be called on stage to receive your award as second place in your whole cohort. Not close enough as you were forced to be designated as salutatorian at the end of your senior year in high school, while Aemond shot you the most self-satisfied grin ever as he deliberately brushed past you to give his valedictorian speech. 

You swore, if your diploma was not at stake that day, you would’ve pummelled him right in his smug, grinning face. 

That year before you were due to start at King’s Landing University, however, Aemond had suffered a horrible accident in a brawl at a bar during Christmas along with his younger nephews, Jacaerys Velaryon and Lucerys Velaryon. He had come out of it with one eye permanently scarred from the glass shard of a broken beer bottle, and a colder, more sullen attitude. Despite the offer of a prosthetic eye by his step sister, Rhaenyra, Aemond had refused, instead putting on an eyepatch to hide his scarred right eye. 

When your mother had recounted to you the incident with much solemnity, you had felt a strange sense of turmoil in you. You didn’t want to feel sorry for Aemond Targaryen, of all people, but it was a tragic incident that no one deserves to have befallen on them. So you could only shift uncomfortably in your seat, as your mother made meaningful eyes at you, trying to elicit some sympathy and concern from you. 

Because of that incident, Aemond’s admission to university had to be put on hold, as the professors at the university were unsure if Aemond’s plans to double major in law and history would be impeded by the loss of his eye, and he had to take additional exams to prove that his studies would not be affected in any way. 

So you were surprised when on the first day of classes, during your first class of the day - Constitutional Law - you caught sight of a familiar figure seated at the front of the class. Dressed in an expensive black cashmere sweater and tailored trousers, his long white hair neatly bunched up at the top of his head in a bun, eyepatch slung over his right eye, Aemond Targaryen sat there with an impassive look on his face, browsing through his lecture notes. Like some dark shadow the Seven sought to inflict upon you. You wanted to groan in frustration when the only seats left at the front were both next to him - clearly no one had summed up enough courage to sit next to the imposing Targaryen. Gripping the strap of your backpack a little tighter, you stalked up to the front, taking a seat at the right of him. 

He barely looked up as you slid into your seat - a surprising change. Usually back when you were in high school, he would always greet you with that infuriating smirk on his face, one that screamed superiority at every turn. Gods, how much you had hated that. Yet, you felt a strange sense of emptiness at not being greeted. 

Ignoring that, you pulled out your own textbooks and self-made notes, tying your hair up into a neat ponytail as you began reviewing your notes. From the front, you could hear very clearly what the rest of the class were gossiping about, and the whisperings about Aemond were unpleasant. You paused as you listened to them, gripping your highlighter a little tighter as you shot side glances at Aemond - still studying, not letting anything give. Was he truly not bothered by them? When he was younger, he always had something to prove whenever someone gossiped about him, having been bullied in the past. Why was he so silent? Who was this phantom? 

“Are you going to keep staring?” Aemond’s cool voice broke through your thoughts, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you realise you’ve been caught. You sniffed haughtily, turning away. “Who said I was staring?” Aemond scoffed, not turning to look at you still, for whatever reason. “You were. Don’t try to deny it.” He paused for a while, eye fixed on a passage. 

“I don’t want your pity, you know.” You bristled, startled. “As if I ever would.” You waited for Aemond to retort with a snarky remark, but you were surprised when he kept silent, and responded coldly. “Good. keep it that way.” 

You shot him a discerning look, but before you could say anything else, the professor arrived, and all thoughts of Aemond Targaryen’s new unapproachability had vanished into thin air. 

You soon came to learn that while Aemond had ceased the taunting of your youthhood, it was like losing an eye had made him even more driven somehow. You found you and him falling into old patterns, restarting your fierce rivalry. Only this time, you managed to succeed in getting the best of him in certain modules, such as for Civil Law modules, much to your delight. It only served to make Aemond more steely, however, and the both of you often found yourself partaking in the same student committees, always competing for the top spots in planning school events. 

Like now, in the meeting called to discuss the planning of the school’s Winter Formal. 

“I think that that’s a shit idea,” Aemond’s blunt words took everyone aback, but few dared to oppose him, too intimidated by the tall man. 

And the few who dared were mostly you, anyway. 

You raised your eyebrow, tapping your pen on the planning document in front of you. “It’s a winter formal, Targaryen. And white and gold is the traditional theme used for most formals. Isn’t it nice to spruce things up a bit?” 

“You’re proposing to reinvent a winter formal that has been steeped in centuries of tradition,” Aemond remarked sarcastically, glaring at you. “Do you know how many distinguished alumni and guests are on the guest list? I doubt they would find your ‘Christmas Wonderland’ theme proposal charming in any way. Most likely, they’ll think it gaudy and it’ll reflect badly on the school.” 

You snorted, wanting to toss the pen in his fucking infuriating face. Him and his know-it-all voice. “Yes, but you forget, Targaryen, that I am the head of this project. Not you.” You turned to the other members of the planning committee, who all look like they would rather be anywhere other than here, in the midst of you and Aemond’s bickering. “All of those in favour of revamping the winter formal theme, please raise your hands.” 

Your reputation as a tenacious leader clearly had an effect, as most of the members tentatively raised their hands. Shooting a triumphant grin at Aemond, you smugly noted it down and began drafting up the students in charge of decorations. 

One for you, and zero for Aemond. At long last. 

Aemond had reluctantly gone along with the Christmas Wonderland theme, and even he had to admit, a little bit of colour certainly didn’t hurt. White and gold were such dreadfully boring colours, and many of the school’s faculty had expressed their praise for the changed theme this year, much to your delight. 

However, so busy were you with the planning of the winter formal, that you had neglected to do a few important things for yourself. 

Buying a dress and getting a date. 

You paced back and forth in your dorm in panic, two days before the night of the Winter Formal, as your roommate, Rosina, looked at you with increasing frustration. “How could I be so stupid to have forgotten about those things?” You groaned, slumping down on an armchair and putting your head in your hands. 

“The dress problem can be easily solved,” Rosina said bluntly, leaning back against her pillows. “I’ll just lend you one of mine. And who gives a flying fuck about not having a date? A lot of people don’t.” 

“Yes, but I’m the head of the planning committee for this event!” you griped, as Rosina rolled her eyes. “I still don’t see the problem, apart from your stupid fucking dignity getting in the way as usual.” Usually, you loved Rosina’s deadpan, take-no-bullshit nature, but it wasn’t really helpful now. 

“Anyway, from what I've heard, Targaryen doesn’t have a date either, so you don’t need to stress. He’s second-in-charge after you, anyway, so if he doesn’t have a date, you should be fine. It won't be that humiliating.” You slowly lifted your face up, looking at Rosina urgently. “Targaryen doesn’t have a date?” 

“Yeah,” Rosina wrinkled her nose. “He’s hot, sure. But literally everyone who had the courage to ask got rejec- where the fuck are you going?” You were putting on your bra, and brushing through the tangles of your hair. “This is so fucking stupid, but I’m going to ask him.” 

“Are you crazy?” Rosina came to stand next to you, hands on her hips as you roughly used a hairbrush to comb out a tangle. “You know you both hate each other right?” 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” you bit out. “Wish me luck!” You blew a kiss to Rosina as you left the dorm. “Good luck, you crazy bitch!” You could hear Rosina holler as the dorm room closed behind you. 

You took a deep breath, eyes resting on the dorm door before you. Right. You didn’t know what exactly had possessed you to come here. Maybe it was sheer panic, or stupidity, or both. You knocked lightly, but it seemed no one was in, which made you come to your senses a little bit. “This was a stupid idea,” you muttered, retracting your hand, wanting to just scurry back to your dorm. 

Turning around, however, you knocked into a hard chest. “Oof! I’m so sorry!” You gasped out, before your eyes met a familiar lilac one, an indifferent expression etched on his face. Fucking hell. 

“And what are you doing at my dorm this late, little bookworm?” His voice was raspy, and you couldn’t help but shift your weight from one leg to the other. Was it too late to run? 

You were never a quitter though. And like you said, desperate times called for desperate measures. 

“The winter formal,” you reluctantly gritted out. “I wanted…to ask you to be my date.” Aemond raised an eyebrow, and for a split second, you could see that self-satisfied boy from your youthood again. “You know, you’re supposed to say please, little bookworm.” 

You bit your tongue, wanting to snark him and be done with it. ‘Calm down, calm down, you really do need him. Play nice, Y/N.’ you told yourself sternly, sighing. “Please, will you go to the winter formal with me as my date?” Aemond smirked, looking down at you. Your head was bowed, and he could hear you grinding your teeth a little. You were just too cute sometimes. 

“You should look up at someone when making a request of them, you know,” Aemond said blandly, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Your mouth dropped open, was he serious right now? This dickhead- 

“You know what, fuck it,” you sniffed, beginning to walk away. “If you’re going to be a dick about it as usual, then there’s no point in continuing this conversation. Good fucking night, Targaryen.” 

Aemond watched you walk away, the smirk never leaving his face. You went back to your dorm, immediately burying your face in the pillow, ignoring Rosina’s exasperated sighs of ‘I told you so’. All night, you tossed and turned in frustration, but when morning broke, Rosina shook you awake, ignoring your grumbles. 

You got out of bed grumpily to see what the fuss was about, only to find a note sitting on the table, in a familiar scrawl. 

“Go to the address written below and pick out a dress for tomorrow. Knowing you, you definitely didn’t have time to find one. I’ve already made payment arrangements, so just find one that you like. See you tomorrow. 

Your date, 

Aemond Targaryen.” 

Rosina snorted, bumping your shoulder as you scanned the note for the third time, trying to make sure he wasn’t pulling your leg. “He so likes you.” You looked askance at her. “That’s bullshit.” Rosina chuckled, “Yeah. it’s not, and you know it too.” The conversation abruptly ended when you snatched up a stray cushion and began hitting her with it, ignoring her squeals as she tried to escape. It was impossible. 

And yet? 

A warm feeling burrowed into your stomach, and stayed there for the rest of the day. 

On the night of the Winter Formal, you were frantically scrabbling around your dorm, affixing the final pins to your hair, putting on your final touches of makeup. Rosina was still in classes, but as the winter formal started at 7:30, you, being your endlessly worrying, perfectionist self, had to go at 6 to make sure everything was in order before the guests poured in. 

A knock at the door sounded, and you yelled in response, putting on your lipstick. “Give me a second!” As you swung open the door, your breath momentarily stuttered in your throat. 

Oh dear. 

Aemond stood outside the door, looking like he had just stepped out of the fucking Met Gala or something. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, black with red lapels, with a few shimmers of silver scattered here and there, like he was coated in a layer of stardust. His suit jacket wasn’t really a normal jacket, but a sharply cut cape coat, which made him look a little imposing, but handsome all the same. It was embroidered with small dragon insignias, and you remembered Aemond’s family’s crest was a dragon or something. Of course he would find a way to incorporate that into his outfit. His family were one of the biggest donors of the university, after all. 

You gave him an appraising look, one hand on your hip as you surveyed him. “You…look nice.” Aemond smirked, tossing some of his white-blonde locks over his shoulder haughtily. “I can dress myself, you know. Don’t need to act surprised now.” You rolled your eyes, and Aemond took the chance to scan you from head to toe as well. Dressed in a gorgeous strapless gown of midnight blue, your bodice was streaked with silver as well, shining like starlight among the deep blue of your dress. The skirt flared into elaborate ruffles of tulle and black lace that were almost invisible against the backdrop of the dress, and small silver sparkles twinkled among the ruffles of your gown.

You narrowed your eyes as you realised the both of you were matching, did he do this on purpose? From the way Aemond’s eye was shining in mischief, you were most certain that he did. 

“You look…breathtaking,” his next words took you aback, and you regarded him with a look of unease, unsure of how to respond. Was this truly the Aemond Targaryen you knew? The one whose only language was taunting or disagreeing with you? You somehow managed to recover some semblance of sanity, nodding stiffly. “Thanks…I guess.” 

A self-satisfied smirk appeared on his lips again, as he offered you his arm. “Shall we get going, then? I’m sure you will want to inspect the venue and get your nose into every single little crook and cranny to make sure that it’s perfect.” 

You rolled your eyes, your arm, which were clad in silver silk gloves, slipping into his gingerly. “Spoken like someone who wouldn’t do the same.” 

The formal had been progressing smoothly so far, apart from the few drunken incidents here and there, which you discreetly handled and made a note to provide less alcohol at these events. Much to your delight, your professors had introduced you to some attorneys whom you deeply admired, commending you as one of their finest students in the year. You had taken the chance to network and mingle with them, eagerly seeking out internship and shadowing opportunities for your upcoming holidays, particularly in the field of civil litigation, and many of them had given you their contact details for you to contact them should you wish to work with them.

Aemond stood by you like a silent shadow, watching but not saying much, but your professors also praised him, introducing him to many esteemed alumnus. And once they had learnt that Aemond was from the prestigious Targaryen family, many of them immediately took to flocking Aemond, asking him many questions about his family, his plans for studies, and so on. A slight burning sensation of envy rose in your heart as you watched Aemond disinterestedly converse with them. Why wasn’t he taking it seriously? Had it been you, you would be seizing the opportunity to network with them. 

‘He's a Targaryen,’ you sighed internally. ‘Of course he wouldn’t. It’s been pretty much handed to him on a silver platter his own life anyway.’ 

Sullenly, you slipped away, making rounds around the party to ensure that everything was progressing smoothly. Still, it couldn’t curb the irritableness you were feeling, so you snatched up a bottle of whiskey from the drinks table, pouring yourself a glass. Then two. Then three. Then four turned to seven and seven turned to thirteen glasses. Your surroundings blurred as time seemed to slow, and you sighed, feeling a heady pounding in your head. 

“Are you serious?” A gruff voice interrupted you in your fifteenth? Twentieth? Glass of whiskey, and you looked up from where you had sunk into a plush armchair, a glazed over, slightly cantankerous expression on your face. 

“Well, well,” you hiccuped, lifting the glass to your lips. “If it isn’t Mr Bigshot Targaryen.” Aemond sighed in annoyance, knowing you were picking a fight again. He made a quick assessment of your surroundings, noting two empty whiskey bottles and a third one that was almost drained. Seven fucking Hells, you were drunk. 

You let out an indignant yelp as a hand plucked away your whiskey tumbler, setting it down with a definitive clink. “Hey, I was drinking that!” 

“You’re fucking drunk out of your mind, little bookworm,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. “I’m taking you back to your dorm.” You hiccuped again. “You’re not my dad, Targaryen. So why don’t you just run along and socialise with those schmoozy lawyer friends of yours, hmm? They were all eager to have a piece of you. Or have you grown tired already?” 

Aemond wanted to smack you in the forehead. Oh, this godsforsaken woman. “I may not be your dad, yes,” he rumbled, snatching away the whiskey bottle that you were reaching for and making you curse at him. “But I would be damned if I let you get drunk on your first Christmas Eve spent away from your family.” 

You gave him a confused look. “Is it Christmas Eve?” Aemond frowned. He put a hand on your forehead, to check for a fever, which you promptly batted away. “Have you lost all your senses? The winter formal was scheduled on Christmas Eve, remember?” 

“Oh.” was all you could say, lamely. “I…I was so busy. I didn’t remember.” 

Aemond sighed, taking a seat in the armchair next to you. It was good that it was late and most of the guests had already left, so the both of you had some privacy. The vast hall was empty now, save for a few cleaners. “You know, you have got to take more time for yourself. You take on too many commitments.” 

You hiccuped, snorting softly. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, but you felt a strong inclination to vent out all your previous frustrations on Aemond right now. Who the hell did he think he was, criticising you for your decisions? 

“Yeah, and it’s all your fucking fault.” Aemond’s eye widened incredulously, his mouth dropping open. “My fault? Pray tell, did I ever tell you to overwork yourself that you forget to keep track of when Christmas was?” 

“It’s because of you that I have to overwork myself!” you blustered out, a tidal wave of emotions overtaking you. “Because you’re always so fucking perfect, and smart, and good at every single goddamn thing under the sun. Meanwhile, compared to you, I’ve always had to work twice as hard. And yet, I never come close to beating you. Despite how many fucking extracurriculars I have, how many A’s I get, how much praise I get for being ‘one of the best students in the grade’, it’s never fucking enough! Because you’re always the best! And I’m so sick of it!” 

After your tirade, you deflated like a balloon sucked clean of its air, collapsing back against the armchair. You felt hot wet streaks cascading down your face, but you didn’t care anymore. You were just so tired…it wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be so perfect? 

The touch of a hand on your shoulder startled you, and the next thing you knew, Aemond Targaryen embraced you, gently stroking your hair as if you were a lost child, and he was consoling you. Despite your mind screaming at him to let go, it didn’t translate to your physical actions. You just…stayed there, sobbing in his arms. “I hate you so much, you know. You’ve always had everything handed to you on a silver platter, and it’s like you don’t even care. You always treat things for granted,” you continued rambling on, the dizzy sensation in your head gradually increasing. 

Aemond was silent for a long time. He never anticipated you to feel this way, and the shock from your revelations sent his head reeling. He sighed, how could he ever tell you that he had a stupid crush on you since you were little kids? That his attempts at teasing you, riling you up, were all so you could just look at him for a second longer, even if it was with a scowl? How could he tell you that none of his A’s or first place trophies could make him feel the same fuzzy way he felt whenever you looked at him? He opened his mouth to speak, debating on whether to comfort you, or tell you all his feelings. “Y/N-” 

With a start, he realised you were asleep in his arms as you let out a snore, body slack in his arms. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Wonderful. This was just the Christmas Eve he wanted. 

The sound of an alarm jolted you from a deep slumber. You flung off the blankets covering you, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. “Ugh…” the pounding in your head was overwhelming, it was like there were a party of elephants having a fiesta in your brain right now. “What time is it…” you reached for the alarm clock to turn it off, only to freeze when a hand reached for it before you did. 

You and Aemond Targaryen stared at each other, wide-eyed, in the dim light of the dorm, while the red digits on the clock read, “6a.m.” 

You were the first to react, frantically struggling as you scooted to the far end of the bed. “Aaaahhhh!” you screamed, clutching the duvet closer to you for protection. “What the fuck are you doing in my dorm?” 

“Wait, we didn’t-” you looked down at yourself, noting with palpable relief that you were still in your winter formal attire, though you stank of alcohol. Thank the Seven. 

Aemond rolled his eyes, grumbling as he switched off his alarm clock. “No, we didn’t sleep together. And this isn’t your dorm. It’s mine.” 

“Then what in the name of the Seven and all that is holy am I doing here?” You hollered at him, the confusion coupled with the pounding in your head making your surroundings spin. “Ow…my head.” 

“Yeah, it’s called a hangover,” Aemond snided, taking a seat on the bedspread. “You know, for drinking nearly three bottles of whiskey last night.” 

Your eyes went wide in horror. “Last night…” You weren’t the type to forget what you did while drunk, so your memory quickly raced through last night’s events, where you got drunk, and…fucking shit. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, muttering curses under your breath as you remembered what had happened last night. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. An awkward silence had lapsed in the room, as you struggled to find words to acquit you of this predicament. ‘Me and my big mouth while I’m drunk.’ 

“I’m sorry,” you both blurted out at the same time, before breaking off, staring at each other awkwardly. “Wait, why are you sorry?” you questioned him, looking dumbfounded. Aemond sighed, smiling wistfully. “Isn’t it obvious? For making you feel that way. I…I had no idea you did.” 

“It’s fine,” you cut him off brusquely, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers as the duvet slowly slid back down. “It’s all just fucking stupid, anyway. Let’s just let it go-” 

Suddenly Aemond seized your hands, holding onto them with some sort of restrained anger. Startled, you stared up at him, as his one eye glazed over with pain and sorrow. “Of course it’s not fine. Don’t brush aside your feelings like that.” you stared at him, stupefied. What had gotten into him? 

Aemond inhaled deeply, looking down at your hands. “You know…how I lost my eye over the break last year right?” You nodded warily, not sure where this was headed. Aemond’s voice shook a little as he recounted that incident. “It was because Luke was drunk, really. He wanted to pick a fight with this guy because he had stolen his girlfriend. And then next thing we knew, his goons surrounded us. Then, I think maybe it was the heat of the moment, or adrenaline…but Luke had a glass shard in his hand, and he accidentally attacked me.” You felt your heart plummet to your stomach. “What?” 

Aemond smiled, a contortion of pain and feigned impassivity. “He was drunk out of his mind, he probably thought I was one of the goons by accident. By the time Jace pulled him off, it was a little too late.” He sighed. “You know, the drunk part I can forgive, but the worst part was that my father didn’t even care to hear my side of the story. He just said that we should’ve been more careful.” His voice hardened, “I was angry, because he just chose to brush this under the rug, pretend like we were still one big happy family, like Luke didn’t slash out my eye in a drunken rage. He didn’t try to comfort me, or understand my situation. And I just…” he shrugged helplessly. 

You bit your bottom lip, looking at his scarred eye. “I’m sorry…that must have hurt. A lot. Your dad is a dick.” 

The ghost of a smirk lingered on Aemond’s lips. “Yeah…he is. I’ve made my peace with it though, and Luke has never stopped apologising since that day. So it is what it is.” He hesitated, before reaching up tentatively, taking off his eyepatch. A gasp sounded from you as you took in the sapphire crammed into where his right eye should’ve been. “...does it look scary?” Aemond asked you, his voice small. You shook your head, unable to tear your gaze away. “It’s not. It’s…quite beautiful, actually. Even though it’s a bit macabre.” 

Aemond chuckled, gently brushing aside a strand of your messed up hair. “My point is, don’t try to just brush things under the rug, okay? It never did anyone any good, and it won’t for you as well.” You shifted, a faint sense of discomfort prickling your skin. “But why…are you telling me all this?” ‘Why are you being so nice? I hated you.’ 

Aemond barked out a rough laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? I have a crush on you, little bookworm.” 

You blinked. Once. twice. Thrice. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I have a crush on you. Since we were kids." Aemond repeated himself, his voice light with amusement, but tender. “Did you know why I always teased you? Why I always wanted to make you frustrated? It was because I wanted your attention. I didn’t care if it was negative or positive, which in hindsight, didn’t seem like a good choice.” 

You stared at him, mouth agape. He-he can’t be serious, can he? 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Aemond said quickly, releasing your hands. “I just wanted you to know how I felt. No brushing things under the rug, you know.” Still, Aemond could feel his heart breaking a little at your silence. He had shot his shot, even though you made it clear that you disliked him. He shouldn’t expect much. “Little bookworm?” he asked carefully, observing your expression. 

“For someone so smart., you’re a real idiot, you know that?” Aemond opened his mouth to answer, but before he knew it, your lips were on his, as you launched yourself at him. Aemond’s eye widened, but then you mumbled, “You’re supposed to kiss me back, you know.” 

Then, with a choked laugh, Aemond did, reaching up to cup your cheeks and stroke them with his thumb as he returned the kiss from the girl of his dreams. Your lips moved in perfect tandem to one another, filled with tender, sweet desperation. “I’ll be an idiot, an annoying pest, anything you want.” Aemond murmured, his lips breaking away for a moment. “As long as you keep tormenting me, as long as you’re still here. I would be your anything.” 

You laughed, feeling slight tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. “You’re such a doofus, you know that?” Aemond flipped you over, making you land on your back with a yelp, as he hovered over you, smirking. “I know. But I’m your doofus.” 

Aemond continued kissing you, his hands roaming across your body sweetly, carefully. “This is probably the best Christmas of my life,” Aemond muttered softly against your lips. Your eyes widened, “Shoot, I completely forgot again.” Aemond laughed, sitting up and looking down at you with a naughty grin on his face. “Well, I actually have a present for you, you know.” 

You raised your eyebrows, looking up at him. Even in nothing but an old, faded sweatshirt and some sweatpants, he looked like a vision sculpted by the Seven. “Oh? And what might that be?” 

“Me, of course,” he said smugly, leaning down to kiss you again. You let out a few whimpers as you felt his hands slowly sliding up your dress, creeping up your thighs…into your panties. 

“Oh!’ you gasped out, as Aemond found the spot between your wet folds. He grinned devilishly, “Already wet for me, hmm?” You rolled your eyes at him, groaning as he teased your wet slit with the pad of his finger. “Just shut up already.’ 

Aemond wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, “Why don’t you make me?’ You blinked, not quite comprehending his point. “I want you to sit on my face while I eat your wet little cunt,” he delineated bluntly, looking at you hungrily. “It’s a victory for you, no? You get your pussy eaten out, and shut me up at the same time. Hell, if I wasn’t so eager for a taste of your pussy, I would’ve grumbled at the unfairness of it.” 

You stared at him incredulously, but you felt the slow rise of arousal in your abdomen as he continued looking at you challengingly whilst teasing your folds, and you decided, why the hell not? “Game on, Targaryen.” 

He grinned, putting his finger in his mouth and groaning as he tasted your essence. You clamped your legs a little tighter at the sight. “You taste so fucking good already. I can’t wait to feel your cunt on my mouth.” Deft fingers helped you out of your gown, and you tossed it away carelessly, moving to take off your underwear. Aemond’s eye trailed over your naked form shamelessly, and he planted a soft kiss on your neck. “Beautiful.” he murmured. You felt your cheeks heat up, but decided to sass him a little. “Well, are we going to wait here all day, or?” Aemond grinned, a handsome, wicked expression that made your stomach do flips. “Definitely not. I need to taste you now.” 

He laid back on his pillows, gesturing at you. “Come here. Now.” You swallowed, crawling towards him, angling your cunt to his face. “Don’t suffocate or anything, okay?” You quipped as a joke, but Aemond only smirked. “No promises, sweetheart.” 

He pulled your hips down towards him, and you let out a pleasured gasp as his tongue flicked across your clit. Moaning, you dug your nails into the wooden headboard of his bed, writhing and shaking slightly as Aemond devoured your pussy. When he pressed the tip of his nose up your slit, you let out a mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

You rode Aemond’s face eagerly, as he pleasured you without much regard for his own safety. A few times, you were so concerned that Aemond had not come up for air in so long that you tried to move your hips off his face, only for him to firmly grip you by the hips and pull you back down again. With Aemond’s insistent licking and sucking, you felt a coil beginning to form in your stomach. “Oh, god, I’m cumming, Aemond-” you moaned, but your moan was cut off when Aemond lifted you off his face, smirking at you smugly with his face coated in your juices. “Why’d you stop?” you whined, pouting. 

Aemond chuckled. Oh, you were just so adorable sometimes. “Because I want your first time cumming with me to be on my cock,” Aemond explained, looking eerily calm, like he hadn’t just nearly drove you to climax with his tongue. “On your hands and knees.” 

You gave him a scolding look, but Aemond only repeated himself, sterner this time. “Now, princess.” The nickname earned a shiver from you, and you found yourself obeying, shifting on your hands and knees. You heard Aemond dispose of his own clothing, and your legs quivered in anticipation as he came up behind you. 

He chuckled darkly, landing a few gentle spanks on your ass. “Gods, this ass is magnificent. I’m going to have to spank it someday.” You had to bite back a moan as he leaned over you, whispering sweetly into your ear. His other hand wandered to your chest, pinching and then rubbing your sensitive, hardened buds, releasing a shaky, shuddering moan from you. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Having my hands all over this perfect ass of yours? Leaving red handprints over it? Hmm?” 

You nearly choked on your saliva as you fought to answer, “Yes, daddy.” He groaned, smacking your ass lightly for a few more times. “Good fucking girl,” he punctuated each word with such raw intensity it made your cunt ache for him. Oh, how you craved him.

As if he could read your mind, Aemond began to enter you, groaning as he did. Inch by inch, he sunk in, watching his cock disappear inside your warm, wet folds. “Gods, you are so fucking tight,” he swore, his hands gently going around to pinch your nipples. You yipped, which brought a smile to his face. How could someone be so perfect? 

Your legs were quivering at this point, and you were barely hanging on by a thread as Aemond sunk into you slowly, reaching places so deep and so pleasurable. You moaned, just how big was he? 

“All in, princess,” he whispered affectionately, stroking your hair gently. “You okay?” “Yeah…” your voice was slightly raspy from the pleasure. “Good.” Aemond kissed down your spine gently, making goosebumps rise up on your skin. “Do you want it hard and fast, or slow and gentle?” 

Biting your lip, you managed to stutter out, “Slow, please. Need to get used to you.” Aemond smiled, hands trailing down your abdomen. “Anything you want, princess.” 

Then, Aemond began to move, and the world dissolved into a fuzzy nothingness as he did. He was so careful, taking his time with you, thrusting so deep inside you it elicited the most delicious, deep sighs and moans from you. “Oh…that’s the spot,” you murmured as Aemond’s cock hit your g-spot, making you see stars. Aemond chuckled darkly, one hand moving to play with your hardened nipples, watching as you arched your back into him. “I’m going to go faster now, alright, princess?” he murmured, the other hand soothingly trailing down your spine. You barely managed to gasp out the words “yes” before Aemond began to thrust harder and faster in you, hips ramming into yours as his cock stroked the most sensitive spots inside of you. 

You moaned, panting needily as he did, feeling your ruined orgasm beginning to creep up again. “Aemond, am gonna come-” A guttural moan torn from Aemond’s throat as he heard that, his hands moving to flip you over as his movements slowed. “No.” He nearly snarled, turning you around to face him. “You come looking at my face, princess. Understood?” 

You nodded, too desperate for your orgasm to object, as Aemond wrung moan after moan out of your pliant body, mouth kissing and biting everywhere on your neck and shoulders, leaving his marks all over you. He groaned as he began laving his attention on your perky tits again, mouth sucking at them harshly, teeth grazing over the nub. You shut your eyes, too lost in the pleasure as Aemond continued pounding into you, gripping your hips tightly. 

“Eyes open, darling, or I won’t let you come,” Aemond’s rough sounding command made your eyes snap open, and he grinned roguishly as he saw your eyes fixed on his face. “Atta girl. Are you close?” 

You nodded, pleading, “Please let me come, Aemond. Can’t last much longer…” 

“I know, darling. I know,” Aemond groaned, leaning in to kiss you again. “You’re just a needy little slut for me, aren’t you?” You nodded frantically, anything to make him let you cum. He chuckled, “Thought so. It’s alright though, daddy likes needy little sluts like you, so long as they’re obedient. You’re a good girl, aren’t you, princess?” 

“Yes, yes, I am,” you cried out, hands moving to grip at the sheets tightly. “Oh god, I’m going to come, I’m coming-” 

Aemond’s fingers moved downwards, and his thumb rubbed over your clit, coaxing you towards your orgasm. With a loud cry, you came all over Aemond, eyes squeezing shut in unadulterated pleasure. Aemond’s thrusts didn’t slow a bit, as he chased his own high, groaning. “Do you want me to come inside, or…” 

“I’m on the pill, don’t worry,” you reassured him, looking up at him, smoothing his white-blonde locks back from his forehead. He looked like an angel, all sweaty, his expression filled with pleasure and hunger and affection as he looked down at you. An angel of lust. 

Aemond moaned at that, feeling his dick twitch before he spilled inside of you, hands going to grip at the headboard tightly, as he rode out his orgasm. 

Aemond collapsed onto the bed next to you, taking you into his arms. “I should probably get you cleaned up,” he murmured softly, “But I just want to be selfish for a while, and cuddle with you a bit. That okay?” You nodded, leaning your head onto his chest. A content sigh burst from your lips. “More than okay. We can just shower together later, anyway.” 

Aemond hummed in approval at your proposal, kissing your forehead gently. The both of you stayed in each other’s arms for a while, basking in the afterglow of sex and in each other’s company. 

“Hey, princess?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Aemond.”

Aemond General Taglist: @aiyaiy @sylas-the-grim @darylandbethfanforever9 @hc-geralt-23 @hb8301 @omgsuperstarg​ @justrybca

those usernames who are bolded means you could not be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the general taglist for Aemond related works or just my works in general in the comments below or through this form! :)

thank you for reading! if you liked it, likes, comments and reblogs are always highly appreciated! merry late xmas guys 😘🎄

[ioniansunsets]

i loved your heartsteel!kayn scenarios! can you possibly do a scenario of fem!reader helping heartsteel!kayn dye his hair :3

✖ Heartsteel!Kayn Getting His Hair Dyed by Reader ✖

✖ Word Count: 900

✖ Tags: Established R/S

✖ A/N: He has his default skin braid here. Stay tuned for more. I MISS THIS FUCKER'S BRAID OK. Also you are his long term partner! I thought it would be cute if you have been supporting him though all his ups and downs uwu

----

" For reals, you've done this before right. Don't fuck it up I swear to god I will cry I'm dealing with enough shit right now babe." " You're the one that asked me to do this for you, have some trust in me."

You comb through his braid and neatly section if off one last time before slapping on the DIY at home bleach. After getting kicked out of his old band Kayn wanted a full makeover, so with five boxes of bleach and some whining he convinced you to help him bleach and dye his hair. You stood awkwardly behind him as you comb in the bleach. Kayn wasn't wearing a shirt, so that he wouldn't ruin any tees. So it was quite a sight, hair down, topless, you pause for a bit and stare. After some thinking you sigh, you were going to miss his blue and black hair...it was so soft too...

" Hey I heard that sigh! You know I HAVE to do this...I want to change my image, show them I'm better without them!"

Kayn pouts, you see it in the mirror and laugh. Slapping on more bleach, sectioning it out and complaining once again bout how the long hair sticks to the gloves and makes it all messy. But ok, you work hard, with a roll of aluminum foil ready you neatly bleach his long hair. As you wait for the first bleaching to set in you throw a little of the leftovers on your hair too, just enough for one strip.

" Should we match colors?"

You see Kayn visibly perk up as he hears your suggestion.

" Really? I think that will be cute. Like a cringey couple."

He smirks, leaning back to take a good look at you in the toilet mirror. He starts laughing loudly.

" Wait are you copying me or making fun of me! Why bleach that same chunk of hair as the old me!"

The two of you chat for a bit as you wait for the bleach to set in, when times up you help him wash it all off in the tub. Damn his hair was really such a dark black, it was just brown now. You comment about it needed a few more rounds of bleach. Kayn sighs this time instead, exhausted already but his rockstar image was at stake, he wanted to look cool so he had to do this. He had a goal already, an ombre fade of pink and purple, it would be so cool. Sitting back down, you blow dry his hair and start on round two.

And round three. Orange.

And four. Yellow.

And five before the yellow finally lifts enough! You were finally free from seeing that yellow, orange hue! And-

Oh no. You look at a handful of hair in your hands from where you combed through his hair.

" Kayn I am so sorry..." " No! I cannot deal with this right now please. Y/N Tell me its fine." " I'll fix it!"

You too were unsure how to react, were you going to cry or laugh. After five bleaches, his hair kinda...fried off. Ah...you were REALLY going to miss his long hair. Promising to fix it, you grab some hair scissors and did your best. With Kayn doing everything to hold himself together while you save what you can and work out a messy cut. It actually looked really good. You tell him to look up as you blow dry his hair yet again. Promising it wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be. Kayn tentatively pulls his hands away from his face as he looks at himself in the mirror. A smile slowly creeping across his face.

" Oh shit you really did fix it? The hell Y/N! Let's dye it right now! I still want that pink purple thing going down!"

He tilts his head left and right, trying to get a better look at it, an idol worthy style. Kayn nods, happy with what you've done with it. Quickly you work the colors onto his hair and yours. Laughing together as he admires himself in the mirror. Half an hour passes and you wash his hair and dry it off for the last time. Kayn himself also helping to wash the and dry your hair. You smile as the two of you admire your reflections.

" Is it me or are we looking super hot?"

He snakes and arm around your waist, pulling you close. Giving your cheek a quick kiss.

" I actually like this a lot I'm glad it worked out. Thank you Y/N."

Kayn gives you a warm smile as he runs his hands through his hair, giving it a little shake as it falls gracefully along his jawline. He turns his attention back to the mirror before he shouts.

" Oh shit yeah! Let me snap a photo!"

Kayn leaves the room for a bit, grabbing his phone and a nice shirt to snap a photo in. He returns, hand draped around your shoulder as he takes a mirror selfie with you both. The largest smile plastered on his face as he sits down and edits it to use as his new wallpaper. You would mourn his pretty braid but...he was still your charming boyfriend you could live with the new style. The short hair was starting to grow on your after all.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 | aemond targaryen x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | these were the only times he showed you any affection— when others were watching. when his reputation was at stake. but as eyes from around the room fell on you as you danced, you swallowed down a lump in your throat as you wondered if they could see it all: the truth, that is. separate bedrooms, sparse conversations, silent meals. {aka, an arranged marriage with aemond that’s not as loveless as it seems, once he’s forced to admit how he really feels…}

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 9.4k (WHOOPS)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (virginity loss with some pain due to aemond being… very gifted, breeding kink ft. breeding press, emotional sex, the slightest dubcon if you squint but trust me it's wanted), arranged marriage, angst, the love isn’t unrequited they’re just idiots, innocent reader, slight infidelity (reader has essentially an emotional affair with a stark!oc), touch starved reader and also touch starved aemond but at the same time cocky aemond lol, reader is insanely whipped for aemond (aka self-insert lmao jk but really tho), slight housewife kink? but really just very old school/traditional views of marriage, reader is implied to be some kind of royal but no mentions of her house or origins or appearance

You knew Aemond hated these sorts of things, but you loved them.  You loved that he had to treat you like a wife for the evening— putting his hand on your shoulder or waist, smiling at you, talking about you to other guests…

Maybe that was the same reason that he hated them.  You really couldn't tell; but on nights like this, you just basked in the fantasy, in the joy of putting on this show for the others so they wouldn't know how loveless and empty your marriage really was.

The banquet was, all things considered, rather uneventful.  You didn't make much conversation, opting to stay firmly planted at your husband's side until he invited you to dance.  He disliked dancing, too, but he was decent at it; you couldn't stop smiling when he took your hand so gently, guiding you to the centre of the room.  His gracefulness and stoic nature reminded you of how you thought of him when you met him for the first time.

You remembered returning home after your first visit, knowing the courtship would be brief for a political marriage and that your next visit would probably be permanent.  You spent the night telling everything to your friends, giddy with romantic glee.  What's he like? they asked.  They say the one-eyed prince is strange— but maybe they all are…

You clutched your hands to your chest as you answered: he's shy, you said, and reserved— mysterious!  But I know he has a kind heart, if only he'll let me near to it.  He took my hand and kissed it… just the way he looked at me as he did made my heart jump!  He's handsome, I think, if in a strange way— he doesn't look anything like the men here.  But I like that…

And they all swooned, going on about how lucky you were, fantasising with you about how romantic it would be when he showed you his true nature and fawned over you as his new wife.

For a dragon, for a man made in fire, he was so cold— frozen solid, right down to his heart.

These were the only times he showed you any affection— when others were watching.  When his reputation was at stake.  But as eyes fell on you as you danced, you swallowed down a lump in your throat as you wondered if they could see it all: the truth, that is.  Separate bedrooms, sparse conversations, silent meals (when you ate together at all, which became rarer over time).

Nearly eight months into marriage, with no pregnancy, you knew there were rumours already about why no children were on the way.  The kindest of them spoke that Aemond didn't desire children and had you on a strict regimen of preventative elixirs and teas; the harshest alleged that you couldn't satisfy him, couldn't interest him, or couldn't bear for him at all.  

Worst of all, you weren't sure which of those were true yourself.  He never told you if he wanted children, or if he had a lover already, or if he was like his brother— spending night after night in whorehouses.

You didn't know him at all, really, and it made your eyes sting at the dance came to an end.  He let go of your hand to clap for the end of the song like the other dancers, and you knew it could be weeks before he touched you again.  You bowed your head and hoped he wouldn't see your eyes getting watery.

When you looked up again, Aemond's attention was elsewhere as a Lord visiting from far away approached him to make conversation; but another set of eyes were upon you, those of the Lord Stark seated across the hall.  His stare was dark, but warm, and you glanced away quickly.  

"Excuse me," you offered quietly to your husband and his conversation partner, who nodded at you to dismiss you before you left.  Making your way to the doors, you saw Stark standing from his chair in the corner of your eye as you passed.

Leaving the party, you walked far enough that you suspected no one else would come by— no one else that wasn't looking for you, that is.  And only one man would come looking for you… 

He did, as you suspected; you waited under a sconce until you heard footsteps behind you.  You turned to face him, and part of you imagined, still, that it would be your husband standing there.  Why did you leave, dear wife?  Wouldn't you like to dance with me again?

He probably didn't even know you were gone.  Instead, you stared at the man standing before you.  "Lord Stark," you greeted with a polite curtsy.

"You may desist the pleasantries," he smirked, full lips surrounded by dark brown stubble on his face, approaching you with a gentle touch to your arm.  "We are alone, my lady."

Sighing, you watched his fingers pet the sleeve of your dress.  What would it be like if Aemond touched your arm, with his delicate touch and slender hands?  "That we are," you agreed softly.

"I've waited quite some time to see you again," Philip Stark said thoughtfully, and you smiled up at him shyly, "and I'm afraid you are even more beautiful than I remembered."

"And you are even more flirtatious than I remembered," you returned, making him laugh lightly.

"Quick-witted as always, my lady," he praised, "but it is not flattery— you know I truly adore you, don't you?  These nights are all I have to look forward to… though it does wound me to see you with him.  Especially now that I know how cruel he really is."

Yes, when you first encountered Philip in one of these empty hallways, you confessed more of the truth to him than you'd ever told anyone.  As embarrassing as it was, he never judged or shamed you; in fact, he apparently fell madly in love with you after that one conversation.  And now here he was, jealous that Aemond married you first, making you feel terrible for the way you entertained the interest of another man.

"I wanted to ask you for a dance," Philip admitted.  "Would you have accepted?"

"Of course," you beamed.

"Then I'll ask now," he decided, extending his hand to you as your eyes widened.

"But there's no music!" you protested.

"Can’t you hear it?” he grinned, making you knit your brows and try to listen more carefully.  With the doors to the main hall shut, you couldn’t hear anything.  “That’s what it’s like to be in love— you hear music when others don’t.”

As sweet as it was for Philip to imply he was in love with you, you had to laugh.  “I think that’s what it’s like to be insane!” you replied.

“The two are actually quite similar,” he winked as you took your hand and pulled you closer, squaring up to dance with you.

For a few moments, it was just that— dancing in the hallway with Philip to silent music.  It was fun, romantic even, and you laughed like you hadn’t in weeks.  And though you couldn’t quite call it a surprise, with the way he was looking at you, you felt a strange sense of disappointment when he kissed you. 

Disappointment because all you could think about as he kissed you was how different it felt from what you thought kissing Aemond would be like.

You'd put a lot of thought into it, actually, since you first met him.  Aemond’s lips seemed soft, and the few times you'd seen the tip of his tongue slip out to wet them as he was immersed in thought, you thought of him tasting your lips.  His touch was delicate and lithe, those thin fingers might tilt your head back so you would look up at him, or lightly tickle the small of your back.  He would be so careful with you, tender and patient as he was in all things, he would savour every moment that your body was pressed to his…

Philip was exactly the opposite in every way.  His stubble scratched against your face, reminding you what you were doing and who you were doing it with.  His kiss was aggressive and hungry, his tongue prying into your mouth as he hummed in delight and pulled you closer by your hips.

It took all your strength, physical and metaphysical, to push him away.  "I can't… my husband—" you began.

"You told me yourself that he ignores you," he sighed, tightening his grip on you to keep you close.  "Didn't you say that you thought he was having an affair of his own?"

"W-well, I'm not sure— I just imagine he must be, since he's never… since we never…"

He growled slightly, leaning in to kiss your neck as you shivered.  "I still can't believe it," he mumbled.  "That the prince has a beautiful wife all to himself and never once bed you.  What a waste that is— you deserve to be pleasured, my love…"

You wanted so much to give into it, to let him take you now and finally know what you'd been waiting so long for.  You wanted it more than anything— to be loved, desired, cherished.  But you still gasped and pushed him away again when he started to grab at your dress.  "I saved my purity for my husband," you reminded him with a frown.

"And you still have it!" he snapped.  "Isn't it time to give it to someone who wants it?"

You'd told him yourself that your husband didn't care for you, and yet it stung horribly to hear Lord Stark say it so plainly.  You dropped your head and bit your shaking lip, sniffling as he awkwardly tried to recant what he'd said.

"I-I've offended you— my apologies— but it is him that should feel guilty, not you," Philip insisted.  "He's mad to treat you in such a way… he should desire you, I can't imagine why he doesn't.  But he doesn't, that much we can both be certain of.  And I do— more than anything, I desire you.  I meant all that I said in my letter— and more.  I have dreamt of you every night since we first met, since you let me kiss your hand…"

The declaration of love was beautiful, and tender, but it was soured— for it all came from the wrong man.  It would be easier to run away with the Lord Stark and be his wife instead, let him give you all the things he promised.  But it was not duty that kept you bound to Aemond… it was devotion; real, pure devotion.

You interrupted the Lord's imploring speech by resting your hand tenderly on his cheek.  He sighed, shutting his eyes and savouring your touch.  "My lady," he whispered reverently.

"I am truly sorry, my Lord," you breathed.  "You are handsome, and gentle— and any lady should be so lucky to have your heart, for it is truly kind and just.  But—"

"But you can only love him," Stark finished with a sneer, jerking away from you dejectedly.  

"I wish I didn't," you admitted with a whimper as you started to cry.  "I wish I was the sort of woman who could ignore my marriage and abandon my husband and just love you, but—"

"Say no more," he interrupted firmly.  "I see now that you never felt for me as you said you did.  You only liked that I gave you the attention your husband does not."

Well, that was sort of true, but it still hurt.

"No wonder he hates you— he knows how wicked you are!"

You reached out for the man but he had already turned to leave you; you wanted to plead for just one more embrace from him, so it would be longer before you forgot how it felt to be held.  But you, apparently, had a single shred of dignity left… or maybe it was just that you were crying too hard to speak.

Crumpling to the floor, you leaned against the stone wall, hearing the sounds of the party grow louder for a moment as the doors to the banquet hall opened again.  The sounds of merriment and joy felt distant, not just because they were literally far away— you had so few joys left already, and one of them had just tossed you aside with impatience and disgust.

When the evening concluded and you were alone in your bed across the castle, you dreamt that Aemond found one of Philip's letters to you; that he read it and confronted you, admitting he was livid to imagine another man stealing you away.  In your dream, Aemond's anger revealed his true lust for you, and he asserted his claim over his wife by violently taking you right there in your bed, all the while swearing to never even let anyone else look at you again. 

It may have sounded like a nightmare to anyone else, but you would accept any interest from Aemond by now— you wouldn't struggle or resist him, too good of a wife to ever deny your husband.  But that was hardly something you had to worry about: you'd never have to deny him, because he'd never want you.  Realising this for the hundredth time hurt just as much as the first; you wept into your pillow for the rest of the night.

~

"What is it that you hate so much about me?" you asked, voice wavering even though you'd imagined being so tough when you finally confronted him.

You hadn't woken up that day planning to ask him that.  You'd woken up that day melancholy as you knew it was your eight month wedding anniversary— and you knew that Aemond didn't care.  He didn't join you for breakfast, and you thought about taking your meal to the terrace to look out at the garden while you ate, but then you thought you'd better just wait for him at the table in case he came late and gave you a kiss on the head as he passed by to his seat.

Of course, he did not.  You didn't see him before lunch, either— or at lunch!  That was when your heartbreak shifted into anger.  If he wanted to be aloof, fine.  If he wanted to be in a purely political marriage without even consummating it, that was his right.  And if he didn't think children were necessary, being the second son and therefore not needing an heir, even though you longed to be less alone and have someone to care for here in this draughty old castle— you could live with all that.

But if he couldn't even think to say hello to his wife, either ignorant or uncaring that the twentieth of every month was another month gone by since the wedding, then he was worse than you realised.  Up until now he’d avoided you, sure, but he wasn’t… mean, except for avoiding you, which was mean in itself.  It made you think of what Philip said a few weeks ago— no wonder he hates you.

So, that was what compelled you to find Aemond in his chambers, swinging the doors open and blurting out your question.

He sighed, seeming annoyed, as he shut his book and looked at you.  Even after seeing firsthand how little he cares about you, part of you imagined he'd be offended when you asked that.  Hate you?  Darling, of course not!  You're my wife, aren't you?

But no, he only contemplated you with an unsurprised frustration as you stood there, shaking hands clenched into fists.  You spoke again when he still said nothing.  "I'd just like you to tell me, Aemond.  Tell me why you despise me so much."

He smiled— fucking smiled— as he tilted his head down and shook it.  "Haven't I done enough for you?  This is the thanks I get, when I try so hard to be kind to you?"

You choked on your gasp, tears falling down your face already even though you wanted more than anything not to let him see you weep.  "Is this what it looks like when you try?  I'd hate to see what happens when you just give in and show me how you really feel."

He scoffed.  "You would hate it," he agreed.

"You're so cruel…" you whispered, choking on a sob.  "How do you do that, Aemond?  How are you so horrible to me, without a second thought?"

That seemed to anger him properly, and he finally stood up as rage heated his face.  "How dare you come to my chambers and question me?  After all I've done for you—!"

"All you've done?" you repeated incredulously.  "Ignored and belittled me?  Treated me like a stranger, secluded me to another bedroom… are these your mercies?"

He seemed confused— an emotion you weren't used to seeing on him.  "Yes!" he answered, irritated.  "What more could you want?  I can't exactly have you living on another continent, can I?"

You blinked quickly, shaking your head at him.  "I— I don't understand…"

"I grant you all that, because I know this marriage was not your choice," he explained, like it was obvious.  "It wasn't mine either— we can at least be civil, and keep up appearances, for your honour and my own."

"Honour?  Aemond, the court believes I am barren!  I haven't the heart to tell them that you're disgusted by me!"

He stepped closer to you, the short distance making your heart race.  "Disgusted?  You may think me a monster, but I am only a man— even I know how beautiful you are."

Your throat caught.  He said it like you should know— but it was news to you, and it made your heart skip.  "If… if you think me beautiful, why— why did you never lay with me?  Even on our wedding night?" you asked, feeling your face warm to discuss something so crude.

"I'm not like my brother," he sneered.  "I have no desire to force myself on you…"

His eye darted to the side briefly.

"W-well, no intention, at least."

"Force?" you repeated, confused as you shook your head.  "Aemond, you're hardly making any sense…"

"I'm not making sense, am I?  Who are you to question me?  You act like a nice, obedient wife— you like to make them think of you that way, don't you?  But I let you live as you did before, as much as I can.  What more do you want, woman?!" he asked ragefully.

"I… want only for you to hold me," you admitted, voice breaking as you cried in earnest.  You felt like a child when he looked at you like this, even more so as you admitted your foolish desires.  "I want my husband to love me— I want him to touch and kiss me, and tell me that he can't live without me.  I want, even just for one day, to feel worthy of your love— fuck, just your attention!  Just your approval!"

He blinked at you, softening, and you almost jumped when his hand reached up to tenderly stroke the back of your arm.  "My wife…" he whispered, and your lips fell slack with a sigh.

He leaned in a bit closer then, reaching up to wipe a tear from the height of your cheek with his thumb.  In all the months you'd been married, in the weeks you courted, he'd never touched you so sweetly.

"I… I didn't want to hurt you," he promised, "or scare you.  I thought you—"

He lowered his voice again, shutting his eye, and you leaned in closer.

"I knew you couldn't love me," he whispered.  "You're so sweet and lovely— I'm scarred.  And you played the part well, but… I've seen that look before, when a lady is trying to be polite but is upset by the sight of me.  I understand."

You reached up to hold his face, biting your shaking lip.  “Aemond… I never— you’re beautiful.”

He turned away shyly, cheeks starting to tint in a way that only added to the beauty he was about to deny.  “I know you want to be a good wife, but your flattery is inconceivable.”

“I always thought you were handsome, my prince,” you promised, forcing him to look at you so he could see the earnestness in your eyes.  “And I don’t just want to be a good wife— I want to be your wife.”

"You always had my attention," he informed you.  "And you never lost my approval."

Overcome with joy, you threw yourself onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.  Though he seemed a bit stunned by your forwardness at first, he returned your hug; you could've sobbed when he embraced you.  It was all you'd ever wanted, and it was so simple: just the touch of your husband— just the warmth and strength of him, wrapped around you.

Squeezing your shoulders gently, he sighed beside your ear.  “You don’t need to be so excited,” he mumbled.

“Of course I’m excited,” you beamed, holding him even tighter.  “I thought you— do you really care for me?”

“Yes,” he assured, and you pulled back to look at his face, just in case he was obviously lying or something.  But he seemed genuine— actually, he seemed surprised that you didn’t believe him already.

"I won't believe you until you kiss me," you decided.  Smiling, he leaned closer and took one more long look at your face before pressing his lips to yours.

It was sort of like how you'd imagined that it would be, at first.  But in a moment, it was better than you could've ever thought.

It was needy.  You loved it; your husband needed you.  His kiss was still delicate and precise, yes, but filled with heavy sighs and hesitant attempts to pull you closer and press his body to yours.  It was teeming with all that suppressed hunger, like he was fighting every instinct so he wouldn't overwhelm you.  If only he knew he could do whatever he liked to you; if only you could make him let go and show his true self.

“I care for you,” he whispered into the kiss, almost so quiet you didn’t hear it… but you did, and you had to cling to his shoulders with your knees going weak.  He pulled away to speak to you more clearly, as much as you hated being away from that kiss again.  “I care for you too much to subject you to my presence.”

“Do you care for me too much to consummate our marriage?” you asked, catching the way his eye widened slightly while his grip at your waist tightened.

“Avoiding you was easier than resisting you,” he explained quickly.  “It’s… difficult, even now, holding you like this, and not—”

“I want you to,” you admitted, nearly whining as you clutched at his shirt to pull him closer.  “Since our wedding night— well, even before then, I wanted—”

"Don't," he pleaded, voice thin as he looked away.  "I… I won't be able to hold myself back…"

"Take me, husband," you begged.  "I— I waited for you all my life.  I need to feel you, to please you—"

He snarled a bit as he shut you up with a bruising kiss, holding your back tightly.

You hummed into it, feeling heat flood your face (and between your legs) as he kissed you so… shamelessly.  Your grip on him loosened, only because all of you went a little limp from the way his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you pressed your hands flat against the leather in hopes you could feel the warmth of his chest through it.  Unfortunately, you couldn’t, so instead you found your hand slipping between two of the fasteners of his tunic, fingers brushing against the bare skin underneath.  He pulled away from your lips, but you couldn’t seem to find the strength to pull your hand from his chest— his warm, porcelain skin—

"Your eagerness is unladylike," Aemond noticed with a pleased smirk.

"I-I am sorry, but I can't help it," you whimpered.  "I've longed for you— I've dreamt of you—"

"Shh, I know," he smiled softly, petting your hair as you leaned into the gentle touch.  "I quite like this desperation on you, anyways.  Be careful not to let me enjoy it too much, or I'll make you wait another eight months."

"No, please," you breathed, "you could hold me every day and I'd be just as eager, my prince."

He sighed just by your ear, even something that simple making you shiver.  "I'll do more than that— I'll never let you go.  I'll hold you for the rest of our lives.  Then will you be satisfied?"

Crying softly, you nodded and hid your face against his shoulder, sighing at the relief being close to him brought you.

He reached up slowly to help you unfasten the clothing that covered his upper body; watching him undress was just divine, in your opinion— every nimble motion of his fingers exposed a longer sliver of his torso until he shirked the tunic away from his shoulders and revealed himself to you.  Biting your lip, you graced your fingers over his chest, admiring how strong he was and how delicate his ivory skin felt; if it weren’t for how shockingly warm he was to the touch, you’d believe he really was porcelain.

“Do you wish to see me too, husband?” you asked shyly, fishing for a little eagerness from him as well.  He hummed as he leaned in to kiss your neck, reaching behind your back to unlace your gown as you held onto his arms.

“I apologise for how many breakfasts I missed,” he replied, not seeming to be a related statement at all until he went on.  “Seeing you in your dressing gown was becoming too much to bear… all I could do was imagine how you must look without anything to cover you.”

You smiled proudly, though you couldn’t for very long when his tongue teasing along your pulse made you gasp shakily.  “U-uncover me then," you pleaded, as if he wasn't already shedding you of the layers of your dress, down to the thin linen chemise underneath.  You were told from an early age that your body was meant for your husband's eyes only, and aside from the occasional lady's maid who helped you dress, you'd covered yourself in modest wear in order to preserve your own dignity and keep your promise to your future husband.  Maybe some would protest to such a stricture, but it seemed sort of romantic to you.  And now that you were finally here, with Aemond's fingers delicately shedding you of your last layer of clothing, it was more intimidating than you expected— but in a good way, mostly.  Really you were just scared that he wouldn't like what he saw; even if he said he was affected by the sight of you in your nightgown, he knew nothing of what laid beneath.

Taking a shaky breath, you held your arms out just enough for him to slide the thin fabric down, and the garment pooled on the floor at your feet.  

For a moment, you couldn't find the courage to look up at Aemond, just blinking down at the ground beneath you.  But soon, when he said nothing still, you worriedly glanced up to examine the expression on his face.

Before then, you wouldn't have known how to describe what lust looked like.  Well, you still couldn't describe it, but you knew it when you saw it.  And this?  That darkness in those icy eyes, that tightness in his jaw and the subtle smirk on his lips?  That was it. 

You shivered as he ran his hands over you, a pleasant sort of chill that made you clench inside.  You opened your mouth, about to ask him if you were pleasing to him, but he spoke first.

"Lay on the bed, wife."

You were, obviously, already very obedient.  But you may have never been as instantaneous in your obliging as that moment.  You were on your back on Aemond's bed in an instant, and he was atop you just a second later, kissing you again and breathing in deeply as his bare chest pressed to yours.

His hands returned to exploring you as his kiss became more and more overpowering; he was so warm, almost hot, pressed against you and it was simply the most perfect feeling.  You found your legs spreading naturally without much thought put into it, and in the same way, his hand just seemed to move down between them of its own accord, gently rubbing over your mound as you whimpered from the feeling.

"Are you truly untouched?" he whispered against your lips.

"Of course," you answered, "how could I not be?  You never touched me…" 

He hummed softly.  "I longed to," he admitted, "I imagined it…"

He delicately parted your folds with two fingers, making you shudder as his touch carefully discovered every detail of you.  "I-is it like you imagined?" you wondered.

"Even more lovely," he replied.  "You're so warm here, my love— are you warmer inside?"

You gasped loudly as he slid those fingers inside you.  "Shh," he soothed.  "It's only to prepare you."

Only to prepare?  I feel as if I'm being torn apart already! you thought.

"Soon you'll be ready to take me inside you," he whispered.  That was plenty of motivation to get through the pain, and he hummed contentedly as you pulsed inside, more of your arousal leaking out and threatening to leave a puddle on his bed.

"Will… will you keep your trousers on?" you wondered, as you looked down at where the pale skin stopped and the black leather began.

He seemed amused.  "I know you're not naïve enough to think we can consummate this marriage with my trousers on."

"N-no!  I mean—" you choked.  "I meant that… I'm naked, and you haven't taken them off yet."

He raised an eyebrow, curling his fingers inside you and watching your face twist.  "Are you that curious, my darling?" he mocked, leaning down to speak closely beside your ear.  "Would you like to see my cock, is that it?"

Well, it seemed that the time for shame was well past… so, you bit your lip and nodded slightly, feeling his kiss the side of your face quickly.

"Soon," he promised.  "It's easier to keep my patience this way."

Patience?  After this long, his concern is patience?

Of course, you couldn't quite understand yet what Aemond was truly concerned with— but you would soon enough.

As much as it had stung to be entered by something for the first time, you were whining in disappointment when he pulled those fingers out of you— until he brought them to his lips and stared forward at you darkly while he sucked your flavour from them.

When he had licked every drop from his skin, he smiled at you and put those wet fingers by your hole again— wiggling and twisting them to fit three inside as your back arched.

"It's too much," you warned, grabbing his wrist.  "Three is too many!"

"You'll need to take much more than three fingers, my darling," he chuckled.  His free hand grabbed yours and guided it to his erection, firm and hot even though the leather, helping you rub him as he sighed.  Your eyes went wide as you felt it, and he smirked at you.  "Do you see now?  You'll need to be prepared."

"Oh— my husband, you— are you sure it will fit?"

"Yes."

It wasn't as convincing as you'd hoped it would be.  It felt so thick, and you were afraid your sense of touch was deceiving you with the length of it!  Sure, you had no true point of reference having never even seen a man naked before, but you understand the mechanics of all this to find a sense of fear bubbling up in your gut.  Would it hurt you?  Would it break you?

And why did that idea, as terrifying as it should be, excite you a little bit?

Pulling him down into another kiss, you found yourself weaving your fingers into his hair, and when he pushed his fingers deeper into you again you couldn’t help but tug on the silver-y strands unintentionally.  You started to apologise, before the little wince he let out turned into a low groan that made your walls bear down on his fingers yet again.  And that made him sigh as he leaned down to kiss your neck, even biting on you just hard enough to make a whine escape from your throat.

“I should give you more time,” he admitted, “prepare you further, but… my patience is wearing thin, dear wife.”

“You don’t need patience with me, husband,” you assured, surprised by your own voice’s wavering as he kept filling you with his long fingers.  “Just… say that you love me.”

He smirked a little, and the pridefulness in his face made you feel sort of foolish— but you sort of liked it.  “I don’t know you enough to say that,” he replied.

Well, that wasn’t exactly your fault, was it?  And he had three fingers to the knuckles inside you, he certainly knew you better than anyone else!  “You don’t have to mean it,” you mumbled, “just say it…”

His free hand, attached to the elbow that he balanced himself on beside your head, lightly pet the line of your jaw as you blinked up at him.  “Say that you love me first,” he decided.

“I love you,” you replied instantly, “of course— I love you more than anything.”

Smiling wider, he closed the space between you and kissed you softly.  Only when your eyes fell shut did he answer in a whisper below his breath, “and I love you as well.”  It seemed like it might be too much for him to say it with his eyes open.

He took his hand away from you and reached down; excitement jumped through you like a shock when you realised he was removing the rest of his clothes.  It made the kiss suddenly much more… thrilling, less precise and more desperate as you grabbed onto his shoulders and felt his bare body lay fully on top of yours.

His hands ran up the back of your legs, holding them open wide for him, and his cock pressed against your waiting cunt; it was warm, that was the only word you could think of for it, and you moaned into his mouth as he just barely rocked his hips to slide himself over your slick folds.

Right as he held himself tightly, hissing softly between his teeth, and guided his thick and leaking tip to your opening, a second wind of hesitance startled you.

"Wait!" you blurted out, pushing him away just slightly by his shoulder.  You could tell by the fear in his eye that he thought you were about to renege on the whole thing, admit that he was right from the start and you were too afraid of him to go through with any consummation.

Instead, you reached up to the brown leather patch on his eye, gently caressing it.

"Let me see my husband," you pleaded.  "I know you don't like to show me— but I want to see you as you are."

You'd only seen him without the covering for a brief moment, on accident; a few weeks into the marriage you entered his chambers without permission, finding him without his shirt or patch, and he covered his face quickly to scold you for your rudeness.  You were much too flushed by the sight of his bare chest— that toned, pale torso with scars of the softest pink in a few places— to mind his sapphire eye much or his frustrated rant.  He could yell at you all he wanted if he did so in any state of undress!  You thought he had the most beautiful body— seeing more of it today only proved your suspicions correct— and as he took off his eyepatch now, you smiled as you finally saw your husband's face.

A moment later, your smile fell into a gasp and a cry as he pushed himself into you.  Head falling back onto the down pillow, you whined through your teeth as his cock filled you, and you dug your nails into his shoulders with more strength than you thought you had.  "I'm hurting you," he noticed.  "I tried to prepare—"

But as he pulled back, you reached down and held onto his hip.  "No!" you whimpered.  "Don't… don't stop.  The pain will fade, yes?  I— I want this so much, Aemond…"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss away a stray tear from your temple.  "I know— and you've waited long enough, haven't you?  My poor wife… I never wanted you to be lonely.  I only wanted to protect you."

"From what?"

"This."

He put his hand over your mouth and shoved the rest of his cock inside you, muffling your scream as he groaned in satisfaction.  He was so deep, and it burned to be stretched for the first time; you sobbed but wrapped your legs around his waist and tried to keep him inside.  Still, he started to move, and you shuddered and wept as the pain seemed to bloom from your cunt and crawl up your back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I can't— I can't stop now, and you feel so warm…"

He looked at your face, twisted in pain, and stared at the hand over your mouth with and heavy gaze.

"I don't want them to hear you.  No one should hear my wife but me— in her pleasure or pain."

Even as you shivered from the way it hurt, your heart sang to hear him call you his wife, and to be possessive of you in some way.

"You feel so perfect," he grunted, starting to fuck into you faster already.  "It won't always hurt like this— just a little longer, I know you can take it for me, can't you?"

You nodded against the pressure of his hand over your face, hoping he wouldn't mind the way you pierced your nails into his skin to try to cope with the pain— you’d feel terrible if you left any marks on such a beautiful form as his, but then again, wouldn’t it be sort of erotic?  Little half-moons carved into his white skin as a memory in the flesh, a way to claim him in return as he claimed you?  

Yes, actually, it would be wonderful— and so you held onto him tighter, and he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

Each time his hips collided with yours, your whole body rocked under him and his grip on the sheets beside your head tightened until they threatened to tear.  His breaths were fast and sharp as he moved, a lovely flush on his cheeks and his eyes shut (the scarred one only as much as it could be) as he chased his own ecstasy.  Even though it still stung for a few moments longer, you loved looking up through your teary eyes as watching him, feeling impossibly proud knowing you were pleasing your husband this way.

He knew something had changed when your grip on his shoulders relaxed and you exhaled a long sigh from your nose that tickled his hand over your mouth (which he took away to admire your face in this moment).  "Is it beginning to feel better?" he asked.

"Yes," you whimpered.  "Yes, yes, yes—"

He laughed softly.  "I heard you the first time," he soothed, "but you may say it as much as you like.  Say my name as well, love— it never sounded as nice as it does from your lips…"

"Aemond," you breathed.

It spurred him on even more, deeper thrusts making your back arch and moans jump from your throat quickly.  "Such precious sounds you make," Aemond noticed proudly.  "Have you never felt this way before?"

You shook your head, and a snarl of twisted pride ghosted over his face.  "Never— it feels— oh!"

He had leaned down to capture one of your hardening nipples between his lips, gently flicking at it with the very tip of his tongue until you jolted under him.  You hadn't even known of such a thing before, you didn't realise how sensitive you were there or how beautiful Aemond would look with his mouth latched onto your breast.  He switched back and forth between them, smiling occasionally when your moans grew louder or you gasped out his name at the feeling.  A long whine slipped out when he kissed his way up from your nipple to the curve of your neck, moving his hips harder and faster as his bent arms kept him balanced and caged you in.  “Tell me again,” he demanded in a pant, “how much you like this.”

“It’s— you feel so—” you choked, really trying to answer him but losing focus each time he filled you to the brim and rubbed against that one place that made everything light up inside you.  Your legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, and your toes curled, and you clung onto him as each thrust made your body— and mind— feel more and more beautifully helpless.  “It’s so… deep…”

He purred a little.

“It feels so good,” you finally decided to answer, knowing it wasn’t the most descriptive but not sure how else to put it.  “It feels amazing— you feel amazing… I don’t want it to ever end…”

His next sound was a hum of approval, and while it made you feel happy, you felt the urge to press for a more conclusive response.

“Does— does it feel— is it nice for you, too?” you panted out.  For all those attempts to ask that question, it still came out sort of needy and pathetic, but he found that amusing and smiled against your skin as he kissed beside your ear.

“Nice isn’t the word,” he admitted.  “There isn’t a word for how you feel, my darling.  The closest I can think of is perfect.”

You were just hoping for a small compliment; you didn’t expect him to so flippantly say something that romantic, even poetic.  

Just after you’d said you didn’t want it to end, he decided to stop and pull out of you.  The emptiness was jarring and disappointing; reaching out for him as he sat up, he smiled and gave your waiting hand a squeeze.  “Just a moment, my love.”

He sat up enough to lift your legs from around his hips, and hold them up as he pushed them against your upper body.  Just when you wanted to warn him that you may not be as flexible as he expected, he slipped his cock inside you again— and when you’d remarked before about how deep he was, you had no idea how this would feel.

Your whole body tightened up and your face twisted in a gasp.  “Is it too much for you?” he asked softly, the concern in his voice making your heart swell.  

“No, please— keep going,” you insisted, though your back had to arch when he slid the rest of the way inside and you swore the head of his cock was going to go into your stomach or something.  But it didn’t— it only stretched you to your absolute limits, a new sensation that wasn’t quite sharp enough to be pain but more powerful than you’d ever known pleasure to be.  You whimpered, but braced yourself, ready to give him anything he needed.

"My sweet wife, so devoted," he groaned as he pushed his hips as hard as he could into you, holding you steady to force his cock just that last little bit deeper inside until your eyes rolled back.  "You wanted so much to fulfil your marital duty— and look at you, taking it perfectly, even better than I imagined."

"You… you imagined this?"

Aemond laughed, heartily, at your question.  "Only every night," he replied quickly, "with my hand around my cock, wanting to call for you but barely resisting each time."

You would've been ecstatic if your husband had called for you in the middle of the night to soothe his aching need; even if he sent you away right after he was finished and went back to ignoring you, it would've made you feel like less of a complete failure of a wife.  

"I imagined more than this, though," he admitted.  "I imagined kissing you and tasting you and hearing you say how dearly you love me…"

That explained why he’d asked you to say it before.  You’d say it a thousand times if he asked— or, probably, even if he didn’t.

"I imagined you pregnant."

To say your heart skipped a beat was an understatement.  Your heart skipped so many beats that you might have been technically dead for a couple seconds— except that you felt more alive than ever.  There were a thousand things you’d like to say, but rendered totally speechless, all you could do was pant out his name weakly.

"We don't need to make any heirs," he reminded you.  "But I could give you a child, if you want one."

Your heart had never been so filled before— finally, your husband's child, inside you: it could really happen.  You'd longed to give him one (or many) since you met him and now… now you could finally bear him one.  "Yes," you whimpered, "Aemond— a baby, I want one so desperately…"

But then again, you'd wanted a baby so you wouldn't be so alone— someone to keep you company.  And now he was here, finally, and you didn't need to be alone anymore.

"I want us to— to be a family," you choked out, and you felt his smile against the side of your face.  

"We are," he whispered.  "Already, we are.  Husband and wife.  But, you would look divine carrying a son…"

You hummed contentedly at the praise, feeling his hand rub gently on your belly right where it would swell the most.

"Perhaps I will, then," he decided.  "Bless you with a child… if you'd like that."

He was taunting you, tricking you into begging him for it— and you didn't mind at all, happy to oblige.  "Yes!  Please, my husband, my prince— I long for it, let me have your son, please… if you give me your seed, I promise, I'll do all I can—"

"Shh," he soothed softly, "I know you will.  I know— such a good wife you are, a perfect wife…"

You felt warm tears run down your temples, all this devotion to him finally appreciated when you feared it would all go to waste.  Clinging tighter onto him, you tried to hide your face in the curve of his neck.  But he gently pried you away, cooing, "No, no— let me see you, let your husband gaze on you— oh, what a sweet face.  Shall I kiss your tears away?  All will be right, my love… you'll have our son.  And what a lovely mother you'll make."

Maybe it was a strange thing to push you right up to the edge— but you’d been approaching it for a while, that was just the moment you realised how close you really were.  The way he said it, you could somehow tell he’d thought for a while that you’d make a good mother for his children; maybe he thought that from the start, he must have if he agreed to marry you.  And at the same time that it filled your chest with pride, it made your gut burn with a need for something you couldn’t quite define but that you knew was incredibly close.

Apparently, he was in a similar situation, though much more aware of what it really was than you were.  “It won’t be much longer,” he promised.  “If you ask me, I will— are you sure it’s what you want?”

"Please, my prince," you whimpered as you held on tightly to the sheets.  "Please!  Give me your seed, please—"

"Fuck," he groaned, "once more—"

"Fill me, Aemond, with your child— I'll do anything, I want it so much, I want to be pregnant—"

"My name," he hissed, shutting his eyes tightly as his thrusts became erratically fast.  "Say my name again."

"Aemond," you whimpered, losing yourself in pleasure just as his name crossed your lips.  "Aemond, my husband, my beloved— yours, m'yours, only you, Aemond—"

It was a feeling so powerful that it felt like you separated from reality for a brief moment— like you were floating in water except less wet and more… hot, more all-encompassing, more pure sensation that filled you from head to toe— and then seemed to rob you of all your remaining strength at once.  As you went limp, he whined loudly and his movements faltered.  It took you a moment to realise it was finally time: you were finally being filled by your husband.  He groaned softly as he panted, silver hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his face.

He looked absolutely beautiful, even more than usual.  And he finally blinked his eyes open and looked at you like he'd never seen anything so perfect.

His thumb gently wiped away a tear from your temple.  "Lovely wife," he praised under his breath.  "I can't wait to see you with child.  I hate how long I waited… if I had taken you as I should have on our wedding night, our son would be almost here now…"

You pulled him down onto you for a tight hug.  "None of that matters now," you whispered to him sweetly.  "Just hold me, my husband— you said you'd never let me go."

He smiled as he sighed, melting into your arms and wrapping you up in his own.  "Yes, my lady," he agreed as he tenderly kissed the side of your face.

~

He looked up at you when you entered the room, and even just the slight smile on his face made you fill with joy; for someone as stoic as Aemond, you knew it was a sign of incredible affection to be smiled at that way.  “Good morn, my lady,” he greeted, standing from his seat at the breakfast table.

“I worried when I awoke without you,” you admitted, clutching shyly at your nightgown.

“I figured you would be used to it by now,” he smirked.  “Have I spoiled you with affection already?”

Chewing your lip, you glanced away.  “I thought— you said you’d never let me go.”

“Well, I wasn’t hungry when I said that,” he replied, chuckling.  “I awoke earlier and was afraid to disturb you… you seemed in need of your rest.”

You seemed worn out from all the fucking, he really meant, but he was still trying to be polite.

“Aren’t you going to sit with me and dine, my love?” he prompted, nodding towards the chair nearest to him— not even across the table, where you used to sit.  Feeling like you’d received some sort of promotion to sit so close, you happily bounced up to the table and a servant stepped forward to pull the chair out for you.  “Actually—”

You and the servant both stopped, and you worried you were about to get kicked back to the end of the table; instead, he sat back in his chair and motioned for you to step closer.  Normally, Aemond wouldn’t sit again until any lady in the room was seated (he was mindful of custom, always), but as you came closer, he patted his knee, and you felt your face warm up.  

“You could sit with me,” he suggested, and you tried not to show how ecstatic you were as you perched yourself in his lap.  He looked up at you with his uncovered eye, smiling, and draped his arm around your waist.  It felt, honestly, a little bizarre to have him be this affection, even if he’d shown you love in the most literal way just last night… you were still getting used to it.  And this felt very different, though it made you quite happy.  “Would you like a grape?” he offered, gesturing to his plate.

“I was upset before that I felt I didn’t know my husband very well,” you recalled, totally ignoring his innocuous question, “and now I think I knew even less than I thought.”

He tilted his head.  “How do you mean?”

“You’re so… romantic!” you blurted out, and he laughed.

“I don’t know about that,” he denied.  “But I am rather taken with you.  And I must say…”

His voice lowered, as did his gaze, while his hand traced down your back delicately through your clothes.

“...I’m still just as affected by seeing you in your dressing gown,” he finished softly.

“I-I—” you stammered, making him smile amusedly at you.  “I’m still just as amazed at how forward you can be, my prince… and to think I thought of you as shy once.”

He raised an eyebrow at you.  “I am shy,” he assured.  “I’ll even dismiss the servants before I fuck you on this table.”

You raised your hand to your mouth to cover it, hoping to suppress your shocked giggle, but he grabbed it and held it tightly as he pulled you even closer, until you thought he might kiss you.  He didn’t, yet: he only looked at your face very carefully.  You looked back at him, of course, and found yourself reaching up to stroke his cheek as you admired his sharp, harsh sort of beauty.  “You… you really plan to take me again, husband?  Now?”

He smiled wide, maybe wider than you’d ever seen.  “I was going to let you have breakfast first,” he clarified.  “Unless ‘now’ is your preference.”

You looked away, smiling to yourself.  “I’ve heard eagerness is unladylike,” you dodged his obvious attempt to make you out to be the needy one.  Which wasn’t exactly false, but not fair either: you knew he wanted you just as badly, and finally knowing that gave you a little confidence to toy with him instead.

“Maybe you aren’t the finest lady, then,” he accused, which almost hurt before he continued, “but you are the most perfect wife any man has ever had, or wished to have.”

And, in an objective sense, Aemond hadn’t been much of a husband.  Last night notwithstanding, he was all but cruel to you— and though he’d finally allowed himself to give in to desire for you, it was not as if his entire personality would change, he was still… whoever he was, an enigma with white hair and an eyepatch.

But he was perfect to you, and you loved him with everything you had.

~

You knew Aemond hated these sorts of things, but you loved them.  He hated the loud guests, the small talk, the awkward customs— but those were the things you liked the most, they seemed to bring life to the empty old castle.

It wouldn’t be as empty soon, though; that was the purpose of this banquet, to announce and celebrate your impending addition to the family.  And as much as Aemond generally disliked social engagements, he was obviously glowing with pride as he showed off his pregnant lady wife to the court.  Now that you saw it on him, you thought maybe that was what he meant when he said you were glowing… but you weren’t sure, because whenever he said it you just figured it was sweat from having to carry around his massively heavy child all the time.

Not that you minded!  You loved it, and he doted on you more than ever, kissing your belly and coming up with all kinds of plans for his son— and he was still sure it was a son, with no proof at all, but you weren’t even going to try to convince him otherwise.

“A toast,” Aemond instructed his guests, who raised their goblets in turn with him, “to my son, Vaegon—”

The guests started to lower their cups, but he wasn’t finished.

“— and his mother, my darling lady wife.”

You beamed as he squeezed your shoulder.  Yes, it was no wonder you loved banquets now that you had the most adoring husband by your side for the night.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

Every Episode of Miraculous Ladybug Season 5 Ranked (Part 1)

(Meme made by @eddo-tensei)

I'd like to apologize for this post taking so long, and my lack of activity this year in general. I've had a lot of things going on. I've been trying to search for a new career, I've been taking on more hours at work, I've started working out more, and I might be considering going back to school to pursue one of my career options. I've been very busy, and I know this isn't an excuse for the lack of content. I'm going to try making more posts on this blog when I can, because after this ranking post and the movie review, I won't have as many big projects to work on. With that being said, let's get to the main event.

I had very few positive things to say about Season 5, and it'll be reflected here. With Season 4, I at least had some clear outliers for the best and worst episodes, but because so many of these episodes blended together, it's hard to really rank them. At best, there were two or three episodes I thought were good, and not even really good like the highlights of Season 4. So this time, I'll be taking a page from one of Schaffrillas Productions' ranking videos, specifically his Illumination Entertainment ranking video. Rather than rank every episode from worst to best, I'm going to rank them from best to worst.

In a way, I'm giving you the quintessential Season 5 experience, starting off with high expectations before a gradual descent into mediocrity.

#1: Intuition

Season 5 really needed more episodes like this one. A good chunk of the season just defaulted to the same old Akuma of the week formula while Monarch stayed cooped up in his lair as usual. Yes, while it was justified thanks to his Cataclysm wound, it kept the writers from really capitalizing on his expanded arsenal other than giving Akumas powers he didn't need Miraculous to give them in earlier seasons. This episode is built on the three major aspects established at the beginning of the season that the writers should have been focusing on instead of Love Square drama: Gabriel secretly dying, Gabriel having access to over a dozen Miraculous, and Ladybug and Cat Noir needing to fight an uphill battle against Monarch.

For the most part, Monarch's plan is well thought out and the stakes feel high as a result. Not only does Monarch get creative with the Miraculous he has at his disposal, he exploits the heroic nature Ladybug and Cat Noir have by forcing them to choose between saving an innocent astronaut or the people of Paris. The meteor threatening Paris feels like a threat precisely because Ladybug and Cat Noir can't get any help to deal with something this big, and have to deal with it on their own. The fact that Monarch also essentially has a hostage trapped inside Bugfighter helps add to the drama.

This is the episode that arguably does the most with the space power-ups. Ever since they were introduced in the New York Special, they were mostly used by Ladybug and Cat Noir to fly across long distances, and even then, there were episodes where the writers forgot they could have used those forms to resolve the conflict (Crocoduel). Here, because most of the action is primarily set in space, the abilities of Cosmobug and Astro Cat are on full display, and it's a nice shakeup from the usual fights set in Paris.

But the best part of the episode is arguably Gabriel. While he does make multiple questionable decisions (whether they were intended to be seen as stupid by the writers is up for debate), this episode is a pretty decent character piece for Gabriel, and fleshes him out the most this season. Putting aside my problems with the writers changing the rules of the Snake Miraculous specifically so Gabriel can't use it like with the Rooster, Gabriel's behavior and body language really sells the fact that his days are numbered. For most of the season, Gabriel's Cataclysm wound was a mild inconvenience at worst, but this episode shows just why he can't go out to fight Ladybug and Cat Noir himself.

It's pretty ironic in a way. Even though he has fifteen Miraculous and is arguably the most powerful character in the show at this point, Gabriel's paranoia and arrogance prevent him from taking full advantage of his arsenal. Gabriel is so dead set on achieving his goal, he's willing to abuse the Snake Miraculous' power to find a way to win, despite the risks it has to his health. He can't trust any regular Akuma with Second Chance, and even a close ally like Tomoe isn't above being tricked by Gabriel using that same power. It's that same sense of narcissism that leads to his downfall, as while Gabriel has more power than Ladybug, he just can't outsmart her.

It's a really good episode, and was an exception to the kind of lousy writing we got during Season 5, instead of being the norm.

#2: Action

You know, it says a lot about the show when not only is arguably one of the most universally loved episodes in recent memory is the first in years to not have Astruc in the writing team, not only is it not connected to the ongoing story in any meaningful way, but it's also an environmental PSA, episodes that are usually not viewed in a positive light.

The characterization is somewhat strong here. Other than Nino being the one to lead the protests, nobody is really annoying or out of character, which works in the story's favor. There's no melodrama, no Marinette needing to learn some contrived lesson, or no Adrien being portrayed as being right about everything. It's the kids versus Big Plastic, and nothing else.

The thing that makes the story work is that compared to other environmental PSA episodes, it actually acknowledges how complicated of an issue the nature of pollution is. There aren't any characters who want to keep polluting the environment. There are just circumstances in place that prevent them from taking a stand against an injustice like this. Influential figures in Paris like Gabriel, Andre, and Nadja have connections to the company enabling the pollution, and whether it be for financial or political reasons, they're essentially dependent on it.

This kind of approach to the pollution extends to the antagonist, Bertrand. What I like about him is that compared to other rich people on this show, he's not incompetent or actively malicious. He just sees what he's doing as a business, and he can't think of any other ways to make money. He even points out how much plastic is used in modern society and that his company makes plastic for a reason. He's kind of like a less overtly antagonistic version of Mr. Waternoose from Monsters, Inc. in a way. He's aware of what he's doing, but he views profit as more important. The difference is that unlike Waternoose, Bertrand realizes the error of his ways and starts finding ways to change how his company operates.

However, this extends to one of the bigger problems I have with the episode. Because it spends so much time trying to flesh out the opposition's argument, it doesn't really give the audience enough reasons to support the heroes protesting. Yes, it's morally correct to protest, but there's nothing else to make the audience understand why they're in the right to oppose pollution. Considering how this was meant to be used to educate kids on pollution, I guess I can give it a pass for at least doing a decent job getting the point across, even if I personally would have given more of an explanation as to why the heroes are right.

What I can't give the episode a pass for is how the conflict is resolved. For an environmental PSA episode, I cannot for the life of me comprehend why the writers thought it would be a good idea for the Akuma of the week to be defeated by plastic and pollution. Like, my brother in Christ, you're supposed to teach kids about why pollution is a bad thing! Did nobody think about the implications this would bring? Actually, given the other things that happened this season, that probably checks out.

A pretty decent episode if not for the ending polluting the moral.

#3: Migration

While this one is one of the better episodes of Season 5, it still has its fair share of problems.

The most obvious one comes in the lesson its trying to teach with contrasting Bob and Jagged. It clearly wants to talk about redemption and self-improvement, but as I discussed in the overall analysis post, this show really doesn't have a good grasp on writing redemption arcs. For one thing, I really wouldn't compare Jagged becoming a better father to Bob being a selfish asshole because while Jagged abandoning his family was a terrible thing, since it was done more out of selfishness than outright malice. Bob on the other hand, is just a dick who wants to make money because this show's views on the business world make the Ferengi in Star Trek seem nuanced by comparison.

The episode spends so much more time showing how easy it is to be tricked by people rather than showing how important having trust in someone is, and it really muddles the lesson as a result. “See? Jagged changed easily, so that's a good enough reason to justify characters like Bob being irredeemably evil!” If you wanted to teach kids about trusting others, don't have it be in the same episode as the lesson about others taking advantage of your goodwill.

Putting that aside, Luka had a pretty decent swan song that tested his loyalty to Ladybug and Cat Noir. You can really buy his determination to keep their identities a secret from Monarch and his decision to leave his home to make sure this information stays a secret makes sense. Well, as long as you don't count Luka announcing the fact that he knows their identities to plenty of potential hostages and victims for Monarch, but then again, that moron never does anything smart with the intel he gets. We really needed more focus episodes showing the former temp heroes helping out Ladybug and Cat Noir in their own ways, not just having them all form a stupid resistance that does almost nothing useful all season.

The conflict with Gold Record also worked well here. I like how Monarch's simple plan to akumatize Luka turned into a plan to figure out Ladybug and Cat Noir's identities that just happened to use a different Akuma. I'd argue it was done better than in “Truth” because of how the victims aren't just forced to tell the truth, they're thrown out into space, so the stakes are pretty high. I'll admit the way they stop Gold Record is pretty anti-climactic, and you could argue Luka didn't even need to tell Ladybug he knew her identity with out easily the situation is resolved right after he's turned into a record. I think it would have worked better if Luka's secret was that he said he was jealous of Adrien for managing to be the one Marinette loves over him instead of just knowing the heroes' identities.

It's a flawed, but still okay episode to rewatch. It's a good thing Luka knew how bad this season was getting so he headed out the first chance he got. If only he stayed out of Paris instead of becoming one of Su-Han's students offscreen before the finale.

#4: Elation

You know this season is abysmal when, of all things, a Glaciator episode ends up making the top 5, and you know how much I love those episodes.

Of all the episodes to feature the Adrienette drama, I feel like this one had the best execution of it. You can really understand the emotional turmoil Marinette is going through and how hard things are for her. You also get how hard it is for Cat Noir to have to turn down the girl he loves after having so much fun with her. Remember, as far as he knows, he's taking advantage of his status as a superhero to make a move on a civilian like Marinette. The fact that he's aware of this and is willing to break it off himself is a far cry from the entitled little twerp he was last season. While I think Marichat could have been explored more, the fact that it ends here makes for a pretty solid transition into Adrienette becoming official next episode.

Alya also has some decent characterization here. Yeah, she goes against some of the things she said earlier this season, but we get a little glimmer of her Season 4 self by having her realize the error of her ways and actually make an attempt to support her friend. Of course, she goes back to the same old Season 5 Alya, but it's something.

Something I didn't really think about until after I originally posted the review was how confusing the episode's stance on shipping is. Like, we're supposed to side with Marinette and be against everyone trying to dictate who she's supposed to be in love with... but the people trying to tell her who she's in love with are technically right by pointing out her feelings for Adrien. Yes, nobody else knows that Adrien is Cat Noir, but with how much buildup Adrienette has gotten over the years, it's really confusing that the writers are acting like it's weird that people are obsessed with Marinette's love life. Pointing out how annoying Alya and Andre are by refusing to believe Marinette could have feelings for someone who isn't Adrien is basically the pot calling the kettle black.

Maybe if this was a Season 2 or 3 episode focusing on Marinette's growing feelings for Luka, this kind of story could have worked, but as it stands, it's a very confusing stance for the writers to take. Overall, a pretty decent episode.

#5: Evolution

It's the first part of what I like to call the “Remember When This Season Looked Kinda Promising?” Trilogy.

This episode really seemed like there was going to be a change in direction for Season 5 with how it was structured. Rather than immediately go back to the Akuma of the week formula, the characters, for the most part, make choices most people would make if they were in their shows. What does Gabriel do as soon as he gets all the Miraculous in the Miracle Ball? He whips out the Rabbit Miraculous and immediately decides to travel through time to get Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous before they can even stop him. The best part is that Ladybug almost immediately catches onto Monarch's plan and isn't too confused when Bunnix shows up to bring them along. Of course, both Ladybug and Monarch still do stupid things that contradict these smart decisions, but it's the thought that counts.

I like how this episode is taking advantage of its premise and makes it about a race through time to stop Monarch before he screws up history. It's a decent idea to call back to older episodes, but the issue is how they don't really do much to explain why nobody noticed this. Even events where the past versions of the heroes were right there when the current versions were fighting Monarch don't get so much as a mention. I think it could have worked more if they stayed undetected, but during the chaos of the fighting, our Ladybug accidentally sets up things past Ladybug could use for her Lucky Charm. That way, it would help sell the idea of this being more of a self-contained time loop.

Something that I actually thought was clever foreshadowing was when Monarch went back in time to save Emilie. He doesn't just steal the Peacock Miraculous or tell his past self to not use it. He specifically plans to give instructions to fix the broken Peacock Miraculous, as if to say one of its creations is too important to be erased from history...

Speaking of Sentimonsters, Cat Noir and Ladybug have some good teamwork here, confirming that we're finally done with the Cat Dour drama from last season. While I feel like it could have been handled better, I like the idea of Ladybug's guilt being what motivated her to trust Cat Noir with the Rabbit Miraculous, and when they go to see the younger version of Master Fu, they feel more like equals while choosing a Miraculous.

So with all the positive things I had to say, why isn't this episode higher on the list. Well, the thing is that when there weren't moments I enjoyed, most of my thoughts on this episode were like this:

A good chunk of the episode is the characters making stupid decision after stupid decision in order to make sure we get twenty-six more episodes. I can at least buy Monarch getting overconfident with all the new Miraculous he has, but Ladybug and Cat Noir don't get that excuse. They get a total of five chances to get back the Miraculous, but other than just getting the Rabbit back, Ladybug keeps choosing to say she's going to take the Miraculous back instead of just GRABBING THEM FIRST AND THEN GLOATING. There are James Bond villains who think you're taking too long. We're really supposed to see Monarch as a threat when the only reason why he keeps getting away is because the heroes are too stupid to do what any sensible person would do in their position. Seriously, if the Winx Club were the ones chasing Monarch throughout history, they'd most likely be spending more time discussing who's paying for milkshakes after they drop his bruised and battered body off at the police station.

And then there's Monarch himself, who has to be told to go back and save his wife instead of getting the Miraculous to make a wish. The episode tries to imply that Gabriel has more selfish intentions, but the finale pretty much throws that away and makes it so he just misses his wife. I'll give you a moment to process the shock of this show setting up a character arc and doing nothing with it. The fact that he blames Ladybug for his own mistakes is pretty much the only thing that connects the two, since Ladybug acts like Monarch is too powerful to stop in a fight when she kept screwing up chances to take back the Miraculous.

I also really don't like the way Master Fu and Alix were used in this episode. For one thing, if Ladybug and Cat Noir can easily use time travel to borrow Miraculous from the younger Fu, why can't they just do that until they stop Monarch? Yeah, they gave the Rabbit Miraculous to Alix, but why can't they just call her up to go to Fu for some Miraculous Ladybug and Cat Noir need? Speaking of, is nobody going to acknowledge the fact that Alix was just forced to become Bunnix after getting the Rabbit Miraculous? Last season made a big deal about how stressful Marinette becoming the Guardian was, and now we're just okay with Alix being forced to bear what is arguably an even bigger burden?

Overall, while not a terrible start to the season, it still had a lot to work on while still having its fair share of positive moments.

#6: Destruction

Much like with “Evolution”, there seemed to be some improvement here on the writing and characterization, but fell apart towards the end.

I like how Marinette, Alya, and Cat Noir all work together to outsmart Monarch with Alya distracting him long enough to follow the trap Ladybug and Cat Noir set up for him. It's a pretty clever gambit, and it's nice that Cat Noir actually gets to play a part in it. “Evolution” showed that Monarch was too powerful to take on in a fight, so a battle of wits is the best option to stop him, something that fits Ladybug perfectly.

I also like how, once again, the writers explain why Monarch can't use something as powerful as the Rooster Miraculous to win, even if it's a really stupid explanation. But hey, I'm just some moron who thinks that the Rooster Miraculous shouldn't be a diet version of the Power Cosmic.

Something that was very clever was the reveal of the episode taking place before a previous episode, “Multiplication”. It adds rewatch value to earlier episodes, it allows kids watching to figure out what happened without explaining every single part of the twist, and it's something this season really should have done more often.

However, that's where my compliments end here. The main problem with this episode is how the climax pretty much ruins the clever plan Ladybug set up. She takes forever to explain her plan to Monarch in great detail, and we're supposed to be surprised that Monarch managed to escape. She didn't even think to just pull off his Miraculous first and then gloat about how awesome she is. Hell, she somehow showed more concern over Monarch escaping thanks to her incompetence instead of Cat Noir accidentally Cataclysming him. But then again, this is the same person who will try to Cataclysm Monarch several times in the season finale. Something that's also weird is that they set up the idea of Monarch escaping with the Lucky Charm, but nothing ever comes of it. You'd think it would be important with how much emphasis is put on nothing else being able to heal Gabriel, but it's never mentioned in the season finale. It could have been an easy way to show Marinette resolving the conflict, by healing her greatest enemy and giving him the chance to better himself... instead of having Gabriel die and Marinette choosing to wash her hands of the whole “I let the universe end” thing.

This episode also showed just how forgettable the Kwamis are as characters. The show wants to make a big deal about how cruel Gabriel is to have control over them, but none of them have any real personality other than “Annoying toddler on a sugar high”. Even putting aside how insufferable they were last season, there's just not enough in this episode to really get you invested in their plight. Not even Trixx, the Kwami who got the most screentime other than Tikki and Plagg last season, gets a single line here.

This episode had promise, but the way it fumbled the landing really ruined it for me.

#7: Multiplication

I swear, I didn't intend for the first three episodes of Season 5 to be ranked like this in chronological order of all things. It was a happy accident, almost miraculous if you will.

Anyway, this episode was okay. It was a decent follow-up to “Evolution”. I like how it's more of a slow character piece for Marinette as she tries to deal with her guilt and conflicting feelings for Adrien after the betrayal. This was the few episodes that I feel really nailed the emotional moments with Marinette this season. There's no overdramatic dialogue, there's no exclusive focus on Adrien (at least at first), and it's played 100% seriously. I also thought it was a decent idea to have the people of Paris prepare for the worst with Monarch, even if it went nowhere. Even the Akuma was handled pretty well, as it allowed the writers to show off the gimmick this season with Ikari Gozen using Multiplication while Ladybug and Cat Noir get to show actual teamwork for a change.

But the problem with this episode was how nobody really seemed to care about the threat Monarch poses. Not only does Alya go back caring more about Marinette's love life, not only does everyone else in Paris seem to forget about Monarch after a few weeks, but Adrien's only role this episode is to realize his feelings for Marinette instead of thinking about the role he also played in Monarch getting all the other Miraculous. Yeah, who cares about serious introspection from someone who spent an entire season trying to show he's just as capable a hero as his partner while inadvertently being part of the reason why she lost her other allies? I want to see him try to kiss someone multiple times without their consent!

And yeah, let's talk about the kissing joke and how it's more than just unfunny, it's almost disgusting with how it's presented. We're supposed to laugh at Marinette for resisting Adrien's attempts to kiss her multiple times when she has every right to not want to be kissed without her consent. The entire joke is that it's happening just as Marinette is trying to get over her feelings for Adrien, but even if she still liked him, it's still against her consent Remember, this is the same show that tried to teach kids about the importance of consent in episodes like “Felix” and “Lies”, yet it never applied to Adrien in this episode, to the point where Alya tries to restrain Marinette so she can't resist or run away.

“But IOTA! It's a cultural thing in France!” Fine, maybe it is, but there's three problems with that. First, Adrien made it clear that he sees Marinette purely in a romantic light, not just as a acquaintance. Second, even if it was meant to be platonic, he didn't do it with Alya or Nino. Finally, if Marinette didn't want to be kissed the first time, that should have been it.

I don't care how socially stunted Adrien is, or how much everyone in the entire world ships Adrientte, if you see someone looking like this when someone is trying to kiss them:

DON'T SMILE, AND MAKE THAT PERSON RESPECT HER PERSONAL SPACE!

It's just such a terrible joke to make, and it this is coming from the season that tries to tackle serious issues like mental health and child abuse. How this episode didn't run into controversy like “Ephemeral” did, I'll never know. Just not a good episode, yet somehow, this still made the top ten.

#8: Perfection

This is an episode that had a decent Akuma, a pretty wholesome resolution, and... uh... Yeah, that's about it.

Of all the Kagami-centric episodes the show has ever done, this is the one that really shows us how she thinks. Because of the high standards her mother places on her, she believes that she can't have friends, and she has only herself to rely on. I like how rather than just default to her being constantly angry while akumatized, she's much more depressed, and most of the damage she causes is unintentional. Granted, I don't get how Monarch thought a giant cloud monster who can't see a thing will be able to get Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous, but I still like how Ryukomori is presented.

On the other hand, despite being a Kagami focused episode, the writers somehow forgot what Kagami was like. She's usually a no-nonsense person who can see through lies and deception with ease, like what happened when she dumped Adrien in “Lies”. Here, she takes things so literally thanks to Lila's “friendship test”, I'm pretty sure Amelia Bedelia would tell her stop taking things so literally. The fact that this isn't just a one-off occurrence doesn't help at all.

If there's anything I could take away from rewatching this episode, it's that I finally understand the problem with this show's humor. The cow bit made me realize just how often this show will drag out its jokes to pad out the runtime, and the cow joke is a perfect example. It's mentioned a total of five times during the first half of the episode. It would have been just an unfunny joke if it was just a one-time thing, but the writers will take a joke and repeat it multiple times until it becomes incredibly annoying. It's like if Patrick kept asking Squidward if mayonnaise was an instrument in that one SpongeBob episode. The joke stops being funny if you keep reusing it over and over again in such a short timeframe.

The song Adrien sung before the Akuma was also incredibly forgettable and comes out of nowhere. I don't even get why they had him do this when Luka is usually characterized as the musician. Even Marinette is surprised Adrien can suddenly sing. Besides, I think we can all agree on what the perfect love song that would sweep Marinette off her feet is.

But yeah, for an episode titled “Perfection”, it's anything but.

#9: Protection

Again, I didn't intend for the direct follow-up to “Perfection” to be ranked right below it. I also want to clear up any confusion people have with this one, since Season 5's episode titles have been hard to memorize for some people. “Perfection” was an episode where Kagami got akumatized thanks to Lila's lies, only for Ladybug to peacefully resolve the conflict thanks to the power of friendship. “Protection” was an episode where Kagami got akumatized thanks to Lila's lies, only for Ladybug to treat her like any other Akuma because the power of friendship was meaningless. I hope I made things easier for you.

This is such a nothing episode. Pretty much everything that happens here is either reused from previous episodes or will continue to be used for the rest of the season. Gabriel tries to break up Adrienette, Lila is a liar, and Kagami is an idiot. There's just nothing to talk about here. The only thing that really stands out for me is the brief moments Marinette and Adrien shared as a couple. They're cute and have believable chemistry, but they're so few and far between. Nothing is accomplished in this episode, and even the stuff with Kagami and Lila is pretty much dropped after this.

Even the Akuma was forgettable. It's just Riposte with a meat cleaver and a diet version of Penalteam's powers. It lacks the emotional weight the resolution with Ryukomori had. It feels like these episodes were meant to be the same one, but were split up to fill the 26 episode count. Overall, just a boring episode, yet still one of the season's better outings if you can believe it.

#10: Jubilation

Yes, this is the one that made the top ten. I'm just as surprised as you are.

Putting aside the dream scene, the episode had some decent ideas, like Marinette struggling to deal with the stress that comes with being Ladybug, and other ways Gabriel can use the Alliance rings to his advantage. Even Cat Noir's emotional reaction to having to leave the dream was decently executed, even if there was no buildup to it. This is the kind of stuff I think we should have gotten more of this season, more character focus and Gabriel actually being a competent villain.

With that being said, there's still a lot of problems here. Socqueline comes out of nowhere, Mr. Damocles' portrayal here doesn't match up with how he is in other episodes this season (much less “Derision”, Socqueline's only other episode), and the dream sequence was creepy as all hell because the animators didn't have enough money to design older models for Ladybug and Cat Noir so they wouldn't be teen parents.

Just an average episode with a few memorable parts, for better or for worse.

#11: Reunion

Riddle me this, my dear readers: How do you write an episode where you want to utilize a fictional version of Joan of Arc, but can't include the visions from God or how she was burned at the stake, the two most well-known things about her? The answer? Turn her into a generic knight who speaks broken English even though she's supposed to be French, duh!

I don't know how you manage to take a concept like Joan of Arc being a former superhero and screw it up this much. She's pretty much only there to bitch and moan at Marinette, essentially body shames Adrien, and only becomes relevant because the Akuma of the week happened to be asking questions about history.

There really could have been done more with the Reunion concept, but this is the only time this season where it's used, and I'm sure it has nothing to do that Joan of Arc's model was used in “Ephemeral”. But when has the show ever come up with excuses to reuse older models this season? I mean, besides young Master Fu in “Evolution”, the other temp heroes in “Determination”, Mister Bug and Lady Noire in “Passion”, and Scarabella in “Revelation” that is.

This episode also tries to tackle conspiracy theorists with Jalil, but it fails because you understand where he's coming from. He is literally the only character in the entire show to think, “Hey, isn't it kind of fucked up that my little sister was forced to become a guardian of time before she graduated middle school while not even getting to say goodbye to me, her only brother?” Yes, the moral isn't a bad one, but Jalil isn't wrong to be paranoid about Ladybug given how she evidently never talked to him about this, much less give Bunnix the chance to say goodbye herself.

The Akuma also really made no sense for Jalil. If he's supposed to be seeking the truth, why is he asking random historical trivia questions? How does knowing the year Sputnik was launched into space relevant to finding out if Ladybug is honest or not? It's almost like the writers have already created multiple Akumas with powers connected to honesty, so this is an overused idea (Oni-Chan, Truth, Lies).

It's just a very forgettable episode, much like how much the writers just forgot the Reunion idea for the rest of the season. Seriously, did anyone remember Plagg gave Adrien a Kwagatama at the end of this one?

#12: Passion

In my opinion, this was the episode that set up two of the biggest problems with Season 5: Extremely contrived Love Square drama and Nathalie's incompetence preventing her from ending the conflict then and there.

While I'm glad we're finally getting a Nathalie focused episode, the issue I have with it is just how the writers are clearly trying to portray her with Adrien's best interests in mind, she still doesn't do anything to actually stop Gabriel other than complaining about how evil Gabriel is while still going along with his plans. She willingly accepts an Akuma from the same man she's claims she's protecting Adrien from and still follows his plans for absolutely no reason. Why Gabriel still keeps her around, much less trusts her with an Akuma, is beyond me.

Rewatching this episode made me realize just how pointless Nathalie is this season. It feels like the writers needed to have Nathalie oppose Gabriel but didn't know how to do that without having her rat him out to Ladybug and Cat Noir. All they really had to do was have her fall into the same coma Emilie is in, and it would not only take her out of the picture. That way, it would remove any concern that Nathalie could expose Gabriel and it would better justify Tomoe's inclusion this season. Instead, a good chunk of this episode is Nathalie and Gabriel making it clear that they hate each other while still choosing to work together for no reason.

The actual backstory for Nathalie was okay. I like how she's more than just some secretary who was informed of the Miraculous and later teamed up with Gabriel, instead being a treasure hunter who specializes in locating magical artifacts like the Miraculous. It's a clever bit of character development and I like how it ties into her Akuma form for the episode. Of course, it's somewhat ruined by the fact that we still don't know why Gabriel and Emilie wanted to find the Miraculous in the first place, not even after five seasons.

Putting aside Nathalie generally being an idiot, the rest of the episode was pretty mediocre. It's more Love Square drama, with Marinette's concerns about how her feelings for Adrien led to Monarch getting fifteen Miraculous being brushed aside as her denying how she really feels. Only now, the episode is going out of its way to make it seem like all Marinette can do is all but lust over whoever she's in love with, in this case, Cat Noir/Mister Bug. Because actually acknowledging character flaws and how they affect the narrative while playing them for laughs is how Miraculous Ladybug rolls. Decades from now, episodes like this will be commonplace, I just know it.

The Akuma fight was also pretty lackluster. I don't get why Safari's arrows only targeted Ladybug and Cat Noir, and only Ladybug and Cat Noir while they were transformed instead of, you know, targeting their Miraculous. It just felt like a cheap excuse to get some more mileage out of the Mister Bug and Lady Noire models. Well, that, and more of Lady Noire prioritizing her romantic feelings over the mission at hand.

While I can appreciate the attempt to flesh out Nathalie's character, it's not enough to salvage this episode.

#13: Deflagration

Before I start this section, can anyone tell me why the hell it's named a chemistry term of all things?

The wiki claims that it's referencing what Tikki and Plagg do in the episode, but I don't think that continuously creating and destroying stuff counts as deflagration. Then again, I'm some schmuck on the internet, not a chemist.

Anyway, this episode is clearly trying to come across as an event, but nothing is really accomplished here. Marinette and Adrien already got together in the last episode, the Akuma didn't do anything to advance Monarch's plan, Zoe's character development as Kitty Noire is nonexistent, Alya being exposed for the third time ends up being pointless since Scarabella appears in “Revelation” a few episodes later, and no progress is made in stopping Monarch. It's just one big fight scene that lacks real tension because Monarch is reduced to a joke in this episode.

Monarch is seriously dogpiled by several middle school students, and the show still expects us to take him seriously as a villain. I can at least buy Sole Destroyer, given how Chloe is supposed to be seen as harmless sometimes, but the main villain getting beaten by kids with no superpowers? It just really breaks the suspension of disbelief. It'd be like if Kevin McCallister somehow defeated Godzilla with one of his traps. You're not impressed by Kevin taking him down, you're asking why Godzilla went down so easily.

This was the episode where the writers started making dumb blonde jokes by making it so Chloe doesn't understand the meaning of the word “Generous”, and it's just as unfunny as it sounds. Not only is this hypocritical because this “girl power” show is now using one of the most misogynistic writing tropes in history, it's the same episode with a title named after a chemical reaction that most children watching don't understand. Chloe didn't even serve a purpose this episode because nobody ever fought Sole Destroyer onscreen. It's just another “Ha! She's blonde and rich, so that means she's dumb!” joke... which came before a certain episode that showed her as being capable of pulling off several complex schemes to torment Marinette.

I also love how despite making a big deal about them being worthy to be Ladybug and Cat Noir's replacements last episode, Alya and Zoe are taken out of commission before the action even starts. I feel like the episode could have at least been elevated if Alya and Zoe at least tried to help. It would have better justified them temporarily replacing Ladybug and Cat Noir instead of the cheap ratings grab it was.

But yeah, it's a pretty dull episode, and the only reason why I don't have more to say is because the first part has more glaring issues in my eyes.

Part 2

[meidui]

as you know, i am absolutely obsessed with 'seven years in heaven'. do you have any recommendations for similar fics where they teeter on the edge of a breakup or divorce, or where exes get back together? i'm looking for stories where the tension is all based on miscommunications and assumptions, and nobody is genuinely angry/there's no hate between them. i need that stupid yearning and longing when, in fact, they both still want each other. i've read a few but i can't get enough 😩✨

DO I EVER!! 🥰

In Too Deep by @fohatic

Steve knew that he was asking for trouble when he agreed to let the gallery auction off a date with him for charity, but he needed to get in the director's good books if he wanted to make it as an artist in this cutthroat town. He never imagined that his participation would ignite an outrageous bidding war, or that the infamous, billionaire ex that he hadn't seen since their sudden breakup two years prior would show up and stake his claim.

a *slightly* twisted, darker spin on meidui's "frequencies of sea and space"

frequencies of sea and space by meidui

“One mil,” a voice says, firmly, and Steve would recognise that voice anywhere. Like thick amber honey, like smoke from a fire, lighting him up and burning him down.

There are no higher bids.

Steve looks across the room and gazing back at him is the face he’s spent two years squeezing his eyes shut at night trying to block out, but those eyes meet his and it’s all over.

From the Ground Up by @omg-just-peachy

Tony and Steve broke up years ago and Tony never quite got over it. When they finally see each other again at Pepper's wedding, Rhodey convinces Tony this might just be his second chance.

Paint the Town Blue by @omg-just-peachy

Ten years since he’d seen or spoken to Tony Stark, ten years since they’d broken up to go away to school. And now this email. It could be his only chance to see Tony again.

I'll keep your brittle heart warm by @omg-just-peachy

They got married when they were young, just twenty-four years old, despite the arguments from their friends that they should wait, that neither of them were ready for a commitment like marriage so young. Steve distinctly remembered Sam pointing out that the male brain isn’t even fully developed until age twenty-five. But they were young and passionate, so sure they’d found their perfect person that they could overcome anything and everything life threw at them. 

And it was true.

For six months. 

it always leads to you by @arabellamonkey

Slowly at first, and then all of a sudden, everything made sense: the way Tony had looked at him that first time when Pepper had introduced them, the way his eyes were always searching for him everywhere they went, and how Tony had asked him about his suit, voice clearly flirty now that he thought about it again. And that smile, oh God, that smile… it had been the same he had given him all those years ago when they flirted in their kitchen. “Wait, you… you recognized me?” Steve asked, eyes wide and voice incredulous. Tony scoffed, expression still bemused, “don’t insult my intelligence, of course I did.” Steve stared at him, both eyebrows raised. “Okay, it might have taken me a few days to figure it out,” Tony ended up admitting.

*** Or, after breaking up five years ago because of heavy miscommunication, Steve gets assigned to be Tony's personal bodyguard.

dreamt of you all summer long by @ifmywishescametrue

Steve spends months after the breakup trying to forget Tony, but it never seems to work. That's alright, though, because Tony can't forget him either.

all I ever knew of love by @stovetuna

For six months, nobody knew that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were dating.   Which means no one knows they broke up six weeks ago.

Catching Lightning in a Bottle by @sabrecmc

College student Tony meets janitor Steve at MIT and they fall blissfully in love, until Howard happens and things fall apart. One divorce paperwork snafu courtesy of the ever-helpful Jarvis, and ten years later, Tony has to get re-divorced from Steve.

This does not go as he imagines.

Or, the Sweet Home Alabama AU that no one--well, okay, a few of you--asked for.

Modern Love by @captainneverever

Tony drifts into a relationship with Steve after a one night stand. He thinks that Steve is modern and well adjusted to the 21st century but finds that Steve is old-fashioned in unexpected ways.

Captain Coffee by @captainneverever

Steve is content managing his own coffee shop and life is full with friends and neighbors. But an owner of big coffee chain pressures him to sell and someone from his past reappears. And now Steve needs to fight a bully, an ex, and himself to get his happy ending.

Never Worlds Apart by @kandisheek

It's been six years since he's seen Tony when he walks into his favorite diner and sees him sitting in their old booth, as if nothing ever happened. Steve can't believe the nerve of Tony to just show up out of the blue after the way he ended things.

Turns out Tony has a reason for wanting to make amends. And Steve doesn't appreciate only finding out about it after Tony has already almost died.

Plausible Deniability by nowalee

Tony and Steve broke up a month ago. Now, Tony is back because Fury wants him for an undercover mission. Only catch? Steve has to go with him, because the public doesn't know they broke up yet. It's a perfect cover.

And Tony can totally be alone on a mission with his ex who he isn't over yet. What could possibly go wrong?

You, Me and the Christmas Tree by @wikketkrikket

Steve thinks Tony is drinking. Tony thinks Steve is cheating. They both think their marriage is over. They are just going to give Peter one last family Christmas because he thinks everything is fine.

None of them are wrong, but none of them are right either. When Steve and Tony get snowed in together 3 days before Christmas, will the enforced proximity be the time they need to figure things out?

(Spoilers: yes, yes it will)

[appocalipse]

tell me again — steve harrington

this is for @sparklingsin 's spookinktober! ♥ my prompt is: "Would you stop stuffing your face with candy for one moment and listen?" and somehow i turned this into angst + friends to lovers hehe ♥

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

You're halfway between the door and the counter when you hear your name.

Instinctively, you stop. It's Steve. You peek around the shelves and see that he's talking on the phone, absently leaning over the counter, phone cord wrapped around his index finger.

“What about her?” he is saying. He frowns and breathes out a nervous laugh. You'd really like to know what the person on the other end of the line is saying. Steve shakes his head emphatically, though they obviously can't see it. “Oh no, of course not. She's nothing to me.“

A stake through the heart, it seems. A punch to the gut. You'd come to the conclusion that you and Steve were friends at the very least and two people harboring a mutual interest in trying something else at best, but it seems that in reality, you're worse than a stranger to him— nothing. She's nothing to me.

These words keep ringing in your ears. You'd like nothing more than to turn your heel and leave, but the tape in your hand needs to be returned, so you try the second best thing: finding Robin. However, this too fails. She must be in the storage room in the back…or maybe it’s her day off. You really don’t know.

You are many things. Coward is not one of them. It's especially easy to be brave when you're so angry. 

Steve is still in the middle of a conversation — no doubt with one of those gorgeous girls he hangs out with — when you emerge from behind the shelves and slam the tape on the counter. 

Shock, absolute shock blooms over his face — and then all the color drains from it, you realize, in a matter of seconds. 

“I just came to return this,” you say, chin lifted with a confidence you usually wouldn't be able to show. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation, Steve.”

He's lowering the phone, opening his mouth to say something, but you don't wait to hear. You ignore the guilt and regret on his face — perhaps more for getting caught than for saying those things in the first place, you think bitterly — and turn toward the door without waiting for an answer.

Experiencing something terribly similar to panic, Steve jumps over the counter rather than walking around it. “Y/N, I don't-”

He lands a little awkwardly on the other side but you're fast, faster in your rage, he notices, and the front door slams hard behind you long before he is anywhere near reaching it.

Robin appears from the back. Her face is a mixture of surprise and disapproval.

“Uh,” she mumbles, giving Steve a pointed look, a crooked smile. “That went well.”

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Someone is calling your name. 

Someone tall, unfairly handsome, and who has quite possibly the best hair in the world — someone you've been avoiding.

Steve Harrington. You don't have to turn around to know the voice belongs to him.

Ever loyal, Dustin starts to turn around to wait for him, but you turn him back around by the shoulders and keep walking. Steve is closer now.

“Y/N, c'mon,” he calls again, footsteps resounding against the concrete behind you.

You pick up your own pace — damn, you would have happily run down the road if you thought you could get away with it — but it's no use because Dustin suddenly decides to walk at the same speed as his neighbor, Mrs. Jones, does— and she is eighty years old. 

Dustin turns his head and you see his face, his expression; it's like staring at a big neon sign that says ‘guilty’. 

Understanding downs on you like a bucket of ice water. 

“Traitor!” you accuse, and are still staring at Dustin — who has the decency to look slightly regretful — when a warm hand closes around your elbow, making you jump.

“Can we talk? Please?” Steve asks. Begs.

You try to pull your arm back. It's useless. “I can't believe you told him I was here,” you say to Dustin, still refusing to engage in any kind of interaction with Steve.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Dustin smiles the kind of sweet smile he reserves to save himself from trouble and shrugs, looking from you to Steve with barely hidden delight. “I hate it when my babysitters fight.”

You're not really his babysitter anymore, although his mom still calls you to stay with him when she’s out for the night or something. You’re more friends than anything else.

You scoff, anyway. “He's not your babysitter,” you say pointedly, somewhat jealous. It's kind of ridiculous if you stop to think about it — so you don’t.

“And yet I'm the one who's always driving him around.”

On instinct, you turn your head to look at Steve, angling your chin up with fire in your eyes. 

“And which one of us gets paid?” you say.

You're too close, too defiant, and Steve feels dizzy, his traitorous eyes falling straight to your pouty lips, momentarily forgetting he's standing in front of a bunch of kids. Well, not exactly kids anymore, but…

“Oh, sweet lord,” Dustin rolls his eyes dramatically. His friends are calling out to him, already several steps ahead, and he makes a gesture with his hand asking them to wait. He then turns to you and says, “We'll wait for you in front of Mrs. Jones' house when we're done, okay? Byeee!”

“What- no! Dustin-”

Running, he looks over his shoulder and chuckles. “You better kiss and make up before we head home!”

He doesn't wait for an answer, knowing what it will be, and rushes down the sidewalk after Will, Lucas, and Mike, all wearing very detailed costumes. You make to follow them, all responsibility and focus, but Steve's hand slides from your elbow to your wrist and he holds on tight for a moment, your arm stretched between you and him.

“I can't let them go alone!” you say, putting some drama into your words to see if he wavers and lets you go.

He doesn’t.

“They do it on their own every year.”

Just because it's the truth doesn't mean you're going to let him think he's right. You haven't forgotten what Steve said before. You absolutely have not.

“You're just trying to avoid me,” he accuses.

“Well, I said I would take them trick or treating this year!” you argue. And it's a pretty weak argument, because they're all teenagers now and nothing violent has happened in Hawkins for a long time.

Steve thinks you're not as invested in Halloween as you'd like him to believe. He's seen you wearing that black dress before (he's not complaining) and these knee-high boots too (definitely not complaining), so probably the only thing you bought specifically for tonight is the pointy hat you’re using. You're a witch, a pretty one at that, but little effort was put into it.

“What do you care?”

Steve doesn't let go of your hand, but he’s not holding it tightly either; your brain doesn't register that your body can run away, though. 

Maybe you don't want to.

“I heard you say,” you add, “and I quote, 'she's nothing to me’.”

“I didn't mean it!”

“Then why did you say it?”

“I-” he opens his mouth, closes it, not sure what to say. Your hand slips from his and you turn around to keep walking. Steve holds it again. “Wait! Please, just…don't go. Let me explain?”

You snort. It's a bad idea. A smarter person would take that as the perfect excuse to smother any feelings for this boy blooming in their chest.

You open the candy bar in your hand — your favorite, which Dustin gave you about ten minutes ago, and say, “You have until I finish eating this.” 

And starts eating at an impressive speed. 

Steve watches for a moment before realizing that his time is very, very short and decreasing by the second. 

“Y/N, I- I didn't mean what I said about you. I was just-” half of the candy bar, you’ve already eaten half of the candy bar, he thinks, bewildered. “Just…what can I do to make this right? Please- just tell me. I want to fix this. Just-”

Just, just, just. You’re nearly finished eating and you're barely looking at him, barely interested in listening to whatever he has to say. Steve squeezes your free hand and tries to find your eyes and he's losing his mind and…

He grabs the candy bar and holds it behind him, arms stretched, frustration and desperation clear in his warm brown eyes as they find yours.

“Steve!” you chide.

“Would you stop stuffing your face with candy for one moment and listen?!”

Your body moves before your mind can process. You step forward as Steve steps back, keeping the candy bar safe behind him when you reach for it, at first just on instinct, then with enthusiasm, once, twice. Hopeless attempts, really, but you don't have it in yourself to give up easily.

That is until you, already up on tiptoe and desperately reaching for the candy Steve is deftly holding over his head, feel his breath on your face. A second — you’re unarmed. He senses the closeness before you do, of course, and it doesn't go unnoticed that you are the one who put the two of you in this situation in the first place.

His eyes are already on yours when you finally avert yours from the candy you’re trying to retrieve. His pupils are blown, his lips parted. Close, very close. You swallow hard and neither of you pulls away, although probably — says the voice of reason in your head — you should have.

In the end, the words come out of your mouth almost without permission, almost on their own. “You really didn't mean it?” 

You certainly look more vulnerable than you'd like.

“Of course not,” Steve says quickly, and there's the faintest trace of hurt behind his eyes as he does. “Of course I wouldn't- I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well,” you say, smiling the saddest smile he’s ever seen on you, “you did. You really fucking did.”

You don't notice when you lower your arm, giving up on retrieving the candy bar altogether. You don’t think he notices either, even though Steve lowers his own arm. But both of you definitely notice when his hand touches your cheek, gentle, warm. It's more of a reflex; no time for hesitation, for thinking about what he’s doing.

I'm sorry, this touch means.

But you close your eyes tightly, almost as if you're in physical pain, and take a very long step back, shaking your head.  For a long moment, Steve hates himself, hates the way he’s making you feel. His hand stays where you left it for a little longer, between you and him, seeming awfully empty, awfully cold.

It surprises both of you when you're the one who speaks again.

“Why did you say that?” you question without looking him in the eyes. The fear of the answer is smaller than the frustration of not knowing.

Steve shifts his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

“Because- because Heidi was jealous of you, okay?” he says. 

Heidi, the wannabe supermodel he's been seeing lately. You give a particularly bitter laugh and look away for a brief moment. You can't believe it. That’s his excuse?

“What was I supposed to say?” 

"The truth!" you're not proud that you raise your voice even though you're not really yelling. There's anger, fear, frustration, things beyond your control burning in your throat. “You could have told her the fucking truth, Steve!”

“Oh, really?” Steve raises both eyebrows, ironic. "I was supposed to tell Heidi that since we met you've been the only damn thing on my mind?" He steps forward and you don't step back, caught into some sort of hypnosis, a connection you can't break even when he gets close enough to be too close. “That she has every right to be jealous of you because every time you walk into the room I don't have eyes for anyone else?"

Your heart is doing all sorts of things inside your chest. “What do you-”

“- that I'm head over heels for you… pathetically so?” he chuckles a bitter sound, though it's entirely true, then gazes at the ground when his ever-reliable self-confidence finally wavers in your silence. “Yeah, well… I thought it'd be better if I lied to her too, so I did.”

Your chest rises and falls like you've run just run a marathon. Thump, thump, thump. And then you look at him. Just…look at him. 

“You're an idiot,” you say. But your voice is soft, the way you speak feels more like a hug than an attempt to push him away, an invitation disguised as a tease.

He lifts his eyes to yours, tests the waters.

“I think so,” he whispers after a moment. Because he really is. And this close to you, he feels sillier by the second. He mumbles your name and you lift your chin as if to say 'huh?'

She's going to kill me, he thinks. One of these days. Today. 

He can almost feel the intimacy from before that day on Family Video, that comfortable feeling that always existed between you, the warm smiles and the curious looks; everything coming back. But there's also something new now, something he tried to build with all those words he’d confessed moments ago.

Steve tries not to make anything fall apart when he asks, “Do you forgive me?”

“Um…” you pretend to think deeply. “...maybe.”

“Alrigh,” he says, catching the glimpse of a smile on your face. And then… “Alright.”

And there, right in the middle of the street, on Halloween night, Steve gets on his knees. Yes, the street is deserted now — there aren't any kids around at the moment, but people in their houses might see a strange scene if they were to look out the window now; a boy on his knees in front of a witch.

He drops what's left of your candy on the floor and you cover your mouth with your hand, stifling a laugh you can barely hide. “Steve! Stop it! Get up. You’ll get your pants dirty.”

“Who cares?” he says, beaming up at you. “I'm humbly begging for your forgiveness.”

“This is ridiculous.”

He smiles and doesn't say anything, and before you know what you’re doing, your hand rests on his face. But Steve doesn't pull away; he leans into your touch and you hold your breath for a moment. 

“You're smiling, though,” he points out. 

You can't help it. 

“Do you really…” His skin is warm under your fingers and you’re momentarily unsure whether to ask what you want to know, thinking that maybe you're pushing your luck, that you should be glad you've heard him say it once, that he might change his mind. …

Steve turns his face and kisses the palm of your hand. "What?" he asks softly.

“Do you really think of me in that way?” you finally ask, now without looking at him. “Or are you just… trying to make up for what you said that day? Because if you are, you don’t h-”

Instead of answering, he stands up, wipes his knees as best as he can (not very well) and offers his hand, palm up. 

“C'mon.”

You take it. His hand in yours feels right, and you let him guide you towards a large tree by the side of the road, big enough to hide you from view.

“Soooo…you’ll kill me now?”

It's a bad excuse of a joke, a terrible attempt at easing the tension. He smiles anyway.

"Actually," Steve brings your clasped hands to his lips and kisses the back of yours tenderly. "I was thinking about kissing you."

You must be a sight — cheeks warm, eyes wide. A mess inside, a mess outside.

"You didn’t answer the question."

“I'm not going to kill you now, Y/N.”

“ No, before that…you didn’t answer."

“I know,” Steve says. "Here’s my answer."

Then he holds your head in both hands and kisses you, and something comes alive in your chest. It's slow at first, slower than you'd imagined a kiss with Steve Harrington would be, and ten times, a hundred times, better, sweeter, kinder. Your pointy hat falls from your head and you couldn't care less.

Steve takes his time. You taste like chocolate, smell like spring and he kisses, kisses, kisses, walking you backwards until you're pressed up against the tree and smiling against his mouth. You giggle when he redirects his kisses to your left cheek and hold back a moan when his mouth finds the soft skin just below your ear, nibbling gently.

"Does this answer your question?" he says against your skin.

“I, uh, don’t know, Steve,” he bites your neck lightly, then presses his lips on the spot. You sigh happily and say, “I think I need you to tell me again.”

He would be happy to tell you a thousand times more.

[jaydedstories24]

For who YOU are– Michael Langdon AHS apocalypse

Summary: after Cordelia kills Ms mead Michael Langdon kills the other witches but takes the reader hostage when he sees that the others have escaped. For the first time in Michael’s life, someone wants to know what he wants.

Warnings: kidnapping, being held hostage, Burning someone at the stake, swearing, talk of abuse.

Word count: 1.6+

Tags: @ajokeformur-ray

Y/n POV

“where did you guys go?” I say to everyone that's just walked in the door.

“To take care of a problem, dear” Myrtle says.

“and is there a reason why you went without me but everyone else” I asked.

I take a look at Zoe, Madison, queenie, Mallory and Cordelia they're all dressed in black.

“ You burnt someone at the stake didn't you” I accuse.

“Yes y/n if you must know we burnt someone at the stake” Cordelia walked passed me.

“Who” I asked.

Cordelia hasn't really spoken to me or has been really arrogant since Michael came into our lives apparently I'm the only one here that doesn't see him what everyone else says he is.

“Who” I yelled.

“the old lady with the black hairstyle” Madison answers.

“Ms. Mead you killed Ms. why on earth would you do that” I freak out.

“To show Michael that I’m done messing around with him” Cordelia says

Taking her by surprise I put both of my hands on the side of her head and forced myself into her memories.

Flashes, the burning, the smell of charred flesh.

“I will kill you all” Michael promised.

I take my hands off of Cordelia.

“I am your supreme you may have gifts that the others don’t but you will not use them on me” she orders.

“Some supreme you are you’ve practically signed our death certificates with that you do understand right? At least Fiona would’ve made a truce with him” I yell.

“Do not use my mother against me y/n” Cordelia scolds.

“I have gifts you don’t that is correct it’s also why I told you not to attack Michael everything I saw everything I warned you about” I told Cordelia.

“What you saw maybe true but that side of Michael is long gone I gave him a chance today and he turned it down” Cordelia replied.

“Of course he did you killed the one person he thought who loved him what did you think that you were going to walk off arm in arm, embrace the coven that killed the closest thing to he ever had to a mother. I don’t think he would want to bake cookies with you Cordelia” I spat

“I’m strong enough to take him y/n” Cordelia says.

“That’s a laugh” I smiled.

I turned around to walk back up the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going Missy?” Cordelia questioned.

“To paint my nails so that they’re fresh for my inevitable death, are you coming Madi? I invite her.

“No, this shits crazy I’m out for what it’s worth y/n I hope you live you’re the only one I like around here.” She walks out the front door.

“When Michael comes here and trust me he will. I won’t fight him and I won’t protect you” I warn

I walked upstairs.

Red.

Red I think is a fantastic colour to paint your nails before you die. I think painting them black is just a little on the nose.

It has started my blood runs cold I can hear the witches downstairs especially the younger ones calling out for me. But if I have any chance of being able to really meet Michael for who he is I can’t do anything. So I put my headphones on and paint my last nail.

I look up when I smell the metallic scent that blood gives off.

Michael stands at my door my breath hitches. It’s different looking into Michael’s eyes they’re look hardened much unlike the sweet past version I saw him as in murder house. However they still have the Same jaded look on his face

He stands there for a moment before racing towards me I only flinch when he blows black dust into my face.

Floating? I feel I’m floating I don’t open my eyes I’m too tired and strangely I’m at peace.

I feel someone put me on what feels like a wooden chair and put something on my wrist.

My head rolls forward and I wake up.

“Thank Satan I thought you were going to sleep forever then you wouldn’t have been very helpful to me” Michael says.

“Yeah well that stuff smells like goats ass” I say half smart.

“No that would be me actually” he tells me.

Now that he says that it gives me a moment to take in his appearance disheveled, dirty but mostly he looks broken.

“Listen Michael I know you’re going through a hard time–“ I start.

“A hard time your witches killed my Ms mead and now you’re going to help me” he yells.

“I’m not going to be much help to you” I say quietly.

“You will help me whether you like it or not” he towers over me.

To my surprise I don’t quiver when he stands over me.

“You see when the witches when they notice you’re gone they will have to come out of hiding and look for you” he tells me.

“No they won’t we got into a disagreement. I’ve been arguing with the coven for months now” I disagree with him.

There’s a look in his eyes that proves he wants to believe me but some part that thinks he can’t after everything he’s been through.

I struggle with the rope’s around my wrists. They start burning.

“They’re cursed ropes they won’t hurt you unless you try to escape” he says.

In this moment I found that interesting he doesn’t intend to hurt me. I stop resisting and relax.

“You say that the coven has had a disagreement with you. What could possibly cause that much of a rift that they wouldn’t protect their own” he asks me.

Michael sits down on a wooden box waiting for my answer.

“You, we had a disagreement about you” I answered hesitantly.

He leans forward slightly, “what about me?”

“They think you’re evil” I answered.

Michael seems suspicious for a moment, “you don’t”

I shake my head.

“Why” he scoffs.

“Because after you performed the seven wonders and the extra challenges Cordelia made us look into you. She sent Madison and I to the house you grew up in”

“What did you find there?. Did you find whatever proof you were looking for?” He seems intrigued.

“The others found what they needed to crucify you but I don’t agree with them” I answered honestly.

“If you went looking then you would have also found that I am the Antichrist” he says.

“But that doesn’t make you evil Michael it makes you powerful. I know about your upbringing, about Constance’s abuse, trying to get to know Tate as your dad and your interesting relationship with Ben. Michael I know a lot about you and I understand it but everyone your entire life has done nothing but force their opinions on you” I say softly.

He takes a moment to comprehend everything I just said to him.

“So you know full well everything I am so you understand why I’m so upset about Ms. Mead she is the one person who didn’t force anything on to me” he says softly.

I sighed. He hasn’t realised it yet but she was using him too.

“Don’t suggest otherwise to me don’t lie to me” he orders.

“Michael I’m not I promise to you I’m not” I tell him.

He seems to be waiting for an explanation.

“I have a particular gift that allows me to adsorb a memory and share it with other people would it be okay if I could share it with you” I asked him.

“That’s a trick I know better than that do not take me for a fool. You just want me to untie your hands” he says.

“No, Michael I use touch to transfer the memory using touch. I don’t want you to untie my hands until you’re ready, until you trust me and only then. I’m asking for permission to touch you” I explain.

He walks over to me and kneels down to my level, “do whatever you have to do, show me”

I lean forward the smell doesn’t really bother me anymore. I lean forward far enough that I’m barely touching him. I just need confirmation that he’s okay with this.

He stares at me with his blue eyes that seem to be staring into my soul. “Y/n it’s okay, kiss me.” This is the first time he’s said my name.

My lips touch his and lock my touch is as light as feather. I whisper the spell I need to to show him the memory.

He stays there absolutely shocked for a moment tearing and shaking.

He quickly undoes the ropes.

“I don’t even know what to say as shocking as it is I am thankful for the truth how can I thank you,what can I do for you ” he tells me.

Tears slide down his face.

I hug him. “Michael I want to get to know you for who you are.

The end

Author’s note this is my first post on my new account hope you like it. Anyway this is inspired by a conversation I had with a friend sorry I didn’t get to it sooner I’ve been busy

Requests are open

[13thdoctorposts]

Sometimes it’s important to know when to let a show go. 

When 13 regenerated into 14 and had her clothes burnt off like a witch on a stake, sending a horrible message about women and gender RTD came out and said he did it to protect David from right wing media. Then the fans defended David coming back and that RTD would address why he had that face and why the clothes also regenerated, although I was upset with 13s regeneration I thought ok I’ll wait and see how this get handles. Because even though I don’t like the real world messaging maybe the in world messaging will be enough to make it ok.

But then what happens? We get a trans story for the very first story with very positive messaging for trans issues which is great but undermined by the fact RTD wanted to protect David from gender critiques by the right wing but didn’t seem to want to protect Yasmin Finney. So first David can’t wear Jodies costume for protection but then RTD has Yasmin live through being deadnamed in the show which she herself has said made her uncomfortable and then also gave her character the line of telling the Doctor to not assume pronouns… which any of the characters could have done but RTD chose Rose and then what happen? What always happens with the right wing, the pronoun line and the male presenting line are the ones that the right wing all go on about in every video, in every article… they deadname the character and then misgender and say horrible things about Yasmin… so RTD protects the 50+ year old white man who’s worn way more feminine things then 13 outfit in his career the media could use if they wanted to go after him but don’t protect the 20 year old Trans Woman? How people aren’t talking about how fucked up that is I don’t know.

Then we get no reason why the Doctor has that face and why the clothes regenerated on them. Then in their own regeneration… they don’t! They bi-regenerates and this time Ncuti does get the Doctor clothes, well half of them… why didn’t 15 regenerate with their own clothes? No instead we have the new Doctor walking around with no pants on… and why is it that 15 has to go pantless and not David? are we protecting David again? Perfectly fine to have a bunch of pics of 15 in his tighty whities and no pants but again David could not be seen in 13s full gender neutral outfit. 

Then to top all this off theres no mention in the loves lost of Yaz… even though the Doctor chose to drop her off in a park 3 days ago after telling her if they could Date anyone it would be Yaz… is that not love lost? Was saying good bye to Yaz not an emotional trigger? Now people are saying thats because only the dead were brought up… Rose is not dead unlike Yaz Rose is not only alive in another Dimension but also got herself a Doctor… Yaz currently is mourning the Doctor while they cant even seem to remember she existed despite dropping her off 3 days a go… so they weren’t all dead… however Rose was over 1000 years ago and Yaz 3 days ago… what hurts more the lost of someone you loved but who is still alive from 50 years ago or the one you lost last week? What makes logical sense is the love you lost most recently hurts the most… and people dont need to die for you to hurt losing them from your life if you love them.

Now we have 2 Doctors and people are already saying they can’t wait for David Tennant episodes, so if you think the 10th Doctor overshadowed the other Doctors when he was no longer the Doctor how overshadowed do you think the first main Doctor of colour is going to be when lots of peoples favourite white Doctor ever is also a legitimate Doctor in universe existing at the exact same time with a TARDIS? Ncuti doesn’t event get to be the only Doctor during his tenure he has to share it with David.  

The lastly no mentions of Yaz at all… seems shes completely forgotten and at the very end the Doctor says they are finally with their family the happiest he’s ever been… what a diss of every TARDIS team ever that the Doctor has found family with… your last crew you literally called your ‘Fam’, the Ponds you actually married into… Susan was your flesh and blood… but no this family you haven’t seen in 1000 years, of which only one of who was part of your TARDIS team are the ones you finally found family with and make you the happiest you’ve ever be? Literally at the exact same time the Doctor is sitting at that table saying all of that, Yaz is mourning the Doctor and not wanting to have left the TARDIS, but she doesn’t get a mention because for some reason if it’s a wlw relationship it means nothing and can be ignored completely. 

Honestly by the end the Doctor just seems like a complete prick, and not in a 13 I’m dealing with internal trauma and I accidentally snapped way but just in a I’m a shit person way. Talk about compromised morals, people wouldn’t shut up about it with 13 but the Doctor just left a young woman to mourn them while being the “happiest they have ever been” grabbing themselves a new family and pretending Yaz doesn’t exist. Talk about shit morals. People say Chibs didn’t know anything from 12s era, which wasn’t true it directly affected the way 13 kept the fam at arms length but after watching this clearly RTD didn’t even know what happened in the episode 14 regenerated from 13 in and the previous episode Legend of the Sea Devils, because surely if you did, you wouldn’t not mention Yaz at all and give a reason why the Doctor wouldn’t go see her while she’s mourning them and just grabbing a new family and claiming to be the happiest you’ve ever been in the 2000 years of life you remember. Because that would make the character look like a prick, not a hero, which is exactly what happened. If RTD is the amazing writer people claim, he could have come up with a Yaz mention and a reason why the Doctor wasn’t going to see her.

I know not everyone was happy with the wlw representation with Thasmin but you know what’s way worse? Not even mentioning it or even acknowledging Yaz’s existence.

And to top it off I am so very very over the double standard of the fandom… this episode, had plot holes, had important things that weren’t explained… like why that face and why did the clothes regenerate… things that weren’t explained that weren’t so important like where did the sonic screw driver come from, why can it do all the things it now does… it had racism from both the Toymaker and Donna… what on earth was that line about ‘do you come in every colour’, was paced poorly, it clearly should have been longer and decided to mess with lore by creating bi-rengeration out of thin air and not explaining how it would effect things going forward or why it even happen, like a true WTF… if Chibs had done even one of these things, or wrote this episode the exact same way the fandom would be coming for him instead they are praising the genius of RTD not caring about any of those things, all the sins they claimed Chibs did and some of them on a bigger scale in this episode but the treatment of RTD is the polar opposite. 

It’s unbelievably hypocritical, and makes the fandom look even worse for being so hard on the first female Doctor because none of this was acceptable for her but its not only fine but great with a male Doctor.

So I think it’s time for me to let this show go, and know it’s time to bow out. Because unlike the people who have been horrible about 13 for the last 6 years I understand sometimes you have to step away from something you love when its no longer for you and leave it for other people to love.

Im out with 13.

[frownyalfred]

Narratively speaking, when should the batkids be able to beat Batman single-handedly? Sure, Cass can do it already and Dick is seen as above or on Batman's level but what are your thoughts on this? It's always hard to do this stupid power level stuff because the character you want to win is obviously gonna win, but you still have to show that Batman is this super ubermensch martial artist who always has a plan and whose goal is to make his kids surpass him but then how do you do that? When can you say, "yeah Batman's cool and all but [enter batkid's name] would totally wipe the floor with the old man if they were to fight 1v1"? This is extremely exaggerated but you get what I mean, right?

I'm genuinely fascinated by this question and I thought I could just ask you.

Thanks!😀

Yeah, it’s all biased like you pointed out since we all want our special blorbo to be the most special blorbo, even in situations where the logic gets pretty thin.

The thing with Bruce is, in his prime, he’s a god-tier fighter for multiple reasons. He’s got insane training under his belt, he’s at or above peak physical human conditioning, he’s trained to think strategically about combat, he’s fast for his size (despite his size), and he’s BIG.

The last one is so important. He’s anywhere from 6’ to 6’4, 190 to 240 lbs of muscle, etc. He’s not losing to most people in a fair fight! And he’s definitely not losing to someone much shorter and lighter than him when it comes to sheer power.

What’s interesting about the comics is that they largely argue that Bruce losing these 1v1s comes down to skill and experience. Cass trained for years to be a weapon, and her advanced training is what supposedly tips the scales in her favor. Same thing with Damian. Bruce makes the argument that enough training can create conditions for his Robins to surpass him, like you mentioned.

But is that actually a fair determinator of a fight? Can most if not all advantages Bruce might have in a fight with a woman half his size be overcome by volume or rigor of training?

It’s the comics, so the answer changes depending on what’s intriguing and fun. We can oscillate between Bruce being the ultimate overpowered fighter who can’t ever lose and Bruce getting his ass handed to him by his kids because it all comes down to power ranking, which is SO subjective.

Should the Batkids be able to beat him? In my opinion, not when he’s in his prime and it’s a fair fight. That isn’t me saying that they can’t win 1v1 through skill, misdirection, getting lucky, etc.

That’s not me trying to shit on female fighters either. Dick carrying 30-40 lbs less muscle than Bruce puts him at a disadvantage too. Jason being the same weight but not as fast/nimble puts him at a disadvantage to Bruce. Damian being a child fighting an adult will ALWAYS result in an unbalanced fight.

If you’ve ever squared up with a heavier, larger, more skilled opponent — especially if you’re a woman and they’re a man — one of the first things you have to learn is that, when it comes to pure strength, you cannot hope to win. It is an inherent advantage, and why we have weight classes for fighting.

Your goal is to figure out a way to get around that advantage. To be smarter, or faster. We teach women about throws and the benefits of having a lower center of gravity. We teach kids the benefits of being flexible or smaller in certain holds. Things like that.

But comics aren’t real life. The better question is, have we overpowered Bruce in a way that makes taking him down a peg or two somewhat difficult or implausible? How can we better show his flaws and complexity as a character when the stakes get set too high?