#it was flying calmly around and paused

[cannibalhellhound]

I have a moth child now bye

[hoshifighting]

Really enjoyed the screaming back reaction. Could you do one where reader actually leaves the house after an argument.

seungcheol doesn’t hesitate. the second you grab your coat and storm out, he’s right on your heels. “where do you think you’re going?” he asks, grabbing your wrist gently before you can reach the end of the driveway. “we’re not doing this, not like this. let’s talk, okay? i’m not letting you walk out.” he’s frustrated, as if the mere thought of you leaving makes his chest tighten, he wants to give you space, but the thought of you out there, alone and upset because of him, eats at him.

jeonghan watches the door close behind you, an incredulous smile tugging at his lips. “seriously?” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. he thinks you’re just blowing off steam, that you’ll be back in no time. but as the minutes tick by, then hours, his confidence wavers. the sky outside darkens, and with it, his composure. he finally picks up his phone, dialing your number with shaking hands, his voice frantic when you answer. “where are you? are you okay? please… just come home.”

joshua moves faster than you expect, cutting you off before you can make it out the door. “you’re not driving like this,” he says calmly, but there’s an edge to his voice. he takes the keys from your hand, his expression softening as he sees the anger and hurt in your eyes. “i’m not letting you go out there when we’re both like this. let’s just… let’s talk, okay? please?” his voice is gentle, coaxing, but firm, making it clear that he’s not letting you leave.

junhui feels his heart drop the moment you walk out, tears welling up in his eyes almost instantly. he tries to hold them back, but by the time the door closes, he’s already crying. hours pass, and he doesn’t move from the spot, tears still falling freely. when you finally come back, you find him sitting on the floor, eyes red and puffy, still crying. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, barely able to get the words out through the sobs. “please don’t leave me like that again.”

hoshi is livid. the moment you leave, he starts typing out a series of furious texts, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “so, you’re just going to run away?” but before he hits send, he pauses, the reality of what he’s doing sinking in. with a frustrated sigh, he deletes the messages, knowing he’s being childish. “damn it,” he mutters, feeling guilty for letting his emotions get the better of him. he paces the room, running a hand through his hair, not sure what to do next.

wonwoo stands frozen as you walk out, the sound of the door closing echoing in his ears. he doesn’t chase after you, doesn’t say anything, just stares at the door, his mind reeling. it’s only when the silence becomes unbearable that he snaps out of it, panic setting in. he grabs his keys, heart pounding in his chest. without even thinking, he pulls up the tracker he’d secretly put on your car for safety, his guilt mounting as he realizes he’s going to use it to find you now. “please be okay,” he whispers to himself, racing out the door.

woozi sits back at his desk, but the music project in front of him might as well be a blank sheet. his mind is elsewhere, replaying every word of the argument, each one more painful than the last. he’s never been good with emotions, and now, with you gone, he feels like he’s drowning in them. after what feels like an eternity, he can’t take it anymore. he picks up his phone, calling you over and over until you finally pick up. when you do, you can hear the tremor in his voice, the barely-contained sob he’s fighting. “please… come back,” he says quietly, the desperation clear.

minghao follows you to the door, standing there with his arms crossed, a scoff escaping his lips as he watches you go. “so, this is how you deal with things? running away?” he calls after you, frustration evident in his tone. he stands there for a moment, waiting for you to turn around, to say something, anything. but when you don’t, when you step into the elevator without even a glance back, his heart sinks. the door closes, and he’s left standing in the hallway.

mingyu can’t let you leave. as you make a beeline for the door, he moves faster, blocking your path with his broad frame. “you’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice shaky. you try to push past him, your frustration boiling over, but he holds his ground, his eyes pleading. “please, don’t go,” he whispers, and when you hit his chest in frustration, the tears finally spill over. you collapse against him, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as you both break down.

seokmin is a mess from the moment you walk out. he grabs his phone, typing out a series of long, heartfelt texts, pouring out everything he didn’t get to say in the heat of the argument. each message is more desperate than the last, filled with apologies and reassurances, but he knows none of them will reach you right now. with a frustrated sigh, he throws his phone onto the couch, his hands shaking.

seungkwan paces the room, his mind racing. he hates fighting with you, hates the way it makes him feel, the way it makes everything feel wrong. he’s torn between running after you and giving you space, his heart pulling him in both directions at once. he runs a hand through his hair, muttering to himself, “what do i do?” the thought of you being upset, especially because of him, makes him feel sick. finally, he collapses onto the couch, staring at the door, waiting, hoping you’ll come back soon.

vernon is left standing in the middle of the room, the silence after the argument ringing in his ears. he looks up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that just happened, but all he can think about is the way you left without looking back. the apartment feels different now, emptier, and the echoes of your argument replay in his mind, each word cutting deeper than the last. he sits down on the couch, burying his face in his hands, wishing he could take back everything he said.

chan feels his anger drain away the second you walk out, leaving him feeling empty, he knows he should chase after you, but his feet feel like they’re stuck to the floor. he slumps onto the couch, pulling a blanket over himself as if that could somehow make the ache in his chest go away. eventually, he drifts off into an uneasy sleep, the uncomfortable position on the couch mirroring the discomfort in his gut. when you finally come back, the sight of him curled up, asleep, and clearly still upset, makes your heart ache.

[bluelockmaniac]

⊹ ࣪ ˖𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓-𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄

↳ "a cute first encounter which leads to a romantic relationship later on."

ITOSHI SAE'S ONE-SHOT VERSION !

↳ not recognizing the renowned player piques his interest in you <3

click here for the bllk various version .

each early morning, before practice, sae made it a habit to stop by the local cafe for a cup of freshly brewed coffee. it was a routine he followed to keep himself awake from either the tedious interviews his manager always nags him about, or the unexciting plays his teammates offered. but today, this conventional drill would deviate from its norm. 

as usual, he ordered the pungent drink and stepped out of the establishment to continue on with the events his day promised, only to abruptly collide with you, splattering warm coffee all across his jersey. you were running at a fast pace, late to work for the second time this week, and you definitely did not want to face your manager’s scolding again.

for a moment, he stood there, stunned, blinking at the spreading stain. slowly, his gaze lifted to lock on your frantic, worried eyes.

“i’m so sorry, sir!” you stammered, quickly pulling out a handkerchief to absorb what you could of the bitter liquid, completely oblivious to the name on his jersey. perhaps he was a really big fan of some bigshot football player, you assumed. “i wasn’t paying attention– you see, i’m late for work and—”

“it’s alright.” he retorted calmly, though a very subtle hint of annoyance laced his words. he gently pushed your hand away from his chest and sent the now empty cup flying into the distant trash can with his foot.

your wide eyes sparkled in amazement as he made the shot. “woah, sir, do you play football? you have a really good aim! is the player named…” you made a quick loop around him to check the back of his jersey, “...‘sae’, your inspiration?”

sae lifts a brow, surprised by your lack of recognition. it was not often that he met someone unaware of japan’s prodigy player, who had made a significant name for himself in spain. nonetheless, you had certainly made quite an impression on the professional player— and he was rather fond of it. however, he wasn’t about to conceal the fact that he was the owner of the name on his jersey.

“i am sae, dumbass,” he points out.

“who?” you inquired innocently, your attention focused more on his striking features than the insult he had just thrown your way. if there was such an attractive, famous young man (despite his foul tongue), you would have known him by now. but, you decide to shoot your shot anyway; it would be a waste to let go of such a handsome guy.

“also, is it possible if i could get your number?” you asked almost flirtatiously, before realizing the awkwardness of the situation. “i mean, i’d love to, uh, pay you back for the coffee you spilled.”

“hmm?” he glanced at your uniform, then pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket with a sigh. “you’ve done nothing to make yourself worthy of having my number.”

“–wait, i really do apologize for spilling your coffee, sae—”

“but,” he pauses, handing you the paper with a shrug. “you ought to keep me entertained.”

with a final glance at your love-stricken expression, he turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner. with your heart racing, you eagerly smooth out the crumpled paper and scan its contents; itoshi sae’s neatly written phone number. you actually received the aloof man’s contact! but… 

you were fired. well, this should be enough to keep him entertained, right?

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[enidette]

ADDICTED carl grimes x fem!reader

warnings — both are 18+, piv sex, begging, first times, subxsub, both are dumb and clueless about sex because duh, corny ass ending we all boo’d

it’s not often that you and carl get time to yourself. the two of you met at the prison, you were one of the people that had been taken in. you remember being the only person around carl’s age with so many similar interests. you both getting separated when the prison fell, and when you finally reunited you both realized the pain it caused the both of you.

the older you two got, the more the budding feelings surfaced. when you got to alexandria it’s like something snapped. the safety of it all, the familiarity, you remember confessing to carl one night. the two of you sat in his new room, in awe of this place.

it’s been at least a year since, and things have gotten rockier in alexandria, putting a slight strain on your relationship. nothing too serious, but plans to hang out together kept having to be pushed back.

but tonight finally, you get him all to yourself. the two of you are laying in his bed, practically your bed as well at this point. he’s laying on his back and you on your side, arm on his chest and legs entangled with his.

his left arm is resting on your back, chin propped on your head. your other hand is playing with his hair, your eyes closed as you listen to the repetitive rhythm of him throwing a ball at the ceiling over and over.

the silence and the comfort allows you to think, clearly and calmly for once. first it’s small things, how dates would go if the world hadn’t gone to shit. then things a little more… like making out with him, feeling his touch, his hot, calloused hands burning your skin.

your eyes travel to his hand that’s busy, the soft but scarred skin has you enamored. your mind runs even wilder, suddenly coming up with the very vivid mental image of his hands toying with your cunt. your body tenses and you feel your body get hot, a small whimper escaping your lips.

carl pauses his movements and looks at you worriedly, “are you okay?” you nod meekly, unable to look up at him. his hand drops the ball and his finger comes to your chin to tilt your head up. he smiles when your eyes meet his and pecks your lips.

“pretty girl…” he trails off, hand going from your face to your waist. his movements are agonizingly slow, leaving you wondering if he knows what you’re thinking about. he’s such a tease, could he really?

his face gets closer to yours, his eye trained on you. “what’s got you so tense?” you stay silent for a moment and then your words tumble out in an inaudible mess. your boyfriend giggles, “i didn’t quite catch that.”

you take in a deep breath, deciding to just go for something simple. “i need you.”

carl smiles happily, “i need you too, always. i’m sorry i’ve been so absent-” he stops when you move to hover over him, your legs straddling his thigh. he quirks his brow at you, ahh, how cute and naive he is. no experience, not really anyone to tell him to work these things. of course he couldn’t tell what you’re thinking about.

“i need you,” you whine, rolling your hips down as you speak to emphasize what you mean. his eye widens and his hands fly to your waist, his breathing is heavy and his gaze has already turned lustful. but not in the ravaging beast way, in the way he just looked clueless. you weren’t much better, but you found it so cute.

he leaned forward and your lips connected, slow and passionate to harsh and needy on both ends as you both groped and grabbed each other wherever you pleased. carl slid his hand up your shirt, rubbing your back before fiddling with the clamp on your bra. he laughs a little into your mouth at his struggle, unclamping it and sliding your shirt over your head to get it off.

"you're so pretty," he praises, sending heat to your face and between your legs as you kissed him again, feeling his hands guide the thin material on your chest off your arms. he then kissed down your neck, to your breasts, and back up again to meet your lips, sliding a hand down your body. you moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss just as his fingers reach your clit.

"carl," you moan desperately, pressing your face into his neck. the tips of his fingers maintaining tight circles against your clit, occasionally asking you how it feels. you felt his heavy breaths against your ear, pretty groans leaving his lips when you grind down on his hand.

you stop his hand before you get to finish, his confused gaze following you as you lift yourself off his lap just enough to slide off your shorts and underwear. he placed his head on your shoulder, letting out small whines when you’d touch him.

you were so impatient, lining him up with your entrance, sinking down with a moan. his hands went to your hips, gripping the skin a little harsher than he intended. he leans in to kiss you again, the two of you finding a needy, messy rhythm.

carl gasps into your mouth, “feel good?” you lean back to look at him, flushed, sweaty face and blow out pupil looking at you like you were crafted by the gods. you nod with a moan, brushing his sweaty hair from his face.

he grimaces, attempting to cover his bandage again when you grab his hands and place them back on your hips. the feeling of your skin against him is enough to make his brain go haywire and forget about anything but you.

he leans into you again, letting his head fall on your shoulder again. “i’m close, baby.” he presses small kisses to your skin, pulling your body closer to him. eventually you’re left desperately grinding on him.

his hands grip your skin harsher, “i’m gonna cum,” he whines into your ear, panting and unable to speak. “with me, please.” you shiver at how breathless and spent he sounded, so desperate and whiny it sent you spiraling. you nod, telling him to let go.

he keeps chanting whispered ‘please’s in your ear, your bodies falling back on the mattress in an entangled mess. you feel carl move before he’s trailing kisses all over any bit of your skin he can reach.

“again?” he pleads, causing your eyes to widen. he slides his hand over your ass, pulling your hips into his again. “i’ve gotten a taste of you, you’ve made me addicted.”

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine you can fix him. No, really, you can.

Warnings: drama, angst and (explicit) smut; long post; some canon divergence…

***

You’ve been raised at court as part of Princess Helaena’s retinue. Due to your noble status, this isn’t different any other lady of your station might’ve expected.

You have grown close to the princess, and the two of you are very good friends—more like sisters, truthfully. Due to your similar nature, both of you found yourselves reading, sewing and dancing when possible.

But as you grew, you eventually found another companion to spend your time at court with. The second wayward son of King Viserys, Lord Aemond.

Here’s how all it began…

***

• (I) Broken infancy.

Right after the mess where the Queen confronted her stepdaughter about what had happened between Rhaenyra’s offspring and Aemond, you opt to go after him.

It’s dark. It’s late and you should be elsewhere, but you pay little mind to these rules. You find Aemond outdoors, sitting in the stairs as if he’s contemplating quietly the price paid for losing an eye.

You think you hear a sniff, but you’re not sure. You wait until silence is absolute before making yourself announced.

“L-Lord Prince.”

Aemond turns abruptly, completely out of guard. He hates the vulnerability, but before he can come out with a snark response, you step forward and say:

“I do not mean to intrude. But… may I offer you company?”

The boy looks at you with distrust.

“What are your business here, Lady Y/LN? You should be with my sister.”

“I was worried about you…”

“I don’t need your pity”, and saying so he spits out.

“You don’t”, you agree calmly even if you’re shaken inside. “But everyone needs a friend.”

There is a small pause where you anxiously wait for him to give you some space. Eventually he does since there’s no one around.

“Well. Helaena doesn’t like many people, but here you are, the only one she actually spends time with”, mumbles Aemond.

You smile before taking a seat by his side.

“It appears so.”

Neither of you speak for a while. You know Aemond is still getting used to your company, so you speak nothing.

“I’m sorry”, you tell him.

The prince casts a look at this y/c haired lady of the house y/c dressed in the manner of the Hightower. Despite the remaining distrust in his eyes, you know he reads you.

What a process to forge a bond, and yet here you are.

“For what? You did nothing wrong.”

“No. But I lament for the loss you went through.”

“Well…”, and here he inclines his head towards the great shadow flying over the dark skies. “It was worth the dragon I reclaimed.”

“Like every Targaryen before you.”

Something about you said seems to knock his defenses down. However this isn’t something Aemond is prepared to admit. Yet.

***

• (II) Darkness & Light.

Aemond keeps an eye on you as much as you keep an eye on him. You’ve grown to a handsome woman, wearing gowns that reinforce your curves even though nothing in your actions deem other than innocence.

You and Helaena are almost twins. Could be so had you been birthed by Queen Alicent. Perhaps this is why Aegon looks down on you as much as he does to his sister-wife.

But the wayward, gloomy Prince, who at times opts to find his path towards his… whore, cannot divert away of you.

In fact, he is rather surprised to see you gravitating towards him just as he leaves the room.

“Y/N”, Aemond whispers your name, hands behind his back, not turning his head to welcome you… and because he hopes you don’t spot a slight, timid smirk that forms on his lips due to your presence.

“My dear Aem. Going to practice with Ser Criston again?”

You purposely link your arm to his, nudging his side playfully to tease him the way you know he doesn’t like.

But the prince can’t get rid of you, can he?

“Like always.”

“May I watch it?”

“If you want to.”

Aemond knows silence is not your best trait, something that he, in fact, appreciates.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been out of my sight again”, you muse, eyeing him closely.

He avoids your gaze, aware of what you talk about. But why does he feel a hint of shame knock his pride?

“Hum”, it’s all he says.

You sigh heavily. By how you breathe heavily, Aemond knows you are about to lose your temper.

“Don’t “hum” at me, Aemond Targaryen. You’ve been whoring again, haven’t you?”

To your surprise, he stops abruptly, turning at you in such a way that makes you blush. Aemond reads you, him too baffled when discovering you might actually have feelings for him.

How else would you feel so possessive towards me, Y/Nickname?

Today, your hair is tied in two perfectly braids. They are long enough to fall over your waist, Aemond notices. Your eyes are livid, he can tell the amount of repressed feelings that are behind the colour that paints them—and he is intrigued to know what these are.

You are chewing your bottom lip, a sign of nervousness—he never took you for an insecure person.

Are you afraid of losing me?

And then there’s something about the gown, green like always, that makes him want to rip it. He can tell your breasts are tied… and he wants to release the pressure this gown is making on them. Suddenly, comes to his mind a scene where he is sucking your nipples, rubbing one with his thumb all the whilst using his tongue to play with the other.

Perhaps you’d like that, Y/N. To be treated well. Perhaps you’d be a better replacement than my whore.

Indecent thoughts that he cannot sweep off his mind, but that his mind plays a good effort to it because you are a good precious damsel who doesn’t serve to be part of his dark, sinful self.

And yet… what he sees in you is the light that blinds him. Another sight he cannot lose. So he does what’s best of him to do: push people away.

“How does this concern you, Lady Y/N? You’ve been a good friend, but you are nothing more to me.”

Words that shouldn’t have come out this way. But they do. When seeing the hurt in your eyes, Aemond knows the weight of his lies. Suddenly, he realizes he wishes he could be saved.

And you, as his savior, have been pushed away.

“I am not quitting on you”, you wear your prideful mask, which intrigues him. “Still going to watch your practice though. Besides, I was only asking… because of your mother.”

Aemond cannot amend the awkwardness, but his mind screams at him for not bothering in doing so.

“I know.”

So he turns his back on you. And to his consternation, you stay.

*

Whilst Aemond practices with his sword, you shut yourself in your world. Your eyes are carefully down whenever a courtier passes by—you detest to get the male attention, not when you wish for more on Aemond’s part.

But you little foolish thing, he doesn’t want you. The prince sees you as a friend, is all. An extension of Helaena.

You struggle with your tears as this thought occurs you, but perhaps this isn’t so bad, is it? Duty often sacrifices sentiments. Perhaps you should tell your sister, Queen to be, that you are ready to marry and then… stay away of him for good.

But the courage in this decision soon dissipates the moment you raise your eyes and find Aemond staring at you.

And you know you’ve been trapped.

***

• (III) Scars.

You are about to slip under your blankets when the door of your bedchambers are abruptly opened. You are frightened when hearing the sound due to your exposed state: your line nightgown poorly covers your nipples and you still have no time to throw robes to cover yourself when he stands before you.

Distressed, anguished. In who he really is. In one broken state you’ve only seen once.

You forget yourself when you run to hold Aemond Targaryen in your arms.

“My love”, you whisper, letting him sob. “My prince”.

You pull him to yourself, the only one Aemond trusts with his being. The only one he knows he can be himself, with his scars and open vices. He clings onto you, he digs his fingers onto your waist, letting him be guided to your bed before burying his head against your belly.

You can only imagine what had struck him like this. A feast of demons over his head, each fighting for his flesh. And yet you are here, battling against them.

When he finally stops sobbing, he looks up at him. You’ve never seen him so fragile, so famine for affection. And here you are. Providing what he needs.

“Tell me all”, you whisper.

“I do not want to. You’ll find a monster in me”, and yet he holds onto your hips, fearful you’d let go of him.

“You are not a monster, Aemond. You may have some vices, but you are a human being like anyone else”, you tell him gently. “Come here.”

Aemond obeys you, sitting in front of you.

“Let me tend you”, you whisper. “I’ll prepare your bath.”

“Y/Nickname…”, he holds your wrist firmly.

“I won’t leave you. I won’t abandon you”, you assure him. “Do you trust in me?”

Aemond nods his head.

“My boy, then let me bath you. Besides”, and here you dress your best smile. “You smell like old dragon.”

Finally something that pulls out a smile of him. As he sits there, you are quick to fetch servants to prepare him a good bath. When you go back at him, Aemond gives you that intense look which gives you shivers.

And wets you in between your legs too.

But this isn’t the moment nor the time.

“Come. It’s ready.”

You lean against the wall of the privy quarters as Aemond starts to undress. Even though he is damaged for what he’s done, he likes to feel the weight of your gaze on him. And he smirks when he stands nude before you.

“I don’t think you’ve seen me like this”, he muses.

You don’t look away when he says so. Aemond feels a heat growing inside him.

“No, I don’t. Not physically anyway”, you point out.

“Don’t look away”, he asks.

You dare to scan his body with your discreet gaze, eyeing his well build muscles, attentive to his scars and… his manhood, which is now erected. And quickly you look away, blushing, as he chuckles.

“You’ve never seen one up before, my lady?”, he asks, sliding into the tub.

You gently knee behind him and get to rub his back with a sponge.

“Do not take me to your whore, Aemond”, you snap at him.

The prince smiles at it. He lets you clean him before he dives into the water. When coming back to the surface, the prince is disappointed for not seeing you there.

A moment later, though, when he’s dressed in clean clothes, says Aemond with a subtle accusation tone:

“You left me there for one moment…”

“You surely can handle yourself as you finished you bath. I am only your friend, wasn’t that what you called me?”

Aemond sighs.

“Y/Nickname, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He comes at you and rests his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. When you side look at him, you spot that old fragility rarely seen.

It’s what melts you down.

“Very well. Come here. Let me tend you”, and now back to your bed, you and him lace your fingers together, his head in between your breasts. “What did you do, Aemond?”

You stroke his hair with your loose hand, aware that he’d done something bad. But where others see him ruthless, you see a broken boy trying to find his worth in this misadjusted world.

“I…”, his embargoed voice has your attention.

“Yes?”, you lift his chin, now cupping his face; removing his eyepatch, you gently force him to look at you.

And here comes a tear.

“I killed him. But I didn’t mean to.”

“Who?”

But you know the answer.

“…Lucerys.”

Old wounds that never close… bleed endlessly. You sigh heavily, but rest your forehead against his.

“You shouldn’t have done that, my dear”, you speak softly.

“I understand.”

“But I won’t abandon you, you know that, do you?”, you hope to transmit him that, regardless of this sinful secret he shared with you, together you two are stronger.

“You are the only one who knows my weakness”, he buries his head against your neck, needy of you, weak and feeble. Fragile. “Do not dare to leave me.”

“You have always been sacred to me to be profaned now, Aemond”, you whisper.

He leans his body close to yours, transfixed by your irradiating beauty… and your unending loyalty.

The prince touches your face and you tilt your head, letting his slander fingers brush over your face and then going down to your neck. You partly wish that he goes below… a perception he sees evident in your eyes.

Aemond knows he’s as vulnerable as you. And yet his hand moves to your collarbone, unlacing your nightgown.

“So beautiful. You look as if I can be redeemed.”

“You can”, you lean closer, not minding how purposely your breasts slip out of the line. Your eyes remain locked with his all the whilst you take his face with your hands. “You can be redeemed.”

Aemond waits no further: his dragon fire awakes and he is about to burn you. You welcome his hungry lips thus, sighing in content as he crawls over your body, ripping impatiently your gown, promptly reclaiming you the same way he did Vhagar.

You subdue easily to him, letting him have his way to you. That his lips make his kiss ache every part of you gets a moan out of you, which in turn makes Aemond smirk.

You are mine and mine alone. I possess you, I take you as who you are, my lady Y/N.

Such are his thoughts, which you need naught to have the ability to read them; for they are readable in his tight grip of you, in how his tongue dominates yours along with his body.

Trapped under his dominance, you are found breathless and a puddle of mess when he parts the kiss to let slid his tongue over your jawline and neck, his fingers now pulling your hair gently, tangled in your curls.

Then he stops what he’s doing to contemplate your state under candlelight. And here he smirks.

“Divine you are, my lady. How can a man like me be worthy of a woman like you?”

You sensually lift your legs to pull him by his hips as you adjust your body so his can mould better in it. You like the lust in his eyes, one of the kind that doesn’t conceal his vices nor his virtues… one that shows his genuine feelings to you.

“You deserve all the love in the world, my dear Aemond. Let me heal you”, you stroke his cheeks, smiling gently.

“A flower soon to be deflowered by a rogue”, he sneers under his breath, but there’s no despise in his eyes, only the same old scars.

“I am your woman”, you tell him, and he’s surprised to find in you the same possessiveness there is in him. “I am not any flower, though.”

Aemond smirks. Whatever insecurities laid behind his good eye, now they are no more.

“You shall be more than that, darling”, he brushes his lips against yours, biting your bottom lip not long after. “My consort, mother of my heirs.”

As if to assure you he means every word, he not only kisses your neck and gets a few moans out of you, but leaves some bruises there. You’ve been marked.

Aemond, however, cannot take out of his thought the idea of corrupting you. Though it flings him with some guilt, the way your legs are wrapped around him, your bodies so perfectly moulded that leaves no doubt that it is hardly sinful what’s to be done.

You may spot some of it, so to assure him there’s no question of the legitimacy of the deed, you put yourself under him properly so he looks down at you… and yet your hand takes hold of his erect manhood.

“Y/N!”, he gasps in surprise.

You give him a malicious smirk at the same time there is nothing to encounter in your gaze that is not innocence itself. Inexperience you may be, but you have ears that long heard of maids doing so with their partners.

But to feel his cock responding well to your moves is a positive indicator that you are doing it well.

“My lady!”, he wants to stop you, but fuck it it’s so damn good. Aemond rolls his eye, almost falling over you. “You should not…”

“I want you”, you whisper in the back of his ear as you caress his face and hair with your free hand. “Carnally, emotionally, all that is between. I want my prince Aemond Targaryen the way he really is.”

It’s enough to wipe out any reasonable thought he may have in regarding preserving you of such naughtiness. Aemond lets out the repressed lust for you, his sentiments towards his lady—of the kind only his whore knew about—, and bloody seven hells… you know how to make him feel good!

All the whilst you enjoy feeling his precum getting your hand soaked, and twirling your thumb around the tip like he instructs you to—the very fact he’s the one teaching you also arouses him quite.

“Fuck”, and he growls against your skin, burying himself into your breasts, biting your nipples and sucking each ardently with the devotion of a lover.

So you too welcome a different sensation of bliss, a pleasure never before felt, hitting on your in waves of heat that get your body out of control. It does “worsen”, though, the moment he does to you what you do to him.

Aemond captures the surprise that flashes behind your eyes when he finds you soaked to the core. And then… not deeming to waste his seed, he takes your hands and pins over your head.

As his thighs are over yours, you see this handsome man towering over you. His well build muscles, his handsome manhood…

“Do you like the view, Princess?” Aemond asks gently, though the way he looks at you there’s nothing innocent or gentle.

And he sees how your body reacts. Which only arouses him further.

“Yes”, you are almost breathless. “Please, do not make me beg.”

Aemond chuckles low, hands wrapping around your neck.

“Oh, but aren’t you begging already, my love?”

And then he releases the pressure by inserting another finger in your womanhood.

“Mm. You like that, do you not?”, Aemond groans as you deliberately give yourself to him, a complete mess. He likes the view, to know he ruined you too.

And then he bends over… only to slowly insert his manhood into you.

“Oh Gods!”

Aemond side smirks at you.

“It’s going to be a long night, Princess Y/N.”

And to seal his promise, he pursuits your lips in a passionate kiss.

***

• (IV) The Great Escape.

As you stand quietly in the royal chambers, you detect grey clouds rumbling in the sky. You furrow your eyebrows at the sight, perceiving it as a bad omen.

It’s when Helaena comes at you, so suddenly and silently that you are almost startled by her presence.

“I see the boy”, she whispers at you, the only one who understands her. “He will conquer all.”

“Do you mean any of your brothers?”, you ask in the same tone.

Helaena smiles quietly, though in her eyes you detect a mix of apprehension and concern. You know she hesitates, so you hope to transmit calmness.

“Laena, do not fear. I shall keep your secret with me”, and you point to your heart.

She looks at your hands before giving a look at the horizon. You give her time. Then she turns her head and says:

“He shall not be king until other dies”, another pause. “You should not be here when Aegon becomes king.”

You are more than aware that Aegon is not really fond of you.

“Is war coming, dear Laena?”, you ask.

“No”, and here she smiles. “Not for you nor Aemond.”

You have the decency to blush. You’d think your secret encounters with Aemond remained a secret, but didn’t you underestimate your closest friend?

“I…”

“Do not apologize. You’ve brought him the light out of him.”

And in her own way of saying thanks, Helaena rests her head against your shoulder. So suddenly the announce of storm is dissipated… and your fears, likewise.

*

But before this light prevails, it is yet the time to cross the dark. Therefore, you are not entirely surprised to find Aemond vulnerable again. It’s late night and he comes for you in seek of solace. The one kind he’s been refused by his family.

Aemond slides through the half open door, already suspicious in not finding your privy chambers completely close. Hearing voices, a fang of jealousy threatens to bring out his worse when he comes to find out you and Helaena have been spending time together.

It is a relief, somewhat one that makes him smirk, to seeing you getting along with his family. Not that he cares about it, but…

He waits until Helaena is gone to surprise you. You are wearing a pink gown with details in pink and are just untying your braid, completely unaware of his silent presence.

Aemond is reclining against the wall, watching you remove the courtly garments that you wear daily, noticing in your distracted face different expressions he is used to see in you.

“You look exhausted”, his voice comes out as a single whisper right as you are caught off guard and almost crying out as a result. “What’s wrong?”

“Aemond!”, you yell. “Are you out of your mind? Always like a rat, aren’t you?”

He chuckles at your reaction, moving to where you stand so he can have you all to himself. You melt instantly in his arms, but then quickly recompose when noticing that vulnerability only you spot on.

“Wait. What happened?”

“You didn’t answer my question”.

You know it’s pointless to argue with him so you shrug your shoulders and say:

“Just tired, is all.”

You don’t think wise to tell that lately you’ve been having strange morning sickness, so you motion to fetch yourselves some wine before getting at him.

“Now your turn.”

Aemond doesn’t buy your lie, though. But taking the wine offered, he opts to keep that in his mind for a moment later.

“I’ve met the Strong boys.”

“Oh.”

And here comes the thunder…

“What do you mean by “oh”? I’ve been teased out and about, Y/N”, says a very moody Aemond. “Jacaerys and Joffrey think they can have their way out?”

And here he comes to burst in tears. That broken boy hasn’t been healed nor taken care of. You put your glass aside and move to embrace him. Like a needy child, he comes for support which you give him without second thoughts.

“What happened then?”

“A fight was only prevented because of my mother. She welcomed Rhaenyra and her bastards here.”

You let him burst out his anger, silent and pained, as you hold him. In moments like this is when he undress the rogue mask he often wore to public; -and it’s here his fragility is seen, which leads to a more intimate moment.

“You don’t feel at peace here.”

“No”, Aemond admits. “Not here not anywhere. But I aim to reclaim Harrenhal.”

A stranger shiver crosses your spine and even the prince feels it. He looks up at you, quizzically so.

“What was that?”

“Oh, the shiver? You felt it too?”, you try to make a joke about it. “So tight you felt it as if it were you, uh?”

But Aemond is serious.

“I am not joking, Y/N.”

“I had a bad feeling about this. You know the stories of Harrenhal.”

Now the silver haired man chuckles.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dragons could be a myth, and were treated as such before the Conquest by the Westerosi. And yet here they are”, you tell him firmly. “Stories contain a degree of truth. I did my homework.”

“I can tell.” And softening, he rises to cup your face and kiss your nose and lips. “I did not wish to distress you. But I cannot stay here any longer,Y/N.”

“Well…”, and you smile as you rest your forehead against his. “Let us runaway, Aemond. Together.”

“To where?”, Aemond isn’t sure about the idea, but this possibility does bring some relief to him.

“The Free Cities”, you decide. “You aren’t the first Targaryen who flees King’s Landing to locate somewhere there. Essos is one of those who traditionally welcomes these Valyrian kind.”

Aemond chuckles, pleasantly surprised by your wit.

“We need little convincing, don’t we?”

“It is what you need most, my beloved. Some peace of mind and spirit will do you well.”

So the plan is architected. And the promised consolation shall come.

*

Yet, night arises and with it, demons that come to dispute over royal flesh. Aemond is tormented by his nightmares. As he watches you sleep peacefully, he envies your serenity.

Part of him riots against the idea of being with you. Running away sounds coward-ish and the ilidic paradise is an idea fit for poets and story tellers.

Reclining against the wind, naked, he is vulnerable and to feel it only makes him feel irc about it.

It’s when you notice the bed getting colder. As you turn around, you see you are alone once again. You almost panic at the idea of him leaving you, but this is wiped out of your mind when seeing the state he is.

“Aemond”, you don’t mind the clothes. “Come to bed”, you rest your chin over his shoulder. Suddenly you notice how tall he is.

He tries to avoid your gaze, but it is difficult to ignore you when you recline your body, so warmt, against his. In a stark contrast of fire and cold, he is like an ice berg to you.

“Please”, you ask him.

Aemond turns at you at last and acquiesces with your request. Silently he follows you, but he doesn’t sleep straight away.

“You are worthy of love”, you tell him, cuddling him. “You cannot ignore the wounds that hurt you.”

“I fear I am incapable of healing”, Aemond whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. “How can you conceive the idea of us together, Y/N?”

“You can be saved.”

He snorts, eyes closing as he slowly drifts to sleep under your tenderness.

“Maybe I do not want to be saved.”

“To be saved or to be redeemed. Is there any difference? Sleep my life. The night may be long and full of terrors, but light always comes to win over it.”

You’d think Aemond had fallen asleep as you take the blankets and cover yourselves, but as you too lie down, your hear him say:

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile warmly because this is the first time he admits it out loud. Wiping away your happy tears, you lean to kiss his forehead.

“I love you too, Aemond Targaryen.”

*

Indeed, funny as it is, you are now officially part of the House Targaryen. Daeron and Helaena had been the only witnesses of the ceremony that made you officially Lord Aemond’s wife.

“Welcome to our family”, greets Daeron. “Just hope one does not notice the mess we are.”

“Oh, nothing too different of my own family, my lord.”

“Lord?”, Daeron scoffs. “We are family now, sister. There is little need to use formalities.”

Aemond smiles quietly when spotting a blush turning your cheeks into crimson. And speaking of informalities, Helaena welcomes you in her own way. To a general surprise, she in fact hugs you close before saying:

“Never forget. A king will come soon. To conquer all. The line must carry on.”

And then she takes Daeron away, leaving you baffled.

“What did she say?”, asks Aemond, curious.

“I’m afraid this time I didn’t understand what she meant, husband.”

“Well”, he shrugs his shoulders. “Not many of us do. Ready, my lady?”

You smile warmly and the sight makes Aemond content. Sun is rising in the horizon when he helps you mount old Vhagar.

And when she is ready to fly, you cling tight in your husband like a monkey.

“Oh my Gods!”

He laughs away. Never before he laughed so unpreocuppied, so carelessly, so free.

You know it. You feel it too. For when you look at him, you could tell how successfully you fixed him. Didn’t you?

***

• (V) Essos.

You may think you are brave for riding Vhagar, but braver so for mounting your husband. Now that you have enough trust to do so, you come to find out that is a lot better than in your wildest dreams.

“Oh Gods!”, and like any other day you are louder,a sound the servants are already used by now. “Aemond!”

It’s been three months since you and Aemond settled in Essos, and ever since the city not only welcomed you two properly like the royalty both of you are, but is also becoming the stage to Aemond’s ambitions—to which you turned a blind side to.

“So good, my wife!”, Aemond groans, pleased like always to see your boobs bouncing and how synced his body and yours are in one single move.

But domineering he is, so in a matter of seconds you are under his power again, a “victim” of his intense thrusts. And as he seeds you, it’s only then he comes to notice the changes of your body. Your breasts are bigger, you are curvier and your appetites… are different too.

As he collapses against your side, Aemond holds you close to him, though. Stroking your hair and helping to straighten it after messing you good, he smiles.

“I cannot believe myself when I recall the enormous quantity of years that took for us to get married.”

“You are slower than I’d assumed to be, husband”, you tease him, earning a few tickles.

“Life here isn’t as bad as it seems, though”, Aemond contemplates after kissing your forehead. “I think we can rebuild our life here in the manner of Westeros.”

You know there are certain ambitions that do not die, no matter the efforts in healing scars. It’s a side of his character that you’ve always accepted. Then you are reminded of Helaena’s prophecy and somehow you made your peace with it.

“Indeed, I…”

Oh no. Not that nauseous morning again! In a matter of seconds you are running to your privy quarters and throw all that you’ve ingested earlier the day… out.

When Aemond rushes after you, though, he doesn’t take too long to realize that an heir is coming. At last.

“My dearest wife”, he kneels after you. “Let me help you. The way you help me.”

For the first time in years he sees your vulnerability, your fragility. You try to conceal it, but he doesn’t allow you to shy away.

“Y/N… Do not be stubborn”, he helps you clean. “There is nothing wrong with it. Do you not realize what does this mean?”

When you give him a quizzical look, the prince chuckles.

“I cannot believe that I am the one to tell you… but you are carrying our child, my love.”

News that would come to change your lives…. But others too.

***

• Epilogue.

Three years later.

You are giving birth again—the price you pay for delighting yourself by engaging in marital affairs with your handsome prince—when news come from King’s Landing.

Aemond is holding baby Rhaella in his arms all the whilst watching his son, Aegon, practice sword ship. He’s very prideful over his eldest son taking so much after him where brain matters are concerned—and abilities too—, but the sweet temper is something the boy takes after you.

“See, Rhae? Your brother is going to protect you just fine”, Aemond smiles before kissing his daughter’s head.

She giggles, a sight he adores to behold, but every smile dies when a messenger dressed in green comes in.

“My lord Prince”, this young lad greets Aemond, sounding somewhat nervous.

“Who is this? Sent by mother, I presume.”

The lad delivers him an old parchment. When opening it carefully, the prince frowns.

“What does this mean?”

“There is war in Westeros, Ser. And King Aegon has summoned you.”

[baelarys]

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐧

Aemond targaryen x Reader velaryon(rhaena Daughter)

Warning : Incest,I think that's all I can warn you.

word count : 1463(A little short but I plan to do part 2)

It felt as if something had stopped, as if something were happening, or we were waiting for it. King's Landing was not known for being peaceful; even if you were tucked away in the confines of a castle, you always perceived that environment of restless people looking for something to fill their stomachs with food.

I look expectantly out my window overlooking the city; how small it seemed from here. You could hear the roars of some dragons at the Dragonpit in the distance. Maybe I'll go flying with Cannibal later.

—It looks like it will be a quiet day, don’t you think? —I ask in a friendly manner. The maids pause for a moment, exchanging looks to see who will respond. It is not common for nobles to address them unless giving orders, and it seems they do not like to chat with us either. —I think so, princess —replied the one braiding my hair.

I leave my room heading to the library. —Good morning, sir —I greet Ser Cedric of Blackwood in a friendly manner. Ser Cedric has accompanied me since I arrived at King's Landing for my marriage to Prince Aemond, a tedious but apparently necessary union to prevent a family feud. —Good morning, princess —

––

I close the book I'm reading as I look around. The library is one of the few places in the Red Keep where there are no servants everywhere or lords and ladies of the court. My senses fill with the smell of books and humidity emanating from the thousands of books with the history of Westeros and ancient Valyria.

I get up and dust off my dress from the books, heading to the entrance to the training yard. I have not seen Aemond since last night and what is left of this morning.

I step into the training yard, where the sound of swords clashing and men training resonates in the air. In the distance, I spot Aemond, the prince I married for political reasons. He looks focused, handling his sword with grace and strength. I approach with a steady step, trying not to interrupt his practice.

Aemond is no longer the shy, withdrawn boy he once was. He remains quiet, but will speak if necessary. We are not the most affectionate with each other, but we have been friends since childhood; we got along well, played together, and shared lessons, spending much time together until that night in White Harbor, where he lost his eye and claimed Vhagar. He became more confident and his interest in swords and political matters grew, unlike Aegon, whose interest in women and alcohol distracts him from his duties.

—wife —Aemond Greeting after finishing a training session and approaching me along with Ser Criston Cole, a Kingsguard, with his usual hateful look. —Princess —he said with a slight bow.

—To what do I owe your lovely presence here? —Aemond asked ironically, with that haughty look, something common in him.

—I haven't seen you since this morning, I wondered where you were —I replied calmly as we walked back inside the castle. —Do you want to have breakfast with me? It seems today will be a quiet day —I ask cheerfully. It is not common for us to do things together besides our marital duties, but sometimes his company is comforting.

The morning sun casts a golden light over the castle gardens as we enjoy our breakfast in a quiet corner. Aemond and I talk about memories from our childhood, carefully avoiding any mention of the incident at White Harbor that could sour our conversation.

At that moment, a nursemaid approaches with Maegor in her arms. His platinum, curly hair is a constant reminder of his Valyrian heritage. Aemond and I exchange smiles upon seeing our son, whose gray eyes shine with curiosity as he looks around.

—Come here, love! —I exclaim affectionately, extending my arms to receive him. The little one wriggles with excitement and stretches his arms toward me, eager to be in my embrace.

Aemond watches with pride and affection as Maegor settles in my arms. —He looks more and more like you —he comments with a smile, gently stroking our son's head. —And he has your eyes —I respond with a smile, admiring Maegor's curls as he plays with my necklace.

I walk towards Helaena's room with Maegor in my arms. The guards open the doors to the room, revealing the pattern of greens and golds characteristic of the Hightower family adorning the marble walls, illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the windows. And there she is, as calm and kind as always.

Helaena was beautiful, with the silver hair so distinctive of them and the beautiful sky-blue eyes.

I place Maegor on the floor next to the twins, gently caressing their heads. I slowly approach, with soft steps, watching Helaena as her hands moved gracefully over the embroidery. The sunlight made her silver hair shine even more, and her blue eyes reflected an inner peace that had always fascinated me.

—Aunt Helaena —I said in a low tone, almost whispering, not to startle her. She looked up from her work, blinking slowly before giving a warm, gentle smile.

—Y/N, what a pleasant surprise —she responded softly, her words flowing like a calm melody. Her fingers never stopped moving over the embroidery, creating the image of a spider with almost magical precision.

I sat next to her, admiring the skill of her hands and the calm she radiated. Helaena always seemed to be in a world of her own, a place where time passed at a different pace. —You are embroidering a spider today. Does it have any special meaning? —I asked, knowing that each of her creations carried a hidden message. Helaena nodded slowly, her gaze becoming distant, as if she were seeing beyond the walls of the room.

—Spiders weave their webs, Y/N. They catch what approaches carelessly. Sometimes, what seems insignificant can have a great impact —she said in a dreamy tone. Her response left me thoughtful. Helaena had a unique way of seeing the world, always finding connections and hidden meanings in the everyday.

—Is something troubling you, Lena? —I asked, trying to decipher the message behind her words. She looked at me intently, her blue eyes reflecting something deep and mysterious. —The future is always in motion. There are pieces moving on the board that we cannot see yet —she said, her voice like a whisper. I nodded, feeling the weight of her words. Helaena always had a gift for seeing beyond the obvious, and her predictions were both a warning and a comfort.

She directed her gaze to the children playing quietly on the floor, surrounded by nursemaids. —It is nice to have children in the castle, don't you think? It's fun —she said cheerfully.

Helaena placed her embroidery on her lap for a moment, her gaze calm but loaded with meaning. Her blue eyes met mine with complicity before she spoke. —I heard that your mother will be coming to King's Landing soon —Helaena said softly, as if sharing an exciting secret.

My eyes lit up with joy at the news. Rhaenyra, my mother, always unpredictable and full of energy, would undoubtedly bring her own dose of excitement to the castle.

—Really? How wonderful to hear! What brings her back? —I asked, excited at the prospect of reuniting with her again in the capital.

Helaena gently took my hand, transmitting a mix of calm and anticipation. —There have been rumors about the heir to the Driftmark throne. Ser Vaemond Velaryon is the one who started the whole matter —she explained, with a serene smile. I felt confused; Lucerys is supposed to be the heir to Driftmark, my grandfather, Ser Corlys Velaryon said so. Although it was naive to think such a problem wouldn't arise, Lucerys does not possess any characteristic features of the Velaryons; thick, dark, curly hair replaces the platinum hair of ancient Valyria.

—I understand, Lena. We will be ready to welcome her with open arms —I responded enthusiastically.

Helaena nodded, her gaze returning to the embroidery that lay on her lap, as the afternoon sun painted golden highlights in her silver hair. The atmosphere in the room became serene and welcoming again.

[glow-worms-are-believers]

End in View (dp x dc)

The rooftop is rough beneath Dani and the cold seeps through the gravel and through her layers of clothing as she lays there, breathing. There are no stars visible in the sky. Maybe it’s the rainclouds, maybe it’s the Gotham smog, she doesn’t know. It’s a shame in any case. She’s never liked the stars like Danny does but she still appreciates a little stargazing here and then.

She hears a zipping sound in the distance coming closer, then there’s a thump a bit further away from her on the rooftop and Dani cranes her neck. She sees the upside-down image of a masked man in a skintight black-and-blue suit. She knows him, Might-wings or something. She drops her head, looking back up into the dark sky.

“Hey kiddo, what’re you doing?” The man asks as she hears him walk a little closer.

“Dying,” she says wryly.

Worst part is that it’s true. Her unstable mess of a body is breaking down. She’s taking ecto-shots every morning now instead of every month like when she was twelve years old. Soon the only thing that’ll be able to sustain her properly will be the Infinite Realm and its constant ambient ectoplasm. And even then, she knows it won’t be enough. She’s seen Frostbite’s face after her latest check-up and she saw Danny’s knuckles go white after the yeti repeated for him what he told her.

“Aren’t we all?” The vigilante teases back.

Dani huffs a bit, though her mind is only half-there. This in-between state is dangerous for you. You cannot continue like this for long.

“I happen to have a timeline though, thank you very much,” Dani says and she tries for levity but the words ring too true for that.

What are you saying?

You have to die. Fully.

The vigilante’s breath hitches before he lets out a small “Oh.”

“Doctor says I’ve got about two months,” Dani says casually. “So, I figured I’d see the sights. Travel around a bit.”

“What about your parents?” The man asks, sitting down.

“My dad will be glad when I’m gone,” Dani answers and ignores the pinch to the heart the thought induces.

There’s a silence that stretches for a bit before he breaks it. “That’s awful,” he says quietly.

“It’s whatever. I’ve got my brother anyways.” Dani shrugs. “He’s stuck back home but he’ll come by when he can, which, knowing the kind of shit that goes down back home, won’t be often.” She pauses. “Not like I need him for the list.”

“The list?” The black-and-blue vigilante - Heightwing? - asks.

“My list of things to do before I die,” Dani says. “You know: get drunk, learn to knit, rob a bank. Normal teenager stuff.”

“Anything your local vigilante could help with?”

“You offering?”

“Sure,” he says.

Dani sits up and she sees the vigilante - Nightwing! That’s it! - do the same. She squints into the white lens and he stares back calmly.

“I want to go to Batburger,” she decides. “I want to try the fries.”

He gives her a blinding smile.

“Coming right up,” he chirps before getting out a sleek-looking grapple gun and holds out his other hand. “Ready to fly?”

“Born ready,” she says and takes his hand.

[allforthegaymes]

Aaron deciding to go to med school because he wants to help people when hes older, he hasnt decided where exactly, countless google pour overs on the beanbag next to andrew, reading out loud different sectors he could go into, listening to andrews hums or grunts for an input.

He ends up with pediatrics, the only one andrew had paused over before standing up to leave the dorm without another word.

He takes a minor in sports health though. Nothing to get officially licensed over, but enough knowledge to gain that when neils ankle acts up his first year on a pro team, with Abby across the country and not able to drop everything to fly out, and neils refusal to see any other nurse, aarons happy to take the hour commute over to his apartment to let him know he just rolled it and needs to keep it elevated and to not apply any pressure.

Then a few years later when neil and andrew end up with a set of twin girls running around their farmhouse, and andrew is calling aaron at a crisp 2am because one of the girls threw up and aarons gotta calmly talk him through that its cold season and she probably just got it from one of the kids at preschool, give her some medicine and itll clear in a few days.

Aaron not putting his dreams on hold or bending them to fit what others want him to do, but using his career to help his family how he can, in the little ways that matter most to him.

[misto713]

imagine shen yuan transmigrated as the lord of the culinary peak. (when he can't even cook and died of food poisoning lol.)

luckily for him, the disciple selection is just around the corner, and before sqq (original goods) can claim little luo binghe for himself, shen yuan calmly ignores the bickering bai zhan war god and the scum villain and claims him first. and now sqq can't bully the sect leader to have another peak lord hand over a child they chose - that would be uncouth!

and so: may the cooking isekai begin!

sy admits he 'lost his memories', and while he rushes to educate himself on spiritual cooking techniques, binghe becomes his 'right hand man' who 'helps out' (meaning, he's the one that actually cooks while sy provides commentary and cultivation cooking manuals). little bunny binghe doesn't mind, in fact it feels great to be trusted and needed by his shizun!

binghe quickly becomes the darling baby of the peak and soon, the sect. and, in true cooking isekai fashion, every problem can be and is solved with food! binghe's heavenly (demonic) food!

binghe prepares excellent 'paradise silver-moon-lotus cakes' that mu qingfang judges would be a miraculous boost to ones cultivation - so he sends some into the lingxi caves, just in time to save liu qingge from a deadly qi deviation. cake's so good it snaps liu qingge right out of the deviation.

binghe's cooking smells so good that the invading demons pause in their invasion and destruction of the rainbow bridges to go raid the culinary peak instead. sy, in a moment of total badassery, send all the kitchen knives flying, handily defeating the demons (don't forget he's a golden core cultivator too!) binghe watches him with starry eyed wonder when sy manages to save him from 'elder poison armor'. sha hualing is left to face the war god basically alone and is lucky to escape with her life.

binghe's cooking is so good that just its memory is enough to seduce meng mo into staying and teaching binghe demonic cultivation.

and so on and so forth. years later, when binghe wins the world's cooking competition, the camera pans first to sy's proud smile as he claps until his hands hurt, and then to binghe, eyes secretly shining red with a glowing 'mark of sin' on his forehead. turns out it was bingge all along and he just wanted a 'round 2' of his revenge against sqq but then got stolen away by his sweet and adorable sy!shizun so he decided to abandon his vengeance and become a spiritual cook instead.

...

...

look i just seriously need some cooking isekais, ok?? why can't i find any cooking isekais?? this fandom is perfect for one! if there can be coffeeshop AUs, why not a proper cooking isekai?? T_T

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Reminiscing

~

"Okay, this one."

Lily's irate frustration was a nearly tangible crackle in the perfumed air of the boutique. Draco glanced up over the rim of his spectacles.

"Absolutely not," he said calmly.

Lily's fists balled up in the skirt of the slinky, forest green dress she wore. Thousands of shimmery little beads were sewn into the light, clingy fabric. The slit ran all the way up to mid-thigh and the halterneck straps were beaded strings.

"Why." Lily's question sounded from between grit teeth.

"Turn around," Draco said flatly.

A moment of hesitation, and then Lily spun around to reveal her back, exposed from neck to tail bone.

"Absolutely not," repeated Draco, looking back down into his phone, typing out an email with one forefinger, painstakingly slow.

"It's a dress. You want me to buy a dress. This is a dress."

"I want you to be respectably dressed for your seventeenth birthday party," Draco replied without looking up. "You're coming of age, yes, but you will do so whilst dressed as you ought to be."

"As I ought to be," Lily repeated scornfully.

"As a Potter-Malfoy ought to be."

"Why can't a Potter-Malfoy wear something like this?"

"We don't go out in public half-naked."

"This is a floor length gown."

"The whole length of your left leg is on display, as is the entirety of your back." Draco glanced up once more. "Your whole back. You're practically naked."

Lily"s clenched jaw shifted as she gnashed her teeth some more. With forced calm, she said, "Papa, I do not want to be wearing some sort of Victorian ballgown for my seventeenth birthday party."

"More's the pity. But no, definitely not this one either."

"I can wear a jacket over it." Lily raised one eyebrow when Draco looked up again. "I want a leather jacket."

Draco snorted, shaking his head. "I don't think so."

"Dad said I could get one."

"Your dad is an idiot."

"I want one like his."

"Absolutely not. He's a lunatic with a flying motorcycle. You don't want everything he has, trust me."

"It's just a bloody leather jacket, Papa, please!" Lily actually stomped one booted foot, her voice rising shrilly.

"I'm used to strops, darling, I invented them," Draco said, completely unbothered. "Besides, what would your grandmother say. She would faint."

"She told me to get the jacket in black." When Draco looked up in genuine surprise, Lily went on, "She said black would go best with her opal earrings that she's having reset in silver for my birthday present."

Draco stared at her over his spectacles as she stood glaring back at him, hands on her hips.

Then the bell above the door tinkled merrily, and Harry's voice filled the silence of the stylish little boutique as he exchanged cheerful pleasantries with the owner.

Reaching breaking point, Lily shrieked, "DAD!"

"I will not tolerate that sort of screaming in a public--," Draco started.

"Green, eh?" Harry said, walking into the private area Draco had reserved for the afternoon, his own boots loud on the wooden flooring.

"Because I have your eyes," Lily said in her most honeyed voice. "Grandma's eyes."

"Good choice, Lils," Harry said affectionately, sitting down on the plush sofa next to Draco before carefully picking through the collection of truffles set out in little crystal bowls.

"You haven't looked at the dress very closely," Draco said, voice tight.

"Oh?" Harry popped a hazelnut truffle into his mouth, straightened his glasses a bit, and leaned back, crossing ankle over knee. "Let me do that, then." A pause, and then, "She looks great!"

Draco twirled one forefinger through the air, motioning for Lily to spin. "She's half-naked."

"It's the trend now or something," Harry said, shrugging and scratching carelessly through his beard.

"I want to wear it with a leather jacket, Dad," Lily said hastily. "A black leather jacket. One like yours."

Harry grinned, roughing up his hair as was his wont. "Like Sirius'. Yeah, why not? Let's get you one."

"Harry."

Draco's lips were very thin as he pulled off his glasses and turned the full force of his displeasure onto Harry.

"Don't," said Harry. "We said she could pick her own outfit."

"The Minister's going to be at the party," Draco said tightly.

"Doubt he cares, honestly," Harry said, eating more chocolate. "Besides, it's Lily's day."

"I don't like to be ganged up against," Draco said, teeth gleaming white on a forced, very dangerous smile.

"Babe, we're not ganging up--," Harry started.

"Where is James?" Draco said suddenly, raising his voice over Harry's.

"My ears are burning," James drawled, sauntering in. Draco turned in his seat to look at him, his mouth slightly open.

James' hair was a bright, lemon yellow where it stood in a carefully styled, vertical mass on his head. The sides had been shaved down close to the scalp and dyed green.

Draco could only splutter in apoplectic dismay at the sight.

"What are you supposed to look like?!" he finally managed to ask.

James shrugged, scratching behind one pierced ear. "Dad thinks it looks cool."

Draco whirled around in his seat, now glaring violently at Harry. "He was supposed to get a haircut that's also suitable for school."

"He's still on summer break," Harry said.

"His head looks like a bloody sunflower!" Draco said. "Harry, you had one job--"

But Lily was now cackling loudly at James, who in turn stood grinning proudly, hands in his pockets, fourteen years old and sincerely unbothered about a single opinion that wasn't his own. Harry couldn't help grinning, too, but he quickly moved closer to Draco and took one of his hands with both his own.

"Babe, we've talked about this," he murmured gently. "This is one of those times you need to let go. Remember how we talked about letting go?"

"She's seventeen, and he looks someone cracked an egg on his head," Draco seethed.

Harry leaned forward and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

"How about lunch at the Ritz?" he asked gently.

"And then we buy me a black leather jacket," Lily said, hitching up the skirt of her dress and stomping loudly back to the changing room.

"Life was easier when I was seventeen," Draco muttered darkly, glaring at where their son was inspecting a rack of dinner jakcets.

Harry grinned again. "Yeah. A war, a megalomaniac. I really miss those days."

~

[runningwiththemarvels]

Teddy's and tantrum's-

Summary: you want, no need that turtle. But what happens when your daddy says no. Mega meltdown in 5, 4, 3...

Pairing: daddy!bucky x little!femreader

Warnings: age regression, punishment (spanking), angst, fluff.

A/N: don worry is a happy ending hehe

Your daddy never had to shout or yell, you were a good girl for daddy buck. However you had your moments and today was a big tantrum, a mega meltdown. Your attention span was short lived in a store. As soon as you discovered the toy aisle, you had a habit of letting your little legs wander to the collection of stuffies.

You’d ogle at the many layers of cuddly toys reaching with all your might to just cuddle one. Your uncle Loki had a few tricks up his sleeve that he had taught you, much to Bucky's dismay, like hiding in the small shelves of the shop hidden from the world.

Once buck found you hidden in the jumbo football crate, you just smiled back at him comfortably.

Today You practically sucked all the air out of the store, Bucky ran over to you instantly listening to your string of babbles.“What's wrong doll!” he asked his eyes checking you over to see if you were hurt.

You were in a momentary trance. you just pointed at the stuffed turtle which was staring happily. “Hab- i hab pease?” you batted your eyelashes pleadingly and then promptly bounced around, eager to take your green friend home.

But his response made you halt in your tracks. “We got stuffies at home love bugs” he cooed, nodding his head towards the checkout. Your lower lip jutted out, a power move which usually made Bucky yield, but not today. “But but wan dis one” you sniffled tugging at his plush foot.

“The answer is no baby, now come on let’s go home” he spoke firmly but was still very relaxed, he gave a soft smile.

You frowned and dug your heels in. “Baby. let’s. go.” He scowled and turned away. You paused, you were on the verge of obeying but…

“No!” You squeaked, Bucky halted and turned to see you with folded arms and an admittedly cute scowl.

“Excuse me little girl, what did you say” he hissed coldly, looking at your big frowning face.

Buck knew you were just grumpy from missing your afternoon nap, but he couldn’t let the behaviour slide.“N-no!” you stuttered angrily, folding your arms, you hesitated but remained firm. “I wanted it I good!” You yelled balling your fists, tears of frustration waiting to fall.

Within an instant he was right in front of you, his nostrils were flared and pupils dilated. “Yn I am this close to pulling you over my knee, move your ass” he whispered.

By now people started to stare, at this point you were tired, the artificial lights hurt your eyes and your dress was feeling awful itchy and frilly.

You meanie daddy! m-me no like you” you cried stomping and sticking your tongue out. you fell to the floor wriggling and sobbing, briefly recognising you were now in the air.

Were you flying? Your sobs cease momentarily to find yourself in the arms of your daddy. The car ride home was silent, well… you clawed at your car seat and cried bloody murder, but buck concentrated on the road.

By the time your daddy carried you to your room he was furious, you were toggled around like a rag doll onto his lap.

Your head hung limply and your ass was on display, “oh doll you blushin just imagine how red your ass is going to be” he growled, You whimpered and tried to stand, but bucks vibranium arm was behind your back keeping you still.

you sniff and wine showing one last show of defiance.“why are you being punished doll” he asked calmly.

You frowned and paused. You wore a heavy pout, your eyes glassy, you went to speak but were cut off by a firm hand landing heavily down on your bottom. You yipped and felt like the skin of your bottom had been stripped red raw.

As your ass bloomed a nice pink shade your daddy spoke again, with more conviction this time. “why” he repeated, you cried out in hopes of your release. you squirmed around trying to hit him with your small fists, but he managed to pin them down.

You were flooded with shame, the sound ricocheted through the air, you bit your lip muffling your sobs.

You were utterly humiliated now limp, crying you mutter a meak answer “what was that peaches I can't hear you?” he asked while leaning over to meet your tear stained face and red nose.

his heart clenched but he knew he was doing the right thing. “b-Cuz cuz i was ‘ude to dad-dy, an no listen whe- he say no” you sniffed, the tears running down your face began to tickle your nose. There was silence, you stayed still with your tears blurring your vision, you expected another blow and ready for impact.

You were lifted up easily by your daddy's strong arms turned over. You squeak as you straddle your daddy, You lowered your head in shame, hiding your tears and sheepish expression. “y/n calm down, your punishments over now its okay you did so well” all the anger dissipated his voice now soft and soothing.

Your thrashing eventually stopped and you just let your head fall crying quietly against him rubbing your sore bottom.“Baby girl, you need to understand that when I say no, I mean it. there's no ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’ okay. I'm not trying to be the bad guy doll, but you can't always have what you want. We got lots of stuffies here that love you very much okay? I know you wanted the toy, I do. But the way you behave is not how we act."

He lifted your chin to meet your gaze, The bubble burst and you wept, the realisation of your actions hit you like a punch to the gut “i sowwy- sowwy!” you repeated your little fists making wrinkles in his shirt. “I know doll its okay i forgive you” he whispered and cuddled you close.

you give a large sigh of relief, finally feeling the comfort of your daddy's arms around you. Your cheek leans against his shoulder, you admired his arm and watched it shine in the dark, your fingers eagerly fiddle with his vibranium arm. 

He smiled and wiggled his fingers, as you playfully grabbed them. you soon brought your hands to your mouth, self soothing.Your red eyed tearily blinked up, to see your daddy's eyes looking calmly over you.

You were suddenly washed with a tired feeling, blinking slowly trying to fight the feeling of your eyes closing, sitting in your daddy's lap.

You whine in pain shifting around until you fully feel comfortable. You felt bucky's hand cradle your back rubbing it in soothing motions. “Sleep little one it's okay” he soothed his chest rumbling as he spoke.

“Night baby, i love you” he whispered, “wuv oo daddy” you mumbled burying your face into his arms. not long after you were completely asleep to the world, safe in the arms of your daddy.

[rebouks]

Oscar heaved a sigh of defeat, plonking himself at the edge of the bed. “Well, he locked his door again-.. and he’s either ignoring me, or he’s got his headphones in, or both.”

“What the hell happened yesterday?” Courtney asked, rolling toward Oscar sleepily.

Oscar shrugged; he wasn’t entirely sure. The whole evening had been a disaster from start to finish. “I don’t know, he got in a fight with that kid, didn’t he-.. and my old neighbour saw us n’ decided to reminisce about me fucking OD’ing.”

“He didn’t actually say that, did he?” Courtney’s brows knitted together in shock.

Oscar shook his head, “No, he just said some shit about how he thought I was dead in that grotty bathroom at the Mill-.. I thought Ivan n’ Rhys found me but I guess he must’ve been there too, who knows.”

“What an idiot, bringing that up at the school gates.” Courtney tutted. Oscar nodded in agreement, pausing for a moment before suggesting, “Maybe I should explain what actually happened? He knew I was lying.” Courtney stiffened, “No, he’s too young!” “I hated it when my parents blatantly lied to me though, I’m telling you; he fucking knows.”

Courtney hummed, scratching Oscar’s back thoughtfully. “I’m more worried about him fighting.” Oscar pondered for a moment before replying, “It sounds like he was just standing up for himself. If he makes a habit of it, then we’ll worry.” “Yeah, okay…”

Oscar and Courtney glanced at one another as Robin unlocked his door and bolted to the bathroom, hastily locking that door behind him too. With a quick shove, Courtney hissed, “Go, go!”

Robin leapt across the landing and threw himself into his room, his sigh of relief swiftly retreated in on itself as he swung his door shut, however; Oscar had outsmarted him, waiting behind the door.

“I’m not going!” Robin yelled, “I’m sick…” Oscar calmly shook his head from side to side, “That’s not gonna fly, is it? We both know you’re not sick…”

Robin clenched his fists tight enough for his knuckles to turn white, desperately willing himself to vomit on command, faint, have some kind of fit-.. anything would do.

“If you’re worried about-…” “I don’t give a shit about Levi.” Robin spat.

Oscar frowned worriedly; he knew Robin hadn’t wanted their holiday to end, or to go back to school, but this abrupt fit of anger was highly uncharacteristic. Surely it was still too early to be worried about the dreaded P word? He had the faint beginnings of bags under his little eyes too-.. which were red raw and puffy, as though he’d spent more time crying last night than he had sleeping.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” Oscar asked gently, gesturing toward Robin with an outstretched hand. Robin shrugged a shoulder as he crawled beside Oscar, suddenly feeling guilty for yelling. What if his father died right after he’d said something awful and mean? He’d never forgive himself.

“Is it something in particular? A bit of everything?” Robin remained silent, anxiously nibbling at a stray strip of skin on his bottom lip. “Talk to me…” Oscar pleaded.

Robin wriggled away from the comfort of his father’s arms and curled into a ball. What the hell was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t sleep all night because he kept seeing Oscar’s lifeless body on a bathroom floor, on a stretcher, in a hospital-.. dying in various awful ways again and again until he wasn’t sure what the difference was between someone else’s memories and his own imagination. That he just wanted his brain to stop and for everyone to just shut up-.. just for once, please.

Oscar didn’t know what to do with Robin’s prolonged silence. He desperately wanted to explain what Larry had been talking about, but Courtney was probably right about him being too young. Besides, he didn’t even know if that was the issue. It could’ve been Larry, or the fight with Levi, or the fact that he missed Alex-.. all of the above, something else entirely?

“I know this Levi kid is probably doing your head in, but you can’t just go around hitting people-.. it’s not okay.”

Robin knew full well that violence wasn’t the answer, but he couldn’t deny that it’d felt a little satisfying to take his frustrations out on Levi. Any normal child might’ve asked if their parents were angry with them-.. except Robin wasn’t normal, and he already knew that Oscar wasn’t mad, nor his mother, so he kept his mouth shut.

Grasping at straws, Oscar cast his mind back to when he was a child. Whenever he was in one of his moods, as his mother always put it, he just needed to know that someone would listen, and he certainly didn’t want to be yelled at or mithered-.. but most of all, he just wanted to be left alone, at least for a little while…

“You can have one day, okay? Just one.” Oscar acquiesced. Robin barely moved, giving the tiniest of nods in response.

“Alright.” Oscar sighed inwardly, tussling Robin’s ginger curls with affection before reluctantly leaving him be.

Previous // Next

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

A drabble where everyone ( M6 & Mc ) gets into the kitchen and each tries to make/ produce a dish. Like a potluck or communal cooking session!

~ anon friend, I would like to personally thank you for the amount of giggles I had to stifle while I wrote this ~

You and Portia stand shoulder-to-shoulder, surveying the abandoned Palace kitchens in front of you like comrades in arms. Asra is dumping out his unidentifiable satchel contents onto the counter with a casual cheerfulness. Muriel hides in the corner closest to them, clutching a basket of what seems to be mostly eggs. Portia tugs at your sleeve and nods in their direction.

"Think they'll be okay?"

"I think so," you hum, "Muriel cooks all of his own meals already, and he clearly has some kind of plan."

"Does ... Asra have a plan?"

"Doesn't look like it. But I've been eating his experiments for years - he knows what he's doing, even if he doesn't act like it."

Your words are confirmed as they set off a flashy explosion over the stove and then expertly manipulate it into the perfect flame for frying. The fact that the flames are purple doesn't seem to concern him.

"It'll be fine," you reassure Portia, "it's those three I'm more worried about."

The two of you turn your attention to the other half of the kitchen. Nadia is standing next to a pileup of expensive cheeses and fruits in various stages of preservation, eyeing the balance of the terrifyingly large kitchen knife in her hand. She twirls the blade around her fingers like it's a dagger and sends the tip of it flying into her wooden cutting board with a loud thunk. Lucio flinches as he passes by with a torso-sized mixing bowl in his arms.

"Any idea what she's up to?" You ask the Countess's closest friend.

Portia brightens. "Knowing her, she's catering to her strengths and making some kind of fancy charcuterie board. It's definitely going to be one of the best assortments you've ever had!" She watches the knife make another deep gouge in the wood. "She's used to stabbing much more - uh - lively targets, though, so I don't know if the cutting board will survive - what is he doing?"

The sound of a loud clang draws you back to where Lucio is standing in the doorway to the gardens. The mixing bowl he was carrying rolls at his feet where he dropped it on the ground, the noise reaching another crescendo as he pours a bag of what looks like charcoal into it. He gives it a focused nudge with his foot and crouches down with a match in his hand.

"Lucio?" You call cautiously, "What are you doing?"

He grins at you triumphantly. "I'm making a campfire!"

Before you can tell him not to, the match catches and the flames spread across the coals. I hope none of the chefs were personally attached to that bowl. You finally look at the person you've been most worried about, and pause in surprise.

Julian's standing quietly by counter, fingers interlaced, mouth shut tight with a meek look on his face. He's doing ... nothing. It's disconcerting, uncharacteristic, and makes you even more worried than you were before.

"Uhm, Portia?"

"Hm?"

"Is your brother okay? He's not moving."

"Oh!" She giggles, "He's doing exactly what I told him to do."

You look from her wide grin to his silent stance with mounting unease. "... what did you tell him to do?"

"Nothing!" She turns to you with a suddenly serious look on her face. "Trust me, it's better this way."

And with that ominous comment, she skips into the kitchen and joins her ghost of a brother with a dazzling smile. You shake off the chill creeping down your spine and head towards where Nadia is butchering her first cheese wheel.

"Hello, Nadia."

"Ah, you're a refreshing sight, darling." Her eyes are warm and gentle, her smile slightly forced, and her grip on the kitchen knife tight. "One moment, please."

She brings down the blade with a mighty thwack. Her third slice of brie sags away from the cheese wheel. The cutting board splits in two with a splintering crack. You watch as she calmly lifts the piece onto the elegant silver tray nearby, dumbfounded.

"Your - uh - I think your board broke."

"No need to fret. As you can see, I've come well-equipped."

She turns to a waist-high stack of wooden boards you'd previously missed with the grace of a ballerina, delicately lifting her next culinary victim onto the countertop and reaching for a pomegranate. She brings the heel of the knife down again and watches with grim satisfaction as the crimson juices splatter across the board.

"As much as I adore your company, I suggest you take your attention to those who need it more." You tune out the sound of Portia's annoyed scolding in the background and try to pay attention. Nadia smiles at you graciously, insistent. "I focus best when left to my own devices."

You nod and tiptoe away, passing by the battleground that is the Devorak sibling's collaborative project. You catch scraps of "don't touch that! You'll ruin it!" and "Pasha, let me do something" and decide to head towards Lucio's bowl of fire instead. He looks up at you with a grin from where he's squatting next to it, hacking away at a rabbit carcass.

"Hey! Come to see the magic happen?"

"Uh, sure." You kneel next to him. "What are you making?"

"Roast rabbit." He reaches into the unfortunate creature and pulls out a handful of organs with a sickening squelch. "I've been making this since I was four."

"Four years old?" You try to focus on the conversation, but something about the way he cuts the meat from the bones and skewers it is morbidly satisfying. "Who taught you?"

He pauses, crestfallen, and that's when you realize your mistake. "My dad ..." he mumbles, suddenly quiet. "He used to take me out on hunting trips with him, when I started to uh ... get on my mom's nerves."

You nod. You're not sure how to come back from this. "I'm sorry." Another awkward pause. Lucio absentmindedly rubs a handful of salt onto the rabbit meat and taps the end of the skewer against the rim of the fire-filled mixing bowl with a quiet series of tinktinktinks. "Well it sounds delicious!" You try with a big grin.

"The best in the world!" He crows, "you're going to LOVE it!"

You ignore the squabbling behind you, Julian's soothing "don't worry, it's supposed to smell like this for a bit" and Portia's aggravated "it smells like food poisoning, Ilya" as her accent thickens with frustration. You dust off your knees and head to the quieter corner of the kitchen.

Asra and Muriel stand comfortably over the magically controlled flames, which appear to have been split in two. Muriel's skillet has at least a dozen eggs simmering away in it. You watch as he crushes several foraged herbs in his fist and slowly sprinkles them in, the healthy orange yolks a sunny contrast to his sullen face.

Asra, on the other hand, is cheerily humming under their breath as they grab fistfuls of mixed ingredients from their chopping board and dump them into their pan. Even from up close you have no idea what he's making, but it smells delectable. They both turn to you with small smiles as you approach them.

"How're things over here?"

"Good!" The magician flicks their wrist, pausing the sound of sizzling and sending their experiment soaring into the air. The purple flame flies up with a mighty whoosh, encasing the mysterious concoction in a fireball, before it falls back into the pan. Somehow the smell gets even better and your stomach starts to growl. Asra smirks. "You sound hungry. Don't worry, it'll be ready to eat soon ... I think."

"What is it?"

They shrug with a giddy chuckle. "I don't know!"

Muriel sighs. "I'd tell you, but I wasn't watching closely enough."

You edge closer to his skillet and away from the evolving fire hazard. "What are you making?"

He turns to look at you with thinly-veiled concern, clearly worried about your observation skills. "Eggs."

You nod. "And?"

He slouches over the fire again. "Herbs."

"Anything else?"

"Butter."

He's clearly doing his best not to get overwhelmed by the chaos unfolding around around you. Mercifully, the Nevivon-special family feud behind you seems to have died down -

BOOM

You're taking it all back. You turn slowly, not sure if you want to know what's just happened.

Nadia's paused, knife in hand, the splintered remains of several chopping boards strewn at her feet. Lucio's holding the rim of his fire bowl protectively with his metal hand, the human one shielding himself with a skewer of half-cooked rabbit meat. The Devorak siblings are coated with soot, the space between them a charred shell of what used to be an oven. Julian slowly raises his eyepatch to reveal one clean, bloodshot eye, reaching the other hand out slowly to brush the mess off of his sister's face. Portia sputters and hacks out a single cloud of black smoke.

"Ilya -"

"I'm sorry."

"You're dead."

[coolcoolcoolbutwtf]

Death of your values and destruction of yourself

"Well would you look at that. The little robin tumbled out of its nest has it?" Shego's voice echoed playfully in the warehouse.

Robin jumped slightly, almost unnoticeable. flinching? No, he didn't just flinch he jumped. Shoulders tense already in a battle ready stance.

Danny paused in his approach. His head tilting because, Just what in the ancients names was he wearing and why was it familiar? That armor those colors that copper orange covering half of it.

What was up with Robin?

While Shego was busy wracking his mind about what could possibly have happened in the short amount of time he had left. Robin was subtly looking around but flinched when the wooden boards creaked from under Danny shifting his weight.

He hadn't just flinched in surprise but he jumped in what, fear? Of him, since when? " The glorified green secretary? " The Titan brats called him that so often that even the press picked it up! He was a highly qualified respectable henchmen!

Shego jumped down from his previously hidden perch atop the wooden crates. Coming out of the shadows behind Robin.

The kid's tense shoulders tensed even further quickly twerling around birdarangs no X's flying at him! Shego ei Danny dodged quickly. Ducking his head and got closer instead of away from Robin.

Shego who used to be Danny phantom. The phantom menace and a teen ghost hero immediately knew that something was seriously wrong with Robin. Something was up with the bird brat.

Because Shego would also behave like that when the status quo changed. When the status quo with roughs changes and suddenly all the shaky unsaid rules with roughs change.

Heroes and villains dance a dangerously deadly delicate tango with each other.

So when the villains suddenly start doing the macarena together you know shits about to be, well weird if not deadly.

And it's when Shego's countering Robins high kick that he finally recognizes just what it is the kid is wearing. The whites of shego's mask narrow and just for a second his grip on the teen fist hardens. For the split second it does Shego pulls the kid close to his face. Both of their white slit mask covered eyes meet.

It's a mother fucking Deathstroke mini suit. Danny feels like he's about to burst a fucking vain.

" Kid do you have any idea about what that suit means? " Shego says it calmly, levelled. He doesn't shout in his anger but oh how Danny desperately wants to.

The child remains silent but he has stopped his fighting to get free. It's quiet for a beat and when it's clear Shego won't get an answer.

" It means destruction Robin, It means death."

. . .

[hannahbarberra162]

Squace of Hearts

18+ MDNI

on Ao3 Part 2

(I found this image on Facebook, I can't find who made the collage).

For my Ace loving Nonnies. Thank you for 100 followers! This was supposed to be a one shot but...it's a two shot. Fluff and smut.

Synopsis: You run into your childhood friend, Ace, at a bar on some nameless island. You remember him being cute, but nothing like this. Sparks fly between you (literally) as you rekindle your childhood crushes.

(I know there is a portal fruit already. This one is a little different.)

~~~

“Come on, Squace. I taught you to cheat better than that,” you said with a purr as you leaned your forearm against the top of the wooden chair in front of you. A man with an orange cowboy hat perched on top of shaggy black hair paused as if frozen.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!” yelled Twin-Blade immediately, throwing all his cards in the air. The other Whitebeard Commanders sitting at the round wooden table didn’t seem as fussed. 

“How could you not know it yoi? Ace isn’t good at cheating, we just let him because it doesn’t help him win anyway,” replied The Phoenix calmly.  Meanwhile, the man sitting in the chair you were leaning on whipped his head around, eyes wide.

“Is it really you?” he said, standing up and turning around to get a look. Squace looked like the little boy you’d left behind on Dawn Island, but had clearly grown into a man. And what a man.

“In the flesh,” you said with a wink. Ace grinned widely and hugged you, picking you up and swinging you in a circle. You laughed as he swung you, it was so nice to see him after all these years. He set you on the ground and looked you up and down.

“You look great!” You laughed again and gave him a grin.

“You’re not looking so bad yourself there, cowboy,” you said as you flicked the brim of his hat. Ace smiled as he blushed at your compliment. And there he was, the boy that you’d had to leave behind all those years ago. You’d never forget that face.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to this beauty?” Twin-Blade had evidently relaxed since his outburst and was flashing you a toothy smile. 

“Oh, right. This is Dreamy. We grew up together on Dawn Island.” You laughed again.

“Aww, no one’s called me that in a long time, I missed it. But I guess you probably haven’t been called ‘Squace’ either.”

“Come, sit with us for a moment,” requested Izo. “I have so many questions about how all this happened,” he said, gesturing to Ace as a whole.

“Don’t want to interrupt your card game,” you said with a twinkle in your eye. 

“C’mon, we haven’t seen each other in years. I wanna catch up,” Ace pleaded with those puppy dog eyes you’d never been able to say no to.

“If you insist,” you said, grabbing an empty chair and hauling it to the table at which they were seated. You sat next to Ace, so close your thighs were almost touching. You knew Ace, of course, but the rest you only knew by their wanted posters. 

“So, you two grew up in the same town yoi?” The Phoenix asked. You and Ace exchanged a look.

“Not exactly. I lived way up in the mountains, Ace lived a little closer to the town.” 

“Then how did you meet if you were living so far apart?” You smirked at Ace, ready to tell the childhood story. He tried shaking his head to stop you.

“Dreamy, don’t. It’s embarrassing,” Ace whined. 

“I must, I must! I caught Ace spying on me when I was bathing in the river. So I broke his nose,” you said, reminiscing. The other men at the table laughed uproariously, while Ace turned as red as the beads around his neck.  

“I mean, I set it for him afterwards. He didn’t complain about it too much either. After that, we were thick as thieves. Right, Squace?” You patted Ace’s cheek affectionately, and he leaned into your touch. You weren’t going to embarrass him too much but a little ribbing was always fun.

“Why do you call him Squace?” Izo asked curiously.

“Ah, because his forehead is almost perfectly square. So square plus Ace, you get Squace.” His friends laughed heartily, Twin-Blade even with some tears in his eyes. Ace groaned.

“Then why does he call you Dreamy?” The Phoenix asked with a sly look. You had a feeling he already knew.

“Because I was the dreamiest girl he’d ever seen in his whole life ,” you said with a smile, putting your palms under your chin, your hands framing your face like a flower.

“All right, all right, enough with the kid stuff,” Ace said, still red as a tomato. 

“I’m just teasing you. I missed you a lot,” you told him in a sweet tone. “I’ve been keeping up with you, I have a copy of all your bounty posters. I got worried when I stopped seeing the Spade pirates, but it seems you’ve found your place,” you said gesturing around the table.

“Oh, sorry. Let me introduce everyone. This is Thatch, Izo, and Marco. We’re all Whitebeard Commanders.” Ace looked proud of himself and his friends. He had a right to be, it was incredibly impressive. They inclined their heads at you and waved as Ace said their names. Good looking buncha pirates, you thought. 

“Pleased to meetcha,” you said, saluting them with a finger. You’d been working on the Grand Line for years, but you’d never run into Whitebeard Commanders before. 

“Do you really have all my posters?” Ace asked, flabbergasted.

“Mm-hmm. In my best waterproof trunk for safekeeping. I take ‘em off the walls as soon as they’re updated, only taking the best copies. By the way, I saw Luffy’s starting to make a name for himself.” You weren’t as close with Luffy, Ace hadn’t brought him up the mountain that many times. Still, you kept the kid’s posters too. 

Ace beamed with pride, “yeah, he’s left Dawn Island too.”

“Does he still want to be -”

“The King of the Pirates,” you and Ace finished the sentence together. Even though you’d only met Luffy a handful of times, he’d mentioned his dream…a lot. 

“You’ve gotta tell us more about Ace as a kid,” Thatch begged. 

“Nah, that’s long behind us, I wanna hear about life with Whitebeard . ” You didn’t want to embarrass Ace too much in front of his crewmates. You did have quite a few Ace stories up your sleeve, but you didn’t want to injure his pride. Ace puffed up as he told you about how he was the Second Division Commander, how he’d tried to kill Whitebeard for 100 days, how he’d met Red Haired Shanks and thanked him for saving Luffy’s life, how he’d gotten his devil fruit on Sixis along with a first mate, and many other tales of adventure. He didn’t mention how attractive he’d become, how his lean muscles moved when he shifted, or how his adorable freckles made you want to kiss him all over his face. 

Your cheeks hurt from so much smiling and laughing at his tales. Now you were seeing the other side of Ace you’d missed. As he told his stories, he had swagger, confidence, charm, and humor. It was easy to see why people liked him and how he’d risen to prominence so young, he was effortlessly charismatic. Even when you were kids, you knew he’d do something great with his life. You didn’t have as much confidence about your own path. As he talked about his current life, you noticed all the other Commanders egging him on to tell more and more stories. They obviously cared for him and supported him. You were happy for Ace - he had a hard childhood, born under an unlucky star. He seemed to have found a new family to love him, which he deserved in spades. 

“But what about you?” Ace asked, “what have you been up to? Are you on a pirate crew?”

“Can’t you tell I’m a Marine?” you said sarcastically, gesturing to your outfit. You were wearing a very short dress, tall ass-kicking boots and had a knife strapped to your thigh. “No, I’m just joking. I tried the pirate thing. It wasn’t for me. I’m a mover.”

“A mover? What does that mean?” Ace asked, tilting his head like a puppy. He was so goddamn cute, you wanted to eat him up. You remembered him being a good looking kid, but nothing like this. 

“Just what I said. I move stuff. For a price.” 

“Like, you pick up couches and pianos and stuff?” 

“Something like that,” you replied cryptically. You were building anticipation, but you wanted to show off a little for Ace. Ace looked at you with just as much admiration as he always had and it did something to you. You’d missed the feeling of being someone’s crush and you wanted to relive it.

“You look smaller than you were at 15. How do you move heavy things?” Ace asked, looking you up and down. You absolutely loved it when he gave as good as he got.

“Oi! I’m not smaller! You just got bigger! And besides, like this,” you said, bringing your hands out in front of you. You turned your right and left hands one after the other, like you were twisting a doorknob. A blue portal opened under a beer that had just been set in front of Thatch. The full glass fell into the portal, coming out from an orange portal you’d opened right in front of you. You grabbed the beer before it smashed onto the table, and took a sip. Ace’s mouth was hanging open. You gently closed it for him with your palm. The other Commanders were looking with sharp interest. 

“I ate the move-move no Mi,” you explained. “It allows me to, well, move things. I can open a blue portal and anything that goes through it comes out the orange one. It’s handy. So I made a business where I move large or difficult things, for a high price. That’s what I do.” Well, that was one of the things you did. 

You could see Ace bubbling with questions. You looked at him indulgently, and said “go ahead, ask.” You answered question after question about your devil fruit from both him and his friends. How big could you make the portals (no size limit, but the larger the portal the more energy it took to operate), how much could you fit through the portal (no limit, but it did come out the other side the same size), can you move people (yes, including yourself), how far can you cast the portals (as far as you can see with your naked eye), and was there anything between the portals (no, they were directly connected, no space in between them). You showed off a few tricks, having your hand come out of the table, taking Marco’s glasses off his face and putting them on your own without getting up, simple things like that. After a long while you had enough, you didn’t like talking about yourself all that much. Besides, you had work to do the next day.

“Alright, alright. Listen, Ace, I’ve gotta go now but I’d love to catch up more. How long are you on this island?” 

“Coupla days, I think. Are you staying here for a few as well? Can we meet up for dinner? Here? At 6? Tomorrow?” His voice was going up in pitch the more questions he asked. He was so flustered, you couldn’t help but smile. And tease him just a little more.

“Mmhmm, that’s what’s nice about working for myself. I can leave - or not - when I want. See you tomorrow, cowboy,” you said, kissing his cheek and sauntering away. Ace blushed again. So goddamn cute.

~~~

Ace POV

Ace, along with most of the bar patrons, watched your hips swish out the doors of the bar. He hung his head. “Alright, have at it,” he grunted. He knew he was due for a large amount of teasing from his brothers. 

“Nah, that’d be no fun. First crushes are a sacred thing, man.” Thatch clapped Ace on the shoulder. “Everyone remembers the first person who set their heart aflame,” Thatch said wistfully, grabbing at his chest. “Leo, I’ll never forget you or your washboard abs.”

“True, mine was a girl named Aiko,” Izou chimed in. “I met her at a soba shop. We spent one summer together, enjoying each other’s company at night.” Izou put his chin on his hand, lost in his own thoughts.

“Isabella did it for me,” Marco replied. “I saw her in a swimming suit when I was 10 and I was done for. We get it yoi. Besides, what’s there to say? She’s pretty, powerful fruit, fun to be around. Did she really break your nose?”

Ace was surprised at their mature responses. He thought they’d be eating him alive for all the information you’d brought up or for how hard he’d tried to impress you. There was something about seeing you again that made him feel exactly as he did when he was a boy. You were so cool, so charming, so sexy. He had always tried to impress you, but he never felt like he measured up. Maybe now he could redeem himself. 

“Yeah, she did. She was so angry she punched me in the face, still completely nude after getting out of the river.” Ace still remembered your perfect boobs from that day. He had thought about them…many times over his teen years.

“High spirited,” Thatch said, looking for a waitress to order another beer. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” Ace thought back on some of his memories with you. Most were fun, hunting, trapping, foraging, things like that. You’d taught him how to play cards, how to cheat at cards, how to tie knots, how to do a lot of basic things that no one had bothered to teach him. You were a shining spot in a rather bleak childhood and he’d held onto your memory dearly. Yes, he had Luffy, but he’d always been watching over Luffy, protecting him. Until you left, he felt like there was someone watching over him . 

“When was the last time you saw each other?” Izou asked, swirling his sake gently.

“Oh, well, we met when I was 11 and she left when I was 13… so she would have been 15, I think? She sailed off the island and I didn’t hear from her again. We’re only a couple years apart in age.”

Marco furrowed his brow. “She set sail at 15 yoi? With her family?” 

Ace shook his head. “No, she lived alone. No family. She just up and left one day,” Ace said, shrugging. It had broken his heart when he’d realized you really weren’t coming back for him. The two of you had talked endlessly about leaving Dawn Island, but he always thought you’d do it together. 

“So, she lived by herself as an orphan child, in the mountains, and set sail alone at 15? What the fuck was happening on your island yoi? She’s lucky to be alive and not enslaved.” Ace hadn’t really thought about it that way. It was all normal to him - he was basically feral until Makino and Sabo had helped him. Why did you set sail so young? Maybe he’d ask you tomorrow. 

“And what about those portals, man?” Thatch exclaimed, getting his hands on a frosty glass. “Really interesting. I wonder if she fights with ‘em. Like you think you’re gonna slice her but bam! You’ve just stabbed yourself in the side.” The others agreed, and talked about various applications they’d use it for. Marco, of course, was curious about its medical application and if it could be used surgically. Ace’s imagination ran wild when he saw your power. He really wanted to see more of it in action. 

“Well, you’re all gonna hafta wait to find out,” Ace declared. “None of you are welcome to meet up with her tomorrow.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“And why is that Squace ?” Izou said with a grin. Ah, there it was. It was bound to happen sooner or later. He knew with the kind of details that you’d shared there’d be no way they could resist the bait. 

“Yeah, show us your forehead!” Thatch reached for Ace’s neck, trying to get him into a headlock. Thatch wrestled with Ace playfully while Izou and Marco watched, cheering Thatch on.

“We wanna see the square yoi!” 

“Is that why you have those curtain bangs? And wear that hideous hat?”

“C’mon Thatch, aim for his sides yoi, he’s ticklish!” 

“Don’t let his dreaminess get in your way!” 

It was all good fun. Ace wasn’t using his fruit power and Thatch was a good wrestler so it was pretty even. They had to stop when they smashed a table and got in trouble with the waitress. Afterwards, they walked back to the Moby Jr, where they were all sleeping for the night. Maybe Ace should rent a hotel room for tomorrow? Nah, that would be too much. He didn’t know if you were actually interested or just being a flirt. Either way, he was looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night. 

~~~

Your POV

You took your time getting ready to meet up with Ace. You were traveling through the Grand Line alone, so you didn’t have a ton of stuff with you. You were always ready to leave at a moment’s notice, grab-and-go style. Even so, you put in your best effort.  He was so good looking, he had to have a lot of experience with women. You wanted to live up to his expectations. You gave yourself a final twirl in the bathroom mirror and left your hotel room. Well, not exactly your room, you weren’t paying for it. You just portaled yourself into empty rooms and it usually worked out just fine.

Ace was even better looking in person than you’d seen in his posters. Sure, you pulled whenever you wanted to, but this was Ace . You’d thought about him so many times over the years, the sweet kisses you’d shared together as you “taught him how to kiss properly.” He was so special to you, really the only good thing that had ever happened to you on that shithole island. Sure you could be witty and flirty, but beneath that was an intense desire to not completely fuck this up.

You arrived at the bar around 6 and took a seat. You didn’t see him yet, and portaled yourself a beer while you waited. It was always amusing to switch things around and watch people’s confusion. You had just switched a guy’s fork and knife back and forth for the fifth time when you spotted Ace through the window. You’d enjoyed meeting his fellow Commanders but hoped they wouldn’t join in. You smiled and raised your glass, showing him you were there. He smiled that beautiful 1,000 watt smile that made your heart stop. He walked up to your table and plopped down. 

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” You couldn’t stop yourself, teasing him was so fun and easy.

“What’s going on, Dreamy? Starting without me?” You grinned and portaled him a menu to look for something to drink. Ace took the menu cheerfully. 

“What are you drinking? Looks good.” 

“Oh, ah, I just sort of grabbed it, I’m not sure where it is on the menu.” You didn’t offer to take the menu either.

“Isn’t that nice, you taking care of me on the first date?”

“ Is this our first date? I seem to recall some other times we were together…” The two of you spent hours together, drinking and chatting, reminiscing over old memories. It felt you’d been separated for months, not years. You’d clicked since the moment you’d met as kids and things were no different now. 

After your first round, he handed you the menu again. “Whatcha thinking about drinking next?” You glanced over it but didn’t take it from him.

“You pick, I don’t care.”

After a few hours and many drinks, you were tipsy and wanted to get a little more forward with your flirting. 

“Ace, let’s get out of here. I wanna take a walk.” You didn’t wait for his response, just made a large portal, grabbed his arm, and brought him through it. You held him up by his waist since it was disorienting the first few times to go through a portal. He sagged against you, looking a little worse for the wear. 

“But what about the bill, we didn’t pay -”

You waved off his concern. “I left money on the table. I know you’ll be here a few more days, I won’t getcha banned from the place. Don’t worry about it.” You weren’t lying, you did actually pay for the drinks you’d ordered. With someone else’s money. Usually you’d just portal yourself some money from a marine base or some noble’s house when you needed some cash. So what? It wasn’t like the Marines or some fat cats would miss a few thousand Beri. You weren’t exactly a pirate, you didn’t have a crew or your own boat. You just sailed around for work, taking what you wanted and then leaving. It was similar-ish to piracy but not exactly the same. Your moral compass didn’t have any objections and your wallet didn’t either. 

Ace recuperated quickly and was excited at having gone through a portal. You could tell he was going to start asking you more questions, so you put your hand on his shoulder and backed him into the brick wall right behind him. You put your hand on the wall behind him, even though he was taller than you.

“Ace, you wanna try something I’ve been thinking about?” Ace nodded solemnly. You slowly inched your face closer to his, bringing your mouth near his face. Ace put his hands around your waist, bringing you closer. You gripped his bare shoulders tightly and exhaled into his ear. Ace shivered but didn’t move. You knew what he thought was going to happen but you couldn’t resist. 

“Do you wanna try joining our devil fruit powers together?” you whispered seductively into his ear. You thought you’d tease him but he quickly turned the tables on you. He leaned back further against the wall and leaned his foot against it, like he was getting comfortable. He moved one of his hands from your waist to behind your neck, pulling you even closer.

“I can think of something else I’d like to do together,” he whispered as an answer. You loved seeing this side of Ace. Maybe he’d gotten his footing after catching up with you at the bar. “It’s been a while since my last lesson. I’d like to show you what I’ve learned.”

“I’d like that too,” you said huskily. He brought both of his hands up to cradle your face, bringing his lips down to your own. You were looking up at his freckled face, yearning written all over yours.

“I can tie a monkey’s fist knot in under two minutes,” he said, ghosting his lips on yours as he spoke. He didn’t kiss you, just released your face from his hands and returned them to your waist. Your mouth dropped open and he closed it with his palm, like you’d done to him. It was your turn to flush while he smirked. Oh, he’d grown up all right. 

Once your face returned to a normal color, you punched Ace in the shoulder. “That’s not funny!”

“I think it’s pretty funny,” Ace said languidly. You huffed, but smiled after. You liked playing the game as much as he did.

“I do wanna try combining our powers though, for real. I wanna see if we can send flames through a portal.” Ace’s eyes lit up. 

~~~

It wasn’t even a big fire on the Moby Jr., you didn’t see what the issue was. It was put out pretty quickly, too. Besides, Ace had set the ship on fire before, you could see the scorch marks on the deck. Yes, it was late at night and everyone was sleeping but you had successfully combined your powers, wasn’t that interesting? The Phoenix apparently did not think so.

“What were you thinking yoi?” Marco said, shaking his head at the two of you. You felt like you were being scolded by a parent. You were gonna let Ace take the lead on this one.

“Um…we were trying to see if we could find a new battle strategy?” Ace answered, trying to see if that would satisfy Marco.

“Why would you want to battle our own ship yoi?” Marco replied, exasperated. You snickered, what a bad answer. “And you, Dreamy,” Marco said, rounding on you, “I expected better from you.” Your laughter stopped in the face of the stern half transformed Phoenix in front of you. Dang, this is what guilt felt like. 

“We can fix it in the morning. What do we need? Wood? Money?” You weren’t worried. You could get those things no problem. There was a Marine base on the other side of the island, easy pickings.

Marco had a chilling grin on his face. “Oh no, yoi. You have to buff that out by hand. Sandpaper, vinegar, that kind of thing. See you tomorrow, bright and early yoi.” Marco walked away, smoothing his feathers. You glared at Ace behind Marco’s back. 

“What?! It wasn’t all my fault! I don’t control the portals!” You weren’t actually mad, it had been really fun to blast things with fire, even if it meant more work tomorrow. And yes, maybe you had partially been at fault. But it’s not like you were going to disobey the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, so you’d be working with Ace tomorrow morning to fix the ship. You’d had worse jobs.  You put your arm around his waist and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Guess I’ll be under you tomorrow, Commander. Maybe for the whole day,” you said silkily.

“I can be a stern taskmaster, hope you’re up for it,” he cooed.

“I’ve been known to enjoy a little strict supervision now and again,” you murmured close to his ear.

“Goodnight, Squace.” You turned to him and stood on your toes, asking with your eyes once more for a kiss. 

“Goodnight, Dreamy,” as he leaned in to capture your lips with his, you escaped through a portal at your feet in the last second, leaving only the echoing sound of your laughter. 

[luveline]

hello pretty!! i’ve been away from your blog for the past few days so i’m not sure if your requests are open or closed. if they’re closed, ignore this. however, if requests are open, do you think you could write something about the reader finding their picture in steve’s wallet? like steve asks reader to grab his wallet and she realizes that her picture is sticking out? maybe on the back of the pic it says like “my girl <3”

thank you so much for your request! you find your photo in steve's wallet ♡ fem!reader | 1.2k words

"We're gonna be late," you say gently. 

Steve, evidently not feeling quite as calmly about it as you do, sends you a remarkably handsome glare. "I know." 

You know that he knows. "Just making conversation, sweetheart." 

He softens at your tone and pet name, pausing in his frantic tying of his shoelaces to smile. "How mad do you think he'll be?" 

"It's Lucas. He won't mind, he's…" You take a step toward him where he's sitting on the bottom step to stroke his hair, though you're careful not to mess it up. "Forgiving." 

You tuck a rogue lock of hair behind his ear and he moves upward into your hand, a stolen moment of affection that you certainly can't afford. He's lovely — how can you not get lost together like this? And you feel so lucky that he not only indulges but encourages these gaps in the day. 

"You're pretty," he says. 

You gasp near fanatically and kiss the top of his head. "You don't have your wallet, do you?" you ask into his hair. 

The both of you laugh at his having been caught. "You do look pretty!" he calls as you ascend the stairs behind him. "I wasn't lying!" 

Steve leaves his wallet everywhere. The car on the daily, his room practically every time you try to leave the house together. He's even left it on his seat at the movies a handful of times. Because he's nice and sweet and you kind of really like him (he's your boyfriend and you love him), you've become his wallet-keeper, of sorts. If he doesn't know where it is, you do. 

You bounce up the steps and into his bedroom, the evidence of your sleepover mostly cleaned away but lingering. The smell of your deodorant and perfume, your dirty pyjamas in his laundry basket, the cup of water he'd brought you this morning on the bedside table. You pull open the drawer and watch the glass ripple with the movement, his wallet exactly where you'd figured it would be next to a box of something you'd rather not share and your hairbrush. 

You notice one of your discarded socks hiding just under his desk and bend to pick it up quickly, but Steve's wallet tumbles out of your hand in your hurry, and coins fly everywhere. 

"You okay?" he calls. 

"Are you putting your jacket on?" 

"Don't change the subject!" 

"Are you?" 

You can hear his low grumbling from here. 

You fall down to your knees and scrabble for his lost change, cents and quarters splayed over the floor. Once you've scooped them into a pile, you push open his wallet with your free hand and shepherd the change back into the little coin pocket, making sure to zipper it closed and avoid what just happened happening again. 

Scatterbrained idiot, you think fondly. Total ditz.

That's when you notice the photo tucked behind his clear panel. Despite knowing more often than not where Steve's wallet is, you don't look inside it unless he asks you to get a five real quick. There's no need to flatten it out, and so you've never seen the photo he keeps inside. 

It's a candid photo of you. You're facing toward him but looking out the window as the first snow of the season came down thick and fine as powdered sugar, a day from your first Christmas together. You'd been in total awe, your hand reaching toward him as it is in the picture, your lips pursed around his name. 

Look, Steve, it's snowing. 

You'd heard the subsequent click of the camera and his flirting remark. "Beautiful. And the snow doesn't look half bad, either." 

Has he had this photo in there since Christmas? How often does he look at it? 

Does he show other people? 

You pull the photo from it's walled casing and flip it over to see if you're right about when it was taken, but Steve has neglected to add the date. All he's written is 'my girl' in his chicken scratch scrawl. It feels painstakingly tender anyhow.

You can imagine him with his open wallet pressed to his chest and a proud smile stretched over his lips. That's my girl. 

"Baby?" Steve calls. 

You slap his wallet closed and pull up onto footing made wobbly by giddiness. "Sorry, I'm coming," you say, pushing out of his room. When he sees you at the top of the stairs, he grins. 

"Get lost?" he asks mildly, extending his hand. 

You intertwine your fingers for those last few steps, an unnecessary contact. He lets your hand drop as soon as you've made it to the front door. 

"I dropped it and all your change exploded." 

"You could've left it. I would've picked it up later." 

You open the front door and turn so you're walking backwards slowly. Steve locks the door. 

"I saw what's in your wallet." 

"Yeah? What's the verdict? Think I need to pick up the graveyard shift?" 

You stop as he turns around. The breeze whips at his hair and jacket, and his cheeks are sensitive to the cold. He looks cute with a blush. 

"The photo. I didn't know you kept my photo in your wallet." 

Steve's smile turns sticky-sweet. Like honey, his lips barely part as he says, "Of course I do." 

Of course he does? Fuck, he really doesn't understand the effect he has on you even know. You try to hold your breath and keep in a flattered laugh, but it bubbles up quick and light, a peel of happy giggles. "Oh, no," you murmur to yourself. 

"It's a really good photo." 

"No, it's nice." 

"Then what's wrong?" 

He crosses the last of the pathway to meet you in the middle. 

"Nothing's wrong," you clarify, hands cold as Steve pulls them into his own, "I just didn't know you did that. I love you." 

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I love you too. A lot. Obviously I keep you in my wallet." 

He holds his arms out in preparation as you fall into him, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm. He pretends you've knocked the wind out of him, leaning backward under your weight. The facade doesn't last long. He groans, his 'I'm really happy and you're really close to me' groan, ducking his head back. You do the same, holding his baby brown eyes. His returning smile is so loving, so disgustingly, overwhelmingly cheesy that you feel quite winded yourself, and you have just enough time to laugh breathlessly before he's leaning down to kiss you chastely. 

He pecks you twice for luck, lips dotting tiny kisses all the way to your ear as he pulls you in tight for another hug. His cheek fits perfectly against your forehead. 

"We're gonna be really late, aren't we?" you ask softly. 

"No." He rubs his cheek against your forehead. "Yeah, maybe. Wanna call it quits?" 

You get your arms hooked behind his neck. "Not a chance," you chastise. Though, if you're honest, around Steve your resolve becomes thin and brittle as sugar paper. If he asked you again, you'd say yes. 

You don't give him the option. "C'mon, loverboy. We have a basketball game to catch." 

If you cling to him the entire time, that's nobody's business but yours.