#me: aghast at how old i am...

[eevees-hobbies]

How the Hashira sleep with you and your 9-month-old between you

Author's Note: I was up at 2 AM last night writing in my notes app because this idea struck me. This is my first time writing headcanons, but as always, I’m inspired by some of the fantastic ideas of other content creators!

Content Warning: You have a child with your partner, and they sleep in bed with you. There is also a brief mention of breastfeeding. This will not be for you if you’re sensitive to those things. This is pure fluff.

How the Hashira sleep with you and your 9-month-old between you

Contains: Rengoku, Uzui, Iguro, Shinazugawa & Tomioka 

Kyojuro Rengoku 

Kyo was meant for this. There’s no reality in which Kyojuro doesn’t want to be a father to as many kids as you’re willing to give him. His arm is always wrapped around you both—having you and the baby in the same room as you all sleep, being able to provide comfort, body heat, and a sense of protection, brings him so much joy. 

Kyojuro wakes up periodically during the night to look at you both as you sleep. He will also pay extra attention to checking on your child, placing a large hand on their small frame and feeling the rise and fall of their chest; he’ll smile to himself—his child is happy, healthy, and safe. 

Rengoku is also great at soothing the baby when they wake up: “Shhh, little one. Let’s let mommy sleep.” 

Nine times out of ten, he’ll be able to put your baby back down to sleep. The one time he can’t, the child will need to be fed, and Rengoku swells with pride as he watches you nurse them.

Once you’re done nursing, he’ll quickly run to get you some water and a small snack because he knows it takes a lot of energy to breastfeed. 

“You’re a good mother,” he says as he strokes your hair, looking over your shoulder at your milk-drunk child. “I can’t wait to do this again and again.”

Tengen Uzui

Tengen is annoyed when you place the child next to you—you didn’t even ask him! You explain that it’s easier for night feedings, and the baby sleeps better between you both. He admits it’s true, and the change drastically improved his own sleep. 

But Tengen HATES giving up the level of intimacy he had with you and many times ponders if kicking the baby out would be the obvious solution. With venom in your tone, you assure him there’s no need to bother his pretty little head with such ridiculous thoughts. He is aghast, but admittedly, he likes that you’re protective of their child, even against him.

Eventually, the child moves to their room, and Tengen has you all back to himself during the night! And, oh, has he missed it.

Obanai Iguro

Obanai really wishes he could get his bed back and is grumpy at first as despite his small stature, he takes up a LOT of space when sleeping. 

But his heart melts as your child always curls up against him, seeking his father’s warmth and comfort. He’ll stare down at them, still unable to believe he contributed to something so beautiful and perfect. 

He’ll plant a kiss on his child’s small tuft of black hair and then on the crown of your head, his arm snaking around his child, and holding your hand while you sleep quietly. So yeah, he’ll start off annoyed, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When you suggest moving the child out of your shared room, Obanai is taken aback.

“Let’s not be too hasty! They sleep so well with us.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi grew up sleeping in the same room as his family, so he isn’t surprised or put out that the baby sleeps between you both. 

He’d never admit it, but he feels a lot less anxiety at the thought of something happening to you and your child when you’re all sleeping together. 

Sure, sometimes he’ll wake up with a baby foot in his mouth or get woken up by a sleepy yet firm baby smack to his face, but he’ll grumble lovingly and drift back off to sleep, finding comfort in the fact that his family is safe and sound. 

Sometimes, Sanemi has to pull the baby off you at night when it spreads its limbs over your face. 

“Hey, get back here!”

Giyu Tomioka

Giyu is not a fan of a baby sleeping in his bed and will likely never be. He misses cuddling with you, holding your hand as you sleep, and waking up as the little or big spoon to your duo.

It’s hard to be a spoon in a trio—he feels more like a fork.

He’s an amazing father, though, and leads the nighttime routine of bath time, bedtime stories, and gently rocking the small baby in his arms. 

Eventually, he’ll rearrange the futons so that you’re between the baby and himself, which is his way of getting to spoon you again. Clever!

[wrioluvr]

subby vampire x dom male reader pt 2 pt 1

thank u guys for liking kliff!! he's so baby. felt kinda mean and thought about a scenario where reader is like, a regular monster fucker and poor kliff finds out he hooked up with another vampire and gets super jealous teehee... but this is wholesome tho.

content: reader is kind of a player, blowjob (reader receiving), reader loves tormenting the poor old man, more plot-focused than pure smut

★ ; 🦇🍷. . ♱

after visiting kliff at his crumbling manor a few more times, you decided that you were getting tired of making the trip out into the woods everytime, and invited him over to your house instead, an invitation he eagerly accepted. though he kept a calm composure, inwardly, his thoughts were running wild - he would finally be able to bask in a whole home full of your scent.... maybe even steal a few small trinkets he could toy with whenever he felt lonely... or... or even get a feel of your bed, where he fantasised about waking up next to you and spending the rest of his days as your faithful househusband. oh, how delightful.

"thank you ever so much for allowing me to enter your abode. i am most honoured." thanking you profusely, he elegantly sat down on your sofa, only to immediately scrunch up his face in discomfort. you stared at him, puzzled. "what's wrong? you don't like my home?"

"no, no... it's not that... it's just that... this scent is so familiar. in an unnverving way..." he mumbled, talking to himself. suddenly, a look of recognition, mixed with horror, dawned on his face. "correct me if i'm wrong, but... there's not a chance you've had another vampire over.... is there?"

"oh! i forgot you vampires have a heightened sense of smell. yeah, i hooked up with another vampire like, 3 weeks ago." you said nonchantly, like it was the most insignificant thing ever. kliff merely gaped at you, aghast at your casualness. "so... so... i'm not your first vampire relationship?" he asked meekly, almost like he was afraid of the answer.

"well, yes. i dated, hmm...." you start to list them on your fingers. "two vampires, one werewolf, one merman... oh, right, and one evil ass fairy. he was mean."

poor kliff looked like he was about to collapse, his hand clutching his chest dramatically. thankfully he was sitting down, otherwise he would have fallen over. "where on earth do you even find these creatures?"

"i get around."

"and you never thought to mention this?!"

"i mean, i didn't really think it was important..."

kliff sighed, suddenly feeling a little insecure at his complete lack of romantic experience in contrast to your many flings. "may i at least see what your past vampire suitors looked like?" he didn't want to admit it, but he was suddenly feeling very clingy, even more than usual. he had to be better than all your exes! so that you wouldn't leave him like you left them!

"sure. here you go." you pull out your phone and show him a picture, only for kliff to gasp loudly and clutch his chest even tighter. what a drama queen.

"HIM."

"you know him??"

"that little whore was going around sleeping with every man and woman in town a hundred years ago! i cannot BELIEVE he is still so promiscuous in this day and age. he even seduced you..."

"woah! language, kliff!"

kliff stops mid-ramble and clears his throat in embarassment. "my apologies. this is most uncouth of me. i do not know why i am getting so frustrated over this. the two of you are not seeing each other anymore, correct?"

"yes. you're the only one i'm seeing right now."

"and, if i may be so bold to inquire,,,, how was he like as a lover?"

"he was kinda annoying." kilff let a smirk escape his lips upon hearing this. "i knew it-" "the head was good though."

"what- what does 'head' mean?"

"he sucked my dick." you say bluntly.

"oh, good heavens."

"don't be a prude! wait... kliff, are you jealous of him?"

"i most certainly am not."

"at your big age? please be serious." you tease, amused at how possessive he suddenly got.

"do NOT make fun of me. i said i'm not." the pout adorning his face said otherwise.

kliff barely noticed it, but slowly he inched closer and closer to you, eyes scanning your neck as he frantically searched for bite marks.

"did he bite you anywhere? did it hurt? you must know, i would never even consider drinking from you, right?" he took your hand, eyes searching desperately for validation, any form of praise that indicated you thought he was the better vampire.

you rolled your eyes. "jeez, kliff. i didn't take you for the possessive type. don't worry, none of my previous vampire lovers have drunk from me."

that did little to reassure him, since he was on the same page. "then... then... i must be better at this 'head' thing!" he declares, face full of misplaced determination. you almost double over laughing.

"it's not a competition! my god, you're so unserious."

"it does not matter to me! i must be better than that lustful shame of a vampire at every aspect. especially since we are of the same species."

"okay, okay. calm down. i'll let you try."

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

"just let me know you can't breathe or whatever. i'll guide you through your first time, yeah?" kliff nods, a blush extremely prominent on his undead features as he knelt between your thighs. he quite enjoyed this... submissive position.

"also- watch the fangs." the authoritative, yet gentle tone of your voice sent shivers down his spine.

he himself could be considered a monster, but he paled in comparison to the monster that sprung out of your pants once he clumsily undid the zipper. kliff gasped, a look of pure lust and nervousness written all over his expression as your slightly erect cock hovered over his face.

"so... basically... you just put it inside your mouth, then start sucking it. easy enough, right? come on, don't tell me you've never heard of a blowjob in your entire existence."

"of course i have..... i admit, i own quite a bit of... erotic fiction." he mumbles, eyes still on your cock, cheeks growing redder by the second. "but, goodness, it's so different seeing a real phallus up close. especially one of your size."

"phallus??? just say cock."

"mhm...." he hesitates, unsure where to even begin. flustered, he looks up imploringly, silently begging for you to guide him.

you chuckle at his frozen state, completely at a loss on what to do. "so needy. i'll help you."

tenderly, you run a hand through his soft hair, applying just a little bit of power to tug his head forward, guiding him to your tip. obediently, he opened his mouth, taking the shaft inside. it was warm, his rough tongue grazing over your tip, causing you to grip his hair a little tighter. kliff let out a masochistic moan in response. slowly, he ventured further down your length, but unable to reach the base without gagging. he looked up at you with apologetic eyes, but you squeezed his shoulder to let him know he was doing well. "good job, kliff. you're a natural." spurred on by your praise, kliff found a lewd rhythm, mouth bobbing up and down in a continuous passionate attempt to make you feel good.

your small grunts of pleasure kept him going. panting, you ask, "you sure you've never done this before, kliff? you're so good." he frantically shakes his head, mouth still full of cock, as if the idea that he engaged in such intimate acts with anyone but you was horrifying. he was loyal like that. it was intoxicating, the head only vampires could provide - fangs lightly grazing your cock's sensitive areas, the slight thrill unmatched. merman head was sloppy, werewolf head was rough, but vampire head was a little dangerous. you liked that.

soon enough, you were about to cum. you warned him, patting his shoulder twice, he vigorously nodded, giving you permission to cum inside his mouth. he'd only ever been used to having blood in his mouth, so having your cum inside instead was a new experience. but he liked it. maybe a little too much, as he swallowed it so enthusiastically. you gazed upon him affectionately, finding his virgin excitement over such lewd matters endearing.

"how was i?" the breathless question hung in the air, a reminder of the atmosphere thick with your intertwined tension.

cupping his face with one hand, the other stroking his hair soothingly, you muttered the words he most wanted to hear. "you were better than him."

kliff jumps into your arms, nuzzling his face into your shoulder. "thank you. you're the absolute best." he's so content to spend the rest of his days with you. treat him with care, yeah?

>ᵥᵥ< 💘

tags: @4eaever @szapizzapanda @flyingsquids @vampmasc

omg i'm so happy with this one, one of my fav writings i've ever done so far. i felt like i characterised kliff and captured their dynamic quite well here hehehe

[quitealotofsodapop]

I’m already in love with Peach Soup AU. I know a bunch of people are itching to know how Macaque is gonna fit in/react to all this (and I am among them), but I REALLY wanna know how MK growing up reacted to anyone slandering his amazing, bestest big brother in the world? Be it school bullies or rude customers at the restaurant?

Ref.

Macaque is released by the Lady Bone Demon as in canon, with a hint to where Sun Wukong may be hiding.

However, instead of Macaque's smoke monster drawing out Sun Wukong, it drew out someone else.

MK, a young monkey demon proudly declaring that The Monkey King is his big brother!

Macaque smiles at first, thinking that Wukong had gone and taken in a protégé.

Macaque probes for information, gathering that Wukong... isn't going by that title anymore. He goes by Peaches. He's laugh if it wasn't all so confusing.

The little brother is nervous, asking if Macaque knows anything "about kicking butt monkey-style"? Seems that Wukong himself has gotten a bit rusty and needs some help relearning the basics. MK also wants to learn how to fight, declaring that "as siblings we spilt it evenly!". He also bashfully admits that he wants to be powerful enough so that he can defend his big brother from those who would make fun of him.

How sweet.

And how easy it is to get the kid and Wukong alone so he can confront his old friend one on one.

Macaque initially thinks its Wukong playing coy when the ginger monkey seems not to know what he's talking about. Until... Wukong seems to genuinely not seem to recognise him. HIM!?! How dare he!?

Macaque: "How can you be so selfish!? Did you even care to remember me!?" Peaches: "Uhh. Long story - but I got major memory loss. Btw, off-topic, but are you single by any chance?" :3? MK, aghast and pinned by the Staff: "BRO!" Peaches: "What? He looks cool." Macaque: (*stops grasping Peaches' by the collar, looking despaired*) Macaque: "You... do you remember anything? When does your memory begin and end? Tell me!" Peaches: "Whoa ok. i remember up til about... 18 years ago to now. Anything before then, nada." Macaque: "You..." (*Macaque collapses to his knees, crying*) Peaches: "Hey, hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to forget anyone.... I guess you and the old guy were friends?" Macaque, looks up with a mix of disgust and grief: "You have no idea."

From Macaque's perspective; the King he knew might as well have DIED those 18 years ago.

And even if Peaches regains his memory in the future... the last Macaque ever saw of his Peaches was that final fight all those centuries ago.

Macaque wanted to kill Sun Wukong when he came back to life. But he didn't think how he would feel if he were to have truly died.

Now he's experiencing it with his mate's new persona standing before him, offering a smile so kind that it throws the shadow back to when they were more than just friends...

Macaque sinks into the shadows to be alone with his thoughts. He needs to find Iron Fan.

[sillyteecup]

That Dam attitude

Jey Uso × black!reader

Warnings:

18+

Strong language

Suggestive content

Violence, I guess? (don't thump your partners with ores)

Translation: Thixo=God

~A.N: This is me, entering the Bloodline community with a little love for Jey (I need Triple H to stop playing with him and give him a title opportunity) while working on that little Roman AU. Hope you like it. Enjoy. ❤️

30 minutes. That's how long Josh had been sitting on the other side of their shared kayak pouting like a 5 year old. Arms folded, lips pressed, eyebrows furrowed-the whole package. All because he much rather would've stayed back at their booked villa fucking instead of actually adding some adventure to their vacation.

And Siya, was frankly tired of it. "Not you still sitting over there pouting and shit," she commented with an annoyed look on her face.

Looking equally vexed, he replied, "Not you got us in the middle of the fucking ocean at 8 am on vacation," to which Siya rolled her eyes.

"First of all, dumbass it's a dam. Second of all, I did not come all the way out here to fuck, sleep, eat and repeat, I came out here to have fun and relax," she said. The fact that they were in Cape Town where there was so much to see and do (for Josh anyway since Siya had been there plenty of times as a child) and all he wanted to do was move like a damn Neanderthal amazed her. Fucking men.

"Oh, and praytell Siya, which part of any of this is fun or relaxing?" he asked incredulously, gesturing at the kayak. "And I want you to think very carefully about your answer because if you tell me some bullshit about connecting with nature, I will flip this bitch over and we gon' swim back to the dock," he warned.

At this, Siya's eyes narrowed. There was no way this man was serious. "So you, Joshua Fatu, mean to tell me that you would trade in all of this natural beauty and peace for sex? Is that what you're saying to me right now?" They were on a kayak on the Waterfront dam with a perfect view of the Table mountain and the overall serene vibe of one of the most beautiful cities in Africa. And this man wanted to trade that in for some pussy? Bomb pussy, that is but semantics.

He smirked. "Ey ma, let's just say I'd prefer to be knee-deep different type of natural beauty, know what I'm sayin'?" he said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Usually she'd find this funny and fold like a pretzel, but this time around her pussy was sore from all the work he'd been putting in since they landed 2 days prior, she was already running out of thongs since he kept tearing them off her (with the promise to buy her ne ones of course) and frankly, she was starting to miss being able to walk without holding onto something for support. As a matter of fact, part of her had actually considered having him admitted into a rehab because his addiction to her cooch was on its way to paralyzing her from the waist down.

"You need help. Professional help," she snarked, pointing her acrylic decorated nail at him, making him chuckle.

"Girl you better stop acting like you don't like creaming on this shit," he laughed, right as an older white couple rowed by. They looked aghast, as though they'd heard his comment, which mortified Siya.

"Joshua!" she scolded before apologizing profusely to the other couple, who continued clutching their pearls while they did their best to get as far away as possible from the younger pair. She shot Josh a deadpan look, one he responded to with an innocent shrug.

"Look babygirl, ain't my fault white folk can't mind their business," he said defensively.

Siya lifted her ore and gently thumped him on the head with it, making him hiss. "No, but your big ass mouth yelling our business for the whole fucking continent to hear is your fault. No home training, I swear," she complained as she continued to row.

Still rubbing his head and trying to row with one hand, he frowned. "Oh but when you're the one hollering at the top of your lungs for me to fuck you like a little slut while doin' tricks on the dick, might I add, it's all good?" Josh retorted, to the horror of another older couple rowing by.

"Thixo," Siya heard the older woman gasp. She sent the lady an apologetic smile and let out a string of "sorries" in Xhosa, before turning to glare at Josh again.

"The fuck all these old people doing out here so early anyway?" he exclaimed, albeit, quietly. "This is a sign if you ask me."

Siya was seething. "Fuck, you," she hissed with a deadly glare to match.

"Tuh, I wish you would," Josh replied, earning another, this time less gentle, thump to the side of his head. He raised his eyebrows, challenging his girlfriend to do it again. "Girl, you better stop playing with me, 'else it won't be no discussion."

Another thump.

"Siya," he warned, mildly irritated.

Usually she would stop but this time she was annoyed by his prior antics. "Joshua," she mocked him, moving to deal another thumped, only for him to grab her ore.

His face was set in stone. He definitely wasn't playing anymore. "Stop it," he commanded.

Siya however, was not moved in the slightest. "Or what?" she challenged.

He leaned closer to her, careful not to tip the kayak over as no one was rowing at the moment. "Keep fucking around and you gon' find out real soon," he growled.

Siya kissed her teeth defiantly. "You ain't gon' do shit."

Josh chuckled darkly as he sat back up straight. This girl was clearly dead set on testing his patience and she was gonna reap what she sowed. She didn't know it yet, (or maybe she did) but as soon as they got back to that villa he was gonna put her back in her place and fix that damn attitude.

[cambion-companion]

okay so, i was going through my old writings (like at least 10 years old) and i saw a scene i wrote down for my novel - anyways i thought it would be perfect for aemond and his wife where they're just laying down and he's like fully on top of her, telling her shit and she's under him, trying to breathe because he's so fucking heavy and is crushing her

"Aemond, please put the cutlery down before you hurt anyone."

Aegon sniggered into his cup as you chided your husband, hands atop your hips.

"And you." You wheeled on the eldest prince, snatching the pitcher of wine away from his reaching hand. "Don't tell me you got my husband drunk again."

"Quite a lapse in judgement." Aegon leaned back in his chair, watching his brother with a grin. "Don't know what came over me."

"He wouldn't see it coming." Aemond demonstrated yet again the upward swipe with his butterknife.

"Isn't that rather the point, brother?" Aegon quipped over the rim of his goblet. You shot him a glare.

"I don't think you'll be doing any lasting damage with a breadknife, my love." You approached him, holding out your palm for it.

Aemond regarded you blurrily for a second, glancing down at the small weapon in his hand. "Wise as ever." He muttered. "Perhaps a spoon, then."

He dropped the knife into your waiting hand, you returned it to the table, taking hold of your husband's wrist instead and tugging lightly. You underestimated how inebriated Aemond was, he stumbled forward into you, knocking you to the ground, the air leaving your lungs in a huff. You struggled to catch your breath, the heavy weight of Aemond on top of you crushing your lungs.

Aegon was laughing uproariously, so much so you could barely hear Aemond speak. "Not how I intended this evening to go, though I'm not complaining at our current predicament."

You spat out a mouthful of his hair, wriggling a little beneath him. "I am! Aemond you're smushing me."

"You're very comfortable."

"I can't breathe."

"I might take a nap right here." He laid his silver head upon your bosom.

"Aegon, help!" You squeaked, peering up at where he sat looking down at you two.

"And rob my brother of a cozy place to sleep?" Aegon looked aghast. "Never."

"I hate you."

"Cheers." He toasted you before drinking another gulp of wine.

"Aemond." You said softly, running your fingers through his argent hair until he raised his head to look at you. "My legs are going numb."

"Why can't we remain in bed for a while longer?" He sounded agitated now, his lilac eye narrowing as he tried to focus on your face.

"We're not in bed, Aemond." You tried to reason with him, but he was hardly listening. "We're on the floor of the dining hall."

"My love, we can try again perhaps later." Your brow furrowed as he continued his slurred speech. "These things take time."

"What?"

"Creating a child." He shifted to pat a hand low on your abdomen, looking at your cleavage fondly. "It can't be rushed."

"I-do shut up Aegon." You hissed, closing your eyes, praying to the Mother for patience. "Perhaps you would like to shift off of me if we aren't...making a baby right now."

Aegon opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and took another gulp of his drink.

"You're so warm." Aemond practically cooed, nuzzling his nose against you. "You smell of wine and roses." He sighed deeply, his breathing steadying as he started to drift off again.

"Aegon if you don't get him off me, I'm telling your mother about what you did last night." Now you couldn't feel your arms or your legs.

"Oh, you're playing dirty now." Aegon grunted, looking displeased as he finally rose from his seat. Able to hold his liqueur better than Aemond, he was barely tipsy, hoisting his brother off of you with only a little struggle.

Aemond was awake at once, and as alert as he could be given the circumstance. "Unhand me at once!" He struggled, proving to be superior in strength to Aegon.

In a flurry of movement and curses, Aegon and Aemond were now tangled on the ground together. Though instead of talk of making a family together, they were shouting in High Valyrian what you could only guess to be various obscenities.

You slowly rose to your feet, leaning on the back of a chair as the blood returned to your limbs. The door opened and you saw Daeron appear, his face shocked as he took in the scene of his brothers wrestling drunkenly on the ground.

"Uh." He cleared his throat loud enough to get their attention. "Mother wishes to see all of us in the throne room."

Aemond seemed to have sobered up at that, his hair was a mess, he disentangled himself from Aegon doing his best to straighten his rumpled clothing. Aegon remained sitting on the ground, his chest heaving from the exertion as he looked incredulously at Daeron. "Right now?" He asked.

Daeron nodded. "Unfortunately for you, yes."

Aegon groaned.

You crossed to Aemond, combing through his tangled hair with your fingers, adjusting his eyepatch that had slipped down his angular face.

"We will be there momentarily." You told Daeron, returning his smile.

He gave you a little bow, his smile dropping as he shot Aegon a withering look before departing.

"Can you walk?" You asked Aemond who nodded. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes of course I know who you are." He sounded more than a little annoyed as he held a hand down to Aegon, helping him up. "I already have a headache. The next time you try to get me to sample the vintage red wine, remind me to say no."

"You have my word." Aegon rolled his eyes, smacking Aemond on the shoulder a little harder than necessary.

Aemond pushed him in return, sending Aegon stumbling back.

"Boys!" You clapped your hands, pleased when both princes froze to look at you. "Enough. Your mother wishes to see us."

Aemond gave you a little nod, offering you his arm. "Allow me to escort you, my lady."

"Oh please. In your current state it'll be me escorting you." You couldn't help but giggle a little, he was already trying to steer you in the wrong direction as you exited the dining hall.

Aemond leaned his head down to whisper in your ear. "Do you think mother will be able to tell?"

"That you're drunk?" You have him an appraising look, trying to give him a convincing smile. "Of course not! You're the picture of sobriety!"

"I'm going to murder Aegon myself." He muttered, clearly not drunk enough to buy into your white lie.

"I heard that." Came Aegon's voice right behind the two of you. He sounded amused, and the three of you laughed together as you wound your way down the hallways towards the throne room.

[teejaystumbles]

Against all odds (part 8)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7

(Whenever I put this on AO3 it will probably be all one chapter and the longest single chapter fic I've ever written lol) (continues straight after Part 7)

Shame the stranger won’t want to visit the White Horse again any time soon, he thinks as he changes into his sleep clothes. It’s still a decent pub even if Hob heard when he last visited that they want to tear the place down for new buildings. It’s a shame, truly. Hob likes the old Inn. It’s one of the few constants in his life, the most important right after his stranger.

He lies down with a sigh and stares at the ceiling, trying to recall how the place has changed through time. He falls asleep before he can reach the 15th century.

--

Hob dreams again of the White Horse. It is 1389 and he is sitting and drinking with his mates of old, joking about Death being stupid.

A man clad all in black with a face as white as the moon steps silently up to their table. Hob’s mates ask him who he is but the man stays silent and doesn’t acknowledge them, his pitch-black eyes fixed on Hob. Hob stares. He knows him. Would know him anywhere. This is his friend, who he’s been waiting for for a very, very long time.

He ignores the others and they fade into obscurity. He says, awe and wonder clear in his voice and face, “You came.”

“We have an appointment, Hob Gadling. Of course I came.”

“But you didn’t- you didn’t want to meet…here. Any more. Am I wrong?” Hob feels confused. He knows what he’s saying is right, but it doesn’t make any sense, here and now where he has never met this man before. The stranger inclines his head.

“In your dreams I do not feel hesitant to visit this place. It is yours, and therefore a pleasant space to be in.”

Hob frowns.

“Mine? This is your place, my friend. Our place.”

“No. This is your dream of the White Horse Inn, Hob, and every human’s who has lived and visited it. But yours especially. It is not mine,” his friend says almost wistfully, “Neither here, nor in the Waking.”

“Then I'll find us a new place, or I'll build one!” Hob exclaims and jumps up. “A new Inn. One where you'll feel comfortable, a bright place, with a garden and a tree out front and sunny spots to sit and talk, or be quiet. Somewhere that is ours, yours and mine.”

“You would? For me?”

“Aye. I would do anything for you, my friend. My lord.”

Hob tastes the unfamiliar title on his tongue, repeats it again and finds it to feel perfectly right for his stranger, especially when he sees the sparkle in the man's eyes at being addressed as such. “My lord…” The words Hob knows he had been tempted to say on this day in 1389 roll out of him like a rushing river he cannot stop- 

“I’d swear fealty to you, if you’d accept it, and call you my liege. My king,” and he sinks to one knee before the one who rules him.

--

Dream gasps as Hob’s words hit him with the force of a wave crashing into him. He vibrates with ambiguous emotion as Hob smoothly sinks to one knee before him, brown doe eyes looking up at Dream with pure honesty and - love. It’s clearly love that’s shining out of Hob’s eyes and Dream feels the flames at his mantle’s hem lick higher and higher.

What is this human doing, offering him first his blood and now his fealty?

“Oh. Hob,” he rasps, aghast. He doesn’t know what to say. He accepted the first offering. Would it be wise to decline the second? There is magic in the number Three, if he is not careful this will turn into a dangerous affair indeed. If this continues Hob Gadling could be bound to him forever. Excitement rushes through him at the thought.

His.

Someone who'd willingly be Dream’s!

He cannot do this. He mustn’t. Hob may love him, or a version of him he thinks he knows, but Hob is someone who needs to be his own man. Dream cannot imagine him as a vassal, a servant, of anybody, least of all Dream’s.

He takes a step closer and puts a hand on Hob’s head. The man gazes hopefully up at him, a smile on his face. Dream feels his chest tighten.

“You honour me, old friend. Yet I would not rob you of your freedom. You are, and should always be, your own lord and master, subservient to none. I do not wish to be your king.”

Hob’s face falls for a moment and Dream prepares himself for Hob’s disappointment. Then the man at his feet suddenly smiles again and grabs Dream’s hand, cradling it gently before laying a kiss on it.

“Shame. I think it’s too late for you to refuse, my lord, as I have already made my choice. You need not acknowledge me as yours, I will still fight for you and defend you if you are in need. If not a servant, then I am your loyal ally, and I will still offer you anything that is mine.”

Dream shivers and gapes at Hob, who winks cheekily at him and kisses Dream’s hand again. Hastily Dream takes a step back and cradles his hand against his chest.

“You do not know what you promise, Hob. You have to be careful-”

“Careful? Hah!” Hob barks a laugh and gets up from the floor. He claps Dream on the shoulder as if they’ve always been in the habit of touching each other so casually and Dream flinches, stunned.

“Sorry to say this, old friend, but when it comes to you I have never been very careful. Don’t think I can start now.”

Hob shrugs and turns to the table to grab a tankard of ale and a glass of red wine, strangely modern in the mediaeval surroundings of the old tavern, and thrusts it into Dream’s hand. Then Hob toasts him with another wink.

“To our long and lasting friendship, my lord. My friend.”

Dream, perplexed, raises his glass in turn and they both drink. Hob grins happily at him and Dream feels his cheeks flush. He vanishes the wine with a frustrated gesture. Leave it to Hob Gadling to stump him and make him accept a second gift despite himself. He needs to think about this.

He murmurs, “This dream is over,” and leaves Hob to his sleep.

--

Hob wakes up with the feeling of having dreamt something nice, but he can't remember more than that he was in the old White Horse. Snatches of a conversation, of making a toast, come back to him, but he doesn't know who he was even talking to. No matter. It's still better than no dreams at all. He feels much more rested after sleeping since the dreams returned. Seems like his brain is very grateful.

He gets up and throws a glance over at his desk. The journal is gone. Hob blinks. Then he grins and goes to get ready for his day.

His stranger has taken the book! Now it’s just waiting for him to return it. Oh, and come up with a new place to meet, he supposes, while he shaves and slicks his hair back for another day at the agency. Hob sighs. He really needs to get another life. He’s sick and tired of his job and this look. He likes his flat but now that his stranger and him have a new way to communicate, and his friend has no interest in entering the White Horse any time soon, maybe Hob can just up and move to another town for a bit.

He finishes his routine and goes to put the kettle on. He hasn’t taken a holiday in a while. Maybe it’s time for a break at least, if not a reinvention of Hob Gadling. He can come up with what to do next and focus on his stranger. He seems to desperately need the company of a friend, even if he won’t say it outright, and Hob wants to be that friend. 

After breakfast Hob drives to work to finish up some business before he calls in some time off for a family emergency. ‘Against all odds’ plays on the radio and Hob sighs. He listens for a while as his Porsche crawls through London traffic, humiliated by the memory of putting these lyrics down to express his feelings in that first journal entry addressed to his friend. He switches stations and lands on the other extreme - Kylie’s ‘I should be so lucky’ cheerfully hits him right in the heart again. “It's a crazy situation, You always keep me waiting, Because it's only make believe, And I would come a-running, To give you all my loving, If one day, you would notice me-” “Christ,” Hob growls and turns the radio off. Just one more day. He just needs to keep his head for a few more hours, finish off some editing, talk to his bosses and then he’ll be free to wallow and pine for as long as he wants. “Get it together, Gadling,” he hisses at himself and changes gears as the light turns finally green. It’s not like his stranger is not talking to him. He’s back. Everything’s fine. Better than fine, even. He shouldn’t be hung up about things that will never change, he should focus on all the positive developments. His friend wants to meet him again, so Hob should focus on figuring out where they could meet. A park would probably be best, he thinks.

Part 9

[ellievickstar]

Between Two worlds (Discontinued)

A/N: I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS. Okay so basically my debut of my series: Between two worlds, where I make a series with a love triangle where it is between my two biggest characters: (I'm not gonna spoil the character read the fic to find out) and Azriel. I hope you guys enjoy!!! PS. nothing much really happens yet, but I am doing a time skip for the second chapter after this, this chapter is more so that you understand the AU.

Summary: After fifty years of being under Amarantha's reign, you finally reunite with your brother, can have a leisure day with a friend, and secretly meet up with an old enemy.

Request: N/A

Pairing: Azriel x Reader, -find out later- x reader

Warnings: This is a build up to a love triangle. More of a AU building chapter. Also mentions of abuse, sexual assault and harassment. Weapons.

Between Two Worlds / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (coming soon)

~*~*~*~*~

“She's my mate! She's my mate!” Rhys exclaimed as he suddenly winnowed in front of you. You nearly jumped back in shock as you began to process what was happening. “Firstly, welcome back, it's been fifty years. Secondly, who?” You asked patiently as Rhys breathed heavily, keeling over on his knees as magic seemed to burst out of him, causing you to take a step back. Mor bent down as she checked Rhys's condition to make sure he was not delusional.

Eventually your brother managed to get off the floor with the help of Azriel and Cassian and explained everything. Feyre, how Amarantha was dead, how he had had his visions. When he finally finished you didn't know whether you were surprised…or relieved. To be honest, you sort of expected that your brother would get into some sort of shit during the fifty years he was in captivity.

However, after everyone else left you lingered for a moment, sensing that your brother was holding something else back. He met your eyes as his shoulders slumped, and you approached slowly as you sat on his bed next to him. He brought you closer using his wings as you sat next to each other in silence. You smiled at the memories it brought back.

“I know you're not telling me something. You have the same expression from when you came home after father died,” You said softly, Rhys hummed as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. At first, you thought that he wouldn't answer your question but a soft knock on your mental shields spoke what hadn't been said. You show me mine, I'll show you yours.

And so you did. You know that showing him the effects of the curse wouldn't help his probably festering guilt, but you knew that you couldn't hide from him. You only had each other, it would do more harm than good if you didn't confide in each other. Rhys took the guilt of letting you follow him to that party all those years ago, and as a warning to him, Amarantha had placed a curse on you which forced you to live through your worst years of struggles. The times you were in the Illyrian camps as a female, the times your father berated you for defending yourself with magic and had you hung and whipped. Rhys made a strangled noise.

When he finally showed you his memories, you were aghast as you wanted to throw up. This…this felt worse than the time you were harassed at the Illyrian camps. At the time Azriel and Cassian had come to save you, but this? You were nauseous. Desperately, you flung yourself against your brother as he let a stray tear fall. “I am here with you,” You said. The phrase was sacred, it showed how you would always stand by his side no matter who or what opposed him, you would be there fighting for him, with him. And you knew he would do the same for you too.

You both stayed like that for a while, staying in each other's comforting and ever-loving embrace. Making a joke about how he had been so desperate to spend time with his mate he made a bargain to kidnap her once a month. It was then that he nearly elbowed you in the ribs and you ran off squealing while he pretended to chase you.

Crashing into a wall of muscle, you hid behind the looming shadow singer who seemed to be in shock as he raised the blade he was polishing away from your head. “Az save me!” You shouted as you clung to the spymaster, he politely smiled at Rhys as he pretended to 'guard' you. Rhys scoffed, muttering something about favouritism as you stuck your tongue out at him. After a while, he sighed and went to find Mor, mumbling to himself about a less biassed family.

Azriel turned to face you, eyebrows raised as you shrugged and perched yourself onto a stool next to him, picking up a bloody dagger, wanting to help police and sharpen the various weapons to pass time, however, Ariel tutted as he set down the dagger in his hand, “You’ll hurt yourself, and I don’t need Rhys coming after me for letting you play with a knife, sweetheart.”

You scoffed as you snatched the dagger back up. “Rhys can go to hell if he thinks he can control any aspect of my life,” Azriel just smiled in return. You had a good friendship with Az, after all, when the three of them were younger he was the one who hung out with you the most after finishing all the daily training. Cassian was busy training even more, and Rhys was off doing whatever royal duties he had to attend to. Azriel was also the same person who first taught you how to fly, seeing as the camp you went to refused to see as you were a female. Devlon was a bastard then and he’s a bastard now. Or so Azriel says. On top of all that, Azriel also trained your combat skills - in which he will always hold over your head because you have only ever beaten him once at a fight - and he also taught you how to read.

Yes. Funny enough, Azriel had taught you how to read after Keir had deliberately said that you should focus less on books and more on looking pretty and being good enough to marry off. Your father promised to teach you eventually, but Azriel thought it would be funny to stick it to Mor’s father. He soon regretted it because you eventually loved reading so much that every time he went to visit a small town near the camps, you begged him to bring you back at least one or two new books for your enjoyment. He did use it as leverage from time to time during training, so eventually it worked out.

“So, any good books you’ve read recently? Or is it just the usual book porn,” Azriel teased as he set to work on a sword. You groaned inwardly and would have slumped over the table if you weren’t holding a blade. “It was one time that you caught me reading that Az, and besides, it’s ROMANCE books. Anyways, yes I have read a good book recently, but I doubt you would bear any interest,” You replied.

Smirking at you, he motioned for you to continue, the bastard knew you were aching to tell him every single detail of the book, probably suspected that you were about to attack someone with a rant. As you went on about the newest fantasy read, he chimed in with a few remarks here and there, and eventually it just turned into a whole session with both of you debasing every single thing that was wrong with the male lead in the book. Well, the second male lead.

“You don’t understand Azriel, he was so hot! And the grovelling!” You squealed as you recalled how the two leads had finally reconciled after a horrible mistake. It seems like you were more interested in the romance than the actual plot of the high fantasy novel. “Must have been nice,” Azriel hummed as he finished the last dagger. Wait- the last dagger!? You turned to a clock on the wall as you realised just what time it was in the evening. Oh god, you were late. Jumping from the stool, you quickly excused yourself as you ran towards the open balcony doors that Azriel had left open when you both decided that the room you were in was stuffy.

“I have to meet someone, but please read the novel! Maybe if you read more books you wouldn’t just be a pretty face!” You yelled back, wings springing from your back as they flared and flapped, allowing yourself to take off before Azriel could say anything. And just like that you were off.

~*~*~*~*~

“I am so so sorry I am so late I promise it will never happen again,” Breathing in and out you folded your wings away. The male chuckled as he leaned against a tree, letting out a full on laugh as you fell to your knees from exhaustion from flapping your wings so hard just to get here fast, to meet him.

“Well, if you weren’t so set on leaving if I didn’t show up after 15minutes on our routine time, I wouldn’t have had to rush here!” You hissed. He just grinned down at you and that’s when you realised you were on your knees, looking up at him. Letting out a snarl, you pushed off the ground, standing up and crossing your arms to face him, he just let out a mock look of regret.

“Shame, I thought you were finally tearing me like the High Lord’s son I am,” He teased. You wanted to throw a branch at his face but instead settled for a light burn on his ego. “Well I would respect you if there was anyone to respect, Eris.”

That’s right. Eris Vanserra. The lord of the Autumn Court was smiling down at you and exchanging insults with you. He clenched his heart at your words. “You wound me, little flame, how can I ever recover?” You folded at the old nickname, flinging yourself at Eris as you jumped up and hugged him. Fifty years since you last saw your old friend. Fifty years. And you missed him dearly.

When Mor had been found by Azriel, she relayed the events that happened and you had been furious, and as it had just happened to be, you father was taking you and your brother on a little trip to the Autumn Court to show you both everything, however, as Rhys was now to enraged to go, you needed to go alone. Eventually your father and Beron had left you and Eris in a room together to ‘bond’ while they really discussed matters between courts, and you had grabbed that opportunity like your life depended on it and lunged at Eris, as you were quite small compared to him, he tackled you easily and growled at you to stop being a child.

You had demanded an explanation from him and he had given one, explaining how his father was physically, emotionally, mentally and verbally abusive, and if he hadn’t left Mor to die, he would have subjected her to a life just like his mother’s. And he would never knowingly do that to anyone. Being the open-minded person and amazing you were, you heard him out. However, till this day you prompted him to finally put down his pride and apologise for the way he did things, sure it came from good intentions, but it was still flawed. He, of course, refuses, and you don’t want to push the matter.

“So, any updates about the ‘how-to-kill-your-father’ plan? Or have you just been sitting around these fifty years?” He smirked at your words, laughing as you sat down, your legs being extremely tired for absolutely no other reason than standing for the short period of time you had. Quickly joining you on the floor, he spoke about the events that happened on his side before you shared yours.

“Amarantha is a bitch,” You muttered, “True that,” He agreed, raising a fist as if in solidarity. Humming, you leaned against the tree behind you, Eris doing the same as you both sat shoulder to shoulder, while Eris fiddled with the ends of your hair, you played with the various rings on his finger, slipping them on and off and turning them around in your hand.

When you reached his middle finger, you pulled off the ring. It was simple gold band had small carvings that decorated the entire ring, some even had small diamonds that tied the ring together nicely, but the carving that really caught your eye was the fox.

“My mother had that crafted and made for me when I was young. Every carving is something special and unique to only this ring,” He explained. You made a small noise of amazement as you tuned it over in your hand again, “I love it, it’s so pretty,” You admitted. Smiling down at you, he seemed to think for a moment before removing one of the various chains around his neck, and handing it to you as well. “Keep them both, just promise me you’ll wear it,” Stunned, you tried to give the chain and the ring back but he refused, claiming that he wanted you to have it.

The chain was obviously so you could wear the ring as a necklace seeing as it was far too large for any of your fingers. With Eris’s help, you put it on and he grinned, smirking about how you looked absolutely dazzling with your new accessory and you should thank him that you can look so utterly divine.

You slapped his shoulder, which honestly probably hurt you more than it did him.

It was at this point that you both finally parted, him winnowing away but not before he hugged you and murmured his goodbye as he rested his head on top of yours. And as you felt blood rush to your cheeks, he was gone. As if he was never there, the only proof of your meeting was the ring that now hung around your neck.

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: SO!? What do you think :D I'm curious about feedback. Also some additional warnings about this series is that there will be angst, it would not be me without angst. There will be A LOT of angst. ALSO AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS ERIS WOULD BE A BIG RING-WEARER!??

taglist: @positivewitch

[icallhimjoey]

If tomorrow is the end of the world, one of the last things I wanna do is reading a oneshot of Joe and Hazel because I miss that little bitch a lot. Thank you in advance.

so, i vowed to never write baby hazel again, and yet, here we are... you're welcome Wordcount: 1.3K

--- Great Mum, Great Team

"What a terrible development," you said aghast though you were smiling, apples in your cheeks round and blushing. You were stood in the doorway to Hazel's bedroom, amazed at what you were looking at.

"I cannot believe my eyes!"

Joe sat on the carpet next to Hazel who was trying her very best to put on her mary jane's correctly, right shoe on right foot, left shoe on left foot.

Joe fully ignored you, eyes trained on Hazel's feet, just like hers were.

She struggled with the straps, tiny fingers trying to sort her toes out and not let her socks get in the way. You saw the tip of her tongue peek out in concentration, and saw how Joe, for whatever reason, copied it.

Your heart was overflowing with proud love for her as you saw her put real effort in, eyes flitting up to Joe for encouragement. It swelled your chest, pained it wonderfully.

"Nearly there. Yep, you got it." Joe spoke softly, not lending a hand, which really impressed you. You had a way of taking over, wanting to help out and just get the task done.

This was better parenting, what you were looking at.

Hazel's left heel slipped into the shoe and she immediately moved to stand up, grabbing onto a hand that Joe held out for stability.

"Yeaaa. High five, Hazel!" Joe exclaimed, holding up a palm that got hit by two smaller ones.

She did it.

"I can't believe it." you made big eyes as you smiled at her when Hazel skipped closer, telling you all about how she put her shoes on all by herself because she was a big girl now.

Something you'd been trying to convince her of for weeks.

"See, didn't I tell you?"

It seemed like she thought it was all way too far-fetched when you told her she was old enough to put her shoes on by herself, though.

The standard reaction you'd get was, "Can you please help me, mummy? I can't do it by myself." and you'd try. You'd really try. You'd tell her things like, no babe, I know you can do it, if you don't, you'll have to go outside without any shoes on and your socks will get all wet, and that doesn't sound very nice, does it?

But you'd grow impatient.

It would just take too long.

"She's going to need a big girl bed soon, too, don't you Hazel?" Joe said, getting up himself now too. Hazel ignored the both of you as she skipped past you, on her way to the living room where the TV was still playing one of her shows.

You raised your eyebrows and huffed a laugh as you watched her disappear down the hall.

"I swear she thinks she's a teenager." Joe mused, stepping closer and letting his hand fall to your waist.

"Yea, a teenager who only listens to you, it seems."

"Well," Joe leant closer for a quick peck to your lips. "Stop being such a push-over then."

Joe expected you to drop your jaw, to frown deep, and to shove at him, because he was clearly only joking.

But instead you sighed and quietly said "Yea, I know." much more sorrowful than he ever wanted to hear you.

You thought maybe it was your voice. You didn't think you sounded very authoritative, that you didn't tend to make demands very well.

Hazel always poked right through your demands. Didn't take them seriously like you wanted her to.

"Hey," Joe whispered worriedly, forcing eye-contact before saying, "You know you're not a push-over, right? I was only joking."

You smile at his gentleness. At the instant care he's got ready for you.

"No, I am. It's okay. I shouldn't have made such a headstrong child, it's my own fault." you tried your hand at humour, and Joe nearly bought it.

You could hear how Hazel opened a cabinet in your living room, followed by the sounds of the box with wooden blocks being dragged out. Hazel didn't really have time to play right now, Joe had just gotten her to put her shoes on for a short trip to the market. You didn't really need anything, but it was nice to get out of the house and tire Hazel out a bit.

"Baby," you called out to her, leaning away from Joe a little as to not shout right into his ear, and were about to tell your daughter to put the blocks back. But then Joe pulled you in close and pressed his nose into your cheek, softly saying, "No, let her. We're not in a hurry, are we?"

You realised just then that you weren't, and, to Joe's relief, finally swung arms around his neck to hug him back.

Through kisses to your cheek, Joe murmured, "You realise that only headstrong girls can make headstrong girls, don't you?"

You couldn't help smiling as you closed your eyes, relishing in this little moment of affection Joe created.

"You have no idea..." you started, humour in your tone. "How long I struggled to get her to put on her shoes the other day. And guess how that whole altercation ended?"

Joe kept his face stuck to yours, not moving away in between kisses, just making noises with his lips against your cheek.

"Who ended putting the shoes on?"

"Was it you?" Joe spoke out of the sides of his mouth, all hot air against your skin, unintentionally raspberrying you as he did.

"It was me." you confirmed, and you let a laugh escape in a huff through your nose.

"Hmm," Joe mused, moving to press his forehead against yours. "Just means you're nurturing. Caring. So sweet, and kind."

You got a kiss pressed to your lips.

"Yea, well... would just be nice if she listened to me like she listens to... well, literally anyone else. Not to, you know–"

You didn't want Joe to think he fell into that category. He very much wasn't literally anyone else to Hazel.

"I know." Joe understood.

"She– you definitely are dad, you–"

"I know. I was trying to compliment you, just accept it. You're a great mum." Joe shut you up, pressed more kisses to your mouth and let his arms wrap tighter.

You stood in Hazel's bedroom's doorway and let yourself drown in Joe's fondness for you. Joe showed it all the time, but there weren't many moments where you stopped everything you had going on to fully accept it for a moment.

And Joe lived for these moments.

It was only short-lived though. It always was.

From the living room you heard a crash of block, followed by a silence that then got broken by beginning cries from Hazel.

They quickly grew in volume.

You were about to pull away from Joe, already mentally picking Hazel up from the floor to hug close to your chest. But Joe held you and said, "Wait..." as he turned his ear towards the living room, listening. Waiting.

It just took a second longer for Hazel to start to cry out for her mum, and a smile spread across Joe's face.

"See? Mum. She needs you. No way that she was going to call out for anyone else. It's why we make such a great team."

You rolled your eyes as Joe made his point, finally losing his tight grip so you could make your way over.

Joe followed and watched as you bent over to pick up a crying Hazel who was holding a small hand to her head next to a big pile of wooden blocks. It was obvious a tower had fallen over and she'd gotten hurt in the process.

You shushed her and swayed as you comforted her, asking her if she'd hurt her head, if it was the blocks that got her.

Hazel's soft whimpers confirming that it had been the wooden blocks made Joe pout at her sad little voice.

When you turned to look at him, Joe's face smoothed out.

"Great mum." he mouthed, and you scrunched up your nose in response.

"Great team." you mouthed back.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[just-another-josh]

Write

“Wake up, zrhueiao.”

The sound of her wife’s tender voice is the first thing Lena registers as she is roused from her nap. As her awareness expands, the infrequent chirp of birds can be heard reverberating through the open living room window. The sound of ‘Mad Money’ droning from the television playing quietly in the background.

The suffocating smell of acrylic paint and turpentine assault her overly sensitive olfactory receptors, forcing her to turn her head towards the cool December breeze wafting in through the open window.

She begins to slowly stir, a light stretching of her arms and legs reminding her she’s lying prone on the living room couch, her favorite comfy spot. Her contentment is quickly overshadowed by the dull ache in her lower back, tight shoulders, sore breasts, and a very full bladder. 

Yep, still pregnant, Lena thought ironically.

“C’mon sleepyhead, time to get your cute little butt off the couch.”

Lena gradually opened her eyes, her wife’s grinning face the first sight to greet her. As her eyes focused, she realized Kara was floating just above her, the Kryptonian’s body parallel to her own. When they first started dating, Kara’s casual use of her powers in similar situations startled her. Now, after two years of marriage under their belts, Lena didn’t bat an eye.

The CEO lazily grinned at her hovering wife. “You have paint on your face,” she pointed out groggily.

Kara made no effort to wipe at her paint-stained face, instead rolling her eyes. “Well of course I do, I’ve been painting.”

Lena lazily grinned. “How’s the mural coming?”

A beaming smile lit up Kara’s face. “Should be finished in an hour or two, tops,” she emphatically boasted.

“I can’t wait to see it.” Lena’s smile matched the intensity of her wife’s. She cupped Kara’s face with both hands and pulled her into a chaste kiss; deftly avoiding the splotches of paint peppered around her wife’s face. “Help me sit up,” she asked once they separated. She offered her hands to the Kryptonian who gently accepted them and effortlessly guided Lena to sit upright. A light touch of vertigo threw her balance askew once she was fully sitting upright; a recent development plaguing her for the last few weeks. As she a number of times since the issue emerged, Kara remained by her wife’s side to keep her steady until the dizziness passed.

Once her equilibrium returned to normal, Lena became acutely aware of the increased pain in her lower back as the additional weight settled on her overstressed muscles. Lena shook it off, old news after thirty-five weeks carrying twins.

“What time is it?” Lena asked as she rubbed her sore neck.

Kara fidgeted and smiled sheepishly at her wife. “It’s four o’clock.”

Lena was aghast. “I’ve been asleep for three hours?” Kara confirmed with a timid nod. “Christ, I slept through the whole afternoon,” Lena whined. Frustrated, she ran a hand through her loose, tangled hair.

Kara lowered herself to sit next to Lena and began rubbing her lower back. “Hey, you needed to rest,” Kara soothed. “You’re carrying two very active, very hungry girls. I know staying home and lounging around is the complete opposite of your normal routine, but you have to give yourself a break.”

“Little parasites,” Lena growled, a look of faux disgust on her face.

Kara softly giggled and pulled her wife closer, Lena shuffling to rest her cheek on the hero’s shoulder. Kara kissed the top of her wife’s head. “Three more weeks, zhaote. Three more weeks and we get to meet our kir kruvuzhs,” she whispered.

Lena snuggled further into Kara’s arms; her agitation slowly escalating. Tears filled the CEO’s eyes. “I’m so tired, Kara. They’re not even here yet and I can barely function, and that’s after I’ve had eight hours of sleep. How the hell am I supposed to keep it together when the girls are here and I’m sleeping in ninety-minute intervals?”

Kara squeezed Lena as tight as she safely could and pressed a lingering kiss to her head. “Because I’ll be with you every step of the way. And for those times I can’t be here, Alex, Sam, Eliza, and the rest of our family will be right there as backup.” Kara began to slowly rock her wife. “El Mayarah, remember?”

Lena nodded, too choked up to speak. She buried her head in Kara’s shoulder and let herself fall apart. Once considered taboo as a result of her Luthor upbringing (or as her therapist put it, indoctrination), Lena felt no shame in being this raw, this vulnerable with her wife. The progression of Lena’s emotional maturity was a testament to her work with her therapist, Kara, Sam, Alex, and a litany of other players from her found-family. It took a village, but Lena had learned to manage her insecurities to the point where she could express her emotions without feeling any shame.

After ten minutes of crying together (her wife joining in because…well…Kara’s a bit of a crier), the couple managed to separate from their embrace. An emotionally drained Lena leveled her wife with a deadpanned look. “Fucking hormones.”

Kara’s involuntary snort led to both devolving into a giggling mess. Kara thoughtfully placed her hand on top of Lena’s, a look of concern etched across her face. “Zhao, have you written in your journal today?” she delicately asked.

After thinking about it for a brief second, Lena sighed, “Not yet.”

“Do you think doing a little writing might help you feel better?”

Lena pursed her lips in consideration before nodding. “Probably.”

Kara smiled. “Stay here, I’ll go get it.”

Lena grabbed Kara’s wrist before she could stand. “First things first, I need to pee.”

Kara rolled her eyes as she began guiding Lena to her feet. “Shocker.”

******

Two years ago, Kara and Lena embarked on their journey to become parents. When they decided to bring a bundle of chaos (Lena’s words) into their lives, Lena spent the next year constructing a Kryptonian birthing matrix capable of creating a viable embryo made up of both human and Kryptonian genetic material. It was a daunting, painstakingly long task, but with the combined efforts of Lena, Zor-El, Eliza, Alex, Brainy, and Caitlyn Snow, they were able to successfully produce an embryo using Lena and Kara’s cells.

While the birthing matrix was being constructed, Lena and Kara had decided they wanted the baby to be carried to term and born naturally. That was the easy part. The hard part was deciding who would carry the future baby Luthor. After dozens of civil (and not so civil) arguments between the soon-to-be expectant parents, it was decided that Lena would carry the aos.

Considering the glut of fertilization drugs administered to and embryos implanted in Lena, it should have come as no surprise when the first ultrasound revealed that she was carrying twins (it totally was).

The morning sickness during the first trimester was so severe Lena contemplated putting herself in a medically induced coma until the twins’ due date; luckily Kara and the rest of the Super-family were there to guide her through her nausea-induced insanity.

The increase in Lena’s body temperature was another fresh slice of hell that came with the pregnancy. She wasn’t just hot, but Amazon rainforest in the summer hot. It was another aspect of carrying twin Kryptonians she should have seen coming. Kara’s body temperature always ran at least one to two degrees hotter than the average human’s. As Lena always ran a little cold, she welcomed snuggling with her Kryptonian space heater. Now pregnant with the twins, Lena carried the equivalent of two radiators in her womb. She had never sweated so much in her life; it poured out of her like a fountain. Even with the air conditioning at full blast wherever she was, it became routine for her to have to shower and change into dry clothes at least three times a day. At the office, she did her best to mitigate her overheating by wearing sleeveless blouses; she would have given anything to be able to wear shorts but knew that was unacceptable in an executive setting.

The start of the second trimester brought a modicum of relief to the miserable CEO. She was more energetic, her libido came back with a vengeance (much to Kara’s delight), and she could keep her food down. Therein lay the biggest challenge of the second trimester, and the rest of her pregnancy, for that matter: her insatiable appetite. Being pregnant with Kryptonian twins required her to consume twenty to thirty thousand calories per day, anything less resulted in Lena becoming extremely ill. As a result of her daily caloric requirements, Lena quickly surpassed her wife’s already excessive levels of food consumption. Entering the Luthors’ house and finding empty takeout boxes, empty containers of gelato, and discarded bags of Funyuns strewn about became the norm. Especially the Funyuns. Lena craved Funyuns like a junkie craved their next fix. On more than one occasion, Lena could be heard screaming something along the lines of: “Kara! If you don’t get your perfect little ass to Costco and get me Funyuns before I run out, I’m going to put kryptonite in your fucking mouthwash!” or “Don’t you dare tell me to wait for the delivery driver. What’s the point of being married to Supergirl if you can’t get me my fucking Funyuns now?!?”

Despite her second trimester falling in the middle of the summer heat, Lena was able to manage her chronic overheating by spending extended periods at the Fortress of Solitude. It wasn’t uncommon for Kara, Sam, or Clark to find the CEO comfortably lounging around the frozen structure wearing nothing more than a loose tank top and shorts.

It was around the middle of her second trimester that Lena decided to start a journal. It served as a way to record the changes her body was going through during the first four months of her pregnancy. The entries were cold, clinical, and devoid of inference or emotionally driven content; only measurable, fact-based information. The thing read like a study published in the New England Journal Medicine. Lena had no intention of doing some cliché pregnancy journal. There weren’t going to be any ultrasound pictures, trimester planners, baby registry lists, or other keepsakes. She was Lena-Fucking-Luthor, and there was no goddamned way in hell she was going become some dipshit scrapbooker.

Kara was already taking care of that.

A month into her journaling, the couple had a miscarriage scare. Lena went into a full-fledged, panic induced spiral.  Despite reassurances from…well…everyone that the twins were safe and healthy, Lena was inconsolable. At first, she blamed herself; her completely absurd and unfounded list of why she was at fault was longer than most novels. After a week of self-flagellation, Lena shifted the blame to focus on her wife. It was subtle jabs at first, Kara rationalizing that her wife’s comments were just her way of venting. But after a week of Lena’s increasingly hurtful barbs, Kara had had enough and called her out on her behavior. The argument that ensued was on a level not seen since Lena stole Myriad from the Fortress five years prior. As the argument reached its zenith, the yelling was so loud that Sam’s super-hearing picked it up all the way from her and Alex’s house. Luckily, Alex and Sam were able to intervene and separate the couple before they said or did anything that couldn’t be undone; Sam staying at the Luthor house with Lena, and Alex taking Kara with her to the Danvers’ residence.

After a restless night of sleep, Kara returned home and, after a tense conversation, the couple agreed to a truce and enrolled in couples’ therapy. It was during one of their sessions that the therapist suggested they start journalling daily. Kara had been keeping a journal since shortly after her arrival on Earth, so she easily agreed. When Lena proposed using the “journal” she’d already begun, the therapist allowed it with one stipulation: the CEO had to record not just her medical stats, but her thoughts and feelings as well. After minimal cajoling from Kara, Lena begrudgingly agreed.

At first, Lena was at a loss as to what to write. Well, she knew what she was expected to write but she didn’t know how to articulate her feelings. For several weeks, after recording her medical stats, Lena would stare at the remaining blank space on the page unable to corral the chaos in her head into coherent sentences. This would go on for several minutes before she’d put the journal back into the drawer in her bedside table with a huff, trying to convince herself that she would be able to come up with something the next day.

After a particularly difficult day at L-Corp, Lena was able to break through her writer’s block. That day, Lena recorded her weekly measurements as usual followed by recounting the events of the day, her frustrations with them, ways that she handled those moments poorly, and how she planned to avoid repeating her mistakes. By the time she put her pen down, an hour had elapsed, and she’d managed to completely fill six pages.

 And Rao be damned, she actually felt better afterwards.

From that point on, Lena was making daily entries chronicling her workday. Her writing slowly began to include entries about both her professional and her personal life. The journal pages quickly became filled with her thoughts and feelings without the clinical structure that once governed it. Soon she wrote about anything and everything: observations from the day’s events, anecdotes, strangers she had encountered, ideas for new projects, her family, her pregnancy, the twins, Kara, her hopes, her dreams, her doubts, and most importantly, her fears. Cataloguing her fears gave her the opportunity to later assess them in a logical, calm manner as opposed to the panicked state that they originated from. Thus, robbing them of their power to control her life.

The irony was not lost on Lena that her brother was an avid journaler as well. He too would fill volumes upon volumes with his meticulously organized thoughts. But that’s where the similarities ended. Lex’s journals were filled with his bitterness, anger, xenophobic rhetoric, and obsessive hatred for Clark and Kara and ways to kill them; all laced with his usual arrogant narcissism. By contrast, Lena’s journals focused on love, compassion, inclusiveness, and ideas for creating a better tomorrow. They served as a reminder of the progress she had made in learning to love and accept love; a chronicle of where she’s been, where she is, and where she hoped to be in the future.

When she began her journaling voyage, Lena never imagined that it would become an integral part of her life. For her, doing her daily entries was just as natural as breathing, it required no forethought.  She fully intended to continue journaling indefinitely; well past their therapist’s prescribed duration. The only question in her mind was what to do with the journals in the future. She already shared most of the details of her daily entries with Kara as part of their therapy. She had no intention of letting her friends and family read them, not even Sam. Truth be told, she imagined passing them on to the twins if/when they became expectant mothers themselves.

In the event that one of her greatest fears came true and she was…taken from her family prematurely, she left instructions with Kara to give the journals to their girls when Kara felt it was the appropriate time. Lena hoped that they would serve as a reminder of who their mommy was and how much she loved them; something she wished her mother had been able to do for her. While she was grateful to have her mother’s grimoire, it didn’t tell her anything about who Elizabeth Walsh was. It was very important to Lena that her girls knew who their mommy was as a person and not as some generic abstract. She had no doubt that their jeju would do everything she could to keep her memory alive, but Lena felt that her written thoughts would be a clearer, more profound reminder.

“I’m finished.”

The pen in Lena’s hand stilled as she looked up to see a very giddy Kryptonian. She was surprised that Kara had finished the mural in the nursery so quickly, but a quick glance at her watch confirmed that she had been lost in her writing for over an hour. She set the journal and pen on the coffee table and met Kara’s bright smile with one of her own.

“Done-done?” Lena said with a feigned look of skepticism.

Kara put her hands on her hips and stuck out her chest à la Supergirl. “Done-done,” she gloated. “Now get that cute little butt up so I can show it to you.”

“Well get those ridiculously hot biceps over here and help me up,” Lena said as she made grabby hands. Kara positioned herself in front of Lena and gently gripped her hands; a small grunt escaping Lena as her wife smoothly pulled her up. “Darling, my ass is anything but cute or little. Maybe it’s time for a new endearment?”

Kara shrugged. “Okay, but “get those deliciously pregnant titties up” doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as well,” Kara said with a mischievous smirk. “But I’ll give it a shot.”

Lena snorted and shook her head. “Ah, there’s my boob girl,” Lena purred. “I wouldn’t worry about it though, I’d say they’ve rolled off your tongue quite a bit lately,” she said seductively. Kara’s cheeks quickly dusted pink, producing a triumphant smile from her wife.

As they reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor and the nursery, Lena turned to her wife with an expectant look on her face, eliciting a confused crinkle from the hero. “I am not waddling my fat ass up those stairs. Put your back into it, Supergirl.”

[z0-ne]

Hii!!(⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

I have a request!(⁠・⁠o⁠・⁠)

Goku has a step sister, that's stronger then Beerus and they need her help to deaft the enemy but no one knew that Goku had a step sister till Whis said that they needed her and will go looking for her.

Have a nice day!!! :D

Okay! Since this is a character stronger than Beerus I'm gonna try to keep it along the canon rankings for now! So the reader will be part angel! Bardock being the father!

Here we go again (GOKU X READER PLATONIC!!)

"Say that again?" When given the news Goku was aghast. The last time he had heard he had a sibling...well he was killed. So to hear he has another that's a lot stronger this time. What is he gonne do if they're evil too?

"what can't hear? He just said you have a sister stronger than me."

Beerus snapped, clearly a bit butt-hurt by the sound of it which is why his voice seems extra harsh. It's in everyone's interest to just leave him to his pudding cups for now and not talk to him at all which is why Goku apologizes and turns back to Whis.

"Ah- Yeah sorry Lord Beerus, but you said she was older? Just how many years are we talkin? Why didn't she come with Raditz? Is she anything like Raditz?"

Goku has so many questions that just desperately need answers or his brain might blow- or he'll loose what's left of it after all the head hits he has taken over the years. Throwing caution to the wind is usually his go to, but considering his family has a knack with kidnapping his children he cant take the risk especially with Goten being so young.

Hearing Goku become so frantic causes Whis to laugh, trying to stifle it back but failing in the end when it should have died down by now.

"Oh hoho! You needn't worry, she's only a year older than you."

Just as fast as he started laughing his fit came to an end and he became serious his eyes relaxed and his smile dropped into a serious frown.

"However, I would imagine her mother was disposed of for breeding with a saiyan. I am not sure what exactly happened but I do know that she likely would've been killed immediately had she been found out."

Goku doesn't like the sudden shift in the atmosphere, and he's not sure what's more unsettling, Whis's laughter or his seriousness. What he does know is the most disturbing part of this conversation has to be the slightly unknown threat that is his step-sister especially if she supposedly has half the strength Whis does.

Then Whis turns around, and after a while he glances back at Goku as he waits for him to grab onto his shoulder to locate and find his sister. The one that's gonna fix this slip up of a monster.

"Now lets go, You'll be helping me retrieve her For your sake. Hope that she is nothing like Raditz."

His voice is full of warning, and Goku swallows a large lump in his throat. For some reason this feels like trying to find his sister might go wrong and be a big mistake, like he's aware he's getting into a fight he can't win.

"I also hope she has no animosity towards her father..." He shivers at the thought which really doesn't help with Goku's stress that's already building.

______________________________________________

You were a violent woman. You are a violent woman, it seems like it's just in your blood. Everything seems to upset you but nobody you know really understands why. it made childhood so lonely but even then for some reason, it hardly bothered you.

Getting through life you were quick to realize that you should isolate yourself from everyone else, and they were fine with that. Afterall you're basically a safety hazard and the people of your "home" can't take it anymore.

Thinking about your mother? Now you've gone and tore a city down. Thinking about your no good father who cursed you from birth with his blood? You almost blew a hole reaching towards the planets core. It was a constant problem, so when you were old enough you made sure to distance yourself more.

Don't get it twisted, the people of the planet don't exactly hate you. Afterall without you they're sure they would've been enslaved to one of king cold's armies or even worse on of his son's armies. Its trusty to have an unforgiving "hero" so they show their appreciation by bringing you part of their yearly crops, which is more than enough to be completely honest.

Its not bad. At least that's what you tell yourself. It could be worse, you could be dead like your mom, and probably like your dad.

He'd better be dead at the very least.

____________________

Another day, another hole to patch in your home, which is really just a cave you stole from the odd creature that lived within it now part of it having made a home within your digestive system. Big enough to fill you up luckily.

Unfortunately it's cave can't withstand your spurs of rage, and you have to use a bigger rock to patch the hole in the cave. Easy work, at least for someone with your abilities.

"I guess I'm done...I should go look for some food, I'm hungry.."

You mumble under your breath, your eyes absent mindedly still tracing over the odd looking patch-job on your wall. It's "home" it has been for a while now but looking at the hole makes you feel something that for once possibly isn't anger or hunger but it still feels as bad as those two.

"ugh...what is that..." Gripping your stomach you groan and sigh before turning away from the wall, its bothersome to stare at it long. That off feeling will go away, it usually does...

So you leave your cave, and take a deep breath of the fresh air coming from outside. You look ahead and see the weirdly bent trees that go for miles. They are endless, you checked. The grass is purple and as you walk through it, its quiet.

Eventually you made it to a lake, its water clear and you can see the rocks underneath as you kneel to sit down, putting a hand on the soft purple grass beneath you, cupping a free hand into the water, its chill refreshing against your rough scarred hands. You bring it to your lips and drink, taking in its soothing coolness throughout your body and letting it relax your mind.

You close your eyes, enjoying the peaceful sound of the odd creatures of the planet, honestly the good thing about being alone is the gentle peaceful noises of your nature. The barks of the birds, the croaks of the frogs in the lakes, the light splash of the fish in the water, and the-

"Hi!! I'm Goku!!"

Without warning a loud disturbance rang through your ears as you quickly fell into the pond, letting out a string of curses as you fell in.

___________

Whis saw you fall into the pond but makes no efforts to help, his eyes go wide and his mouth goes into an 'o' shape showing how surprised he is that Goku would suddenly do that. He then turns to Goku and glares at him.

"...oops..." Goku mumbles as he looked at the pond you just fell in.

_____________

The cold water engulfed your body. It almost put you in shock had you not caught it, your eyes opened as you take in your surroundings underwater. The fish as colorful as usual but then your eyebrows furrow as you remember the interruption.

'Who the hell-' You start to think as you look up, but your thought is immediately cut short as your eyes widened at what you see.

That spikey black hair...those big black eyes... that guy...looks like...

____________

"Hey, They haven't come up for air yet- do you think we should-" Goku starts but Whis cuts him off rather quickly

"no no give her just a moment I would know if she drowned or not I'm sure." He reassures although he's just about as unsure as Goku at this point, but he refuses to ever admit he's as clueless as Goku no matter the situation. No hate towards him, its just...its Goku.

Suddenly they both have to jump back as the water from the area spurts up in a sudden blast of sorts, temporarily impairing their vision as to what's going on.

Without any sort of warning all Goku sees last minute when he looks to his left is your fist a little too close to be anywhere near safe. It makes contact with the side of his head and in short

it hurts

Don't get him wrong, he's been hit before and it hurt like hell, I mean he's died before and obviously that hurts too but that- it hurt way too much for his comfort, in a way that makes him feel like the sense just got punched into him that he can't win this fight.

Usually he can bounce back even if he knows deep down he can't win, he'll have some hope, but that hit felt different than any other. It almost knocked his head off for petesake.

He is knocked far, fairly far. When he finally gets to his feet his head feels like its spinning, god, even Beerus didn't hit him that hard... and its Beerus, the same cat that almost destroyed the earth.

"Ah- Damn...what the- what was that!?" He asked nobody in particular before he floats above the ground, to fly his way back to where Whis hopefully still is.

As he flies over he cant help but think to himself 'This isn't good, she's stronger than Beerus, and it's like she's trying to kill us right off the bat!' His eyebrows furrow as he tries to think of a possible way to go about fighting someone like you.

As far as he can think he's gonna have to wing it for now, until he gets a good grip on your fighting style.

_____________

He can't.

He can't do it. He can't get a grip on how you fight, all he knows for now is you're good at close range but when he thinks he's got it down pack at tries to get a distance you end up behind him, and it doesn't help that he cant sense you.

"I'm gonna kill you for even thinking to come here!" He hears you yell in the distance of the trees and he's just so confused on what he even did wrong.

This is a disaster, and what's even worse is the fact that Whis doesn't have much of a plan either. 'Just distract her! Like that's so easy to do!' Goku thinks to himself, feeling his frustration growing and his blood draining from the many wounds you've left on him.

He tries to get some distance again, bringing you back around Whis but you're fast, just as he thinks he's gonna turn left, here you are landing a rib-shattering punch to his side.

"Ack!" Blood and spit spurts from his mouth as he's knocked through trees and rolls on the ground just hardly able to catch himself as he slings himself up before you try and crush him with another hit.

"We just wanna talk!" He tries to reason and dodge at the same time.

"And I just want your stupid king to leave the planet alone!!" You snap at him, your eyes giving way to your rage as you charge up an attack.

"WHAT KING?" His words only fill you with more rage as you yell at him for his false stupidity. "Don't play dumb! I know you work with king cold!"

He barely dodges your blast without getting burnt a bit. "Who!?"

He seems genuinely confused, because he is. It makes you stop attacking, but you keep a stance just in case. You raise an eyebrow at him. "You Don't know King Cold? what about cooler? Or Freeza?" You question him, your voice still loud and your tone harsh albeit the confusion layered within it.

"What?! no! I beat the two of them! They hate me! They're terrible people I would never work for them!" He says, sounding out of breath and offended at the thought that you assumed he worked for them, because he was a bit offended.

He beat them? "You beat them?" You asked, your tone a lot less hostile and harsh, now more confused than anything as your stance falters ever so slightly.

He slowly lowers himself to the ground, falling on his knees as sweet and blood drips onto the soft purple grass and he takes deep heavy breaths, he's heavily injured more than he could've expected to be and you- well he landed one good hit.

"I'm...your brother...Goku... Sayain...from... planet earth...need help..." He attempts to explain but Goku has passed out from bloodloss enough times to know what he's about to black out and right now he's not gonna stay up for much longer if he can hardly get out a correct sentence.

The amount of bloodloss and pain gives him a familiar nauseous feeling, he blinks slowly before his eyes close and he falls onto the soft grass with a thump.

"My brother?...Oh." You look down at the guy, his body bloodied and battered and his outfit torn, at least his pants somehow stayed in tact.

You look over to see the one with blue skin and white hair approach, a neutral expression on his face despite how you just brutalized his acquaintance.

"If you're done, we came here for your help. A threat even the god of destruction himself can't defeat-" Before he gets into the big details you just cut him off.

"Is it a threat to this planet I'm on?" The rest of the universe isn't a big concern, but when it becomes an inconvenience to the decent life you've got going on here on this planet then you'll actually care to put in an effort.

It's all you have really and it'd suck to loose it.

"I- Yes and we-" Once again you interrupt him, he doesn't need to do all that talking when you already made up your mind when you heard the word 'yes'.

"I'll do it." You shrug and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow as you've interrupted him twice now, but after a few minutes of staring at eachother with unchanging expressions he sighs, rolling his eyes and smacking his lips in annoyance.

He waves the staff over Goku's unconscious body and heals his more intense injuries before hoisting the man under his arm and walking a few steps away from you.

Then he stops and looks back at you. "come on, put your hand on my shoulder." He sighs as you surprisingly listen.

"You Sayains are so rude." He huffs, but you pay little attention to his words as you can only think of one thing.

'They better have meat where we're going.'

[wizkhaleesii]

Another 4 am hot take because I saw an ao3 comment section today that left me actually reeling

HOUSEKEEPING: -> This is not about canon Alicent this is about really common fanon Alicent/Rhaenicent characterizations!!!! do not start that shit with me here!!!!

The amount this fandom, especially in fanfiction, insist on whittling down Alicent to nothing more than a victim in most of your works is hella weird to me. And it’s the way a lot of people will then carry this bias over into other fanfics where it DOES NOT apply. There’s a fic that involves Alicent being 10 years older than Rhaenyra and absolutely grooms her in the story, and yeah she has some conflicting emotions about it (good for her I guess?) and in this most recent chapter it’s revealed a freshly 18 year old Rhaenyra (who already has two children by Alicent at this point, Alicent is 28) cheated on Alicent once after they had a big fight over OOP, Rhaenyra being manipulated

And the COMMENTS, the comments were FULL of people being like “I hate Rhaenyra she’s so stupid I’ve lost all sympathy for her how could she do this to Alicent she’s so fucking stupid I’m now 100% on Alicent’s side” and I’m literally not exaggerating. Pages of it

I was, appalled? Aghast? Dumbfounded? I really hate how a lot of this fandom just reduces Alicent to “must be the victim all the time” which is a serious disservice to her character, and Rhaenyra must be the perpetrator of all harm all the time.

And are we ready to talk about how that reeks of internalized misogyny and “perfect victim” mentality yet orrrr? Cuz why are we constantly making the more fem presenting person in the relationship the victim (author intended or not) and the more typically masc presenting person constantly the perpetrator? (Author intended or not)

But naaaah people wanna tell me it’s not that deep, cuz the very concerning pages of this mindset about a grooming victim shouldn’t be cause for concern or anything, silly me I guess

Maybe it wouldn’t be that deep if the grooming victims of AFAB people/women weren’t so overlooked all the time irl…

[diazsdimples]

WIP Wednesday

Don't look at me, I'm working on another wip 🙈. This is from the 3rd chapter of With you I'm home, my beloved Dad!Buck sequel that I so cruelly abandoned in favour of, well, everything. But today I wrote a snippet of Eddie telling Christopher about his and Buck's plans for a new baby. Please enjoy (under the cut cause it's kinda long sorry)!

I was tagged for Tease Tidbit Tuesday by @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @disasterbuckdiaz @cal-daisies-and-briars @exhuastedpigeon @tizniz @kitteneddiediaz @wikiangela and @elvensorceress (count this as your Wednesday tag) and WIP Wednesday tag by @theotherbuckley

Eddie pauses, searching Christopher’s face to gauge any kind of reaction, positive or negative. Christopher’s expression remains blank, but he does nod slowly, his eyes narrowing a little bit.

“How would that work?” he asks, and he flushes as he realises the implications of the question, quickly adding on, “And I don’t mean like, sex, because I know about all that, but how would you and Buck having a baby work?”

Eddie quietly tucks away the bit of information that, somehow, his 13-year-old son knows about sex for God’s sake and explains it the way him and Buck talked about.

“Well, we’d thought about maybe adopting, and that’s still an option but we agreed that we’d like another biological child, cause you and Aidan are so cute. And Buck suggested that, because he’s got Aidan, that maybe the new baby could be my biological kid. So, we’d use my sperm, and would find an egg donor, and then you’d have a baby brother or sister,” he finishes lamely.

Eddie looks at Christopher, who hasn’t moved a muscle since he started talking, and gently nudges his leg. “Whatcha thinking bud? Have you got any questions?”

Christopher flicks his eyes upwards, locking onto Eddie’s, and Eddie notices with a jolt that they’re dark and angry, not at all the picture of the little boy he remembers when they’d just moved here, or even the kid that had been so excited for Buck and Aidan to move in with them.

“Yeah,” says Christopher, quietly. “Yeah, I have got a question.”

It’s his tone of voice that makes Eddie realise that somehow, somewhere, something has gone terribly wrong. Christopher has never been one for true, proper anger, usually falling back on snippy comments and snide remarks, but right now Eddie can see a mixture of irritation, fury, and worst of all, hurt all swirling behind his son’s eyes.

“Okay – uh – what is it?” Eddie asks.

Christopher’s jaw ticks. “Am I not good enough for you?”

The question hits Eddie like a physical blow and he recoils, feeling as though he’s suddenly had a bucket of icy water thrown over him.

“W-what? Chris why would you ever – God, no, you’re more than enough!” he stammers, but it’s clearly not enough as Christopher rolls his eyes and lets out a small, cold laugh.

“Really? Then why would you use your sperm?” Christopher’s eyes flash as he speaks, and he pushes himself further up the bed so his legs are no long touching Eddie. “Is it because of my CP? You want another chance at having a normal kid, so you’re using your sperm? You want to be able to have a child that’s perfect and not so damn broken like I am? Is that it?”

“Christopher!” Eddie gasps, aghast. It’s like he’s watching the perfect ideation of his life crumbling in front of him, the new baby being cuddled by his two sons, delighted by the arrival of a new sibling a dream fading quickly. “You know I would never replace you! Jesus, Chris, I love you so much, Buck loves you so much! We don’t think you’re broken; how could you say that?”

Christopher’s lip curls, twisting his face into an ugly grimace, and Eddie watches with dismay as a small part of the baby he’d cuddled 13 years ago slips away from him.

“Bullshit” Christopher spits out.

“I beg your pardon? You do not use language like that in this house, young man!”

Christopher leaps to his feet, standing in front of Eddie, and it’s now as he’s confronted with his son, rage-filled and looming over him, that Eddie realises him and Buck have made a very serious miscalculation.

Christopher glares down at his father, his chest heaving as the breathes heavily. “Well, it is bullshit! If you actually loved me then you wouldn’t be trying to replace me! You are full of shit!”

Something inside Eddie snaps, releasing all the anger and frustration he’s felt towards his stroppy teenager for the last 4 months, and Eddie’s on his feet before he knows it, towering over his son. Christopher has the good grace to cower a little bit.

“That’s it,” Eddie says, his voice remarkably measured for someone who feels as though the entire earth has just dropped out from beneath him, leaving him suspended in a hellish limbo between being a good father, and emulating Ramon Diaz. “You’re grounded. No screens or friends for a month. You never, ever speak to me like that again, got it?”

Christopher’s fists are balled at his sides and Eddie can see his small frame shaking in anger. His knuckles are white, and Eddie imagines that if he were to uncurl his son’s fists, he’d find crescents where his nails have dug into his palms. He braces himself for the inevitable fallout, the kicking and screaming and swearing, apparently, that comes with grounding a teenager, but instead, Christopher looks up at him, his lower lip wobbling and his eyes swimming behind a film of tears. He blinks and the tears spill over, running down his cheeks.

“I hate you,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be audible, but Eddie catches it nonetheless. It cuts deep, slicing Eddie’s heart into a million tiny pieces and scattering them to the wind as he watches his son storm from the room. Eddie sits heavily on the edge of Christopher’s bed and drops his head into his hands, trying to swallow down the rapidly rising lump in his throat.

What the fuck just happened?

No pressure tagging @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @puppyboybuckley @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @pirrusstuff @housewifebuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @buckbuckgoose @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @evanbegins @nmcggg @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @smilingbuckley

[givemeanaccountalready]

You know what I’m most curious about for Milgram? How did the first few days go over? Milgram kidnapped eleven people and threw them in a building with no exits or even a window, had one announce to the others that they were all murderers and they were going to investigate, and how well do you think that went over?

I can see those who were indirect murderers being much more sociable than those who directly took a life. Like Mikoto, who is so sure that all he did was dream and believed that this was some sort of game show, thinks the term murderer is made up and is just chatting away. Or Shidou, whose murder seems to involve his shitty bedside manner (pressuring families of brain dead patients to pull the plug and I think pressuring other patients to go through with risky organ transplants), is probably like yes, everyone must be involved with a death that would be hard to prosecute, I bet little Amane probably was playing with a friend who fell off the playground, cracked their head open, and died. Does she need a trusted adult?

Then you have Haruka and Muu, who directly killed their victims through very personal methods (strangulation and stabbing), who are rightly terrified that the others must have killed like they have and could be killed so they try to stay out of the spotlight. Kotoko, who stomped her victim to death, having the same line of thought as Kazui, a policeman, with needing to carefully evaluate the situation and not act rashly because they both realize that the chances of everyone having the same story as them is slim.

Just imagine the first meal together. It’s tense and awkward, as everyone steals glances at each other and pokes at the food, and then someone (Shidou or Mikoto, probably) breaks the ice.

Shidou: “Why don’t we go around the room and introduce ourselves? I’m Shidou Kirisaki. I’m 29 years old, and I worked as a doctor before coming here.”

Mikoto: “That’s a great idea! I’m-”

Fuuta: “Why are we doing this kiddie crap? We were kidnapped. And why are we eating with this cosplaying brat and a rabbit?”

Es: refuses to react

Jackalope: angry ear twitch

Mikoto: “Chillax. This is probably just one of those new reality shows.”

Fuuta: “You sign up for those, stupid. Do you remember signing up for this, because I sure as hell don’t remember-”

Shidou: cutting in “Language.”

Fuuta: “Are you fu-”

Mikoto: quickly “So, I’m Mikoto Kayano, 23, and I worked for a top of the line advertising company down in Tokyo! What about you, uh?”

Kotoko: “Kotoko Yuzuriha. 20. I was studying law, but I was taking a brief sabbatical before… this.”

Mikoto: “Cool! I don’t think I could be a lawyer. I’m terrible at conflict.”

Mahiru: “Same here! I’m Mahiru Shiina, and I’m 22 years old. I’m in my final year of studying literature at university.”

Shidou: “What about you? You must be in your last year of high school, right? What are you thinking of studying?”

Fuuta: sputtering “I-I’m in college! I’m 20, for God’s sake! I haven’t been in high school for a while. You need to get your eyes checked.”

Kazui: to Amane “Would you like to go next or should I?”

Amane: “You can go first. I don’t mind.”

Fuuta: loudly “I’m not done yet!”

Mikoto: “I thought you didn’t want to do this-”

Fuuta: interrupts “The name’s Fuuta Kajiyama.”

Kazui: “And I’m Kazui Mukuhara. 39. I’m a police officer.”

Kotoko: narrows eyes “A police officer? And you’re here?”

Shidou: to the four remaining “And you all?”

Amane: “My name is Amane Momose, and I am 12 years old. I’m in the sixth grade.”

Mikoto: disbelief “My God, you’re so young.”

Amane: “I’d prefer it if you didn’t offer me any sort of special treatment because of my age. Treat me as you would any other prisoner.”

Shidou: aghast “But you are a child.”

Amane: angry pout and about to argue when

Yuno: does not want to listen to them argue “I suppose I’ll go next. I’m Yuno Kashiki. 18. I’m in my final year of high school. And you?”

Muu: “M-my name is M-Muu Kusonoki. I am 16 years old and in my first year of high school. Please don’t hurt me.”

Kotoko: flatly “The grade-schooler has more guts than you.”

Shidou: “I would argue that she isn’t being foolish.”

Amane: “It would be foolish to ask for special treatment. I do agree with the sentiment but I don’t fear any of you.”

Fuuta: “You’re literally 12. How are you not pissing your-”

Shidou: “Language!”

Amane: “There is no need for censorship on my account. I know all the bad words already. Speak freely around me.”

Fuuta: smugly “Yeah, see? She’s probably heard worse from her classmates.” Points to Haruka. “What about you?”

Haruka: shrinks down in his chair “U-uh, I’m, um, I’m Haruka Sakurai. I’m 17, I think. I’m uh, not very bright. Please be patient with me.”

Shidou: “There’s no need to put yourself down. What year of high school are you in?”

Haruka: “I’m, I’m not. My parents said that, that they’d rather light the money on fire for warmth than send me to high school just for me to flunk out. It would be a better use of-”

Fuuta: angry “That’s fucked!”

Shidou: “Language!”

Yuno: “Hate to say it, but he’s right. It is messed up.”

Shidou: “It is, but there is no reason to use such language in front of a child.”

Amane: “You don’t have to protect me from foul language. I just said-”

Shidou: “What about you, Es? How old are you?”

Es: “15.”

Fuuta: “You have gotta be kidding me! The fate of our lives hang in the hands of a junior high student!”

Mikoto: “Relax. Our lives don’t really hang in their hands. It’s just a TV show.”

Fuuta: “This isn’t a TV show!”

[littlemisssatanist]

can i ask for a small favor? can you rant about daemon targaryen please? i just re-read your team green 💚 post and i'm reminded of how much ick i feel towards that character, especially in the wake of the team trailers being released.

hiii!!! tysm for this ask i was super happy when i saw it in my inbox i'm flattered people want to hear my opinions lol

my thoughts about daemon are very convoluted. i think he has the potential to be a very interesting character but it's kinda canceled out by the incest and pedophilia thing.

like. i understand it's an incest dragon show but my main issue with team black when it comes to their criticisms. they love to spout endless words about how aegon is a rapist and how alicent is a rape apologist for not... idk slitting his throat i guess.

it's really ironic to me, because these same people will turn around and then yap about how daemyra is the perfect ship. they'll be aghast when you even slightly suggest you enjoy aegon's character in any way but be in an uproar if you dare bash their dashing and roguish prince daemon.

honestly, name one terrible thing aegon did and i'll be able to give you something daemon did that is arguably worse than that.

aegon - raping a servant girl in the show (which honestly i'm treating more as a fanfiction considering how terribly written both the greens and the blacks are).

daemon - uhmmmm probably the whole thing with nettles. you know. the sixteen year old girl he groomed and raped (yes raped because minors aren't able to consent). actually, now that i think of it, he did the exact same thing with rhaenyra too, huh? or does team black find the whole fleabottom episode to be hot and rhaenyra being sexually free? that seems like the sort of thing they'd take from that whole fiasco.

on the topic of blood & cheese: the way some people defend this is honestly sickening.

'but poor luke was killed by his terrible uncle aemond' he was an envoy of war (not to aemond, btw, he owed him no safe haven) and also he kinda. yk. took out his eye. i'm not saying luke deserved to die, but i'm going to be honest this is one of the more mild things that happened during the dance.

whether luke deserved to die (which i'd like to reiterate: i do not think he did. i can understand WHY aemond killed him, but that is not me EXCUSING him. this is for those of you who don't know how to read and will inevitably find a way to start putting words in my mouth) b&c is completely unexcusable.

it's team feminism until its a woman who doesn't fit your little box of badass hottie. it's team feminism until that woman doesn't bow down to rhae-rhae and betray her own family and children in order to join the 'good side.' it's team woman until you point out that rhaenyra was groomed by daemon and continues to make decisions that are decidedly anti-feminist.

this is why i can't stand team black stans who say things like 'i hate the greens except for helaena bc she didn't do anything wrong' because you quite literally cannot do that without admitting that helaena suffered because of the blacks NOT the greens.

helaena suffered bc of DAEMON not because of any actions taken by the greens. DAEMON was the one who orchestrated b&c, the one who sent men to terrorize her and kill her children.

daemon did that.

i have no problem with people who can admit that their faves have flaws. i admit aemond's flaws, daeron's flaws, aegon's flaws. the problem i have with daemon is that his stans are so insufferably annoying and they literally cannot do any of that.

my last thought about daemon (at the moment, at least) is his relationship with strong boys.

lots of tb likes to say that daemon loved those boys like his own and would never do anything to hurt them. and i... honestly find it a little strange, and also a little embarassing, because how am i going to have a better grasp on his character than those that love him most???

i genuinely believe that daemon, had rhaenyra ascended to the throne like viserys planned, he would have caused 'unfortunate accidents' for the strong boys in order to get his blood on the throne. which, btw, was one of the main reasons viserys named rhaenyra heir, to keep daemon from sitting on the throne.

i think it the succession crisis had been between daemon and rhaenyra instead, it would have been a much more interesting storyline.

then again grrm isn't that good at writing interesting storylines when it comes to daemon considering he's a self-insert. honestly i wouldn't be surprised if when he died it was found out that grrm had a fanfiction written somewhere where daemon survived the fight with aemond and got to live out the rest of his boring ass life grooming little girls. who knows.

[cambion-companion]

Aemond and the trope "Reluctantly has a crush on his favourite weirdo and hates that he's soft about it but damn they're cute" gives me life

"I hate that I'm in love with you, what no I didn't say love, shut up" vibes

'Y/N, try to act like you're enjoying this."

"Bite me, Aemond."

haha this was the perfect ask for my newest enemies to lovers oneshot.

Aemond x fem!reader | enemies to lovers | light smut at end

“In public, we’re in love. In private, we are in a civil war. Remember that, or we’re fucked.”

Aemond stifled a snort of derision at your terse whisper, turning it into a polite cough as he nodded at a group of huddled onlookers.  You shot him a sidelong look, quickly looking away to smile at a pair of elderly women who were clapping for you.  “This isn’t going to work.”

“Hush, we can air our grievances once we get someplace with less listening ears.”  Aemond’s arm around your waist tightened, almost painfully, as he steered you through the crowded hallways. “Besides, I am madly in love with my betrothed.”

“Oh, you’re going to have to work on that.”

“Hmm.”

The stone corridors Aemond and you now walked through were empty, he led you to a set of great oaken doors that swung open on silent hinges.  A darkened arched space and smell of many old books greeted you beyond them.  “The library, how romantic.”

“Private is more what I was going for.”  Aemond pushed the small of your back and you stumbled into the room, shooting him a withering glare over your shoulder.

“You know, I’m not pleased about this either.”  You snapped, smoothing your skirts haughtily.

Aemond quickly closed the doors and scanned the room with his violet eye, making sure you two were alone.  A fireplace flickered in the hearth, the only source of light in the spacious library.  “You are from a house that openly declared for Rhaenyra.”

“Yet…” You had walked over to the mantlepiece by the hearth, running a finger along it and looking in distaste at the dust you gathered. “I find myself suddenly betrothed to Aemond Targaryen who, if I remember correctly, is not on her side.” You let your gaze wander to where he stood stiffly, eyeing his leather jerkin tied at his trim waist with two buckles and sporting intricate dragon fasteners.  His sword was at his hip, a small sapphire gemstone inlaid upon the pommel.  “Your mother, or rather her father, stole me and are now forcing us to get married so as to ensure my house’s allegiance.”

“They hardly stole you.”  Aemond defended, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.  “You were handmaid to my sister.”

“Am I allowed to go home?”  You asked, eyes widening in mock surprise.

“No.”

“Then I am a prisoner here.”  You turned your back to him, looking into the flames.

“With our union, we gain a key asset to our side.”  Aemond said bluntly, his footsteps muffled on the stone floor as he approached you slowly. “The support of your house is instrumental in winning the coming war.”

“Will you stoop so low?”  You whirled on him, anger pulsing in your veins, jabbing a finger at his chest. “First your family declares Aegon king against Viserys’ wishes, now you take political hostages!”

Aemond caught your wrist, holding it firmly and jerking you closer. “King Viserys’ last wish was for Aegon to be named his heir.”

“You cannot believe that.”  You looked aghast at him. “Surely you’re cleverer than that, Aemond.”

“It matters little what I believe.”  The prince released you, shaking his silver head. “I serve my family.  A member of which you are soon to become.”  A rueful smile pulled at his curved lips. “Whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t.”

“Hmm.”  Aemond rolled his eye, running a hand through his long hair. “Perhaps in time you will learn to.”  He turned from you, walking crisply to the door. “Don’t stray too far, Y/N.  At my behest, you are to be treated with the dignity of a guest.  Yet you are not free to leave the Keep.”

“A prisoner.”  You muttered again, watching Aemond leave the library, closing the door behind himself.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Don’t you think you’re holding me a bit too tight?”

“Well, do you want this to be convincing or not?”

“I do, but a little looser than this would still be convincing.”

Aemond acquiesced. Loosening his grip on your waist as you both slowly swayed on the dance floor.  The two of you were having a terrible time.  You were barely managing to keep a convincing smile on your face, feeling much more like you were about to begin crying.

“Try to look less like you’re about to vomit, Y/N.”

“Maybe the soup was off.”  You smiled sweetly up at him. “Why does it matter whether I appear happy or not?  Surely the commonfolk don’t care…maybe they’d like it more if I were wailing and thrashing.”

“There are houses allied with your own who would not be so pleased.”  Aemond murmured, bringing his mouth to your ear under the pretense of wishing to hold you closer.  “If they saw you were…so unwilling they’d declare against us, and we would be forced to take drastic measures.”

Your stomach clenched. “I’d rather not know what that means.”

“Indeed.”

A ringing of metal on a crystal goblet halted the lilting music, you dropped your hands immediately from Aemond’s shoulders, but he tactfully kept hold of your waist.

“A toast!”  It was one of the nobles, his face flush from many cups of wine. “To the two lovebirds!  May your wedding day be festive!”  Cheers rose up around the room. “And may your wedding night be productive!”

You ducked your head into Aemond’s shoulder, hiding the grimace you couldn’t keep off your face. Clapping and laughter echoed all around you followed by the scrape of goblets against the wooden tables as people toasted your happy union.

“Kiss!”  Shouted one drunken reveler.  “Give your love a kiss!”  Cried another in agreement.

“Oh no.”  You murmured into the leather of Aemond’s tunic.

As the crowd took up the chant of “kiss”, clapping their hands in encouragement, you felt Aemond’s finger slip under your chin.  He pulled your face up to look at him, his lilac eye sparkling with something akin to mischievous mirth.  The sound in the hall grew louder as the two of you hesitated, inches apart. You bit your lower lip, drawing Aemond’s gaze to the movement.

He looked back into your eyes. “May I kiss you, my lady?”

You couldn’t speak, settling for a curt nod.  Aemond smirked, bringing his lips to yours with a smooth duck of his head.

A pulse of electricity shot to your core as Aemond’s warm mouth moved against your own.  A small, pleased sound escaped your throat, despite your attempts to regain full capacity of your faculties.  You had not expected your body to react like this, and it was with surprise you found yourself tangling your fingers in Aemond’s silken hair as he bent you backwards. The crowd laughed, pleased at the show you’d given them, as Aemond pulled away.  You avoided his eye as it roved your features, very sure your red cheeks shone like beacons.

You spoke very little the rest of the evening, the feeling of Aemond’s lips on yours thoroughly distracting you; to the point you almost poured gravy into your cup instead of wine.  Thankfully, Aemond saved you from that embarrassment, looking at you with mild concern as he poured your wine.  You looked away from him quickly, hating yourself for the burning in your cheeks and erratic beating of your heart.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“The boat awaits, my lady.”

“Thank you.”  You gathered your skirts, moving to collect the few bags you’d managed to pack for your escape from King’s Landing.

Your waiting maid curtsied, a small frown upon her face. You looked at her, briefly wondering the reason for her mood before a rapping knock at the door sent your adrenaline spiking.

Your maid hurried to the door, opening it a crack, before curtsying low as Aemond pushed his way into your room.  He was fully dressed despite the late hour, his coat and gloves of deepest green, contrasting with his silvery hair.  His violet eye snapped to focus on you with dangerous intent.  “Leave us.”

The maid curtsied again, looking terrified at the ground.

“See my mother in the morning for your coin.”  Aemond dismissed her, not breaking his gaze from your face.

You watched the traitorous girl scurry from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

“My brother may be incompetent and unaware…”  Aemond took measured steps toward you. “I am not.”

Tears welled behind your eyes, anger and frustration mixing in your chest. You moved to stride passed the prince, but he caught your arms, spinning you to face him. You fought against him, useless as it was, the tears falling freely down your cheeks as he held you firm, unflinching as your fists met his chest.

“Y/N.”

“Let me go, Aemond!”

“Y/N-”

“I cannot be kept here like some prize animal!”

Aemond moved with you until your back hit the wall.  Your fists on his chest flattened as you pressed your palms against his coat, your eyes puffy as sobs racked your body.  Aemond made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his hand cupping the nape of your neck as you leaned your forehead against his chest, beneath his chin.  His other hand rubbed the small of your back soothingly.

“There is little I can say to make this easier, Y/N.”  Aemond took your shoulders, encouraging you to look at him. “I am truly sorry for your distress.  I do not wish for you to suffer.”

“What do you wish for, Aemond?”  You sniffled, feeling his fingers lightly brush your tear-stained cheeks.

“A great many things.”  Aemond’s gaze, so cold with anger a moment ago, had softened as you looked up at him with watery eyes. “War not being among them.  Nor wedding a woman who despises me.”

“I don’t despise you, Aemond.”  He stilled at your words looking at you with a guarded expression as you continued. “You’re a pawn in this as much as I am.”

“I don’t know how to take that.”  A wry smile curved his lips as Aemond continued watching you.

“Will I ever be able to see my family again?”

“After the war is over, and the threat to Aegon’s rule is removed.”  Aemond smoothed your hair, tucking a strand of it behind your ear. “It won’t be long, Y/N.”

“How do you know?”

Aemond sighed, unable to answer, his eye searching your own.  Silence stretched between the two of you, heavy with unspoken words.

“Don’t try leaving again.  I might not be the one to catch you next time.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Aemond?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m observing.”

You rolled your eyes, quickly schooling your fond smile into a more neutral expression.  “What do you see?”

Aemond didn’t answer, a small smirk curling his lips as he continued to observe you over his book.  

“What?” You snapped your own book shut, rising to your feet, your brow arched.

Aemond methodically marked his place, shutting his volume of philosophy and setting it aside before standing to meet you.  “An infuriating woman, is what I see.”  His reached out to knead the fabric of your skirts with his fingers, his gaze lilac intent on your face.

“I’m flattered.”

“You are something, Y/N, that much is certain.”

“You’re a royal pain in my-” Your words were cut off in a gasp as Aemond swiftly pulled you to him, capturing your mouth with his own, drinking down the gasping moan that escaped your throat.

You felt his hot breath fill your lungs, your hands wandering the planes of his back, curling in his hair, tugging the silver locks to make him hum in pleasure like that again.  You felt his knee part your thighs, his touch tracing lines of fire along the exposed skin of your throat and chest.  You lost yourself in the feel and taste and smell of the prince as he deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth.  You arched into his hand, pressing into where he palmed your breast through the velvety bodice you wore.  

“Aemond.” You breathed, your lips brushing his as he made to pull away from you. “Don’t you dare leave me here like this.” Your hands tugged at his trim waist, urging his body to press back against you.

“You want this?”  He asked, his eye hooded as he looked down into your flushed face, his own cheeks faintly pink.

“I want this.” You sucked in a breath as he nipped at your throat. “I need-”

Your words cut off in another heady moan as you felt him mark your skin, sucking trailing kisses down to the swell of your breast straining above your corsage.  

“Hmm?”  He murmured against your flesh. “What do you need, my love?”

You felt his hands bunching the fabric of your skirts, the heat of his fingers finding the inside of your thighs.

“Aemond-”  You gasped, his exploratory hands dipping beneath your smallclothes.

“Ah.”  He chuckled low, kissing the corner of your panting mouth. “I see.”  He looked at your wanton expression with a dilated eye. “In that case, let me give him to you.”

You ground yourself against his hand, your lust taking full control as you kissed Aemond roughly, pulling his hair so that his head tipped back, exposing his throat to your own bruising kisses.

“If it is within my power, I will give you all that you desire.”  Aemond promised, his voice husky with want. He lifted you into his arms, you wrapped your legs around his torso as he backed you against the wall, his lips descending hard upon your own once more.

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None mostly. Goldfish slander, some minor injuries resulting from clumsiness, mentions of events from the show. Layla is here! We stan a healthy, happy divorced couple in this house >=\

A/N: There will be multiple chapters like these in this series, mostly dialogue and filler to help facilitate plot.

Taglist: @shirukitsune @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @bad4amficideas

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 4:

Old, Unhappy, Far-Off Things

"You guys can't keep doing this." Layla said over the phone.

"I know, I know." Marc sighed, running his hands through his hair. He haphazardly sprinkled some fish flakes into the tank to feed the ever chubby goldfish; looking at the glass to see Steven's reflection staring back at him, a frown creasing his features.

(Marc, you're going to make 'em pop!) Steven scolded.

"Well, how am I supposed to know how much to feed three goldfish?" Marc groaned.

"Steven told you the fish were gonna explode, eh?" Layla laughed softly.

"Yeah. Almost exactly that. I swear, I've never met a man who needs an emotional support fish." He replied, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear, screwing the lid back onto the tiny container of nasty-smelling flakes.

(How dare you! Gus and his friends are members of this family! You're going to hurt their feelings!) Steven said, absolutely aghast at Marc's summary of how the little aquatic creatures fit into their lives.

(The other two don't even have names yet, hermanito.) Jake finally piped in, coming to co-front to see what all the fuss was about.

"But seriously, Marc. You have to take it easy. Just tell Khonshu to shove off and ignore his bony ass for a few days!" Layla sighed. Though they weren't married or intimate anymore, Layla still cared deeply for "her boys"; even Jake, to a point. Even if she didn't fully trust him, he was a part of Marc and Steven. Part of their system. She knew Jake was the protector. She knew that he was only violent when he absolutely had to be.

Or when Khonshu sent him after fresh targets. She still didn't like that.

"You think I haven't tried that?" Marc flopped onto the sofa, his hand resting over his face as he sighed.

"He's a god, Layla. It's not so easy to just say no."

"Taweret doesn't seem to have a problem with boundaries." She pointed out.

"Because Taweret is a big softie, Layla. She literally mothers you." Marc retorted with a grunt.

"Well… she is the goddess of motherhood. One of them, anyway." Layla conceded.

"And Khonshu is the god of being a tall, harping asshole who refuses to let me rest." Marc leaned back, closing his eyes as the leather on the sofa softly groaned under his weight.

"You think we like working for him, still? We don't. We need the suit, and people need to be kept safe..."

"Have you considered just… giving it all up? Telling Khonshu you're done? Just hang up the cape?" Layla hummed.

Marc could feel Steven and Jake fade into the background of the headspace, leaving him alone to his conversation with Layla, not enjoying the current topic at all. And it would be smarter to prevent a possible argument between Jake and Marc, right now. They had enough headaches.

"I already tried that, remember? Khonshu just used Jake before we knew he was here and had him kill Harrow."

"Right…"

"And besides…" Marc said, conspiratorially. "...I think he already has his sights set on another person to be a Moon Knight. And I don't know who it is, but I know he's going to hold it over my head. Steven, Jake and I would rather be dead than let some poor, innocent person see the shit we have."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"Okay… You obviously need a mental health break. Anyplace in particular you can go to get away from everything?"

"Well… there is one place. A little shop Steven found that's nearby." Marc replied.

"Is it a bookstore?" Layla laughed.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." Marc chuckled. "Some woman runs it. American, if you can believe that. Apparently the store was her aunt's or something and she inherited it from her when she died. Steven's built a bit of a rapport with her. Me too. Kinda. She also sells stuff like coffee, tea, snacks… kind of like a one-person cafe."

"She runs it alone?"

"Yeah, impressive actually. But, it's not always safe, I saw that the other day." Marc nodeed.

"Oh? What happened?" Layla asked, wholly invested now. They had a friend? She likely didn't know about their DID, but Marc, and by that extension Steven, and possibly Jake having friends was a win in Layla's book.

"Some abusive drunk ran in after his girlfriend. Apparently she hid his girlfriend in her flat upstairs when she came in covered with bruises and freaking out." Marc said, smiling a bit at remembering your tenacity and urge to protect somebody you didn't even know. Even Jake respected you after that. And Jake respects very few people.

But it proves you were a protector, like he was. Not to the same extent, but close.

"Sounds like a good person."

"She seems like one. I just hope she doesn't get herself into trouble with anymore–ah!" Marc hissed, dropping the phone and waving his hand in the air as pain whipped through his fingertips.

"Shit!" He cursed, picking up the phone again with his other hand. He glared at the red marks appearing in his palm.

"Marc? Are you okay? What happened?" Layla asked, her voice just a hair above worried.

"Yeah, just my fucking hands again. Last week it was my shins." He grunted.

"So either you're getting old," Layla teased. "Or a certain someone hurt themselves again."

"Yeah, just wish they'd quit it. It's really inconvenient."

"That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"What?" Marc asked, his brow furrowing as he watched the burning red marks blossom on his skin. Pretty, almost, if you were into that sort of messed-up body art.

"Marc, please don't tell me you haven't considered that every time you got hurt, your soulmate felt those pains, too?" Layla deadpanned with a sigh, most likely pinching the bridge of her nose. He could picture it now. She was probably pacing in the kitchen of her flat in Cairo; the sun illuminating her figure, making her curls glow in an amber light, highlighting her jaw as she frowned.

But the thought she triggered in his mind sent a stone dropping into his gullet. Had he really not considered that? He thought that maybe, being Moon Knight would… would dull the pains, or maybe negate them entirely. Or… was he just stupid and didn't put them into consideration?

If they can feel his pain, and he can feel theirs... what about when he…

But sometimes it felt redundant to think about and worry for someone he never met, but at the same time…

"Fuck." Marc hissed, wiping at his face.

"Oh, my gods! You haven't been careful at all have you?" Layla gasped.

"I…"

"Marc! You and the other two need to get it together and take it easy. You think you don't understand things? Imagine how your soulmate feels. They're probably going about their normal daily routines and feel it when you get shot! Oh gods, what about when we were in Egypt and you got impaled?" Layla murmured. "Gods, I almost forgot about… what about when you died? I don't even want to imagine what they felt."

Marc dropped back into the cushions staring blankly at the ceiling. She voiced the very thing he himself was hesitant to mention.

"I… I forgot about that, too." Marc said, his voice almost flat.

"I imagine they must have been confused when their mark reappeared."

"Fuck…" Marc groaned, feeling exhaustion suddenly creep into his body. But then, he jerked, gripping the back of his head. "Damn it!"

"Another pain?" Layla mused.

"God–yeah. Right in the back of my head." Marc grunted.

"Yikes. Your soulmate must not be having a good day." Layla chuckled.

"Whoever they are, they're accident-prone as all hell!" He grumbled, pouting as he rubbed the fresh sore spot.

"Pot callin' kettle, Maaaarc." Layla sang softly over the phone.

"Yeah, yeah. You sound like Steven."

"Good."

"Ugh, please don't say that." Marc said, a smirk cracking his mask of discomfort. "He's already nagging me."

"Okay, okay…" Layla quieted for a moment. "Hey, Marc?"

"Yeah?"

"I might take a trip to London. Maybe if I'm there, Taweret and I can run interference for you to give you a break." Layla suggested.

"Layla… You don't–"

"Already looking at plane tickets." She interrupted.

"Of course you are." Marc smiled. That was one of the things he loved about Layla when they first met. He was drawn to her. Her snark, her determination…

"Yeah. I'll pack a bag and hop the flight that leaves in a few hours."

"Wow, okay." Marc said, his eyes widening. "You're serious about this?"

"Who else is going to babysit you three and get Khonshu off your back if me and the Hippo Mama don't?" Layla jabbed playfully.

"Oh my god, you do not call her that." Marc snorted, shaking his head.

"She thinks it's a cute nickname. And she agrees with my plan, so…"

"Oh great. You two gonna just harp me and remind me to take my vitamins, too?"

"I mean, if we have to…"

"Ugh. You're impossible."

"But that's why everyone loves me!" Layla laughed.

"Sure, sure. And Layla?" Marc asked, looking at the mark on his wrist, a soft fond look in his eyes. It was blooming today, the rose.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"No problem, Marc. Go hang at that bookstore and get a coffee or something, yeah?"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

You hurried up the stairs and rushed to your oven, frantically cursing with each step as you hauled yourself up the stairs and into your flat.

You practically ripped the oven door open, coughing as smoke filled your nostrils as the burned pastries greeted you.

"Damn it!" You whine, slipping your oven mitt on and grabbing the small pan with one hand.

Your phone started ringing and you spun on your heels to glare at the offending object secured to the wall.

"Oh, shut up, you–"

You felt the pan tip when you turned, the blackened treats threatening to fall to the floor, and without thinking you reached out with you other, unprotected hand and gripped it, before making a sharp yelp and throwing the pan onto the counter with a loud bang, blowing air over your burning and blistering hand.

"Shit, shit, shit!" You hiss, turning to your sink and hitting the tap for some cold water. The stinging subsided, if only minutely.

The phone rang incessantly again.

You dropped your shoulders and rolled your eyes with a groan, and pulled away from the soothing coldness of your tap.

But, of course, as your natural "luck" would have it… You trailed water onto your floor, and slipped into it, cracking the back of your head on the tile. Not hard enough to knock you out, no, but it was just enough to hurt, and leave a rather nasty bump.

So. There you lay, flat on your back, water still flushing into the drain of your sink, smoke detector now going off, and your house telephone ringing impertinently.

"I didn't do anything! Why're you guys always giving me the short end of the stick?" You shout at nothing in particular; maybe whatever gods could hear your lamentations and rueful words.

For extra effect, you flipped the bird with your uninjured hand.

Yeah.

Fate was a funny thing, all right.

Chapter 5: Link